#ellyn even sweet

[prophecyofwinter]

Se Riña Qilōni Iprattan Se Jēdar | V

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary | Saera Targaryen daughter of Jaehaerys I ran away from Westeros to escape her fate. 45 years later her daughter Y/N Targaryen, with invitation from King Viserys wishes to go back.

Tags | Angst, Slowburn (Hot&Cold), TargCest, Smut, Standard ASOIAF content, Aemond and Reader are First Cousins Once Removed, Reader is Self-serving, tags to be added

Word Count: 3k

Prologue | Chapter IV | Chapter VI | Masterlist

Chapter V | He Won’t Forget

“It is the hour of the nightingale my lady, you must wake up.” A hushed voice stirs you from your sleep and shakes you awake. A groan escaped your throat and you opened your eyes to meet the voice that woke you. A girl no older than yourself stood above you, with pitch black hair and wearing what you would assume to be a maids attire. It was still very early in the morning, the sun hadn't even broken the horizon.

You could tell there was one other maid by the torch light, she was lighting candles that were scattered in different places throughout the room.

“She is not a lady quite yet, miss will do until then.” By the other maids' voice you could tell she was older and more seasoned. You sat up against the headboard to wake yourself up some more. Naturally, the furs that covered your body in the night slipped down exposing your upper torso.

“Miss makes me sound like a spinster.” You groaned while stretching your arms. You step out full from under the sheets, standing on the cold stone floor. The younger maid has a robe open for you to slip into and you follow.

“The Queen has ordered that you see her and the Hand of the King before midday. In that time we must get you bathed, fed, and clothed.” The older maid said while reaching for a jug to spill into a metal bathtub that you hadn’t even noticed.

“Very well. Since you’ve already seen my breasts, I assume it’s appropriate for me to ask your names?” You laugh to yourself as you wrap the front of the robe criss cross. The younger one finds it funny and lets out a soft laugh while the older one simply clears her throat.

“My name is Mela, and this young one is Ellyn. While I am experienced, you are the first person Ellyn has served so please forgive her childishness“ Mela sends a warning glare at Ellyn for her giggles. Ellyn pouts for a moment before joining Mela in emptying the water jugs. You look at the features of the two women for the first time, Mela has blonde hair and Ellyn a medium brown.

It seems counterproductive to put a robe on just to take it off moments later to bathe. As soon as they are finished filling the tub, the water has cooled enough to not be boiling hot. You grab onto both sides of the tub and sink in slowly. A moan escapes your lips as you feel your muscles truly relax. Being on a ship for almost a month didn’t give you many hot warm baths, just room temperature ones. Mela pushes you forward so she could access your back to begin washing. While Ellyn poured scented oils into the water filling your nose with a smell you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

You could fall asleep right there, especially when your hair was being washed. Her nails massaging your scalp with even better smelling things. You’ve had your hair washed by another person a few times, but then it was by one of your mothers prostitutes in the workers' baths with her breasts pressed against your back. Up in the air which one you preferred.

For the first time a while you felt fully and utterly clean. You wanted to whine when the water cooled down to the point where it was no longer comforting to sit in. Ellyn holds up the same robe as before waiting for you to slip in. Being careful to not slip as you leave the tub, you put on the robe.

————

As your hair dries, your breakfast is set in front of you. Bread, butter, assorted fruits, salted fish and sweet wine. Mela tells you this is what is normally served in Westeros, a larger variety is served if you decide to eat meals with the Targaryens. You pick and choose from what you are given and take your fill.

A knock clearly made by metal against wood rings through the quiet room. You let out a sigh having an inkling that it may be a certain white haired brother of yours. You speak out a ‘come in’, and maybe you should pick up gambling. Vaegon walked in with clinking armor and his hand on the pommel of his sword.

“Forgive me sister, I didn’t mean to interpret your very important work. But, while I don’t need permission to protect my sister, I have been allowed to be your personal guard until you're fully settled.” Vaegon held himself proudly, he’s clearly getting a kick from being allowed to stalk and follow you around in the name of protecting you. His weird little dream is being fueled.

This news makes a shiver roll down your spine. If you weren’t already full you would’ve lost your appetite. “That's… Great brother. That means you’ll be leaving after me and Aemond marry then?”

He clearly stiffens up at the implication, gripping his sword harder. “Most likely yes, unless you still need me here. I recommend you keep me here by your side.”

