#daemon junior is a handful

[bohemian-nights]

In your Dettles fanfic "To every season" thier first child passes away but what if he did live? How would Daemon react to seeing Nettles and their son and how would their son react to him? Just a little what if scenario 🤗

Okay so first off, Daemon would feel just a severe amount of guilt.

Now he already feels highly guilty for being away from his Netty for five years, even though the reasons why they were separated for so long weren’t within his control, but he’s able to hide it better. When he finds out that she gave birth to their son and raised him for the first years of his life, he feels like a failure.

He starts to feel and voice that he should’ve pushed himself. He should’ve remembered sooner. He should’ve pushed himself to remember. He’ll even start to regret going after Aemond in the first place. They could’ve left together for some faraway place and never looked back at Westeros. He curses that sense of honor/duty he had felt that led him to go hunting Aemond alone, which nearly killed him. It left her and the little one they created alone in the world.

This is an entirely different scenario from his other kids because there aren’t maids, wet nurses, and other servants around to pawn off their children. Nettles is actually the main one raising their son.

So Daemon would beat himself because he’s missed out on so much and Nettles had to be there for him all by herself. He’s super grateful that she found the hill tribes, but he should’ve been there taking care of them. He wonders how Nettles can forgive him when he left her and their son alone for so long. Nettles of course thinks this is silly.

He’s here now. He found his way back to them. She can’t hold what happened against him. If he never went after Aemond he’d regret it and she’d never want him to regret anything.

Daemon doesn’t let his guilt keep him from interacting with their kid. He really goes out of his way to bond with their son and make up for most time.

He carves little wooden dragon toys for him. He’ll make him a little practice sword if he doesn’t already have one and he will literally sit there for hours just listening to him babble on. He kinda lets him get away with things. Like if Nettles doesn’t let him eat sweets before dinner he’ll just give Daemon puppy eyes and he’ll sneak the kid some treats and be like, “Don’t tell your mom.” 🤣🤣🤣

As far as their son goes, this one looks like a mini-Daemon and he kinda acts like one too. He’s extremely weary of Daemon at first. I mean he is basically a stranger. He does know that he’s dad though, even without Nettles telling him so. He may be a kid, but he has eyes.

He’s just so used to it essentially being himself, Nettles, and Sheepstealer. Nettles has centered her life around raising him, so he’s a mama’s boy, and he’s very protective over her. He’s very clingy. I imagine that while he may have his own bed, he creeps into Nettles's bed at night most of the time and sleeps there. However, when he sees Daemon cuddling up to her he goes, “Hey that’s my place” 🤣🤣🤣So he pushes himself between the two saying that he thought he heard a noise.

Daemon goes to check, and when he comes back and tries to join them, the poor man is regulated to the far end of the bed when his son tells him that he needs room to breathe (which is utterly ridiculous when he’s clinging to Nettles).

It obviously takes a while, and some patience on Daemon’s end, but the two eventually bond. Probably over dragons. I think that their son might actually be a little upset/insecure about the fact that he does not have his own dragon. Especially considering who his parents are.

This is Daemon’s way in because he gets to comfort him and tell him that he was not born with a dragon himself. Dragons don’t make a man and he is already an incredibly clever boy with a good heart.

Or they might bond over their territorial issues. I.e. they dislike it when they see men throwing themselves Nettles' way.

It becomes even more apparent how similar the two are with how jealous they both act(the pouting, the clinging onto her, and glaring at the man in question, which is surprisingly intimidating even coming from a five-year-old). Nettles finds it hilarious (not to mention adorable) as she points it out to the two. They of course deny it and say that she is far too trusting. That they must look out for her. Lol, nothing brings father and son together than acting like the human embodiment of their house sigil 🐉

[misswynters]

The Bastard Daughter

Davos/Benjicot Blackwood x fem!reader

[ SYNOPSIS: You were born the bastard daughter of Prince daemon, and the elder half sister to baela and rhaena. Once you got married to your betrothed, Benjicot, you took your little brother, whom you shared a mom, with you. Aerys is ten years younger than you, however you raised him since he was a babe. Due to your mother, Lysa Tully, dying in childbirth.

[ WARNING: almost kidnapping, non-canon character death, mentions of blood, stabbing, kinda sloppy writing…

[ REQUESTED: by anonymous

The halls of Raventree Hall bustle with activity as preparations for the upcoming journey to Dragonstone are in full swing. You walk briskly through the corridors, your mind occupied with the heavy responsibilities placed upon your shoulders. As the recognized bastard daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen, you have always been aware of the weight your lineage carries. Riding the wild dragon, Cannibal, only adds to the mystique and danger that surrounds you. But today, it is your duty as a mother and sister that weighs most heavily on your heart.

Benjicot Blackwood, your husband and the Lord of Raventree Hall, is in the courtyard, overseeing the preparations. His tall figure, with dark hair and a stern expression, exudes a sense of authority and protectiveness that has always comforted you. When he catches sight of you, his eyes soften, and he approaches you with a reassuring smile.

"Everything is almost ready," Benjicot says, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. "Are you sure about this?"

You nod, though a knot of worry sits in your stomach. "Rhaenyra has asked us to send our son and my brother to the Vale with her own sons. They will be safer there, with their dragons."

Benjicot frowns slightly but nods. "If this is what you believe is best, then we will do it. They will be safe, I promise you that."

Your son, Eddric, and your younger brother, Aerys, are playing nearby, their laughter a small comfort amidst the tension. The younger one, Eddric was six years his junior. However both boys are strong and brave, with the fierce spirit of their Targaryen bloodline, but they are still young.

As the day progresses, you make your way to Dragonstone. The sight of the imposing fortress fills you with a mix of awe and apprehension. You know that not everyone will welcome your presence or the presence of your brother and son. Baela and Rhaena, in particular, have never hidden their disdain for you and Aenys.

Upon arriving, you are greeted by Rhaenyra herself. Her warm smile is a balm to your nerves. "Thank you for coming," she says. "As you know we must ensure the safety of our children."

You exchange polite greetings before making your way inside. As expected, Baela and Rhaena are there, their expressions hardening when they see you. The tension is palpable as you introduce Eddric and Aerys to Rhaenyra’s sons, Jacaerys and Joffrey.

"The Vale is no place for these boys," Baela says sharply, her gaze fixed on you. "They are meaningless, having no worth.”

Rhaena hesitantly nods in agreement. "We cannot risk our lives for them."

You step forward, your chin held high. "They are targaryens, just like the rest of us. They have a right to be part of this."

Before the argument can escalate further, Benjicot steps in, his presence commanding the room. "These boys are my family," he says firmly. "I have raised them, protected them, and I will not allow anyone to speak against their place here."

Baela glares at him. "This is not about you, Benjicot. It is about their safety."

Benjicot’s eyes flash with anger. "And I say they will be safe in the Vale. We also have dragons."

The room falls silent, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air. Rhaenyra steps forward, placing a calming hand on Baela's arm. "We must trust in each other," she says softly. "Our family will be stronger together."

Reluctantly, Baela and Rhaena nod, though their expressions remain tight. You take a deep breath, feeling a sense of relief.

As the preparations continue, you find a moment alone with Benjicot. He takes your hand, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles. "Don’t pay mind to them" he says quietly. You took a deep breath, feeling a sense of relief.

The following day, the courtyard is a hive of activity as the handmaidens, servants and riders prepare for the journey. Cannibal, your imposing dragon, stands apart everyone, his dark scales absorbing the morning sunlight. Eddric and Aerys are wide-eyed with excitement and nervousness, as the elder of the two clasped his hands onto the reins of his dragon. Your son then made his way towards his father.

You walked towards aerys and kneeled before him, smoothing his unruly hair. "Stay close," you instruct him. "And listen to Benjicot and me at all times."

Aenys nods solemnly, his face set with determination. "I will, sister."

Eddric, standing beside his father, looks towards at him. "Will you fly like mother?"

Benjicot smiles, ruffling Eddric’s hair. "Sadly i cannot my brave boy. We will be riding the carriage together."

As you mounted cannibal, you watched as aerys soared through the sky following behind, the wind whipping through your hair. The journey to the Vale is long and arduous, but the sight of the mountains and the Eyrie in the distance fills you with a sense of purpose. Aerys, riding his dragon, was a sight to behold, his youthful enthusiasm blending with the raw power of his mounts. You smiled with pride as his older sister.

Upon arrival, you are greeted by Lady Jeyne Arryn, who welcomes you warmly. The Eyrie, perched high in the mountains, feels like a safe haven amidst the chaos of the realm. The children quickly settle into their new surroundings, as the dragons roosting nearby.

A few days have passed, and the children begin their training in earnest. Under Benjicot’s watchful eye, they practice their swordsmanship and horse riding, their skills improving with each passing day. You spend your time teaching them the history and traditions of House Targaryen, ensuring they understand the legacy they are a part of.

That evening, as the sun sets over the mountains, you find a moment alone with Benjicot. You stand together on a balcony, overlooking the Vale. The sight is breathtaking, but your thoughts are heavy with the weight of your responsibilities.

Benjicot takes your hand, his touch grounding you. "You’ve done well," he says softly. "Aerys and Eddric are safe, and they are learning. You should be proud."

You sigh, leaning into him. "I am proud, but I worry. The realm is in turmoil, and our family is scattered."

Benjicot’s grip tightens on your hand. "With time, we shall be together again. Your family and mine are strong, and we will fearlessly protect each other."

His words are a comfort, and you find strength in his unwavering support. Together, you watch the sunset, the promise of a new day bringing hope.

Tensions remain high between you and Baela and Rhaena. Despite Rhaenyra’s efforts to mediate, old wounds run deep. One afternoon, as you are helping Aerys with his dragon, you overhear Baela speaking with Rhaena.

"They don’t belong here," Baela says, her voice sharp. "They are not true Targaryens."

You feel a surge of anger but force yourself to remain calm. Stepping forward, you address Baela directly. "We are as much Targaryens as you. Our blood is the same, and we have the right to be here."

Baela’s eyes narrow. "Your mother was not a princess. You are a bastard."

“But she was noble, even so… share the same father Baela,” You told her as you rubbed your forehead due to stress. Benjicot steps in, his presence a wall of protection. "Enough," he says, his voice cold. "This bickering helps no one. We are here to prepare for the future. We need to stand as a family."

Baela looks ready to argue, but Rhaena places a hand on her arm, silently urging her to back down. With a huff, Baela turns and stalks away, leaving you and Benjicot standing together.

You turn to Benjicot, your heart heavy. "Thank you," you say quietly. "I don’t know what I would do without you." He pulls you into an embrace, his strength and warmth enveloping you.

The days turn into weeks, a sense of routine settles over the Eyrie. The children continue their training, and the bonds between them grow stronger. The hostility from Baela and Rhaena lessens, though it never fully disappears.

As you gather for dinner, Jeyne makes an announcement. "I have received word from Dragonstone. We must prepare for a council meeting. Our presence is requested by the queen to discuss the future of the realm." The news sends a ripple of tension through the room. You exchange a glance with Benjicot, knowing that this council meeting could change everything.

However journey back is fraught with anticipation. Cannibal is flying in a calm but steady manner. Upon arriving at the Dragonstone, you are struck by the gravity of the situation. The council chamber is filled with lords, their faces a mix of hope and fear.

Rhaenyra takes her place at the head of the table, her presence commanding respect. As discussions begin, it becomes clear that the realm is on the brink of war. Alliances must be forged, and plans must be made. When it is your turn to speak, you step forward, your voice steady.

"My husband and I have brought our family and dragons to support the cause," you say. "We stand with Rhaenyra, and we will fight for the future of the realm."

Your words are met with murmurs of approval, and you feel a sense of pride and determination. As the council meeting continues, you steal a glance at your husband. Benjicot meets your gaze, a small smile playing on his lips.

After the council meeting concluded, you flew ahead back to the Eyrie. It The moon hangs high in the night sky, casting an ethereal glow over the imposing structure of the Eyrie. All is quiet as the inhabitants of the castle sleep, unaware of the danger creeping closer. In the children's chambers, Eddric and Aenys sleep soundly, the fatigue from their rigorous training finally taking its toll.

Suddenly, a faint sound disturbs the silence – the creak of a door opening. Shadows slip into the room, figures cloaked in darkness, moving with the practiced stealth of seasoned kidnappers. They are after the children, seeking to exploit their value as dragon riders and Targaryen blood.

Aerys stirs, sensing the intruders, but before he can fully wake, a rough hand clamps over his mouth. His eyes fly open in terror, and he struggles futilely against his captor. Eddric is also grabbed, his startled cry muffled as he is lifted from his bed.

The kidnappers move quickly, their actions rehearsed and precise. They bind the boys' hands and gag them to prevent any cries for help. The children are carried through the darkened halls, the intruders avoiding patrols and sentries with an eerie familiarity of the castle’s layout.

In the courtyard, the kidnappers approach their hidden escape route. The dragons, knowing their companions are in danger, begin to stir restlessly in their nearby roosts. The beasts' low growls and shifting shapes go unnoticed by the kidnappers, who are focused solely on their escape.

One of the dragons, Cannibal, is particularly sensitive to the distress of its riders. The ancient, fearsome beast senses the peril its bonded humans face and lets out a thunderous roar that echoes through the mountains, shaking the very stones of the Eyrie.

The roar rouses you and Benjicot from your sleep. You leap from bed, your heart pounding with dread. "The boys!" you exclaim, already moving toward the door. Benjicot is right behind you, his face a mask of determination and fury.

Rushing into the courtyard, you are met with chaos. Dragons are roaring, their eyes glowing with rage, and guards are scrambling to understand the source of the commotion. You spot the kidnappers just as they reach the edge of the courtyard, your children still struggling in their grasp.

"Stop them!" you shout, your voice piercing the night air.

Benjicot draws his sword, his eyes blazing with fury. "Let them go!" he roars, charging toward the kidnappers.

The intruders, realizing they have been discovered, hasten their movements. One of them draws a dagger, pressing it to Aerys throat. "Stay back, or the boy dies!" the kidnapper threatens.

Your heart clenches with fear, but you refuse to back down. "You will not harm them," you declare, stepping forward with a fierce resolve. "Let them go, and you might live."

Cannibal lands heavily behind you, the ground shaking under his weight. The sight of the massive, menacing dragon causes the kidnappers to falter, their courage wavering in the face of such a formidable beast.

Benjicot takes advantage of their hesitation, lunging forward with a swift, precise strike. He disarms the kidnapper holding Aerys, pulling the boy to safety. You rush to Eddric, freeing him from his captor's grasp and shielding him with your body.

The remaining kidnappers, seeing their plan unraveling and the dragons closing in, decide to flee. They sprint toward the forest, abandoning their mission in the face of certain death.

With the danger passed, you hold Eddric and Aerys towards you, your heart still racing. Benjicot stands beside you, his sword at the ready, eyes scanning the surroundings for any remaining threats.

"You’re safe now," you whisper to the boys, trying to soothe their trembling forms. "We won't let anything happen to you."

Benjicot kneels beside you, his expression softening as he looks at the children. "We will always protect you," he promises, his voice firm and reassuring.

Eddric clings to you, his voice shaking. "They were going to take us away," he says, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Aerys, though shaken, lifts his chin defiantly. "We’re not afraid," he declares, his young voice filled with the courage of his Targaryen heritage. "We have dragons."

You and Benjicot exchange a look of profound relief, as the boy . Despite the terror of the night, the four of you had emerged stronger through fear.

The day came to a close and it was the next morning, a beautiful crisp autumn day at the Eyrie, the air filled with the rustle of leaves and the distant roars of dragons. You watch Aerys and Eddric from a distance as they train, their laughter and determination a constant source of joy.

The boys have become inseparable, their friendship growing stronger with each passing day. Suddenly, a commotion erupts near the main gate. You see a group of strangers, dressed in dark cloaks, pushing their way through the guards.

Your heart races as you recognized the danger. The attackers move swiftly, drawing swords and pushing past the guards with brutal efficiency.

"Stay here!" you shout to Eddric, who is standing frozen in shock. You run towards Aerys, who is closer to the intruders, your mind racing with fear.

Before you can reach him, one of the attackers grabs Aerys. The boy struggles, his fists pounding against the assailant. "Let me go!" Aerys screams, his voice filled with terror. The boy then grabbed tried to grab his dagger to stab his attacker on the leg. However it wasn’t enough.

You draw your sword and charge at the attacker, your heart pounding in your chest. But before you can reach them, the man uses the boys dagger and plunges it into Aerys chest.

"No!" you scream, your voice breaking as you watch your brother collapse to the ground.

You reach Aerys side, dropping to your knees and cradling him in your arms. His eyes are wide with pain and fear, blood staining his tunic.

"Aerys, stay with me," you plead, tears streaming down your face. "Please, don't leave me."

Aerys's hand reaches up to touch your face, his fingers trembling. "I... I'm scared," he whispers, his voice barely audible.

"I know, little brother. I know," you say, your voice breaking. "I'm here. I love you."

Aerys's eyes flutter closed, and his hand falls away. You hold him close, your heart shattered as you realize he's gone.

The courtyard is silent, the attackers having fled. Benjicot arrives, his face pale with shock as he takes in the scene. He drops to his knees beside you, his hand on your shoulder.

"We'll find them," he promises, his voice rough with grief and rage. "We'll make them pay for this."

But his words bring little comfort. The loss of Aerys is a wound too deep to heal, a pain that sears through your soul. You hold your brother's lifeless body, your tears falling onto his bloodstained tunic.

The sky is gray and somber as you stand beside Aerys's pyre, your heart heavy with sorrow. The dragons circle overhead, their mournful cries echoing through the mountains. The loss of Aerys has cast a dark shadow over the Eyrie, the grief palpable in the air.

You stand with Benjicot, Eddric by your side, his small hand clutching yours tightly. The boy's face is streaked with tears, his grief a mirror of your own. As the flames consume the pyre, you whisper a silent prayer for Aenys's soul, hoping he finds peace in the afterlife. The pain of his loss is a weight you carry with you, a constant reminder of the fragility of life and the cruelty of the world.

The memory of Aerys's laughter, his bravery, and his love will stay with you always. And with Benjicot and Eddric by your side, you vow to honor your brother's memory by protecting them and fighting for the better of the realm.

You couldn’t help but place the blame of your little brothers death on someone, something. Why wasn’t there guards posted at Aerys and Eddrics chambers the night prior. How can two masked assailants just come into the courtyard unseen and unheard until it was too late. You wished you could blame someone, you really did.

taglist: @benjicotblckwood @thornsandtulips

[a/n: sorry anon, i killed the readers brother :/, they really said let’s try again

[kingsanddragonsandgods]

⁂Early life:

Princess Visenya Targaryen of Runestone was born on the last day of the year 90AC, at her mother's ancestral home.

The newborn child was named after the Conqueror Queen, Visenya, by her father and anointed by holy oils seven days after her birth at the Sept-by-the-Sea in Runesport.

Queen Alysanne, who held the child during the ceremony is noted for having remarking that ‘the girl has all of Viserra’s beauty, but Alyssa’s temper’ to which the King is said to have answered ‘Gods be good’.

As Princess Visenya grew, her parents continued to battle, using the young girl as a pawn in their conflict, with both parents appealing to the King and Queen to take their side on occasion.

During her early years she grew especially close to her natural born brother, Orys Stone, the illegitimate son of Prince Daemon by Lady Rowena Royce, Lady Rhea’s older third cousin. The young boy was brought into Lady Rhea’s household in the year 90AC, following the passing of his mother.

From the age of five, her parents’ estrangement was permanent, with Prince Daemon returning to the Crownlands and Lady Rhea and their daughter remaining at the Vale. After royal intervention it was agreed that the Princess time was to be split between living in Runestone with her mother, and between the Red Keep and Dragonstone with her father, alternating during the seasons, summer and winter was spent on the Vale, while spring and autumn in the Crownlands, special celebrations were shared.

Her education appears to have been strict and somewhat old-fashioned, thus, in addition to her studies, Grand Maester Runciter notes in his journals, she was taught spinning and weaving and had an innate talent for weaving intricate tapestry. From the year 92 forward, Visenya, who had been betrothed to her newborn cousin, Prince Aerion, was expected to become Queen Consort, and her education reflected it. Her betrothed passed away in his cradle two years later, and Visenya was then betrothed to his newborn brother, Prince Aelor.

Her tutors at the time, Maester Adelin, Archmaester Vaegon and Master Petrarca of Volantis, regarded Princess Visenya as an extroverted, lively, highly intelligent, and strong-willed girl. Prince Daemon was reported to be proud of her horsemanship and marksmanship.

