#asoiaf reader insert

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

Glow

Pairing: Daenerys Targaryen x Meereen!Reader

Warnings: none

Words: 2313

Summary: Why she had taken a liking to you among all the others she had freed, you would never know. You had been a personal whore for one of the masters and had gotten pregnant. There were many others like you. Your story was nothing special, but Dany had found you worthy enough to be her close companion. There were even times when you thought that maybe you could be more than her companion.

Blinking your eyes awake, your vision clears to reveal the window outlooking the city of Meereen. You nuzzle your face into your pillow as a hand lays protectively over your swollen abdomen. Smiling to yourself you do your best to shift onto your back and lay on your other side so you could face Daenerys Targaryen, your queen and the Mother of Dragons. She still had her eyes closed, a content smile on her full pink lips. You didn’t think it was possible for someone to be so beautiful. The Targaryens of old Valyria all had the characteristics that made Daenerys beautiful though, as she had told you. You couldn’t imagine an entire family filled with gorgeous people like her. Yet her beauty could not compare to her incredibly soft and kind heart. Like so many others she had saved you from Slaver’s Bay. Why she had taken a liking to you among all the others she had freed, you would never know. You had been a personal whore for one of the masters and had gotten pregnant. There were many others like you. Your story was nothing special, but Dany had found you worthy enough to be her close companion. There were even times when you thought that maybe you could be more than her companion. The roundness of your belly reminded you of how impure you were.

Daenerys scoots closer to you so that her flat stomach is pressed against your rounded one. “Good morning.”

You smile. You should’ve known she would be awake. “Good morning.” You feel her hand caress your stomach again. She was always touching it, perhaps remembering of the time she had been pregnant. She had told you everything of her past and of the witch who had killed her husband and unborn son. The very same who had cursed her womb so that she would never be able to bare children. Joke was on Mirri Maz Duur. Daenerys not only had one child, but three. They were stronger than any human child and much more special. Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion continued to grow larger, especially Drogon. Daenerys had already run into trouble though, they proved to be incredibly willful and had killed many livestock which their mother had to reimburse.

“Shall I call for someone to get you breakfast?” You murmur, still a little drowsy. Being pregnant had you constantly tired no matter how much you slept.

Daenerys shakes her head and lifts up one of her hands. As always, she gently touches your face and brings her lips upon your’s sweetly. Your heart races and the child inside of you begins to kick. Dany’s eyes light up at the feeling. She pulls away with a grin. “It always kicks when I kiss you.”

You blush and internally scold your unborn child for revealing your feelings for your queen. Instead you tried to play it off with a nervous giggle. “My child already loves it’s queen.”

Laughing, she slips out of bed and you quickly avert your eyes. Your beautiful queen always preferred to sleep in the nude. She grabs a robe and helps you out of bed. You wouldn’t mind sleeping nude beside her but you feared that your figure was not as beautiful as Daenerys’.

Missandei and other serving girls came in to help their silver haired queen get ready for the day. By command of the queen, they helped you too. Truthfully it was difficult for you to get ready by yourself. You grew weary just walking a few steps.

Queen Daenerys grabs hold of your hand and escorts you over to a small table that Daenerys had set up in her room. It was specifically for you considering that you had a hard time making it down the stairs to the dining hall. Since you were nearing the end of your pregnancy, Daenerys had been joining you at your small table for every meal. Several plates of fruit, meat, bread, and cheeses were brought in as well as a small bowl of olives. Not only were you always tired but you were always hungry too. You knew it was polite to chow down in front of your regal queen, but you couldn’t help but tear into a chunk of bread and start stuffing cheese into your mouth.

Missandei joined you as well, eating more politely than you could ever manage. She went over with Daenerys the schedule for the day. They spoke of those who had requested audience with her grace and how many there were planned for the day. You wished you could attend them with her, but until you popped out your child, you would be sequestered to the queen’s quarters.

As you finished up, Daenerys’ guards showed up to escort her to the audience chambers.

Patting her mouth clean, Dany leans over to kiss you. You blush once again but return the gesture, noticing how Daario and Jorah had looks of jealousy (although Daario did look more aroused than jealous).

Finding yourself alone you sigh and waddle out to the balcony patio. The sun beat down on the yellow city and made you sweat a little bit. Over the tops of buildings you look out to the sea. Even though you didn’t accompany Dany in her queenly duties, you knew that there was chaos in Meereen. People who were against her and wanted her dead. Of course, that might always be the case. The city was dying slowly with no trade going in or out of the ports and with most of their harvest having been burned by the masters.

Overhead you hear a familiar shriek. The first time you saw them you were understandably awestruck. . . that was until they had got too close to you then did you begin to fear them. But over time you grew accustomed to Dany’s dragon children. And much to even Daenerys’ surprise, the dragons seemed to dote on you. If that was even possible for a enormous fire breathing creature. While Drogon chose to travel further and further away from his mother, Viserion and Rhaegal still preferred to stay close. At the sight of you on the patio, both dragons swoop low until you can feel the breeze that they beat up with their wings. They land in front of you and Rhaegal instantly hobbles over to you. It was still alarming when they charged at you. Viserion follows his sibling over to you as Rhaegal lowers his head for you to pet him. They were hot to the touch but considering you were already warm from the temperature outside it didn’t phase you. His scales are coarse and rough as you run your palm up his head before giving his dark, green, scales a scratch. Wanting attention too, Viserion pushes Rhaegal out of the way causing the other to hiss and start a small fight as they snapped at each other and flew into the sky once again. You chuckle and watch them for a bit until the sun started to bother your eyes. Hesitantly you rub your hands over your stomach. You really didn’t know how to feel about being a mom. Considering your child wasn’t conceived out of love rather than lust and obligation. The master who had enslaved and impregnated you was now dead thanks to Daenerys. You couldn’t help but have mixed feelings about your child.

You sigh. Could you love this child?

“Queen Daenerys wanted me to let you know that she will unfortunately be late for dinner this evening and to eat without her.” Daario informed you later that day.

You frown, hoping that Daenerys wasn’t overworking herself. “Please make sure she has a snack at least.”

He smirks. “Of course.” Your dinner is brought in but he doesn’t leave.

Before eating, you set your fork down. Unnerved by the way he was looking at you. “Is there something else I can do for you Daario?”

“I couldn’t help but notice how you and Daenerys interact with each other. She seems to love you very much.”

“As I do her.”

Daario shakes his head. “The two of you are in love, that much is obvious. I’m just wondering what will happen once she has to take a husband.”

You knew where this was going. “If you haven’t noticed there’s already something preventing anything between Queen Daenerys and I.” You gesture to your stomach. “I doubt she really wants someone as tainted as me.”

Daario loses his playful smirk and sits down across from you. “She’s never seen you as tainted, I hope you know that. And you’re not. You had no choice in the matter of things before Daenerys took this city.”

“I do believe you’re being sincere.” You smirk and take a bite out of your dinner. “It’s quite shocking, but nice.”

His smile returns and Daario raises a glass to you. “Then let me continue to be sincere by saying you do look awfully radiant with your round belly. Glowing even.”

You laugh and he keeps you company until Daenerys wanders up with a shocked expression at the two of you talking and laughing. She raises her eyebrows up in confusion.

“What are you still doing here Daario?”

Leisurely he stands up. “Forgive me your grace, I was just keeping (y/n) company considering that you would be late to supper. I will be going now.” He bows and winks at you before leaving.

Daenerys’ violet eyes turn to you. “Did he say anything inappropriate to you?”

You shake your head. “No. He was an utter gentleman.”

That made her even more suspicious. “Gentleman? Daario?” Daenerys takes up Daario’s old seat. “Next time I’ll be sure to send Jorah. . . That Daario cannot be trusted.” Was that a hint of jealousy you detected?

Changing the subject you told her how you had seen Viserion and Rhaegal earlier. She timidly asked if you had spotted Drogon, to which you tell her you didn’t. Of course she wilted a little bit. It had been a few days since she had last seen her biggest dragon.

“He’ll turn up soon. I’m sure he’s just busy exploring the neighboring lands and finding more food so that he doesn’t have to keep eating cattle that belongs to your people.”

“That’s one way of seeing it I suppose.” She murmurs against her cup as she takes a long sip.

“Have faith in your children as they have faith in you.” You offer her a small smile.

Her face that had been so somber brightens and makes you clam up immediately from shyness. Warmth spread in your chest and you could feel your baby kick inside of you. To know that you were able to put such a smile on her face made you undeniably happy. A lowly creature such as yourself didn’t deserve to feel so happy.

“Your Grace-” Pain pierces into your abdomen and you gasp sharply, fingers squeezing your cloth napkin.

Her eyes widen in panic and she quickly rises to her feet. “(y/n)?”

Breathing harshly you try and tell her that you’re fine, but another stab makes you cry. Daenerys immediately calls for help and somehow manages to get you onto her bed. Weakly you complain about how her sheets will be ruined by the end of it, but it falls on deaf ears. She’s 100% focused on delivering your baby. A flock of women and Missandei rush in with water and cloth. Daenerys refuses to leave your side, holding your hand the entire time.

Even with your little girl in her arms, Daenerys continues to cry. You yourself had wept when Missandei put her in your arms; a pink, screaming, little thing. In Daenerys’ arms though she had quieted down.

“She’s beautiful.” Dany whispers, truly in awe of the infant in her arms. You let her have her moment, knowing that she had been unable to have such a tender moment with her own child. Then you heard her whisper “Three heads. . .”

“What?”

“There’s three heads of the dragon. . .” She continues to murmur more so to herself.

“Of your sigil?” As a gift she had given you a piece of cloth that had the sigil of House Targaryen stitched into it. A red three-headed dragon amidst black.

“My ancestor Aegon the Conqueror flew to Westeros alongside his two sisters. That’s why our house has a three headed dragon to represent the three dragons that conquered Westeros. My own dragons adore you, (y/n).”

You still weren’t following. What did dragons have to do with your baby?

Eyes like that of amethyst turn back to you. Realizing what she had said out loud she blushes and hands you back your daughter. “Nevermind. I should leave mother and child to rest.” She gives you a weak smile and turns to leave.

“Dany wait.”

You shock even yourself when you use her nickname.

“W-Won’t you lay with us? You’ve already seen how much my daughter loves you already. . . Just like I do. . .”

Daenerys draws closer. Her violet eyes regarding you with complete love and adoration. She didn’t have to say it out loud, you could finally see it in her eyes. Her lips part then close, thinking better not to speak. Both of you knew there would be complications in your relationship. You’d work it out though when the time came. Right now though, you just wanted to be a happy family.

She cuddles against you, her head comfortably against your’s as she gazed at your daughter. “What will you name her?”

“I thought you could name her. It would be a great honor.”

Daenerys smiles, her fingers brushing against your daughter’s cheek tilting her head so that her lips grazed the shell of your ear. “Rhaella.”

You turn your head, lips mere inches away from her’s. “A lovely name.”

She smiles and closes the gap, kissing you.

[missglaskin]

Meant to be mine 

Excuse me for the horrible smut 

Tags: Soft dark!Jace OC, mentions & descriptions of parent abuse, character death (poison), childhood to lovers. EXPLICIT: Titty sucking, breeding kink (if you squint), creampie, tummy bulge (mention) Jace really taking after his parents 

The dragon runs in his blood. Jace won't give you up for anything, even if your hands belong to another. 

To marry well. A constant reminder of your obligations as a lady. Prepare to be disappointed. It's rare for love to blossom in such unions. Marriage is a trade more than anything-whether it's for a shipping fleet or an ally. How foolish of you to think your fate would differ from any lady.

How you've dreamed of having your 'protected' cloak placed around your shoulder to be the sigil of a three-headed dragon. Anticipating facing the man you've known for years. Instead, your 'protected' cloak's sigil is one of a golden lion and your wedding vows are exchanged with another. 

Before the feast could begin, the doors opened, and everyone turned. Seeing the royal family ascend made your breath catch in your throat. They weren't invited. You were certain otherwise their upcoming presence would have been the talk around. Casting a quick glance over your shoulder, seeing your father's enraged face. Jakob Lannister, your newly husband, looked stunned.

Arriving with her husband Daemon by her side, Rhaenyra appears to be as gorgeous as ever. The rest of her children follow after. Your gaze is drawn to Prince Jacaerys. 

Rhaenyra greets your father first, complimenting him on how lovely the wedding seems. She raises the corner of her mouth to smile, but her eyes remain cold. Her eyes warm when she turns to face you. “My dear Y/N.”

Her hand reaches for your necklace-an embroidered lion. "You look as beautiful as ever-we were so excited to have you in the family," she says as her eyes catch your father's. "But alas, I am sure Jakob Lannister is one lucky man to have such a lovely bride."

You mutter your thanks to her as she gives you a gentle kiss on the cheek. Leaving your side, her family follows her. Jace follows. His hand brushed against yours. Your eyes never leave him until your father grabs hold of your shoulder. Your father's hold grows tighter, reminding you of your position. Your duty. 

The family had no seat as no one anticipated their arrival, still the servants rushed to grab seats for them. The other lords and ladies glare at the family when they choose the table closest to yours. 

You and your husband are sitting next to one another. And you repress the urge to look over at the table. The ominous presence of your father serves as a reminder of the consequences if you dared to look. 

When the two approach your table, you try to conceal your surprise. It's Daemon and Jace. For some time, Jace and you just stare at each other in silence. Daemon nudges him to reality. "I'm happy for the two of you," Jace finally speaks with a smile that stops short of reaching his eye. 

“May your marriage be long and fruitful,” he says with almost clenched teeth. Your husband thanks him, oblivious to the tone of voice. With his hands behind his back, Daemon amusedly watches everything that was happening.

Jace looks in your direction and says, "I hope you don't mind, but I'd like to take your 'newdly' wife for a dance." Jakob nods. You wonder how gullible a man can be. Standing up and crossing over the table to accept Jace's hand. 

You hiss at him, "What are you going?" as the two of you descend the hall's steps, but he feigns innocence, "I have no clue on what you're speaking of." You join the other dancing lord and ladies. "Don't play me the fool, Jace," but when you feel your hand on his waist, your words are caught in your throat. The jerk knows what his touch does to you. 

"I'm a married woman now," you continue in a firm tone. Try to have him take this matter seriously. Yet Jace keeps looking at you with the same burning gaze. Stop looking at me like that. You wanted to tell him. Or else you'll crumble. 

His face is much closer to yours than it should be, and his hands are placed much more intimately than they should be. Your gaze turns to your father, who appears indignant over what he is witnessing. It shifts to your newly husband, who is speaking with Daemon, who has now moved to his side where your seat once was. Daemon seems to congratulate him? Is this the same man you've met before.

'Focus on me, not them,' a hand reaches for your cheek, nudging you to look at him. With his breath nearing your lips, you try to warn him, "Jace.". Eyes widening. He wouldn't do it, would he? Certainly not in front of all those people. 

He whispers, "You were meant to be mine, my wife, my sweet wife," one inch closer and his lips will touch yours. Everyone is too absorbed in their dancing, in their drinks, in their conversations to notice the intimate moment between the two of you. He was going to do it. In front of all those people. And the worst thing of it all. You won't try to stop him.

Then your father's voice booms across the court, signaling the start of the play. It was far too early; you frown. But you understood why your father had done it. The crowd starts to scatter, and it took some resistance to escape Jace's tight grip before anyone had the chance to focus on the two of you.

Upon seeing your father's rage, you hurriedly got back with your husband after tremblingly climbing the few steps. The play opens with a man who can allegedly spit fire and swallow a sword. The stunned crowd gasps, but your expression remains the same; unable to concentrate.

As per usual, your husband continues to be unaware of everything, too occupied with drinking his wine. Then it happens. Your husband starts to choke, but everyone is too preoccupied with watching the play to notice. Patting his back and trying to give him more wine, assuming he must have choked on his food.

The coughing, however, only gets worse, and soon he is spitting out the wine. Few around him begin to turn. Your husband is bending over, grasping the table. His cough grew louder and more started to notice.

He stands shakily, revealing his face. You couldn't help but shriek at the sight and now everyone's attention is on you both. His face is fully red now, and some sounds are heard, but he's unable to speak. Unable to breathe. He stumbles, knocking a few things off the table. Then he drops to the ground.

You hear Daemon shout, "Someone help him, you fools," and when guards and members of his family run to help him, you are shoved aside. Covering your mouth at the graphic and horrifying sight of Jakob trembling on the floor, grabbing at his throat, gagging, all the while trying to gasp for air. 

An arm reaches out to you, leaning you on their chest to avoid looking at the scene. Having been in his arms so often, you recognize it to be Jace. Looking up at him-you see his gaze at the sight. A blank expression on his face. No shock. No worries.

Then you hear the cries of grief—Jakob is dead. All claim to be poisoned. Many cooks and servants have been interrogated, and some hanged. Jakob Lannister had few enemies, leaving the one who caused this to remain a mystery. 

What a cruel joke the gods played on you—to marry and be a widow on the same day. You can see the pitiful looks of everyone in attendance at his funeral. And hear the murmurs when you turn away from them. The word "curse" said more than once.

The royal family was present at the funeral, as they were at the wedding. Jace is leaning against the wall with his eyes on you. He is near his great-uncle, or should you say, stepfather. Prior to your arrival, the two appeared to be speaking. Rhaenyra steps toward you, hugging and telling you what a tragedy it is, that if you need any help, Dragonstone will welcome you at any time. 

As time passed, you grew tired of having everyone's sight on you. So you leave, descending the stairs. No one stops you. No one questions where you’re going. As you make your way outside a little further, you are now walking alongside the beach, feet near the water. Holding onto your shawl as the wind blows. 

A touch is felt on your shoulder causing you to jump only to relax when turning to see seeing its Jace. There is a brief silence as the two of you stare; the longing in his eyes is still there. "You grieve for him?" he asks. In regards to the black cloth covering your shoulders. You shake your head. 

"It's custom, Jace," you say, as if it were the most obvious thing. "There's no need for that with me," tugging on your shawl, letting the wind carry it. It falls into the water and is soon lost in the depths as the waves move it back and forth.

"Jace!" You reprimand him, already annoyed at him for that show he put on at your wedding. In the early morning, before the funeral, your father screamed at you for it. Many assumed your teary eyes were you mourning. 

He grabs you as you try to move away. "You're terrified of him." He knows it's your father who opposed the marriage. Your father was a good friend of Lord Hightower, and you often heard his disdain for Rhaenyra. In some instances, you heard him even refer to Jace as "prince strong."

Despite knowing in your heart that you would have married Jace the moment he got down on one knee, you argue that it’s not just about father." Then what is it, he asks. "Jace, marrying you means one day becoming the queen," you tell him, hoping he understands. But the only response you got was an “And?” 

Your father's words are now echoing in your head and you utter them word by word to Jace. How he deserved someone far more worthy, more strong-willed, more powerful. You were neither of those. 

But Jace only shushes your words, holding your face in his hands. He speaks praises of you. How he believes you’ll make a good queen. You find it hard to believe. Then he says, "You're perfect," and it's difficult to accuse him of lying given the way he's looking at you.

He gazes at you with so much love, and before you know it. He kisses you. Oh, how you missed his lips, reaching your hands to the nape of his neck, returning his kiss with eagerness. This was wrong. But could you bring yourself to care when feeling his hands roam your body. 

His lips leave yours soft and swollen. Grabbing your hands, kissing both of your knuckles. Then placing them on his chest, "It's beating for you," he says, "Only you." You found yourself inching near him, closing your eyes when your head lay against his chest. 

You love Jace, truly love him. You love the smile he gives you when you enter the room. The way he surprises you with your favorite flowers. The way he pulls the seat out for you. The way he listens to all your rambles. The way he dries your tears. Would you have ever gotten that from Jakob or any other lord your father tries to marry you off.

On the other hand, you truly despise your father. Never understood and made an effort to learn the language of girls. So badly he wanted a son. Still, you thought you'd make him proud, being the ideal daughter, always obedient and polite. 

So when you ask your father one thing-just one thing. To marry the prince and your father threw the offer in your face. Now you can rest easy, not caring about his disappointment any longer.

"Marry me." You finally utter the words. Whispered so low, but you could tell he heard them from his hands slightly tightening their grip on your sides. Opening your eyes to face him, "Take me to Dragonstone, make me your wife, Jacaerys." And now it’s you who leans in, grazing your lips over his while gently yet firmly holding his cheeks.

Jace returns your kiss intensely, desperately moving his mouth into yours; pouring his entire soul into it. His hands are back to exploring your body, holding you to him as humanly possible. A desire runs from your heart to your inner thighs.

He pulls away and you try to reach for his lips again, but he steps back. You're slightly perplexed when he starts to remove his cloak. Moving further away from the waves, he lays the cloak on the sand. 