“No, I’m sure Volantis needs you more than I do. The temple needs you and silver wouldn’t suit you.” You say passive aggressively hoping he will get the hint. After many years he still hasn’t understood so you knew your hopes would be set to the side.

Vaegon opens his mouth again to voice his opinion but you cut him off swiftly.

“I am quite full, I should be getting dressed brother. Make your leave. Now.”

He staggers for a minute before leaving with his tail between his legs. Nothing would dissuade Vaegon from his passions, if he died his ghost would haunt you surely. When the door shut an awkward silence filled the room, neither of the maids sure what to do next. You realize how this must look, harassing your brother. But you know him, they don’t.

The chair squeaks on the floor when you stand up to face your maids and give them a smile. “It's about time I get dressed, no? I would hate to be late.”

A ‘yes of course’ was said in usion and you were guided to a full mirror. You stripped from your robe, seeing yourself fully for the first time in a while. A month at sea and you still looked as beautiful as always.

From what you have seen, Aemond is a proud and cold man. Most likely due to your bastard status. But, men are men at the end of the day, their desires will get the best of them even if it’s against their morals.

You slip into your small clothes, in the mirror you see Mela holding a red dress that you don’t recognize from the ones you brought. You turn to take a proper look at it, it looks like a fairly simple dress. Long sleeves with slits from the forearms down, straight neckline, long skirt, faint decorations throughout, and there's a chain resting on the dress that will dangle across your waist.

“Whose dress is this? Surely you can’t just have ones this nice lying around?”

“Well, it did belong to someone but it was left behind over 6 years ago and hadn't been worn even longer ago than that. Queen Alicent said to go through old wardrobes and find you something for the time being.”

You hoped it was at least washed before giving it to you. It was very pretty, very pretty, but second hand all the same. It was bunched up for you to step in and put on. You felt the strings on the back be picked up and before you could react they were harshly yanked back and all the air was forced from your lungs. A whine escaped from your throat and hands gripped the sides of the mirror. A string of panicked apologies follow as you recollect yourself.

“No no, it’s quite alright. I just wasn’t ready. Whoever owned this had real taste, they have my thanks.” You posed in the mirror, finding a position that wasn't crushing your ribs. The chain was clasped round your waist and groups of your hair are braided back.

A smile creeps onto your face. This small taste of importance is greater than any wine in Essos. Baths to yourself, food served directly in your chambers, lovely kind maids who dress you themselves, soon to be called a Princess with a Prince by your side… It is almost enough.

—————

Vaegon stood two paces behind you. You originally told him to stand 10 paces behind but he insisted. You can’t win every battle. A guard walked you both deeper into the keep. He didn’t tell you where you were going, just that it was by the Queen's orders. You pray it isn’t to get probed again.

Suddenly you hear footsteps approaching rapidly towards you. You turn around and see a clearly Targaryen man, white wavy hair and a slightly shorter stature than Aemond. He looks excited, really excited.

“Just the girl I was looking for. I needed to see you for myself.” He caught up quickly and walked right next to you. The guard uttered a ‘my Prince’ and continued his walk. He could either be Aegon or Daeron.

“You’re Aegon, yes?”

“Did my good looks and charm give it away?” Aegon laughs and you laugh with him. Aegon looks around with his hands out feigning shock. “Where’s my brother?”

“I don’t think Aemond likes me that much.” You let out huff mixed with a laugh while gazing at Aegon from the side.

“He’s always had a stick up his ass, don’t take it too personally. He’ll come around eventually, I certainly would.” Aegon whispers the last part into your ear with a hand on your back, you can smell the wine on his breath. You are surprised by his boldness, but far from the worst things you’ve heard. You give him a straight lipped smile and lean back into him.

“Where am I going?” You whispered slowly with passive aggression.

“Oh? You haven’t heard? I’m surprised you haven’t been told. In the throne room they are reading your letter of legitimization.” He wears a smile so wide you would know he’s drunk immediately. Your eyes go wide. Is it happening this fast? You just got here, you’d thought it would at least take some time.

“Normally it’s a simple letter, but since you are already here…” Aegon makes a weird gesture with his hands.

That makes sense, all you need is a letter from the king, and the King has already asked you to come. You imagine the rest of them would just want to get it out of the way. At least Aegon doesn’t seem to care, maybe too drunk to care.