Because of her outstanding intellect, and his blunt favoritism, King Jaehaerys named Princess Visenya as his cupbearer in the Year 96AC, at the age of six.

The young princess often was allowed to discuss the classics, philosophy, and the affairs of state with ambassadors and envoys visiting the court of Jaehaerys. Moreover, she was personally acquainted with the painters, musicians, writers, and scholars who lived in and around the royal court.

Princess Visenya if often considered one of, if not, the best educated women of her generation.

The year 96AC marked another milestone for Princess Visenya: on the eight moon of the year, the young princess bonded and became the first rider of a she-dragon she named Huraxes. The same dragon that as a hatchling had been brought to Princess Daenerys Targayen. Huraxes had pearly scales and iridescent wing membranes, with pale and pinkish flames. The princess was allowed to bond with the she-dragons by royal decree after falling ill with a bolt of Spring Fever that nearly took her life.

Matches for Princess Visenya started being discussed by the Small Council, brought up by the Lord Hand. Thought Visenya was heiress to the largest fortress in the Vale and to the Ladyship of Runestone, it was argued that as she was a Princess of the Realm, the matter of her marriage was a prerogative of the King, which infuriated Prince Daemon, who at the time occupied the seat of Master of Law, the Grand Master agreed that such line of thought might anger the Vale, as the Princess was highly regarded by her people and her second cousin, the Lady Jeyne Arryn. Lord Corlys suggested his own son as a match for the princess, four years her junior, most likely to tie another dragonrider to his house. His Grace put down all talks of marriage for his niece, agreeing that such was the right of his brother and good sister to choose her match.

For the celebration of his niece's fifteenth nameday, the king ordered seven days of celebrations, with a tournament and grand feasts. The Queen's absence was noticed, excused as Her Grace was in the early stages of her final pregnancy, and Visenya was allowed to sit in the seat usually reserved for the consort; she was crowned Queen of Love and Beauty by the Dornish Ser Eldric Dayne, the Star in the Morning.

Since the Princess's return to court early in the spring of 104 AC, Visenya had caught the king’s eye, and it is reported that Viserys and his niece have become very close, spending hours each day in each other's company, promenading in the gardens, hunting in the Kingswood, and dancing together during feasts and balls.

The king is said to have spoiled his niece with lavish gifts, including presenting her with a manse in King’s Landing, a country estate crossing the Blackwater Rush and later a sea palace in the Reach.

⁂Marriage and Queenship:

After the death of Queen Aemma Arryn in the Year 105 AC, Princess Visenya, aged 15, became the 2nd wife and Queen Consort of her uncle, King Viserys I Targaryen. Their betrothal was announced a month following the queen’s passing, and a private ceremony was held three months later in Dragonstone.

It was a scandal at the time, as not only the King’s new marriage was announced a moon after the late queen’s passing in childbed, but it had also been rumored for some time that Viserys and Visenya had been lovers.

More salacious tales propagated by the fool Mushroom during the Dance of the Dragons tells of the princess sitting on her uncle's lap during feasts, kissing him shamelessly, and nibbling his fingers sensually as he fed her like a beloved pet; of the king fondling her breasts in public, and announcing to his courtiers that he and his niece would retire to make love. These have no contemporary support, with Septon Eustace calling such tales absurd and slanderous.

Over the matter of his marriage to his niece Viserys claimed that the marriage was in the public interest and ordered a grand celebration for the occasion of his new queen's coronation, to happen after the end of mourning period for Prince Baelon. Visenya was the first Queen Consort crowned in a separate ceremony from the reigning King. During the occasion the apparent advanced state of the queen's pregnancy caused a new wave of rumors that Visenya had been the King's mistress while the queen was still alive and that their child was conceived out of wedlock.

In their more than two decades of marriage, Visenya and Viserys had fourteen children, all survived into adulthood, something that the maesters attribute to the queen’s management of the nursery. Visenya’s role as a mother was glorified throughout the realm, their young new queen’s obvious fertility was seen, by the smallfolk and nobles alike, as both a bless from the Mother and a sign from the gods. With the birth of her twin girls, Princess Viserra and Princess Rhaelys, coins were issued, portraying her as the Mother, an allegory that would repeat itself many times for the remaining of her husband’s and son’s reign. If in her maidenhood, as a young princess, Visenya posed as a model for sculptures of the Maiden, in motherhood and queenship, she was now the Mother.

Although it was not the norm of the age, and in fact, apart from the late Queen Alysanne, no other queen receive such a honor, King Viserys granted Visenya a seat on his Small Council, leaning on her for advice on varied subjects due to his respect for her opinion and good judgment. She became a formidable figure with far-reaching influence during this time. According to some sources, her influence was such that Queen Visenya effectively ran the government alongside the Hand of the King.

In the year 115AC, around the time of her stepdaughter’s wedding to Ser Leanor Velaryon and in the years that followed, the Queen Consort started to work and put her own trusted people in ever higher positions to strengthen herself and her sons through them.

Visenya acted as her first husband’s regent after his health decline, sat in her eldest son’s war table following Viserys’s death.

⁂Personality:

Some historians have contended that to some extent she deserved her negative reputation propagated by her stepdaughter following the death of King Viserys I, despite the inaccuracies of the claims that she was sexually disreputable or regarding the legitimacy of her children, other criticisms of her were valid: she was ambitious, proud, obstinate, and masked her cunning behind a sweet-toned voice and flawless manners.

Princess Rhaenyra described her as a woman of reckless extravagance and wantonness, who seduced a grieving man, and whom the King nonetheless loved passionately and faithfully. It is widely known that those part of the Black Court of the Princess of Dragonstone took to call the queen ‘the King’s Great Whore’ and ‘Lady Concubine’, however always away from both the queen and the king’s ears as well as her supporters, further spreading the rumors of an extramarital affair while the late Queen Aemma still lived and questioning the validity of the legitimacy of their children. Despite rumors spread on her sons legitimacy supported by the queen's supposed lasciviousness, all of Visenya’s children resembled those of her lineage.

In her youth, Visenya was celebrated as ‘the most beautiful creature in the world’ and that there was ‘nothing lacking in her that the most beautiful girl should have’. Ser Alyn of Hull would reflect later in her lifetime that regarding her appearance ‘there were few women who could compete with the Queen in her prime’.

Visenya was fiercely independent, a trait she shared with her mother. Mellos described her as having ambitions to match her pedigree. However, Archmaester Gyldayn notes that Visenya was fully aware that a woman in Westeros could not hold power in her own right. Instead, Visenya orchestrated the rise of her sons.

Capable of acts of extreme ruthlessness, she, in contrast, was also able to demonstrate uttermost kindness and charity.

⁂Issue:

At four and thirty of age by the time of their weeding, Viserys was already considered in his middle age. The union however proved itself to be a happy one, and together they had 14 children, nine sons and five daughters.

Visenya had been taught the importance of receiving an education and came to play an extensive role in her children' education, resulting in the creation of a "superior breed of princes."

Queen Visenya was know to call her children her 'precious jewels', and took great pride in all of them, she was particularly close to the princesses Alyssa and Elaena, however it is said, that from all her children, her favorite was Prince Aegon.

edited on 11/04/2024

[the-desilittle-bird]

Author's Note- Well, just because I love Matt Smith and Daemon Targaryen though I have not watched House of the Dragons.

Thank you and Enjoy your reading!

Realm's Desire

Daemon Targaryen x Sister!Reader

Part 1 ☆ Part 2 ☆ Part 3

Warnings- I think it gets angst-y towards the last. Daemon is himself a warning and jealous Daemon is certainly a warning. Mentions of arranged marriage, typical Westros stuff I guess.

GIF credits to @torahana

Summary- (Y/N) Targaryen was the youngest daughter of Baelon and Alyssa Targaryen, two years junior to Daemon. If Rhaenyra was the Realm's Delight, then (Y/N) was Realm's Desire.

Daemon had never thought in his life that he did have to watch (Y/N), from a distance, dancing and laughing with Jason Lannister. As a princess, (Y/N) had to fulfill her duties and somehow, being able not to deny a lord with a dance was one of them.

Daemon never ever felt this jealous about anyone. He was aware that everyone in the realm found his sister attractive- she was undeniably gorgeous after all- but never had he thought that his sister found anyone good enough to pay her attention to except himself.

They had been close since childhood. Best friends attached to each others hip, sharing stories and secrets. That companionship soon changed into something more. Their innocent laughter and conversations of night changed into soft whispers and promises of forever.

(Y/N) could feel a heated gaze of someone on her backs. From the corner of her eyes, she spotted Daemon glaring at Jason. A small smirk plastered on her face. Maybe dancing with Lannister is not that bad, she thought to herself.

"... and once I killed a huge boar on my own, my princess," Jason Lannister finished one of his many boring stories of his "greatness". (Y/N) smiled in a flirty way, stepping a bit closer to him. "Oh really, my lord? I am sure, it would have been delicious," she whispered, looking at him through her lashes.

"It really was delicious, my beautiful princess," Jason said with a victorious smile. (Y/N) could see Daemon move from his place on the table, moving towards them with murderous gaze directed to the Lion of the Rocks.

Jason had started another pathetic story about some hunt when Daemon interrupted them. "Sister, wouldn't you spare your lovely brother a dance?" It was not a question but a straight and direct order for his sister to comply with.

"It seems we have to cut our dance short, my lord," (Y/N) curtsied and placed her hand in Daemon's extended one, leaving a dumbfounded Jason behind.

Daemon possessive hand on (Y/N)'s waist, stepping close to her such that their chest were almost touching. His breath danced over her face, making her gasp a bit. Their bodies moved in a sync, something that always have happened. Smooth steps, gliding between hundreds; they were in their own world.

"Ao vestragon naejot raqagon aōha jēda lēda bona nādrēsy," (You seem to enjoy your time with that bastard) Daemon's deep voice whispered close near (Y/N)'s ear, an involuntary gasp leaving her throat. "Gaomas ziry jenigon ao, lēkia?" (Does it bother you, brother?) Their mother tongue danced over their lips, so effortlessly and melodic.

Daemon's grip on her waist tightened, drawing her closer. "Kostilus, dōna hāedar." (Perhaps, sweet sister) The smirk on (Y/N)'s face was smug, her mission accomplished. "Sir, ao gīmigon skoros jān rȳ tolvie rēbagon tubis," (Now, you know what I go through every passing day) she gritted through her teeth, glaring at the Rogue Prince.

"I fail to understand you, my little sister," Daemon said amusingly, glancing back to where their brother sat. Viserys had never been a fan of Daemon staying near (Y/N). He had always though Daemon would taint their sweet, little sister's innocence though, Daemon won't blame Viserys for thinking such things. After all, he had a certain reputation in the court.

"You are completely aware of what I mean. Watching you wed that woman from Vale," (Y/N) said, jealousy dancing in her voilet eyes. Daemon let out a chuckle. "And who says she is an issue?" Daemon asked, an amusing smile on his face.

(Y/N) snorted loudly, finding his amusement, annoying. "If you aren't aware, brother," she hissed, glaring at the representative of Vale in the court. "You can't marry me until she is gone or your marriage is annulled."

Daemon always knew it but why couldn't he wed her in the traditions of their house? Aegon the Conqueror had two wives, both of them his sisters. Then what was the problem, if Daemon wanted to have two wives, one of whom doesn't even care about his existence.

"You are aware that I have tried talking to Viserys about it, my dear," Daemon said, the amusing smile slowly vanishing as the conversation turned serious. "Viserys had called me last evening to talk about my betrothal. He wishes to marry me off to Stark," (Y/N) said, her (E/C) eyes casted downwards.

"Stark? Is he mad?" Daemon sneered. They had stopped dancing ages ago, now, standing between the laughing and dancing couples. "Dragons don't live in cold, (Y/N). We deserve to be here," he continued, gripping her waist tightly.

"Is everything alright here?" A voice made (Y/N) pull away, turning to find their niece, Rhaenyra, standing there with a coy smile. "Yes, Nyra," (Y/N) replied with a stiff smile.

"Father wished to introduce you to your betrothed," Rhaenyra informed the pair, glancing cautiously towards Daemon. (Y/N) nodded with a fake smile plastered on her face. "Thank you for sharing this with me, Nyra. I will be gone then," she said, turning to face Daemon whose eyes were now hard and cold like the North itself. "Thank you for the dance, brother."

With those words, Daemon watched as she slipped through the crowd, making her way to their brother and the Wolf of the North. "You messed up, uncle," Rhaenyra whispered gently, leaving Daemon behind to join her aunt.

"(Y/N), sister, meet Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell and your betrothed," Viserys introduced with a warm smile. (Y/N) dipped down in a curtsey, smiling at the older man. "It is a pleasure to meet you, my lord." The customary sentence was said and met by just a stern nod.

Cregan Stark was just how (Y/N) had imagined him to be. Stern and cold just us the books define the Starks to be. She had always heard that Starks were honorable people. She hoped it was true.

"Your engagement will be announced tomorrow in the court, dear. And perhaps, in a moon's time, you will be wed; if Lord Stark allows," Viserys said, glancing at Cregan for confirmation. Cregan nodded stiffly. "I would be fine with anything you wish, your grace," he replied.

"Then it is sealed," Viserys cheerful voice seemed too distant as (Y/N) glanced at Daemon. Duty was the death of love, and it seemed (Y/N) has to do her duty to the crown and forget her love in the process.

Her fate was sealed and this time, unlike other times, she didn't fight it anymore.

Author's Note- Let me know what you think and if you want a Part 2 of this.

[horsegirlwarcrimes]

Alright, you have answered me again (SY gets two daemons sounds extremely interesting! The "what the fuck happened to Shen Qingqiu" Peak Lord meeting in this AU is going to have some shit to talk about, huh!) so now I'm moving on to the next in my list of WIPs I'm really super curious about - Scooby Gang Juniors? Juniors fics are so fun what shenanigans are they getting into?

auw im literally dead u r so kind ( ;´ - `;)♡

scooby gang juniors, actual title some 'Never Love An Anchor' lyrics bc thats the theme song of this fic, is actually the first longfic i ever started writing! it has also been a WIP for mmm. four years or so. i started writing it right after watching the untamed for the first time in 2019 lmao, but never finished it because at that point id never written ANYTHING as long as it was gearing up to be (the outline is 20k). i hope to finally finish it and post it some time soon, probs after WINR and the ZZL&YQY fics are done. its probs some of my fav writing ive ever done but never shared with anyone haha

summary: Wei Wuxian may have drafted a ritual for willingly bringing someone back from the dead somewhere in his madness in the caves of the Burial Mounds, but if he did it was never found. In the absence of a convenient literal ghost from the past to help exact his revenge, Nie Huaisang turns to the next best thing: his old friend's son.

Meanwhile, Lan Sizhui finds a man buried deep underground with soft, familiar eyes.

[Lan Sizhui, Lan Jingyi, Jin Ling, Ouyang Zizhen, and Wen Ning go on a life changing field trip, dodge their worried parents, and dig up some corpses, in approximately that order.]

“When I realized how deeply affected by the Yiling Patriarch Hanguang-Jun was, I began to realize where this slip in righteousness had come from. You see, while I and the rest of the cultivation world believed that Lan Wangji had been in secluded cultivation for three years to move to a new level in his cultivation, or because he had been wounded fighting the Yiling Patriarch, the truth is much the opposite. Hanguang-Jun was in seclusion as punishment, for siding with the Yiling Patriarch at the Siege of the Burial Mounds. All along, these famed enemies had secretly been allied.”  Jin Guangyao shook his head, expression deeply sympathetic even as the cultivators of the room began to turn to Hanguang-Jun. Hands went to swords, only remaining undrawn due to the thick tension in the room that had yet to break. Hanguang-Jun stood immovable through it all, flawless as jade and cold as ice.  “I believe the Yiling Patriarch must have altered his mind, and had been using his demonic arts to corrupt him as far back as the Sunshot campaign. Now, with the feared patriarch dead, it seems this would no longer be such an issue. But Wei Wuxian left one final plan even after his death, a fail-safe to bring ruin to the cultivation world once again even when he was long gone, and he entrusted that plan to Hanguang-Jun before his death.”  At last, his eyes met Sizhui’s again. Sizhui’s mouth tasted electric, the buzz of the room crashing into him in waves even as it narrowed just to himself, his uncle at his back, his father, and the man before him. He inhaled through his nose and straightened, perfect Lan posture and the ribbon on his forehead proudly on display. He narrowed his eyes back at Jin Guanyao and did not drop his gaze. Jin Guangyao smiled, a flicker of amusement, before he regained his expression of earnest concern to address the crowd.  “I found proof in the records of the Wen work camps, and writings recovered from the Nightless City. You see, Lan Sizhui, ward of Hanguang-Jun and First Disciple of Gusu Lan, was neither a war orphan nor a poorly concealed bastard, but instead a child smuggled out of the Burial Mounds before the siege.”  Jin Guangyao swept a sleeve over Sizhui’s group.  “Honored cultivators, I stand before you to reveal the surviving heir of the Qishan Wen Sect. Called Lan Sizhui but born Wen Yuan, the son of Wen Xu and his first concubine. Cousin of the Ghost General, and former ward of the Yiling Patriarch, already beginning the work of reviving the Wen and overwhelming the righteous sects with demonic cultivators.”  In the chaos, only one voice cut so bitingly through the noise. Calm and cold and sure, Sizhui latched onto it with all his heart. Anything to avoid looking behind him, at the friends he had lied to.  “So you admit it.” Said Hanguang-Jun, unmoving from his spot amidst the Lan. Jin Guangyao blinked wide eyes at him.  “I’m sorry?”  Hanguang-Jun stepped forward. Even with his name being almost literally dragged through the mud, cultivators still parted around him with automatic deference.  “You admit you knew children were being tortured, in your work camps.” 

[lunarmoonanons]

The Rogue Prince and The Precious Princess

🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕  

Daemon plays with the Small Dragon princess, aiming his sights on her for the future. 

🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕  

Masterlist 

The Keep was finally lively again. Due to the success of Maegelle reconciling her parents, the court welcomed back the good Queen and her two sweet daughters. Now at age 6, YN could run about the Keep with her favorite playmate, Daemon. The 9 year old boy had always enjoyed playing with YN, even if she was 3 years his junior; the two would be seen playing tag, or skipping around the yards, or even sneaking around the gardens when they could sneak out of Alysanne’s sight for a moment. Now the two were running around the Keep chasing the other around, much to the delight of the nobles and guards whom they dodged. 

“You can’t catch me, Daemon!” YN giggled and swerved around a guard who smiled at the little princess. 

“Just you wait!” Daemon teased, he was slowing himself down purposefully to lengthen the game. When YN turned a corner he sped up and slid across the floor to get her. 

But when he turned the corner, YN was not in sight. Tentatively, he stepped forward and looked around for her. Ears perked when he heard giggling behind a pillar. YN was hiding from him. Catching a peek of her dress behind one, Daemon swerved around the pillar to jump out at YN. When YN peeked her head out to see Daemon, she was confused when his image did not appear. Suddenly, two hands reached out behind her and tickled her sides, sending YYN into a fury of laughter. 

“Caught You!” Daemon laughed, pleased with himself as he sent YN into unstoppable laughter. 

“Let.. HAHA…Let me…. HAHAHA… Let me GO! HAHAHAHA!” YN laughed hysterically and squirmed in his hold. When he finally let her go, YN remained smiling at the silver haired boy. “So, what should we play now?”

“Hmmm. Hide n Seek?” Daemon offered, taking long dramatic steps to circle around YN who copied his goose steps. 

“Nah, I keep getting lost and Mommy gets sad when ‘m lost.” YN responded, twirling her silver hair. 

“How about hops?” Daemon asked, smiling at the game where they’d bounce around the castle and keep it up till they saw the King or Queen. 

“My legs are too tired. Let’s play a new game!” YN suggested, excited at her new idea. 

“What about Marriage?” Daemon asked, thinking of the game he heard some of the court ladies’ daughters who played the same game with their perspective beaus. 

“What’s that game?” YN asked, tilting her head dramatically to let her hair dangle. 

“We pretend to be married and call each other husband and wife. And we have to stay together the entire time.” Daemon said hoping YN would agree. His father always said that he might marry YN, so in his mind they were just practicing. 

“Wouldn’t you play this game with Gael? She’s around your age. Daddy says ‘m too small to ever marry.” YN asked him, now suddenly wanting to find Gael and include her in their games. 