And the realization suddenly dawns on you. Here? Now? Even with the possibility of someone finding you. You cast your eyes over the distance where the funeral is still taking place. Still, you take Jace’s hand. Fuck it, you thought. 

Laying your back on the cloak as he climbs on top of you. Feeling his nose nudging yours, you couldn’t help but smile and he returns it, kissing your nose. You tilt your head to allow your lips to meet again. 

Then you sensed his hand reaching for the back of your dress as his fingers roughly pulled the strings holding it together. Your dress descends, revealing your shoulders to the prince. He presses a soft kiss to the skin exposed as he pulls the dress down further, barring your chest.

Your nipples harden when exposed to the cold air. Biting your lower lip at the way his eyes leer over them. No matter how many times he has seen them, he’s always entranced. With eyes closed, he takes one of your nipples in his mouth, tongue darting out to wet the bud before sucking lightly. Gods, sometimes Jace Imagines what your breasts would look like if your belly was round with his child.

You ponder what the people of the realm would think if their future king was ever found sleeping with a widow whose husband's funeral was only a short distance away. Discovered on top of her, his mouth on her chest. 

He closes his lips around your nipple as you exhale a low moan and tilt your head back. You’ve always been so sensitive to his touch as he was to yours. Low moans also slip out of his mouth, seeming to enjoy the act. Possibly even more than you did. Jace would be content to die buried between your legs or with his face between your cleavage. Either way, it’s heaven to him. 

Pulling away, his lips graze yours, clumsily reaching his hands down to untie his trousers. Hearing him curse while struggling to loosen the tight laces makes you chuckle. Reaching to help him, an embarrassed thank you is said under his breath.

Briefly sitting on his knees to pull the trousers to his knees; cock already hard. He pulls your dress up all the way to your hip, exposing your cunt to him. As he reaches down to take hold of the top of his head, slowly pushing it inward an inch at a time, his body rests on yours once more.

Synced moans escape the two of you as his cock slides fully into you. All while, Jace presses tender kisses all over your face. His thrusts are slow, trying to get you to adjust his size. Jace grunts aloud as your walls tighten around him.

You give thanks to the gods that the two of you are far away. You see him biting his lip to contain his loud moans. Still, they can be heard throughout the chilly air. His mind goes numb the moment his cock is buried deep inside of you. 

There are all sorts of words said by him; declarations of love, but all come out slurred as if he's in a drunken haze. His face is buried in the crook of your neck. Thrusting his body, his heavy moans are heard feeling his cock surge through your hole.

His thrusts are becoming sloppy. He's close. His finger moves down,  circling your clit, wanting you to feel the same euphoria alongside him. His cock is deep enough, you can feel the head touching your cervix. 

His lip begins to bleed between his teeth. He’s close. Yet he’s holding himself back, twitching inside of you. He wants you to reach your high first. Then when he feels your walls squirming. How fucking tight you’re. Louder whimpers coming from you. He knows you’re close, too. His fingers fasten in their movements against your clit.

An almost scream erupts from you as you reach your orgasm, eyes rolling back. Removing his wet fingers, leaving your cunt to your hips. Not even moments later, Jace came. Harshly digging his fingers into your hips, you were certain any harder and it would start to bruise.

His lips parted in almost broken sobs, chanting your name as though it were a martyr. He releases a spurt of cum, stuffing your cunt to the brim. A few more thrusts and Jace's body collapses on top of yours. Both bodies drenched in sweat even in the chilly air. 

The only sounds that can be heard are Jace's chest heaving and distant wave sounds. The side of his head is resting against your chest as you run a hand through his hair. I love you. He kept saying it almost as if it were a mantra until he became too exhausted to speak. For some time, the two of you remain in this position, soaking up the silence.

When it's time for you to leave, your thighs are trembling, sticky with dried cum. The two of you try your best to present yourselves as neatly and cleanly as you can. Your hands are intertwined with Jace's as the two of you approach Daemon and Rhaenyra.

The two knew everything they needed to know from both of your swollen lips, Jace's messy hair, and the sand stuck to some of the clothes and skin. As Rhaenyra beams a friendly smile your way, Daemon muses, "I can assume she accepted the proposal." Jace catches your confused look. Were they all on this. 

When it's time for the family to depart, you climb up atop Vermax while Jace holds you fast as the dragon soars overhead. You can just imagine your father's fury, his screams of rage, and the furniture he'll probably destroy in his way. You pity the messenger who has to inform your father about the wedding.

As you soar through the air, you ignore all of your thoughts when you feel the prince's chin rest on your shoulder. With the sun behind you, the wind blowing in your faces. Jace presses his lips to yours as you turn to face him and you part ways while smiling. 

After this, Jace is truly in debt to his stepfather.

[weird-addiction]

If you're still writing for hotd, could you do a aemond x twin brother reader (platonic ofc). When aemond loses his eye, his brother takes his own eye on the opposite side as a form of solidarity. They have a close relationship and reader claims cannibal as aemond claims vhagar. I know it's a lot but I thought it was a good idea. Hope you have a great day

~snake anon 🐍

One in the Same

Pairing: Platonic!Aemond Targaryen x Male!Twin!Targaryen!Reader

Genre: Neutral

Warnings: Gore, taking out an eye, typical violence, threatening someone

Being the twin to a prince was never meant to be easy, well, others at the bottom would say different. That is because they have never been in his position before. Y/n was the fourth child of Alicent and Viserys, the younger twin to Aemond Targaryen. 

They said that the gods flip a coin to determine a Targaryen’s fate when they are born, one side was greatness, the other was madness. If this was indeed true, Y/n’s side of the coin would be sadness. There was not a day from the day he was born that he did felt like a void was inside of his heart, and the only way to fill it was to be close to his twin at all times. 

Since childhood, Y/n clung to Aemond’s side no matter what they were doing. Training, eating, in the library reading, the one thing they did not do was sleep in the same bed. Alicent tried everything to keep Y/n a part, as she was worried that in the future that their closeness would prevent them from finding wives, however Y/n still refused to let his brother go. 

Aemond was dragonless, so was Y/n, they were the only ones without dragons and boy were they bitter for it. 

See, Y/n was what you called the ‘the silent but deadly’ type of person. He told everything, every feeling, every emotion to his twin and no one else. And for this, he had no idea how to express himself to others freely. 

So, he did it through violent means. 

“Behold! The Pink Dread!” Aegon, Jace and Luke all said in a mocking way as the pig stood before them. 

Aemond kept his emotions inside, he would not show them that this got to him. His twin however, did not have the same reaction. 

Y/n did not hesitate as he grabbed Aegon by the collar, his fist raised as he was about to punch him. Aegon was surprised to say the least, as he flinched back from his brother’s raised hand. Jace and Luke were also shocked to see this, as Aegon was the eldest among them so no one went against him. Seeing Aegon’s own younger brother do that to him was not something they expected. 

“Tell me why I shouldn’t make you unable to see Sunfyre for a week, brother.” Y/n spat, his hand did not loosen its grip. 

“I-I’ll tell mother!” Aegon said out as a last resort. 

“Mother? Mother would thank me for knocking some sense into you.” Y/n’s eyes narrowed, the dragon burned within him brightly. 

Aegon managed to shake himself free, himself and their nephews left quickly so as to not anger him anymore. Y/n turned back to Aemond, wanting to comfort him. But, Aemond was already down the pit to see for dragons. Y/n notified a guard and Aemond was taken out before he became ashes. 

“What are you doing?! Are you trying to get killed?” Y/n looked him over for injuries. 

“I’m fine.” Aemond replied quickly, hiding his disdain for dragging him out. 

They were escorted back to their mother who was watching over Helaena with her bugs. 

“Do I have to have you both confined to your chambers-”

“They gave him a pig!” Y/n yelled, cutting Alicent off. 

Her attention went to the younger, then back to the elder to confirm if this was true. Aemond’s face said everything. 

“You both will have a dragon. One day. I promise.” Alicent brought both of her sons into a hug before leaving to talk to her husband and her eldest son for pulling such a trick on his own brothers. 

The dragon did not come to them, even them trying to claim other older dragons did not work. Y/n suggested they go to Dragonstone to take a shot with the dragons there, Alicent allowed after much persuasion. 

Once they arrived on Dragonstone, they went directly to where the dragons were kept. The dragon keepers standing there waiting for them. 

By the end of the day, Y/n had managed to fly around with a dragon so large that the shadow covered all of Dragonstone. Even the keepers were surprised, and when he landed, everyone was stunned. 

Y/n Targaryen had claimed the legendary beast that is Cannibal. 

Y/n climbed down from the dragon’s back effortlessly as he pats its side, running to hug his twin and ask the older about his own dragon. Aemond was impressed by his abilities, but rather sad as he himself was unsuccessful as claiming a dragon. 

“It’s ok! You’ll have one! You will have a dragon with wars and conquests under its belt! I promise Aemond!” Y/n exclaimed as he hugged his brother tight. 

Well, that would come true only a year later as came the death of Laena Velayron. By the end of the funeral, Aemond had run off by himself as he heard the sad roar of a dragon in the distance. 

On the other hand, Y/n was freaking out as he did not see his twin anywhere near him. He wanted to go find him but the guard said he needed to go to bed, but how could he sleep without knowing that Aemond was somewhere else? How could he sleep without knowing if Aemond was safe?

Well, he did not have to wait for long, the guards soon came and escorted him down telling him something had happened to his brother. This made Y/n practically run down the stairs to such a gorey sight before him, his twin flame, his brother who he loved so much was sitting in a chair getting stitches across his eye. Running to Aemond’s side, leeching to the elder’s side as he looked him over for other possible injuries. 

“How did this- what happened?” He quietly asked. Aemond responded with one eye movement, gaze shifting over to their nephews. 

“Which one?” Y/n’s tone now held venom, wanting vengeance and revenge to the one that did this to his twin. 

“The one that I broke the nose of.” His response made Y/n realize, of course, it was not hard to see who he was talking about after all. 

“Lucerys. Of course. Those..bastards.” Y/n truly hated saying that word, he wanted to be close to his nephews, but what they just pulled was not going to be forgotten and forgiven so easily. 

Alicent came over to the twins, giving them concerning glances. Pushing them behind her as she watched Rhaenyra come into the room. The twins held each other’s hands as they waited for what would happen to them. 

“My son has lost an eye!” Alicent exclaimed, gesturing to Aemond who sat in the chair. 

“It was my sons who were attacked, and forced to defend themselves.” Rhaenyra retorted back. “The legitimacy of my son’s birth were put loudly to question.” 

Y/n and Aemond both looked at each other and smirked, they couldn’t help it, everyone who had eyes could see it of course. 

“What did you actually do?” Y/n asked under his breath. 

“Claimed Vhagar. They say I stole her.” Aemond leaned into his forehead against Y/n’s.

“That’s stupid. You can’t steal a dragon, the dragon chooses its rider. Otherwise, I would not be alive talking. Cannibal would have eaten me.” Both of them then tuned out the rest of the conversation. Well, until their mother decided to grab the dagger sitting at their father’s belt and attack their half-sister with it. 

“Where is duty? Where is sacrifice?! It’s trampled under your pretty foot again!” Alicent yelled as her wrist was caught in Rhaenyra’s grip. 

“Exhausting wasn’t it? Hiding under a cloak of your own righteousness. Now they see you as you are..” Rhaenyra said back, struggling with holding the queen back. 

Alicent yelled as she forced her hand with the dagger down, the sound of fabric slicing and dagger went through the room. Rhaenyra staggered backwards, Corlys was behind her and managed to hold her before she was going to fall more. 

Aemond stood up with the help of Y/n, walking over to their mother slowly. 

Seeing that Alicent had cut Rhaenyra, Y/n wanted this to end. Grabbing the dagger from the floor before anyone could notice, and what he did next made everyone gasp in shock.

Sliding the dagger across his right eye, with force, the same thing that Luke did to his brother. The blade dropped to the ground again, this time, with way more blood than the last. Clutching his eye in pain, Y/n turned to look at both parties, blood dripping from his socket.

“Now, we are all even. I took my eye, there is no need for Luke’s.” Y/n spoke sternly.

Alicent looked in horror as another son of hers had lost an eye, now it was two eyes instead of one; and it was all from two of her own children and none from Rhaenyra. 

“Your mistake has caused my other son to take his own eye. Is this what you wanted? More of my children mutilating themselves for your sake?!” Alicent yelled, and only silence followed. 

Y/n was sent to the maester immediately as the eye also needed to be taken out. Unlike his twin however, he screamed through the entire process and held onto Aemond’s hand for dear life. Soon, the same stitches covered the scar over his eye, the opposite of Aemond’s. 

For the years to come, the people of Westeros knew the twins as the single-eyed princes. However, no one tried to get close to them. Or rather, it was the twins themselves who refused. They stayed true to each other rather than to marry some stranger they did not know. 

Aemond had a sapphire in place of his missing eye, while Y/n had a ruby in place of his. 

Two spirits stone cold but the sparks of two stones together burned brightly in between them. 

Two of the biggest dragons in the world by their side. 

No one will ever cross them ever again. 

[ladythornofrivia]

Lady with Teal Eyes || Aemond x Aunt!Hightower Reader (Part Three)

word count:

author’s note: I’m writing the last chapter! Woo!

warnings: incest, cockwarming, teasing, sucking, p in v, rough play, flirting, wholesome moment, jealous aemond, possessive, roughness, mild manhandling, mild degradation, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex, second hand embarrassment, dark content, mentions of su*cide, Aemond being too touchy with his aunt, degradation, humiliation.

summary: Aemond meets his aunt for the first time, and there’s more than meets the eye. (there will be three parts…jk…I’m going to add two more chapters)

Three weeks has passed since you have kept yourself and your affairs in secrecy in the Red Keep. Needless to say, it was evident that you have found peace within yourself. Or rather with the one-eyed prince, who would not stop touching you in all places of your body.

His secret—his own holy sept—spilling each other’s fantasies and interests alike. From night until dawn, everything was accorded.

Each time you spent hours with Alicent and her other Green children in a summer daylight, you felt like a cumbersome and sinister virgin committed a crime to your precious sex. Thankfully Gwayne and Criston or the Cargyll twin, even Harold weren’t there to witness the guilt and arousal you’re trying to hide from a tempted imagination.

In the midst of vipers and ambitious alike, you found solace of writing the accounts on your diary. Entries on the pages filled with thoughts—daily and private—one which you know more than anyone else.

The prayers of the Faith of the Seven has been all but a fever dream. What was the religion’s purpose other than a guidance to those who are lost? You were lost once, but no doubt that your prayers were ever answered. You prayed to the Gods that you wanted to know your origins, of how you came to be as the lady with teal eyes, a daughter of Otto Hightower, but the Gods never gave, so you surrendered your faith at the age of seven, but masking it, pretending to be faithful in order to persuade your father and the Hightowers to achieve their good side was nothing more than an act.

And useless, more like.

An illness poisoned in your old wounds again. What does guidance do other than supplanted the seed of greed, selfishness and lies and pettiness to save themselves from others while the innocence tainted like a wounded womb?

Otto was nothing more than a heartless man served to the likes of his greed for the Iron Throne, the Red Keep, and above all, to Alicent.

Has he accepted you like he does to Alicent, there would be no consequences of silent hostility between two factions and conflict within.

Souls like them are already tainted.

But in a way, you’re glad; being in the same room as Otto would be as consequentially stupid as an untrained eye.

In the latest days in King’s Landing, your adoration for the city has grown less, but the sea and the gardens are the only things that could make you relish the taste of small life.

Aemond had taken you to the gardens, of course, and there you raced with pearly silks of ruffled gown and pearls adorned the neckline, hair fumbled in the wind as you looked back at the one-eyed prince with a gleaming smile.

Thin rays of light cascaded down on your winsome manes and the sparkles of your pearl gown.

On the midst of your white-pearl, there’s a necklace, adorned in large white pearls and a sapphire on the center. Aemond gave you a gift before the day of your nameday.

You were not a type of noble who celebrates nameday, especially if you consider yourself to be in a lower rank in comparison to Queen Alicent or the Targaryens.

Oddly, it has been tranquil since the day you arrived King’s Landing, but the days where you spent your days in your room, the gardens and library, as if nothing special occurred. That is until Aemond caught a certain subjects that caught your eye.

But Aemond is more fascinated with your enamored beauty gleaming like a flower blossoming into the sun and wind.

His hands never stopped roaming to your body.

“We’re in the gardens, my prince,” you reminded, giggling.

Aemond hummed as he plunged a kiss and undo his breeches, but before he does, an attendant arrived and announced that Alicent wanted a discussion with Aemond. With loving eye, Aemond bid his goodbyes and left, and within each breath you drew, it leaves you wanting more.

Each day, you and Aemond spent days into each other’s company, but it wasn’t enough. There are times at night is where the thrill accelerated. Nights dawned with passion and blood engulfed with desire.

Aemond thought of no consequences as he pounded his long cock into you—bed creaking as the skin slapped with his.

“My sweet, my love, my muse,” he said, rasping, his head threw back, drawing a feral growl, hips throbbed and rushed. His mind reeled to a thought of you, healthy and glowing with a rounded belly. He wanted to touch you, but in a public, Aemond would be in jeopardy, but since he’s the second son of the ill king, Aemond laid his hand on your thigh, brushing his whole palm, rising and falling motion, no care for consequences.

He could heard your breath hitched, but kept your composure—entertained your guests and family members. Surely it appears friendly and cordial on the outside, but underneath the table was nothing more than a filthy naughtiness arising from the stroke of his hand. His young and rugged, cold hands. You loved his cold hands. He recalled of your face flushed and in heat. Although he preferred heat, the dragon prince reconsidered it on making his hands cold, to pinch and flick your clit and pushing his lithe fingers in your warmth sounds as tempting and pinched the your taut nipples.

The curtains on your four-post bed swayed, and you found yourself moaning aloud, but his hand covered your mouth. His body pressed against yours and his mouth leaned onto your ear.

“You’re taking my large cock so well, my sweet princess,” he told you. “But you must be quiet for me. Can you do that?”

You nodded.

And his thrusts were twice as powerful, until he spilled every last drop of his semen into your soaked walls, and sweat on your flesh cooled from a plundering breeze.

“My good princess.”

Gevie, he thought, as he watched your sleeping body, your tangled locks, and your face leaning on his neckline for warmth, arms enveloping around his lean frame.

~~~

There are nights where you cannot sleep well. Nights about your dreams terrorizing you. The screams of a woman, calling out to you. Then you saw Alicent. Then your father; Otto screamed at you; His eyes were glowing in the dark, telling you how much of a disappointment you are and how everything wrong in his life, the burdens fell onto your shoulders.

Rumors of you, a mythical creature hissed in the dark. Until you found yourself on a high tower, falling, drowning, then nothing…

You woke up crying, and not long, Aemond awoke with concern, and held you in his arms, whispering sweet words into your ears, High Valyrian, telling you that there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.

You have never heard of High Valyrian before. His voice is music to her ears, and found her gaze locked to his as you both initiated a long feverish kiss. It was the first time that you felt at peace, where you didn’t need to cry on your pillow.

“I love you,” you told him.

“I love you more, my sweet.” He kissed atop of your head.

Dreams have subsided but it didn’t mean it went away completely. Something was calling out to you. The one-eyed prince remedied with his presence.

And for that, you weren’t in fear of the dreams, of the dark.

As of late, the shared passion between you and Aemond has come to a stop. You awaited him in nightly hours and yet the cold air swept in for an one-eyed prince to come and rescue you.

But he never did.

Could something happen to him? You wondered what was the cause. And you hadn’t known, that is until Aemond stormed into your royal apartments, fuming of the announcement of your betrothal to the Martell.

“I command you not to go,” he forewarned.

Confused, you said, “What are you talking about?”

Aemond prowled, fists clenching, his brows furrowed. “You’re marrying a Martell. You’ll be sent away to Dorne, without ever so telling me. What causes you to drive yourself further from my sight, my love?”

You gulped. “No one ever informed me of the marriage!”

His one eye beamed with glare. “I overheard that you’ll be wedded off soon.”

“I didn’t know of this. I didn’t know any of this!” you protested. “I have never done any errors, Aemond. I will never give you any reason to hurt you.”

Aemond’s hands clutched your arms, near to your shoulders. His knees bent and dropped down, and his head bowed and fell down onto your lap. “So…no one told you?” he said, his voice muffled.

“No one told me,” you said gently. “I’ve been in my apartment to repair the new dress you gifted me.”

“Grandsire told me so.”

You heart stopped.

“He agreed to the terms to Dorne, to win their favor.”

You felt numb at the moment.

“My father,” he bitterly said, “wanted alliance with Dorne for some time, but due to his illness, he was powerless. His mind already rotten, as you saw him before.”

“I have.”

“Why in the Seven Hells my grandsire do such a thing?”

“And you thought I was betraying you? You think I would go behind your back and agree to the terms that no one informed me of? I spent my days on my duties, waiting for you to come back. I tried to find you everywhere in the Red Keep, and nothing, you were nowhere to found. What am I wasting my time for, then?”

Aemond looked up with his good eye gleaming. “I apologize, my lady. You’re the woman I want.”

Your eyes glazed in hot tears; his hands brushed the sides of your waist, his forehead leaned against your stomach.

“I must speak to Alicent of this matter.” Then you got up and left.

But, instead of seeing Alicent, Otto was present before your eyes at Alicent’s apartments. Your chest tightened at the sound of his voice.

The Lord Hand awaited.

You took a step forward.

“Father,” you began, wondering if he’s willing to change his way.

You guessed it wrong.

“I never thought I took you for a fool,” he began. “Coupling with a one-eyed prince for whatever how long, and you decided to act immoral ways against the Faith of the Seven. You are a disgrace to House Hightower. Harlot as your mother ever was. What will Alicent ever think of you, my sweet child?”

But you heard the story wrong; there are rumors years back that your father, the Lord Hand, had an affair with a woman after Alicent’s mother has passed—when Alicent was just an toddler. As much as he grieves for his late wife, he needed someone to warm his heart, but the result began clear when it’s only temporary. And you don’t recall whether Otto treated you fairly.

“Alicent may not know this, but I do know. These walls have eyes, my dear girl. And if you ever lay a hand on any other members of the court, you’ll be sentenced mercifully to death.”

His soft tone never caused a shiver down your spine.

“You’re nothing but an enigma to my existence. You have soiled yourself, soiled my name,” he continued. “You must pray for forgiveness, and your desirable sins will be set free.”

“Where’s my mother?” is all you said.

Otto silenced.

“Where is she?”

Then a small smile crept upward on his lip. “You’ll never meet her. Perhaps you will, if you rid of yourself, I care not. We Hightowers thrive and survive, and you will not; you will rot to despair.”

Alicent’s children will reign Seven Kingdoms, and you will not.

For all these years, you have yearned affection and acceptance was nothing more than a pathetic attempt to injure your pride.

This was all you needed to hear from Otto—the ugly truth.

The comforting lie is just as ugly, like a gown wore on a rotten corpse.

“The Martells will attend here at the Red Keep. Best sure to be on your good behavior. Or you will pay the price by the repent for your existence.”

Maybe the comfort offering from the dead and living can be as painful.