Not too long until you arrive at the doors to the iron throne. Doors as tall as the ceiling and two men stand at the front, noticing Aegon and you they grip onto the rings of the door and pull them open.

The first thing that graces your eyes is the Iron Throne. It was grand, on top of all those steps with swords casted together. It entranced you. Your mother told you about the Iron Throne, only once. She said her father sat on it like a god and he called her a whore. She’d hoped that it would stab him through the chest just as it did to Maegor.

Snapping you out of your short lived daydream, Aegon grabbed your wrist and led you in a direction. All of the lords and ladies were staring at you both, you hope it wouldn’t linger for long. Near the front of the room you could see that it was Aemond, Alicent, and another silver haired girl. Helena, you believe you were told?

“Look who I found! Ran into her on the way here.” Aegon walked you over to Aemond directly and grabbed his arm and forcibly linked your and Aemonds arms together.

“I believe you lost this brother.” Aegon patted his brother on the back and caressed your shoulder. Between the two of you he caught a glimpse of a servant boy carrying wine and simply moved on to drink his fill. Aegon's mind is an enigma…

Aemond lets out a huff but doesn’t let go. He leans into you with darkened eyes. “What do you think you are doing?”

“I was talking to my future brother-in-law. He is quite funny.” You laugh in an attempt to lighten his mood. Of course, this doesn’t work and Aemond tightens his grip on your arm. Eyes were still on you both so he tried to make it look like a simple conversation.

“Don’t.”

Before you could scoff in Aemonds face, the doors are pulled open once again. You turn your head to see an older man with brown hair and a thick beard. This clearly is not King Viserys by the state of him.

“King Viserys is still too unwell to sit at court. As Otto Hightower, Hand of the King, I will assume his courtly duties.” The room is silent and there’s no sound but the clicks of his heels on the floor going across the floor, up the steps and sitting on the throne.

“First things first, a formal declaration of legitimization from King Viserys himself.” Otto held out a rolled up letter with a red seal holding it together. “Come. Present yourself to the court.” He motioned for you to step closer to the open center, Aemond released his hold and nudged you to go.

You detached from Aemond and walked to the center of the room in front of the Iron Throne. You swallowed hard with your hands folded in front of you, head held high. You wish you’d at least been told this was happening. If it wasn’t for Aegon you wouldn't have had the slightest idea.

The seal was popped open and the scroll unraveled by Otto and cleared his voice before he spoke.

‘As Viserys Targaryen, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.

It is with much honor to the Targaryen name,

My Cousin, Y/N of Volantis, daughter of Princess Saera Targaryen, is declared Princess Y/N Targaryen of House Targaryen.

From this day until your last.’

An applause echoed throughout the room, no doubt one done out of obligation. A smile decorated on your face hiding your anxieties and swirling thoughts.

“King Viserys and House Targaryen have my love and appreciation for allowing me into their walls. My mother is extremely pleased with this outcome.” You make a curtsey before the throne. Otto nods and gestures for you to return to where you stood previously next to Aemond.

You thought such a thing would be longer but it makes sense. Bastard legitimization isn’t something that is celebrated as a great thing like Weddings or Name Days. You stand next to Aemond for the next few proceedings until Alicent has Aemond to lean over to her and whisper something in his ear.

—————

You’re linked by the arm with Aemond as he walks you through the palace gardens. You assume this is what Alicent whispered to Aemond about. As your protector, Vaegon is nearby but you try to ignore him.

There is still a tension between you and Aemond that has persisted for the past 24 hours. You are unsure if it is just his nature or if it’s due to other obvious factors. Legitimization doesn’t change the social problems with being a bastard in Westeros. You didn’t expect it to, but you’re nothing if not ambitious.

“Do you take many walks through the gardens or am I special?” You laugh to break the silence.

“I prefer to walk in the gardens at night. For Privacy and it’s better at night.” Aemond doesn’t attempt to make eye contact, preferring to look forward.

“I would take similar walks myself in the courtyards in the Black Walls.” Aemond looks to the side ever so slightly with confusion. “Oh, Right. The Black Walls is this gigantic oval of walls that contains all kinds of things. Palaces, Courtyards, Temples and more. I think I’ll start missing it sometime soon.” Rambling and reminiscing makes you feel better.