“I don’t want her. She’s too simple for me. I wanna play with someone who can keep up!” Daemon whined and held out his hand. “Please? Just for today?”

“Mkay.” YN relented and grabbed his hand, not noticing how tight he began to grip his small hand. 

“Perfect! Now let’s go to the throne room, wife!” Daemon smirked at his triumph. 

“Yes yes, hubband.” YN giggled and skipped alongside him. 

“Husband.”

“S’what I said.” 

The two young ones skipped around the keep, smiling at the people and calling each other their new titles. No one seemed to raise an eyebrow at it, since so many like Prince Baelon assumed the two would be wed one day as was custom in the Targaryen line. YN was giggling and enjoying the fake title she had now, but not as much as Daemon enjoyed it. This was more fun than practicing his Valyrian or reading histories. Though not as fun as swordplay, or flying with his father on his father’s dragon, he did enjoy his time with YN. He, like others, loved the little princess the minute she graced the Keep with her bright smile. The two were playmates when she began to walk around as his father designed it. The queen did want him to play with Gael, but Daemon found her to be too boring and dull, but YN was fun. She indulged his games and could keep up with the prince. Daemon had missed her when the queen took her away to Dragonstone, he had asked his father as to why YN was going away but Baelon could give no satisfying answer to the boy. 

Once the two had made it to the throne room, YN let go of Daemon’s hand and ran up to the throne. Much to Daemon’s dismay. 

“YN…” Daemon whined. “Your supposed to keep hold of my hand, wife.”

“Come to the chair with me!” YN smiled and waved him over. When he found his way over, YN grabbed his hand again and brought him up to the throne. “Daddy lets me sit on the chair with him sometimes.”

“It’s called a throne.”

“Drone.”

“Throne.”

“That’s what I said.” YN waved off his comment. 

YN pulled Daemon up the steps so that the two may directly sit on the throne. Daemon hissed at the slight pain the swords gave him when he sat on the Iron throne. The two managed to both sit the throne at the same time. YN kicked her feet around, while Daemon gaped at how long the room looked from this throne. He smiled at YN who returned it with her own bright and wide smile. With a boldness, like Alyssa before him, Daemon lifted YN’s tiny hand to his mouth and placed a kiss sweetly on it. 

“You and I will be married one day. And I’d be the kindest husband to you. I’d take you for a ride on my dragon every day, and we’d-”

“And you’d what? Daemon.” A loud voice interrupted them. Jaehaerys entered the throne room with a slight scowl on his face. 

“Daddy!” YN jumped off the throne and ran to her father, laughing when he lifted her up to his arms. “We were playing a new game! And we ran around the keep together! I escaped my tutor and tried to find you but I couldn’t so I found Daemon and we played chase. And-”

“Hush. Hush YN. I can’t understand you when you speak so fast.” Jaehaerys chuckled at his daughter’s ramblings. Several other lords had made their way into the room, intending to speak to the king and smiling at the sweet sight of Jaehaerys holding his daughter. “Now. What game were you playing?”

“Nothing… just a silly game called marriage.” Daemon mumbled and hopped down from the throne. 

“Hmm. And what makes you think you’d wed YN?” Jaehaerys contained his anger at the thought of someone taking YN away from him. “I do not think you are worthy enough to marry her. No one is.”

“Your majesty… do you not intend to wed her off eventually?” A lord asked, confused that Jaehaerys aimed to keep YN unwed her whole life. 

“I cannot deny that I have never wished to see YN wed. I am happy with her company and do not in the least want a separation.” Jaehaerys gave YN a tight hug and then turned his gaze to Daemon who did not waver in his glance. “And you must get back to your studies. Perhaps then you will be worthy for her. But I doubt it.”

With that, Jaehaerys dismissed the boy who’s face was red with anger and pride. Daemon collected himself as best a child could and made his way back to his rooms so that he could finish his studies. He would be worthy of YN. He’d show the old King that he’d be a strong man and a worthy match for the most precious princess.

@missglaskin

[biblioklept-writes]

Secrets and Lies - II

Mafia!Targaryens | Aemond Targaryen x F!Reader

Summary: Daemon Targaryen's family discovers that anger is not a good look on you as you get your first taste of revenge - the fruit so sweet you might just be addicted to it.

Word Count: +12k

Warnings: Allusions to gore, mentions of sexual assault, human trafficking and children in brothels, canon typical violence but make it ✨modern✨, reader goes feral-literally, reader and the green kids working as a team. (if you feel anything else should be here, then do let me know)

A/N: Raw work alert! this is not proofread, and way worse than the first part. I'll read it over and correct any mistakes when I encounter them, but any comment will be useful. Let me know what you think about this in the ask box!

This story will have one more, final part. Until then, you can find my other House of the Dragon works here.

You didn’t feel like going to class for that entire week. Calvin helped you with the classwork, and you were well caught up with your studies, but making that effort to leave the apartment complex was just too much for you to stomach. You even had Aemond turn in your digital electronics assignment for you, unable to gather yourself enough to leave. You would spend time with Alicent, standing behind her like a bouncer ready to throw hands at the slightest bit of danger, then you’d spend your afternoon with little Daeron, teaching him everything you knew about hacking, getting him a Linux to develop thievery bugs. You even helped him on his school assignments, not wanting to be left alone with your thoughts.

In the evening, you would go to Aemond and sit quietly in his study, catching up on the classwork as he did his reading. Even though you weren’t conversing, his presence beside you and the warm silence helped your brain refocus.

When you weren’t busy with any of the siblings, you would cover yourself up and take Coco up to the terrace and play with him, for the German shepherd was your best friend and was catching onto your fowl mood.

But today, on a fresh new Monday you are dressed magnificently in a black denim skirt and a lace black bustier top and a pair of heeled leather boots. You had opted with an all black aesthetic - even your makeup is intense with dark lined eyes and a black choker on your neck. Dressing up well always made you more confident, and you were filled with mad confidence and anger - unable to release all of that even with the week’s worth of harsh training with Criston Cole and the other guards.

I want to break something, you think. Pray no one crosses me today.

The day is as usual, you sit in class, go to the malware detection lab and work on your project. Per usual, you go out during the lunch hour and walk to the cafeteria where you find Aemond, Helaena and Aegon - and it is a rare sight, but one you quite enjoy. Aemond offers to carry your lunch for you, considering you were carrying your laptop case along with your bag.

The three siblings walk to the outside ground to sit in the sun, while you linger back a moment to speak with Sera, the only other girl in your class. She asks for your wellbeing, having learned from Aemond that you had been sick. You politely tell her that you are okay now and thank her for her concern.

It is on your way to the ground that you are irked by a sudden whistle, spotting a group of juniors - this one lead by Rawdon Bolton, the vile smirk on his face and the giggles of his mates making you angrier than you were.

“Why hello there,” He says walking over, voice laced with vice disguised as mirth. “You’re a foxy little lass today, aren’t you?”

You stand there, silently glaring at him, but Rawdon is not deterred. The bastard is too sure of himself, sure that he has easy prey, his pack of hyenas snicker at you.

“It’s a bit odd to see such a lass alone by herself,” Rawdon smirks. “Maybe you could use some pleasant company.” He reaches forward and touches your arm, the touch of his soft, sheltered hands disgusting. You are quick to react to his filthy touch and push him down - he is now laying on the floor with your boot resting on his chest and you glower down at him.

“You didn’t need to do this to get me to lay down baby,” he laughs, icy eyes dark. “Although, I do quite enjoy this view,” he raises his arm in a deliberate motion, soft cold hand coming to rest on the exposed skin just above your knee.

Your blood boils at his lewd words and touch, body acting off its own accord as you grab the hand that lays on your thigh and twist it in the opposite direction until you hear him scream at you to stop, call you crazy, tell you his daddy will have your head, and ultimately a loud snap followed by Rawdon Bolton’s cries of pain.

His elbow is bent at an awkward angle as you step off his chest and pick your laptop case back up and dust yourself, not bothering to look back as you strut away, to the Targaryen siblings.

The three siblings watch you in awe, pride filled in their purple-violet gazes. “That was the shit!” Aegon chuckled, and Helaena nodded in agreement.

“Our feisty girl is back!” Helaena declares, and the four of you sit down to eat the food. You are not too hungry now, but a sadistic satisfaction warms your heart as the whispers around you grow louder, filling you with the good gossip about Rawdon Bolton’s nearly broken arm.

“If you didn’t break his arm, I would have.” Aemond says, but he has a rare, proud smile on his face. You grin sheepishly, and then sit down by the steps.

“Well, that was the entertainment, but now it’s time for food,” Aegon declared, unceremoniously dropping his arse beside you. “Well?” He pointedly looked at Helaena and Aemond, who sat on the steps below you and opened their food.

The day passes quietly enough after that - people moving out of your way when your imposing figure walks by them. You enjoy this - the power that you gave yourself. 

“Girl what the fuck am I hearing about you?” Calvin asks the moment you enter class.

“Well, he came to me first,” you shrug. “What was I to do?”

Calvin gives you an incredulous look, his mouth agape. “You do realise exactly who you messed with?” He looks ahead and shakes his light brown head. His warm brown eyes are wide in alarm. “He’s the heir of one of the more powerful families in Westeros, you’re messing with the Mafia here!”

“And I am friends with the Targaryens,” you say, looking up at him through your brow. “I literally don’t give a shit about the Boltons.”

“Yeah, right.” Calvin rolled his eyes. “And I am the mafia queen,”

“My Range Rover didn’t come out of thin air,” you snap at him, irritated. “Calvin, this has nothing to do with you, why are you worried?”

“You have a Range Rover?” Calvin’s eyes are threatening to bulge out of their sockets.

“Are you fucking blind or what?” You say incredulously. “Did you even sleep last night?”

“I… think so?” He says, blinking absently. “I smoked weed last night but other than that I don’t know.”

“That actually explains a lot.” You sigh, anger deflating.

“I’d be worried if I were you,” He said, taking out his laptop.

“Hmm,” you murmur. They should be worried about me, you thought.

.

You’re currently in the Director’s office, who looks downright terrified of the woman sitting beside you. You had no surname, leaving the KLU admin to believe that you could be scared, but one word to Alicent and she left her husband’s side to storm in and speak some words to him. 

“Well, Professor, it is a problem that you are accusing her of being violent when you didn’t question the Bolton boy’s inappropriate behaviour with other women.” Alicent says. “It doesn’t leave a good impression of you. She is the only one who bothered to respond. I will not have this abuse of power by a family of human traffickers.”

“I didn’t know, ma’am,” the Director starts.

“You didn’t know about Rawdon Bolton’s inappropriate behaviour towards other students or did you not know that this girl would have connections with me?” Alicent says. “Either way, I am letting this slide only this one time. If I hear one more complaint about young Mr. Bolton going unanswered, I will have your head. Am I clear, Professor Quent sir?”

“Yes ma’am.” He nods, even though his clenched jaw twitches.

“Good,” Alicent smiles. Then, calling your name, she waits for you to leave the room before following you out. “That was a little reckless of you, my dear.”

“I know,” You sigh, not regretting your action, rather being upset at making Alicent come over. “I couldn’t really help myself when he was touching my thigh,”

“My sweet girl,” Alicent says, holding your hand delicately, “I am so proud of you for breaking his elbow. Just keep in mind that next time, no one sees you doing it.”

“Okay,” You nod, storing that advice in your head.

.

You keep that advice in mind as you learn to creep around, hacking into the security systems of the “abandoned warehouses” all over the city of King’s Landing. Daeron helps you whenever he can, finding his purpose amongst the numbers of your Linux and the viruses you can build.

You are keeping all of your friends in the loop - as much as you want to, you know you cannot bring down an entire family without help. Aemond’s obsession with history combined with his electrical engineering degree gives him curious ideas about different torture devices, more than glad to let you experiment on potential targets. Aegon with his deep knowledge of toxicology gives you the poisons for your pins - the kinds that destroy the pin and the target once hitting the skin, untraceable by common post-mortem tests, or the kinds that render the target unconscious for long periods of time. You’ve only tested the second kind as of yet - only immobilising the guards that threatened your presence. 

Helaena is your rescue darling, her kind face is enough to lure the young children into the truck, driving away to a safehouse until their homes can be tracked.

It all began with Rawdon Bolton’s filthy hand on you - you guessed you could thank him for being a filthy beast, but you like to think it was Alicent’s advice to remain unseen that really kicked into action. 

You’ve spied on all the big families by the time your semester comes to an end - learning that the Starks are leaning to support Rhaenyra once old Viserys finally dies. The Lannisters would support Aegon, and the Baratheons were leaning towards Aegon too. But this little council of you and your friends had other plans, plans that you had been working on for more than a while. The documents were ready, and now you only need the signatures of two people forged well enough to fool the attorney.

With Viserys’ declining health and your rather…stauch reaction to Daemon, Alicent had not extended any further invitation to Rhaenyra’s family, even as her heart begged for a semblance of their old friendship. But some ties were better left broken.

Aemond, by extension grew even more resentful of Daemon, Rhaenyra and the Strong Boys, all of them being favoured by Viserys and being let off their crimes unpunished and without reproach.

It is one of the more rare quiet nights since you have taken on the mission to destroy the Boltons step by step, and you are in the quiet of Aemond’s room, illuminated by the reading light on at his desk. The dim light of the room feels like home, and you are laying in his bed, the smell of limes and new books covering you, cocooning you in a safe haven. Aemond is presently brushing his teeth before he lays for his nightly reading, the running water and the rapid opening and closing of boxes signalling the end of his nighttime routine for his skin and hair.

The tap turns off and he steps out of the bathroom, patting his face dry with a fluffy towel, smiling as he spots you laying on his bed. “Well, hello darlin,” he says, putting away the towel in a hanger. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” 

“Nothing,” you say, turning away from him to bury your nose in his pillow. He has the finest silk pillowcases - good for his hair, he claims - and you know that he spends the same time worrying about the texture of his hair just as he cares for Vhagar. You don’t think it’s fair for him to have such healthy, soft hair. “Can’t I be here just because I want to?”

“Well,” he says, sitting at his desk and picking up his book. “Would you like me to read to you?”

“See, I knew you were a smart man.” You say. “Come here,” you pat the spot beside you on his bed, and he rolls his eye with a chuckle, yes ma'am.

“What do you want me to read to you?” He asks, the warmth of his body now beside you. He smells of limes, leather and the new book that he holds. 

“Whatever you want to,” you smile, sinking further into the pillow.

He starts reading about Old Valyria and how the first legends came into being. His voice is firm and soothing - you stop hearing his words and getting lost in the smooth tone of his voice. You've already got your arm thrown over him, across his hips and burying yourself in his side by the time you realise what you're doing. You think of pulling away, but he drops his arm on you, holding you close. 

You look up when you stop hearing his voice, only to find him staring intently at you. His one lilac eye is dark and full of emotions you have never experienced. You have lost all your vocabulary, and your words are stuck in your throat, not daring to come out. “Aemond,” You say, staring into his intense gaze. The sapphire in his eye gleams wickedly in the dim lighting of his room. His shoulders are warm under your hands, and you are leaning to his pouty mouth, the heat of his body making you forget your words. 

“What is it, my darling?” His smooth voice distracts you for long enough to remember your words.

“Kiss me,” you whisper. His large hands are on your face, and you melt into their warm, falling into his lap. "Kiss me until the only thing i know is you,"

Aemond's lips are on yours in an instant, devouring you like a man starved. A fire is ignited in your veins, fingers clutching at his black dress shirt. His familiar scent of leather and limes envelopes you, and his mouth feels like home, moulding against yours perfectly. His hands glide down from your face to the base of your neck, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His body is tense, and he is holding back for your sake so your hands go to his silver hair and tug down the hair tie, letting his soft hair fall free and tangle your fingers in those strands until all your senses are full of him and him only. He is on your skin, on your tongue - you can hear him inhale sharply and you can see his one eye closed in pleasure - his lovely scent of leather and limes is so strong you can taste it.

“My beautiful darling,” He breathes against your lips, hands still resting on the base of your neck. “I wish I had both of my eyes so I could see you the way everyone else does,”

“It doesn't matter what everyone else sees,” you whisper against his puckered lips. “I only care about what you see,”

“Perfection.” Kiss. “You're intelligent,” Kiss. “Smart, so smart and so strong,” Kiss. “So pretty and so good to me,” This time, his Kiss lingers, filled with emotions that words couldnt convey. “Owner of my heart… and soul, if I have one.”

“Oh, my love,” you take his face in your hands and plant little kisses all over his face, stroking his sharp jaw. “I have always been yours,”

“Mhm,” he hums, planting another kiss on your forehead. You try to resist the urge of rubbing yourself on him, but your will breaks once his warm hands are on your cold arms - you lean against his chest and deeply inhale his comforting scent, rubbing your cheek against his warm neck to get comfortable. His muscles are firm under your touch, and you know the training does him wonders - his clothes and lean frame are very deceptive, you’ve discovered.

.

Everything was going according to the plan - all your documents were ready, you just had to get to Viserys’ room. Daeron took the nurse out for a long moment while you and Helaena sneaked into the room. And presently you found yourself waiting for Viserys to gain a semblance of consciousness with the drug Aegon had handed you.

You quickly step away from Viserys’ line of sight, trying not to chuckle at the odd look of Helaena pretending to be Rhaenyra. The older woman’s style is going to be a big no for your friend - and everyone agrees to that. Helaena is a gentle person, but she couldn’t be a Targaryen without a deceptive bone in her body, and she presently she utilises her skills of mimicry, and the delirious Viserys believes Helaena to be his only child, Rhaenyra - and messily signs each paper that you hand him, not even bothering to ask what the document says.

“Be happy, my child.” Viserys says as the effect of the drug starts wearing off.

“I will be now, father,” Helaena says, surprisingly good at pretending to be Rhaenyra. You leave as quietly as you had entered and went to your little experiment lab to splice the monitor footage to Viserys’ power of attorney who was surprisingly a supporter to Aegon’s claim as the heir and wouldn’t hesitate to claim your words to be true. Aegon had already spoken with Jasper Wylde, and he had already shared the footage you needed for the splicing.

You sit in front of your computer, eyes glued to the screen, acutely aware of eager Daeron sitting beside you. His soft lilac eyes are wide and focused on the screen and you, watching you edit the footage of Jasper Wylde to adjust the lighting according to Viserys’ room. You remove yourself from the footage and overlay Wylde instead, leaving Helaena sitting on the old man’s bedside. You had Aemond and Criston watch through the entire footage to ensure it was seamless, watching it over and over again to reassure yourself that nothing seems out of the place. You modify the storage drive a little and around five hours later… voila!

“I didn’t realise it would be this fast!” Daeron says, seemingly blinking for the first time in hours. “And it looks perfect!”

“It took us five hours, my man.” you say, leaning back in your chair and stretching out your now stiff arms and back. “It’s not efficient enough - we need a lot more practice.”

“Considering it was half an hour worth of footage, I think you’re doing great.” Daeron says. “I have a lot to learn from you still, sweet sister.”

“And you shall learn,” you say, ruffling his blond head. You can’t remember, but you do think you had a little brother back when you were six. Somehow seeing a ten year old ball of sunshine and energy made your young teen mind remember - that, or your mind built this false memory to explain the attachment to little Daeron. He was a child prodigy and an overachiever much like his long-haired elder brother, but he still had a year and a couple of months left of high school. Yet, to your mind and heart, he was still the little boy who brought joy to you in your worst time, even as he has grown to be taller than you.

“You’re deceptively smart,” he notes. “It’s a good thing you’re scary to look at.”

“Do you think I'm scary, young man?” you ask, raising your brow.

“Only when you’re mad.” He says, blinking innocently. “You’re great at hiding your emotions behind a dull expression, it’s scary how convincing that is.”

“Hmm,” you acknowledge, not bothering to utter the reason. Aemond comes to fetch you a while later, and you leave Daeron as he was going through Rhaenyra’s apartment security footage. You gather the copies of the documents and leave with Aemond and the dogs to hand them over to Wylde.

Coco and Vhagar are fighting amongst themselves in the backseat of his Rolls Royce, scratching up the expensive leather, but neither of you care. You sit back in your place as the passenger princess, head against the glass of the window and eyes on the beautiful man driving you to your destination. His long silver hair is tied in a long, loose braid, and you wish to pull the hair tie open. 

You reach your destination without drawing much attention and Aemond hands over the documents to Jasper Wylde in a room only having them two - you wait in the car with Vhagar and Coco, not wanting to draw any attention to yourself.

