#dark criston cole

[venus-maneater]

a loyal dog’s reward ii. | yan! criston cole

yandere / obsessed ! au

fem! targaryen princess! reader

part i

synopsis. suffering an injury from a tournament, criston has to deal with seeing you alongside his temporary replacement. fortunately, you weren’t interested in teasing too much this time, trying to distract yourself from your sister beginning her labors, and you were happy to cheer your poor mutt up.

note; I’ve decided to make this a series with no real plot lol 😭 if being attracted to criston cole is a crime then lock me up !! this chapter took a mind of its own bc this was not the original plot and it’s twice as long as part i

WARNING(s): obsessive / possessive behavior, manipulation, violence, thoughts of violence, implied murder, blood, injury, JEALOUSY, nosebleeds, talk of bastards and having bastard children, Rhaenyra gives birth, allusions to sex but no actual smut, cole def has a breeding kink y’all

Ser Criston Cole, your ever-so-loyal shield, always said yes when you asked him to enter tourneys. He knew how much you enjoyed them, and relished in your attention as he succeeded in competition. There were only two real downsides to tournaments for him: the hours he had to spend apart from you, and the injuries. Criston had always excelled at anything physical, but he was only mortal. He was just a man who could be maimed or murdered just like any other. It served to remind him of the status gap between you: he was a man while you were born from dragons.

He kept his eyes on your form in the nobles’ box until it was his turn. This was typical behavior from him, he was nothing but devoted to you. Since you’d discovered his true feelings, you gave him more attention than before. You entertained his tendencies, teasing him sometimes but always reassuring him at the end of the day. You wanted no one but him.

“Oh, don’t fret, my Criston.” You’d tut, “I could never replace you. You’re the only guard dog for me.”

You played with his feelings occasionally, trying to get a rise out of him, but he quickly found that he didn’t mind. His reward at the end made all his anger worth it. He never blamed you either, it was never your fault that men didn’t know how to leave you alone.

He wondered now if this was one of your attempts at making him jealous.

The large man who stood obediently behind you was the one taking over Criston’s position as he competed in the tournament. Usually, another Kingsguard member would take over, but this particular Knight had something to prove. He was highborn, from some house in the Vale, with wide shoulders and a somewhat handsome face. The two men looked nothing alike; the Knight next to you was pale, hazel-eyed, and thin-haired.

He doubted it.

You didn’t like men other than Criston Cole guarding you, you’d expressed so before. They’re boring and untrustworthy, you insisted. Your words made his chest puff out with pride. He liked that he was the only one you truly trusted with your life; you knew he would protect you. You chose him to protect you.

To be honest, you didn’t even seem interested in the Knight from the Vale; you looked stiff and bored, which concerned your sworn shield. You loved tournaments, you loved when he won things in your honor. Why don’t you look excited?

Soon enough, it was his turn again. With your flowery red favor around his wrist, he got into position.

You perked up a bit when you saw that it was Criston’s turn once more. You’d been rather stiff most of the event, and you partially blamed it on your boring temporary guard. The man was flat; no personality to work with at all. It bummed you out honestly, he was from the Vale but behaved like a Northman. He was presumably around Ser Criston’s age, but had not even half of his spirit. It wouldn’t have bothered you so much if you couldn’t feel his stare burning into the back of your head. You could give him some credit; at least he’s taking his job of supervising you seriously.

But no, the primary reason for your irritation and lack of focus was your father. He had demanded you to attend this tourney to celebrate Rhaenyra’s labors, not allowing you to be by her side. You and your sister were close, very close, and quite similar as well. To not be by her side when she was in pain had you tense. You didn’t want to be here, not even to see Criston compete.

Criston Cole was facing a member of House Bolton, a rather fierce young man who didn’t scare easy. Most Northerners were like that, but Criston should know best as he just beat another one last round. The tournament today was celebrating Princess Rhaenyra beginning her labors, so competitors have traveled from far and wide. The event had been planned for a month, so it was good news that the Princess was finally giving birth.

“Jessil,” you called to your guard with a smirk, “You should watch closely this round, my shield is competing.”

The man nodded curtly without a word, causing you to roll your eyes. His under-reactions irked you, but you were starting to blame Criston Cole for that fact. He always reacted wonderfully to anything you did, perhaps you were too used to it.

Speaking of your shield, you could see his anger growing the longer you were with another man. It was the only thing keeping you here at this point; waiting to see if he’ll get violent. Criston was the most amusing man you’d ever met, you just knew something was going to happen. There were only two more rounds until the event ended, and he’d been stiff ever since Ser Jessil bent down closer in order to hear your comments about two hours ago.

The two knights settled into their positions across the courtyard from each other, on opposite sides of the tilt. Then, a horn sounded, triggering their horses into a sprint. With their lances aimed, the men collided, wooden splinters flying but neither of them falling. New lances were readily tossed to them and the process repeated. Criston spared you a glance, noticing that Jessil had gotten a few inches closer.

Again, they charged forward. Only this time, when they clashed, Criston was thrown from his horse at the force of the hit. The Bolton fared a bit better, remaining on his horse, but he was hit in the face by Criston’s lance, causing the front of his helmet to cave in just enough to cut him.

What you saw made you shoot to your feet, your hands gripping the railing in concern. Never in your years of knowing Criston Cole had you ever seen him knocked from his horse in a tournament. He was easily one of the best fighters you knew of, it seemed impossible that this could happen. Had you pushed too far with your teasing? You’d never tried anything during a tournament before, perhaps Ser Jessil’s presence threw him off.

The round didn’t end there. Criston was quick to stand despite his obvious injuries, and his morningstar was swiftly given to him. His helmet had flew from his head when he fell, so his bleeding mouth was for all to see. He was holding his right arm close to his body, making it appear broken or incapable of proper use. Although he was right-handed, he gripped his weapon in his left hand and prepared for a fight. The Bolton Knight was also without a helmet at this point, ditching the damaged armor when he jumped to the ground to grab his sword. His nose was bleeding and looked to be broken from the hit.

“Is his arm broken?” You asked aloud, leaning over the railing a bit in an attempt to see better, “he favors his right.”

Jessil ignored your words, but inched closer so you wouldn’t go over the railing, “Princess, you could fall.”

Criston let the other Knight come to him, not willing to waste any energy. He used his time to look your way, not liking the way your guard was holding your shoulder.

The fight began, but didn’t last long. The Bolton may have made a skilled jouster, but not a fighter. He was no match for the angry Kingsguard, even when he had every advantage. Handicapped from his injuries, Criston swung his Morningstar with his left hand, swiftly hitting his opponent in the head while avoiding any oncoming attacks from the sword. The impact knocked the younger Knight out, but visibly broke his brow bone. Due to the force from the spikes, his face was bleeding badly and the area around his eye was caved in, perfectly mirroring the damage to his helmet.

Half the crowd was silent in shock (including yourself), but the other half was cheering loudly at the violence. You were desensitized to such things at this point in your life, but that didn’t mean you welcomed them. You didn’t like that Criston came so close to losing, or that you have to watch some poor Bolton boy bleed out on the ground for no reason, your shield was too injured to continue to the next round anyways. And due to your being a princess, it would be inappropriate to leave early to check on the Kingsguard member. Because your father wouldn’t allow to be with your sister, you’d made Criston your fixation of the day.

The two of you made eye contact as a few servants rushed over to him, helping him limp off to see a maester. It was soon announced that although neither competitor was continuing to the next round, Criston Cole was technically the winner.

“Well that was certainly a show” You cleared your throat, shaking Ser Jessil’s hand off your shoulder and finally taking your seat once again, “I knew something was going to happen.”

“So you did, Princess.” The Knight nodded curtly, recalling your words earlier, telling him to watch closely.

With Criston gone, your mind shifted back to a pregnant Rhaenyra, who was currently giving birth without your comfort. You stiffen up, nails digging into the railing before exhaling deeply and taking your seat. The two of you return to your proper positions and continued to observe the event for the next few hours, clapping dutifully when an insignificant Lannister won.

x

You made it back to the Red Keep in record time, it seemed. Even Jessil had trouble keeping up with you on your horse as you rushed home. You’d refused the carriage ride, eager to see your sister.

You were sprinting up the nearly infinite steps to her chambers, Jessil following close and maids jumping out of the way. A couple of people tried to stop your entrance, but you only shoved them aside and pushed your way towards your sister.

“Rhaenyra!” You gasped softly, a grin finding its way to your face when you saw her cradling her new baby in bed. After the death of your mother, childbirth was a sensitive subject for you and your sister, you hated being apart during this time. She dismissed the women in the room, leaving just the two of you and her first child.

“I’ve decided on Jacaerys.” She smiled at you as you crawled into the bed beside her.

She’d discussed baby name ideas with you before, with Laenor as well, who suggested Joffrey. Rhaenyra was adamantly against it, and you remembered the distaste you felt hearing it, knowing the implications that would come along if they decided on that name. You’d always liked Joffrey actually, unhappy with his death, but almost all of court heard the rumors of he and Laenor. You’d suggested Jacaerys, a Velaryon sounding name. Rhaenyra didn’t seem overly interested, so you didn’t expect her to choose it.

“Oh, Jacaerys.” You cooed, stroking his little head, full of dark locks. That wasn’t good, not really. Hopefully he took after Rhaenyra in his other features, or else questions of his parentage could arise. Rhaenys was half Baratheon, so that could be used as an excuse. But then the baby boy opened his eyes, revealing big brown orbs that mirrored Harwin Strong’s. You liked Harwin quite a bit, not minding. But the court would mind. You and Rhaenyra would just have to protect him.

“Have you slept yet?” You asked your sister, who hasn’t stopped grinning since you first saw her.

“Not yet, dear sister, I cannot stop looking at his sweet face.”

“Has… his father seen him yet?” You both knew who you meant.

“No. But he will soon enough, when I’m well enough to leave the room.” She gave you a knowing smile, which you returned.

Upon leaving Rhaenyra to rest, you were able to successfully escape Ser Jessil’s supervision with the help of Ser Harwin Strong, and went straight to Criston Cole’s chambers. You found out through your favorite handmaiden that he’d been released from the infirmary, and you took the first opportunity that presented itself to you. You didn’t knock before slipping into his room, but you were sure he wouldn’t mind.

Stepping in, your eyes were drawn to his place on the bed immediately. He was lying down above the blankets, with his arm wrapped and splinted in a sling resting above his bare midsection. His ribs were bruised, but it was apparently nothing bad enough that would need wrapping. Both legs were extended out, with his left pant leg pulled up to the knee to reveal his bruised ankle. He didn’t notice you enter, his eyes were shut and he was likely half-asleep. His face was fine, handsome as always, besides a cut on his nose-bridge that was beginning to darken into a bruise.

“Look at you, my poor sweet thing.” You cooed quietly at him suddenly, waking him from his relaxed state. His eyes shot open, head snapping over to the door.

“My princess.” He gasped. His chambers were much smaller and less impressive than yours, he didn’t want you in such an environment.

“Are you well?” You asked, closing the door as quietly as possible, “The maester says you’ve broken bones.”

“I’m well, I swear it to you. It’s a small break in the arm, everything should heal rather quickly.” He tried to reassure you as you approached, struggling his way into a sitting position, his back against the head board.

You hummed at his clumsy movements, stopping to stand at his bedside. Cute. Criston wasn’t an inherently violent man, at least not with you, so it was easy to forget how strong and dangerous he truly was. It was unnerving to see him injured; weak.

“How quickly would you say?” You asked.

“The maester says a month.” He answered quietly, not willing to admit the extent of his injuries. His primary goal was to get back to you.

You knew the Maester had actually said two months.

“Hm. Who will protect me for a whole month in your absence?” You held back a smirk.

You watched as Criston’s body language immediately changed. Clenching and unclenching his jaw, his leg twitched in frustration.

“I am still fully capable.”

Has he always been this attractive or does jealousy just look good on him?

“My father thinks you should take time to heal.”

He scoffed, shaking his head, “I don’t care what he thinks, you saw what I did to my opponent despite my injuries.”

“You ‘don’t care what he thinks’? He is King.” You said in a mock-scolding tone, lifting your knee to rest in against the bed, close to his lap.

“Yours is the only word to mean anything to me. I listen to no King.” Still seated, he leans forward to get closer.

“Though you listen to me? Only me?” You ask with a smile, batting your lashes at him and leaning in. He doesn’t move to kiss you first, he rarely does. He lets you do as you please, feeling the puffs of air from your giggle on his lips.

“Yes. Only you.” He whispers, his eyes begging you to just kiss him already. But nothing is ever that simple with you, and he knows it well.

You grin at him, leaning in until your lips are just grazing his own, before laughing and pulling away entirely. His face followed yours until you were out of reach, leaving him to huff and fall back against the head board once again. He let out a quiet groan, closing his eyes and tossing his head back so he could catch his breath.

“You’re so easy, Ser Criston.” You snickered. His lips quirked up at your joyous tone, but he resisted the urge to open his eyes. After a few moments of stumbling around the room in amusement, you bit your lip to keep quiet.

Criston went stiff when you fell silent, excited fingers beginning to twitch as the urge to touch you increased. But he was a seasoned warrior at this point in life, and could hear every movement you made. He heard you tiptoe back over to the bed before pausing. The mattress dipped as you climbed onto the bed and landed in his lap, straddling his thighs and avoiding his bruised ribs. It was only when you were on top of him that his eyelids fluttered open to watch you. You gave him a satisfied look. He was happy to let you believe you caught him off-guard.

“Criston?”

“Yes, my Heart?”

“There’s something I have to tell you…” You placed your hands gently on his chest and leaned in, your mouth next to his ear, “and you will not like it.”

“You think me incapable of handling such news?” He asked, a bit breathless.

You smiled, “Of course not. You’re my protector, my strong and most loyal servant. You can handle anything I give you, yes?”

He nodded, unable to speak properly with your lips on his ear.

“My father says that Ser Jessil will be your stand-in as my protector.”

Criston’s good hand immediately moved to your waist, gripping it tightly, “You don’t need anyone else to protect you. Only me.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” You kissed his jaw gently, “but you should heal and rest.”

“I will kill him. Do not doubt me.”

“He would just be replaced.”

“I don’t care, I should kill the next as well.”

“You go against my word?” You pulled back, sitting up fully. He hesitated in his response, so you continued, “Ser Jessil will be your temporary replacement, my King father has said this and I have agreed.”

It was a lie, technically; you didn’t exactly agree to anything. But you weren’t about to let Criston believe he had the power here. He’d started to get a bit too bold.

Your faces were close together now, the two of you holding heavy eye contact. Criston said nothing, though his body language revealed his true feelings easily. He didn’t like that you were taking your father’s side over his own.

“I love you.” He blurted out, brows furrowed in emotion.

Your hands moved up to hold his face, “I know that. I just want you well. You must rest and heal so you can be at your best. Don’t you understand?”

Criston nodded slowly, a satisfied shiver running through him at the thought of you caring so much. His health is truly that important to you?

“Good.” You say with a grin, pecking the corner of his lips and reaching up to pat his messy hair down. His long locks grew wild already, but the style worsened from hours of wearing a helmet.

Giving into you, per usual, the Knight sighed and wrapped his good arm fully around your waist, pulling you close so he could tuck his face into your neck. You cooed at him, returning his embrace and giggling in between your praises.

“I know that this upsets you quite a bit,” You began, gasping in surprise when you felt a warm tongue trail over your throat, “but I don’t mind making you feel better.”

“Feel better you say?” He questioned absentmindedly, more focused on the taste of your skin.

You hummed in confirmation, “I can take care of you in places you may need help with. You know….. here?”

Eyes closed, you placed a delicate touch to the bulge in his pants, smiling when you felt him stiffen beneath you.

Criston Cole was always half-hard around you, your presence alone able to rile him up. He often found himself having to control his thoughts when around other people, not wanting them to notice his… state. As much as he wanted to touch you all over— taste you and love you and worship you— he held a higher respect for you than himself. You were not just a Lady, you were a Princess. He would not dishonor you in such a way, at least not until the two of you were married.

“Princess—” he grunted, mouth dropping open in pleasure briefly before pursing his lips. He pulled his upper body away from you slightly, giving you a bit more space to do what you wanted.