Aemond seems to actually take interest, making full eye contact. “I believe I read about the Black Wall before. Only people who can trace their ancestry to Valyria are allowed in, correct?” He talks in a tone you haven’t heard yet, he’s being genuine.

A smile paints your face “You are well read. My father has property in those walls and my mother needs help in her older age so I would split my time between the two.” Hopefully you can visit soon, but realistically it wouldn’t happen for another year or more.

“Your father? No one seems to know anything about your father except that he has quite a bit of money.”

“Maybe I’ll tell you someday if I really like you. I might even want to take you to Volantis someday.” You tease him, holding onto him a little more snugly.

Aemond likes this banter showing you a small smile for the first time. Though, this doesn’t last long when you see a flicker behind his eyes and he pulls back emotionally and physically.

“Forgive me for cutting our walk short. I have lost track of time and I must head to the dragon pit.” He says with the same tone as he had with anything before this conversation. You swallow hard and attempt to say anything.

Aemond puts his gloved hand on your cheek and kisses the other. “I hope to see you at dinner.”

“I hope the same.”

Aemond takes his leave and all you do is watch him walk away. You bring your fingertips to your cheek and trace the area he kissed you on, your face drops with a sad expression.

“He remembered what you are, Sister. He won’t forget.” With Aemond gone, Vaegon is more comfortable getting closer to you. You hate that he is right. You can’t let him of all people be right.

It’s only been a day and you're chipping at Aemond faster than you thought. It feels like he’s chipping at you at the same time.

[flowerandblood]

To desire, to love, to care (Oneshot)

The Impossible Choice Series Special Chapter

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • female ]

[ description: After years spent in Borros Baratheon's fortress, Aemond chooses his youngest daughter as his future wife. The closer to their wedding date, the more he begins to understand where his real home is. Devastated by this discovery, he consoles himself with the thought that he will finally be reunited with the one he has chosen and create his own family with her, but to do this he has to wait until his wedding night. Or not? ]

[ warnings: sex content, oral sex, fingering, kissing, smut, angst, sexual tension, domination, violence, swearing, kind of incest but not actually ]

This oneshot is an alternate reality from The Impossible Choice Series where, according to Aemond’s words in Chapter 49, he is sent to Storm’s End by his father when he is still just a child. It shows what would happen and how it would affect Aemond and Lady Baratheon, what his relationship with Borros, Royce and her other sisters would be like. This oneshot is part two of Brother, Lover, Son story, it's stands apart from the main story and is a big, long “what if”. 

Other oneshot form the same AU: Daugther, Lover, Sister

Moodboards before you start reading and want feel the mood:

Aemond and Lady Baratheon • Storm’s End Stronghold • Baratheon Family • Lady Baratheon Gowns • Aemond • Lady Baratheon Mother

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Main story and my other fics: Masterlist

______

He had never been so happy in his life as he was after their betrothal was officially announced. Cassandra and Ellyn had quickly come to terms with his decision, and he didn't care about Floris or Maris' opinions. Borros and Royce seeing his engagement, the glances and quiet words he exchanged at the table with his future wife finally calmed down, reassuring themselves that his decision really did stem from his affection.

His wife-to-be, after what they did almost every night, appeared to him as even more beautiful and even more desirable, and although they allowed themselves to become intimate, letting his fat erection slide deep into her body, he promised himself that he would not undress her or fill her with his seed until their wedding night.

He knew he shouldn't touch her until the day of their nuptials, but he couldn't help himself.

If she had been a complete stranger to him it would have been easier, but they had shared a lifetime together, his years filled with a whole range of feelings towards her that he had not been able to reveal, which now appeared to him like a stream from which she could drink by the handful.

She knew that he loved her.

She knew it even though he had never said it to her.

She could see it in the way he looked at her when, as usual, the three of them practised in the courtyard in the morning, when, hot from the duel with Royce, he glanced at her from the corner of his eye, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

When he stared down at her, panting along with her in a sweet effort of pleasure, with the thrusts of his hips again and again sinking deep between her thighs, experiencing the greatest intimacy that could unite a man and a woman.

She could hear it in his voice when, at her request, he would read to her as he had when she was a small child. This time, however, he let her lie between his thighs and snuggle against his chest, the great book of the complicated history of House Targaryen before them.

She felt that as his future wife she must thoroughly understand and know his lineage.

She could not hide her surprise when she saw their family tree on one of the pages – although she knew it, the number of marriages between sisters and brothers shocked her.