~~~

At dinner, with the Martells involved, you shot a benign smile at the prince, but Aemond is saddened by the outcome. But in the midst of a chatter, you chose to stay silent and play an act of a nice lady. Smiling and nodding is all you could do. But on the inside, you want to thrash everything and burn the lives of those who wrong you.

But you’re only a lady, not Visenya Targaryen.

The Martell prince has been extended his kindness to you, but, afar, unbeknownst to you, Aemond paid attention to you. The glistened of your eyes—your teal eyes—dwindled and empty. And your smile is just as coiled and unnaturally unnerving. While you’re unseen to everybody else, only Aemond’s eye to you are well-known and heard.

No matter how much you tried to look up and glance another’s person eyes, the soul of your happiness is nowhere to be seen.

He has never seen you like this, aside from the tears and pain you have shared. Knowing why, Otto had the upper hand. A child-like state you shared with Aemond has stiffened to adulthood.

It was him, and Aemond knows it so. Otto was just as calculatingly obvious. Aemond urged to take you away and fled to the Free Cities, but his duty, he cannot afford to make a ruckus mistake like last time. Not that he’s ashamed of jabbing his grandsire at supper duration of Viserys’s nameday—he felt proud, but to his own end, his own calculation should’ve been more precise and less obvious.

The Martell prince offered you to take his hand for a night stroll, but you lead yourself back to your room, by excusing yourself.

Not long after, while the guests and his family are occupied by the Martells, Aemond slipped past them and met you back in your room, tackling you with a kiss and an embrace, leaving no breath in your chest.

Within your kiss, you cried, but Aemond had other plans on taking you back, to remedy his careless encounter he had with you this morning.

He took and soiled you again on your pristine bed.

“My father will have me killed if we keep doing this,” you warned him, stroking his glossy hair.

“I shall feed them to my dragon—of those who wronged us, if it comes to that. I care not of my grandsire,” he replied. “He’s as stupid as a boar.”

“What shall I do?”

“Let us make our vows to the Godswood,” he suggested, rather bluntly and more urgent; urgent because his anger was rising against of his grandsire.

“He knows about us, my dear nephew,” you said, tears trickled.

His thumb swiped your tear aside.

“We’ll find a way.” Aemond kissed your head, then onto your lips, after a prolonged of a ragged breath settled down from a torrid consummation, thinking about how he should’ve eaten you at the feast, your legs open and spread across the table, but he shall do that the next time someone tries to outsmart him, even if it’s a family member.

And there, you shared intimacy with a prince once more.

For now, assurance is all you needed.

~~~

In the midst of foggy, cold evening, with you asleep, Aemond managed to find the Martell prince and slaughtered him, tossed him at the highest tower of Red Keep.

The people in King’s Landing will take the Martell’s death as a suicide, but within the eyes of the Gods of Old and New, they knew that the one-eyed prince ended the Dornish prince.

~~~

The next day, the bond between you and Aemond mended and resumed, never minding of the misunderstanding, in your ivory gown with embroidered white roses and teal and green jewels sleeved your shoulders as Aemond in his violet and gold attire. You and Aemond are happy; sent to each other’s arms and the kiss became ardent. The love in between the curtained trees and shadows and thin ray of lights. You felt lighter, and so does he. But the struggles between politics and greedy desires from the people won’t end. But the one-eyed prince beg to differ.

Taglist: @toodlesxcuddles @kittendoll05 @omgsuperstarg @xcharlottemikaelsonx @paninisstuff @danika1994 @angeljcca @marvelescvpe @kukulyarva @namelesslosers @heavenly1927 @snh96 @fandom-maniac-anime @httpsmenace @velunis @nananeptune @domithebomi @moonseye @faesspace @rxixo31 @tm-starr @xinthia19 @popsycles @halsteadstyles @lothiriel9 @liannafae @ammo23 @blackswxnn @buccini555 @watercolorskyy @taangie @qardasngan @justyelena @jolixtreesunn @runekisses @thought--bubble @remuslupinwife1 @evergreen9083 @foggypeacestarlight @dixie-elocin @galactict3a @momowhoo @saturnssrings @dani5216 @kimsubin05 @blackgaladriel @valeskafics @theboleyngirlx @elaratyrell @mylosz0

[daemonsdivorcerock]

THE HEIR WHO NEVER WAS || d.Targaryen

IN WHICH: a decade after the two rogues of house targaryen run away, they live a content life in pentos until they are invited to laena velaryon’s funeral on driftmark and are forced to reunite with their dysfunctional family.

REQUESTED: yes/no

PAIRING: daemon targaryen x fem!reader

AUTHOR’S NOTES: sequel to “taming of the shrew”. i advise that you read that first. also reader is described as having silver hair. meraxes, the dragon of the first rhaenys targaryen, is alive for selfish reasons/j. sorry if this is shit.

WARNINGS: incest (bucket loads), westerosi shenanigans, mentions of death, childbirth, children, daemon being daemon, otto hightower, maiming/bodily injury, angst, fighting, dysfunctional family, targaryen shit etc

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

“THAT’S IT, PRINCESS, ONE MORE PUSH!” the young Pentosi midwife joyfully encourage, crouching at the end of a double bed, the white sheets tarnished with the crimson blood of the Heir Who Never Was.

(Name) panted, chest heaving. Sweat clung to her brow, eyebrows knitted, eyes closed and nose scrunched as her features contorted with pain. Her hands were occupied. One gripping Daemon’s alarmingly pale one in a vice-grip and the other holding her swollen baby bump.

“I AM PUSHING YOU CHILD-LOOKING CUNT!” (Name) shrieked hysterically. Daemon covered his mouth in a failed attempt to conceal his snicker, “DAEMON, SHUT THE FUCK UP! THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT! YOU ARE NOT BEDDING ME EVER AGAIN, YOU STROPPY SMALL-COCKED GIT!”

The room was soon filled with the loud set of shrieks that the whole castle could here. (Name) began to son happily as Daemon kissed her sweaty brow. “A boy, my Princess,” the midwife happily said, holding the naked, squirming, blood-stained babe in her arms.

“It is all over now, my shrew,” Daemon softy whispered, kissing her temple lovingly, “The babe is safe. He is healthy. He is kicking like a goat. Our son,”.

Minutes later, the Rogue Prince and the Shrew of King’s Landing sat on the bed, doting on their new son. The sound of subtle whispers, odd for their daughters, came from the corridor. The door softly opened, revealing their brood of silver-haired daughters in tow with a servant, Elaine.

“Come here, girls,” (Name) beckoned, smiling happily at her daughters, “Come and meet your younger brother,”.

Their eldest, Daenerys, was mature for an almost eleven-year-old and led her younger sisters. After an encounter in a brothel in the weeks leading up to Rhaenyra’s wedding to Laenor Velaryon, (Name) refused the Moon Tea from the Grand Maester and she hadn’t regretted it.

Daenerys was the eldest of now six children. Aemma, Rhaenys, Alyssa and Rhaella followed their eldest sister. “Girls, this is your brother,” Daemon said, holding three-year-old Rhaella on his lap, whilst five-year-old Alyssa climbed onto the bed with the help of nine-year-old Rhaenys.

Seven-year-old Aemma sat closest to (Name), doting on her brother. “This is Baelon,” (Name) told the girls, gesturing to the slumbering babe in her arms, fondling smiling at the sleeping baby boy.

The girls gushed over their new brother, each getting a turn to gently hold the babe. For none of them knew what the future held for them in the days coming.

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

Laena Velaryon was dead. Set herself aflame after failing to give birth. The funeral was in to be held on Driftmark, as she had wanted. She’d left behind her husband, Ser Harwin Strong, and their twin daughters, Baela and Rhaena.

The funeral was teemed with tension and was a sombre occasion as Laena’s stone coffin was lowered into the sea. Laena’s mother Rhaenys looked devastated. Ten years it’d been since (Name) had seen her family. And much had occurred in ten years.

Alicent had bore her father two more sons, Aemond and Daeron. Rhaenyra had bore three sons, Jacaerys, Lucerys and the infant Joffrey, who were in no method possible Laenor’s biological children and had an, as Daemon put it, “entirely coincidental and unmarked resemblance to the Commander of the City Watch”.

After the initial funeral procedures, (Name) had noticed how the girls had made Baela and Rhaena smile a little and how her daughter Rhaenys had taken a shining to Aemond. Daenerys and Aemma were in deep conversation with Helaena. The interactions made her smile.

The girls had yet to meet their cousins, Jace, Luke and Joffrey. Or their aunt, Rhaenyra. Rhaella clung onto (Name)’s skirts, hiding behind the thick, black velvet of the dress’ material.

Baelon was a heavy sleeper, currently residing in his mother’s arms, his chest rising and falling with each breath he took and gave. She’d reunited with her cousins, Rhaenys and Corlys Velaryon, offering her sympathies for what happened to Laena.

As children and teenagers, (Name) had shared a sweet friendship with Laena, comforting her after the events at the Heir’s Tournament all those years before. They’d danced at the celebrations for Laenor and Rhaenyra’s wedding ceremony.

Her father looked terrible. His hair had thinned and he looked frankly horrible. Yet, he somehow gave his eldest daughter a smile. “(Name),” Viserys spoke. His voice sounded heavy as if it pained him to utter the word, “It is…good to you, my daughter,”.

(Name) gave him a half-curtsey, careful not to wake Baelon. “As it is equally good to see you, father,” she spoke, half-smiling, “Ten years. It certainly has been a long time,”.

Daenerys, Rhaenys, Aemma, Alyssa and Rhaella trailed behind their rogue of a father. “Brother,” Daemon greeted, “Time hasn’t been too kind on you,”.

(Name) thought he’d be upset but Viserys laughed slightly at Daemon’s comment. “These are your granddaughters,” (Name) said, “Daenerys, she is ten. Rhaenys is nine. Aemma is seven. Alyssa is five. Rhaella is three,”.

Viserys fondly smiled at each of his granddaughters. “They have their mother’s beauty,” the King mentioned. (Name) noticed how he’d visibly tensed at hearing Aemma and Alyssa’s names but smiled, “Is this my grandson, who cried a little during the precessions?”.

Daemon smirked. “His name is Baelon,” he casually mentioned, causing the king to visibly tense again, “After Father. He was born but three weeks ago,”.

“That was around the same time as when Joffrey was born,” a voice chimed in. Rhaenyra, with her sons,“Sister. Uncle. It is good to see you both again. And meet my nieces and nephew,”.

(Name) was elder than Rhaenyra by a year. Their relationship soured when Rhaenyra was named the heir to the Iron Throne, despite (Name) being Viserys’ eldest child. “Sister,” she smiled, “Those must be my nephews. Jace, Luke and…Joffrey, he’s inside, is he not? They will be good knights, so…Strong,”.

Viserys’ face blanched. Rhaenyra glared whilst the boys looked confused. “Do not take is as an insult, boys,” (Name) spoke in a manner that bordered on mocking, “It is good to be Strong, is it not, sister?”.

Daemon began to snicker. (Name) handed Baelon to Viserys, who held him in his remaining arm. (Name) sharply elbowed Daemon in the ribs, causing him to spill his cup of wine slightly.

Rhaenyra huffed, walking away to speak to Laenor. Luke followed Rhaenyra suit. Jace lingered. “Aunt,” he asked, catching (Name)’s attention, “May I ask you something?”.

“Of course, dear boy,” (Name) spoke, smiling at the brunette boy, “You may ask me whatever you wish,”

“Mother will not be honest with me about this matter…” Jace spoke, nervously fiddling with his fingers, “Am I a…bastard? Is Ser Harwin my father?”.

(Name)’s eyes widened in horror. Was Rhaenyra truly planning to put a bastard on the Iron Throne? She always knew her father was metaphorically blind, but not this blind. She was blatantly aware of her father’s favouritism to Rhaenyra. But she never knew it was this bad.

“Yes,” she spoke quietly, “I cannot believe your mother is not being honest about this to you. Harwin Strong is your father. Laenor is not your father. Nor is he Luke or Joffrey’s father. I am so sorry, dear boy,”.

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

Earlier in the day, whilst Daemon was holding Baelon, (Name) found herself skulking around in black velvet after Laena’s casket had been lowered into the ocean.

“Hand turns loom…” the dreamlike voice of her younger sister, Helaena Targaryen, uttered, letting a spider crawl across the skin of her hand, “Spool of Red…Spool of Black…dragons of flesh…weaving dragons of thread,”.

(Name) crouched next to Helaena. “Sister,” Helaena greeted, smiling at her older sister, “May I tell you something?”.

The older woman smiled at her younger sister. “Of course, Hel,” (Name) spoke, “Anything,”.

As an infant, Helaena was restless and cried with her whole being unless she was held by (Name). “I have…strange dreams,” Helaena confessed, “And those dreams…become real as time goes on…do you think that is normal?”.

(Name) placed a hand on Helaena’s shoulder. “My dear Helaena,” she spoke, catching Helaena’s attention from the spider, “It is. You see…many years ago, before the fall of Old Valyria, our ancestor, Daenys, had a dream. She dreamed of the fall of Old Valyria two and ten years before it actually happened,”.

Helaena’s eyes widened, beckoning her sister to continue. “As Targaryens, we are known for our ability to ride dragons. Some Targaryens had the ability to dream of the future. Dragon Dreamers. I am a Dreamer, just like you. My sister, don’t ever let Aegon make you feel inferior without your consent. You are a marvel,”

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

The sun was barely setting when she discovered a horrific sight. Otto Hightower, who’d been reinstated as Hand of the King, was roughing up Aegon, who was half-drunk and slumped against the wall.

“Just what do you think you’re doing, Lord Hand?” (Name) spoke, glaring at hole into Otto Hightower’s soul. Her voice had a frightening steeliness to it.

Otto bowed. She truly resented Otto, as a man and as Hand of the King. “Princess,” he greeted, “There is nothing to see here. I suggest you rejoin Prince Daemon inside,”.

She scoffed. “I would rather feed myself to Meraxes than listen to a word you have to say,” (Name) spat, folding her arms, “I know a few dragons who would gladly set you alight, akin to a torch. Caraxes, Meraxes, Vermithor and Silverwing, for instance,”.

Otto visibly tensed. He bowed and walked past her. “Sister,” Aegon drunkenly slurred, as (Name) heaved teenager up from the ground, “-Nice to see you again! I missed you!”.

“I missed you too, Egg,” (Name) smiled to the boy, placing his arm across her shoulders for support and guiding him up the stairs. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed, sweet Prince,”.

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

It was the late evening when (Name) had been approached. The events following Laena’s funeral had been drastic. Young Aemond had claimed Vhagar as his mount, causing a fight between him, Jace, Luke, Daenerys, Rhaenys, Aemma, Baela and Rhaena.

It was an honest accident when Daenerys maimed Aemond and caused him to lose and eye. Alicent understood that. What she did not understand was that it was in defence of Jace and Luke’s legitimacy.

It’d blown up into a full-blown fight between Rhaenyra and Alicent, one of which had come at the other with a Valyrian Steel Dagger belonging to Aegon the Conqueror. (Name) had stepped in and gotten cut across the bridge of her nose.

There was a sharp knock at the door, catching both the attentions of the Rogue Prince and the Shrew of King’s Landing. “Enter,” (Name) spoke. The doors opened, revealing the visage of Otto Hightower.

Daemon blanched. “Lord Hand,” he bitterly spoke, “Have you come to darken our door for the ordeal earlier?”.

Otto sent a steely glare Daemon’s way, causing the Rogue Prince to mockingly smirk at him. “I have not, Daemon,” Otto spoke. Alicent stood behind him, guiltily staring at (Name), “I have come to speak to Princess (Name),”.

This caught (Name)’s attention, who was rocking Baelon softly in her arms, their daughters had since retired to the guest chambers with Baela and Rhaena hours prior. “Speak plainly, Lord Hand,” (Name) commanded coolly, briefly making eye contact with Ser Criston Cole, “What brings to you my chambers at this time of night?”.

“I believe we are…aligned,” Otto mused, adjusting the pin on his emerald-coloured lapel, making Daemon scoff, “In our beliefs in regards to the legitimacy of Princess Rhaenyra’s sons and the line of succession,”.

He was putting salt into the all the right wounds. (Name) was still evidently bitter about her younger sister being named heir over her and her plans to put her bastard son on the throne.

“My father is a fool,” (Name) confessed, softly stroking Baelon’s silver-coloured tufts of hair, “Nothing would change that. He is blind to the truth. Rhaenyra is his favourite child and nobody can deny that. He cannot accept the truth that Jace, Luke and Joffrey are bastards,”.

Otto smirked. “What if it did not have to be that way?” Alicent asked. This made (Name) glance at her stepmother, “What if another were to inherit the throne after the King’s passing?”.

“How would you like to be Queen, (Name)?” The Hand of the King quickly asked, making (Name) glance at Daemon, holding Baelon closer to her chest.

[hazashiovo]

A part 2 for Imagine loving Aemond and when you find out he loves another you leave the castle? 🙏🏼😭

Second part of Aemond loving another!

Aemond Targaryen x (dead)reader

Angst🥲

Once the sun rises the sky in the morning,Caraxes lands in kings landing with his owner holding your dead lifeless body.

This happened right after the battle. The Black's won this fight so he took the liberty to bring you back to king's landing himself.

Blood soaking your torso trough your armor, dirty hair and bruised body,must be a sight for the Greens. It's a shame ,he never wanted you to die in this war,the most undeserving of this and as he would say. But the fate considered other wise,and if it was your wish to die a warrior than so be it.

His dragon lands right in front of the castle ,making a grand entrance for all the folks in kings landing,he's pretty sure some guards have shit their pants.

Daemon gets down of his dragon,you in his arms. The people around him were quiet,dead quiet, staring at the girl's lifeless body. He walks straight to entry,no guard daring to try to stop him when Caraxes was ready to flame them up and roast them nicely. He smiled at that taught.

The way he was walking trough the castle like it was his was amusing,no word was said to him.

The throne room door opens , a scared guard making place for the Rogue prince.

And there he is ,Daemon entering. In all his glory ,but not alone.

Their eyes lie on you. Alicent pushed by the council, hurrying to your side. A heartbroken expression on her face,she just lost her child...her precious little girl. Daemon just watched. He couldn't really hear what Alicent was saying trough sobs .