“Oh, it’s fine, Ser Criston. I want to.” You reassured, shrugging because you knew he would end up letting you anyways, “You just look so good bruised up like this, all jealous over some loser, nobody Knight.”

You whispered the last sentence harshly, and Criston loved it. He loved when you degraded other men in comparison to him. He was who you wanted, not that loser, nobody Knight. It didn’t matter that he was low-born or sick in the head, you wanted him anyway.

“You prefer me?” He asked looking up at you, “to him? Tell me...”

“I prefer you to him, Ser Criston Cole. I prefer you to all other men.”

Pulling him by his hair, your lips captured his. Whimpering into your mouth, he now does nothing to stop you from reaching your goal. You smile into the kiss at his surrender.

“… but perhaps you’re right.” You pull away from his lips, but stay close enough to tease, “it would be so dishonorable and you’re injured as well. Hm.”

Criston, his mind in shambles, doesn’t say a word, just sucks his teeth and releases a shaky breath. He doesn’t like to argue with you, he won’t. He’s overwhelmed, you’re so close.

“Can’t think.” He muttered so quietly you almost missed it.

A breathy laugh escaped you before you could stop it, “No? And why is that, Ser? Do I possess you so?”

“Possess? Princess, you are torturing me with your affections. I cannot think of anything else, I cannot focus, I cannot stop shaking.” His voice cracked at the last word and he wasn’t lying, his body trembled.

“Do I dominate your dreams as well?”

“Yes.”

You hum, curious. You knew of his fantasies; his plans to run away, marry, and have many children with you. But you never question the details, allowing them to stay fuzzy so he wouldn’t get too ahead with his scheming. Dreams, however, you could create your own world. “Won’t you share them with me?”

“We ah-” he pauses to take a deep breath, likely attempting to control himself, “You call me by name a lot.”

You tilt your head, a bit confused.

“Not Ser, not dog, not thing— just Criston. The sound of my name from your lips is like music to me. It makes me— I never want you to say another’s name ever again. And uh- a daughter. We have a daughter. She looks like you- so much.”

You begin to shift at his words. A daughter? No Westerosi man wishes for a daughter, at least not before a son, “Daughter you say? Why?”

“She will be you, reborn, carrying my blood. I dream of a baby girl that smiles like you. I will call her my little princess as you are my Princess. A child that is ours.”

“A daughter.” You repeated once more. It was… nice to hear a man express desire for a daughter rather than a son. You and Rhaenyra had suffered due to that mindset, spending most of your lives watching your father desperately try for a son, even at the cost of your mother’s life. He no longer felt that way, but it was too late, the damage had been done. He now had Aegon and Aemond, who he didn’t even pay much attention to. Your mother’s life felt wasted.

“Princess—?”

“A sweet thing it is.” You cut him off, “your dreams are endearing. But I must go now, Jessil has no doubt noticed my absence.”

Criston tensed, “Ab—sence” He croaked, jealousy building.

“Mmhm.” I nodded, “I’ve avoided him thus far, impressively. He may report this to my father if I’m gone any longer.”

Just a few minutes more, his mind screams. But he’s good for you, so he only nods. His jaw is clenched and there’s a noticeable twitch in his expression. His fingertips dig into your sides.

“I don’t want to part with you for so long.”

“Perhaps I’ll visit if you behave.”

x

“He’s clearly a bastard.” Criston spoke quietly, but plainly.

You’d snuck him into your chambers after a long day of cooing over Rhaenyra’s baby boy, Jacaerys. It’d been a couple weeks since his birth and she finally brought him to court for all to see.

“It is treason to suggest such a thing, Ser Cole.” You bitterly defended your sister as you brushed your fair, before rolling your eyes, “And even if it were true, what does it matter who the boy’s father is? He is Rhaenyra’s true son and her heir. The boy is a Targaryen.”

At the risk of upsetting you further, he held his tongue. Being rather low born, Criston grew up having to prove himself through his ability rather than his status. But when he was young, at the end of the day, he was still a rank above bastard children. He had that, at least. He knew that it wasn’t exactly fair, you can’t control who your parents are, but it was a mindset he was raised with and couldn’t shake so easily.

“What if my father marries me off to some Lord I do not love? Are you saying you wouldn’t fuck little bastard babies into me? Babes that look just like you?” You ask him, standing up from your vanity to approach his spot on your bed, feigning innocence.

Face twitching in annoyance, Criston grabbed your wrist and roughly pulled you to his level. With your faces were inches apart, he reached up and gripped your chin. The action made you bite your lip to hide a grin.

“I will be fucking little trueborn babies into you. I’ll make you my wife before giving you children.” He took slight offense to your words. How could you suggest that? You should know he would not let you be married off.

“Oh, of course, My White Knight. You plan to steal me away.”

“Hardly stealing.” He muttered, lovesick eyes staring into yours.

You don’t voice your disagreements, you only laugh. You did not belong to Criston Cole, you belong only to yourself. His words make you think that this game had gone a little too far; he’s getting too confident in his possessiveness. His hesitancy was one of his initial charms for you, and it’s leaving him. Perhaps it’s best to stop entertaining his ideas of a future with you, no matter how cute and pleasant you believe them to be.

“So you’re saying you wouldn’t like it, even just a little?” You tilted your head, his hand still holding your chin softly.

“No.” That’s a lie, maybe just a small amount. Everyone knowing you belong to him, having his kids, despite your status. But the negatives massively outweigh the positives. Not only would it put so much dishonor on you, but Criston isn’t good at controlling his jealousy. He wouldn’t be able to handle you being married to another or his children not having his name.

You smiled knowingly, teasing, “I don’t believe you.”

He released his grasp on your chin, letting you fall closer into him, “I could never be fond of an idea where you are not mine.”

“Well I would be, only secretly.” You pointed out.

“I want you to be mine openly, in every way. By name.”

You knew that wasn’t possible, not even across the sea. But you didn’t want to burst the bubble he’d been constructing for the last year. You let it go. A short silence takes over, not an uncomfortable one, but not the kind you particularly liked. The two of you had extremely different thinking processes, and it was something only amplified when you discussed your ideas for the future. Luckily, your partner was delusional enough that he didn’t notice your discontent with running away.

“Criston?” You ask, letting yourself fall to lie flat beside him. He lets go of your wrist and his eyes follow your moments, as usual. He lies back on the bed as well.

“Yes, my Princess?”

“Why do you desire me the way you do?”

He looked slightly surprised at the question, like he’d never expected you would ask. The truth is, he hadn’t. It wasn’t like you to care why. You were quick to accept things for what they were.

“You’re special to me.” He eventually whispered, “I was made to love you.”

“Made?”

“The gods constructed me only for the purpose of worshipping you. You have bewitched me with no effort. I do not know whether to kiss the ground you walk on or fall to my knees and beg for your continued attention.”

You stare into his big, dark eyes silently. He’s loyal, like a dog. And he’s hopeless like one too. “You’re not exactly a poet, but I suppose that will do.”

He grins, and you can practically feel his heart racing, “Not a poet, no.”

You tear your eyes away from him to glare at the ceiling. “Do not call my nephew a bastard again.”

He tensed at your words, entirely disliking that he’d upset you, and nodded immediately. He was embarrassed, “Yes, my love, I’m sorry.”

You sighed and looked back at him, sitting up once more. “I think you’ll find him charming. Rhaenyra says he reminds her of me already.”

“Well I’m sure to be charmed in that case, aren’t I?”

“Oh, yes, since you’re more than quite charmed by me.”

“Charmed,” He smiled, pupils expanding as he began to fantasize, “I hope to be charmed by our own children one day.”

“Our own?” You entertained, “How many? Including this daughter of ours of course.”

“Five perhaps. More if you’d like.” He took a piece of your hair between his fingers to play with.

“Is that what our lives would look like if you had it your way?”

“If I had it my way,” His eyes shifted back to your own, darkening, “by now you’d be chasing around our first two children as your stomach swelled with our third. You’d be called Lady Cole.”

“Ah, yes. Lady Cole with her many Cole babes.”

Criston had to take a deep breath at that, practically vibrating at the mere thought of you carrying his children and living as his wife.

You giggle at his visible reaction, leaning down to claim his lips. He sighed into the kiss, hesitant hands reaching for your hair. He tugs, trying to urge you closer, onto his lap, “My princess, please.”

“He begs, ‘Please please please’. You are the wantingest man I’ve ever met.” You grin into the kiss, allowing him to take you into his lap.

“I will never have shame in begging you. My life belongs to you, I am yours.” His words are beginning to slur slightly, “It’s only natural for me to be greedy when you are the one who claims my heart.”

“Always trying to impress me with your words,” You playfully roll your eyes, “you’re nearly healed, you know. Ready to return to my side?” It was a lie, he had good a bit left of healing to do.

“I never should have left.” He squirmed, trying not to show his anger. He never left, not willingly. He was removed.

“Of course, of course.” You tugged on the dark hair at the back of his neck, “The man who’s been with me is utterly serious. Neither I nor Rhaenyra like him.”

Criston listened to your complain about your temporary shield with a sense of pride and giddiness. He was relieved you disliked his replacement. But the mention of your sister disliking him as well did nothing for him, as the princess Rhaenyra didn’t like most men surrounding you, Criston himself included. She never vocalized it much, but he noticed when she tensed and sneered when he got too close to you. He wondered if she knew about your relationship.

“I’m more your taste, Princess?”

A grin found its way to your face and you nodded, “That’s right, I can do whatever I please to you and you only bask in my attention.”

He couldn’t, and wouldn’t, argue with that. While he had his own boundaries of sorts, they were completely disregarded in your presence and he didn’t even mind it.

To prove your point, you began to kiss his jaw, sweet and gentle kisses. Criston hummed, closing his eyes and tilting his head back only slightly. You nipped at the delicate skin, comfortable with leaving just a few marks because he was still out of action; not many people would be seeing him anyways.

“G-gods-” he choked out.

“The gods cannot save you, I’m afraid.” You giggle.

“I beg them not to.”

You giggle at his dazed voice and expression, blowing cool air on his neck and enjoying his shiver. His hands keep twitching. Just to tease, you kept your face tucked into him, kitten licking at the skin until you felt something wet hit your cheek. Pulling away slightly, you quickly identified the source of the warm liquid; blood was dripping from Criston’s nose, falling over his lips down to his chin.

“S-sorry, your grace. I’m overwhelmed is all.” He muttered, hand immediately going up to face to stop the dripping. But you only pull his hand away with a smirk.

“You know,” you begin, thumbing some of the blood and smearing it over his lips, “in the way of Old Valyria, we share blood when we marry.”

“Please, please,” he croaks, big dark eyes boring desperately into your own. They’re shiny and lack any coherent thoughts, “Don’t say such things to me now— can’t control myself.”

“We use dragon glass to cut one another’s lip,” you take your bloodied thumb and swipe red onto your bottom lip, “then we kiss to show we are of the same blood now.”

His leg begins to bounce and he has to look away from your face. His nose continues to drip blood, but neither of you move to stop it this time.

“You like that idea~ i can tell because you’re shaking.” You giggle into his ear.

“M’not shaking-” he replies, but even his voice trembles.

“Well you’re bleeding, is that not a sign?” You tilt your head, “perhaps you’re unwell, should I stop?”

Before he can beg you not to stop, his sharp ears catch the sound of clicking armor in the hall. He tenses, almost forgetting he was in the Princess’ chambers; he doesn’t know how when yours was easily three-times the size of his own. There was no need to panic and hide, people were not permitted to just walk in.

Three hard knocks sounded throughout the room, causing Criston to freeze. Your expression didn’t change, as you’d heard the footsteps.

“Who is it? Do not enter please.” You answered, your eyes not leaving your knight’s. As nervous as he was, Criston maintained eye contact and didn’t move a muscle. With a small grin, your hand traveled back up to his chin, which was now smeared with blood. As your fingers traced his features, you leaned in close to his ear to place a few gentle kisses there.

“Princess, it’s Ser Jessil. Your sister, the Princess Rhaenyra, has sent for you. She is… perhaps you should open the door to let me explain. It concerns your safety.”

Your reactions vary; Criston’s posture is still stiff and he’s growing annoyed at the knight’s presence. It’s almost offensive how this pathetic creature is trying to protect you when that’s his job. But you’re worried, though you won’t show it. Rhaenyra? Is something wrong? But something about it didn’t make sense; if your safety was threatened, then why did Rhaenyra know first and why did Jessil bother knocking at all?

“I’d prefer you explain from where you are.”

You could hear his sigh through the door, an impressive feat, “She is suspicious that a knight of the king is sneaking into your chambers.”

Probably because it was true, you thought, glancing at a stiff and unhappy Criston.

“Let me ready myself and I will speak with her at once.” As you began to shift off of your shield, but he only pouted and desperately hung on. He had the mind to keep quiet, but his heart wouldn’t allow you to leave him.

“… Yes, Princess.”

You turned to him sternly, “Let go, Criston. Don’t be foolish, just hide for now and be gone when we leave.” You quietly scolded and his grip loosened.

He clenches his jaw, the most common hint to his annoyance, and said nothing. He allowed you to pull him up by the hand and drag him over to your wardrobe, shutting him in with a last apologetic kiss.

“Be good.” You uttered, and his gaze softened for a moment before the door shut in his face.

He could hear you shuffle around, dressing quickly to see your sister. He sucked his teeth angry. Did he deserve mistreatment? To an extent, yes, he could admit that. But this wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t you just— stay? Tell him to kill that bothersome knight and be done with him entirely. His fists clenched. He’d kill him— and soon. Right now even. Then he’d take you away and give you a nice little home with sweet little silver-haired babies. Criston was growing sick of waiting, it was eating him up inside. You affected him so severely, it was showing itself physically. He brought a hand up to the crimson liquid that had finally stopped leaking from his nose.

You were gone now— he knew this because he could feel when you were near. But someone was in your chambers, someone closer to his size. He could hear the metal clanking of heavy armor. The person was looking for something, an intruder most likely. But Criston was not the intruder here. The idea of someone who wasn’t him being in your space made him burn with anger. That was fine, he decided, he’d handle it. With balled up fists, he stepped out from the wardrobe.

x

“Has Ser Jessil been good to you, little sister?”

You shrugged at Rhaenyra, your chin resting in your hand as you leaned on the table. It wasn’t polite, but you were comfortable in her presence, “He’s fine, I suppose.”

“But you prefer that dog of yours.” Your sister teased. You could tell she didn’t like that— didn’t like Criston. You understood.

“He’s good, listens well.”

“Not for long— I can see it well. He’s a sick thing, sister.”

“I can handle him, he does as I ask.”

“He’s greedy, an oath breaker.”

You hummed in agreement, “He has pretty eyes.”

Rhaenyra scoffed with a grin at your reply, “He will try to steal you away. Not just that, but he’s also obvious. Painfully so. If I know, someone else does too. He needs to be put out. Be rid of him.”

“I… understand that he’s got troublesome feelings. But he’s become something of a pet to me now.” You pouted and your sister sighed, not fond of upsetting you.

“When I ascend the throne, he will be gone. I worry he’ll be your downfall.” She wasn’t being dramatic, she’d disliked the man for years and saw every bit of concerning behavior he displayed. She saw clearly his desperation to leave with you. When it comes time for you to marry, he’ll go mad.

You knew whatever you had with Criston wasn’t permanent, but to hear your elder sister give away her intentions of getting rid of him really struck you. “He’s brainless, Rhaenyra. Just a dog, truly. He can hardly read. He’s only a threat physically, and he would never hurt me.”

Rhaenyra sighed, wrinkling her nose in distaste for the man. She used to be like you, still was sometimes, but she would protect you from her mistakes. She would not allow any whispers at court of you being a whore and your children being bastards, not like her. Since the birth of Jacaerys, she’d grown just a bit more serious, and much more protective.

“You needn’t be literate to kill a man.” She replied after a brief silence.

You held back a huff. The truth was that Criston could read fine these days, though not nearly at the level you could. You’d only said that to give the illusion of harmlessness. Unfortunately, Rhaenyra would never buy it; she had seen the knights he’d bloodied during tournaments.