"If you had a second sister, would you marry her?" She asked quietly, her voice quivering with uncertainty, as if she felt that by her not being a Targaryen she was his second, inferior choice that he had been forced into by fate.

He hummed under his breath, leaning in, pushing back her hair with the tip of his nose, placing a soft, warm kiss on her neck.

"As far as I can remember, the Seven have bestowed upon me the grace of having as many as six sisters, though not all of them are as wise as I might wish." He murmured lowly, trailing his nose upwards to her jaw, which he brushed with his lips, feeling the heat at the words he himself had spoken.

He felt her shiver all over, a red flush on her cheek, as she glanced up at him in disbelief, her lips parted slightly, her eyes shining.

"− to me you will always be my brother − that's what you told me − isn't it? − have you changed your mind? −" He asked, feeling his manhood pulsate strongly at this realisation, at the fact that he was in fact taking as his wife the girl he had seen as his family for years, that his decision was no different from what his ancestors had done, and he felt a kind of pride at the thought.

For the first time in those many years when Viserys had sent him to Storm's End he felt that his presence here really did make sense.

That Borros was more of a father to him than the King himself had ever been.

Borros knew him and his withdrawn nature, and yet he was still able to reach out to him, to instil in him the values and principles that he himself upheld.

Royce was the big brother to him that Aegon was unable to be, and although he could sometimes be irresponsible, he could always count on him, and Royce always stood by his side.

And so was she.

He realised that he hadn't even noticed how they had become inseparable over the years, that they spent virtually all their days together.

He had tried to pretend, to divide himself into 'himself' and 'them', but he realised that this had never been true, because he had never been excluded by them or repelled by them himself – they moved around each other's orbits like planets, drawing each other close.

"− of course not −" She mumbled quietly, pulling him out of his reverie, ashamed of her own words and their context, of how inappropriate and shameless they were. She lifted her hand and her soft, warm fingers ran over his scarred cheek.

He swallowed loudly, pressing his forehead against her temple, his hand put his book on the cold stone floor and returned back to her body, only to grasp her soft, plump breast with a greedy, thirsty gesture, separated from her hot skin by nothing but just the thin fabric of her nightgown.

She drew in a loud breath, her swollen lips parted in sweet moan. He could see in her gaze what he wanted – hot affection and a boundless, deep desire that only he could quench.

Instinctively, they sank into each other's mouths, wet and thirsty for closeness, sucking and licking with a loud, sticky clicks, silent sighs rippling out of her throat each time his fingers pulled gently at her nipple, playing with it.

"− please −" She whimpered as she grasped his other hand in hers, sliding it lower between her thighs in a slow, tentative motion. He murmured low into her mouth, delighted at how direct she had become, how he had completely opened her up to all physical sensations in recent weeks.

His fingers nimbly pulled the material of her nightgown upwards and sank into her hot, wet womanhood, her moisture slick against his skin as he traced his fingers gently over her folds.

She squirmed before him, thirsting for more intense caresses, but he wanted to teach her patience, taking the greatest satisfaction from the sight of her twitching with pleasure.

"− Aemond −" She mumbled furrowing her eyebrows, rushing him, knowing he was playing with her. He only smirked, feeling that he was completely hard, his length hidden in his breeches pushing against her buttocks, pulsing intensely.

"− not like that − that's not what you called me −" He murmured amused, his fingers merely teasing her puffy bud, driving her to desperation – she quivered silently in his arms, searching for any source of more intense rubbing.

"− please, my Prince −" She mewled, and he shook his head, letting out a loud expression of disappointment and tsked.

She swallowed loudly as if she suddenly understood what he meant and turned her face towards him, running her hand over his jaw in an affectionate gesture, her nose pressed against his cheek.

"− please, brother −" She mumbled and moaned loudly when she felt his fingers dig into her sensitive, fleshy structure, with sure, intense circular motions massaging her pearl, making a powerful shiver of pleasure pass through her.

"− just like that − tell your big brother what you need −" He cooed as he leaned down, placing loud, sticky kisses on her neck, rubbing involuntarily against her buttocks, unable to bear the sheer tension he felt between his thighs.

He heard her cry loudly, simultaneously ashamed and aroused, her moisture running straight down onto his fingers, her slit pulsing hard, all hot, ready to welcome him inside her.