Soon, you get to an expensive cafe and spot a few paparazzi following Aemond around, clicking pictures of the two of you. He holds your hand and stays on the side of the cameras, shielding you from the attention neither of you want or need. You grab a little meal and your coffees with puppuccino for the dogs. They happily yap away the unsweetened whipped cream you hold for them, then Aemond proceeds to act like a total gentleman and open the door for you and help you in, earning a glimpse of your beautiful smile. He glares at the reporters recording you and then swiftly drives away to the park, where you spend the evening with your dogs playing as you finish your coffees and the pasties.

It’s only dusk when Aemond has to leave for a moment, he has a call he cannot ignore. You hold both Coco and Vhagar’s leash, absently walking the park full of people and their pets. It isn’t until Vhagar growls that you pay attention to the young man of dark hair and a rather plain stature in front of you. You’ve seen him a few times before, and the resemblance he holds to his brother is uncanny.

Lucerys Velaryon stands in front of you with his young bloodhound, Arrax, a slight smirk on his face and one hand stuffed in his pocket. You give him your best dead eyes and walk away, having to force Vhagar to walk. You know she is angry at Lucerys, she always is whenever he is over. But she obeys to you, reluctantly.

“You should realise that my uncles and aunt are not Targaryen heirs,” Lucerys says the moment you take your first step away from him. “Aemond is certainly not of any use to you if it is power and money that you are looking for.”

“I have no words to say to you,” You say, trying to walk away again. Vhagar is growing impatient at his voice, her nerves rubbing off on Coco as well as your German Shepherd begins a low growl at Lucerys. Vhagar tugs hard on her leash, and your hand strains to hold her back - greyhounds are one of the fastest dogs, and her limbs are tense, ready to pounce on her target.

“I am just saying that you’ll have more to gain by staying on our side than theirs.” He shrugs. “My mother and step-father will reward you generously.”

At the mention of his stepfather, you grit your teeth, whilst still struggling to hold back Vhagar with one hand. In a moment of weakness, she breaks free of your grip and pounces towards the young man, her jaw wide open, ready to snap. Lucerys barely has any time to react before her jaw snaps, only managing to nip at his little finger before you manage to get a hold of her leash back. “Vhagar, NO!” you scream. She stops, but is still growling at Lucerys, who looks at the greyhound with terror.

He holds his bleeding finger against his chest, the bite not being deep enough to take his finger off. Considering the force of Vhagar’s bite, Lucerys is very fortunate to have gotten off this easy. “Filthy beast bit me!” he accuses.

“You should be glad I held her back in time, boy,” You say through a clenched jaw. “If I hadn’t, she’d have bitten your hand off. Hounds don’t forget people that harm their humans, you should know that.”

“Bitch,” he swears at you before walking away, shaking his hand.

You force yourself to take a few deep breaths and calm down, then walk the dogs again as Aemond jogs up to you to catch up. He takes Vhagar from you and wraps his free hands around your waist, pulling you close and planting a quick kiss on your cheek. “You seem tense, darling.”

“Vhagar was not happy to see your nephew,” You say. “Can’t really blame her though, neither was I. Lucerys Velaryon is not a sight for me.”

“And did something happen?” He asks, hand squeezing your side tighter.

“Vhagar tried to bite his hand off, but nothing I couldn’t handle.” You shrug.

“You shouldn’t bite people unless you are in danger, Vhagar,” Aemond playfully chides her, and she whimpers in response, rubbing herself against his leg. “I know you are mad at him, but you’ll have your time my sweet girl.”

The next morning and the mornings after that, you and Aemond are all over the Page Six news - with the photos from the cafe and a few from the park, and you’re suddenly very uncomfortable. You hadn’t noticed any paparazzi in and around the park, and the thought that someone had been monitoring your movement sends chills down your spine. 

“They’re calling you a mystery woman,” Aegon chuckles at breakfast a few days later. “Find out all about the mystery woman with one of the most eligible bachelors in King’s Landing, the headline says, which is not true, considering I am still single.”

“It’s too early for this, Aegon,” you groan. “They’re just gossiping, it’s like their job.”

“Honey, it is their job,” He corrects you. “Although, you two do look cute together. Since when did you become so handsome, Aemond?”

“The moment I decided to speak with my darling,” Aemond answers with a rare smile on his face.

“Holy demons from the seven hells!” Aegon curses, “Who are you and where have you taken my baby brother?!”

“Aegon, shut up,” Helaena speaks up. “Literally no one cares,” she looks at you and then at Aemond with a little smirk. “You two are really cute though. I’d say you keep charms to ward off evil eyes. Too much negative energy and people these days. I like the change she brings in you, Aemond.” She adds, and your face heats up. You love these people so much, you wouldn’t trade them for anything.

Your phone rang, and seeing a video call from Daeron you grinned. "What is it, young man?" You say once his silver head comes on the screen.

"I know you are all gossiping away without me," He whines. "Hi, my brothers and sister,"

"Don't you have classes to attend?" Aegon asks, coming up behind you. "This is very insincere of you, Daeron,"

"You're one to talk," Aemond chuckles. "It's probably his break time."

You look at your little family and smile, leaning into Aemonds warm body beside you, resting your head on his shoulder. Come the night, you will be a different person - and you cannot wait to be one with the shadows once again, to have a taste of revenge. 

The night did not get a chance to come - sick, old Viserys decided to leave the realm of the living that evening, and the word spread quickly. Rhaenyra and her family arrive - and you note that the only ones with moist eyes are Alicent and Rhaenyra. It does not come to you as a shock - Daemon Targaryen’s absence - for he has never shown emotions other than lust or fury. Perhaps some say he shows love for his wife, but he does not even utter a word of respect to the one he owes everything to.

It does surprise you that Jacaerys, Lucerys and Joffrey do not shed tears for their grandsire - as horrible as Viserys was, he did care for his grandchildren even more so than he cared about his own as you knew. They are dressed in a dark maroon, and not black or white as the customs rule. The three of them are seemingly enjoying themselves, gossiping away while throwing glances at you and your friends, all of you dressed up in fine black clothes. A light champagne is served to the few guests present - mostly people from Viserys’ council. 

Jasper Wylde nods at Aegon and Aemond not paying the rest of you any attention. He stands in the front of the room, beside Viserys’ casket and clinks his glass. “Viserys Targaryen, our stern, kind boss has unfortunately left us on this sad day.” He begins, voice deep but loud. “And I cannot disrespect Boss by delaying the reading of his will any further. A few days ago, Viserys had awakened for a short while and had me come to meet him,” he says, silencing everyone in the room with his words. “And he had me draft a new will for him, the will that I am going to read out to you now.”

“I, Viserys Targaryen, the first of my name, am leaving my business accounts, responsibilities and by extension the buildings of the Red Keep and the handlings in Westeros in my wife, Alicent Hightower’s hands.” A sudden, collective gasp took over everyone present, and you forced your face to a mask of mild surprise - as did Aemond. Aegon played his part of the clown well, with wide eyes and an incredulous grin. Helaena acts ignorant as she usually is, unbothered by everything. Daeron watches with big, curious eyes, seemingly inhaling every word uttered.

“To my eldest daughter, Rhaenyra Targaryen, I leave Dragonstone and StygianMarble.” Wylde reads. “Further, I leave Alicent Hightower the freedom to choose her heir per her wishes.”

“This is a lie!” Rhaenyra screams, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes. “My father would never do this.” She storms to Jasper Wylde and snatches the documents from his hands, violet eyes raking over the paper, turning pages furiously seeing Viserys' messy scrawl of a signature. The horror on her face only intensified on seeing the signed papers. “This is not real.” She exhales a shaky breath.

“I’m afraid not,” Jasper Wylde says. “This was his will, and I shall not disrespect him by listening to your vile accusations.”

“My father would never do this,” Rhaenyra says. You look away from her dishevelled state - she had given birth a few weeks prior, a healthy boy she had named Aegon III Targaryen. And you look over a wide eyed shocked Alicent, who stands beside her equally shocked but more composed father.

“I think he prevented a war from breaking out,” Tyland Lannister says. “Whether people support your claim or Aegon’s - they will all listen to Boss. It's time we have an experienced Mafia Queen.” The last comment is directed at Rhaenyra - the accusation is true but did not elicit a reaction.

“Look at her!” Rhaenyra says, pointing to Alicent. “She didn't even know my father left that in her will.”

“That is because it was between him and me only,” Wylder says.

With the corner of your vision, you notice Steffon Darklyn, one of Rhaenyra’s most trusted bodyguards reaching for the hilt of his hunting knife and you don't have to guess for it to be aimed at Alicent. With quiet steps you blend into the shadows, seeking out their company once again as you swiftly make your way towards Alicent’s shadow. They once again prove to be your trusty companions, and Steffon doesn't notice you and freely approaches the new boss with his arm raised slightly.

Like a shadow demon, you extend your hand and grab him by the wrist with a vice-like grip. You glare at him with the stare of death and he is half startled into submission and he drops the knife, the blade hitting the white marble floor with a loud clang, caught red handed in the act of trying to attack the new boss. You press your lips together, glaring at him in disapproval. “It's not kind to attack a grieving woman at her husband’s funeral.” You quietly say. “Much less in her own house.”

“She’s stealing what is rightfully my Boss', and I will not idly stand by and watch. She is a thief and she’ll get what she deserves” He says through gritted teeth. His free arm grabs for you, almost bruising on your shoulder. “And you are no one to speak to me like that little girl. Let me go.”

When you don't, Steffon twists the wrist in your grip, trying to break free as the bruising grip on your shoulder loosens, the action too quick for you to react. A harsh punch lands on your jaw, and you kick him in the knee, more out of reflex than thought of action. You're not phased too much, honestly you had much worse than that before. Your eyes tear up in response to the pain, but his reaction is much worse - the older man falls to one knee and grabs his injured one, yelping in pain. "Bitch!" He grunts.

"Darklyn!" Rhaenyra yells, angry eyes set on you. "Why would you do that!?"

You don't say anything, just glare daggers at the silver haired woman, eyes asking more questions than your mouth ever could. "I didn't know you wore glasses," you finally say when Alicent gently nudges you, finally over her shock. You massage your throbbing jaw and crack the joints of your neck, wiping away the spit that had fallen at the punch's impact. 

Aemond is quick to be at your side and his siblings follow closely, Aegon and Helaena standing on Alicent's side and Aemond and Daeron on yours. "Be careful of the words that leave you next." Aemond warns, voice dangerously low and threatening. Your glare only intensifies with the added confidence.

"Who even is she to speak to in matters of the family?" Jacaerys comes to his mother's defence. Eyes on you, he adds "You're a no one,"

“She is more family than you have ever been,” Helaena mutters, but it's audible in the silence of the room.

“Your personal guard tried to attack the new boss,” Jasper Wylde warned, earning nods from other members of old Viserys' council. “And you claim his will is a lie, and refuse to accept his decision. You are not doing any wonders to your reputation, Rhaenyra. I would advise you to grieve in peace and then act according to your father's will. He would appreciate that. Don't you trust his decision this time? The one last wish that he had of you?”

The silver-haired former heiress calms down a bit at the lawyer's words as Steffon Darklyn is carried out of the room with two of Rhaenyra’s trusted guards.  “I would like to examine the documents myself once,” he finally says.

“They are all yours,” Jasper Wylde hands the pile of bond papers. “You can examine them all you want.”

Rhaenyra and her eldest frantically go through the document, studying the paper and examining every single signature of the dead old man.

You thanked whatever divine powers worked this out - that you were able to get the old man’s signature just about a week before he died. You eye everyone in the hall - from Jason Lannister, to Rickon Stark to Criston Cole, Borros Baratheon and the Tyrell girl - the members of Viserys’ council, Otto Hightower and the rest of the family and Rhaena and Baela. The only immediate family member missing was Daemon Targaryen, not even respecting his father-in-law in his death.

Rhaenyra already had tears in her eyes, but now her face is a mask of disappointment and disapproval. “I know he wasn’t in his right mind when he had you write this.” She firmly says. “These might be his words, but he would have never wanted that. I am not sure what you drugged him with, but he’d never do that to me.”

“Even with this will, you are getting Father’s most profitable business,” Aegon says, hands crossed over his chest. His eyes are tinged red - from rage rather than melancholy. You’re not sure if the bitterness in his voice is forced. “He gave you arms production, and your apartment. He left Mother to handle the crime part. Even in death he didn’t put his wife above you. And here you are questioning his decisions.”

Alicent motions to Criston Cole, and he disperses the crowd away from the hall. You begin to walk away, but Alicent grabs your wrist and holds you in place. “You’re not going anywhere, sweet girl.” she insists. “Thank you.”

You nod, unsure of how you could tell her that you were grateful to her, for allowing you to have this lifestyle to have a civil life after your doomed existence, for her patience to have you adjust with the civil world after years of being passed around all over Westeros. This is the least you could do for her, and you should be thanking her for everything that she has done to you, for letting her amazing children be your friends, for birthing your perfect lover.

“Rhaenyra, you lost your father, and I lost my husband.” Alicent says, her big brown eyes filled with tears of sorrow. “But I want you to put your grief aside for a moment and respect your father’s will. I can only offer you my condolences and to stay in Viserys’s chambers in this period of mourning. I hope that will be enough to push some sense into your head - Mafia lord or not, Viserys was a kind father to you. The least you can do in return is accept his will.” Her voice breaks, and you are amazed at how this strong, strong woman could mourn for the man who made her life hell, who did not pay any mind to the children that she bore for him.

You had more than a couple of harsh questions for the heiress, but you kept your mouth shut, forcing yourself to swallow the words that came to your mouth. 

“You don’t have the right to offer me my father’s house.” Rhaenyra’s words are harsh, probably from her delirious grief, but it is then that you snap.

“If he was so dear to you, where had you been all these years as he slowly decayed away to his sickness?” Your voice is full of bite. 

“What do you know of me and my father?” the silver-haired woman snaps. “You are just a no one who came out of nowhere like yesterday and you feel entitled to speak with me like that?” 

“I can assure you that I have lived here longer than either of your sons have,” you say, having snapped the thread of your will. “And you might be surprised by the extent of my knowledge on this whole mess of a family.”

“Have some respect, you’re speaking to my mother,” Jacaerys demands, standing on his mother’s right. His brown eyes are wide in anger, but his dull figure is not intimidating at all. 

“And what has she done to earn my respect?” You shrug. “The first time I saw you, you had wanted an injured child having his eye sewn shut to be tortured for calling your sons bastards. The last time I saw her at a sitdown with the mob families, her disgusting husband shot an important family man in front of the whole mob and she didn’t even bat an eye on it. I’d say she looked pleased, even. Rhaenyra, would you have another man killed for telling the truth?”

You tilt your head slightly to the side at the mother and sons’ alarmed expressions, a haunting smile gracing your face. Rhaenyra quickly composes herself, “My husband doesn't like when people disrespect me.” She says, lips pressed together in a smoulder. “You should be careful too.”

“And where is your so dutiful husband now?” You hiss, and Alicent places her hand on your arm, squeezing. You know that she wants you to stop, but you can’t now. Not when the poison in your veins threatens to explode, if you don’t let it out, the misery will suffocate you and might just be too much to bear. “With his lovely young Nettles, I presume?” you add with a sneer. “Fucking pedophile.”

The mention of Daemon Targaryen’s favourite young little whore is what finally has Rhaenyra’s walls crumbling, and her left eye twitches in uncontrolled rage. You smirk at her, enjoying this destruction of her peace. Alicent’s hand is still on your arm, squeezing at it, harsher now, wanting you to stop. 

“I am not sure why you have this vendetta against my step-father,” Lucerys finally speaks up. “But you probably deserved it, you bitch.”

And your rage explodes like a sparked dynamite. Alicent released your arm, unwilling to hold you back now. Every moment of those blurred six years that you had spent in that hellhole of a place seemed to be playing in your head like a tragic, horror movie. The image of those disgusting old men touching you without a care in the world - the fight response kicking in your veins. You are on their side in an instant, and you punch the younger boy in the face - you don't see Lucerys - in your eyes he is one of those filthy old beasts that call themselves men  of class. You fist lands right on his left eye, and he grunts - pushed back by the force of your punch. Aemond and Aegon both rush to your either side, holding you back with all the force that they could muster.

Everything happens so quickly - you feel nothing but white, hot rage toward that family, each one of them entitled to everything in the world. “He’s not worth it, my love.” Aemond’s quiet voice whispers in your ear, and you let him drag you away from this infuriating trio of mother and sons - the hall enveloped in total silence. “Let me take you somewhere more pleasing.”

“I should have strangled them,” you mumble.

“All in good time, my love.” Aemond promises. 

.

Aegon holds them all with an angry stare, Rhaenyra tending to Lucerys; bruising eye - it looks painful, and would probably swell too. He couldn’t care less, not when the young man deserved it. Lucerys should be glad that none of the hounds are there -  they’d have done some serious damage with the fury they had ignited in every single one of them. 

“You should be glad she didn’t have any weapons on her,” Aegon says through gritted teeth. “Don’t overstay your welcome - our Sunfyre doesn’t take kindly to uninvited guests, you know. Neither do I.” He walks away, Daeron and Helaena follow him. 

The three are waiting for Alicent and Otto to return, and when they do Daeron is the one to speak up first, “They cannot live here with us, Mother.” he runs his fingers through his silver waves, sighing. “Not with how they act and speak.”

“I will try my best to limit their interactions with you, my children.” Alicent sighs, rubbing her forehead. “And I will make sure they do not speak of Daemon. I have never liked that man - he had always been quite the… rogue soldier.”

"You should have them kicked out." Aegon presses. "I wouldn't be surprised if my dear sister plans to take over our house by killing all of us. It's just not safe!"

"Viserys was her father and I cannot deny her the right to mourn in peace." Alicent sighs. "I will have Criston increase the security though."

"This will bite back in the ass." Helaena grumbles. "None of us trust her mother - she is not your friend anymore. She is a jealous ex heiress and might stoop low enough to kill us all in our sleep."

"It's just a matter of a week," Alicent says, hand on her chest. "We can manage."

"You say it's a week - a week when Aemond has to leave for his conference in Highgarden." Daeron notes. "He is our best fighter and I honestly don't feel particularly safe in his absence while the enemy lives in our home."

It is now two days later, and Aegon watches as Aemond ruffles Daeron's hair and asks him random questions in Computer vocabulary that he doesn't clearly understand. His youngest brother perks up like a sunflower and aptly answers the questions. 

Helaena cannot stand saying goodbye - it feels like an omen, she claims. Their mother is there, and she murmurs blessings to Aemond, caressing his shoulders. She is tense, Aegon can see that - sending away her favourite son is a risky gamble and she insists on Criston going with him, leaving them almost completely defenceless. He cannot blame her though - Aemond’s safety is just as important.

The brothers only hug, and Aegon only pats his little brother’s back saying, “You’ll get the best paper award, I know it.”

“I'd be the happiest if I do,” Aemond grins.

“I beg to disagree,” Aegon says, glancing over to his side, with you sitting on the bench, looking down at your hands. To his surprise, Aemond blushes and Aegon cannot help but smirk as he shoves his little brother your way.

As happy as Aegon is for you two, there is a little envy of the way the two of you beam like diamonds in each other’s presence, wondering if he would ever have someone like that. You hug him tightly and then crane up to kiss his cheek - Aemond smiles as do you, and he quickly snaps a picture to tease two sappy lovers. He looks away when Aemond kisses you. 

Then Aemond waves at all of you as he gets in the car after Criston, a happy smile on his face. You begin to walk away and the two remaining brothers flank your sides. 

“If either one of my nephews bother you, tell me.” Aegon promises you. “I won’t be sad if you hurt them, but mother wouldn't be too happy.”

“I am planning to go for a drive and walk Coco and Vhagar.” You say. “I won't have time to see those annoying little nephews of yours.”

“Good then.” He says, a feeling of dread dropping to the pit of his stomach. 

The awful feeling keeps clawing up his insides, and by dinner time when you have not returned it starts clawing at his throat. Aegon keeps a watchful on his half-sister and his nephews - something about them feeling off. Their eyes sparkle with mirth, as if they share an inside joke that has been made at their cost. 

It happens quickly, too quick for Aegon to reach for his revolver. The masked men target Daeron and Helaena first - then Alicent and Otto. A blade is pressed into the column of his throat - not cutting through yet. The blade would cut if he breathes too aggressively so he holds his breath. 