“I’ll be harder on him then, perhaps add a bit of distance. But, sister, he is important. As a member of the Kingsguard, his support and loyalty will aid your claim. One more soldier on our side— a good one.”

“I will not sacrifice you for my cause.”

“I’ve told you, he will not harm me—”

“It’s more complex than that—!”

It felt like you were 13 and 14 again, bickering over something that was caused by your sisters protectiveness.

No, you will not be coming with me. You will sleep in your bed and I will wake you myself come morning!

If that stable boy looks at you that way again, I will have father or Uncle Daemon take his eyes— probably Daemon.

No, sister. You are mad if you think I’m letting you anywhere near a wild dragon—!

You sometimes think that Criston and Rhaenyra hate one another because they are a bit similar.

“Nyra,” you groaned, head in hands, “I will fix it, you’re right, he has become a bit… extreme lately. But you must admit he’d be beneficial to our cause.”

Although Rhaenyra was legally the heir to the throne, there were already whispers of putting Alicent’s son, Aegon, on the throne in her place. Criston wasn’t very powerful politically, but he was a brilliant fighter and his words as a Kingsguard held just a bit of sway.

She furrowed her brows, “You’re too fond of him.”

You shrugged, standing up, “Perhaps. But I’m no fool; you come first. I will never flee with him.”

“And when he realizes that?”

You didn’t have an answer. You passed Harwin Strong on your way out, and bit your tongue to stop myself from calling out the hypocrisy.

What was the difference between her and Harwin vs you and Criston?

x

Well for starters, Harwin didn’t murder any man who entered Rhaenyra’s vicinity. Criston on the other hand…

By the time you returned to your chambers, the entire stone floor was red, the liquid seeping into your intricate carpet you’d had since you were a child. There was no body, suggesting that Criston had already gotten rid of it or the victim managed to escape. (But that was unlikely, Criston was a beast in a fight, and his temper was unmatched.)

“Princess.” Criston croaked from behind you, in the open doorway. He’d just arrived, and it took only one glance at him to know what he’d done. Blood covered his hands, arms, and chest. It was splattered from his face all the way down to his knees. He was in his civilian clothes still, rather than any armor due to being put on leave. His eyes were shiny, some sense of desperation in them, and he was fiddling with his red hands. Nervous. Why were you back so early? The sling for his arm was gone, though he surely still needed it.

“Is—” You cleared your throat. “Is he alive?”

But judging by the brain matter on the ground, you knew the answer was—

“No.” Direct and honest. He took a few steps forward, shutting the door behind him. You weren’t scared of him necessarily— you knew well enough at this point that he’d never hurt you. But he didn’t look quite human at the moment, so you took a step back.

Your simple shuffle backwards was enough to send him into a panic.

He dropped to his knees, blood soaking into his breeches as he inched closer, “My love— he was threat! He would’ve found me in here—” He babbled on about protecting you, begging for you not to be afraid. You let him talk, focused on the blood.

“Clean this up.” You finally muttered, patting him quickly on the head to avoid soaking yourself with the crimson liquid.

As much as a part of you wanted to coo at him ‘good dog’, you couldn’t. This was messy— emotional and obvious. Risky. He was a bad dog, a stupid one even. He wasn’t like Harwin— manageable. He was something else entirely. You liked him how he was, violently loyal and protective, but you couldn’t have it.

He quickly agreed to clean it and began to calm down, which led him to notice your own unease. He flinched when he saw how much blood seeped into your shoes and skirt, pulling you into his arms and placing you on your favorite stool.

He was cooing at you, “Sweet Princess, don’t worry about this, yes? I’ll rid you completely of this man, I swear it. I allowed his blood to soil your clothes, I’m sorry.”

Criston kissed at your collar bones down your arms to your palms.

“Criston,” his eyes shot up to meet yours. Big brown heart eyes. “No more of this, not in this castle.”

His hands tightened slightly around your wrists, “But you like it.” He muttered.

“It isn’t about that—!” You held your tongue, deciding to take a smarter approach, “My sweet Criston, the people in the Keep will soon notice a pattern, I cannot let that happen. My sister needs nothing in her way of that crown.”

He nearly scoffed, “Is it always about your sister and her crown? I have protected you again! From-from these perverts who wish to—”

“You’re the pervert-!”

“You love me! You love it! How you affect me— how you can physically see every thought that goes through my head about you! You love how perverted I am for only you! I see you— I love every part of you, even the part that gets off on a Kingsguard soiling his cloak for you!” Criston was shaking, “I am sick, and you cannot get enough! Just as I will never tire of you— I need you!”

There was silence, besides his heavy breathing. You didn’t expect such self-awareness, and you didn’t like it. You liked him better dumb, but it appeared he never was fully clueless. His brown eyes were wide and a shade darker than usual.

“Sit.” You commanded and he did, “Just clean this up.”

x

[taglist] @3abydolll @pearlstiare @caramelcandescence @eilishchaos @watercolorskyy

The Rhaenyra/Criston beef is gonna go crazy in the prequel

im hoping you guys noticed, but this chapter was meant to emphasize the lack of control the reader truly has on criston. like yeah, he worships you and is willing to do almost anything you say, but his urges control him more than anything else ever will. this is going to be a common theme in the future. i also wanted this chapter to show more daily life and readers relationship with rhaenyra compared to part i.

[fatherforgivethem]

Are you, are you, comin' to the tree? Where they strung up a man, they say, who murdered three. Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be, if we met at midnight in the hanging tree…

Are you, are you, comin' to the tree? Where the dead man called out for his love to flee. Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be, if we met at midnight in the hanging tree…

(Thank you to @sidraofthewildflowers for plaguing me with this idea. The movie was bomb we need to see it again!)

[lagosbratzdoll]

On Daenerys, Colonisation and Race Discourse within the ASOIAF Fandom

This has been on my mind for a good long while and honestly, as much as I would like to leave discourse in the pits, it has been bugging me intermittently over the past few weeks.

Far too many of you get on here and call people who like the fictional dragon-riding family, neo-Nazis and that sentiment is so prevalent, that white people feel comfortable telling me a black woman that I am a neo-Nazi for rooting for Daenerys Targaryen. I am upholding neo-Nazi power fantasies for wanting to see a little girl live at the end of a story. I am a neo-Nazi for wanting to see the rape survivor have the family she aches for and children with the man (or men) she loves.

Then, those same people go on spiels about how the systemic erasure of those who sing the song of the earth and other old races is not colonialism. That their removal from their home is not displacement but an agreement between two equal parties. The fact that the only place where those who sing the song of the earth exist in the present timeline is north of the wall, surrounded by the bones of their dead, is not a travesty. That the expulsion of the old races from their home isn't that bad and should not be condemned. 

Instead, people argue, completely seriously, that the harm that the First Men and Andals have caused is centuries in the past, so essentially the slate has been wiped clean. The logical leaps that are required to arrive at such a boneheaded conclusion are truly mind-boggling, and those who make such arguments are not good people. 

I am unsure how one could read those books and come away with the impression that the old races do not mourn the loss of their home. I am unsure how one could read The Last of the Giants[1] and Ygritte’s reaction to both the song and Jon’s dismissal of the ethnic cleansing of the giants then believe that the old races and the free folk have moved past their displacement. 

In Westeros, from the Wall to the broken arm of Dorne, they all speak one language despite the fact they are all different ethnicities and they all landed on the shores at different times. That is not the case in Essos, we have been introduced to at least six languages and in A Dance with Dragons, Tyrion notes that the Valyrian spoken in the Free Cities has evolved into nine distinct dialects, and they are well on their way to becoming different languages.

How would a continent as large and diverse as Westeros maintain its hegemony over the people if not for forced assimilation, discriminatory practices and violence? The brutal repression required to keep one house in power for thousands of years is nothing to sniff at. The suppression required to keep the vast majority of Westeros worshipping one (or seven) gods. The systems in place ensure that language does not grow or evolve amongst the highborns at least.

Centuries before Aegon's Landing the maesters were the definitive educational authority and even now centuries after, nothing has changed. The grey rats still decide who learns what and when they learn it. There's one in every highborn home, all correspondence passes through them, they are the healers and the councillors.

The circular logic gets even more blockheaded when you factor in the fact that Daenerys is far from the only white character in the books. She is not the only character who wishes for home. She is not the only character who draws strength from her ancestors, her bloodline and her magical creatures. 

Cersei draws strength from her family’s iconography, and the Stark children (Jon included) all draw strength from their direwolves, their home and their blood. Sansa, Arya and Bran wish to return home and their home was built on the indiscriminate murder and displacement of the indigenous peoples. Their home is built on centuries of rape, murder, exclusionary practices and sexual slavery. 

However, if we give the nonsensical argument that time erases crimes air; the Starks, Lannisters and Tullys are warring to settle personal grievances in the present timeline. As a consequence of that war, thousands (a modest guesstimate) of small folk, minor nobles and even some major ones have been raped, tortured, maimed and killed.

Despite all this, no one writes meta after meta about how Sansa and her siblings must surely die for justice to be had for those who sing the song of the earth, the free folk, the giants and all the old races that fled beyond the wall.  

People write meta about Cersei and how she must die, but those are typically more misogynistic nature. They typically argue that she must die not for the “crime” of being Lannister, but for the “crime” of being Cersei and “ruining” Jamie. 

I would not mind criticisms of Dany and her peace-focused approach to ending slavery because the approach is naïve and she gives the slavers far too much ground. However, she is learning, growing and self-critiquing. At the end of A Dance with Dragons, she has decided to embrace fire and blood, her knight is breaking the false peace which is a necessary step forward.

What I find offensive is people saying that she should have planned better before she abolished slavery. And that the death, violence, and sickness that arises from her quest to eradicate slavery is somehow worse than the death, violence, and sickness that already existed in Slaver’s Bay. 

This argument often downplays the horrific conditions and suffering that exist(ed) under the slave system in Slaver's Bay. Such arguments are often in poor taste and prioritise the lives and comforts of the slavers more than the people they have enslaved.

I would not mind criticisms of Dany if people applied that same critique even-handedly. The same people who believe that Jon and Bran have done much to rectify the evil that their ancestors perpetuated believe that Dany has not done anything to right the wrongs of her ethnic kin. They praise them for the non-existent steps that they have taken, but in the same breath, they condemn Dany for not being able to immediately end the plague that is slavery. 

It is perfectly alright to not like fictional characters, no law requires you to like certain fictional characters over others. However, what is not right is making broad accusations about those who do, it is beyond the pale. It is disgusting, and annoying, and trivialises real-world issues to score cheap points against fictional characters.

Equating the survival of a teenage survivor to the restoration of a fascist house or neo-Nazi power fantasy when such designations do not exist in the world of ice and fire is strange behaviour. Saying that the teenage survivor will eventually be manipulated and raped (again) before ending up dead on her manipulator's blade is also strange behaviour. 

Dismissing the horrors of colonialism, especially when the text shows you that the involved parties are still affected by it, is not normal and often veers into real-world imperialism apologia. While criticism and analysis of characters and their actions are valid and even encouraged, it is essential that we do not resort to sweeping generalisations about other people and that we keep criticisms of characters grounded in the text. 

[1]  

Ooooooh, I am the last of the giants, my people are gone from the earth.

The last of the great mountain giants, who ruled all the world at my birth

Oh, the smallfolk have stolen my forests, they’ve stolen my rivers and hills.

And they’ve built a great wall through my valleys, and fished all the fish from my rills

In stone halls they burn their great fires, in stone halls they forge their sharp spears.

Whilst I walk alone in the mountains, with no true companion but tears.

They hunt me with dogs in the daylight, they hunt me with torches by night.

For these men who are small can never stand tall, whilst giants still walk in the light.

Oooooooh, I am the LAST of the giants, so learn well the words of my song.

For when I am gone the singing will fade, and the silence shall last long and long.

[sidraofthewildflowers]

“On the clearest of nights, when the winds of the Etherium were calm and peaceful…”

*

*

*

“the great merchant ships with their cargoes of Arcturian sura crystals felt safe and secure. Little did they suspect, that they were pursued by pirates...”

- Treasure Planet

Idea from @fatherforgivethem 💚💚

[targaryen-vigilante-wizard-jedi]

WITH EYES LIKE MINE

House of the Dragon Female TargaryenReader Insert

Chapter warnings- Menstruation, more of a filler chapter.

Chapter 10 - Blood Is Spilt

_________

121AC

Y/N sat lonesome in the courtyard, her gaze directed towards her bandaged hands that were, underneath the fabric, littered in scratches and cuts - all self-inflicted.

She had developed her mother's habit of picking her fingers and worsened it, not purposely so. The girl hadn't even realised just how violent her skin picking had become in the last year until her brother, Aemond, had caught sight of her maimed and bloodied hands the night prior. Without notifying anyone else, he swiftly cleansed her wounds and bandaged her hands to help heal them and prevent her from doing it again.

Another body seated themselves beside her, and she gave a quick glance to see that Helaena had sat by her side.

Y/N offered her a sad but sincere smile knowing what was to happen tomorrow.

Helaena looked somewhat glum, her eyes trailing towards a millipede crawling through the soil.

"Perhaps it won't be so bad." Y/N offered quietly, despite knowing that what she had said was lies. Aegon had always taunted and teased Helaena for being different. He had even openly bashed his sister and rejected the idea of their marriage to his mother, earning himself a bruised cheek.

"Aegon does not like me." The older of the two girls retorted quietly, her voice rather nonchalant.

Y/N tutted and kicked her foot into some dirt beside the bench she sat on.

"I do not think Aegon likes anyone these days, sister." Came Y/N's rebuttal, but it provided Helaena with no comfort or satisfaction.

Aegon was never there, and when he was, he was never sober. It was a horrible thing to witness, her two siblings being forced into a marriage that would only prohibit any chance at happiness for either of them.

The eldest of the King's sons had spiralled out of control and slightly wavered from his mother's grasp, frequenting the street of silk nightly and never loosening his wine filled cups.

Their family customs were not something that Y/N had agreed with. Her mother had called it 'disgusting' and 'immoral', but now she was wedding her son to his twin sister. Y/N did not fail to see the hypocrisy.

"He likes you... as many do." Helaena's voice was quiet as she spoke, causing Y/N to cast her gaze towards her older sister. "I'm not so sure about that." the younger girl couldn't help but roll her eyes at Helaena's words.

Helaena was silent and still for a moment before her hand found Y/N's, gently squeezing it.

Y/N glanced towards their joined hands before looking at her sister's face.

The older girl's lower lip trembled slightly as though holding Y/N's hand was bringing her pain as well as comfort.

"I am glad it was me rather than you." Helaena kept her gaze towards the ground as she spoke, finding the words difficult to speak through the imagery in her head. She found herself unable to maintain eye contact with her sister; she feared what visions she would endure.

Y/N felt a breath catch in her throat at her sister's words. With a sudden inability to speak, she opted for squeezing Helena's hand, an unwanted guilt finding its way into her thoughts.

________

The wedding of Prince Aegon II and Princess Helaena Targaryen was a solemn occasion, rather than a joyous one.

Helaena sat silent, her head directed to the table as she murmured incoherently to herself.

Aegon had tried to take his leave early but was unfortunately caught by the hand of the King, promptly punished with a quick hand to the face before being led back to the banquet in honour of his wedding.

The fifteen year old boy sat, his eyes red and glazed over as the alcohol allowed him to wallow further in his own despair and helplessness.

Y/N and Aemond both sat silently through the ordeal, but the girl couldn't help the thoughts plaguing her mind.

Did mother intend to wed Aemond and I to one another?

She was more than sure that no such thing could take place since she wouldn't be able to continue their bloodline but she found that her gaze had wandered to Aemond only to find that his eye was already on her. She leaned back into her seat before allowing her eyes to survey the crowd feasting; men of all ages surrendered their eyes to her lilac-pink gaze, none hiding their lust for power.

Any one of them could be her future husband but none repulsed her as much as the thought of marrying her own blood.

Her mother had driven it into her head that it was a sin to the Old Gods and new, to commit such a crime as marrying your own kin.

Her mother had forced her eldest children to commit the very thing that disgusted and disturbed her.

Y/N's eyes then fell on Aegon's defeated and depressed face, a drunken giggle escaping his lips as he laughed at his own miserable fate, swirling the wine in his cup as though he were entranced by the ripples it caused.