He lied you down slowly,looking around the room. Aemond wasn't there. Neither was Aegon.

"This is on you. You started this Alicent." He looked down on her,she didn't even bother looking up. Your higher body now laid in her lap as she ran her hand trough your dirty and short hair. How could she allow this to happen? Why did you leave her ? Those were the most frequent phrases that roamed in her mind.

"Do you have a death wish Daemon?" Daemon's eyes meet Otto's. The old man looked like he was about to jump him. Daemon only chuckled.

"I don't,but she did."he looks at Otto amused, he could kill the man so easily.

Otto doesn't soften his gaze ,only glaring at the prince. The words just passing by Otto.

Only then the queen regent turned her eyes to Daemon. Pure hatred adorned her sad eyes.

"Don't you dare speak of my daughter like that!" Her voice laced with grimace,teary eyes shooting daggers at the prince.

Daemon decided that he no longer found interest in this place and took his leave. "She may have died at my hand,but you were the reason she gave her life away." And with that he took his leave. Minutes later Caraxes flew away from king's landing, returning to dragon stone.

Otto ordered the guards to take you away,but Alicent just wouldn't have it. She refused to leave your side. She refused to believe you truly were gone...her baby,her love...

Her father tried talking with her ,to leave the masters clean you,but she just wouldn't budge.

The door opens once again,Aemond entering trough it.

He saw Caraxes leave , the prince first taught that his uncle was there to cause trouble,but once he saw your dead body in your poor mother's lap...he didn't know how to react. How did this happen?

He's gonna kill his uncle for this. Aemond took slow steps to your side,unable to actually process this is you.

You looked so different than the last time he saw you.

"H-how did this happen?"are the first words he says ,voice caught in his throat as he kneels next to you. Reluctantly,a hand caressed your face. So cold,he taught, you used to be so warm and full of life,now only a shell of who you were lies in front of him.

He can't cry,not a tear. Aemond is barely even processing his sister is dead,all he thinks about is how he wants to murder his uncle for what he had done, no thinking for even a second that this... situation is his fault. No,it's his uncle's fault. He murdered you in cold blood on the battlefield.

Alicent remains quiet,the sorrow in her heart heavy as a Boulder.

"If it wasn't for your whore,she would still be alive." Otto breaks the silence, rubbing his hands on his temples. "Do not bring her in any of this!" Aemonds angry voice barked back,turning his gaze to his grandfather as he gets up , standing straight in front of him.

"Stupid child,do you even think before you act? You abandoned your wife for a bastard. Simple as that." He sighs,looking tired of all of this. His eyes fall on his daughter, she stoped crying , remaining at your side.

"Not only did you start this war,you also killed your sister." Otto spoke as he left the throne room,leaving just the two and the body of his former wife and sister.

His eyes fall to his mother,she looks broken. Aemond clenched his jaw,was this really all on him? Was he the reason his sister no longer breaths?

.

.

.

Short time passed, and today was the day Aemond will see for the last time his dear sister. His wife.

Your body lies on the cold stone, dressed in a beautiful dress, of a color you used to love, your hair is cleaner ,and no more wounds are visible on your body.

You look like an angel,was what your mother whispered to you before she left the stone you lie on.

Aemond calls out to his dragon,to Vhagar.

"I am so sorry for all the sorrow I caused you,my love" his hands cup your face,as he plants one last kiss on your could lips. "Rest now,you fought well. I will avange you."

Your brother backs away.

"Dracarys! Vhagar. " He shouts at the old war dragon,and with that your body is engulfed in flames. A proper Targaryen funeral.

Aemond doesn't waste any more time to returning to the castle,the sight of you like this makes him feel guilty.

Once he returns to his room,he sees Alys sitting on his bed, belly heavy.

He doesn't know what to say to her. The prince fils the cup with wine,hoping to ease his mind.

Hand gently hug his waist,her head leans on his shoulder. "It's going to be okay. I'm here." Her voice isn't like yours,no, it's so different than yours... He brings the cup to his lips drinking half of it.

"It's not going to be okay ,Alys. It's not."he pushes himself out of her hug. She doesn't have the same touch at you.

Aemond sits down on the couch,looking at the burning flames of the fire. He takes another of his wine.

If he could turn back the time...he would have you by his side now. How could he just let you go? Stupid boy,just like his grandfather said.

He brought his mother pain...why would he ever do that? Aemond takes another,and another drink of the cup, until the bottle of wine is now only half full.

Alys lays her hands on his shoulders, massaging them softly.

"She's gone, Aemond." He winces at those words, griping the cup tightly. "But I am right here. I am here for you, because you brought me here." The woman whispers in his ear,one hand playing with his white straight hair. He was a mess.

"I don't want you.."his voice speaks quietly,a bit slurry. The wine seeming to fuel him. "I want her ,and she's gone." The widowed man runs a hand trough his hair,taking out the hair and letting it lose. His hair cups his face perfectly,in the light of the fire.

Alys clicks her tongue anoyed with his answer,leaving his side and moving to the window. He didn't look at her ,he was staring at the fire. It reminded him so much of you.

The fire burns like it used to burn in your heart,with that desire for everything. A drop of something wet fell on his hand that was laying in his lap. Was he...crying? And so with that came more. She just watched as he crumbled.

He missed your passion,your love for him... Gods he missed it all.

How could he let you leave ? How could he betray you like that?

From the corner of his eye ,he sees Alys. The moonlight shining on her face. "Get out." He manages to order.

Without any words spoken, Alys leaves his chambers.

Once she's gone, he crumbles , realization finaly hitting him.

It wasn't Daemon who killed you. It was him,he was the one who pushed you to your death.

.

.

.

finally done with this one. Hope you like it 💋💋

[dearsnow]

Hello!

Could I request a Jon Snow x female reader, where she is a seamstress for the Stark family and they become friends and talk during her visits to Winterfell and slowly become lovers?

A PATCHWORK OF BLOOD AND BATTLES

- you are a fighter, and so seems to be the needle stuck in your thumb. and, of course, the man that unintentionally put it there (jon snow x fem!seamstress!reader ⚠️ mentions of blood and a needle-based injury).

word count: 1058

a/n - this took absolutely forever to finish i’m so sorry 😭 i think this request was from literal months ago, but here you are!! i love this concept so much, i hope you don’t mind my artistic liberties :)

You have fought for everything in your life. For your right to simply exist in the same world as the nobles, for your trade, and most importantly, you have fought for yourself. You have climbed the ranks of peasantry with chipped nails and a needle, asking for more and getting less. Now, you have won. At least, you have won as much as the earth beneath your feet will allow you to win. You are a seamstress for one of the most prominent families in Westeros, and as you patch a hole in a fancy evening dress, you can’t help but smile.

The night is dark, but you are not unfamiliar with the flicker of a candle flame. Snow falls lightly outside, and the wind rustles your hair as it sneaks through your open window. As you thread your needle through the lacy fabric, your door slams open.

Your eyes widen as the needle between your fingers is driven straight into your thumb, sending a shooting pain through your entire hand. You let out a sharp yelp, clutching your injury. Who in the gods’ good name was slamming doors at this hour? And why the hell didn’t they warn you?

The thumb clenched between your hand is throbbing and dripping red around the needle still stuck in the middle of it. You look up at the man who startled you, eyes burning with distaste.

It’s him. Lord Stark’s bastard child, the one that sits alone at feasts. And the one that comes to you with sword slashes in his vests.

“May I help you?” You ask. Your finger is still in burning hot pain.

In truth, you have grown to like him. He is also someone who has fought for his status, though his came with a lot more cushion. You recognize the burn in him, the drive that your own eyes carry. He will do great things someday; you’re sure of it.

He looks at you like your hand is made of dragonfire. “Sorry.”

You press your lips into a thin line. You need to keep him on your good side if you wish to keep your job.

You tuck your hand behind your back, hoping he just drops off whatever garment he needs repaired and leaves you to nurse your sores. Unluckily for you, he is a gentleman.

He moves to kneel beside you, dark curls almost glowing in the dim lighting. He looks positively angelic as he reaches for your hand.

“My lord?”

“Allow me to help.” He utters, voice as soft as the wind. He is an honorable man, you cannot deny it. You have seen him in the courtyards during your visits to the castle. He is always improving and always helping others do the same. He gets it from his father, you assume.

You comply with his urges, slightly in fear that you will lose your position if you do not. That worry is always in the back of your head. Will sewing this neckline a millimeter too short cost you your life? Is this cuff good enough for Lady Stark? Are you up to the task? Your thoughts almost consume you long enough to not notice Jon Snow pulling the needle out of your finger.

Almost. You feel a sharp sting of pain, but you bite your tongue. He swiftly wraps the undershirt in his hand around yours. For a brief moment, his rough hands brush the tip of your pinky finger. You have never felt anything so electrifying.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up like the angels have come for your body at long last. When he pulls away, your thumb shouts with new pain, but all you can focus on is the memory of his hand. You shake your head.

“Shall I call the maester?” He asks, ever the responsible one. You wave your good hand.

“I will be alright, my lord. I will wash and patch your shirt, if you wish.” You don’t exactly love the idea of taking the pressure off of your wound, but you must be willing to sacrifice your own comfort in this moment to assure your future.

He stands, and an owl outside hoots. His eyes flicker to the window, then back down to you. “Don’t worry about it. Keep the thing.”

This shocks you. It shouldn’t, but it does. He is being kind to you. For the first time in a long while, someone is being kind to you.

“I mustn’t, my lord.” You speak, hesitantly standing up next to him.

“It’s no trouble. I insist.” His voice is smooth, and the sound tickles your ears. You think you could hear him speak all night if you ever had the opportunity. Something in you wishes you did.

You nod slowly. It would be rude to further refuse it. That’s what you tell yourself, at least. You hope it is not the fact that you suddenly hope your finger never stops bleeding.

Jon turns to leave, exiting just as swiftly as he had come. You clutch his shirt, heart beating wildly in disbelief of what just happened. In that moment, you suddenly decide that you have another thing to fight for.

Gods, did you fight for it. You took every opportunity to see him, and it worked like a well-oiled hinge. From patching more sword slashes to custom-tailoring a pair of riding pants, you were able to take any of his sewing work off of your coworkers’ hands. And through that, you began to learn why exactly he was fighting.

He often sat in your quarters while you worked, and you were beyond glad for the company. Eventually, he began to open up as beautifully as a flower in spring.

He was neglected and outright hated by Lady Stark, as he was the bane of her married life. He wishes to take the black and become a watcher of the wall. Most importantly, he does everything possible to maintain what little honor he has in his family.

Like you, he is a fighter.

Sometimes, in the quiet night, words spill from his mouth like he has never held them back. You do the same. And every once in a while, very softly, he takes your hands in his larger ones and whispers that he will fight only for you.

comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!!

Taglist: @lovelyliliya @the-jess-life @hopelesswritergall @watercolorskyy @cecespizza01

[cdragons]

❄︎ House Stark & Spicy Food ❄︎ - w/ spicy loving reader

Cries if there's too much pepper:

All of them, Sansa and Robb - these two will actually die if they have the slightest sense of heat to any food they try. Like their hair, they get it from their mother.

Robb will try so hard to pretend that he has any spice tolerance...he doesn't...he REALLY doesn't

This boy wants to impress you so badly while also dying and you are not being very helpful bc you keep laughing at how red his face gets

You didn't even put that much in, it was barely a dash of cayenne or one jalapeno seed and he will DIE

If you ever try to put spice in his dishes, he will look at you with the biggest look of betrayal

Redding Wedding what? Nope, the real, most unforgivable act of treason against this King of the North was putting a ghost pepper in his stew after he pissed you off and drinking all his water to make sure that there wasn't any left near him.

Are the two of you married? Does not matter - off to the dungeons with you.

Okay, not really, but he will be seriously pissed and have a huge pouty face for the rest of the week.

He feels even more betrayed when he sees Grey Wind sleeping next to you after you put the pepper in his food.

"Are you on my side or hers?" - Grey Wind is on Team Cuddles and Being Spoiled.

If you end up eating something too spicy for you, he WILL be the most insufferable person about it

Sansa is literally no different, if not worse, than her brother.

Everything that was written above -> multiply that by 10000 in terms of spice intolerance, and you get Sansa.

She does NOT care about impressing you with improving her spice tolerance.

You could try to convince her that spicy food is better for her body and there are a ton of health benefits, but you will FAIL

You once gave her a Cubanelle pepper (About 1,000 SHU) bc the only less spicy option was a bell pepper and bell peppers are only peppers in name and not in spirit

She did not react well

She RAN 🏃‍♀️ to the well and drank the water out of the pail.

...Was it bad that you laughed at her reaction? Yes

Would you do it again? Also, yes

Was it totally worth being banned from nighttime cuddles and kisses for an entire month?...Okay, maybe you won't do it again

You could make fun of her unseasoned potatoes and closer-to-water soup all you want. She is not interested in damaging her stomach lining and developing stomach cancer.

She WILL make fun of you if you end up eating something too spicy for YOU, and you let her because you love seeing her more childish smile and side.

Slightly Dying, but Otherwise Okay and Kind of Digs It:

Jon can eat spicy foods...theoretically.

He's eaten Wilding food and the rotten food from Castle Black -> compared to that, he can take a little heat.

He was wrong - He was so very, VERY wrong. Your level of heat and spice was something that only a demon could take.

Jon was convinced that you were part dragon bc he can't think of any other reason as to how and WHY you put yourself through this?

Eventually, he DOES develop a bit of spice tolerance, and you take full credit for it, especially because this means his taste palette is more on your level. You aren't as afraid of accidentally killing him with your cooking preferences.

But it ends up lowkey backfiring on him bc you won't stop sneaking spicy food into his meals, and sometimes Tormund and his brothers in Black will sneak a bite off his plate (no one died...everyone lives...shhhhhhhhh)

Sam is dead - he died, you killed him. Gilly is officially out for your blood, and little Sam is raised with the single goal of piercing you with a pointy stick bc you killed his dad.

Pyp and Edd are also lowkey dying. Still, they actually enjoy the heat and are always happy to taste test for your dishes...despite their bowels hating them for it

Grenn and Tormund fucking LOVE the heat. They can easily down bowl after bowl after bowl of your cooking.

Bran SHOULD not eat spicy food...but he does because it makes you so happy, and he will literally do anything for your smile and cuddles.

Like his love of climbing and scary stories, he honestly lives for the thrill of taking the heat.

All of his siblings are terrified he's going to get a stomach ulcer one day because he keeps adding more spice to his food, and they are ALL blaming you, and you're just like ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

While he's traveling with Osha, Hodor, Rickon, and Reed Siblings, it's your cooking that helps keep them warm.

When he becomes the Three-Eyed Raven and King of the Seven Kingdoms, he and you will go to the kitchens to make your favorite dishes from your shared past because it brings a little of the old Bran back.

It's only around you that he can still smile and laugh, and you love him no matter what.

Love Spicy Food and Can ACTUALLY Take it

Arya LOVESSSSS the heat - All Day, Everyday Baby

While she was in Braavos and training in the House of Black and White, she sampled so many dishes and spices from the markets.

This opened a whole new world to her tastebuds, and when she returned to Winterfell - she still loved the food because it was all the food of her childhood, but it just tasted...boring.

You and her actually met while she was training in Braavos, and your family ran a spice stall in one of the markets.

You were fascinated by the girl and always offered a warm meal and housing if she ever needed it. While cooking for her, Arya would tell you stories about Ned and Jon and all her other siblings.

When she reunited with her family at Winterfell, she thought it was adorable how happy and excited you were to meet them. She also highly encouraged you to share one of your spiciest dishes with them.

Bran didn't have much of a reaction save for a small cough, but Jon immediately reached for his water while Sansa just fainted from the shock of the heat assault in her mouth.

Rickon is the only sibling who can actually eat your food and so he automatically becomes your favorite Stark after Arya.

Rickon and you met while traveling with your siblings (Meera and Jojen) to find Bran. You carried many foreign spices with you (for whatever reason).

Immediately, he was smitten with you because you were the youngest sibling around his age. Shaddydog also loved you from the beginning, which helped your case.

A lot of the spices you carried also had medicinal purposes, so you were in charge of cooking while Meera handled the weapons and Jojen helped guide Bran to the 3ER.

It was during the coldest and most freezing blizzard nights, you used one of your hottest spices to make a stew. It was a miracle by fate that Rickon LOVED it.

Since then, he's always begging you to put hotter spices in the meals, but you refuse bc your spices are expensive and because you don't want to accidentally kill the rest of the "Save The World" Gang.

Shaddydog is a huge issue when you're making food because he's very curious about all the different smells and tastes, and you have to keep booping his nose out of the way because you love adding garlic, and it's not good for canines to eat garlic and salt.

*BONUS*

Catelyn - cannot eat anything spicy for the life of her

Ned - same as his wife, tbh lol

[depends-on-the-sellsword]

moon of my life || jon snow

"You look at me like I'm the moon, Jon Snow?"

"Yes."

In which you and Jon get stuck in the elevator on the way down from watch duty. No spoilers.

Masterlist

------

The wind bit your nose with a kind of cold entirely unique to the top of the Wall. You pulled up the hood of your cloak. The sun had almost set, and what little warmth could be found up here would soon be stolen by the night. Your hip ached where Thorne had struck it during training, and your arms complained of pouring gravel onto the ice all day. But now the day was over, and the worst was back again.

Every time you were due for a shift up top, it was not the work you dreaded, but the elevator. The sound of its machinery drove you mad. You swore that for every minute you listened to the skreek-skreeek-skreeing, another part of your soul left your body, and you were always within an inch from going feral by the time the ride was over. Tonight would be no different.

As the machine from hell drew nearer, your teeth started to hurt. Your fingers probably would too, if you could feel them. You ignored the urge to claw your ears off, and settled for digging your nails further into your palms. Next to you, Jon was entirely fine. Calm, even; his steady breaths turning to clouds in the chill.

If Jon didn't, Ghost seemed to understand your pain. He twisted around your feet restlessly, only stopping to paw at his ears, or to shove his head against the ground. He was silent, as always, but just as plainly distressed as if he had whined out loud. You covered his ears for him.

The elevator creaked to a stop in front of you. Jon got in, completely unbothered, Ghost at his heels. You took a moment to curse the gods for letting this thing exist. Your fingers dug into your palms. You followed.

Ghost grew irritated again when the elevator started, almost as quick as you did. You slid to the floor next to him and put your hands over his poor ears, even though you wanted nothing more than to slam them against your own. Curses spat from your mouth.

Jon must have heard, because he started laughing. For a moment, you forgot to be angry. A smile from him was a rare thing, let alone a laugh, and it felt like something to hold onto. Something to paint in your head, the way his face lit up. Then you remembered to be angry, and shoved your face back into its scowl.

"The hell are you laughing about, Snow?"

"You," he chuckled, "you look like you're about to kill someone."

"Yeah, and it'll be you if you don't shut it." Please don't stop smiling at me.

He laughed again, and joined you on the floor. "What's got you so angry, anyway?"

"You know full well. It's this piece of shit." You slapped the wall. As if to prove your point, the elevator made a particularly awful sound.

"Still? I mean, I know you hate the sound, but I figured you'd gotten used to it by now."

"No. I've always hated loud, repetitive noises," you shrugged, offering the wall a glare, "I mean, more than most people. I don't know why, but something about them just drives me up the fucking wall. Especially the ones this thing makes-- Gods, I hope it breaks someday."

Creaaaaaak. Rattle Rattle. Thunk.

The elevator must have hit something, or the Gods must have decided you need a lesson in being careful what you wish for, because you had come to a complete stop. Silence.

"I didn't mean while I'm fucking in it!"

Jon burst out laughing. "At least it's not making noise anymore?"

A smile started pulling at the corner of your mouth. You tried to push it back and focus on the severity of your position, but the more you tried to control your face, the more you slipped.

"We're stuck a thousand feet in the air! This isn't-" You broke. Clutching your stomach, you let the laughter catch you and take you over. Something about the way Jon laughed was intoxicating. Infectious. Ghost wagged his tail and wiggled, as if he were laughing too.

Only after several minutes were you able to catch your breath. The full moon had begun to rise, its silver rays bright enough to see without trouble. A thousand, thousand stars burned like so many candles. You sighed, a smile still fixed to your lips as the last few giggles fell from them. Ghost wiggled, wagged his tail, and stretched himself to lie across yours and Jon's laps. He yawned contentedly.

"Oooh, big stretch," you cooed, ruffling his fur. Ghost wagged in response, and promptly fell asleep. His coat shone in the moonlight like the snow far beneath.

"Pretty view," Jon said. He gazed into the distance, stroking Ghost's head, that sweet, sweet look lingering on his face. Look at me like that, you thought, just once.