“Out of the chairs, now,” Rhaenyra says with a smirk. Lucerys and Jacaerys smile of their own accord, the two pairs of dark brown eyes jumping from Aegon, to Daeron to Helaena. Lucerys' eye is swollen, but not enough to take the vision from his eye, and for a moment of spite, he prays that it would have, serving the young man right. Otto reaches for his pistol, but the big man beats him to it, now holding Otto's pistol to his own head along with the knife at his throat. 

Aegon has both his hands being held behind him in a grip like vice. If he makes it through the night, they'd certainly be bruised. “Very generous of you to offer this special treatment,” He says. “But I'd appreciate not having a blade digging into my larynx.”

“I’ll have your throat slashed if you speak again,” Rhaenyra threatens. “I’ll take what's mine and maybe spare your life.” She twirls a small knife in her hands and adds thoughtfully, “not that bitch of yours though. I’ll have my time enjoying her screams.”

“Alicent, we can have this done in an easy way - you sign the documents naming everything to me and I'll not hurt anyone.” She says. “Or I’ll start with taking sweet Helaena’s nails. You wouldn’t like that, would you?”

There are tears in his Mother’s eyes that he cannot wipe away. He can only hope to disarm the man holding him, but he cannot - there are too many of them to fight and they could kill his family for freeing himself, a risk he cannot afford to take.

Aegon is surprised to feel someone’s two elbows dig between his shoulder blades, for he is certain that only one man was holding him and that men only had two arms. The unmistakable crack of bones breaking fills his ears momentarily and he tries to look behind himself. His surprise turns to alarm when the hand gripping his wrists together loosens and falls, following the knife being dropped from his throat - and he can finally breathe again. A delicate hand is wrapped around his arm and tugs him back, and he is glad to have you on his side - for the look in your eyes promises a fate more barbaric than being burned alive. 

“You will release my family,” You say, voice deathly still. 

“I will-” Rhaenyra starts.

Five shots echo, interrupting Rhaenyra’s sentence before it even starts, and the five men holding his grandsire, mother, sister and brother fall dead on the floor with perfectly shaped bullet wounds oozing blood from their foreheads.

“You were saying something?” You ask, smiling as if you didn’t just send five men to Hell - well, six, if counting the man whose neck you snapped.

Jacaerys and Lucerys cave into their mother - Aegon cannot blame them, he, too, would hide behind his mother had he been at the receiving end of your sinister eyes. Rhaenyra’s violet eyes are wide with shock and fear - a look that suits her, he thinks.

“Cat got your tongue?” You ask again, the long barrel of your piston towards the floor, but your hand is raised in the trio’s direction. You slowly stalk toward them, twirling your piston between your fingers. “This fear suits you,” you finally say. “Keep this in mind the next time you plan to harm my family. Your goons will not be the only ones dropping dead the next time it happens. Off now, dinner’s over.”

Lucerys and Jacaerys follow their mother, wide-eyed as they take a good look at the five large, dead men laying on the floor, their blood turning the white marble a dark shade of red. Alicent looks at you as if seeing you for the first time - he cannot blame his mother - you have a naive face, no one could guess you are capable of such brutality. It’s a weapon, Aegon thinks, a weapon of mass deception.

Daeron looks wide eyed at the dead bodies, shuddering once before stepping over two pairs of immobile legs and coming to stand beside him. Aegon raises his arm and pulls his brother close. After all, Daeron is still young and not too used to violence. Helaena looks at you deeply once, your eyes are trained on the floor - Aegon thinks you are afraid, afraid of judgement - he cannot begin to imagine why, for you have just saved their lives and their rights. 

“You saved our lives,” Helaena says. “I don’t think words would be enough to thank you.”

“It was nothing.” You say, voice small. You look up once again and glance at the dead bodies scattered in the room. “This one is not dead,” You say, nodding toward the man that had been holding Aegon hostage. “I’ll have him questioned once he wakes, but I need help to move him - there.”

Aegon and Daeron both come to your aide and together manage to lift the burly man, taking him to the lift. You stuff the pistol in the back pocket of your jeans and then walk out of the room, saying, “I’ll send someone to clean this mess up.”

.

That had been the first time the Velaryon boys had seen you snap. The fear it had left in their brain had dulled in comparison to what they witnessed a mere two days later though. The sight of you was enough to send their thoughts right back to Hell - the place you had returned from.

With Aegon’s help, you had managed to obtain the full layout of the Bolton’s Knight Club. And with little assistance from Daeron, you sneak into the premises. His voice is in your ear, telling you the position of the guards and which point would be easier to sneak in from. You are upset that Daeron has to witness you going apeshit on camera, but you couldn’t do everything alone. You kill those guards as bloodlessly and quickly as you can and find your way to the children’s rooms. 

In the earpiece, you can hear Daeron speak with Helaena as he tells her the route to follow and she follows you in as you work to pick the locks. You remind yourself that you have done this a hundred times before tonight, but this place with its dark luxurious interior makes your blood boil to an extent that you are unable to think clearly. You want to stomp on the roof till this building collapses with everyone in it.

You waste precious seconds in picking the lock, but those moments are paid off as you see beds by beds of little boys and girls looking at you all wide-eyed and terrified. You spot some young women and men too - them eyeing your duo warily. Helaena starts with her gentle words and you can see them trusting her, as they file into two queues of around fifty people total. 

You know they think that this is a dream, a dream seen by most of them in their sleep. An angel coming to save them from this hellish world, to tell them they were only being tested and to be returned to their families. For you that dream could never be your reality, but you want to provide that reality to these kids whose innocence is stolen before they even got to realise life. Some of the young children are as young as four - barely out of the toddler stage, and your heart twists in disgust. You can only hope that her parents take her back.

A young woman clings to a little babe - barely over six months old. You motion at her to follow the other kids, but she refuses, terror in her eyes.

“What is your name?” you ask, as gentle as you can be.

“Martha,” she replies.

“Martha, listen, I know you are scared to leave.” You keep the voice gentle, force it to stop shaking. “You think that these people are the most powerful in the world and they will catch you. I am asking a lot from you when I ask you to trust me, but I have been here before and I know that it will not get better. It never does. Helaena will take care of you so that you can take care of your baby.”

“They said they’ll kill my sweet Ellaire if I try to run.” Martha says with tears in her eyes. Her dark hair is a mess, brown cheeks turning a dark burnt orange. “I can’t put Ellaire at risk.”

“Martha, if you stay here they’ll do to Ellaire what they did to you.” You softly say the truth. “And I know you don’t want that. We can help you, please come with us.” You glance down at your watch and urgently add, “We don’t have much time.” 

At her hesitation, you further add, “Everyone else has left, what do you think they will do to you and Ellaire when they see that you’re the only ones left?” You grab her wrist, careful of the babe. “Do you think they will let little Ellaire live? You have to leave. Now. Come with me.” Somehow you manage to coax her and she follows everyone else out to Helaena’s truck. Aegon is with her, waiting to drive away. You had ensured that those traumatised kids and young adults did not come across the dead guards - they didn't need to see dead bodies with the physical, psychological and sexual trauma that they already held. 

“Okay, we are done now!” Helaena says in your earpiece. “Daeron, is the path clear?” 

“Not yet.” Daeron says. “There’s a truck like yours at the back gate.”

“Shoot the driver dead,” you hiss. “I am sure they have brought new stock. Helaena, can you drive a truck?”

“Oh yeah,” Helaena eagerly says. 

“Aegon, get that driver and his handler good for me.” You quietly say again. 

“On it, ma’am.” Aegon says, and you hear the opening and shutting of the door. A small shuffling sound is heard and Helaena sighs. 

Two gunshots and dull thuds come into your earpiece and once again the opening and closing of truck doors is heard. “Alright, we’re done.” Aegon says. “Are we free to go now, captain?” he asks Daeron

“Yeah,” Daeron says. “You’re all clear.”

“Daeron,” you quietly say. “I am going to have to ask you to look away from the cameras now. You’ll hate me after this if you see.”

“I don’t think I will,” He says. “You’re doing everyone a favour with what you are about to do. Decimate them all.” His voice is venomous as he speaks, and you think he sounds more mad at them for you than you are.

“I will,” you promise.

.

It’s way past midnight, closer to the devil’s hour than it is to midnight by the time you are done with the Botlon’s Knight Club and its patrons. Your face is probably covered in blood, and your hair is heavy - damp and sticky. Your black leather jacket is covered in blood, but the dark colour makes it harder to spot. Dried blood marks your footsteps from the lift to the kitchen on Alicent's floor, working in the dark. You’re thirsty, terribly so. You’re covered in blood and desperately need to bathe, but you’re starving and you’re thirsty. A few drops of blood drip down from your braid onto the granite counter as you drain a jug of water quickly.

Your burning oesophagus and stomach thank you with relief as the cool water falls on them, reviving some of the sensations. There’s some leftover cake in the fridge and you take it out along with some cranberry juice and the butter chicken leftovers that you warm up in the microwave. You’re starving like a neanderthal - so hungry that you could eat a horse. But soon the chicken is hot enough to burn your tongue and you start eating on the kitchen island, stabbing at it with your fork and gulping it down with no civility. 

You are practically inhaling the cranberry juice from the glass when the light is suddenly turned on, blinding you momentarily as a set of vaguely familiar voices screams, snapping you out of the starved trance you are in. You slowly blink in your vision, and spot Jacaerys and Lucerys standing at the kitchen entrance, staring at you, their eyes comically wide. You are about to ask if they have seen a ghost, but then you look down at yourself, covered in blood and drinking a juice red as the blood on you. 

Rhaenyra and Alicent follow close, standing behind the two strong boys - Alicent sighs and shrugs as Rhaenyra looks at her former friend for some answers. You ignore them and continue to drink your cranberry juice - realising just now that you probably smell like smoke. You need to bathe, dreadfully so, but your cake slice was waiting for you. And you’re still fucking starving, so you dig back into butter chicken.

“Do you want to eat or just keep staring at me?” You ask after gulping down the last of your butter chicken.

“Y/N, you’ll need to have the kitchen cleaned before breakfast.” Alicent says, turning around as she yawns. “Go sleep, you three. Nothing out of the ordinary here.”

“Filthy demon,” Rhaenyra murmurs.

You hiss at her and the terrified trio rushes away from your kitchen, and you finally get to your cake. Having satiated your hunger, you return to your rooms and take a long, cleansing bath and then return to clean the lift with very contained smoke and then clean it with hydrogen peroxide. You are thorough in your cleaning, careful with the controlled smoke and then with peroxide followed by floor-cleaner. It’s past four in the morning by the time you are done, but you still have much energy left to expend. You play with the harddrive you had retrieved from the Knight’s Club, and sit down in front of your computer, easily accessing the cameras that had been connected to the Bolton’s private network till around nine in the night.

There is no physical evidence of footage, but you find your way into the Bolton’s cloud storage and erase the footage from there too, making sure to clear any traces of your invasion. It was simply as if the footage from that night was never stored on the cloud. You plug in the harddrive and remove the footage from there too, and then throw it in your fireplace. The outer plastic casing eventually melts away and you enjoy the flames dancing in front of your eyes. Alas, the fire is not hot enough to melt the circuits, but by the time you retrieve the half molten plastic, the circuit is easy to dismantle and you pick it out piece-by-piece and destroy the pin.

.

The fire from the previous night is the only thing being spoken of all over the university - assignments and homework, deadlines and new presentations forgotten. Early police investigation suggests that the fire was the culprit that claimed the lives of a total of sixty men - thirty guards and around thirty most powerful men in Westeros - with the Knight’s Club owners and runners - Reese Bolton, his brothers Ryman and Roose, his sons Rawdon and Raymond, a Velaryon man, Petyr and Edwyn the Frey twins, are the more notable among other names. 

You don’t care about that buzz though, because Aemond is set to return this evening. You have sparsely spoken to each other, only occasionally texting a have you had dinner, or how did your presentation go, kind of thing - but no proper conversation. You think of him - how his scent of leathers and limes comforts you and you cannot wait to have him back in your arms. 

The day passes by in a blur - the student’s union holds a short memorial ceremony for Rawdon and Raymond but you don’t go - you’d probably oust yourself by laughing. How they managed to recognize the dead men was still a mystery to you, for you were certain DNA tests couldn’t be this fast - it must have been the footage of them all entering, perhaps. 

The police says there was a fire down in the electrical supply and it short circuited, and the centralised air conditioning collapsed on the people, crushing their faces. They didn’t know that the air conditioning crushed them after they were lying dead in pools of their own blood. You had used a wide variety of weapons, which you spent a terrible hour in the morning cleaning before driving to King’s Landing University. 

Despite the blood colouring your hands red, you feel like the cleanest you have ever felt. 

“Did you hear about the fire at Bolton’s last night?” Calvin asks you as you slide into place beside him in the algorithms class. 

“Everyone is talking about it,” you say. You don’t have to fight too hard the urge to take credit. You want to, so desperately, but you resist it. You’ll have time later in the evening when Aemond is back. “I really don’t care though. As you know I was not particularly fond of Rawdon Bolton after that incident two weeks ago.”

“Of course,” Calvin says. “And you seem too happy,”

“Do I?” You ask.

“Yeah, glowing.” He nodded, an exasperated look on his face.

“My boyfriend is coming back from his conference,” You say, which is the truth. “I haven't seen him in three days! I missed him terribly.”

“Uhm, since when do you have a boyfriend and why don’t I know about this?” Calvin asks, a pout on his face as he rests his chin on his hands.

“Well, it’s just Aemond,” you shrug.

“Just Aemond?” he asks, incredulous. “Girl, you’re speaking about the Aemond Targaryen, right? Viserys Targaryen’s son?”

“Yeah, who else?” You frown.

“Girl what-” he seems shocked by your indifference, a hand on his mouth. “You’re dating Aemond Targaryen, the one-eyed mob… prince?”

“Yes, Calvin. Did you leave your brain at home or what?” you say.

“You’re dating Aemond fucking Targaryen-” He repeats. “And you expect me to be cool about it?”

“You were stoned the first time I told you about that,”  You recall. “Calvin, I told you about this before, I am sure.”

“Must be,” He decides. “Because I’d never forget that otherwise.”

.

The news of the fire in Reese Bolton’s Knight Club has reached Aemond, clearly so. He wonders if it is truly an accident, but he doesn't believe it. He hadn't spoken with you since last evening, when you had ominously said, "I will be busy tonight, my love." You gave no further explanation.

As he drives into King's Landing via the highway, Criston sits in the passenger side, looking rapidly from mirror to mirror, eyeing for anyone who might be following them. Aemond zig zags this way through the highway, doing his best to keep everyone confused. 

There had been an attempt at him while he was in his hotel at Highgarden, but Criston had managed to save him by a second. A masked man had tried to shoot him, and he was captured by Cole and was presently tied up and hidden in the trunk of the car. He has some words to ask about the ambush. They managed to keep it under wraps, but he suspected it had something to do with his Mother being named heir and Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. 

Even with his disturbed mind, Aemond managed to get the best poster award, even if he didn't get the best paper one. He had just shrugged when you had asked about how it went, not wanting to tell you over the phone.

Aemond misses the warmth of your body against his, but he tries not to think about it too much and focuses on the road instead, hurrying to reach the Red Keep as fast as he can.

It's a little past sunset when he reaches home, and you are walking in the direction of the complex Vhagar and Coco on either side. The dogs rush at the sight of him and you let them go, and both the greyhound and the German shepherd seem to have gained their energy back at the sight of your silver haired boyfriend, and you let them off their leash, the two of them speeding to the black suv. Vhagar jumps on Aemond, as if trying to hug her human while Coco sniffs around, licking at Criston’s hand, rubbing himself all over his knees and calves. Cole lets out a rare laugh, patting the big ball of fluff on his head, murmuring, “Good boy Coco, I missed you too.”

“I missed you too, big girl,” Aemond kissed the running dog’s snout and rubbed under her ears as you managed to catch up with your pups. You smile at Criston who finally manages to escape Coco’s clutches only to be smothered by Vhagar, while Coco now targets his affections to Aemond, standing on his hind legs with his front legs on Aemond and leaving little licks on the scarred side of his face.

“I see you have been a good boy, Coco,” Aemond says, rubbing the german shepherd’s brown fur. You chuckle as your dog turns his butt to Aemond, demanding his long overdue butt-scratches, and your beautiful boyfriend has no choice but to oblige.

“Come with me pups,” Criston urges the dogs who eagerly follow him into the lift, smiling at the two of you as he leaves.

“Hi,” you say, unable to fight the big grin on your face.

“Hi yourself, my love.” He says, grinning like an idiot. “How I have missed you so.”

You reach forward and hug him, his homely smell enveloping you in blankets of comfort. His strong arms hold you close and his nose rests in your hair, breathing in the scent of your shampoo. Your eyes are shut and you can listen to his steady heart beat, his warmth bringing you much needed comfort. 

“I love you,” you whisper against him, and he squeezes you tighter in response, leaving a long kiss on your hair. His lips move against your hair - you can’t hear him over the pounding of your heart and his - but you know what he says sigh.

“How was your conference?” You ask, pulling away from him. You examine him from head to toe, brushing back some of his out of place hair, your hand on his cheek. He loved the comfort your calloused hand brings to him, leaning further into your touch.

“Not peachy,” he confesses with a sigh. “I still got the best poster award though.”

“What happened, Aemond?” You ask. You have that alarmed gleam in your eyes that he recognises way too well, and he knows it’s too late to retract. 

So he attempts to distract you. “Nothing,” He says. “Nuff talking about that conference though. I want to spend time with my girl now,” he smirks a little and before you can react, you are thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, a sudden gasp leaving you as he takes the fucking staircase up.

“Aemond, put me down you rascal!” You say with a giggle as he carries you up unceremoniously till the first floor landing. Aemond stops for a moment and he gently lets your feet touch the ground, and you think you are going to go to your rooms in Otto’s floor, before you are swept up into his arms again, bridal style this time. You laugh again, more freely this time as he takes the lift, a little proud smile on his face. His long, silky hair tickles your neck as you lean forward to plant a kiss at the corner of his heart shaped mouth, content with yourself. 

The lift halts at Alicent’s floor - the second - before coming to Aemond’s floor - the sixth one - and the lift doors open to reveal Jacaerys. Your happy mood sours at his wavering voice, “You’ve returned, Uncle.”

“It would seem so,” Aemond says, and you scowl at the young man before hitting the close button with your foot, promptly taking the Velaryon boy out of your sight.

“They’ve caused quite a mess in your absence,” You tell Aemond, absently playing with his hair. “I can’t fucking wait for them to leave.”

“Hmm,” Aemond hums, mentally taking note of asking Aegon about it later. You and Alicent would hold back details from him - he is certain. “We’ll get to that later. I hear there was a fire last night.” he looks at you with a smile. His eye hurts from this angle but it’s worth being able to see the slight pride blooming in your face as your cheeks colour. “It wouldn’t have been your doing would it be, darling?”

“No, not at all,” you say with a smile. “Me? Little old me doing anything like that?”

“Unimaginable,” Aemond adds. “Impossible, Inconceivable.”

“Any other synonyms left, good sir?” you poke his long, pale neck with your nose. He smells a little of sweat, but you have smelled worse. 

“Unbelievable, my love.” He teases.

.

.

.

.

tags:

@p0rnstargirl  @aerysa-targaryen @warners-wife 

@dollfaceyourfear @ladymoon666 @chainsawsangel @esmaada @amadwomanrambles @devils-blackrose @darthgamer74 @jbaby2

@its-sam-allgood @aemondmyl0ve @pingyu-in-wonderland @poisonedsultana

@a-beaverhausen @virginslut08 @depressedperson88

[tcfactory]

This got cut from the daemon AU story because I decided that if Shen Yuan is going to be the PoV then we will get to be stupid along with him, but I'm kinda fond of it. It's the circumstances of the OG nameless hallmaster leaving the mountain in the timeline where SY doesn't transmigrate:

In another world, a nameless hallmaster shambles his way into the bamboo house, his hair loose and tangled, his face gaunt. Shen Qingqiu waits patiently for him at his desk and offers him the same chores - to keep him busy, to keep his mind off his pain and grief - that are offered to Shen Yuan. 

“Is this meant to serve as a distraction?” The hallmaster asks after a long silence. “Some busywork to make me forget?”

“Multiple people came to me with concerns. You don’t eat, shidi. Barely sleep. Spend every waking moment in the library, reading one bestiary after another. What do you think?”