Despite their interactions having decreased over the year, Y/N's concern for her eldest brother only continued to grow, especially when he'd begun to disappear into Flea Bottom for days on end.

Without asking for her mother or father's approval, she stood from the table, so many male gazes still focused on her every move.

Inhaling deeply, she turned her gaze to incredibly inebriated Aegon, whose gaze was still focused on the wine in his cup.

Just as he had done for her the year prior, she walked over to him, her steps slow and light so as not to draw too much attention to herself.

Her hand gently clasped his, her fingers touching the coolness of the cup in his clutch. "Aegon," her voice was quiet and polite, far different from what she used to be.

Aegon's glazed over eyes flickered towards her and he over-enthusiastically smiled at her. "It appears my favourite sibling has come to celebrate such a monumentous occasion with me." His other hand reached over and placed itself over her free one.

"Come, sit with me, my lovely sister. " He tried to pull her down to his level, uncaring of the absence of a seat next to him.

She kneeled so she was eye level with him and pulled her hand from his in order to place it over the cup he still held.

"I think you've had enough, brother." Aemond interjected from behind Y/N. His voice, a little deeper and sterner, than it had been a year ago.

Y/N briefly glanced at him, grateful that he had come to her aid.

Aegon slightly scoffed when he heard his brothers voice. "Of course you'd be skulking not too far behind her. You're worse than the knight."

He was, of course, referring to Ser Criston. It wasn't exactly the guards fault, though. He had been ordered by the Queen to keep an eye on Y/N and he'd never refuse an order from his Queen again, not after Driftmark.

"I pray your barrenness spares you this fate, sister. Especially with the likes of him." Aegon glared at Aemond before wrenching his hand from Y/N's and drinking from his cup.

Y/N stood a moment longer, her mind running circles around his words and the cold, uncaring nature of them.

Without so much as a word or glance to either one of her brothers, she retreated to her seat and sat silently.

Aemond lingered a moment longer, watching Aegon drink the rest of the liquid in his cup without a care in the world.

___________

123AC

"A girl and a boy, a difficult but worthy birth indeed," a voice came from within the room just as Y/N was allowed entrance.

Whimpers and cries filled the room. Some belonged to Helaena, who was still suffering the brutal aftermath of the birth. "You have done so well, Helaena." Alicent praised before grasping her eldest daughter's clammy hand and pressing a kiss to it.

The babes were held in the arms of two wet nurses, who had allowed the children to feed at their bosom.

As Y/N looked at the children, she didn't know what to feel, and as selfish as it was, she could only think about how she had been denied the opportunity to experience the joys and difficulties of motherhood.

Her body may have been spared the pain of the birthing bed, but her heart would forever have a hole. Without so much as a word to her mother or sister, she left the room.

Helaena's exhausted expression turned to one of slight confusion as she called her sister's name quietly.

_________

Quiet sobs and cries left the youngest daughter's lips as she thought of her future; perhaps husbandless, dragonless and childless.

The Gods had been cruel when they gifted her the name Targaryen. To have her suffer in such ways that her suffering would never cease.

The guard outside her door stood still listening to the Princess' cries as he often did.

Soon, she would sleep, and he, too, would sleep until he returned to his post in time to hear her wake with a scream.

Her dreams were different, still frightening but different. The man was still there every night, as were the sounds of dragons roaring, the smell of burnt lands, scorched flesh.

"The blood of Old Valyria is spilt." His voice bellowed, figure still masked by shadows. "The age of dragons will end with us and only us."

Y/N woke up, sweat trickling down her face. She had no time to focus on the clamminess of her face as she felt a horrible stickiness between her legs and under her buttocks.

"What?" She murmured softly to herself before removing the covering from over her body.

Her eyes widened at the sight of the frighteningly large and irregular patch of blood staining her sheets and legs.

"Princess, have you woken?" A voice came from behind the door and before she could react, two servants entered the room, in their hands were towels, an outfit, scrubbing salts and oils.

"The Queen has organised this outfit for you, Prin-" a loud gasp of horror left the first servant as her eyes landed on the bloody mess on the sheets.

The second servant, quickly and quietly left, in a hurry to inform the Queen.

Having seen the servant leave in such a hurry, Ser Criston took it upon himself to enter the room but as soon as he did he turned on his heel and exited.

The troubles of womanhood were something he wanted no part in.

The remaining servant made her way towards the visibly troubled princess and grasped her gently by the shoulders and away from the bed.

Her hands guided her toward the black armchair near the fireplace.

"It is alright, m'lady. It is only your first blood, you've grown into a woman."

At that sentence, Y/N shook her head, tears filling her eyes. "No, please. Do not tell my mother." She pleaded, eyes watering and body beginning to shake at the thought of being forced into an unwanted marriage.

Y/N already knew what it meant when a girl had her first blood; her body was ready to produce heirs but hers was not, never would be. So what was happening to her?

The Queen entered the room and immediately made her way over to her distraught daughter.

"Hush, my girl. You're almost a woman grown." Alicent's hand held her face before the other made its way to her forehead, seemingly checking for a temperature.

"Wet towel." She called to the two servants who scrambled to procure the requested item.

"My Queen." One of the girls spoke before handing the Queen the wet towel. The maids and servants had learned that the Queen had a more hands-on approach than most women of her status would (or should), especially after the events of Driftmark.

"Ssh, let us get you dressed, my sweet."

__________

It wasn't long after that the news of Y/N having her first blood reached the ears of everyone, including her father and siblings.

"My girl, soon to be a woman." Viserys praised, his smile was proud and his hand clutched his cane, the other stroked her cheek affectionately.

Y/N did not react to his touch, instead keeping her gaze to the floor. She could count the direct interactions her father had with her in the past year on one hand; their relationship strained far more than any other.

Aemond only continued to stare at her, his eyes taking notice of the changes in her face and her body. She had grown too.

He found his eye lingering on her far longer than it should have.

Aegon had heard the news but did not congratulate nor mention it to her. Instead, he raced off to the Street of Silk, as he so often did those days. Things had changed too much too quickly for him. He was a boy of sixteen and already had children that he never wanted.

"This is wonderful news, sire." At the new voice Y/N's eyes moved to look for the source of the voice and her lips turned down slightly at the sight of the Hand, Otto, stepping forward.

A phantom pain rose in her cheek and she unconsciously flinched; the memory of her grandsire's hand smacking her cheek in her mind.

Aemond was no fool, though he had never suffered at the hands of the King's Hand, he knew his older brother and youngest sister both had and it infuriated him to know such a fact.

Otto approached the King, his mind scheming once again.

"Perhaps it is time to consider the potential candidates for the young Princess' hand." Otto wore a smile on his face, a sickly sweet one; it was like that of a dog baring its teeth.

Viserys' eyes wandered over his youngest daughter, and he found himself reminiscing of his eldest daughter, of how he had allowed her freedom and failed in doing so with Helaena.

He nor anyone would deny that she had already gone through so much at such a young age and so he gave a curt shake of the head before speaking.

"We needn't rush these things, Otto." At her fathers words, Y/N gave him an appreciative nod, a slight smile on her lips.

"She still has some years to enjoy being a child, let us speak of this matter in the future."

Her fathers words drew a smile from her lips and she let her eyes rest on him.

The King released a heavy breath, her eyes having the same strong effect on him even then, that they had had from the day she was born.

In return, he too smiled at her.

[Not the best chapter. I have had severe writers block for so long so really struggled to finish this one so I know people will have lost interest. I think either next chapter or the one afterwards will be when further into the future. I was going to do it in this chapter but it felt like way too much of a jump.]

[aeriondripflame]

[closed-third-eye]

Aemond being the biggest misogynist in the main group of green faction getting killed by sword of visenya was truly beautiful!

I don't think the show writers got why aemond was the way he was in the book, influence of alicent and cole and their constant insults of rhaenyra and lucerys, jacaerys and joff being whore, bastards and sinful, why his first line is about "kissing the old whore's cunny"

yes the strong speech but that isn't a direct quote like this one, it's more paraphrased

His end is not only justice for killing an innocent for his eye and starting a war, but also a thematic justice for being a woman hater. he's being peireced by the sword of a woman warrior! How is that so hard to understand!

Vhagar fumbled like balerion did at the end so I don't have anything to say about why she chose who she chose

[girl-intrigued]

Criston cut his hair in the show and Aemond cut his hair in real life , these two never denying the father-son allegations

[bananadrinkxxx]

The BLOOD CROWN

[Aemond Fanfiction ] reposted on wattpad

Pairing:  Aemond Targaryen x OC female!

Warning:  Dark Romance / Enemies to Lovers.

Summary

"𝗜𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗞𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝘀𝗲𝗲𝗸 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗲, 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗤𝘂𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹."

Queen Alicent had spoken the truth when these words had left her mouth, the moment the King decided not to punish Princess Rhaenyra's son for taking the eye of her child. In the night, in the safe place of her chambers, she gave the order to have Lucery's Velaryon taken and sold into slavery. But a regrettable misunderstanding causes Larys Strong's men to take, not the culprit, but Aemma Velaryon, Rhaenyra's youngest child, and banish her to a life of suffering and loneliness.

Aemma Velaryon had not been seen since then but the gods do not forget and sometimes fate strikes back harder than you would have expected.

PART 3

Rose Flowers

they called her.

A strange name as she found.

Her mother had loved flowers, and the second name was the name given to bastards.

Just as in the North every bastard was called Snow, or in the Riverland Rivers, the bastards of the Reach were called Flowers.

Rose had to admit that although she found the name beautiful, she secretly loathed it, for it revealed her for what she really was.

A bastard.

If you belonged around Smallfolk, the high lords looked down on you. But if you were additionally a bastard, even the Smallfolk looked down on you.

Rose was used to it. She knew it no other way. She had resigned herself to her fate, accepted it for what it was. She couldn't change it, and any thought of it was a waste of her time.

She remembered how her mother had always braided flowers into her hair.

Rose had loved it until she realized the ambiguity.

She didn't believe her mother had meant to shame her. She had been a good woman. A little bit cold and distant but still a good woman. She had lacked maternal warmth, but Rose did not want to be ungrateful. Still, the other children had enjoyed teasing her about her status as a bastard.

Rose bore no resemblance to her mother. Neither in character nor outwardly. While her mother was broadly built and tall, Rose was of a petite nature. They had also not resembled each other in the face, which is why Rose assumed that she must resemble her father. A man she would probably never meet.

"Did you bring yourself a playmate, brother?"

A laugh could be heard.

Rose mind was brought back.

Rose did not know how she had imagined the king, or what expectations she had of him. What she did not expect, however, was to be received with such shameful words.

The king was sitting on the iron throne she had heard so much about. Light blond hair, blue eyes and fair skin. The typical appearance of a Targaryen.

She had heard about the impressive sight of the throne, adorned with the swords of the enemies of the kingdom, but having it right in front of her eyes gave her a completely different picture of the power of the Targaryens.

Rose stood behind Prince Daeron, head bowed, in a submissive posture, as someone in her position was bound to do.

"No, Aegon, I-" began Daeron but stopped mid-sentence as he realized his mistake. The king in front raised an eyebrow, the man next to him, also with the features of a Targaryen, just rolled his eyes. Or rather, his eye.

This had to be Prince Aemond, the one-eyed prince. Next to him the Mother of the King, Queen Alicent, who looked less than thrilled with her son's choice of words. Rose recognized her just by the fact that she was dressed completely in green. Green dress, green jewelry.

"How must I address you now?"

Aegon made a gesture as if he had to think. "I think honorable brother would suffice for me."

"Of course," Daeron said charmingly, and the king laughed.

"So now tell me who your new friend there is?" Aegon asked, cocking his head to the side.

He pointed to Rose and all eyes turned to her. She saw the curious look of Queen Helaena, the critical look of the Queen Mother, and the judgmental look of Otto Hightower, but the look with which she regarded Aemond Targaryen was the most memorable.

He was tall and muscular, dressed in black. A good-looking man, Rose thought, but his gaze was anything but inviting. It was cold, almost hostile. He did not seem thrilled that his brother had brought a stranger with him. His lips were pressed together into a thin line, his features hard.

A cold shiver ran down her spine.

Daeron turned to her briefly. "She was my servant in Oldtown and proved her loyalty there. I think she would be a valuable asset, these days, brother."

"Is that so?"

Aegon leaned back in his throne. He let his gaze glide over Rose's body and smiled.

"I would like to introduce her to our sister as a chamberlain, brother."

Aegon nodded, making a face as if he had to make an important decision.

"Well, then, welcome, dear Rose," Aegon declares, arms spread wide. "What a sight you are after so many difficult days here in the capital," Aegon said, blue eyes that danced joyfully when they noticed her discomfort. "We are happy that you are here, giving us the ... comfort we all need."

Rose understood perfectly what the king implied. She was not stupid.

"Thank you my king, I will not fail you." She bowed deeply.

Aegon sneers, opening his mouth only to be cut off by his grandfather "I think that's enough, my king. We have important political matters we-". She had already seen Otto Hightower several times when he had visited his brother. A dismissive man who took little interest in servants.

"Yes, yes," Aegon waved his hand as if talking to a pesky insect.

"So, what's the plan?"

Aegon looked to Lord hand that gave Rose a suspicious look. "I would suggest that we discuss these matters rather in, more private."

"Irrelevant, Rose here is one of us now," Aegon said dismissively, putting it as if Rose were part of the family."If she is assigned to my sister's wife, then she will certainly hear several of these conversations, so go ahead, Lord Hand."

Otto Hightower did not look enthusiastic, but he seemed to swallow the words burning on his tongue and decide to let the king have his way.

"I am sure that Princess Rhaenyra will have already received the news of the rightful coronation, your Grace. Nevertheless, I fear that this coronation will not be accepted without objection on her part. Especially when we consider that Prince Daemon Targaryen is at her side. I would therefore like to suggest that tomorrow we visit Princess Rhaenyra on Dragonstone, to give her an ultimatum."

"An ultimatum?," Aegon repeated critically, almost annoyed. "I do not know my uncle well, Grandsire, but I know that Daemon Targaryen would rather see me dead than on the Iron Throne. Even if Rhaenyra accepts the coronation, I hardly think Daemon isn't already imagining our heads on a spike."

Probably where he belonged, Rose thought, because if the rumor she had heard since her arrival was that Aegon Targaryen had stolen the throne from Princess Rhaenyra, then he would be a usurper and a traitor. The highest form of treason.

But since Rose had little to do with politics, she ultimately did not care who sat on the iron throne, as long as it was someone who was not a tyrant.

"Rose, be a sweet girl and bring me more wine!"

Aegon Targaryen raised his cup. Rose looked in surprise at Daeron, who tilted his head slightly to nod at her. She was surprised by the invitation.

He was already drinking wine in the morning?

"Brother, I think you had enough wine," Aemond Targaryen interjected critically, but his brother gave him a snide look.

"It's never enough, brother."

Her gaze brushed Aemond Targaryen's.

She had the feeling that he was staring straight into her soul.

It was almost challenging as if he wanted her to choose between him and his brother. As if she had a choice.

She therefore did as the king commanded and went to the table to take the wine jug. She approached the throne.

"Don't be shy, come on," Aegon said impatiently, waving the cup. No one present seemed impressed with Aegon's desire for wine.

"Aegon, I don't think you should be drinking at this time," Alicent interjected but Aegon looked at her annoyed.

"Mother, the best wars are planned with wine."

"A war is to be avoided at all costs, your Grace," Otto objected.

"Well, then peace is better planned with it," Aegon amended his statement, nodding at a uncomfortable Rose. "Come on."

Rose followed the invitation and stepped out the steps to the iron throne. The king surveyed her and smiled as she filled his cup.

"More," he said when Rose had filled it. His hand touched hers and she had to control herself not to pull it back. "More, girl," repeated impatiently when Rose still hadn't refilled it enough. The cup was now filled to the top with wine.

"I think we'll postpone that conversation to a later time," Otto Hightower suggested. "I myself will visit 'Dragonstone' as Hand of the King to urge Princess Rhaenyra to bend the knee."

Aegon merely nodded as he drank from his cup. Rose took this as an invitation to return to her place. As she did so, she glanced at Aemond Targaryen, who looked at his brother with disgust. Obviously, the two brothers did not have a good relationship.