"Mhm," you nodded, not taking your eyes off of Jon. "Pretty." Not as pretty as you. Something deep in your chest wanted to reach out and touch his face, run your fingers through his curls, wrap your arms around him and find out what he tasted like. Just the thought of it made your back flutter. You traced his profile in your mind-- his gentle brow, the shape of his nose, the soft curl of his lips.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

You yanked your gaze from him, and fixed it on your boots. how long has he known? you thought. And then, how long have I been staring?

"I don't know what you're talking about." You dared not meet his eyes. There was no world in which you looked Jon Snow in the face and told him that he didn't have you gone for him. "I haven't been looking at anything."

"You know, you're a terrible liar," A few gloved fingertips met your cheek. He turned your face to his, gently, slowly, and you shuddered at the lightness of his touch. He smiled. That sweet, pretty smile that made your heart forget its job for a moment. "See? Just like that. You're doing it again," He chuckled, his fingertips lingering on your cheek, "you're looking at me like I'm the moon."

"I'm not looking at you like anything, Jon Snow."

"Yes, you are," He whispered, "you're looking at me like you look at the hearth, when you've been beyond the Wall. Like Sam looks at old books, like my sister looks at swords. Like Ghost looks at the forest," His eyes flicked to your lips, for a fraction of a second. He'd gotten close. Very close. Close enough to sense the rise and fall of his chest, if not to feel it against your own. He moved closer. "Like I look at you."

"You look at me like I'm the moon, Jon Snow?"

"Yes."

And he did. He was.

Jon Snow was looking at you like you were the moon, with his hand on your cheek, and his face inches from yours. It was cold and hot all at once. Heavy breaths clouded the air like smoke from a pipe. Anywhere from a second to a year passed. The wind sang. This is your chance.

You kissed him, and you kissed him hard. Suddenly, the gentle, shy flutters had gone, replaced by pent-up stress and frustration and want. A hand gripped your waist and pulled your body flush against his. Your own hands scrambled for whatever they could find. Leather. Metal. Fur. Skin. His face burned against your palms. His lips burned against your lips. Your chest rose and fell and rose again while you learned what it felt like to melt.

When you broke apart, he chased, and you let him catch. Two hands on your waist now, tugging, gripping, dragging you into his lap. Curls sliding through your fingers, fingers pressing into your sides. You couldn't keep your hands in one spot anymore. You wanted to grab all of him at once; hold his face, his shoulders, tug him closer by the collar, rake your fingers through his hair, feel his heartbeat through his chest.

By the time you pulled back, short of breath and warm all over, you barely remembered your own name. You wanted nothing more than to throw yourself back into him and forget it again. Jon rested his forehead on yours, and you looked into those pretty, dark eyes. What the fuck do I say after all that?

Jon thought of something quicker than you did. "Seven hells, you kiss like you're trying to eat me alive." he chuckled, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone. You laughed, because he wasn't wrong.

"You didn't seem to mind it," you toyed with a strand of his hair, liking the way it curled around your finger, "and you're the one who grabbed me and pulled me into your lap, like you couldn't stop yourself." He flushed at that, and you let yourself smirk, though you had no doubt you looked much the same.

"I couldn't, really. With how long I've been wanting this, and all," he said, "And from the way you had your hands all over me, I'd guess the feeling's mutual."

"You'd guess right."

You snugged to rest your head in the crook of his neck, leaning against his chest, perfectly content. Jon's fingers ran through your hair. For the first time in weeks, things were good. Better than good. This is how I am meant to be held, you thought. This is how things are supposed to be.

You sat there for a few more minutes, listening to the wind and the birds and the beating of hearts.

"Love, as much as I'd like to stay here forever, it's getting late," Jon murmured. He nudged you gently off his lap, stood, stuck his hand through the bars, and waved. You tilted your head.

"I don't think we have much choice about going back, Jon. We're stuck in a brok-"

clunk. skreek skreek. rattle rattle.

And just like that, you were back on your way to Castle Black. Ghost woke at the sudden motion, scowling. Jon showed no signs of surprise.

"How did you just--?" You stood, squinting at him, too confused to even be mad at the elevator's clank-ing. When Jon turned back around, he was looking rather pleased with himself.

"It's really quite simple. I just gave Sam the signal to start it again."

You blinked.

"So it was never--"

"No, I just told Sam to stop it about halfway, and start it again when I waved," he continued to smirk like he thought himself a genius. "sorry about the trick, love. I didn't know how else to get you alone without people asking questions." He did not appear sorry.

"If this is what being tricked entails, I'll have to do it more often." You leaned into him, wishing that you didn't have to wear so many layers, that you could feel more of his heat and his heartbeat. But you smiled nonetheless. "You proud of yourself, Snow? Did this go exactly as planned?"

Jon pressed your waist, ever-so gently pulling you closer. His eyes, however, were fixed on the moon.

"Better."

------

the sellsword's taglist: no one here yet!

jon snow's taglist: no one here yet!

(ask to be added to taglists! 'the sellsword's' is for all of my works on this account. Each character ive written for also has their own separate taglist, if you'd only like to be notified about new works for certain characters.)

[under-the-aspen-tree]

A Moth To You (Chapter 14 - Tides a-Turning) Aegon II Targaryen x (Bastard Velaryon) Reader

Series Summary: After a year travelling abroad, you have been called home to Kingslanding by your mother, Rhaenyra. Turns out your family has grown in your time apart.

Word Count: 3.7k

The memory only came to you in passing dreams, though perhaps that was the only time you let it. On any usual day, you would simply push it to the side, and find something else to debate upon. In dreams, you had not the opportunity, and it always left a sour taste in your mouth when you woke.

It always started in the yard, never before, with you strapped to the chest in ill-fitting leather. Your boots belonged to Jace originally and were a size or so too big, filled out with an old pair of stockings to keep you from tripping so easily. Your hair was braided and pushed back into your tunic, and you knew you looked entirely ridiculous, you just simply did not care. All morning, you hadn’t been able to wipe the grin from your face, for your brother had finally agreed to spar. It wasn’t as though you were entirely new to the art of swordplay. Daemon had taught you well enough on Dragonstone and you had practiced a little in the safety of your old chambers, but you wanted something more than a tutor. You wanted an ally, a friend, to be able to play and spar as your brothers so often did.

Convincing Jace hadn’t been easy, the boy having been mortified at the idea of sparring with a girl, let alone his sister, but he did have a soft spot for you. It took some time, and many pleas, but he came around, nervously biting the inside of his cheek at the idea.

“What if people see?” He had asked, lowering his voice as though you were already at risk of being caught.

“I care not for the eyes of bitter chickens wishing for a larger hutch. I wish to play, will you entertain me?”

Jacaerys rolled his eyes but laughed. “You shall be the death of me, or at least my reputation.”

“You have sullied your reputation with no help of mine, brother. Perhaps I’ll give you the opportunity to finally win a battle, then you might start at rebuilding it.”

He had given you a look then that suggested you would regret speaking so callously when rivalled in the yard, but you only grinned.

The pitch was empty, just as you had planned, the hour growing quickly late. The boys typically strained from morn to noon when the day was at its coolest and brightest, but you preferred the secrecy that came with dusk. Less were around to bother, which would mean less would be around to question.

The evening was tinged with summer's warmth, though you did not let that deter you, taking the occasion very seriously with a wooden sword in hand. Jace had been using blunted steel for years, but he dutifully took to the basics for your sake, his expression torn between hesitant and amused. It took a while for Jace to strike any true blows, ever hesitant of hurting a girl, and it took you demanding he at least try to defeat you for him to put in any true effort. Once the real sparring had begun, and you had delivered a few rather cruel raps to his ankles, however, he lost all concern for true chivalry. The air was filled with the smell of smoke and dirt and sweat, the dimming sun setting a dull orange glow about the courtyard that went a soft russet as you kicked up flumes of dry soil. 

The fun didn't last long. Jace had just sent a particularly painful blow to your ribs, knocking the wind from you even despite your leather armour, when a bemused laugh had you both whipping around, panting. Aegon Targaryen stood at the bottom of the spiral staircase leading to the balcony, his arms crossed and a grin on his pale face. He was less broad in the memory, his face a little more angular, his silver hair reaching past his shoulders.

“Oh, you have to be playing me,” Your uncle called once he had your attention, shaking his head. “Jace, is that you?”

Jace's face fell, and you could see his throat bobbing as he swallowed, looking nervously between you and Aegon. 

“I’d say I could recognise that mop anywhere, but it is truly indifferent to the masses," The older boy continued in your shared silence, the grin never leaving his pointed face. “What are you doing out here?”

Jace took the opportunity to square his shoulders, trying to appear a little more formidable with his wooden sword. His voice rang clear across the pitch. “Little to do with you, Uncle.”

“Aww, no need to be so brazen, Jace. Perhaps I wished to spar,” Aegon chuckled, a look of cruel delight upon his face at the sight of you both before him. “Though upon seeing this farce, I’d almost feel bad. It would be an injustice to set you against me.”

That set you off finally. Gritting your teeth, you spoke up yourself, your sword pointed to the ground. “It is only for my benefit, uncle. Jace said it well enough. This has little to do with you.”

Aegon guffawed, taking a few steps across the pitch, circling you from the sidelines. “I’m beginning to think this has all to do with me. (Y/N), is that you, under all the garb?”

He grinned wickedly. “Seven hells, you truly are a sight.”

“Leave, Aegon," You flushed, knowing his words rung quite true. You were a mess in strange clothing, your hair unkempt and sticking to your face and neck with sweat. You certainly didn't look a lady. It seemed your words only spurred your uncle on.

“And if I don’t want to? I’ve quite liked the show so far. Go on, show me what you’re made of. It can’t be difficult to do better than your brother.”

You could practically hear Jace's teeth grinding together. “My sister asked you quite kindly to go."

“And I stated I wish to remain.” Aegon's grin slowly turned to a sly smile, a grim cruelty behind his eyes that hinted at his amusement. He had come upon the chest of weaponry still left out on the sidelines of the yard and he was running a finger along the side of the table. “How about a demonstration for the princess? Show her how real men fight, hm?”

Quicker than a snake's bite, his hand lashed out upon the handle of a bastard sword, the dulled steel glinting in the tawny light of the evening. He turned on you both instantly, his eyes set upon Jace's slowly retreating form as he approached. From this angle, you could see how his lips were stained with wine.

“This isn’t about real fighting, Aegon. This is a spar between us," You protested, a knot forming in your stomach. Jace was ill-equipped, wielding but a wooden sword still, and Aegon was growing more menacing as he advanced, a grin on his face.

“And yet I see it as a perfect opportunity to teach, do you not?” He raised the sword to point at your brother, tilting his head as you watched on in horror. “Sparring a girl, Jace, that’s low, even by your standards. Can you not fight a man, or do you take enjoyment out of hitting a woman?”

“That’s not-“ Jace blurted, blanching.

“Stand properly. At least take this moment to show the princess how it is really done.”

Jace was doing his utmost to appear bold, but even he was cowering slightly in the face of the older boy. Aegon was practically a man-grown, Jace a few years his younger. Your hot breaths were short and quick, your mouth dry as you protested yourself, approaching as closely as you dared. “I asked him to join me, Aegon. This isn’t about him.”

It was as though your uncle hadn't heard a word you said. Despite wearing no armour, he took to sparring with all the confidence of a warrior, rapping his blade against Jace's toy sword so quickly your brother could scarcely raise it to defend himself

“I have not a proper sword!” He gasped, earning a scoff from the older boy as he advanced once more, this time sending a blow to Jace's hip that he barely dodged.

“You chose it, did you not?”

“It is not a fair fight!”

“And your one against the princess is?” Your uncle sneered, though you knew he had no true concern for your wellbeing; only your brothers torment. “Come now Jace, I at least thought you half a man. Even with the bastard blood, you have a dragon's ancestry and... rather strong roots. Can’t you-“

The words angered your brother into action, swinging down with a cry and cutting a grinning Aegon off. You cringed as he deflected it with a twist of his wrist, sending his own blow that almost knocked his nephew clean off his feet. Your pleads filled the evening air as Aegon sent blow after blow, half of which landed quite painfully, and the others serving to snap at Jace's wooden sword, quite quickly reducing it in size. 

He had no chance, though he never had one to begin with truly. Jace could only defend himself, and that in and of itself was a losing battle. Even you could see the tears stinging your brother's eyes in the face of Aegon's childish cruelty, each rap of the sword stinging enough to flinch back.

You didn't notice how your hand tightened around the leather of your handle, the grip slick and hot with sweat. All you heard was the pounding in your ears, the dull whimper that sounded from your brother as Aegon dealt a particularly harsh blow, and then you were upon him. 

Any knowledge learned from your training fled your mind in an instant, and you returned to your base instincts. Approaching quickly from behind, you snapped your sword hard against Aegon's back, earning a sharp cry as his hand impulsively dropped his blade. Your sword was but a toy, but the polished wood landed hard a second time, and then a third, sending your uncle to the ground as Jace watched on in absolute shock. 

A scream tore from your throat as you hit him while he was down, the sword coming upon his shoulder and his hip and his knee as he curled up in an attempt to defend himself, his arms wrapping around his head to protect them from your barrage of attacks. You didn't need to be doing this. This was growing cruel and unnecessary. You had only meant to stop him, perhaps disarm him if you possibly could, but you couldn't help yourself. Each whack of your sword filled your veins with catharsis, each cry from the older boy a deep and heavy justice in the face of every cruel taunt and jab and leer he had ever sent your way. He looked pathetic on the ground, and it made you happy to see it. You relished in the sound of wood whipping leather, the flash of silver hair as he cowered beneath you.

You didn't notice the calls, the shouts, not over the roaring in your ears. You only came to when a pair of strong arms wrapped around your rips, tugging you back so harshly your feet came off the ground and you dropped your wooden sword.

"What in seven hells is going on?"

You could only pant in response to the voice in your ear, one you recognised to be Ser Criston Cole, the queen's sworn protector. Ser Erryk was at the prince's side, pulling him to his feet.

Aegon was a mess, spitting on the ground as he tried to hide the tears in his eyes. His silver hair was stained with dirt that turned dully russet in the dying sun, his breaths short and panted as he pushed the knight's arms away furiously.

"Don't touch me!" He cried.

It was then that you noticed the tinge of shame in his cheeks, his eyes surveying the crowd that had gathered around you, likely drawn by the commotion. Jace was protesting something, swearing and yelling words that didn't quite reach your ears. A hundred eyes looked upon you with shock, upon Aegon with something close to amusement. The prince, trained from youth, was bested by his niece. What a sorry sight. It filled you with as much pride as it did shame to know you had humiliated him. He deserved it, he had attacked Jace.

The arms holding you shifted to grab at the back of your leather tunic, pulling you away from the scene.

That was when you awoke with a start, your mouth dry and your breaths short and panted. Your bed was uncomfortably warm, the late afternoon sun streaming through the open windows and straight onto your sheets, bathing you in a warm glow. You winced against the brightness, pressing a hand over your eyes as you swallowed, attempting to catch your breath.

"Princess?" The knock came from the other side of your door, likely the one that awoke you in the first place, and it shocked you back into the present, pushing the sheets from your body haphazardly as you staggered to the door.

"Sorry," You mumbled, still slightly disoriented as you unlocked the latch on your door and pulled open the heavy wood, revealing a bemused Kaira, your personal maidservant, holding a heavy-looking box.

"At which point did you start locking your door?"

You stared at her blearily. "The point in which a sellsword tried to cut my throat open."

Kaira tutted, weaving her way into the room and fixing your crumbled sheets with a single, impressive pull. "I doubt that sellsword will be doing you harm any time soon, princess."

You could only hum in response. Kaira's company was usually enough to brighten your mood, but the dream always left you sullen, brooding on days long passed. It had been coming more regularly since the night in the Kingswood, and it only drove you further from speaking to Aegon again. You couldn't face him after seeing it, his youthful face crumpled in shame and pain. You always forgot the sneer he wore before, only the shameful wave of pride you felt in besting him. You were no less guilt-ridden since formally apologising to the man, and he had avoided you entirely in the days since, only adding to the tension you were sure to feel tonight. 

Spring had officially ended, and despite the winter being short and quite comfortable, the beginning of summer was always celebrated quite thoroughly. The royal family had decided to mark the changing of the seasons with seven days of jousting, a sport you took little interest in and therefore avoided well enough. You hadn't enjoyed the sight of blood before that night in the Kingswood, you hadn't since you watched Aemond lose his eye on Driftmark, but you now grew sick at just the sight of it. It reminded you of Boras' dull eyes glinting in the moonlight, of your sticky hands burning as something wet and hot beat against your chest and neck in thick waves.

Your mother didn't mind your absence so long as you attended the more formal occasions; a princess was scarcely missed from such violent events and you knew Helaena had always abstained herself. But tonight was important and, in all honesty, you didn't much mind the idea of a feast. You had scarcely been able to speak to anybody since Jace's name day celebrations, only being allowed to leave the safety of the Red Keep on the days you went flying, and you were actually looking forward to doing something interesting.

The jousting has been cut short for the day in order for the lords and ladies to prepare for the evening, and you had taken the free afternoon to regretfully nap. By the way Kaira was setting the box down on your bed and pulling out sheets of fabric, you assumed the feast was vastly approaching.

"I do hope you're feeling advantageous, princess," Kaira said with a smile, her auburn hair glowing gold in the light from the window like a soft halo around her curls. In her hands was a dress more beautiful than you had been given in a long time. You raised your brows, forgetting the dream for the moment to approach and run your hands down the silk.

"Seven hells. Is this what my mother commissioned?" You had been sent to the tailors for measurements a week or so past, but you had never expected this. 

"The dressmakers finished it just this morning," Kaira grinned, unclasping the ornate metalwork of the dress before dragging you to your wardrobe and upon your step. After waiting for you to remove your gown, she shimmied the garment with extreme care up your body, gently clicking the belt and collar shut and positioning the looking glass with a smile.

The dress was more than impressive, it was extravagant. Made of a rich, sea-green silk, the garment began in a thick collar that hung around the throat and flowed into a rounded neckline just over your breasts. The sleeves were soft and billowing, staring not at the shoulder but instead spilling from the bodice to the centre of your bicep. Ornate carvings of gold made up a heavy belt that cinched your waist, while silver embroidery so beautiful you could only marvel in wonder lined the hems and sides of your ribs down to the thigh. You ran your fingers absentmindedly over the beaded thread, entranced by its watery texture. It had to be one of the most awe-striking dresses you had seen in your life.

"The Velaryon colourings," You hummed, staring at yourself in the looking glass. You looked a stranger.

"A show of strength, I believe."

Kaira sat you down then and began the process of readying you. A princess must always look proper, but a court-hosted celebration is a whole new game to play. Your hair had already been carefully brushed and oiled and curled until it shone, and Kaira spent what must have been an hour carefully weaving it into a tangle of braids and twists that fell in layers down your back. She pressed golden pins resembling flowers into the delicate nest and rubbed cream blush into your cheekbones and lips so that you had a rosy glow about you. She mixed wheaten flower and rosewater in a little glass dish to pat against your forehead and nose until your very skin seemed to possess an unearthly radiance, then dabbed pearlescent powder here and there until you shone faintly in the candlelight. Only then did she permit you leave with a grin and a promise of early courtship, which only earned an eye roll and a faint blush upon your painted cheeks.

The beginning of the feast was as dull an affair, as they typically were. After finding your seat beside your mother and Jacaerys, you sat and watched as each noble family entered the great hall and bowed their respects. There were the Arryns in cornflower blue, the Celtigars in red and white, the Lannisters in gold and crimson, the Tyrells in yellow and teal, and even the Tullys in their sullen greys made an appearance. Names were called and pleasantries exchanged until you were tapping your hands upon the table, fighting the urge to fidget in your seat with your mother so close by. One or twice, Jace turned to you with a lewd comment about some lord or lady that had you fighting the urge to giggle. You quickly found yourself and your brothers matched the rest of the Velaryon family in colourings when your grandmother and grandfather approached the dais to sit, all bearing incredible fabrics of teal and gold and silver. A show of strength, truly.

It was in the height of boredom that you saw him, late enough into the festivities that you had already begun to eat. He emerged from the shadows of the hall to join his family, a dreadful swipe of purple and red against his left cheekbone that bloomed with a near-beautiful quality considering its harrowing appearance. Eyes locked on yours, eyes that reminded you of a fresh spring pond. Gentle eyes. His hair was oiled in an attempt at grooming, but those dark curls still layered about his face, now grown to his shoulders.

You blushed when you caught Colren Tully's attention, and suddenly the feast wasn't so dull. You could scarcely keep your eyes from your plate as your family ate and drank, and had barely made it around the as when the dancing arose when you came upon an open palm, a gentlemanly smile upon full lips.