“I know you don’t believe me, but I know what I saw! I saw the demon bird that ripped away my daemon as clearly as I see you now. I just need proof that what I saw was real, to identify the beast somehow-”

“I believe you. But at the rate you are going, you will die before you can read every bestiary in our collection. You need to rest.” Almost uncharacteristically, Shen Qingqiu pours tea for his guest, but the man simply stares into the cup like he could read the future at the bottom.

“I’m dying anyway. With every waking moment since my daemon was taken I can feel my qi draining into the void and my lifeforce slipping away. I don’t have time to waste!”

Shen Qingqiu is silent for a long time.

“When a daemon is separated suddenly and violently - so suddenly that the tether snaps and it unravels - it’s possible that over time it may form anew.”

“Oh.” The hallmaster takes his time digesting this information. “So that’s how… I wondered. Your daemon tried to jump the chasm to reach the monster when even the winged daemons hesitated and you were no worse for wear when she fell. You don’t have a tether, do you?”

“That would be a reasonable guess to make under these circumstances,” Shen Qingqiu says carefully.

“Thank you. Even if the distance can't hurt you, it was a risk she didn't have to take.”

“She was closest to your daemon when it was grabbed. She was the only one other than you who saw the beast before it disappeared back into the fog. If she didn't try and you died, they would say she killed him on my orders because our juniors favor you over me.” 

They are still saying that, despite the hallmaster’s insistence otherwise. He might have been resentful of being replaced as succeeding disciple with a freshly arrived nobody when it happened, but he had plenty of time - and their shizun’s guidance - to come to terms with it over the years.

“How- how was it?”

“I don’t remember. I was too young. If you want a first hand account, you should ask zhangmen shixiong.”

“Ah. I might.” Finally, he takes a sip. Shen Qingqiu’s personality might be bitter, but his tea is sweet and floral.

“Do it after you are done sorting the mail. It’s not purely for the sake of distraction. My current head disciple is too young to handle these tasks.”

“About that. I have to decline.”

“I can’t allow you to continue as you do now, shidi.” It would reflect badly on him if he allowed the man to work himself to death.

“I understand that. I believe I have found something in one of the bestiaries. Just a throwaway line, but I wrote to the author and she’s willing to show me her field notes that didn’t make it into the book. If I am to find out - if there’s even the tiniest chance - I must leave.”

They are silent for a time, as if trying to glare each other into giving in. Shen Qingqiu averts his eyes first, but he doesn’t blink; this is no hard-earned victory. It’s simply… pity.

“Very well. I understand. If this is what you wish, shidi, I will sanction it.”

“Thank you, Shen-shixiong.”

“Don’t thank me, shidi. Come back alive.”

“I can’t promise you anything, shixiong. But I will try.”

(And then he went and got tangled up with the Old Palace Master, died and his death was used to slander SQQ. As you do.)

[thedepthsoffandomminds]

Deathbringer part one.

A (eventual) Aemond and Reader You are the first born daughter of Daemon Targaryon and a formiddable warrior in your own right. For many years you have been exchanging letters with your Cousin Aemond, secretly. Loyalties will be questioned - Lives will be lost and others saved. Lots of loving Daddy Daemon. Anxiety Aemond.

Master list

There was only one good thing that had come from Daemon's first marriage. His first daughter. A beautiful thing with snow white skin and perhaps whiter hair. It was already shoulder length by the time you were born. You had quickly learned the ways of the dragon and cared nothing for your mother's family and way of life. In truth even as an infant you had found the Royce family a bore. Your mother died before your first Name day celebration and because of this the Prince would take you with him on his travels.

Your own dragon, Deathringer, followed beside his Caraxes, with you sitting in your father's lap. The dragon, an ancient male, had arrived in the Vale of its own accord three days before your birth, sitting vigil on the hillside, his eyes fixed on your mother's chambers. He has not left your side since. The first time you approached him his size frightened the Royce's. Held in your father's arms he stepped up to the black beast, your tiny pale hand stretched out to tap his nose. A moment that sealed your bond, strong and pure. 

 It was a life you adored, even more so when you visited Kings Landing. The stark white walls of the castle were a contrast to the black walls of the sand walls your father his behind with his wife and two new daughters Beala and Rheana. 

 On visits to Kings Landing you had much fun playing with your cousins Aegon and Aemond. The older was all but one year your senior and the younger one year your junior. Both boys would try to tease you with their sharp wits but you had a different set of skills. Not only the love of your dragon but a blade in your hand was akin to a dragon's claw. Many of the knights of the realm would not enter a sparring ring with you even at your barely eleven years.

 Over the years your cousin and heir to the throne had given you two more playmate's two more boys and you adored them. They were gentle boys with dark brown hair. Of course you all knew who had fathered the boys but Ser Leanor had claimed them both along with the one in her belly and so you loved them as fully as you would any cousin. 

Your father had left you at King's landing at your request, keen to stand beside Rhaenyra as brought her new son into life. When news came that the Queen had called for her to walk the babe to her the moment it was born the cry of Deathbringer shook the walls of the dragon pit. Men, women, lords and servants jumped and scattered as you stormed through the castle halls. Not even Set Christen the Queen's sworn man tried to stop you. 

"Y/n, what a surprise-" you gave her no chance to finish her sentence as you drew you Velaryon blade and held it to her throat, pushing her against the wall. 

"Do you ever get tired of being an insufferable bitch?" You growl. 

"Do you think yourself above the Queen that you might treat her this way?" She spits back at you. 

"You are no queen, you are leech who slowly sucks the life blood from this great house." 

"Y/n, it is okay." Rhaenyra's voice is weakened but you can hear the determination in her. Slowly you pull back your knife and release the queen. Moving stand beside your cousin. No one in that room would deny the dear they had of you at this age. 

You chose to leave with Rhaenyra, to Dragonstone. 

News came that a new sibling would be birthed within days and you made your way on Dragonback. Daemon greeted you with a strong arm around you. 

"We have missed you my dear one." He smiled. 

"As I have missed you all. How is my stepmother?" 

"I am sorry, you did not arrive in time. Your brother would not come, Leana met a dragonriders end." His smile dropped. You throw your arms around his waist. 

"Oh father! I am so sorry." 

"We make for Driftmark in the morn. Your sisters are upstairs." 

—-- 

The funeral was sad, you felt it all around you. Many houses were represented standing on the precipice in silence. Daemon squeezed your hand when the coffin was dropped into the ocean. An attempt to quell his emotions. 

During the feasts afterward Aemond approached you, he had grown angry over his young years. 

"You should come back to King's Landing. The training ground is boring without you." He grinned. 

"Aemond, I do not think I shall be returning there for sometime." You knew forwell what your father had planned. 

"Will you write to me? I would dislike losing our friendship?" The blonde boy asked. You agreed before excusing yourself for bed. 

You awoke some time later with much commotion in the lord's hall. You ran down to find Aemond left eye stitched shut and the queen shouting across the room. 

An accusation against Luce and Jace had been levied. Daemon took your shoulder when you attempted to step up. Looking up at him he shook his head and you waited for the argument to come to an end. Bloodshed and anger was no mix for a family you thought to yourself. Years passed you by and soon your cousin Rhaenyra became your stepmother, between she and your father you now had two small brothers uniting your two families into one. Upon arriving at the castle you were not met by any of the royal family. The slight did not pass any of you buy. You had grown to a woman of seventeen years, your white hair reached down past your rounded hips. Annoyed, you turned and remounted your dragon, taking him to the pits. You had been the only one of the family to travel dragonback that day preferring it over sitting in a carriage.

With Deathbringer nestled into his own spot you began the boring walk back to the keep. Spying your cousins standing atop a staircase you slowly approached them. You were surprised to see how grown your cousins were. Two strapping men, no not two. The eldest one Aegon, seemed preoccupied with something, filling the void with drinking. The younger, Aemond, was tall with sharp edges to his face, he wore a patch over one eye. The eye you knew hid a sapphire eye. Both saw you as you ascended the steps.

“Hello cousin.” Aegon grinned, “We are so sorry, none of us could be there to welcome you.”

“Aegon if you had been there I would have died on the spot from shock. Surely there was a wine jug that you needed to seek the bottom of.” You grinned. Aemond stifled his laugh as his brother grunted and stormed away. He held out his arm for you take you ignored it and strode past him.

“Y/n, I really wanted to be there.” He spoke quietly.

“Then you would have been.”

“It has been some time since your last letter, I wrote to you twice.” his hand fell to your lower back as you walk into the main part of the castle.

“I am aware. I have had no need to reply as yet.”

Aemond could tell you were angry but he was not sure why

“I heard about the tournet your parents held for your last name day, you were formidable I am told. Lord Stark may actually be frightened of you.” He tried to coax you into a conversation.

“Perhaps if you had accepted the invitation we publicly and privately sent, you would have seen it for yourself. Excuse me Prince Aemond.”

He watched you leave.

[vivacissimx]

2

3

8

9

12

18

19

24

(i don't know why it's formatted like that? please don't feel like you have to answer them all!)

2. A minor (or extinct) house you need more lore on

house dayne! i actually have high hopes of getting it at some point but who can say for certain

3. Favorite sigil/house words

the stark direwolf is my favorite sigil; i don't know that i'd necessarily recommend it but wolfish by erica berry details an interesting history of human/wolf intertwinings, anxieties, and social axioms. starks identify with wolves insofar as they are stewards, predators, members of families. all of us are/know wolves. i also like that wolves are a code for the ambition we grapple with inside ourselves. i think that's an underrated stark trait actually— finding balance on the line between instinct and greed.

unfortunately my favorite house words are the baratheon ours is the fury. i truly wish we had more women of house baratheon who embodied them because the baratheons came by those words via argella durrandon, such a powerful story she has... anyway.

8. Build your own Kingsguard with any characters alive or dead

tough tough tough question. obviously i would revive arthur dayne. honestly love aerys's whole kingsguard. brienne, no question. though i love dunk i wouldn't have him on my kingsguard cause he's a little too #loose for those vows. likewise cregan stark and aemon the dragonknight are fundamentally lover boys. daemon sand perfect blend of loyal and smart. having a darklyn on the kingsguard is a delicious must so steffon darklyn (who was on rhaenyra targaryen's queensguard). i'm thinking we resurrect alysanne blackwood/Black Aly for her skill with a bow & her political acumen? jhogo from dany's bloodriders. is that seven? no it's six. uhhh. qhorin halfhand. wise man. adaptable.

9. Build your small council with any characters dead or alive

WELL since i have nobody from the westerlands on my kingsguard i have no choice but to put tyrion on my council 😭 he can be my master of coin. cersei can also come to hang out but she's not On the council. master of laws, traditionally a junior member: willas tyrell. master of whispers i'm going with sarella sand. marwyn is the only maester i trust. master of ships... i'm thinking asha greyjoy? her company would be enjoyable at the very least. hand of the king i am resurrecting the best to ever do it aka septon barth

12. Who are you traveling the ravaged Riverlands with?

i answered this one: lady stoneheart :)

18. A mystery you need solved NOW

i want to know if the maester conspiracy is responsible for rhaella, the unnamed princess of dorne, and joanna lannister all suffering years of infertility or if that's just George being george!

19. A theory you’ve adopted as canon

rhaegar's route through the riverlands which brought him to lyanna on the God's Eye

24. A ship that gives you the absolute ick

hm. probably jonsa

[idc4987]

The Cursed Queen | Part Two

Velaryon!oc x Targaryen brothers

Rhaenyra was half way through her dessert when Daemon loudly cleared his throat. Her shoulders dropped. She had been enjoying that night's feast. Jace and Luce were bickering over their dragons as Joffrey and Rhaena were pestering Aenessa to re-enact her perfect impression of his nanny. Rhaenrya had just suggested the chance of a family outing when her handmaiden delivered a letter from Rhaenys, speaking of Baela's boredom at Driftmark. The Lady wife of Corlys Velaryon had taken on her Granddaughter as her ward many moons ago and that meant a permanent home on the Isles of Driftmark as Rhaena moved with her Father to Dragonstone. The twins thrived together, but one was doomed to feel incomplete when the other was absent.

There was finally a sense of normality.

"Aenessa-" Daemon began.

"Daemon, must we do this now?" Rhaenyra muttered to him softly, gesturing to the four other children in the room.

Daemon was determined and shook of his wife's concerns. "We are to travel to the Royal Court in the morning." Every surrounding conversation fell silent. "I trust you will have any necessities packed and ready for our voyage?" He questioned the eldest of his stepchildren bluntly.

Aenessa calmly placed down the glass of peach wine that she had been drinking and swallowed slowly. "Of course." She answered curtly, pushing away Joffrey's waving hands. Aenessa's mask remained obsolete as she met Daemon's stare. She knew what he wanted. A reaction. Or, rather an overreaction. The very thing he had instructed her to hide. It was a test for how she would handle anything unpredicted the next day.

And she had passed.

Daemon nodded in acknowledgement and settled back into his seat. The air in the room remained tense, so tense to the point that the creaking of the guards armour had become audible. Aenessa held his stare perfectly, knowing he was expecting her to crack. She respected her Stepfather greatly and respected her Mother's choice to marry him after the death of Aenessa's Father. But there were moments where the Rogue Prince was someone she despised.

~~~~~~

King's Landing, The Next Day

Aegon Targaryen was a prick. He had been since birth. It seemed as though his curse was to be a perverted idiot and it only strengthened as he aged.

Being his junior, Aemond rarely saw how differing his brother's behaviour was around their niece. Aegon was simply his older sibling, he always thought of him as an idiot. However, growing up after losing his eye suddenly became more difficult than it had been before. As Aemond lost half his sight, Aegon lost half of his sanity. The problem child that had once been manageable to the inhabitants of the Red Keep quickly turned into a menace. Aemond took his place as their Mother's favourite and Aegon gladly did as he pleased.

Aegon became volatile and unpredictable. If his Grandsire, Otto Hightower, dared to invite the wild teen to court, nobody knew if he'd sit politely as expected or drunkenly belt his favourite song at the top his lungs. Aegon enjoyed reeking havoc as if it were a game. He was destructive and rude. When his Mother dared to propose the idea of his match to his sister Helaena, Aegon threatened to slit his own throat. His behaviours even stretched to ordering the palace chefs to send themselves to the executioners blade after they prepared his meal incorrectly.

It caused Aemond to develop a fierce disliking to his older brother. And that hatred tended to morph into a childish need to pick on him. Aegon returned it constantly, but only when his mind was not tainted by the copious amounts of alcohol he drank. Seeing as the result of last night's dinner had left him incapacitated until noon, Aemond almost skipped towards his room to tell him who was joining them in court that very day.

"Fuck off.." Aegon grumbled as he opened the door without knocking. His half naked figure rolled over into a sitting position and Aegon's face contorted into a smirk as he saw Aemond standing there. "Ah, Brother. How do you fare this great morning?" He asked sarcastically. Aegon did not give a single shit about how he was.

"You haven't broken your fast." Aemond explained, stoically stood at the end of his bed. "I also came to remind you of the guests we shall be hosting for the next five days are arriving today." Cannons of celebration exploded inside his chest as Aegon's face fell. It was nearing the anniversary of Aemond losing his eye and barely anything brought him joy. Yet seeing the dreaded realisation settle onto his older brother's feature made him want to dance. "Mother is also on her way right now to lecture you as well, I truly do wonder what you've done to upset her this time." Bullying the other had always been Aegon's trait. He'd remind Aemond of a memory or attempt to offer him some 'brotherly advice' that would ultimately humiliate the one-eyed prince. It was a sweet victory for Aemond to return the favour whenever he had the chance.

Aegon tried to hide his reaction and rolled back onto his pillow. Fuck Aemond, he didn't care if Aegon had eaten that day. He had come to gloat. Gloat that he was the one mentally prepared for the day ahead whilst Aegon was unwashed, dishevelled and a complete mess. He was happy to hear his brother leave. "Prick." Aegon mumbled a rant of insults under his breath. He hated how effortlessly perfect Aemond was. Always in the limelight. Although, his anger diffused quickly and Aegon fell asleep once again.

The moment of silence was short-lived. Alicent barged into his room as Aemond said she would, screaming at him to wake up. The plan to simply lie there and fool his Mother into thinking he was too deeply caught in his sleep to hear her. "Aegon!" He reluctantly turned over as she tried removing the sheets from him.

"Yes, Mother?" He smiled lazily. "What is it?" The sudden lose of protection from his blanket had him tossing and turning to find a more comfortable spot on his bed.

Alicent looked insulted at his simple question. "What is it?" She repeated mockingly. "What is it?! That's all you can say for yourself?" A slightly sober Aegon would have understood and remembered how fearsome his Mother was when she was frustrated, but whilst buried in the comfort of his bed and drowned in wine, Aegon had become forgetful and careless. He mumbled something inaudible into his pillow and Alicent continued interrogating him. "Dyana." Aegon was still unfazed. "The serving girl." Alicent added, trying to jog his memory further. He only huffed. "The girl, Aegon- the one you sent fleeing from your company."

It finally seemed to click in his mind, the jigsaw pieces of memory fitting together. "Oh it was just harmless fun." He mumbled, rubbing his eyes. "She didn't need to go and get all upset about."

It infuriated Alicent even further. How nonchalant he was about it all. "Think of the shame! Think of the shame on me! How can you keep carrying on like this, especially on a day like today?"

Something in Aegon's mind snapped and he goaded his Mother even further. "Why? What is so special about today?" Aegon knew why Alicent was so tightly strung about the day ahead, his own brother had reminded him so only minutes before. The so-called 'rebel princess' was returning to the Red Keep after ten years away from him. His rebel princess. His Nessa. Aegon didn't need the alcohol in his system to feel giddy about the day. However, his child-like foolishness earned him a slap. Aegon touched his cheek gingerly, feeling the angry red mark his Mother had left on him.

She was quiet for a while. It scared Aegon.

"You are no son of mine." Alicent's tone had dropped from one of anger to pure shame. She began to walk towards the door and leave Aegon to wallow in his own self pity.

He abruptly stood up from the bed, suddenly alert of his surroundings and the grave mistakes he had already made that morning. "I did not ask for this." Aegon pulls the blanket up to cover himself and retain any of the dignity he has left. "I have done everything you asked me to. I tried-" He pauses, holding back tears. "I try so hard, but it will never be enough for you or Father." His 'heartfelt' speech had no affect on Alicent. Even Aegon begins to feel embarrassed for himself when his Mother storms out of his door.

~~~~~~

*introduction* / *part 1*

[ofswordandcrowns]

@alistairwarren​

Though most of the nobility and royalty of Aladonia had found themselves in Dele for a solemn affair, Daemon had found that it seemed as though most people were taking it as an opportunity to host various dinners and gatherings in the hopes to find a fitting suitor for their unwed children. After all, it was a place full to the brim of royals and upper nobility, and thus people were hoping to match their children with someone of a worthy station. Truthfully, he found this dreadfully boring - and inappropriate, given the circumstances - but he was never one to turn down a gathering with handsome men and pretty faces.

As he was chatting with a young noble, one that was timid and shy and not one that had wanted to talk to him in the first place - his parents were watching nearby, hoping that this would end up being a good match - when a beautiful face caught his eye. Pardoning himself from the noble, taking his hand and kissing the back of it before saying goodbye, Daemon made his way towards the gentleman with a soft smile upon his lips.

“Now, I knew that wardens were blessed by Fityx to carry their magick, but I didn’t realize that they, too, also were blessed with their beauty,” Daemon spoke as he looked upon the other. “Or perhaps Fityx simply decided to bless you in more way than one, mm? Either way, it is a pleasure to formally meet you. You are the junior warden of Eddis, correct? If so... I might just have to start visiting Eddis more often, if it means I can gaze upon your beauty.”