That seemed to be the end of the conversation.

A servant approached Rose and signaled her to follow.

She was now officially a maid at the Red Keep.

"That's Dyana, she will show you everything," the girl who had led her to the servants' chambers, pointed to a girl with dark blond hair. Dyana turned around startled, her eyes fearful.

"Dyana, come here."

Dyana answered the call and curtsied to the woman. "What can I do, Tayla?" she asked, intimidated.

"This is, Rose, she is assigned to Queen Helaena, thus taking your role. I want you to instruct her in her duties."

Dyana winced. She did nothing but nod, but Tayla seemed not to care. "Perform your duties conscientiously and keep quiet when there is nothing to talk about," Tayla said to Rose, but strangely Rose did not feel that Tayla was just talking to her. Without waiting for an answer, she left the chamber and Rose waited for Dyana to say something.

She watched Dyana play with her fingers and bite her lip.

Why was she so distraught?

"Do you already have tasks for me?" Rose tried to start a conversation. Dyana looked at her in surprise, as if she had forgotten she was standing next to her.

She nodded. "You can follow me, I'll show you around."

Dyana then followed her around the castle, showing her the most important points and talking to her about the queen's preferences.

"And the king?" asked Rose curiously, and Dyana flinched, startled. She stopped suddenly and turned to her.

"You stay away from the king," Dyana said coldly and her sudden change of mood, startled Rose. She had seemed frightened all along, but now an expression entered her face that Rose could not interpret. She did not seem to be very enthusiastic about the king.

"Your job is to take care of the queen and the children. Do not enter the king's chambers unless the Queen is present, do you hear?"

Dyana looked at her seriously. Rose looked at her in irritation, but only nodded.

The girl surveyed her face for a while before taking a satisfied breath and turning back around. For the rest of the way, they didn't talk much. Dyana assigned her more tasks and Rose did her best to remember the many new rules.

"What is this scar on your forehead?" the little princess Jaeheara asked, touching Rose's face. She was an open, curious girl, with the most beautiful eyes Rose had ever seen.

"Oh, this one?," Rose's fingers went to her scar. "I fell and hit a rock."

"Well, that's silly," the princess judged.

Rose laughed. "Yes, it is. That was silly indeed."

So silly, in fact, that she had no memory of it at all. Her mother had told her that she had played, but Rose could remember nothing. All the memories that clung to the time before the fall had faded, no longer existed. She had been told that with such a fall, memory could be lost, and that it would eventually come back, but in Rose's case, that had never happened.

She did not mourn her lost memories. How could you miss something you could not remember?

However, it was still strange.

"That's enough, Jaeheara," the queen mother said signed Rose to stand up. The girl obeyed and ran to their mother. Helaena smiled when she ran into her arms.

Queen Helaena had called her in to meet the children.

"My son has praised you, girl."

"I am honored by that, your highness."

"In these times, loyal subordinates are very important to us. I want to make sure your loyalty is placed in the right place."

Rose looked up. Alicent's eyes were cool, not cold, but distant. She looked tired, exhausted, yet regal. She surveyed Rose's face and realized that the Queen Mother was expecting an answer.

"My loyality belongs to King Aegon II and your family, Queen Alicent. Prince Daeron has always shown me nothing but kindness, a kindness I will never forget. I am in your debt."

Apparently she had found the right words, for after a brief sampling, Alicent gave a pleased smile.

"I'm glad to hear that, child," her voice was suddenly softer. "What was your name again?"

"Rose Flowers, if it pleases you."

"Flowers?," Alicent repeated in surprise, looking to Daeron who sat next to Aemond. "A bastard?"

Daeron looked at his mother in irritation. "Since when is that a problem?"

Alicent seemed to want to say something, calculating her words, but instead of saying them, she pressed her lips together. She turned to Rose, and smiled again, as if nothing had happened.

"I've heard you have been instructed in your duties?"

"Yes, your Grace."

Alicent nodded with satisfaction and eyed Rose for a moment. Her eyebrows drew together.

"Who are your parents, child?"

Rose looked up in surprise and glanced briefly at Daeron, who also seemed irritated by the question. Prince Aemond, on the other hand, seemed bored or disinterested in the conversation. He stared into the fire and seemed to be lost in his thoughts.

"I only knew my mother, your highness. She was a cook. I never met my father, a name I was never given."

Alicent observed her face. It seemed like she was looking for something. She smiled before turning to her sons.

"I expect you in my chambers for dinner. We will dine together."

She turned away from Rose as if nothing had happened.

"Look, you are here, and suddenly we are family," Prince Aemond breathed to his younger brother, loud enough for Rose's ears but quiet enough for the ears of the Queen Mother.

"Rose, tell the kitchen that we will have our meal in my chamber," Alicent ordered and Rose bowed to obey the command.

Since there seemed to be a sickout among the servants, Rose had been given more chores to make up for the staff shortage.

"This is Lord Hand's bedding," Dyana informed her, pressing white sheets into her arms. "Since Luise has been lying broken in her bed since this morning, it is now your job to change it."

"Where can I find Lord Hand's chambers?"

Dyana raised an eyebrow. "Were you listening to me this morning?"

"Of course, sorry, it's just a lot to remember."

Dyana nodded. "You're right, so you're going towards-" Dyana began to give her directions and Rose did her best to follow, but it was hard for her to concentrate after today.

It took almost ten breaths for her to forget the way again.

Irritated, she stood in the hallway when the option of going left or right presented itself.

Had Dyana said left or right?

Rose had to suppress the feeling of crying.

That began excellently.

Finally, she decided to turn left and followed Dyana's further instructions, which, thank the gods, she had noticed.

When she arrived at Lord Hand's chambers, a guard let her in.

The chamber was decorated in green and Rose let her gaze glide around the room for a brief moment. The decoration did not seem like that of a young prince, but who was she to judge such a thing. She just hadn't expected it.

Not wanting to be labeled slow on her first day, Rose walked to the bed with the fresh linens, only to find that the bed had already been made.

Irritated, her eyebrows drew together.

Had Dyana made a mistake?

Rose was about to turn around when suddenly cold iron pressed menacingly against her neck.

A fright passed through her and as she tilted her head slightly, a pointed blade presented itself to her right.

"Is it common for maids to barge into their masters' rooms unannounced?," she heard a male voice behind her. "Or is it more because you have something special in mind, girl?"

She had no idea who was behind her, but his voice sounded familiar.

"Sir, whoever you are, I entered your room with no ill intent, I-"

"Silence!" the voice behind her commanded harshly, and Rose flinched. The sword at her neck scratched at her skin, craving the blood that flowed in her.

"Turn around."

She followed the command and her eyes met those of Prince Aemond Targaryen. The bedclothes fell carelessly on the floor.

"What are you doing here?" The question was asked in a soft and deadly tone, his gaze was so cold and intense and the tip of the blade at her throat moved almost gently as he took a step forward. He tilted his head slightly.

Rose looked down submissively as she spoke her next words carefully. They might be her last. "I have been instructed to change Lord Hand's bedding. Forgive me, but in my clumsiness and ignorance, I entered the wrong room."

She didn't doubt for a moment that this man would cut off her head if he didn't like her answer.

"Hmm," the prince gave. "Clumsiness and ignorance are not welcome here, Rose." Her name rolled off his tongue as if he were playing with it, and she looked up in surprise. She hadn't expected the prince to remember her name.

"I don't know how my uncle ran his household, but misbehavior has consequences here."

"Consequences?," Rose repeated slightly anxiously, clearly aware that his sword was still at her neck.

Prince Aemond raised an eyebrow. "So you don't think there are any consequences to invading my rooms without permission?"

This was definitely a trap. No matter what Rose would say, it would hurt her in any case. Therefore, only one answer seemed most appropriate to her.

"Whatever pleases you, my prince."

Aemond smiled. But it wasn't a welcomed smile.

"As I please, you say? What do you think pleases me, girl?"

The corners of the prince's mouth pulled up slightly. She saw the satisfaction in his eye. The other was marked by a deep scar and an eye patch. What pain this injury must have brought.

"I will submit myself to the septa for punishment, if you wish, my prince."

Rose hoped that was exactly what he did not wish. She had no idea how the smallfolk was punished here, but Lord Hightower had been fond of whipping his servants for misbehavior.

The prince nodded, but it did not seem like an assent. Instead, the blade fell to the floor for a moment and its shiny and smooth tip picked up the fallen bedding.

Rose saw this as an invitation to grab the bedding, but before she could touch the white fabric, Prince Aemond dropped it. The next moment his hand gripped her throat and her back was pressed against the wall beside her.

Rose widened her eyes fearfully and stared directly into the cold face of the prince, who was only a few finger-widths away from her. He was even so close that she could feel his breath on her skin.

Her mouth went dry and her breath escaped in a whimper. Every muscle in her body tensed with fear.

She was sure he was feeling her racing pulse under his big hand.

"I don't trust my uncle's servants. Just because my brother trusts you, it doesn't mean I won't keep an eye on you. Don't take me as a fool. If you even think for a second of betraying us, I will slit your throat without hesitation, do you understand me?"

Rose opened her mouth, but not a word passed her lips. Fear paralyzed her and made her unable to think. Never in her life had she felt such fear.

She immediately believed Prince Aemond that he would kill her. She saw it in his look. He would not hesitate.

"I asked you if you understood me." His grip on her neck tightened. The air became perceptibly less.

Unable to force even a word out of her mouth, Rose merely nodded, afraid of what Prince Aemond would do to her if he didn't believe her.

"Hmm," came a slight hum from his lips, and he lifted his other hand to brush a lost strand of hair from her face. His hand was rough on her skin and yet they left a tingle on it. He surveyed her face for a moment before letting go. Rose gasped and watched anxiously as he turned away from her and left his chambers without another word. The door opened and closed quietly, and she was alone.

With a sobbing breath, she sank to her knees, wondering if it hadn't been a big mistake to beg Daeron to take her with him.

[venus-maneater]

a loyal dog’s reward. | yan! criston cole

soft yandere / obsessed au

fem! targaryen princess reader

synopsis. the knight’s death wasn’t convenient, but at least now you knew the lengths Ser Criston was willing to go for you.

part ii.

note; this is an au where rhaenyra/criston never happened ! he is reader’s sworn shield. reader is written with targaryen features and is kind of a sick and twisted brat (we stan). ALL CONTENT ON MY BLOG IS FICTIONAL.

WARNING(s): possessive/obsessive tendencies, violence, minor character death, unhealthy relationship dynamics, manipulation, age gap (reader is 19, criston is around 27), references to size difference, reader knows abt his tendencies and takes advantage of them, nsfw content but not full smut, allusions/references to sex, subby criston cole, dom-ish reader, praise-kink??, breeding kink??, mocking, usage of “dog”

“I know how you think of me.”

Do you really? Do you know how much he thinks of you, how he craves you? How he wants nothing more than to steal you away so no one else can ever see you again except him? He wants you to be his, only his. That’s all he wants.

“You can’t get me out of your head, can you, Ser Criston?”

He knows you emphasized his title on purpose; he was a member of the Kingsguard lusting after the Princess, and yet he couldn’t feel any guilt from behind the overwhelming desire he has for you. It’s not just lust, it’s so much more than lust. He wants you; mind, body, and soul. He wants you to look at him the way he looks at you. He wants to grow old with you and fill you up with babies. Babies that will have his dark hair and your violet eyes, or maybe even the opposite.

“You would do anything for me?”

Yes, gods yes he would. Ask for anything and its yours. Please, please, please ask something of him.

You’d noticed his peculiar behavior months ago, but you suppose it hadn’t gone far enough for you to say anything about it until now. You noticed how his eyes never left your figure if you were in the room, how he stiffened when you stood even remotely near another man, how he followed you around like a lost puppy. It was endearing at first, but tonight he had killed someone for you. Not only that, but he did it violently and in public. In all fairness, the hedge Knight was creepy and invasive, you didn’t like him. But Criston was a member of the Kingsguard, he couldn’t go around killing people just because he wanted to.

There was a tourney to celebrate your older sister Rhaenyra’s first pregnancy. She was married to Laenor around 6 months ago, so most of the family found it pleasant that she was already pregnant. Though, you knew it wasn’t Ser Laenor who was the father (or at least you assumed it wasn’t). You were rather close with your sister and her husband; you knew well what they got up to and what they didn’t. All was well for you, you found Ser Harwin to be a lovely friend.

Although Criston Cole was your sworn shield, you insisted he enter the tourney for the entertainment. Many had entered from all over Westeros, and your shield had always succeeded in physical competitions in the past.

“I’d just like to see you win.” You told him, batting your eyes. He was quick to obey your request at that.

Ser Criston received your favor right before his first round, and won the tournament just as you knew he would. A hedge knight from the Reach came in second place to your shield. He seemed nice enough and was a rather good sport about losing, but frankly he was annoying. He wouldn’t stop following Criston around, which eventually lead to him introducing himself to you as Tion Gracefeld. His presence didn’t bother you at first, but you could clearly tell how much Criston hated it.

After the event ended, there was celebration all throughout King’s Landing, so there was a bit of chaos on the short journey back to the Red Keep. Tion took advantage of this, trying to get closer to you. Of course, Criston was there to push him back each time, telling him “please give the princess some space” through gritted teeth.

His jealousy was a bit cute to you, so you let Ser Tion continue with his behavior. It wasn’t such a bother, but as you approached the castle, his words became less playful and more… sexual. Foul, even.

You couldn’t remember exactly what happened for certain, the violence was too quick, but you knew that he grabbed your arm before Ser Criston murdered him for it. The Dornish Kingsguard grabbed Tion, pulling him from you and throwing him to the ground. You were sure the beating was bad, considering it was enough for him to die from his injuries, but you refused to look.

Criston was eventually pulled off the man after a couple minutes, and now here he was. Sitting on the edge of your bed in front of you, hands and armor splattered in blood.

“Look at me.” You told him. You had to give him some credit, he listens to you so well, “Why did you do it? What made you angry enough to kill him?”

You could hear his breath hitch in his throat as you stepped closer, only to stop directly in front of him.

He took in a quick breath before answering, looking up at you with frustrated eyes, “He was talking to you like- like you were some… whore. There was no respect. He was trying— to touch you. I’m your sworn protector, Princess, I was only doing my job.”

He didn’t want you to know about his sick obsession with you, trying to hide it using his position as an excuse for his behavior. Unfortunately for him, it was incredibly obvious. You could tell how angry he still was from the interaction; his hands shaking, chest heaving, and jaw clenched.

“You know,” You started, looking down into Criston’s eyes and leaning closer to his face, “I didn’t really like the guy, myself. But you’ve gotten me into quite the situation. You should be charged for your crimes, I’m afraid.”

Even seated, he was so close to your height that you didn’t have to lean down much to meet at eye-level.

“I’m sorry, my Princess” was all that left him, drunk on the lack of space between you.

“That’s all you have to say?” You whispered, your breath hitting his lips. His pupils were blown impossibly wide, making you smile. As disturbing as this whole thing was, he was almost too attractive for you to care. Almost.

“I don’t want to be taken from you.” He whispered. He didn’t care that he killed someone, he wasn’t sorry, he just didn’t want to be forced to leave you. Tion deserved his wrath; he got too close to you.

You smiled slightly, standing back up to your full height. Using your knee, you pushed the man’s legs apart so you could stand between them. Your hands moved from your sides to his chest, “You won’t. I’ll fix it for you, I truly don’t mind. My father will believe me when I tell him Ser Tion was harassing me, and that you just stepped in to defend my honor.”

Criston gulped, taking in a deep breath to surround himself in your scent. He didn’t say a word.

Your hands slowly creeped up to his shoulders, then into his hair, “Do you ever think about kissing me, Ser Criston?”

His eyelids dropped slightly, the euphoria of your hands running through his locks reaching him.

“As your Princess, you’re sworn to tell me the truth.”

“Yes.” He closed his eyes, “Please, Princess. I am soiled with blood, I don’t want it touching you.”

“No? Then perhaps you should’ve exercised more self-control.” You quipped. Deciding to make things more difficult, you climbed into his lap, your knees on either side of his thighs. There was a lot less blood on his legs than on his chest or arms, but you could still feel a bit of it seeping into the gentle fabric of your silk dress. Good thing you were wearing red.