"Princess, it has been so long."

Colren looked even more dashing in his finery than he had at Jacaerys' name day celebrations, and you found yourself quite grateful for Kaira's concoction of flour and rose to dampen your natural blush as you took his hand delicately. It was warm in yours.

"Too long. I am glad to see you well, my lord."

"I consider myself more grateful, your grace. I was wondering, after all this time apart, if you would do me the honour of a dance?"

You looked down on the charming man from the height of the dais, the festivities a wash of colour in contrast with his fine features, and fought the urge to grin.

"The honour would be mine."

Feeling his hand in yours, so large in comparison that he practically overwhelmed you, you let him lead you from the stage of the iron throne to the dance floor. You had turned your head to send a wry smile in Helaena's direction, whom you knew to have been seated at the other end of the table to yourself, but it was not her eyes you met. 

You bowed your head quickly, flushing, as Aegon Targaryen stared back, a silver cup in hand and an unreadable expression on his face, and dared not so much as glance upon the table again as Colren Tully led you into the crowd.

[angelofthenight]

Bran: (y/n), there’s something I need to ask you-

You: Finally! You’re proposing!

Bran: How’d you know?

You: Bran, you’ve dropped the ring five times during dinner.

You: I even picked it up once.

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

A Lion's Vow

Pairing: Jaime Lannister x Stark!Reader

Warnings: canon character death

Words: 7251

Summary: This game the both of you played was your only real entertainment in the mess that was the Red Keep. Knowing it’s true nature, your father attempted to keep you close to his side. Reminding you not to trust anyone easily, especially those that belonged to the House of the Lion.

“What are you up to today, Lady Stark?”

You whip around, long dark hair swishing from the movement and instantly plaster a cheesy smile once you see it’s Jaime Lannister himself. “Whatever are you talking about Ser Jaime?” This game the both of you played was your only real entertainment in the mess that was the Red Keep. Knowing it’s true nature, your father attempted to keep you close to his side. Reminding you not to trust anyone easily, especially those that belonged to the House of the Lion.

He would not approve if he knew of the interaction between you and the Kingslayer.

Humoring you, Jaime cocks an eyebrow suspiciously. “Looks like you’re up to something.”

Posing a hand to your chest, you gasp and feign hurt. “Me? I am the good Lord Eddard Stark’s daughter. There is no mischievous. bone in my body, Ser.”

Jaime’s lips curl fiendishly. “Oh we both know how false that is. Your father would be disappointed if he discovered you tried to lie to someone in the Kingsguard.”

Ned did instill a strong sense of truth and justice in all of his children. Often he would drone on to how powerful the truth was and to live an honest life.

This was harmless lying though. Jaime knew it to be all part of your fun.

With a roll of your eyes, you cluck your tongue. “What we should really be talking about is why you aren’t doing your job. Shouldn’t you be guarding the king and his imperious family?”

Unconsciously you walk next to him, resuming your gentle stroll with Jaime. His armor makes clattering noises as he moves. White coat billowing in the breeze that lazily rolled through King’s Landing; an overall lovely day made better by the Lannister knight by your side.

“There are six others protecting them. Doubt they’ll miss me for an hour or two.” Jaime’s voice grew distant when his duties were brought up, l;Ike he didn’t want to think about it. Not when he was with you.

“Aren’t you the best swordsmen in all of the Seven Kingdoms?” Teasingly, you boost his ego just a little bit and earn a broad smile from his handsome face.

“Won’t argue that.” He comments with a roll of his shoulders causing you to laugh at his outlandish display. “Even someone as amazing as me needs a break though.”

That’s how you really got to know him. Not that much after first arriving did you stumble upon Jaime during one of his breaks. He’d been relaxing on the grass, back pressed against the trunk of a tree, with his sword laying upon his lap. You and Arya had escaped your septa and were running around the keep gleefully. There were many hidden doors and stairs that you and your youngest sister enjoyed exploring.

You felt after that interaction, Jaime purposefully planted himself there since it was near the tower of the Hand of the King.

If anyone was with you, he would merely offer you a nod and a small smile. When alone, he spoke to you. Small conversations here and there until you both started to linger together for longer periods of time. While most times he carried himself like an arrogant bastard, you got to know the other side of this infamous man. He loved to tease and be playful.

You enjoyed your sister’s company but it was a breath of fresh air to have finally made a local connection in the Red Keep and not feel so isolated. How wild life was to make that connection in Jaime Lannister. Brother to the queen and the slayer of the Mad King. He was a legend walking on two legs.

Your fatrher’s worries were never too far from your mind though. After a few days as Hand of the King, Ned warned you of the green eyed lions and how they could not be trusted. Jaime may have liberated the Seven Kingdoms, but now he is condemned for the act of killing Aerys.

Shaking off the echo of Ned’s words, you gaze up at the tall trees that lined both sides of the cobbled walkway. Small white flowers flutter in the breeze like specks of snow. Home sickness prods at you not for the first time.

“My sister Arya is learning how to use a sword. By some Braavosi.” You lightly tell him, waiting for his reaction. Uncommon was it for a woman to learn how to fight, you knew your father wasn’t happen that Arya was interested but found her an excellent instructor nonetheless. Even your septa and Sansa regarded Arya with disdain after that.

Jaime wasn’t phased by this information. He continues to smile and hums. “She is a feral child. It’s not surprising. Just one look at her and you can see the Stark direwolf. You didn’t want to join her?”

Instantly you remember Robb, Jon and Theon teaching you the basics of how to use a sword once it was decided that Ned would be leaving to the Crownlands. They were understandably worried about your safety and took it upon themselves to sneak you out of your chambers late in the night to show you. You protested in the beginning. Robb begged you though so you caved in.

“Because not all men will act like chivalrous knights.” Robb had told you. This wasn’t just for you, it was so you’d be able to better protect Sansa and Arya.

“No. . . No, I’m not one for violence.” Images of bloody direwolves flash in your mind. A lump develops in your throat as you try to banish them. Your own wolf, Storm, had escaped with Nymeria. Lady was their sacrifice. Feeling like it was your duty, you bore witness to your father executing poor Lady under the whim of that damned Joffrey. It had truly pained him to do so. You would never forgive Joffrey or Cersei for forcing this brutal act upon your father. “I never want to wield a blade.”

Jaime stops, addressing you with a soft and understanding expression. “Hopefully you’ll never have to, Lady Stark.”

"What a surprise, Ser Jaime and the Lady Stark." came the chilling voice of the queen, Cersei Lannister.

Dread made you put a distance between yourself and Jaime. "Your Grace." You detested Cersei. Still, you were the daughter of a warden of the Seven Kingdoms. You still maintained court etiquette and gave her a low curtsy.

Her bright green, cat-like eyes regard you with reservation. Regal chin tilted up, her attention moves to her brother who also gives her a perfectly acted bow. "Pray tell what the two of you were doing alone?" Behind her are two ladies-in-waiting hiding behind their hands as they whisper conspiratorially. No doubt there would be a bit of gossip to be produced from this interaction. Flanked behind them are three guards. All wore the insignia of the Lannisters.

That's the last thing you or your family needed was speculation involving the Starks.

"I bumped into the Lady Stark all by her lonesome. Figured I should escort her back to her father's keep. I'm sure Ned will be missing her." Jaime comes up with the lie just as easily as he would breathe.

"Is that so." Cersei's voice was flat in reply. She didn't buy any of what her twin told her but would not reprimand him in public. You hope you didn't get Jaime into too much trouble but second guessed yourself as to why he would get in trouble. There was no rule or vow that forbade him from speaking to you. In the eyes of others, he was doing the chivalrous thing that everyone expects from a knight.

Expelling your own trepidation, you force a pleasant smile to the golden queen. Sweet syrup laced your tone. "It is, Your Grace. Apologies if I unexpectedly detained Ser Jaime."

Eyes flick from you to her brother before she clasps her ringed hands in front of her. "Of course. Well, Ser, finish escorting the Lord Stark's daughter and get back to your main priority, protecting the king."

Jaime's smile is full of charm as he nods. "Yes, Your Grace."

Once Cersei and her squadron went around the corner, you and Jaime started a fit of giggling.

"She is not happy." Jaime chuckles with a shake of his head. "My sister has always been a temperamental thing. She hasn't changed one bit since childhood."

"I can't imagine Cersei as a child." You comment dryly as you and Jaime change your course to the Tower of the Hand. To you, Cersei may as well have sprung from her mother a full grown woman. Childhood was reserved for innocence which you doubt Cersei ever was.

Jaime smiles. "Even she was small and defenseless once upon a time. But she was always regal and knew her value. That has never changed."

The way his tone was so tender when he spoke fondly of Cersei made something ugly in you take wing. It hissed and spat venom making your insides twist and contort with bitterness.

Of course he loved his sister. It was natural to love your sibling, but to love one that was so foul like Cersei. . . This was unthinkable to you.

He was quick to catch your sudden silence and the subtle furrow of your brow. His smile falls. The tension between your two families started when Jaime was found sitting on the Iron Throne after killing Aerys. Your father found him there once his forces had finally stormed King's Landing. From there, Ned knew the Lannisters should never be trusted.

"I'm truly sorry for what she did to your sister's direwolf." He whispers and you can detect the genuine regret. "A mother's love is blind and irrational at times. Still. . . the wolf shouldn't have been killed. I can't tell her the truth, that she's spoiled Joffrey rotten. Not like she would listen to me anyway."

You toe a rather large pebble that was in your path off to the side. Anything so you wouldn't have to look at Jaime. The backs of your eyes burn, a warning that if he spoke anymore about Lady, tears would fall. "I'm just happy Nymeria and Storm were able to get away. Even if I can't have her by my side anymore, at least she's still alive."

**

Danger permeated the atmosphere in the Red Keep. This unnerved Jaime even more than the skittish attitude of (y/n). Since the death of King Robert Baratheon, the Starks had begun to act differently. This included the eldest daughter (y/n). Jaime barely saw her anymore and when he did, she was personally escorted by a few of her father’s bannermen. A solemn expression drawn on her face as she hadn’t even noticed Jaime off on the sidelines.

The death of his close friend took it’s toll on Ned Stark and caused much friction between the Hand of the King and the capitol. And according to Cersei, he’d started poking around things he shouldn’t be. The implication being that he might find them out soon. This in particular caused Jaime worry. Did Ned divulge his findings to (y/n)? She seemed to be his confidant in King's Landing and he revered his eldest daughter. That could explain why she'd been avoiding him for weeks on end.

On top of it all, Tyrion was recently captured by Catelyn Tully on the accusation that he had some part in the attempted murder on not just Bran, but herself as well. Great strife was the result causing quite the headache for Lord Tywin and Lord Ned. The new King Joffrey was definitely using this to his advantage as he drank in the chaos and animosity of the two great houses.

Each day, Jaime's concern rooted deeper into him for (y/n). A premonition perhaps had been a dream he'd have of a direwolf being beheaded.

Then came the arrest.

Those who swore their loyalty to Joffrey and House Lannister hunted down bannermen of the northern lord. Cersei, acting quickly within the hour, had already obtained Sansa Stark as a hostage. The auburn haired young lady was locked up in her rooms where she had been accosted.

"You can't let Joffrey do this." Jaime hissed to his sister who was leisurely drinking an elegant glass of blood red wine. "You need to release Ned and Sansa. . . Wait, where are (y/n) and Arya?"

She arched a golden brow. Why was he so concerned about them? Slowly Cersei sets down her glass. "Men have been sent out to retrieve them. They will be locked with the other sister."

He felt something tighten in his chest at the thought of (y/n) in chains like her father. Had they not suffered enough?

"Sit, Jaime." Patting the chair next to her, Cersei couldn't fathom why her twin was acting so riled up. He paced back and forth like he was the caged animal. Did he not realize that they were relatively free now? Their son was finally king and she, the queen mother. All the Seven Kingdoms were in the control of the Lannisters now.

Jaime couldn't though. Couldn't sit down and wait to hear of the other two sisters.

When was the last time he experienced true panic? If this was it, well, he didn't miss it. The fate of (y/n) made him feel panic. Gods, he had grown so attached to her in a short amount of time.

"Jaime."

Impatiently he looked at his sister. His beautiful, cruel sister. His first and only lover.

"I have to go."

She called after him as he fled. From windows he caught glimpses of soldiers and knights alike dashing all over the place. The search for the last two Stark sisters seemed to prove to be a difficult one.

He began his own frantic pursuit of them. Hoping that he could find both of them in time. Then what? Helping them to escaping would be in direct betrayal of not just the throne but Cersei as well. He would be an oath breaker. A crime like this would be cause for his execution.

Death did little to scare him.

Convicted with his decision, Jaime perhaps for the first time prayed to anyone who would listen to him that he would find (y/n) before anyone else did.

**

You didn't see where Arya had dashed off to. While you were worried for your sister, it was the least of your concerns at the moment. You were running for you life. Complete confusion drove your flight instincts.

Yesterday, Ned had told you and your sisters that he planned to ship all three of you back to Winterfell. Sansa had been bereft, not wanting to leave her betrothed. This sudden news was alarming to you. Fear had begun to control your father since Robert's death. You saw it in the way he gazed at you and your sisters.

Wanting to take such a burden off his shoulders, you'd gone to Ned in his private quarters to find out what was going on. He was more inclined to tell you the truth than the younger ones.

He didn't tell you though. Ned was determined to keep whatever worries to himself.

Maybe if he had told you, you wouldn't be running around the Red Keep like a frantic idiot. Where was there for you to hide? You were in enemy territory. There was nowhere safe for you. The bannermen who normally guard you had been slaughtered right before your eyes. Their blood still stained your face and gown. Such had been the bloodshed that caused you to freeze and watch the whole thing. Until Lannister guards started advancing toward you.

Blindly running for your life, you try to conjure up all of the hidden doorways you and Arya had discovered. One was in the bedchambers of the Hand. But that area was most likely surrounded. You couldn't risk it. That's where you had seen Arya being accosted alongside her Braavosi mentor.

Unconciously your feet were running toward the godswood of the Keep. You didn't realize it until you saw the all too detectable face on the trunk of a large oak tree. It may not have been a weirwood, but you knew from that solemn face that you were in the godswood.

Between thick, white tree trunks, you sought refuge in something familiar. You hid under foliage and attempt to calm your mind enough to think of a plan. The godswood looks out onto Blackwater River. A river that stretched through the near entirety of Westeros as well as leading to Blackwater Bay.

Debating which way was more optimal, the fast crunching of leaves and grass alert your ears to someone else entering the godswood.

You further hid into the shrubs, heart racing.

The intruder stops just a few feet away from your hiding spot. Leather clad feet idle, a blonde head swiveling this way and that. There was no armor but you'd recognize Jaime even when he was in civilian clothes. His sword swayed on his hip.

"(y/n)?"

Nearly sobbing out your relief, you topple over and out of the brush; startling Jaime. He slides onto his knees and gathers you in his arms. Spotting the blood on your face and clothes, you see a coldness overcome his face.

"I-It's not mine." You quickly tell him and that severe expression dissipates into worry. "What's going on?! I don't understand!"

"Your father has been arrested on charges of treason." He hastily explains while helping you get to your feet. "We need to get you out of here."

You shake your head. "My sisters-"

"Cersei already has Sansa detained. There's no news of Arya. We don't have a lot of time to get you out of the city." Jaime tells you, pleading in his voice. Still you kept shaking your head, insisting that you had to help your sisters.

Maybe it was the trauma from what you had witnessed that made you so adamant. Jaime was right, you were aware of that and how you should heed his words. Abandoning them to Cersei and Joffrey though?

Reading your mind, Jaime holds your hands. Striking green eyes crinkle and tell you of his own unease. Vocally he would not beg you to leave with him. You read it on his face. Even if you wanted to, it was not feasible to save your sisters.

You let Jaime lead you out of the godswood. He had you cover your head and yourself with his white cloak that he had torn off his armor before going to look for you. You tuck away your thick sections of dark hair under the white cloth.

The Old Gate, despite it being quite the walk from Aegon's High Hill, was the best way out. "There are secret tunnels all through the capitol."

"I know." You say and his brow raises. "Arya and I did some snooping around the Keep and found a few of them. It's difficult to navigate the tunnels themselves though."

"Ah, so that's what you were really up to." Jaime grins your way.

You return his grin with a beaming one that could be considered prideful.

Jaime said he knew a few of the tunnels but not all. One, if he could follow it correctly, led out to an opening in Flea Bottom.

Traversing the labyrinth of tunnels, Jaime kept you close to his side. The two of you spoke softly. The sound of your echoing voices still bounce around you. He tells you what exactly was happening. Ned being accosted by Lannister bannermen. The charge was treason for attempting to usurp King Joffrey and take his birthright away from him. Obviously it was a load of hog shit.

An itch in the back of your brain kept going back to that last conversation you had with him. You’d caught him flipping through page upon page in a rather large book. Grave lines shadow his features. It hadn’t been the first time you had spotted him in such a state. What had he been reading?

*

Like wildfire though the news of Ned’s arrest had already spread through half of King’s Landing. By the time you and Jaime had resurfaced in a dirty alley, there were scores of City Watch soldiers patrolling the streets.

Both of you kept your heads down on the off chance anyone might recognize you. Venturing onto the streets, Jaime makes sure to have a secure grip on your arm so neither of you are separated.

The amount of soldiers congregating toward the direction of the Old Gate didn’t bode well to either of you.

“What do we do if we can’t get through the Old Gate?” You whisper. You felt sick to your stomach with anxiety.

Jaime keeps his eyes ahead. “One way or another, I’m getting you out of the city and taking you to your mother and brother. I may have to use some unsavory methods though.”

“But-“

He pulls you aside and stares at you. “Do you trust me, (y/n) Stark?”

You let your apprehension seep onto your face. Why was he doing this? He had nothing to gain but everything to lose.

Then in the middle of broad daylight, he gets down on one knew and bows his head low. “I, Ser Jaime Lannister, make this oath to you, (y/n) Stark, that I will get you back to your family safely. I will honor this oath and defend you with my life.”

Getting selfconcious with the attention you might draw, you urge him to get back up. “Okay okay!!” You hiss. “Get up! I trust you!”

His crooked grin lightens the severity of the situation. When he gets back up, Jaime holds out a hand to you. Gingerly you lace your fingers with his; relishing in the roughness of his callused hands. You did trust him, well, you wanted to trust him. No matter what your father claimed about the Lannisters, you at least wanted to trust this one.

Thinking back to Ned's warning, you feel a lump in your throat as Jaime leads you through the dirty streets of Flea Bottom. "They're going to kill him, aren't they."

Jaime's hand tightens on your's. "A trial will be held for him. There is a proposition to be made for him most likely."

Joffrey was in power now. A trial under Joffrey's jurisdiction could hold no justice for your father. You felt it. Whatever Jaime may have been told could go right out the window when the trial actually happens.

You look back to the red structure of the Keep. Jaime could give you no other words of comfort. Maybe he was thinking the same thing you were. He's acknowledged the depravity of Joffrey many times before. He had to know that much like with Lady, he would order the death of Ned Stark for even posing a threat to his reign.

The Old Gate was indeed riddled with heavy patrol. No one was permitted to leave the city unless they had written consent from the crown. Many having been turned away skulked back to wherever their living quarters were.

Jaime analyzed the situation while keeping you under his arm.

"Ser Jaime?" A gold cloak squints his eyes when he spots you and Jaime lurking around the gatehouse. You feel Jaime's body tense and he subtly pulls your hood over your face a little more. "What a surprise to see you out here." The man eyes you suspiciously but looks back to Jaime. He was timid in front of the Kingslayer which served a good purpose.

Squaring his shoulders, Jaime puts on an air of self-importance. "Yes, considering the arrest of the Lord Stark, I have been sent out by the king himself to check the security of the gates. They're worried that a Stark loyalist may try to escape." He explained his clothes as attempting to blend in and not cause more of a stir in the city.

"Y-Yes. Of course."

They pass by a few others as Jaime sits you down inside of the gatehouse. A warm fire crackled in a hearth. The men who had been occupying the inside were promptly forced out by Jaime and the gold cloak that was attending him.

Jaime leans down to whisper in your ear. "Stay here until I come back. Don't speak to anyone and keep your hood drawn down. I'll be back in a few minutes." he promised.

You nod and anxiously watch him leave. The entirety of your time by yourself in the guards' room, the pounding of your blood filled your ears and your hands shake. Jaime said that he might have to use some unsavory methods in order to smuggle the both of you out. Somehow you knew that meant killing anyone who opposed him.

Suspicions were confirmed when you hear a few close by screams, Jaime came back in to retrieve you after fifteen minutes. He was holding his sword in one hand and motioning for you with the other. Blood glints off his blade.