[bronzebtch]

thoughts + headcanons: on rhea and the royce's family tree. * subject to changes according to different portrayals.

the beginning: allard royce and his children.

rhea is a direct descendent of allard royce, who later came out against the tyrannical king maegor i and supported king jaehaerys i targaryen.

allard went on to have five children with his wife, ceciliana tully*: romulus, yorwyck, byron, lucille, and rita.

romulus did not survive infancy, and yorwyck grew up a sickly child, leaving many of the family to assume byron will lead the house.

as a desperate attempt to improve yorwyck's health, ceciliana entrusted one of her lady-in-waiting and longtime companion, selby mormont, to get traditional treatment in winterfell. yorwick then spent part of his childhood (since age seven) in the north.

returning at age five-and-ten, it was clear that yorwyck's health has more than improved, and his role as allard's heir is regarded more seriously.

this turn of event left byron spiteful.

yorwyck married winona stark, one of his closest childhood companion during his recovery in winterfell, (who wrote to him incessantly once she turned an eligible age to marry that she will come to the vale just so he could take her hand) and had three children with her: yorbert, yohan, serena.

byron had two of his own: gunthor, and herbert.

lucille, the third of allard's child, did not survive childbed fever after giving birth to her first and only babe, morris; she died in her old childhood room a year later with lady ceciliana grasping tightly to her hands.

rita married a handsome smithy whom she met during her visit to the riverruns. they had five children together, and she kept letters with her parents and brothers up until her eventual death of old age.

the middle: yorwyck and byron's children.

while winona was a strict mother and yorwyck too carefree, yorbert and yohan grew up with a fair temper, and a generous outlook on their roles as heirs of runestone. serena, in the meantime, were said to always be "more stark" — stern and serious — though she grew up loving the vale.

byron, though bitter that his expectation as heir was dashed with his brother's health improving, went on to become one of yorwyck's best council; a respectable trait he did not extend in fatherhood.

this, in turn, made gunthor ambitious to exceed his father's expectation while his younger brother, hubert, went the other way. becoming far more careless with his drinking and womanising, despite the fact that hubert has had great potential in swordfighting all throughout his youth.

yorbert eventually marries posey arryn*, lord rodrick arryn's sister.

though it was a political match and posey is older than yorbert by five years, their union was decent and they produced three children together: brahm, rhea, and jovina (lovingly called "joy").

yohan went on to marry lady redfort, birthing gerold, willam, friedrich.

serena travels to winterfell and married one of house stark's vessels, producing two daughters: teressa and themis. she will outlive two of her brothers.

gunthor married bianca florent, though the marriage prove barren as they had no children.

herbert was rumoured to father many bastards, though his trueborn daughters are called dinah and memphis. he later fell deeply for a whore and had two recognised bastard sons with her, roland and silas stone.

morris married a fine lady in the vale and had alyssa royce.

present times, and future.

(a) yorbert royce's children

brahm passed from the shivers at age ten.

rhea became the heir of runestone at age eight because of it. at five-and-ten, she was prince daemon's wife.

joy, four years rhea's junior, married a respectable nobleman. she had four children with one dying from infancy. her first child, ruben, is rhea's heir — something she declared since his birth.

joy's other children are as followed: ruben, timon (†), francis, yorbert.

(b) yohan royce's children.

gerold became rhea's sworn shield, especially after he blamed brahm's death on him. (because he thought him sneaking brahm out during one of the nights he was sick while it was winter was what made brahm sicker; to clarify - they were both children with gerold being two years older than brahm was.) — this is the cousin that 'confronted' daemon targaryen in the tv show.

willam will fight for rhaenyra as apart of The Seven Who Rode. he will die.

friedrich will follow gunthor in supporting arnold arryn. there's nothing wrong with him; he just always seems to be at the wrong side of history (easily influenced).

(c) gunthor

will support arnold arryn's claim during the vale's civil war.

he tried contesting rhea's succession because he believed his father, lord byron, was the rightful heir as he studied far longer to be runestone's lord — and thus, the succession should fall to him.

his claim is refuted because many support yorbert's claim during rhea's early reign.

i think he did however successfully rebuke rhea's heir, ruben, and became lord of runestone — or, at the very least, he was successful to rally royce house to support arnold arryn the mad's claim for the seat at the eyrie.

(d) morris

his one and only daughter, alyssa, was presented to king aegon iii at the maiden's day ball, and told the king she had come all the way from runestone to be with him.

other headcanons * these details can be altered with each different portrayal(s)

from ceciliana tully, rhea has tully blood from her great-grandmother.

from winona stark, rhea has stark blood from her grandmother.

from posey arryn, her mum, rhea is related to aemma arryn (they're first-cousins).

[rmjagonshi]

To Carry On - Chapter 10

On AO3

Previous

-Hurricanes-

Nothing was ever going to be the same. This was the end. Krillin just wasn’t sure of what. Of them, the lives of his family and friends? Of faith? Whatever remained of his innocence? Of Junior? The world? What would give first?

It was hard to deny they were all interconnected. The audience wasn’t blind. They all saw the events of the semi-finals. Kami. God. Something some believed in, something others only thought of in passing. But seeing it. Seeing God. Some couldn’t take it. Some dropped to their knees in prayer. Others scoffed. Others still regarded Kami with trepidation, recognition, and fear. Murmuring to themselves about how he looked familiar. How scary he looked. Some even left the ringside, whispered prayers under their breaths, signing wards against demons in the air around them.

Tien took to standing guard and moving Kami to safety, shielding him from direct observation. But the damage was already done. Fear had crept like smoke into the hearts of the audience and now had a stranglehold on their minds.  

Ten minutes flew by faster than he could blink.

Some tournament official had preemptively called in security. Magic was nothing to be trifled with, even for the more modern and scientific minded. A ring of twenty guards stood between the arena and what remained of the frightened audience. Whispers, murmurs of a name floated through the crowd. Doubt, trepidation.

Mazakou.

Daemon.    

Even the battle-hardened fighters, retired masters, and past tournament winners could feel it. Something was wrong. The world was on edge.

The hairline cracks were already forming. Spidering out in all directions. A clawed hand tightening around the throat of the world.

And then, the announcer was calling the final two fighters to the arena. And once again, Goku, the boy who saved the world, stood alone against an enemy unlike any other.

They stood face to face as the crowed cheered. Louder now than they had ever been for the previous fights. Krillin could barely hear the announcer over the roar. But he could see Piccolo’s ears twitch and his brow furrow.

The opening blows graceful. Powerful. There was no doubt why these two had been the ones to make it to the final round. Goku’s feet barely touched the ring, gliding across the tiles. Light as a feather and landing punches as heavy as bowling balls. Chi blasts that could level the entire city thrown around like toys. Each feeling out the boundaries of their opponent.  

It was all just a warm up to the real deal. To when the gloves came off and the battle between good and evil began.

But something was wrong. While Goku was controlled, Piccolo was agitated. His movements jerky and stilted. His blows more reminiscent of a frightened animal. Sweat beaded on his brow. His breaths coming out in harsh pants. Eyes darting ever faster to all corners; barely straying to Goku’s form before flicking away again.

Piccolo crumpled as Goku took advantage of his weakness. Saliva and blood erupted from his throat as he gripped Goku’s arm and twisted it almost out of socket. Goku’s scream was cut short by a kick to the back of the head.

Goku rose and let loose a volley of chi, Piccolo responding in kind.    

What remained of the audience murmured to themselves, some screaming and ducking at energy volleys that swung too low above their heads to explode into the lands beyond the city.

Piccolo’s ears twitched. He swung wide and completely missed landing a hit on Goku, leaving himself wide open. Again.

Bodies huddled together, whistles ringing out over the agitated crowd as the guard tried to corral the panic. Static crackling and buzzing from the radios strapped to every guard’s chest. A tangle of garbled voices overlapping and getting louder.  

Piccolo ground his teeth as he dodged a charge from Goku; sending the man crashing to the tile floor.

Children crying. Some animals nearby barking and yelping. A siren blaring in a distant street. Loud

Some asshole crunching caramel corn with his mouth open. Louder

Piccolo spun in circles trying to pinpoint where his opponent disappeared to. Throwing wild punches at afterimages. By sheer luck, Piccolo felt his fist connect with Goku’s jaw.

An ear-piercing screeching feedback from the announcer trying to provide commentary.

Louder!

Piccolo slammed an energy ball into the speaker system. Molten metal shrapnel rained down on the heads of the tournament staff. The screaming on grew louder! He fired three more balls into the buildings around them before Goku was able to tackle him to the ground.

They traded blows, fumbling and rolling over and over until Piccolo got a foot underneath him and rose to slam Goku’s face back into the tile. Once. Twice. His ears rang. His head throbbed. He rose to his feet, hands bloodied.  

He stood before the crowed, looming above them. If they were to scream; he’d give them something to scream about! He tore away his cape, letting the turban unravel. White cloth sliding from his shoulders and fingers to the screams of the crowd. They recognized him. How could they not? It had barely been three years since the capitol had fallen to the demon king.

Despite Krillin’s hopes, Piccolo did nothing to mitigate the growing panic.

“I am King Piccolo, Mazakou and ruler of this world, reborn.”

“Monster!”

“Deamon!”

“Help! Vile Creature!”

“Mazakou!”

What followed was a colossal clamor to leave the island. Some few brave souls letting bullets fly to ping off Piccolo’s impenetrable skin. People piling aboard every conceivable vehicle to escape. Ferries and planes, some even swimming if they could. Harbor buoys repurposed as makeshift vessels. Barrels and wooden crates served as lifeboats for those too slow to be the first on the ferries. The sky was littered with scarves, hats and bits of cloth as the people ran. Toys dropped in the rush, teddy bears and dolls left lying on the pavement like the last standing soldiers to cover their comrade’s retreat.

When it was over, the world around them was silent. Blissfully, blessedly silent. Wind passing through the desolate island like a phantom. All was still. All was calm.

Finally. He could fight Goku unrestricted.

Only ten remained. Ten to stand in the way of Piccolo’s wrath. But even their combined effort would amount to nothing. In reality, only one had any chance to defeat the demon. They were forced to place their hopes on Goku, again. How many times could this one man save the world? How many times would it ask him to?

At least once more. At least one.

And it was explosive.

Their first clash filled with more ki than any fight before. Aura surrounding them strong enough that even those without the gifted sight could see it. Goku’s blinding red, Piccolo’s chilling blue. The combination was a violet blast that nearly took down the stadium.

Krillin hated every second. He wanted to run, to close his eyes and cover his ears and hide in the smallest place he could find. But he couldn’t look away. Not yet.

Their fight was brutal. Everything about it was nothing short of devastating. Two opposing superpowers meeting at last. Every blow was painful to watch. Every sickening crunch of bone ringing in his ears. And Every splash of blood cloying in the back of his throat. He could taste it. The sweat. The blood. He screamed when Piccolo ripped off his own arm and left the broken one lie in the ring like a discarded shirt, twitching and spurting blood as veins tried to circulate the vital fluid.  

Krillin wasn’t sure if he should feel relief or revulsion when he saw a new arm regrow in its place.  

When Piccolo tried to wipe the island out, Ten-shinhan drove his energy into the ground to create a pitiful shelter. Everyone clamored inside, squashed together in hopes that the blast would wash over their heads and leave them unharmed. Launch pushing Bulma and Chi-Chi to the corner and guarding them with her trusty machine gun. Not that it would do much against Piccolo if he designed to turn his gaze on them.

Krillin refused. At first, remaining behind to make sure everyone got in safely. Then...he didn’t know. He refused out of principle. He’d caused this. Everything that happened. Would happen. All the atrocities, all the deaths.

All because he saved one scared little boy.  

A scared little boy that grew into a deamon staring down his nose at Goku, ready to level the island to kill him.

Krillin didn’t deserve to hide. Not after this.

He stood, braced in front of the pit his friend huddled in. He ignored their commands for him to take shelter. A green hand snapped from the pit to grab his ankle and tried to drag him in. It recoiled at his kick, and Krillin refused to meet Kami’s eyes when he turned away. Another stone in the scales of judgment.

The ball of energy he formed was barely anything compared to the two superpowers fighting. But it didn’t need to be. All it had to do was shield his friends. All he had to do was absorb the impact.  

For a brief moment, he thought he saw blue eyes flicker in his direction. A moment, a fraction of a second, he thought he saw a change in the deamon’s face. A frown. Confusion. Fear. Maybe. But no. He was imagining things. He was nothing. And Piccolo was nothing to him. Right?

The explosion was colossal. Krillin could do nothing but brace with his energy shield. And endure. He remembered nothing but force and wind. And the feeling of swallowing his heart. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t see. Or hear. Or anything. He was numb. He only knew his skin had been sheared away by sand when he felt the grains grind in his teeth.

But he was standing. Somehow. When he risked opening his eyes, he saw the devastation. The stadium was gone. Save for a few cement foundation pillars. All that remained of the arena was a vague outline in the dirt. The buildings around them, the hotels and shops and apartments were toppled. Twisted metal and splintered wood blasted back. Skyscrapers flattened. But he was still standing.

He was still standing because Goku had stood in the way and absorbed most of the blast. Two gullies dug into the dirt on either side of Goku. A perfect silhouette that wrapped around him.

Goku panted, form sagging. His hands and forearms a mess of blood.  

Even in his attempt to save his friends, his friends had to save him.

His gut clenched when Goku dropped to his knees.  

The Krillin knew he was a fuck up. He’d been told nearly every day of his faults as far back as he could remember. Every day, his brothers at the Orin Temple would call him weak, slow. Short, ugly. Dumb. He made mistakes, always. Always. But this was the worst. By far the worst thing he’d ever done.

Goku was going to die.

And it was all his fault.

He was granted a second chance at life. A second chance to make things better, to try again and learn. To be better. And what had he done? What had he done with the gift of life that Goku had fought so hard to grant him? What had he done to return the love and loyalty his best friend had given him?

Krillin had killed him.

He’d even been given a second chance to make things right. A second chance to save everyone. And all he had to do was nothing. All he had to do was sit there and do nothing. But no. Stupidity this bad took effort.

It hurt to watch them fight. To watch blood spill from both green and ivory skin. Every blow exchanged between them felt like a blow to himself. His chest ached. Squeezed tighter and tighter.

What would he do? If Goku died? Would he fight? Anyone else, anything else, and there wouldn’t be a moment’s hesitation. But this wasn’t just any fight with some random bad guy. Could he fight Piccolo? In reality, no, he couldn’t, because there was no way in Hell he could stand any chance, but....would he try?

He prays to whomever has the power to grant his wish that it doesn’t come to that.

He had the sickening feeling his prayers would go unanswered.

Before long, Goku was down. Both legs broken. One arm useless and mangled at his side. Holes seared into his skin, filling the air with the sickening taste of burning flesh. His master whispering to Kami and Tien, asking them to prepare themselves to jump in once Goku fell. Yamcha giving one last look to Bulma, knowing they were all about to meet the same fate. This was the end.

One last blow. One last moment. One last chance. Life rarely gave three.

Krillin was tripping over the gouge in the earth marking where the ring used to be before he could even second guess how utterly stupid it was to try and stop this. The world was painted in streaks of color and mud through the tears.

“STOP!” His voice quivered. Fitting that he landed on his knees. He’s begging. Pleading. Mercy. If his foolish bleeding heart and kindness were good for anything, let it be this.

Goku’s voice pitched with pain, rang out in the silence. “Krillin, stay back!”

But Krillin ignored him. Pushing himself up to his knees, eyes blurry with flashes of color. He couldn’t even look at Goku. Too ashamed at what he’d done. He’d caused this. And he was the only one who could stop it. “You won! You won, just stop! Please stop. Let him go.”

Piccolo had won. No one could stop him. But If Goku lived. If they all could just live, then he would deal with the fall out.

And if all Piccolo wanted was death, then…

Krillin would take Goku’s place.

Piccolo snarled, eyes trained on the prone figure before him, not even bothering to look up at the pleading man. “I care not for the world. Let it rot as it always has. This has been about Goku. This has only ever been about Goku.”

“I said get BACK!” Krillin flinched. He’d never heard Goku use that tone before. Not on him. Krillin reluctantly met Goku’s gaze. Hard, weathered and in pain, but solid. Stone. “This is my fight!”

Except it wasn’t. It had never been Goku’s responsibility. It was Kami’s, but when Krillin sought to protect a demon child, he took the burden upon himself.

This was no one’s fight but his.  

Krillin’s head hung low, tears dripping to the ground. “Please...don’t do this.” He didn’t know who he was asking anymore. For Goku to stand down, for Piccolo? It didn’t matter. He just wanted the fighting to stop.

A harsh sigh and a wave of one emerald hand, “Flee, then. Save the others. Keep your petty kingdoms as they are. I don’t care.”  

Krillin jerked his head up. A glimmer of hope. He felt a chill run down his spine under Piccolo’s gaze. He stared as Piccolo’s shoulders slumped. The demon was barely standing. The battle strained both of them to their limits. Piccolo clenched his jaw. “Just let me kill him.”

“NO! Please don’t.”

“One man is worth the world to you?”

Trade the world for one life? If it was his own, he wouldn’t hesitate. But this wasn’t his own. This was his best friend. His first ever friend. The one who risked their life to bring him back. The one who stood by him time and time again. The one who would forgive him no matter how bad he’d screwed up.  

He couldn’t trade the world. It wasn’t his right. But he could trade something else.

“I’ll give you anything you want.”

His life was the only thing he could give.

“What do you think you’re doing, boy?” Kami’s voice echoed across the field. The same tone he’d used before. “He cannot be reasoned with!”

Next his master, calling out to him, reprimanding him. Again. “Do you think he’ll listen to you? Do you think he’ll let a threat like Goku leave? He’s not going to make the same mistake again!”

Krillin was unswayed. He prayed. To Kami, to the Spirit of the Earth, to the Universe itself. He prayed.  

“Anything…”

Piccolo stood. Silent. Everyone stood silent as they waited. Tien and Yamcha still prepared to fight, Launch, with her shotgun loaded, protecting Bulma and Chi-Chi. The announcer was still hiding in the pit and peeking out over the edge to see the fight, Puar and Oolong huddled behind him.

More silence. More stillness.

Krillin felt the deamon’s eyes roll over him. Felt the gaze pierce his heart, flay his skin. It prickled. He swallowed. Twice. A nagging tug at the back of his head twisted into a knot. He could hear it. Again. Junior’s voice in his head.

 Would he?                          Would it matter?                             My pet.

He chose Goku.                                                              He gave you a name!      

                                      He’s begging.                                                                      Goku isn’t worth it.

                            MINE!

Where would we go?                      Would Goku come after us?

  Phrases and images overlapping and echoing, twisting. But one stood out Louder than the rest.

‘Would he come freely?’

“Surti su saturr chie serc’la kypha riaphix mekee-dah lafkah akkai obnefaial[1] ?” Krillin’s ears rang with the overlapping sounds. Their meaning unraveling a moment later, like being fed through a filter. But he understood. This was a question to him and him alone. A question he didn’t have an answer to.

Would he? He might have, a few hours ago. Might’ve even meant it then. Would have meant it. Now?

“I…..I…..”

He didn’t know.

His uncertainty was more than enough of an answer.

“To think I saw you worthy.” Piccolo spat, “No better than the sniveling worms around you. Empty words only there to protect your facade of pride.” Piccolo’s eyes turned cold. Gaze fixed on Goku. Bloodthirsty. Fueled by the fires of revenge and betrayal. “You think me a monster? Then you’ll get one.”

Goku’s screams filled the air as Piccolo took to using his body as a toy. Krillin was numb. Even as Tien and Yamcha ran past, only to be blown back by a wall of ki volley. Even as they tried to pull him back to the safety of the meager pile of bricks that remained of the barrier wall of the arena. He watched as Goku coughed up blood. Listened to his bones snap. Knowing there was not a damn thing he could do. Knowing that if he tried, he would die. And then Goku would die anyway.

The world for one man.

And he couldn’t do it.

The world for one man and he said ‘No’.

His last, colossal fuck-up.

Piccolo raised his hands, ready to make his final strike and finally kill the man that took away his birthright. The man that was his birthright. Yellow glinting eyes paused on the group of quivering humans and the insufferable, meddling God. Making sure they all saw the moment their savior died.      

But Goku vanished. Gone. One second a helpless child quaking on the ground. The next, gone. Piccolo’s eyes darted around the remains of the arena, ears straining to pick up any sound at all. Wind, and the harsh breathing of the humans, but nothing else. His own heart beat.    

The next moment, ground became sky as Goku seemed to appear from the ether to crash into him, a ball of roiling chi, blood and flesh, knocking him from the outline of the ring. He was unconscious before his body buried itself in the dirt a mere two feet from the outline of the ring.

The deamon king was down. Beaten.

Goku had won.

The battlefield was still. No one moved. Too stunned to really believe it. Too wary to celebrate before they knew for sure the daemon king wasn’t getting up.

When the announcer called the fight, proclaiming Goku the winner of the twenty-third martial arts tournament, everyone clambered to reach Goku’s side. Checking his injuries and collectively combing through their pockets for senzu beans. Everyone but Krillin. He hung back, pausing after only taking a couple of steps. He was relieved it was over. Of course, he was. Goku won. Goku was alive. And Piccolo was beaten. The world was safe. The...enemy...defeated.