"− inside me − please, put it nside me −" She sobbed, and he lost the remnants of his strong will, letting her go, reaching quickly for the clasp of his belt.

Taking advantage of her freedom, she quickly turned to face him, sitting down on top of him with her arms around his neck and hovering a tad, lowering herself onto his fat length with such confidence and lightness that he groaned, surprised.

"− fuck −" He exhaled, tilting his head back, leaning it against the cold stone wall, clenching his eyes – he placed his hands on her hips as she began to rise and fall onto him, panting loudly along with him.

"− brother −" She moaned out, and he growled like an animal, slamming his cock into her with sure, deep thrusts of his hips, stretching her wet, hot muscles trying fruitlessly to resist him, looking up at her from below.

She kissed him, leaning over him, her hands entwined in his hair, her slick tongue sliding deep into his throat, giving him the feeling that he felt her all over him, that they were one.

He had to slide out of her embarrassingly fast – the speed with which his fulfilment came surprised him and her, but afterwards he took pity on her nonetheless and brought her to fulfilment with his two long fingers, sucking and licking her nipples through her nightgown.

She was his.

The faster the moment of his journey to King's Landing approached, the more Storm's End seemed like home to him. For some reason he had thought he would stay there forever, and now that he realised he hadn't, he looked around the great halls of the Baratheon stronghold with melancholy.

He had wished that he would feel joy and satisfaction at the thought of returning to Red Keep, but this was not what happened.

Instead, he felt a kind of tightness in his throat, the unfairness of it – even if part of him felt as Borros's son and Royce's brother, he could not take part in their inheritance.

He knew every nook and cranny in Storm's End, sneaking off with Royce on expeditions through dungeons and cellars. His youngest sister would sometimes sneak out with them whenever she heard them, threatening to cry loudly if they didn't let her come with them.

That's why they usually ended up walking as a threesome – he and Royce holded torches and illuminated the dark, disturbing views around them, their footsteps echoing down long corridors seemingly endless.

"It is said that the ghost of a servant girl lives here. She was murdered in her sleep, but the perpetrator was never caught." Royce began, glancing over his shoulder at his younger sister, her eyebrows arched in worry, her tightened lips expressing discomfort.

"You're lying." She muttered, but without certainty. He glanced at Royce, who looked at him expectantly walking beside him arm in arm.

"Haven't you heard about this story? She was found in a pool of blood with her throat slit. Everyone knows about it." He said indifferently, stretching his lie, hoping that if they scare her right she'll let them go on their trips alone.

He grinned when he heard her whimper in fear – she looked at them trying to see any sign that they had tricked her, but they both tried to keep stony faces, taking an unspoken satisfaction from it.

And suddenly they heard a loud rumble in front of them – they flinched and screamed, terrified, running away immediately like the most ordinary cowards.

As they ran up the great stone stairs to the floor on which their chambers were located he thought it was pitiful, but he was shaking all over – he could hear Royce trying to silence his sister, who was crying out in terror, holding her brother by his sleeve.

"− I don't want to sleep alone − I'm scared of this ghost − what will I do if it comes to me −" She mumbled between sobs, all wet with tears, barely able to get the words out between loud, ragged breaths.

The three of them ended up sleeping in Royce's bed.

At first he didn't want to stay, figuring it would show that he was scared too, which of course wasn't true, but after that he remembered the awful rumble they heard and thought that lying alone in his chamber he wouldn't sleep a wink.

That's why they all huddled under a thick furs, his youngest sister between them, snuggled into her brother, their warmth radiating in all directions making him feel safe.

He knew that if Aegon, Jace or Luke saw him now they would laugh at him, but they weren't here and he knew they would never know, so he fell asleep at last.

He woke up in the middle of the night feeling someone's small arms wrapped around him, someone's head snuggled into his chest – he knew it was her and thought she had probably mistaken him for Royce, so he didn't push her away.

He embraced her.

She was warm.

He fell asleep again.

The next day he escaped to his chamber in the morning as soon as it began to dawn, she and Royce sleeping soundly holding hands.

He felt something then looking at them, some kind of affection that made him feel ashamed and he left not wanting anyone to know what had happened.

They never spoke about it afterwards but he knew that it was a turning point for them, a moment when they subconsciously understood that they were companions.

Precisely because they were so close they had concerns about what their life would be like in King's Landing after their marriage.