The old rusty gate was lifted up a few inches from the ground. A dead sentry sat propped up against the wall. You promptly avert your gaze when you caught sight of bright red across his throat.

Crawling underneath the opening, both you and Jaime book it into the open fields outside of the city. Both of you kept low to the ground until the city walls were but speck behind you.

From his pack that Jaime brought with him, he pulls out an expertly drawn map. "Alright, it will take us several days to reach Riverrun. Here's the thing though, the north will not be taking too kindly to the arrest of their warden. I'm guessing once the news reaches them, your brother will call upon his bannermen to march to King's Landing. Your mother is possibly still in the Eyrie with Tyrion. The track to the Eyrie is too far and dangerous. Your grandsire should be able to house you until either your brother or mother come."

There was so much to take in that you were quiet for a while.

Frowning while examining the map, your eyes trail from where Jaime had pointed to your position. You eye the territory of the Riverlands, remembering that Tywin Lannister had planted a small army near your grandsire's home. "What about your father?"

His lips purse. "I'll deal with that if it comes to it." Jaime rolls the map back up and puts it away. "We'll use the rest of the evening and night to travel to the God's Eye and recoup there. I hope you're ready for the trek."

You bend over to tighten the laces of your boots in affirmation.

**

By the time they reached the shores of the great lake, (y/n) collapsed on the ground. She'd laid out the white cloak Jaime had given her and passed out soon after.

Late at night, God's Eye lake appeared to be filled with black ink. Across the water Jaime barely made out the outline of the Isle of Faces that was right in the middle of the lake.

Jaime took his place right next to the sleeping (y/n) and drew the edge of the cloak over her body. Her lips were parted as she slept.

He'd forsaken his own family for her.

If forced to do it again, he would. Jaime was her sworn sword now. His loyalty lay with her.

By himself though, he allowed his mind to think of Cersei. For most of his life, he had clung to her. She was the very reason he was in the Kings guard so he wouldn't have to marry anyone.

From childhood he revered his older sister who he often compared to the Maiden. After getting to really know (y/n) though, that image was morphed into the true reality of Cersei's character. Much like with their own brother Tyrion, Cersei had been tactfully cruel to the Stark sisters. She followed the whims of Joffrey blindly, as only a mother could. Jaime did feel sorry for (y/n)'s two younger sisters. There had been no time to even think of rescuing them too. He'd been too focused on (y/n). She was his priority.

Deciding to keep watch for the night, Jaime kept his ears trained to his surroundings and his eyes fixed on the stillness of the lake.

The sun crept up into the sky not too long after. With the rise of the sun, (y/n) stirred and opened her gray eyes. They flutter so prettily that Jaime is forced to avert his gaze. He'd once heard Robert mention how (y/n) was like a prettier version of Lyanna. She had the structure of lovely Catelyn Tully's face with alluring pale gray-blue eyes and the darkest lashes he'd ever seen.

Dried blood was still on her face from when she witnessed her father's bannermen being slain. He worried if she had nightmares about it while she slept but she didn't mention any when she sat up and rubbed sleepily at her face.

Nodding toward the lake, Jaime suggests she wash up. Before leaving, he'd gathered a few extra clothes with him. They were men's clothes but that was probably better for (y/n) while they were traveling.

A bashful blush livens her pale cheeks as she nods. Jaime, to give her some privacy, turns his back to the lake and keeps an eye out toward the trees.

He's hyper aware though of the rustling of her clothes as she removes them. His own ears reddened with warmth when he heard movement in the water. Not for the first time, he wondered what she looked like naked. What did the slopes and contours of her body feel like? Was the rest of her body soft like her hands?

(y/n) didn't spend too much time in the water. Just enough to scrub her face and wash the rest of her body from the grime and sweat that had accumulated during her flight from the capitol.

She nervously cleared her throat once she was fully dressed. Jaime turned around. (y/n) in his clothes didn't something carnal to Jaime. His large tunic did little to hide her figure as he could still make out the shapeliness of her breasts. Trousers had been cinched tightly at her waist and accentuated her wide hips.

Her long, black hair was still wet as she was in the process of tying it up into a ponytail.

She didn't need gowns and jewels to look exquisite.

"Cat got your tongue, Ser Jaime?" (y/n) grinned when she saw his outward gawking.

"I've never seen a woman wear my clothes with such finesse before." He smirked.

Laughing, (y/n) picks up the white cloak that was still sprawled out on the grass and wraps it once more around her shoulders. "If I could, I would wear men's clothes more often than dresses. You can imagine how uncomfortable it is being laced into a bodice for hours on end."

He startles both of them when Jaime tucks away a stray, soggy lock behind (y/n)'s ear. It had been bouncing around her face, begging for attention. Jaime apologizes in a halfhearted manner. At least it was an excuse to touch her. "Lets get going. We have a long way till our next stop."

Looking once again at the map, it was decided to take the longer way along the river in order to avoid populated areas.

During their walk, they shared a piece of bread between one another and spoke more about their childhoods. Maybe it was a way to soothe the aching wound of (y/n)'s heart after having to force her to leave her family defenseless in King's Landing.

There was great love in the Stark household, evident from the tenderness of her voice. Something that hadn't been present in Casterly Rock since the death of his own lady mother Joanna.

He liked imagining (y/n) as a spunky little girl playing with the boys and struggling to thread her needle for embroidery, braiding Sansa's rich auburn hair and reading under the grand weirwood tree in her family's personal godswood.

She painted a beautiful picture.

Jaime didn't really have such stories. His childhood had been filled with his endless need to be the best swordsmen out there. He trained from dusk till dawn and kept his mind focused on his goals. For him, there was no time for childish whimsy.

They stop to rest for a bit. (y/n) took off her boots to rub at her sore feet and Jaime knelt by the river to fill up their canteen that had been bone dry for hours. There wasn't much food he had packed since there was urgency to get out. Plenty of bread was still available in his pack but not much else.

Bare foot, (y/n) went about searching for wild berries and mushrooms. Jaime couldn't resist watching her through her wanderings. Ned had taught her and her siblings many things about wild berries back in Winterfell. She used this knowledge to gather an armload. While it wasn't meat it still filled their bellies along with chugging mouthfuls of water.

After that little respite, they were up and at it again until the sun dipped back down behind the mountains, replaced by a sliver of the moon and a multitude of stars. Starry skies always reminded (y/n) of her mother’s gown, she told Jaime as they walked. The Lady Catelyn possessed a gown of the deepest blue. Woven intricately onto the fabric were small crystals. They dazzled in thee light and as she moved about.

Joanna passed so long ago that Jaime could barely recall her. Something that he was able to share with (y/n) was his mother’s laugh.

She was a snorter.

For all her grace and beauty, when Joanna Lannister laughed, she really laughed. So much so that it resulted in her snorting during such throes.

Odd how that was the sole thing Jaime could think about when trying to remember her.

He must have sounded sad to (y/n) for sure grabbed his hand with warmth. Strong radiance flowed from her to Jaime. His insides flutter. Around her, he felt like such a young and naive boy. He was a man grown. She was the only woman to make him feel like this; not even Cersei made his heart thump vulnerably. With his sister, it was all about lust and satisfaction. There was no coyness to her seduction. Cersei always was straight forward.

If Jaime didn’t know any better, he would say he was falling in love with the Stark girl. That couldn’t be it though, right?”

**

For the following nights, Jaime insisted that he stay up to keep watch. A ridiculous thing considering that even the great Jaime Lannister needed sleep. No human could go so long without slumber.

He compromises. When the two of you take a break from your walking, he would take that opportunity to nap.

“You still know how to use this?” Jaime holds out his sword to you making you widen your eyes.

You stare at the hilt. The same sword he used to kill many people. Fingers twitch forward and brush up against it. “Yes.”

He nods when you finally take hold and put it off to the side of you on the grass. Situating himself onto hiss makeshift blanket and pillow, Jaime closes his eyes and is asleep in minutes.

This was an opportunity for you to outwardly admire him. He really was quite handsome. A perfect aquiline nose paired with cheek bones to die for. His upper lip was a perfect bow arch and absolutely kissable. You wonder what he dreams about.

While he rests, you go over the map. There’s bits of Jaime’s handwriting on the parchment too. Sloppy letters smashed together. You grin reminiscing that that was the way Robb wrote as well. Was that a habit of all men? No, your father wrote properly enough.

Naturally, Jaime would start to wake after an hour’s worth of sleep then back to the road it was.

All together, it took near a week to reach the Red Fork of the Trident. The river where Rhaegar Targaryen was slain by Robert Baratheon. The Red Fork lead all the way to Riverrun.

You were almost there. Considering why you were traveling in the first place, you would admit there was fun had while with Jaime. Away from the city, Jaime was freer. Boyish sides of him that he wasn’t able to display while in the Kingsguard. His smile, oh. . . This new smile of his was breathtaking. A bright beam that almost blinds you.

Certainly he was still arrogant, but a little less now.

“What will you do once you deliver me safely to my grandfather?” You ask him as you refill the canteen for one last time.

“Well, that’s if your family even allows me to leave.” Jaime chuckles. “Can’t imagine I’ll be welcomed back in King’s Landing or Casterly Rock. Don’t suppose you will employ a knight such as myself?”

The muscles on your face automatically make you smile at his confession of wanting to stay with you. You tamper it down and cough into your hand. “I can try to work something out.”

A light moment like this was bound to be ruined soon after.

Men on horseback and on foot surround you and Jaime. Swords aimed at the both of you.

Jaime holds up his hands to show that he was harmless and you immediately shout “I’m (y/n) Stark! Daughter of Catelyn Tully. Granddaughter of Hoster Tully!” Their red and blue livery reveal their allegiance.

Slowly, they lower their weapons; those on the ground get closer to see you better.

Then they register the man beside you. Their weapons went back up until Jaime forfeit his sword and allowed them to tie him up. One of the men helps you onto a horse while you beg lenience for Jaime the entire time. Proclaiming that he was actually helping you and bore no ill will.

All fell on deaf ears as they drag Jaime all the way back to the Riverrun fortress.

Spotting you from Hoster Tully’s chamber balcony, your mother met you at the front gate. She was indeed a sight for sore eyes.

As you’re assisted to the ground by helpful hands, Catelyn is already pushing aside men to get to you. She throws her arms around you and pulls your body tightly to her chest.

“Thank the gods!” Her fingers tangling them in your thick hair and buried her face in your neck. “(Y/n)-“

You encircle your arms around her. In her arms was the smell of home.

“Lady Catelyn,” came one of the soldiers. “Jaime Lannister was found with her.”

She sharply inhales and in one swift move she has you behind her as she steps forward for the rest of the men to present her Jaime.

They force him onto his knees in front of her.

“Mother please, Jaime helped me escape the Keep.”

Her eyes turn to you sharply. “(Y/n), the Lannisters are the reason for all that has befallen our family.”

Not Jaime though. He had done everything to help you. You grab Catelyn’s arm. “Without him I would have been like Sansa.”

“I swore myself to your daughter, Lady Tully. I am her sworn sword.” Jaime passionately declares. “Made an oath to protect her from this day to my last.”

“I recall you made that same oath to Aerys.” Scrutinized Catelyn.

His eyes are hard and unrelenting. Jaime doesn’t cower or back down. “It’s different with (y/n). She is worthy of protecting. I want to dedicate my life to her.”

Gods.

His words made you soar.

Narrowing her gaze, your mother folds her arms in front of her chest. “Well, Ser Jaime, it sounds like you have certain. . . Affections for her.”

Jaime turns to you with a hint of a smile. “I would say so.”

“(Y/n), go inside.” She snaps at you and with a wave of her hand, her father’s men take ahold of Jaime and bring him to the prisons of Riverrun.

Desperately you watch as Jaime meekly follows them. He doesn’t put up a fight, not once.

“He’s trying to make you a fool, (y/n).” Catelyn accosts you once inside the secure walls of the castle. “Please. . . Please tell me you don’t share these feelings he’s pretending to have?”

You were still stunned at what Jaime had admitted.

“(Y/n)?”

He swore his sword to you twice now in the presence of others. Catelyn made a point about Aerys, but what else was Jaime supposed to have done in that moment? Aerys was about to blow up King’s Landing with enough wildfire to wipe it off of the map.

Turning your spine to steel, you straighten your back and address your mother. “He’s not pretending. And if you must know, yes I do.”

You hate the pain that flashes across her face. “No. . .”

Before she could pull away from you, you grab her hands firmly and keep her there.

“I would not be here had it not been for Jaime.” You tell her sternly. “I am holding your hands now because of him. He kept his word to me that he would safely return me to you and even wanted to stay my sworn sword after the fact he had accomplished his goal.”

Squeezing her hand tighter, you add “He had everything to lose and nothing to gain.”

She was conflicted but you were adamant that she have Jaime released.

“Give him a chance.”

You were fierce, reminding Catelyn of Ned. Unwilling to back down to what you believed to be the right thing.

“I honestly can’t believe I was let out so soon.” Jaime muses.

Not without conditions of course as you glance at the Tully guards that watch him like a hawk. He wasn’t allowed his sword back. Not yet.

“Did you mean what you said? Before they took you away.”

He pauses to watch a low flying birds swoop down to the running water of the river. It pulls out a small silver fish and carries it away.

“I’ve thought about it a lot.” He admits. “What I feel for you. It’s confusing but it makes me feel alive. I’m not going to pretend that I’m even worthy of you. (Y/n), I’m not a good person. No one in the Kingsguard is except maybe Barristan Selmy. I’ve done some things that would horrify you. I didn’t like who I was in King’s Landing. But I like who I am when I’m with you.”

Your first instinct is to kiss him. You’re sure that the guards wouldn’t be too happy about it. Might even report it to Catelyn who was already uneasy with letting Jaime walk free. She’d given him the option to even leave the Riverlands but he refused.

“Bet you wanted to kiss me just then.” His grin is stretched from ear to ear.

You laugh and shove his arm lightly.

Like the first day following your exodus from King’s Landing, Jaime tucks a stray strand of hair that had escaped it’s confines. “I really meant what I said. My life is your’s, my lady. If war is to come, I will gladly protect you from my own house. This I vow.”

[missglaskin]

hello, how do you think the yandere boys from hotd (separated) would react, let's say they already have a few children with their wife reader and during her last pregnancy reader almost died during childbirth? (reader is his first wife...maybe?) thanks you are just amazing 😜

Also another ask: How do you think romantic yanderes (wether they are in a relationship with darling or not) would react to their darling having a difficult labor? Like it was even suggested that they do what they did to Aemma?

Note: I combined the two requests as they’re similar also the reader lives. Please, this is a sensitive topic. Don’t read if easily triggered.

- As tradition, Otto is in the halls, waiting for the birth of your child. He’s concerned when the maesters seek him to inform him of the difficulties of your labor. Otto declines the suggestion and demands for the maester to leave it to the god; he’ll not make the same mistake as his king. He gives himself a moment to think.

Otto is uncertain and concerned about the outcome for the first time in a long time. But once he hears the child’s cry and with the news of you alive but exhausted; he sighs in relief. Since you've already given him children and he has heirs, you’re forced to drink moon tea whenever the two of you consummate. He’ll not risk your life for something he already has.

- Since you announced your pregnancy, Corlys has made sure you always have the best maesters with you and that your delivery will go without a hitch—after all, this isn't your first child. Your screams of pain could be heard as he waited outside the chambers, but they were concerning. Contrary to custom, Corlys enters the room and demands to know what is happening. After learning about your predicament, he rushes to your side and tries to reassure you.

When the masters suggest cutting you open; Corlys is furious and questions if they’ve gone mad to suggest such a thing. He will stay by your side the entire time, holding you close. When the baby is successfully delivered, he will kiss your forehead with a big smile on his face, relieved that everything went well.

- Regardless of tradition, Harwin has always been in the room with all the children you have given birth to. He immediately realizes that something is wrong. His suspicions are confirmed when he notices the midwives' and maester's worried expressions. Harwin is holding your hand the entire time as you cry in agony.

When the maester suggests cutting you open, Harwin grabs him roughly by the clothing. He refuses to accept that this is the only way. And the maester, to avoid Harwin's wrath, chooses to remain silent after. It is a miracle when the birth is successful; causing Harwin to smile in relief as tears stream down his cheeks.

- Aegon didn't anticipate any issues with the birth; all of your previous ones were successful, so this one ought to be as well. When he learns that you are experiencing problems, he is shocked. His mother was present, and it is she who must warn him of what may happen because she is aware of how Aegon might respond to the maester if he were to deliver the message.

As to be expected, Aegon is infuriated by the suggestion and demands the master that they should put your life before the child's. He’s not willing to lose you; he’s not going to lose you. He finally calms down when hearing the good news; you and the child have survived the process. Even if he doesn't have an heir, Aegon makes it clear that this is the last child.

- Every previous birth you’ve had, Daemon was present in the room. And due to them fearing for their lives; the maester and midwives would remain silent. He could easily see that something was wrong, more so when you start calling for him. The maester hesitates and speaks in a trembling manner when he suggests cutting you open. Daemon replies that Caraxes would love to have him for dinner, if this birth costs your life.

If it ever comes down to it, he'll choose you over the child. Daemon tries his best comforting you; pleading with you to be strong. Fortunately, a miraculous event occurs; you and the child live. Daemon gives you a genuine smile while saying you are indeed his strong, brave girl.

- While his mother and the others caution him about how inappropriate it would be for him to be in the room with you, Aemond insists, and he often notices that the maester and midwives take more care when he is watching them. When Aemond must witness you in excruciating pain, there is panic. The maester suggests they cut your stomach open, but Aemond says that instead he should cut the said measter’s stomach open for daring to come forth with such a suggestion.

He’s even more bothered when told to leave it to the gods. It makes him uneasy to be left powerless in a situation such as this. But when the child was successfully removed, crying and kicking their legs, he was left feeling relieved. Others in the room are shocked to see the prince in such a vulnerable state as he rests his head on yours. But they are quick to leave the two of you alone to avoid Aemond’s wrath.

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

May I please request Daemon Blackfyre with the prompt: Summer Wine? (Feel free to delete this.)

Hello!Thank you for the request! I confess I have not yet reached the part of Daemon Blackfyre in Fire and Blood, but I will try to do my best. I hope you like this!

"Redgrass field"

Pairing: Daemon Blackfyre x Fem. Reader

Themes: Secret love / Lost love / Angst

Warnings: Alcohol use | Brief mention of kissing and intimate activities (very very brief and very very mild)

Word count: 600 approximately.

Summary: It is not everyone who captures Daemon Blackfyre's especial attention. But what happens after that?

Minors DNI | 18+

Rules and tag form here | Prompts for requests here

You could still remember the first time you saw him.

The bastard son of Daena the Defiant, the one known to all as Blackfyre, rode up to the lists, all proud and tall and fierce, with his beaten silver hair and bewitching lavender eyes that could beckon even the most resolute of maidens like a siren's call. His silver spurs jingled sweetly even as they glinted wickedly in the brilliant summer sun. His milky white courser had been resplendent in red and black silks that swirled around it whenever it broke into a run.

It was the most beautiful of days, all bright and golden and glorious. The crowd roared every time Daemon broke his lance and unhorsed his opponent. They would gasp when his foe fell to the earth with a sickening clangor. They would applaud when the fallen knight struggled to his feet. Daena would cheer louder than all the rest, her eyes filled with unbridled pride. Daemon was her child, her light, her life, and her joy. And yet, it was not her he sought out, but you. Out of all the ladies present, Daemon sought you out.

"Victory would be all but assured, sweet lady," he had declared, "if I had the great honor of wearing a token of your esteem."

You honored him, bestowing upon him not just a bejeweled token but a great many other things even as the days melted into each other. It was you he came to for companionship; it was you he turned to in the dances. He would tenderly lead you, his feet as light as air, his touch as gentle as a feather. His laughter would ring across the grounds, as clear as dawn bells. There was magic as light and sweet as summer wine, and the two of you drank deeply during those heady nights.

Oh, how heady indeed were those nights. Daemon wooed you and courted you, his kisses tasting like strawberries and cherries and bright spring mornings. His hair smelled like warm summer nights. His skin tasted of sunlight. You both knew it would never last, for he was the son of a Targaryen princess, and you were of little consequence to be considered a worthy consort for one such as him. Still, the two of you made the most of what the Gods gave you that season, delighting in summer days and summer nights and sweet, sweet summer wine. And when he left, you wept not, content to hold onto the memories that kept you warm many a cold autumn night, thinking that perhaps, some day, he would come for you and take you for his own.