It hurt. It shouldn't hurt this much. It shouldn't be this hard to see the fallout of the inevitable. Piccolo wanted to take control of the world. He was evil. They made a career out of ending evil tyrants and their conquests. But this was different. It shouldn’t be any different from destroying the Red Ribbon army or kicking Pilaf’s keester. It should be the same. It was the best possible outcome.

So why did it feel like someone had reached into Krillin’s chest and pulled at something vital? Why did seeing his best friend come out on top fill him with doubt?

Even as he walked closer, even as he could see the prone form of his best friend in the gaps between the crowd that formed around him, Krillin couldn’t help but let his eyes dart over to the gouge in the earth where Jun...Piccolo lay. The spawn of the demon king, or the demon king himself, reincarnated, depending on who was talking. It really didn’t matter in the end. He was defeated. Though not quite dead. Kami still stood among them. Weak, and visibly trembling, but still alive. If what Kami and Goku were saying was true, then that meant Piccolo was still alive.

Right?    

When he finally reached Goku’s side, he felt numb. Disconnected. Like walking through a dream. He grinned at Goku as Yamcha helped the injured man sit up. Grinned, but with empty eyes. Grinned with an empty heart.

He caused this.

It was his fault.

Someone passed Goku a senzu bean and he chewed it slowly, mumbling around the green pasty taste, “Hey, Krillin, ow. Go check for me, okay?”

Krillin blinked. “Check?”

Goku jerked his head in the vague direction behind him. Piccolo. The only real thing of note. Krillin blinked again. Avoiding meeting Goku’s eyes. “Yeah. I….yeah.”

Krillin sidestepped around his master, keeping his head low and trying to shake off the feeling of his master’s eyes boring into him.

He would be interrogated later. Lectured. Told off. He didn’t need to be told how much he’d screwed up. He knew. And now he was going to see just how much he screwed up to make sure it sank in.

Like a death march, Krillin walked the short span of exposed soil. His legs felt like lead. His breath grew short every inch he got closer. Squeezing his lungs until he was practically gasping for air.

He feet stopped just a few inches from the body. His mind betrayed him. Even now, knowing that this person was Piccolo, it was hard to see him like that. Emerald face lax. Asleep. How many times had he woken in the middle of the night to see that face beside him? How many times had he seen it smile. Heard his laugh?  

Krillin dropped to his knees, and leaned over, brushing the dirt and debris from his face, feeling for a heartbeat. For breath.

Alive. Weak, but alive. And completely at their mercy.

Krillin passed his hands over the demon’s throat, checking to make sure it wasn’t broken. Had he been conscious, Junior would have batted his hands away. He was never too keen on anyone touching his neck. Too sensitive. It felt wrong to be doing it while Junior was helpless to stop him. While running his fingers down the back of his neck, checking the spinal column for any fractures, Krillin felt Junior twitch, shudder. A weak and pitiful sound curled in the back of Junior’s throat.

Krillin yanked his hands away. Everything seemed intact. He didn’t need to check anymore.

Leaning back to take in everything, Junior really did look mere inches from death. Scrapes and lacerations seeping blood. New skin from his regenerated arm a brighter green around the bicep where he’d torn it off. Krillin couldn’t help running his fingers over the new growth.

He hadn’t known Junior could do that. It had never come up before, but then, neither one of them had ever broken a bone before. It should horrify him. Everyone else had been. But the only thing he could think of was how much it must have hurt.

He pressed his hand to the center of Junior’s chest to feel for his dual heartbeat. A low continuous thrum under a slow beat. Weak. With a stutter. Some internal bleeding maybe? Junior’s breathing was growing shallow. He was entering the critical stage.

Krillin felt his body grow cold.

He knew very little of first aid and nothing for internal injuries. He could try chest compressions, but there was no knowing if that would only make the internal bleeding, if there was any, worse. And which beat did he work on? Right or center left? Which thrum was a heart? Or where they both? He had to try something. Soon.

Krillin ripped the remaining cloth away from Junior’s chest, trying to remember where he was supposed to place his hands for chest compressions, when his fingers tangled in something stronger than broken fibers.

A charred and clumsy wooden carving made nearly a year and a half ago. Leather cord snapped, and tangled in the frayed threads of a violet gi, but it was there. The little wooden carving of a dragon ball.

Junior kept it. Even through the fight.

Krillin untangled the chord, pulling it free. He ran his fingers across the carving, remembering the night he’d made it. It had started as something to keep his hands busy at night. But when he bought things for Junior, the kid had seemed so confused, so astonished that Krillin had made it a game to give the kid something new every time he could. He winced as the unrefined wood left a splinter.

Krillin shook his head. No. This wasn’t Junior. This was Piccolo. The demon King reborn to take control of the world and raise a demon army. This was the mons-no, this was the person who had just tried to kill his best friend. This was the being that had caused so much pain and suffering in the world.

He could do it. Right now. He could end this. Piccolo was weak enough that even Krillin could kill him. It wouldn’t take much. A little pressure in the right spot, and he would die. Kami would die and the dragon balls would disappear, but it would end.

He could do it.

He could.

Krillin raised his hands above Piccolo’s exposed throat...

_

_

_

_

...and lifted the back of Junior’s head to re-tie the leather chord.

No. He couldn't. He could never do something like that. He doesn’t know why he even entertained the thought.

Maybe he was hoping for redemption.

Or maybe he was afraid.

But Junior’s breath was labored, and his pulse erratic. If Krillin did nothing, it was all going to end the same anyway.

If he had done nothing in the first place, then none of this would have happened.

A shadow loomed over him and Krillin glanced up to see the stern and foreboding gaze of the guardian of Earth.

Guardian of Earth. For all intents and purposes, God. Not arbiter of all life on Earth, but parent. Protector. Able to hand out praise and gifts for good behavior, and demand retribution for acts against their fellow beings.

The one the world prayed to for guidance, and blessings. The one they begged for divine forgiveness from.

The one Krillin had often prayed to in his youth.

It was surreal. Here was God, and Krillin felt that overt pressure of looking upon a divine being. And yet, there was a disconnect. God, Kami was the same as the ‘demon’ laying in the dirt between them. Held a connection strong enough that if one died, so did the other. The child he’d found in the forest, so scared, cast off by the world, was of the same divine origin as Kami. And yet…

It didn’t feel the same.

Junior didn’t feel divine. He felt hu-

Mortal.

“Move.”

Krillin shuddered at the command. He felt compelled to follow orders. Some switch in the back of his mind from years of drills and meditations flicking on. But his legs wouldn’t cooperate.

“Move, boy, so I can end this properly.”

“You can’t…” he murmured, lips numb and uncooperative.

Yellow eyes narrowed at him. “Why can’t I?”

Krillin swallowed. “He, he said you would suffer eternal damnat-.” his words faltered, voice dropping and trailing off into silence. Kami looked at him as if he was a surprisingly interesting insect. Mildly intriguing, but still worth crushing under his boot

“You’ve learned well.” The foreign words slowly filtered through his mind. “And what is it to you what happens to me?” The guardian’s eye flicked over Junior’s limp body. “Or him?”

Kami’s eyes narrowed. The boy was suggestable, malleable. Desperate for attention and validation. The perfect vessel for Piccolo’s evil to influence and corrupt, twist into the ideal servant. There was a chance, even now, that Piccolo could lure the boy to him. Whisper promises of safety, fame, devotion to cloud the boy’s mind. False love to bind the boy to him.  

Kami had watched them for months. Judging their interactions, predicting outcomes. He had held hope that some of Piccolo’s evil had ebbed with his reincarnation. Had Piccolo not come to the tournament, Kami was ready to believe that the boy had done some good to dissipate the evil in the demon. But no. Piccolo was set on his goal. And Kami would do everything he could to stop it. He would suffer eternally, but he would endure. He would spare the world from this. Even this meddlesome boy who already struggled against Piccolo’s influence.

Krillin wet his lips, urging them to just cooperate. Just say the right thing to fix it. “What about the Earth? It needs a guardian.”

Kami scoffed. “It will go on as it has. My job is to protect the balance of morality of the planet. If that means killing myself to prevent his evil. Then so be it.”

“No…”

Kami baulked. The audacity of this welp. He could forgive the boy's actions before understanding the calamity of the situation. But to continue to defend the demon when the boy was aware of his identity? Just how much had Piccolo corrupted the boy? Was it already too late? He could sense darkness in the boy’s heart. But how much of it was inherent to his humanity, and how much was born of Piccolo’s evil influence.

“Excuse me?”

“No. I won’t let you.”

Even for a God, his patience was nearing its end. He would not suffer Piccolo’s existence a moment longer. All the evil in his heart. All the terrible atrocities he’d committed. All of Piccolo’s actions were a product of Kami trying to ease his own evil thoughts. He felt a guilt unlike any other. This would end today.

“MOVE, BOY!”

“NO!”

“Move, or I will go through you.”

If he was to be damned for all eternity, then the death of a single innocent would add nothing to his punishment, and subtract nothing from the world. Not if the boy was already one of Piccolo’s servants.  

Krillin threw himself over Junior’s prone form. Curling himself around Junior’s head and torso. His mind was screaming at him to just move. To do as God had told him. Just follow instructions. Fix it! But something pulled him to stay. Something deep in him told him this was wrong. He cradled Junior’s head, eyes clenched tight against the inevitable.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Goku. Ever the savior they needed. Always stepping in at the most convenient moment. He stood over them, facing off against the Guardian of Earth.   

“Kami, stop this.”

“Piccolo is my responsibility, my mistake. One I plan to rectify.” He sighed. “It is my job to protect the people of Earth. Please, let me do my job.”

“But if you kill him, then you die, and you wouldn’t be able to do your job anymore. You won't be able to fix any other problems that happen after.” Goku gave Kami a soft smile. “Besides. If you kill him, your no better than he is.”

Kami's shoulders slumped as he closed his eyes. Goku was correct. Of course he was. And Kami knew that. To finish this, to kill Piccolo, and thus ultimately killing himself, he would be abandoning his post. His divine oath to protect the people if Earth and keep the balance of morality. 

It still did not alleviate his guilt at causing Piccolo's evil. Through his own selfish desires to purge his own evil and take guardianship of the planet he'd grown to love, he'd caused the very imbalance he sought to maintain. He was unfit to keep his post. Had been from the start. But he sought it all the same. Out of love and devotion to the planet he called home.  

Kami looked at the diminutive man, hardly more than a child, cradling his other half in his lap. There was no doubt that Piccolo was dying. Kami could feel his own breath grow labored along with his counterpart. 

He was an unfit guardian. He would stand aside and allow the beings of this world to choose their own path. Allow Piccolo to live, or let him die. 

Goku nodded as Kami took a step back. He dug through the folds of his belt and palmed something before kneeling to hand it to the monk. “Hey, Krillin, here.”

A senzu bean. Krillin had two in his pocket. Why didn’t he think about it? Kami, he was an idiot. 

Krillin pinched the bean between his fingers and brought it to Junior's parted lips. He watched Junior reflexively swallow, wincing as the bean passed through his dry throat.

A moment passed before Junior opened his eyes, blinking up at the sky and letting his eyes focus. He could see splashes of orange and white in his periphery. He blinked again when someone leaned over him. Warm fingers passed over his face, pausing briefly at his neck to feel for his pulse. He weakly pushed their hand away. 

“Hey…" His cherub’s voice broke through the echo of his heart in his head. 

Piccolo watched his cherub through the haze, letting the monk murmur to himself as he checked for lingering injuries. His head felt like it had split open, but he was no longer close to death. Mind floating and piecing together fragments of memories as they came to the forefront of his mind. He weakly reached to run a knuckle along his cherub’s face.

He blinked away the dust collecting in his eyes in time to see another face materialize above him. 

Black hair, wide eyes and a face that haunted his dreams. 

His mortal enemy. 

Was grinning down at him.  

With a jolt, Piccolo leapt away from the touch and slid into a defensive position. His eyes darted between Goku and Kami, mind filing through potential escape points if they both rushed him at once. Though Kami looked furious and ready to throttle him, Goku was lax, open and completely nonchalant. He still wore that insufferable grin. 

“Whew, I was kinda worried you were gonna up and die on us. That was some fight!”

Piccolo chose to ignore Kami in favor of giving his full attention to his prime target. “You say that as if the fight’s over.”

Goku just grinned wider. “Well, yeah. I mean, I knocked you out of the ring. I won! But it was close.”

Piccolo snarled. “Won? You won nothing. Who cares about the tournament?” Piccolo was here for revenge. The tournament was convenient, but unnecessary. He was done playing by the illogical human rules.   

“I do! I care!” Goku had the nerve to look offended, as though the petty tournament was something sacred to him. “Though I guess there isn’t gonna be any official thing since everyone ran away and all the buildings are gone.” He spun in a slow circle to inspect the buildings and rubble around them.  

Piccolo seethed. How dare he? How dare he act like this was all some petty entertainment. Like this wasn’t life or death. As though Piccolo wasn’t the threat he was. 

As if he was nothing. 

Piccolo bristled. His energy flaring and muscles tensing. He would beat the man bloody all over again if he had to. No rules. No barriers. He’d win this time. His fists clenched, knuckles jutting like jagged mountains from the flesh of his hands.

He would break the man! He would break him until Piccolo saw the spirit die from his eyes and then he would finally kill him!

Small hands wrapped themselves around his arm, gently pulling. Piccolo risked glancing down at his cherub. “It’s okay. Goku gave you a senzu bean.”

Piccolo felt a jolt run through him. Confusion and trepidation closed around his heart. Goku just grinned, flashing the demon king a wide toothy smile and a thumbs up. 

“I’m your enemy.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I have’ta kill ya. You haven’t killed anyone.”

“I’ve killed hundreds.” Piccolo felt the hands around his arm tighten.

“That was the old Piccolo.” Goku laughed.

“I AM that Piccolo!”

“No you’re not. You feel different.” Goku’s eyes lingered a moment on Krillin’s hands. Piccolo growled, jerking his arm free and stepping back. He felt nothing when Krillin stumbled with the force of it.

Piccolo turned. Facing Goku fully and leveled a finger at the man. “You have no idea what you speak of. You will regret giving me mercy. I will only grow stronger. It is only a matter of time before you meet your end.”

He was in the air in seconds. A tiny spec in the sky after only a moment. Then gone.

There was a clamor from behind them. A tangle of voices all overlapping.

“Goku! Are you crazy?! He’s just gonna come back!

“I could have tried the Mafuba again. Kami would have survived.” 

“Why didn’t you just kill him? Or at least let Kami finish it!”

But Goku just gave them all a soft, knowing smile. “He’ll be fine. I think he’s just grumpy because he lost.” He turned to Krillin “Right?”

Krillin felt his face flush and he nervously began scratching the back of his neck. “Uh….I...yeah, actually. That isn’t out of the norm. He’s not…uh, good about losing face.”

Goku placed his hand behind his head, rocking back on his heels. “Ya’know. I was kinda scared it was the same Piccolo. But after fighting him, I’m sure he’s different now. He’s not as mean as before.”

Krillin avoided the questioning stares and focused on the fascinating patterns in the dirt. “Hah, I wouldn’t know.”  

“To that,” Muten Roshi cleared his throat and stepped forwards, can in hand and holding it ridged. Like a weapon. “Krillin, we need to have a talk about what exactly you think you were doing! What has gotten into you boy!? What did you think would happen? Where is your honor as a martial artist? What did he promise you that you wou-.”

But Goku interrupted. “Ah, don’t be like that, Old-timer. Krillin was just protecting his friend.”  

Krillin mumbled. “It doesn’t feel as good as it should.”

And it never did. Years passed and that moment never felt like a victory. Just a horrid bitter memory of watching the near death of two people he cared about.

A bitter memory of watching Goku fly away with his new bride. Of watching Tien make his way to the hospital to pick up Choutzu, and Launch chase after him. Of watching Bulma fly away in her plane with Yamcha and Puar and Oolong. Even the announcer fled the scene, seeking refuge in a corner store three blocks away that still had people huddled in it.

Leaving him behind.  

Leaving him behind with his master who was disappointed in him. And a God who felt him unworthy.

Krillin remained on the desolate island alone for two days before news of the end of the tournament lured the army and disaster relief teams in.

He endured hours of lectures before his mater would let him inside the lonely house far away and isolated from all of civilization.

He felt more alone than ever before.

-End-

[writer59january13]

I abhor the forfeiture of hard fought and won liberty

America - This nation will remain the land of the free only so long as it is the home of the brave. courtesy a local Indiana man, one named Elmer Davis - (1890-1958) was a journalist and broadcaster. He worked for the New York Times from 1914 to 1924. As nightly news analyst for CBS (1939-1941) he had an audience of 12.5 million viewers. Roosevelt appointed him head of the newly created Office of War Information (OWI) in 1941. Most likely long hours, maybe even days or weeks after most contentious election witnessed within the United States after voting machines satisfactorily deployed (meaning at long last contender identified) once winning candidates declared, EVMs again kept inside the strong room and the room locked and sealed, which again done in front of candidates or their representatives, plus signs taken as well. I don't wanna be stayin' alive come Tuesday, November 5, 2024 particularly if the presumed winner as forty seventh president none other than antithetical, despotical, egotistical, fanatical, heretical, impractical, lunatical... oafish hull windswept orange and yellow spray-on hair dyed, coiffed, and barb burred septuagenarian whose tidy quasi toupee looks like a foreign racoon migrated onto his head. Cuz the death knell of democracy willfully, woefully tolls all across the webbed wide world because Joseph Robinette Biden Junior, whose insistence to remain in the drawing drew droves of electorate to the polls, handing victory margin, whereby countless elephants trumpeted far and wide affecting a Republican landslide. Impossible mission

to keep doors shuttered over subsequent pandemonium to hear donkeys braying, bobbing, and babbling doleful "hee-haw" sound, not because their tails pinned incorrectly, but rather courtesy yes screaming fans of Mötley Crüe, (that Doctor Feelgood could not cure) sparking seismic activity equivalent

to a 9.9 magnitude (so take that Taylor Swift) deafening roar that rocks the crowded house ushering bono fide pandemonium: the name stems from Greek pan, meaning 'all' or 'every', and daimónion, a diminutive form meaning 'little spirit', 'little angel', or, as Christians interpreted it, 'little daemon', and later. The aftermath of a Biden loss (not just him - and his coterie being called "loser" the rest of life), but would be a field day among die hard Republicans, and even some renegade Democrats that would cause the Grateful Dead to become awake turncoats that would find lovely bones of Benedict Arnold

rattling and humming with U2 courtesy hullabaloo quintessentially branding, hashtagging, vetting and rocketing nonestablishmentarians

as political outcasts forcing an aging long haired pencil neck geek such as yours truly (me) forcing us (socially conscious voters) to forage as a foreigner alienated, ostracized, and penalized on another planet survival incumbent upon

the outer limits of the twilight zone, where dark shadows morphed, jump/kickstarted, exaggerated into monstrous shapes along the edge of night, which spooky, haunting,

ghastly, eerie place more appealing than then prospective tragic loss of freedoms such as life, liberty and pursuit of happiness, which we take for granted.

[updatebug]

When Wei Ying wakes up – when he coughs and chokes and splutters back to a life that he didn’t ask for– he is bleeding in a shed, and there is bay-banded cuckoo bird gasping on the floor beside him.

She is beautiful, though some might think her plain. Warm browns and soft creams all layered over a speckled pattern of dark bars that give the impression that someone has thrown a fishing net over her wings.

There is a light of mania in her eyes as she looks at him, wings flung wide as she gasps on her back, little ribcage heaving frantically beneath her feathers. “It worked!” She gasped, feet kicking slightly as if she wanted to right herself and lacked the strength. “We knew it would work! You can – you can –”

Whatever it was Wei Ying could do, whatever she and her human had intended, she did not get a chance to say. She shuddered once and fell still.

Her head lolled to the side. With her wings outstretched and her tiny body limp on the floor, Wei Ying did not think he had ever seen something so sad. Or horrible. There were tears in his eyes and he made no move to dry them as they fell.

The body didn’t disappear. There was no flash of gold waiting to carry the cuckoo off to meet her human in his next incarnation. That was not, after all, what the spell cost. Complete destruction of the soul. And now, there it was, spread out on the dirt of her home.

There was a flutter of wings, “Well,” Ying-er said, voice soft as she landed on his shoulder. “What should we do now?”