His eyes squeezed shut even tighter. Self-control you had said. Was this a test? Did you want him to sit still? Then he would. His bloodied hands were balled up in fists beside him.

“You defend me fiercely,” You said. “kind of like a dog, don’t you think.”

It wasn’t a real question, he knew you were just mocking him for his behavior. You knew about him. You know how sick he is for you.

“My fierce dog,” You grinned, “protecting me from any man that speaks his filthy words to me.”

You were perfect, so perfect. His goddess.

“Do you want a reward for your behavior? For protecting me?” You asked. Criston was amusing to you. It was boring at court, having so many people try to flatter themselves into gaining your favor, men trying to marry you for power. But Criston Cole was different; he was genuinely dedicated to you. As a member of the Kingsguard, he had nothing to gain from being with you.

“Reward?” He rasped, his eyes fluttering open, curious. You had never look so pretty as you did in this moment; smiling at him whilst sat atop his lap.

“Yes, a reward. I can give you a kiss, if you’d accept?”

“A kiss?” He questioned, shocked at your proposal.

You giggle at him, moving close enough that your noses are touching, “Is that a ‘no’? Do you not want a kiss from your princess?”

He does. He really does. But how could he dare dishonor you by accepting? A Princess of the realm should not be kissing her guard. Your reputation would be ruined if anyone were to find out.

“Can’t.” He eventually sputtered, his forehead resting against yours.

“And why not? Do you not fantasize about it? What other fantasies do you have?”

His eyes were squeezed shut, but he could hear the smirk in your voice. “I— yes, but Princess….” He cut himself off before he finished, you must save your affections for your future husband.

He held back a snarl; he didn’t want you to have a future husband, at least not one that wasn’t him. But he was not allowed to be married and even if he were, he was not high-born like you. Your father would never approve.

“Answer me, Cole, tell me what you imagine occurring between us.” You were getting frustrated with him, this was supposed to be easy, “Look back up at me properly.”

He did as you said and more; finally letting his urges control him, he pushed his lips to yours. His hands, the blood now beginning to dry and stick, gripped at your waist tightly. You gasped into his mouth, quick to reciprocate with your hands pulling at his dark locks.

“‘Think about marrying you,” he muttered against your lips, “keeping you safe, an’ you thanking me all pretty. So pretty, you’re perfect.”

Placing your hand flat on his chest, you pull away by just an inch, “Thanking you, huh? Is that what you want?”

“‘Just want you to love me. Want you to be mine, just for me. I could— I can give you anything, just ask. We can leave here— and be together—!”

You giggled, “You’re getting too excited, Ser Criston. I’m a princess, you know.”

“There— there are places, my Love,” he let out a shocked huff as you pushed him onto his back, “in Essos, where titles do not matter.”

“Is that so?” You moved up his body before settling on his stomach, which was still covered in tainted armor. “And what would we do there? Build a farm? Have babies?”

“Yes.” A part of him could tell you were only teasing, but it was overshadowed by the part of him yearning for a life with you.

You slowly bent down, your body flush against his, and whispered into his ear, “You want to put a few babies in me?”

Not thinking, he reached up a hand and held the back of your head to keep you in place, “More than a few. They’ll inherit your beauty, my Love.”

“Mmm,” You grabbed his hand and sat back up, “your eyes and my hair?”

“Or the opposite.”

Laughing, you tilted your head back, still gripping his right hand between yours. Your laugh eventually subsided with a happy sigh, and you looked back at him. You had so much power over the big man laying happily beneath you, it was funny. He was staring at you obediently, waiting for you to say or do something. Slowly, you slid the black glove off his fingers and pulled his hand up to your lips. He watched as you placed soft kiss to each of his bruised knuckles. His hand was so large beside your features.

“I’m quite fond of you. What should I do if my father refuses to see reason and executes you for your crimes?” It wouldn’t happen, you both knew. But he was happy to entertain your questions, just so long as you were talking to him and touching him.

“I would only ask that I’d be buried where you can visit. I do not desire to be far from you, even in death.” His hand gripped yours tightly at that.

As morbid as the conversation was getting, Criston had never felt so good. You were truly seeing him in this moment, and you didn’t even mind his sickness. You weren’t afraid, you liked it, even. You liked that he would so easily kill for you and how he’d die for you without issue just as long as you would keep him in death.

You hummed in satisfaction, “You’re giving me very good answers, are you sure you aren’t trying to trick me?”

“I would never deceive you.” He sat up, suddenly serious. His quick movements shook you physically, but you didn’t seem surprised. In order to hold on and keep from falling as you slid back down to his lap, one of your arms wrapped its way around his neck.

You snickered at his reaction, placing a short kiss to his lips, “‘Was only a jest. I know you would never do such a thing. You would never upset me, would you?”

“No.” He whispered, kissing from your lips, down to your jaw softly, “I love you.”

“How much?” You breathed, your eyes fluttering shut.

“More than anything— anyone.” He kept going, sure to reach every bit of open space he could, “You are the very center of my existence, nothing else matters. You’re everything to me. I want you like this forever.”

“Forever? No matter what I do to you?”

His mouth was now below your ear, gently sucking a mark into your skin, “You can do no wrong, my Love, everything you bring me is a gift.”

There were droplets of red still on his face and neck from the blood splatter, but you didn’t mind. Neither of you seemed to care any longer about the gore; the way your red dress was now soaked in it from touching his armor.

You still hadn’t yet released his right hand, and he never dared to pull away. Humming from the pleasure, you slowly brought his hand to rest on your thigh. He immediately adjusted himself so that his fingertips were digging into the soft skin, afraid to move otherwise. Very slowly, you began to rock your hips against him. You could hear his already intense breathing pick up.

“And if my father decides to marry me off?” You whisper into his neck.

Criston lifts his head, dark obsessive eyes boring into your own, “Then I shall kill whatever Lord he chooses.”

x

- venus

[novaursa]

The Fall (One-Shot)

Targaryen!OC x Karstark!OC and one-sided Targaryen!OC x Daemon Targaryen one-shot. It could turn into a story if there is demand for it.

The intro is here.

The intro for part two is here.

Part two is here.

The intro for part three is here.

Part three is here.

The intro for part four is here.

Part four is here.

The intro for part five is here.

Part five is here.

The intro for part six is here.

Part six is here.

The intro for part seven is here.

Part seven is here.

The Plot: If Rhaenyra was the Realm's Delight, her younger twin sister Daenys, the second of her name, was its Summer. Born a few moments after her sister, Daenys was a surprise that no one expected. Very small with a head full of silver hair, she was pronounced dead before she took her first breath. But by the grace of the Gods, her lilac eyes fluttered open, and Queen Aemma cried tears of joy holding both of her babes in her loving embrace. Fast forward, King Viserys hosts a tournament to celebrate the birth of his third child. There Daenys meets Ser Artos Karstark, son of Lord Steffan Karstark.

- Disclaimer: I only own my OCs and other stuff you don’t recognize from the books and the show.

- Warning: This story is rated M. It will contain incest, violence, blood, gore and other mature themes. It is GoT fanfiction after all.

I, can fly You had me caged up like a bird in mid-summer You saw me waiting, I was crazy, on fire, waiting to fly I, can fly

If Rhaenyra was the Realm's Delight, her younger twin sister Daenys, the second of her name, was its Summer. Born a few moments after her sister, Daenys was a surprise that no one expected. Very small with a head full of silver hair, she was pronounced dead before she took her first breath. But by the grace of the Gods, her lilac eyes fluttered open, and Queen Aemma cried tears of joy holding both of her babes in her loving embrace. King Viserys cried with her from joy. He didn't get the male heir that he desired, but he did get two beautiful girls. And they were alive. Despite the warning from Grand Maester’s Mellos that chances for Daenys’ survival were slim, the girl survived. A lot smaller than her sister, there were other signs of clear differences from her twin. They were not identical. Daenys’ possessed a gentler face than her sister, and as she grew, it was evident that their personalities were different as well. Like her dragon Silixia, she was more tame, content in presence of her sister and mother. Rarely trying to be outspoken, Daenys often provided more logical solutions to the table. She supported her sister’s fires more often than not, but was always there to soothe them if there was a need for it. But today they both agreed to go flying with their dragons, despite their mother’s wishes. Silixia is cheerful today, the younger Princess noticed as she firmly grabs onto the saddle. Brass scaled dragon gracefully soared next to her sister’s golden one, letting out one strong roar. Syrax responded in the same manner, before dragons continued racing towards the Dragonpit. Roughly the same size, Silixia possessed a more serpentine frame and a slightly larger wingspan. She was also one of the more docile dragons, but was by no means harmless. Quite the contrary in fact, when angered she was a force not to be trifled with. As the Dragonkeepers unfortunately discovered. With their goal in sight, the first ones to land were Rhaenyra and Syrax with a large thud. A few moments later Silixia and Daenys followed. After dust cleared, Dragonkeepers approached the twins ready to take the scaled beasts into the catacombs. Daenys climb down off the Silixia with ease, her legs adjusting to the solid ground again. Moving her hand across the sharp and warm scales, she whispered quiet farewell to her dragon, as the brass beast purred in response.

"Welcome back, Princesses. I trust your ride was pleasant." Ser Harrold Westerling said from behind them. Just then, Daenys noticed a carriage waiting for them. Their friend Alicent Hightower smiling at them from the wagon. "Try not to look too relieved, ser." Rhaenyra jested as she climb down off Syrax, walking past the knight. Westerling frowns, "I am relieved. Every time those golden and bronze beasts bring you two back unspoiled, it saves my head from a spike."

"Trust me, Ser, we are safer on dragonback than in the Red Keep." Daenys smiles at the man following after her twin closely. As they approached the carriage, the older Princess spoke up again. "Syrax and Silixia are growing quickly." She said to Alicent. "They’ll soon be as large as Caraxes. That’s almost large enough to saddle two." Brown-haired girl slightly wrinkled her nose, smile still on her lips, "I believe I’m quite content as a spectator, thank you."

"Dohaeras."

Daenys turned her head towards the dragons and Dragonkeepers who were trying to lead both dragons back into the catacombs. Silixia gave her one last glance accompanied by the purr before obeying her caretakers. Syrax was not so content to return with her kin, "Naejot!" Golden dragon roared in defeat slowly going after Silixia. Younger Princess sighs and enters the carriage with her sister and friend already seated inside.

I had bright wishes in the summer, I was bathing in sunlight Painting in the garden like a ghost in Mid-July Running fast from something with my eyes wide like Saucers spinning in the sun I had a dream that I was fine I wasn't crazy, I was divine

"Ah… Rhaenyra, Daenys." She could hear her mother's soft voice as they approached her. There was a slight disproving note to it and concern lingering in the air. To Daenys, her mother was the most beautiful woman in the whole world, with the most beautiful violet eyes she has ever seen. Even now, as she was resting from the pregnancy and her growing belly, Aemma was the most perfect woman for Dany. She looked tired, pale and in pain. She was hurting, like she came back from a long day of hunting. It pained Queen’s youngest to see her mother like this. And see have seen her like this all too often. Daenys always prayed for her mother to give birth to a boy. She prayed to Gods to save her mother and relieve her of so much pain. "You two know I don’t like you to go flying while I’m in this condition. Daenys, I expected you to stop your sister from such ideas."

Her mother’s voice pulls Dany back from her thoughts, "You don’t like us to go flying while you’re in any condition. Besides, we needed a little time for ourselves." She smiled gently at her mother, taking a seat next to her with Rhaenyra.

"Your Grace." Alicent greeted politely as she approached with the twins.

"Good morrow, Alicent." Queen smiles back.

"Did you sleep?" Rhaenyra asked when her mother’s focus was back at her and Daenys.

"I slept."

Daenys frowned with worry while her twin pressed further. "How long?"

"I don’t need mothering, Rhaenyra." Their mother said back trying to dismiss their concerns with a wave of the hand. Rhaenyra however was not afflicted, "Well, here you are, surrounded by attendants, all focused on the babe. Someone has to attend to you."

"She’s right, mother," Daenys adds in support of her twin. "Someone has to look after you too." She said softly.

"You will lay in this bed soon enough, Daenys. You too, Rhaenyra." Aemma started giving her both girls sympathy as much as a warning with her words. "This discomfort is how we serve the realm." Dany frowned. She has seen what happened to her mother every time, in every pregnancy. She has seen her cries, mourning her lost children. Is this our duty as women? Silver-haired girl thought while her nails went into the palm of her hand drawing blood. Her small hands turned into fists of grief, Is our duty to be broodmares until we die? Daenys always wanted to be a mother, but she was terrified of it at the same time. Traumatized from a very young age by her mother’s experiences, Daenys often had nightmares of childbirth. Almost every night she would dream about her dead siblings, she would get to know them like they are alive… and then lose them.

Rhaenyra next to her made a grimace, "We’d rather serve as knights and ride to battle and glory. Right, Dany?" She gave her younger twin a glance, their mother’s laughter only filled the room. Few attendants passed behind them before Aemma finally spoke up amused still, "We have royal wombs, us three. The child bed is our battlefield. We must learn to face it with a stiff lip. Now take a bath. Both of you stink of a dragon." She waved them off.

Daenys stood up first, giving her mother a goodbye smile, "Let’s go Rhea," she said putting her arm on her sister’s shoulder. Soon they were both out of the room on their way to the Council Meeting, promptly ignoring their mother’s request to take a bath. Alicent left to her own room, leaving the twins alone with two knights of Kingsguard escorting them.

"Do you think Mother will recover?" Rhaenyra asks her sister softly.

"I pray to Gods every night for that Sister." The younger girl replied, holding her sister’s hand as they approached the meeting.

Your lies were hard kisses in the summer I was dreaming of a lake Dreaming of the water where I'd rise like a phoenix Or an iron from the fire I've got things to tell you like I know that you're a liar I had a dream that I was fine I wasn't crazy, I was divine

"Rhaenyra, Daenys, you’re late. The Kings’ cupbearers must not be late. Leaves people wanting for cups." Their father’s voice echoed as they hurriedly begin to do their duty. Both of them begin pouring wine into council members' cups. Daenys stood next to her father filling the cup that was before him, "We were visiting Mother." She added quickly. Her father didn’t even need to sniff her dragon riding clothes to know where they were beforehand. "On dragonback?" Viserys allowed himself a smile looking from Daenys to Rhaenyra.

"Your Grace, at Prince Daemon’s urging, the crown has invested significant capital in the re-training and re-equipping of his City Watch." Lyman Beesbury brought back conversation into its tracks. The meeting went by quickly, concluding that the tourney will take place so that the whole realm may celebrate the birth of their new monarch. Oh, how I wish this babe to be a boy. Daenys sighted defeated. She was back in her chambers waiting for her bath to be prepared. Looking at herself in the mirror she saw that today left a visible mark on her. Her hair was slightly messy, but her silver locks were holding themselves still in place, her lilac eyes told the truth though. I want nightmares to end. She told herself while lifting to inspect the palm of her hand where her nails have dug in. Please Gods, or whoever can hear me, let my mother have a boy. She gave herself another quick glance in the mirror before starting to take off her riding gear. But before she had a chance, a knock was heard coming from her chamber doors. She didn’t even turn her head as she spoke, expecting her servants to bring the water for the bath. "Come in."

"Princess," to her surprise it was the voice of Ser Harrold Westerling. "I’m sorry for intruding. Your Uncle is here, he wishes to speak with you."

Now that surprised her a little, not that she would ever show that on her face. She hadn’t seen Daemon in a very long time. He had a habit of coming suddenly, bringing all kinds of gifts from all over the world to both twins. He also made a habit of coming to see Daenys, to tell her the stories of his travels. For the most part, the Princess didn’t mind, she loved her Uncle. Sometimes it would seem that she and her sister were the only ones that do. But sometimes Daenys couldn’t help but feel something has… changed. She has become on edge last time he visited, she noticed things. Subtle things like lingering stares or unnoticed touches. The girl was no fool, she knew of her family tradition. Brothers were wed to sisters, cousins to cousins, uncles to nieces... and she wanted no part in it. Such practices were the cause of her mother’s pain. Miscarriage, stillbirths, madness, and other curses. She did wonder why she, though. Why her, the second born? She had no choice in any matter. She is to be wed to some Lord for her father’s political gain. Even if she was born as a second son, Daenys would inherit nothing but a name. Maybe that’s why. She concluded. On some level, we’re the same.