"Will I still be able to train with you? After our marriage?" She asked quietly one day as they stood at a table lined with all sorts of weapons. He glanced at her, completely surprised.

He didn't know what to answer.

It wouldn't bother him, what's more, he felt that her place was by his side in every aspect of his life, but what worried him was that people would gossip about her.

Say she wasn't behaving like a lady from a great house, that she wasn't a woman worthy of a prince.

He knew she would still feel like a stranger in the Red Keep and he didn't want to add to her pain.

"I don't know." He answered honestly. "Perhaps archery. However, I don't want to promise anything."

She lowered her gaze, her whole body filled with sadness and disappointment.

He thought with pain that she would experience more of these feelings when she became his wife, when she saw what they had to face.

His family was not like them.

Aegon was not like Royce.

And while he firmly believed that she might find a friend in Helaena, the most significant thing was that his father was not Borros.

The rainy, at first sight ugly and cold stronghold in Storm's End became, years later, his asylum that he did not want to leave.

His mother, however, had made it clear that his marriage meant his return home.

The day before he was to leave Storm's End to personally oversee the preparation of her chamber for her arrival they met again in the library, horrified that they would be separated for as much as a week.

It also seemed to him that it was becoming increasingly clear to her that she was leaving her home, and although she loved him, she was suffering because of it.

"− will − will we sometimes be able to fly here together on Vhagar? − to visit my father and Royce? −" She asked uncertainly, looking at him pleadingly, needing to hear that she would be able to visit her family, that he would not lock her in a golden cage like an animal.

He lifted his hand and stroked her plump, warm cheek.

"− of course − no one will forbid us from travelling here whenever we want − if my future duties on the council allow, we will travel here as often as possible −" He said softly and she hugged him, clearly comforted by his words, sighing with relief. He kissed her hair thinking only of the fact that she would soon be his wife, that she would bear him his children.

In the Red Keep he was joyfully greeted by his mother and his sister, her children were no longer small newborns and babbled loudly in her arms.

He thought with a squeeze of his heart of his betrothed, who might be holding his child in her arms like this in the future, and felt heat in his lower abdomen, wishing only that she would join him.

As usual, the biggest disappointment for him was his father and brother – the King looked as if he was in agony, pleased to see him, expressing his pleasure that he was back and that he would soon meet his future wife, but beyond that he heard nothing more from him.

Looking at Aegon, seeing at night as he walked down the corridor how he sank between the thighs of the common servants, he felt discomfort and disgust.

He thought then of Royce, of how he would never do such thing to his own wife.

Although Criston had tried to bond with him and he respected him as a person, it wasn't the same. He and Royce understood each other without words.

However, he found with regret that, apart from his future wife, it was Borros that he missed most.

It was only when he was far away from their stronghold that he realised what a charismatic person he was, how much he influenced him with his very behaviour, the way he spoke and gestured.

He still had the daggers he had given him for his Name Day, just as he held in his heart the values he wanted to pass on to him then.

You are not my son by blood, but I made you a man.

His real father remained in Storm's End.

He was only relieved that he would become his father-in-law and his second father by marriage, allowing him at last to openly think of him that way without shame.

He oversaw the preparations for the ceremony and the furnishing of his betrothed's chamber personally. He supervised everything, from the colours of the paintings on her walls, to the choice of flowers, to the books with which her bookshelves were to be filled.

He had everything set up so that her chamber would resemble her rooms in Storm's End.

He wanted her to feel at home.

He also had his belongings moved to the chamber next to hers which were connected to each other by large double doors and could be one large room – which was his purpose.

He had no intention of living separately with her, as his father and mother did, having their rooms on two different sides of the keep.

When the day came on which she and her family were to arrive in King's Landing from the morning onwards he felt excitement and contentment, a kind of pride, as if it was his real family who were to visit him at last, as if it was just what he had been waiting for.

He, Ser Criston and his mother greeted them in person. Borros and Royce got out of the first carriage, bowing to the Queen with honour. They nodded at Criston, not paying much attention to him.

Royce surprised him by extending his hand to him, which he shook. His foster brother drew him in and gave him a quick hug, patting him manfully on the back, and he reciprocated the gesture, pulling away from him and grunting loudly.

Borros stared at him for a moment with such a look that he felt his heart squeeze. He swallowed loudly as he finally approached him, placing a hand on his shoulder, patting him like a proud father, his eyes red.