That would never be. He wed another, quarreled, and warred, and now you were here, in this faraway field, standing before the great winged warhelm that was all that remained of his grave marker. The wonder and terror of his age, your summer love, snuffed out in the blink of an eye. If you did not weep then, you wept now, your eyes filling and stinging with uncontrollable tears. Did he think of you, of those glorious days and nights the two of you shared? Had he ever considered seeking you out, even for a moment? Unspeakable grief welled up and spilled over like a mighty flood. The lady he would go on to marry had his children. You had nothing of him, save for his winged warhelm, and, of course, the memories of summer days and summer nights and sweet, sweet summer wine.

[ladythornofrivia]

🐲👑 KINGDOM OF FIRE AND BLOOD MASTERLIST 👑🐲

SUMMARY: modern!reader fell into the universe that she’d never expect, especially encountering a one-eye dragon prince under a mighty house reign with fire and blood.

~ Aemond x Reader ~

👑 KINGDOM OF FIRE AND BLOOD 👑

Chapter One: The Dark Uproar

Chapter Two: The Green Star

Chapter Three: The House of Black & Green

Chapter Four: The Wandering Light

Chapter Five: The Council

Chapter Six: The Rebirth of Lady Greenstar

Chapter Seven: The Price of Heart

Chapter Eight: The Escape

Chapter Nine: The Children of Dragon

Chapter Ten: The Bite of a Lady

Chapter Eleven: The Shadow of a Dragon

Chapter Twelve: The Sons of Winter

Chapter Thirteen: The Dragon & The Wolf

Chapter Fourteen: The Feud of Birthright & Bastards

Chapter Fiftteen: The Maiden in Sea

Chapter Sixteen: The Wrath of a Dragon

Chapter Seventeen: The Tourney

Chapter Eighteen : The Taste of Depravity

(Disclaimer: some chapter titles will either be changed or added with a new chapter for the sake of an extension for plot and long details.)

@ ladythornofrivia - all rights reserved.

[summervale]

「Crimson and Gold, Red and Blue: A Ghost in Harrenhal」

Third person reader-insert! Y/N is the middle daughter of Hoster Tully. This timeline is a little bit of the ASoIaF novels and a little bit of the Game of Thrones show. Follows Jaime’s POV. Shameless, self-indulgent bathhouse yearning fantasy.

Contains: Adult situations, no actual smut but very close, angst (more like yearning).

Words: 4,018

The fever had done strange things to his mind. For days—or had it been weeks?—now he had suffered brutally, slipping in and out of consciousness and often finding himself a prisoner in his own mind. His delirium was nearly as much a punishment as the physical agony where his sword hand should have been.

Jaime thought of Cersei. He thought of Tyrion. He thought of the girl Tyrion had loved, Tysha, and he thought of their father and mother, of the places he’d been as a boy, still as green as he was Lannister crimson and gold. Ghosts now, all of them. He’d remembered his days at Casterly Rock, with his grandfather’s lions deep in the keep in their cages. He’d remembered his days as a squire at Crakehall, where he learned much of what he knew.

But the oddest of all memories (memories, illusions, delusions; call them what you may) were those of his days at Riverrun. Jaime had spent a fortnight there while squire to Lord Sumner; he’d known at the time that this was because his lord father and Lord Hoster Tully had been considering betrothing Jaime to Hoster's youngest daughter, Lysa. Jaime had little interest in Lysa; she’d been much too fluttery of a thing, fawning and doting on him when they seated her next to him at dinner (which was every night). He preferred the company of Ser Brynden Tully, the Blackfish, choosing to listen to the famous warrior recount his glory days in the War of the Ninepenny Kings.

There had been something else that interested him at Riverrun, too, Jaime remembered, try as he might to suppress it. Lord Hoster’s middle daughter of the three girls, Y/N Tully. She was a wild thing, fun and free and everything that a girl of her age and birth should not have been. She loved dancing and horseback riding as much as she loved to read, and though he’d caught her staring at him many a time (as almost all girls of an age with Jaime had—and who could blame them?) she’d never presented herself as a simpering little thing. He remembered a septa reprimanding her when Y/N was caught splashing about in the waters of the Red Fork with her skirts held up around her knees. He remembered her feeding apples to the horses in the yard, and later when she smiled at him across the hall as she tucked wildflowers into her hair, which would also later get her reprimanded by her septa.

Why Jaime remembered that girl so fondly in his state of infection-induced madness, he could not say.

Maybe it was because she was the only girl who ever could have swayed him from Cersei if he’d just given her the chance. Where Cersei was cruel and calculated and callous—something Jaime was aware of even from a young age—Lord Hoster’s daughter had been warm, kind, compassionate. She was a good-natured little thing through and through in spite of the indomitable spirit she wore so well. Y/N was far from the fairest maiden, this much was true, but she was kind, and she was good, and in her Jaime saw the things that Cersei was not.

The thirteen year old Lannister put these things from his mind.

There was only one exception that he would never be able to put from his mind. It had been late, and Riverrun as a keep was endlessly fascinating. Unable to sleep, Jaime had wandered the castle halls, meandering this way and that the same way the rivers flowed through Riverrun itself. It was by chance he’d stumbled on the keep’s library, which was really of no great interest to him, but it was as good a place as any to wander through in the dark of the night.

There, by all means, should have been no one in the library at such a late hour. At most there may have been a maester, but it was not a maester he found in the library. Indeed, it was of course Y/N Tully. She was sat by a lantern wrapped in a quilt of Tully red and blue, a small smattering of books around her. When she heard Jaime approach, she’d all but jumped out of her skin.

“What are you doing?” a young Jaime had asked her.

“Reading,” she’d said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world—and it was, as it had been a redundant question on Jaime’s behalf.

“Why? You should be asleep.”

“So should you.”

Jaime cocked his head and looked down at the book she’d been working her way through. Jaime was bad with letters and numbers. The maesters had no luck in teaching him, as the words all blurred together and became a jumble in his head. His father, Lord Tywin himself, had sat down and fiercely, relentlessly taught Jaime, working for hours a day until Jaime was all but in tears. That, no matter the state of delirium, was not a good memory. It was something Cersei had mocked him for, too, reminding him often that he was as stupid as he was handsome, that he was a lackwit as much as he was a knight.

“Short stories,” she said when she saw him studying the pages, squinting down at her. “Do you know of Jonquil and Florian?”

“Everyone knows of Jonquil and Florian.” You’d have to be twice a fool as Florian himself to not know the story of the famed fool and his lovely lady.

The girl had just smiled. “What about the Battle of the Redgrass Field?”

That had piqued Jaime’s interest. “What do you know of battles?” She’s a girl, he’d thought then, she knows nothing of battles.

But she had known. She’d lifted one of the books from her side and placed it in her lap. “It’s all here.” When Jaime knelt and looked over her shoulder, she said, “This one is accounts of the ten greatest battles in the history of Westeros.”

“And you read that?” Jaime, as much as he hated to admit it, was impressed.

“I read lots of things.” She’d traced her fingers along the pages then. “Do you read often?”

Jaime frowned. “No,” he admitted, “I prefer to listen.”

And listen he did. She read to him, without question, from the book of battles that night. First he knelt beside her, then he sat, then he laid down and propped his head up on one hand. He wasn’t sure how long he laid like that, but he laid that way until she began to yawn and both of their eyelids grew heavy with a need to sleep in spite of their fun. Together they made the decision that they’d had enough for the night.

They parted ways at the library door. “I have a terrible time sleeping. Nightmares and whatnot,” she’d told him. “I’m here most nights.”

Jaime had taken the hint. He returned the following night. Then the next night. He returned all six nights that had been left of his stay at Riverrun. Together they finished the big book of battles. Afterwards she read him a book about dragons, which was her second favorite book in all the library, and then a book about Asshai by the Shadow and the Shadowlands, her first favorite book in the library. She let him ask questions and even encouraged him, and on the rare occasion there was an illustration she turned the book to him to see. She gave him acts of compassion he had not seen in many years and may never see again, he knew.

On the last night, Jaime arrived at the library before Y/N. He wanted to pick the book. It took him the better half of an hour (too many titles to look through, it was dizzying), but he found it.

When she crept through the doors of the library for the evening with her quilt draped across one arm, Jaime was sitting on the floor by the hearth waiting for her. He placed the book in her hands, and from it she read him the story of Florian and Jonquil.

When the end of the two weeks came, Jaime Lannister was not betrothed to Lysa Tully. He was betrothed to none of the Tully sisters, who stood beside their father and watched him leave along with the rest of Lord Sumner’s host. He didn’t look back at them.

There were times over the next year or so that Jaime thought maybe he should have married one of the Tully girls. He would remind himself that he belonged to Cersei, his twin, his blood, his mirror image. He learned in time to put those thoughts from his mind, and soon the girls were nearly forgotten altogether. Those memories of Riverrun stayed forgotten for years until the fever so kindly reminded him.

He saw Lysa Tully enough with her being the wife of the Hand of the King, and did not regret not marrying her. She was Jon Arryn’s problem. By then Jaime was a changed man entirely, besides. No one but Cersei would do for him.

Y/N Tully had been meant to arrive at King’s Landing not long after Eddard Stark’s host was to arrive; she’d be there to meet with her brother by law and his daughters, her nieces, and to join in the ensuing tourneys and celebrations on behalf of Lord Hoster Tully, who was too sick to travel. Her own party had been delayed, though, and she’d never made it. Jaime was gone by the time she arrived, if she ever arrived at all. For that he was grateful; he had no interest in seeing her. If he saw her, he might remember the library. He might ask questions. Last he’d heard she was to marry some lord or another whose name he hadn’t remembered, but that lord had died before their marriage and no attempt to marry her off had been made again. It was not Jaime’s place to know; it never would be.  

The fever tormented him this way the whole journey to Harrenhal. He was saved only by Roose Bolton’s desire to please Lord Tywin, Hand of the King and current key player in the game of thrones. Everything was a blur after their arrival to the monstrosity that was Harrenhal. The big wench, Brienne, was toted away. Locke scurried off too, under the hateful eye of Lord Bolton. Jaime was to be given clean clothes and a bath and a meal and a warm bed. Of this, Jaime was at least mildly grateful.

He was disgusting. A bath would be the first thing on his list, even if he was starving beyond all doubt and in desperate need of a good night’s sleep. The walls of Harrenhal seemed to swallow him whole as he shambled through them. The fever was still there, haunting him, and it felt like there really were ghosts in Harrenhal. Twice he thought he glimpsed someone just out of the corner of his eye, gone before he could turn, and he had a creeping suspicion that he was being watched that he was unable to shake.

The bathhouse, Jaime found, was a low-ceilinged room filled with great stone tubs large enough to hold six or seven, fashioned after those of the free cities of Essos. Brienne was on her way out as Jaime was on his way in, and she made begrudging eye contact with him as she pushed past. After all this time, she still hates me, Jaime thought. She thinks of me only as the Kingslayer and always will. Maybe that’s all anyone would ever think of him.

The water was hot and steam hung heavy in the room. Jaime sunk into the water and felt his aching muscles relax. His head was spinning. The water was almost too hot and did little to help his fever, but it was a welcome feeling after long, disgusting weeks on the road.

The door opened, but Jaime paid it little mind. The near-defeated lion was too busy trying to keep his head above water to concern himself with a serving girl. He was vaguely aware she took a few steps closer, but hovered mostly near the doorway, peeking at him over an armful of towels and linens. Another one that’s afraid of me. Another one come to gawk at the Kingslayer.

Jaime closed his eyes and rested his head back against the stone tub for a few long moments, or maybe for a lifetime, it all felt the same to Jaime. In his exhaustion, he may sleep comfortably this way, or maybe he’d slip beneath the water never to rise again. It mattered little either way.

This didn’t happen, though, because Jaime opened his eyes when he heard the maid’s footsteps coming closer and closer until they were at the edge of his tub. The maid was in a sordid dress of blue that upon closer inspection may have been quite a nice gown at one time before becoming stained and ripped and worn; this was not a girl of common birth. Her hair was loose and unstyled, and when she lowered the towels away and Jaime got a better look at her, he realized…

A ghost. Her familiar face from years ago was gaunt, the color gone from her cheeks. She was a woman grown now, far from the child he’d known, and she would have looked as defeated as he was had it not been for the shine that she still somehow carried in her eyes.

“You,” he said. He meant to continue, but no words came to him. This was no place for her.

“Me,” said Y/N Tully. She knelt at the edge of the tub, her skirts gathering around her knees as she placed the towels on the floor beside her. Looking into her eyes, they were the same eyes Jaime had looked into all those nights in the library. “And you.”

“And me,” murmured Jaime. “Are you a ghost?” He was still half-delirious, and this was not helping.

“I don’t think so.” She smoothed her skirts. “Sometimes I feel it, though.”

He stared at her for a long time. She was smiling a sad smile at him, and Jaime could not find it in himself to smile back. “What are you doing here?” He asked.

“A series of mistakes.”

“Must have been some grave mistakes.”

“The mistakes were not my own, nor my men’s. We were delayed to King’s Landing. Too much rain. We were nearly there when we received word of what was happening. We turned right back around.”

Jaime was not understanding. “So you came here? To Harrnehal?” He was puzzling over who had even held the seat of Harrenhal before Roose Bolton.

At this, she gave a cold half-laugh. “No choice of my own. Had we known what would have awaited us on the road, I would have had my host brave King’s Landing.”

It clicked. “The Mountain’s men.”

Y/N nodded. “They fell on us in the night. I have been here ever since.”

A hostage. They’d made a hostage of Hoster Tully’s daughter. He should have had no love for her; it was her sister who took him captive, then who freed him and sent him out into the world with that great beast Brienne of Tarth. She should have no love for me, either, he thought. It’s me who started all of this. “Have you come to drown the Kingslayer then?”

“I have come to bring you towels,” she said, her sad smile never fading. “And to see if it was really you.”

“It’s really me, I think. Though I’m missing the best part of me.” He held up the stump of his arm where his hand should have been.

“You’re still you,” she said, as if she knew his greatest fear.

I am nothing now, he wanted to say. He wanted to yell it. I am nothing if I cannot fight. I am nothing if not a knight, the Kingsguard, the Kingslayer. But he couldn’t yell. He couldn’t find it in himself to do anything. Suddenly the world was spinning, and Jaime felt as if he was falling.

A voice was crying, “Ser Jaime!” but he did not know where the voice was coming from; the world was warm and black and fading so, so quickly. There was a splash, then suddenly there were hands on him, on his sides, on his chest, on his face. A hand on his back. Someone was holding him. Cersei…

“Ser Jaime, wake up. Wake up! You’re okay, wake up.”

No, not Cersei. The world came into focus with the same sudden haziness that it had gone out of focus. Jaime blinked, half-conscious. “Your skirts will get wet,” he mumbled.

The Tully woman sighed in relief. He could see her now, smiling. “It’s a little late for that.”

Jaime was alert again (or at least as alert as he would be for a while) and realized what had happened. In a moment of panic, Y/N had leapt into the water to keep him, the Kingslayer, from slipping under. There hadn’t been a moment’s hesitation. Her skirt drifted about her thighs in the hot water.

“Are you okay? Do I need to get a maester?” She had one arm behind his back, holding him upright and against her. The other hand was cradling his face to hold his head up.

He had known passion with Cersei, but he had never known whatever this was.

“I’ll be okay.” Against all better judgment, he rested his head against her shoulder. “I just need a minute.”

A minute turned into five, and five turned into ten. He laid like that, drifting in and out of consciousness, while the Tully woman held him. When at last he’d found his strength again, he sat upright and apologized for the spectacle. As expected, she didn’t mind. Instead she just asked him again if he was alright. She looked at him with the same kindness and compassion and good faith she had in the library all those years ago. Whatever she had been through—which was no doubt quite a lot at the hands of the Mountain’s men—it had not changed who she was at the heart of it all. Or maybe it was just her shy fondness for him that had not changed, which Jaime considered.

“Your dress is ruined,” Jaime pointed out dumbly, not sure what else was appropriate to say.

“My dress was already ruined,” she said. “It’s seen worse.”

Jaime nodded. Grime dripped from his beard, falling onto his chest in a small muddy rivulet. The small woman splashed a bit of water at him, washing it away. The gesture, however small and innocent and meaningless it may have been, only served to bring more heat to Jaime’s face. Something in his body stirred and he found himself having to shift his thighs.

“Are you sure you’re alright? Do you need any help with your hair?”

Jaime should have told her no, but instead he nodded his head ever so slightly. “My hair.”

She nodded back. When she pulled her arms from around him, Jaime almost wanted to lean back into her, to remain in her arms a moment longer, or maybe for her to never let him go at all. He didn’t, though, and sat upright as she shifted around behind him. She took a bar of soap from the raised ledge of the stone bathtub and began working at his hair. She ran her fingers through his hair twice, then three times, then a fourth, her nails scratching pleasantly at his scalp. She worked a handful of water into his hair before letting her hand rest on his bare shoulder for a moment. A shiver that Jaime was helpless to suppress wracked his body. He felt her chest rise and fall against his back as she obviously fought a laugh.

Unfortunately for him, he lost the battle against his body. He was helpless to fight against the stirring within him, and the more she touched him the stiffer his cock grew. Jaime tried to rationalize it away; surely he would have had the same reaction if it had been any pretty woman bathing him, not just her. Part of him wondered if this was true at all.

He stayed this way, silent as the grave as she took absolute care in washing his hair for him, and when she was done she mopped at the back of his neck and his shoulders with a rag as well even though he didn’t have to ask for it. Her fingers brushed softly against the sensitive skin of his neck, raising gooseprickles on his body. When she ran her hand along his throat, Jaime shuddered and held his breath. 

It was sudden, almost instinctive, the way he wanted to turn to her. He imagined grabbing her and pulling her body to his, close as could be. He would look her in the eyes and see exactly what he wanted to see, and then he would kiss her. His hands would find her waist beneath the water’s surface; it would be nothing at all to pull the woman to his lap without ever breaking the kiss. To hold her the way someone should have been holding her all these years, and she would hold him the way he should have been held all along. She would kiss him back, he knew. His past wouldn’t matter. The Kingslayer would melt away in her arms. If there was anyone that could see past the Kingslayer, it was her. All that would matter to her would be him, and all that would matter to him would be her. It would be as it should have been from the start, he should finish what they’d started that night in the library when she looked him–a knight to be–in the eyes and asked if he knew the story of Florian and Jonquil. For a moment his head turned, and he made only the slightest of movements towards her. 

 If she didn’t get out soon, he would not leave this room the same man he had entered.

She did get out, though, and Jaime was not sure whether he was glad of this or not. “Is there anything else you need?” she’d asked from behind him, her lips inches from his ear. No doubt she had seen the way she’d made him shudder more than once.

“I’m okay now,” he told her, then before he knew what he was saying, he added the softest, “Thank you.” It was so wildly out of character for him that Jaime himself blinked in confusion.

She squeezed him lightly on the shoulder. “Of course.” She rose from the water behind him and Jaime was free to lean back against the tub once again, legs crossed awkwardly. She stood there at the edge, laughing as she wrung out her skirt.

Jaime looked her up and down, wondering what the stay at Harrenhal had done to her. “Do they make you a servant?”

She shook her head as she let go of her skirt, which fell sodden and heavy back around her ankles. “No, I’ve been mostly lucky. I think Riverrun’s might is too important for them to really hurt me. Things have gotten considerably better since Lord Bolton’s arrival, though.”

“Mostly?”

“They have not all been kind, especially when the lord is not looking.” She did not make eye contact with him when she said it. “I make myself scarce.”

Jaime looked at her. She was tired, so tired. She was a ghost of the girl in the library. It’s a blessing I did not marry Lysa, he thought, and it’s a curse I did not marry her sister.

This thought haunted him when he laid in the quarters Lord Bolton had provided him. When he had arrived at Harrenhal hours before, he had only one thought: he was so close to getting home to his sweet sister. Now there was a second thought, and it was what his life would have been like without that same not-so-sweet sister—what his life would have been like with a bride of Tully red and blue instead. He would not have joined the Kingsguard. He would not have gone to Winterfell, where he would not have pushed the Stark boy from a window. He would not be here now.

No, he wouldn’t be here now. He’d be home at the rock where he belonged, his lady wife beside him. He’d have children that would know him as their father, who he could call his sons and daughters of his own. They would have hair of Lannister gold or of Tully red. They would be fierce like their father and smart like their mother—good and kind like her, too.

Their mother. Their mother who would climb into bed beside him every night, happy to have him, wrapping her arms around him. Their mother who would never call him stupid and would instead sit by the hearth and read to him and the children. His wife who would hold his arm when they walked together and give him all the niceties of the world. His wife who, over dinner, would talk of dragons and Asshai by the Shadow, of fairy tales, who would be so proud of him. His wife. 

Jaime closed his eyes and put her from his mind the same way he had all those many years ago. A dream, he thought, and nothing more. He lied in the grave he had dug.