"Let him in." She finally said. The knight bowed down and left her chambers. Few moments passed before Daemon entered.

"Uncle, you surprised me yet again. I wasn’t expecting you so soon and late at the same time." She said turning towards him, but didn’t not approached him. "Did you come for the tourney?"

Daemon studied her from across the room. She looked older, more serious, and tired. "For the most part." He answered slowly starting to approach her. The silver-haired girl stood her ground; closely watching him like dragon would its keepers. This only seemed to amuse him more as he drew closer to her, "And to see you, of course."

"You could care less for formalities." She pressed further still watching Daemon carefully. He too seemed exhausted, possibly from a long day of flying. "So, what is it?"

She could see slight hurt betraying on his face, ping of guilt passed through her, but only for a moment, "You used to love my visits." He said.

"I did."

"You look worried." He continued, approaching her more.

Daenys left a sigh that she was holding in, "I’m scared for my mother. I hope she gives birth to a boy so she can be spared further pain."

"And if she doesn’t?"

You would be next in line for the throne. Even if my father and Otto Hightower would be against it. She concluded in her mind but remained silent. He was right in front of her now, trying to read her mind; she could clearly see deep purple in his eyes. The color seemed much warmer than her lilac ones at this moment.  "Marry me." It came out in High Valyrian. And there it was. Daemon knew she wasn’t stupid, in fact, he found her more grounded twin. He expected some kind of reaction from her. But she remained unreadable. He was in no way subtle in his advances towards her, it even reached his brother. Viserys told him to stay away from her, forbade him even, but how could he? Dragon rider was in awe of her since she became a woman grown. He was hers, she only needed to say it.

"No." She spoke slightly breaking something in him. "The right mind has finally left you, Uncle. You have a wife." Her melodic voice was heard as she stood her ground looking him in the eyes. Daemon towered over her small frame as he continued his approach. "I can get rid of her, you only have to ask. You could be my Queen."

"No."

He was now right in front of her, their lips almost touching. Daenys didn’t even flinch. "You don’t wish to be on the Iron Throne?"

She was quiet for a while, "No." And she really didn’t want to. That seat was a game and she wanted no part in it. She would be forever happy in the position she is in now. The Throne suited Rhaenyra far more than her. "I will not be a tool for your power climbing." She said walking passed him towards a window. She looked into the night, "Is there anything else, Uncle?" She didn’t turn her head as she asked. After silence that she thought lasted the whole eternity, Daenys could hear something being placed on the table below her mirror.

"I brought you a gift," Daemon said. Daenys thought he sounded defeated, but one could never tell with him. "I’ll see you tomorrow." He gave a promise; the silver-haired girl gave another wave of silence in return. Eventually, he left closing the doors of her chambers behind him. The girl allowed herself to relax, but she remained wary turning her attention to the gift Daemon left on her desk. It was a necklace. She frowned, This will be another long night.

Your words cut like a knife in butter I was fighting for my art Fighting with my lover, you had me so tied up Thinking there's no other Yeah, right

Yeah, right

The next day, Daenys was spending a pleasant day with her twin and Alicent in the gardens. They were laughing, and for the moment both Princesses managed to put their worries to the side. Daenys didn’t have goodnight's sleep, curtsy of Daemon. And the nightmares. She had a dream about her unborn brother again, but it was different. The boy was a dragon. So was she; and they were flying. They flew all across the burning fields; they passed the Narrow Sea and even all of Essos. Then he began to fall. He hit the ground with such ferocity that the ground shook, cried, and bled. In the blink of an eye, he was gone. And Daenys woke up screaming. She dared not to interpret such dreams, Flying dreams are dangerous things that are seldom true. Daenys remanded herself once again.

"Did you forget to bring your book, Daenys?" Alicent asked her noticing that her friend was again in deep thoughts. She was sitting in the middle of the twins, enjoying the sun and stories with Rhaenyra, when she noticed that Daenys was silent for a while. They were about to start reading their books, when she notices absence of Daneys’ literature.

"Oh," Daenys exclaimed in realization. "It appears I did. I’ll be right back!" She picked her dress up as she began to run towards the halls, leaving the garden behind her. Her sister’s voice called behind her, "Dany, hurry back! They’ll bring cake soon!" She smiled to herself at her sister’s remark while hurrying down the hallway, while Ser Harrold was trying to keep up with her. Desperately, trying not to lose the Princess in the maze of hallways. She almost reached the royal library when she collided with something hard just around the corner. She was thrown back and fell to the floor, "Princess!" Ser Harrold panicked. The knight quickly helps Daenys up from the floor, trying to find any injuries.

"I do sincerely apologize, My Lady! I wasn’t aware you were coming."

The object into which she crashed was in fact a person. And it just apologized. She collected herself and her dignity from the floor, "No need for it, it was my fault." She said softly finally looking into whom she crashed. It was a man, slightly older than her it would appear. A Northerner, she could tell by his accent. Brown hair, blue eyes, handsome. She could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks, My luck must be the worst in the world. Not only I made a fool of myself, but I had to do it in front of a handsome man. Honorable one too, as it seems. She studied him a little more; he wore light black armor, with a white sunburst on the chest plate. "You need to be more aware of your surroundings, Lord Karstark." Ser Harrold spoke behind her.

"Once more, Princess, you have my apologies. I hope you are not hurt. And please, Ser Westerling, Lord Karstark is my father." The Northerner quickly added, smiling at the Kingsguard and Daenys. The girl felt her cheeks getting hot again.

Ser Harrold nodded politely, "Are you here for the tourney, Ser Artos?"  

"Aye," He answered. "My Lord father came with King’s invite. We arrived just this morning."

"I hope your trip was pleasant." Daenys offered a smile back. Her confidence coming back to her.

"It was, my Princess. Thank you." He answered her, trying to compose himself silently. I just had to walk into the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen and make a fool out of myself. Artos held her gaze taking her whole appearance; silver hair, lilac eyes, black dress decorated with red scales. To him, she was more majestic than any dragon her family had. This must be the younger one, he concluded after he saw her gentle features looking back at him. The man was in awe.

 "If you need help around the Red Keep, Ser Artos, feel free to ask for me." The girl spoke up.

Good Gods, even her voice is perfect. "Thank you for your offer, Princess, I’m sure we will see one another more during the tourney." Artos bowed his head before he continued on his way, saying goodbye to Ser Harrold.

Daenys blushed one hundred times over, completely forgetting where she was heading.

…

King Viserys stood proudly before the crowd from the stands. Daenys and her twin just arrived in time of the opening of the tourney as their father began his speech, "Be welcome! I know many of you have traveled long leagues to be at these games. But I promise, you will not be disappointed. When I look at the fine knights in these lists, I see a group without equal in our histories. And this great days has made more auspicious by the news… that I am happy to share: Queen Aemma has begun her labors!" The crowd cheered and clapped, joying them were Rhaenyra and Daenys.

"May the luck of the Seven shine upon all combatants!" After Viserys’ finishing statement another round of cheering was heard before knights began to round up.

"A mystery knight?" Dany heard her sister asked beside her, not recognizing one of the combatants.

"No, a Cole, of the Stormlands." Denys replayed to her.

"I’ve never heard of House Cole." Her older twin stated clearly in thought as Lord Boremund Baratheon approached the stands.

"Princess Rhaenys Targaryen! I would humbly ask for the favor of ‘The Queen Who Never Was.’" He spoke loudly as the crowd cheered in the distance. Daenys frowned at the title it was given to her cousin. The older woman placed a wreath on the Lord’s jousting spear going deaf to his provocations. "Good fortune to you, cousin." She said.

"I would gladly take it if I thought I needed it." He replayed with brassy tone before he took off.

"I heard you ran into a son of Lord Steffan Karstark." Dany turned her attention towards her twin that had mischievous grin on her face. "I heard from the ladies that he is quite handsome."

Younger girl found said man waiting his turn with other knights. He looked regal on his black horse. Ser Artos’s armor was also sight to behold, heavier version she saw from their brief encounter. Black as night with white sunburst between his chests still. Secretly admiring him from afar, she could swore that Artos was looking at her too, but alas, he was too far away.

Daenys returned the same grin back to her sister, averting her gaze from Ser Artos, "I heard the same about Ser Cole." Rhaenys raised an eyebrow and turned to the knight behind her. "What do you know about this Ser Criston Cole, Ser Harrold?"

"I’m told Ser Criston is common-born, son of Lord Dondarrion’s steward. But other than that, and the fact he’s just unhorsed both Baratheon lads, I really couldn’t say." When Ser Harrold finished, drumming began to echo followed by wave of loud cheering.

"Prince Daemon of House Targeryen, Prince of the City, will now choose his first opponent!" Master of Revels announced the crowd cheered even more. Daenys frowned, As much as the court hates him, common people love watching him causing bloodshed in the tourneys. Daemon looked up at her from below, and Daenys did her best not to be first one to break eye contact. He started to approach his rivals on his black horse, carefully examining each one ,and promptly stopped in front of Ser Gwayne, Alicent’s brother. She saw her friend went stiff, damaging further skin on her fingers. Of course, he choose Otto’s son. His provocation knows no bounds.

"For his first challenge, Prince Daemon Targaryen chooses Ser Gwayne Hightower of Oldtown, eldest son of the Hand of the King."

It didn’t take long for Daemon to win over Ser Gwayne. After he was dismounted, visibly in pain but not badly injured, Alicent relaxed. As Daemon approached the stands, Rhaenyra run to the railing, "Nicely done, Uncle."

"Thank you, Princess." He said looking behind her towards her twin who reminded seated. Daenys forced a smile. That was enough for him. Daemon turned then towards Alicent, "Now, I’m fairly certain I can win these games, Lady Alicent. Having your favor would all but assure it." Like salt on the wound, he added. Alicent dutifully took and placed a floral wreath on his spear, as she was trained to do, "Good luck, my Prince."

With one last look sent to Daenys, Daemon turned his horse away. One by one, contestants were thrown out from the game. And more the game went on, it was getting bloodier. The crowed loved it. Daenys wrinkled her nose, Is this what they want? Blood and guts, aimless violence?

"Ser Artos Karstark will not tilt against Ser Daemon Targaryen, Prince of the City!" Master of Revels announced once again. Daenys went numb. She didn’t won’t either of them hurt, even her Uncle, no matter what terms they were on. They jousted and neither of them wanted to back down. Soon in the blink of an eye, black met black and Daemon was flung down from the back of his horse.

"Sword!" The Prince yelled to be tossed to him.

"Prince Daemon Targaryen wishes to continue in the contest of arms!" Master of Revels proclaimed, as Ser Artos dismounted his own horse and was given a sword. Both of them started circling one another like vultures. Then the sword dance began, and by the looks of it, Ser Artos was a talented swordsman. Dameon had a little time to recover between each blow that was delivered and defended. Daenys’ breath stopped after the Northern knight managed to disarm Daemon and knock him down to the ground. Ser Arthos’ steel went below Prince’s throat. Daenys’ heart started beating faster, Surely, Ser Artos wouldn’t kill his Prince! He’s an honorable man.

"Yield." She heard him say. Thank the Gods. Yield you, idiot! She screamed inside, seeing that her sister was also on edge and the whole crowd have fallen silent. Daenys saw Daemon chuckle before surrendering to the younger knight. The crowd cheered once again, this time for Daenys’ handsome knight. She joined them, as Ser Artos approached the stands on his black stallion, removing his winged helmet, "I was hoping to ask for the younger Princess’s favor." Daenys smiled feeling lost in his blue eyes. When Rhaenyra notice that her sister remained paralyzed, she nudged her with her elbow. Her younger twin jumped from her seat, giving her sister an annoyed glare. Her twin only smirked back. The silver-haired girl carefully took her white colored wreath and placed it on the knight’s lance. "I wish you luck, Ser Karstark." She smiled down at him.

He returned it with even warmer one then any dragon fire, and her heart melted, "Thank you, Princess."

In the corner of her eye, she could see that Daemon was observing with resentment their exchange. Shit, she silently cursed. I will never hear the end of it now- Her trail of thoughts and all of her sudden worries were gone when she noticed that Ladies and Lords started to leave all around Rhaenyra and her. The somber look of her cousin Rhaenys caught her attention the most and her father was nowhere to be seen, On, no… The Princess felt her whole world crashing down onto her. Falling into a never-ending abyss. Dread filled every bone in her body. No… Gods no…

I had a dream that I was fine I wasn't crazy, I was divine I, can fly

[kingsmakers]

Saemyra Velaryon in After Dark

On the same warm summer’s day in King’s Landing, Aemond Targaryen and Saemyra Velaryon are born. It is the first time in his life that he is eclipsed by Rhaenyra’s eldest child, but certainly not the last. Saemyra has a dragon hatch in the cradle. Saemyra is her mother’s heir. Saemyra is the apple of her grandfather Viserys’ eye, despite the whispers that circulate court regarding her heritage.

Anyone can see the truth. In Saemyra’s dark eyes and hair, in her warm colouring. Only a fool could not see that Rhaenyra’s eldest daughter was fathered during her clandestine encounter with Criston Cole.

Saemyra’s steps, along with those of her younger brothers, are plagued with rumours and callous eyes, and no gaze is more hateful than that of Aemond. His niece has stolen everything from him, any shred of glory that he might have held for himself. He will take it back from her, piece by piece.

Forever tag: @joaquinwhorres @jvstjewels @starcrossedjedis @akabluekat @a-song-of-quill-and-feather @asirensrage @noratilney @bravelittleflower @villain-connoisseur @alicent-hightcwer @booty-boggins @sentineljedi @decennia @hiddenqveendom @bisexualterror@arrthurpendragon @foxesandmagic @raith-way @drbobbimorse @dio-nysvs @kitkat-writes-stuff @misskatiewrites @emilykaldwen

[vhagarswar]

push and pull doors

Aemond is the kind of guy to knock on a stores door even if it says: OPEN.

Proof from the books

Cole: remind me why we are here again

Aegon: Aemond needs a woman

Aemond: I don't. I have a source that told me something interesting

Aegon: Hmm. Like how pretty you are with your scratched out eye? Like some angry hissing lap cat?

Aemond:

Cole: let's focus.

Aemond:*politely knocks on door of brothel*

Aegon:?

Cole:?

Eye witnesses:???

Aegon:let me

Aegon:*pushes a pull door* son of a bitch. They really must not want us there.

Cole:*pulls the door*

Cole: After you two.

[targaryen-vigilante-wizard-jedi]

WITH EYES LIKE MINE

House of the Dragon (female)Targaryenreader insert

Chapter Warnings - Alicent's skin picking, mentions of infertility, depressed reader-character with eating troubles.

Chapter 7- Flowers Have Thorns

120AC

The red-haired Queen's fingers bled as she continued to pick the skin surrounding her nails.

Her faithful knight stood before her, relaying the events of late that night to his Queen.

Alicent shut her eyes pitifully as if it would relieve her of her stresses.

"Prince Aegon is asleep within his chambers. The Princess' servants will remain with her for however long you wish, my Queen."

"Thank you...ser Criston." She trailed towards the end of her sentence, growing rather distracted by the ache in her head.

She slowly made her way to the lone chair by the fire. She was no Targaryen, but she found fire brought her comfort just as it did them.

She had failed to sleep the night prior, the news the maester had told her distrupted any feelings of tranquility or peace she had been gifted upon seeing her daughter wake.

"She can't birth children," her statement was rather blunt, but there was a solemness to her tone. She hid her tears by gazing into the fire.

Ser Criston stood silent, unsure of what to say or how to comfort the woman who had given him a second chance at life.

"One of the little wenches pierced her womb," Alicent paused to sniff, soaking up any tears from her eyes and moisture that left her nose.

Even the guard cringed at the mention of that night, the two distinct screams piercing his ears as though it were happening again right that very moment.

"If I had known then, I would have slaughtered every last one of them," she spat hatefully in a manner unbecoming of the King's lady wife.

"Viserys cowers away from consequence, especially when it involves Rhaenyra." she stood to her feet, wiping at the tears in her eyes before she began to pace the room.

It was one of her signature moves that notified Ser Criston of an oncoming vent about the King

"He refuses to do anything about it, says the matter has been dealt with - that Rhaenyra has been 'driven' away because of a mistake." The red-haired woman scoffed incredulously whilst shaking her head, growing more irate as she gave thought to her husband's words.

She then stopped and turned to her head to the silent knight, revealing her frowning lips and mournful gaze. "How am I to trust you? I called upon you that night to serve justice. Am I not your Queen?"

He had wondered how long it would take for her to speak about his poor show of loyalty toward her but in such a situation his hands were tied, he would have been slain within seconds by either the orders of the King or his impulsive brother.

"You are." Ser Criston declared loudly without hesitation, taking a step towards her. He would have dropped to his knees and pledged his allegiance there and then if she had commanded it.

Alicent's expression hardened slightly as she breathed in deeply, a way to stop another onslaught of tears before turning her face towards the lewd murals decorating the walls.

"You will continue to guard Y/N. Do not repeat what I have told you to anyone, including her. She's too young to understand the impacts of barrenness."

"Of course, my Queen."

A quiet thud reverberated through which directed the Queen's attention towards it.

Ser Criston stood abruptly and made his way towards it, but upon opening it, found there was no one there.

________

Aemond hid walked briskly to his sister's room after having almost been discovered by his mother.

He had been eavesdropping too closely to the door and accidentally moved his shoulder against it, spurring his Ser Cole to open it.

Barren.

Aemond felt a mix of emotions in that moment, guilt, sadness, anger but mostly joy.

He had read what happened to women who couldn't birth children, most would turn to the faith, perhaps become septas, others whores but a barren woman would be spared the grueling challenges and labours of the birthing bed.

Y/N would never have to worry about marrying. Men need offspring. A barren woman was not desirable even if she was of high status or a descendant of the Conqueror himself.

Aemond was no fool, he knew that beauty and good looks weren't the only redeeming qualities a woman should have but if beauty was the only thing a woman should possess, there was no woman more beautiful than his sister who was but a girl. Even the men at court had made unsavoury comments about his sister's silver spun hair and ethereal lilac eyes.

"What a pretty face she has now...can only imagine how beautiful she'll be as a girl of four and ten."

"Never have I seen a more womanly child than the young Princess Y/N."

"What beautiful children she'll make."

Their words in his head made Aemond frown and outwardly cringe, but he pondered Y/N's beauty longer.

He wouldn't deny that he had given some thought to marrying Y/N, ever since he had learned of Aegon the Conqueror taking his sisters as wives he had envisioned himself with a Targaryen bride by his side, it was what he deserved, being of dragon blood himself.

Even if she could bear him no children, he'd still have her as his wife so long as Mother lets him. He couldn't see why she'd object if she had planned for Aegon and Helaena to be wed soon.

"Do not repeat what I have told you to anyone,"

His mother's words rung in his head. If she did not wish for her loyal guard to repeat her words then it was clear that she had no intention of being truthful to the many lingering suitors who were eager to pounce and prey upon Y/N when she came of age, some having waited since the announcement of her birth.

She'd be married off to some old perverted, unworthy Lord to warm his bed under the pretence of birthing him children. Surrounded by strangers, and only allowed scarce visits to her family.

That notion made Aemond want to scream his fury. He wouldn't cope well on his own with Aegon lingering around the corner, waiting to torment him further for his missing eye - not that he actually had. So he swallowed his guilt and sighed as he realised what he'd have to do.

Y/N wouldn't be stolen away from him or married, even if it was her duty, not if Aemond played his part right.

_________

The little girl sat in her bed from which she only left to empty her bladder or bowels. She hadn't eaten yet, and it was noticeable as her once cherubic face had become thin and slightly gaunt.

She only briefly remembered the night prior; Aegon was emotional, which would happen frequently when he downed too many cups. Ser Criston Cole was there too, though she failed to remember why he had intruded upon her chambers as her mind was too preoccupied with her 'night terror'

Her eyelids struggled to stay open, she hadn't gotten much sleep. Visions and night terrors plagued her sleep, and they always ended the same way; with her body enveloped by a mysterious figure as she burned in dragon flame.

The door to her chambers opened quietly, but she took no notice. Her fingers nipped at the skin of her elbow in an effort to keep herself from sleep.

A displeased sigh informed her of another's presence, and she briefly turned her head to catch a glimpse of Aemond who had begun to hide his scar with an eyepatch.

His scar was healing and had scabbed up but he still seemed himself. Y/N had lost any fight or resolve after her recurring visions. She admired Aemond's strength and resilience, he always was a survivor to their brother and the bastards' cruel antics.

"You must eat, sister." Aemond said as he grasped the platter, which lay on a dark wood table on the other side of the room.

"You're going to make mother worry even more."

"Eating makes me tired," she paused before looking directly at him. Her voice grew quieter, and her body shivered as she spoke, "but I don't want to sleep anymore."

Aemond looked at her before giving her a sympathetic nod. She turned her head from him and gazed outside of the small balcony of her room.

"They won't let me see Veranys."

At her words, Aemond's stance stiffened. The sight of the dragon fleeing Driftmark appeared in his mind. How could no one have told her yet?

"I think Mother worries that he'll hurt me, but he wouldn't, he's good. She hurts me, though."

Aemond's eye glanced to her fingers, which had begun to pick at her skin. It was the same habit their mother had, and Aemond detested the sight of her bloodied and cut fingertips.

"He'd sometimes sing, but I haven't heard him yet."

Aemond would have teased her for her choice of words had the circumstances not been so grim. Veranys would shriek until Y/N visited him. It resembled that of a dog whining and pining for its master.

"I fear something is wrong. He doesn't feel close by." Those words only confirmed to Aemond that he should be the one to tell her before days turn into weeks, and she finds out then.

Wordlessly he approached the furthest side of the bed where Y/N sat and sat alongside her, his feet hanging over the edge of it.

He took her hands in his but kept his gaze on the sky outside.

"Aemond?" She looked at him quizzically but he couldn't meet her gaze.

"Veranys is gone." It was a lot more blunt than Aemond wished and as he reflected on his choice of words he cursed his own name.

"He-wh-what?"

"He attacked the handlers - I tried to calm him, but he wouldn't listen. He knew something was wrong. He left Driftmark - no one has seen him since." The words spilt too quickly from his lips, like wine from Aegon's cups, as he struggled to keep his collected composure.

Veranys must have thought she was too weak to survive, but the realisation did nothing to dull Y/N's heartache.

Y/N silently removed her hands from Aemond's tightened grasp and stood, with both hands clutched to each elbow as a means to comfort herself.

"No...why would he leave me?" Her voice was almost a breath as she struggled to calm her frantic heart.

Aemond averted his gaze to his boots and dared not look up even as he heard his sister's breathing turn to sobs.

He continued to listen to her sobs and pleads for her dragon to return to her, as punishment to himself for making her cry.

"Veranys, māzigon arlī naejot nyke! (Come back to me)"

As his sister spoke, he forced himself to look at her. She had her back turned to him as she stood out on the balcony of her chambers wailing, heedless of the guards and smallfolk who could hear her cries but did not understand them.

"Kesan daor sagon nākostōb�� dombo... please (I will not be weak anymore)." She dropped to her knees on the balcony, weeping.

It felt as though he had taken half of her heart with him when he deserted her.

Just as he stood to his feet on his way to comfort her, the doors to her chambers were slammed open causing him to halt.

His mother, followed by Ser Criston Cole, ran into the room, frantically crying Y/N's name.

Giving her son only a short suspicious glance and a comforting pat on his shoulder, she stumbled towards her troubled daughter and lowered herself to her position.

She gently pulled the young girl into her arms and cradled her, just as Aegon had done the night prior.

"Hush, my sweet. All will be well." Alicent mumbled into her daughter's unruly hair.

"No it won't," the little girl wept. "Nothing will ever be the same again."

_________

Three days passed, and each night, Y/N would experience the same dream with the same voice in the same land.

Each night, she would wake with a scream as the dragon engulfed them both in flames.

The King had ordered no one to enter her chambers if she screamed, to which Alicent became irate.

"She is a child, Viserys!"

"She must overcome this through her own will, Alicent. She is a strong girl"

King Viserys had decided Y/N had grieved Veranys enough and that she must behave as a princess does so that same morning, he had ordered the servants to wash Y/N, to whom she would normally chatter and laugh with but the girl only lay limp and silent as they bathed her, prepared her hair into one singular braid and dressed her in a simple golden dress.

Ser Criston Cole stood guard outside of her chambers as the servants led her out of the room. Ser Criston dismissed the servants with a nod before turning his attention to the sullen Princess.

He was not a man to offer words of solace, but to see the young girl so quiet made him feel uncomfortable.

"Have you been sleeping better?" He asked despite already knowing the answer. He was the one who had heard her screams each night.

"I think we both know the answer to that," she muttered quietly, her eyes focused ahead of her.

Her tone no longer sounded quite so airy and sweet as it once had been.

The knight gave a curt nod as his mind contemplated some more words he could speak to her.

"It will be Prince Aemond's nameday soon. Have you thought of a gift to give him?"

The girl gave thought to his words before speaking. "Aemond will not be so bothered by gifts now he has a dragon." She did not mean to sound so envious, but it could not be helped as she had heard of his riding adventures the day prior when he had visited her.

"It is not always the gift that matters." Ser Criston voiced, and Y/N understood what he was implying. She would ponder what to gift her brother later that evening.

The Septa was displeased with Y/N's late arrival, and she scolded both ser Criston and Y/N before promptly closing the door in the guard's face.

The youngest Princess seated herself beside Helaena who had eagerly waved at her in excitement.

"I'm overjoyed that you've woken, Y/N, I knew you would." The older sister beamed before she clutched Y/N's hand comfortingly.

"Grandsire wouldn't allow me to visit you. He said it would distract me from my studies," she paused before giving her younger sister a regretful smile. "These weeks have been lonely without your company."

Y/N squeezed Helaena's hand soothingly before responding. "I missed you too, Helaena."

"It is good to see you, Princess, but you were late for today's lesson and have much to learn from the weeks prior."

Y/N did not respond as she knew the Septa sought an apology, but she refused to apologise to the woman who had treated her horribly for the past three years.

The Septa cleared her throat as a means to disguise her shock at the young girl's disregard but did not dwell on it further.

"We will continue our embroideries. Helaena, I know you have almost completed your butterfly embroidery."

Helaena nodded excitedly before picking up the two embroideries, which sat on the small end table beside her seat.

"Both of you look over your works while I retrieve some more needles and threads. It appears Helaena has used most of the threads, and you Y/N happen to have misshapen your needles" The septa turned her disapproving gaze to both girls, Helaena shyly averted her eyes while Y/N stared back at the mean middle-aged woman.

The septa excused herself, slightly faltering under Y/N's piercing gaze just as Helaena placed Y/N's embroidery in her lap.

"I noticed you never had the chance to finish it. It's very good." Helaena's words were ones of encouragement, but Y/N knew she spoke in pretence. She did not voice her thoughts though.

"What are those little parts sticking out of the stem?" The older sister asked, squinting her eyes at the tiny details in her sister's embroidery.

"Flowers have thorns." Y/N replied quietly, judging her own clumsy work.

"This flower is called a 'bougainvillea'. I saw it in my book. It's one of my favourites - I like to think the thorns protect the flower from being plucked away by unworthy people" she paused her sentence, as her imagination conjured a beautiful royal purple bougainvillea in her mind, like the one she had created.

"They protect its beauty. It has many meanings, but one of my favourite meanings is that it offers protection." Her lips twitched upwards as she ran a hand over her embroidery as though she were really touching the purple thorny flower.

Helaena adorned a sweet smile at her sister's musings and watched as her eyes studied her own craft. She was just glad to see her in the flesh, alive and speaking about flowers as she had always done.

As the end of the lesson loomed, Y/N's rather shambolic purple bougainvillea embroidery was nearly completed, and Helaena had begun a new one.

She planned to create an embroidery featuring a sword (an idea the septa showed great disdain towards) to gift to Aemond, which left Y/N to wonder what she could gift him.

He had everything he had always wanted; for Aegon to stop bullying him, the Velaryon bastards to leave, and a dragon. All that was missing was his stolen eye, but she could not return his eye to him.

"Stupid Velaryons" she mumbled spitefully, which the septa took notice of.

"It is unladylike to mumble and mutter princess, do speak up." The septa scolded before her eyes settled on her embroidery.

"Why have you chosen such a hideous flower? Your needlework is resemblant of a dogs' mess." She never judged Helaena for choosing bugs, so why was her choice of a thorny flower so hideous to the woman? After two exhaustive hours of enduring the septa's comments of belittlement, her final comment had caused Y/N to throw her embroidery to the floor. She pierced her finger with the needle in the process.

Swiftly, she stood to her feet and glared towards the septa. "I'll be in my chambers." She spoke lowly. Her eyes never left the septa's startled face.

"You can not leave a lesson without being given permission to do so." The septa retorted, taking two steps towards the girl who merely rolled her eyes in an exaggerated manner.

"Watch me." She spat before she briskly opened one of the doors and purposely slammed it in efforts of angering the horrid septa further.

Without looking at him, she spoke to the knight who had been instructed to escort her to her next class. She knew he had just returned from training her brothers.

"I will be returning to my chambers, with or without your company." Her voice was nonchalant, as she walked past him, uncaring of what he would choose to do.

The septa blundered through the doors, her face reddened with rage and embarrassment, but the princess did not spare her a glance, even as she shrieked down the halls.

"Your father shall hear about your ludicrous and disrespectful behaviour at once!"

Finding her threat comical, the young girl rolled her eyes again before responding.

"It is unladylike to yell. You of all people should know that!" Y/N bellowed as loudly as she could in efforts to taunt the seething septa further.

The guard hid his amusement from the septa as he escorted the young princess back to her chambers.

[Completed this chapter quicker than I had planned. It is a longer one, I know, but I want to make my chapters longer and more detailed now that the story has progressed. I'm getting pretty invested and excited to develop Y/N's personality and relationships further as the story continues.

Remember, this won't have a happy ending, folks!

I do plan on writing multiple stories about HOTD in the future too, and perhaps some other TV shows/movies.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter and didn't find Helaena too ooc, I'm not great at writing for young Helaena, but as she gets older, it will become easier to write.

Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter!]

[kazz-brekker]

why did they have to make father gomez hot … this is just criston cole all over again

[withouthonor]

@fyredreamt from here.

violence sang in the knight's blood as it had in so many that'd come before him; however, this song went far beyond the usual violence in a kingsguard line of work. for there was no one ser criston cole cared for and loved more than his queen and her children, so protective of them had he grown in the many years since leaving the princess's service for that of his clement queen. he had watched them grow, placing tourney swords into aegon and aemond's hands as if they were his own blood and not that of the king. he had watched sweet helaena and her love for her creatures and bugs grow with the softest of smiles gracing his lips as she told him about each one she found.

perhaps there remained some part of him that loved rhaenyra and longed for the future he had once dreamed of for them, but it had long been buried by his complete and utter devotion to his queen and his her children.

there had been little reason for criston to jump to anger and violence before intervening in any other way. he could not even be sure that the other man meant to touch or hurt the princess, but it had not mattered to the kingsguard, and blows came quickly afterwards. while the kingsguard did not regret protecting helaena from someone that may have the intention to touch or harm her, he did regret the plain unease he had brought to her from it.

more damage had been done to the one on the other side of his fists, but still, he allowed the princess to tend to the minor injuries he had reached. so rarely she touched anyone that he would not turn her away when she wished to care for him. "princess. . ." the knight's voice is hesitant and even more so as he continued on to speak her name, ". . . helaena." once one of criston's hands are free from her care, it rose to hover inches from her elbow as he dared not touch her with such violent hands and it had always been his way of contact with her. a hand or fingers that hovered over rather than touch uninvited. "i am sorry, i should not have done such a thing in your presence," these words are soft and sincere as he watched the blood dirty her handkerchief, blood that should not be there and it was all his fault.