For some reason, he felt like crying as he looked at his face full of the affection he so longed to see in his king's eyes.

And then he saw her – she was standing at the back waiting her turn, her beautiful gown sewn in the Baratheon colours in the cut she always wore, with buff, slit sleeves and a low waist, with her breasts covered only by a white chemise.

She looked beaming, her face flushed, her eyes shining at the sight of him, big, hot and filled with affection, her hands folded in front of her on her abdomen in a gesture of humility.

He felt like throwing himself at her.

Gods, his sister, his lover, his future wife was beautiful.

His mother welcomed her with open arms, speaking quietly of how she hoped her journey had not been tiring and that everything was ready for their arrival.

For the first time during the supper in the Red Keep he felt that there was any life at all – Borros's low, hoarse laughter, the voice of Royce, Ellyn and his future wife filled the hall along with the voices of his mother and his grandfather.

He had feared that Borros would seem too coarse and straightforward to the Queen, but Lord Baratheon had clearly decided to tame his character in front of her and was at least behaving decently.

It was the first time in a long time that he had seen anyone bring his mother and grandfather to laughter, and he managed it with ease.

He felt relieved.

His fingers were entwined under the table on the armrest of his chair with hers, his thumb stroking steadily her warm, soft skin.

He had only dreamed of touching her, but they had promised each other that upon her arrival at the Red Keep they would not risk anyone catching them, that they would wait with any kind of physical intimacy other than a kiss or the touch of their hands until their wedding night.

Now, having her close to him, he had a feeling that he would die faster than he could last those three days.

He was not mistaken.

The next day, being in the library with her, showing her the rich collections of the Red Keep, he pressed her against one of the bookcases, lifted her up, forcing her to wrap her legs around his waist and slid his erection, throbbing with longing, inside her, babbling that he couldn't stand it when she was this close, fucking her with fast, deep thrusts, panting hard, her face pressed into his neck to muffle the loud moans of pleasure that ripped from her throat.

He had never felt so happy in his life.

He didn't let their wedding day be spoiled by his grandfather once again suggesting that the maester should make sure his wife was a maiden, meeting his categorical objection, or be ruined by his brother shouting during the wedding feast about the bedding ceremony even though he had agreed with his mother that such a humiliating tradition would not take place.

He remembered very little of the Great Sept, standing in front of hundreds of people focused only on him, feeling small and surrounded, ringing in his ears.

He only felt relieved when he saw her, her hand on her father's palm extended in front of her, her gown pearly and shiny, almost white like the colour of his hair, daisies tucked into her curls.

She looked so innocent.

He thought of nothing but her when they said their vows, when they revealed in front of everyone that from now on they belonged together in the face of the gods.

He could hear cheers and applause echoing off the walls, but all he could think about was her shy, warm smile and the tears of emotion that hid in the corners of her eyes.

They left the wedding feast embarrassingly quickly, once they had eaten and drunk, without even waiting for the fifth dance to end. He only growled to his brother that he would cut off his cock if he didn't shut his mouth after he mentioned undressing his wife again and then nodded to her to follow him.

He watched, standing in his chamber, as her servants helped her pull off her elaborate rich gown, untying her sleeves and bodice. One of them reached up to touch the flowers in her hair, but he intervened.

"No. The flowers are to stay." He said coldly with a pounding heart imagining her naked, clad only in tiny daisies entwined in her curls.

He saw her throw him a look full of warm affection and embarrassment, she blushed at his words and lowered her head, looking down at her hands.

"That's enough." He said impatiently as they applied the oils to her skin.

She was already standing in nothing but her beautiful nightgown, richly embroidered with white threads, and he felt that he had to touch her already.

Her maids immediately left her and one by one walked out, closing the door behind them with a quiet click of wood.

He stared at her standing a few paces away, simply admiring her.

The one he had chosen, the one who had been destined for him all along.

She lifted her gaze to him and smiled in her own distinctive way, warm, caring and comforting, making him feel seen, wanted, loved.

He approached her slowly feeling that they didn't need to hurry, they had already made love, and though he had never experienced fulfilment inside her it made them both know what to expect, not afraid of what the next few minutes were to bring.

He took her cheeks in his hands with gentleness and tenderness, pressing his forehead against hers, feeling strangely light, his heart hot, beating fast and hard.

"− my wife − " He whispered, and she made big eyes hearing those words for the first time, as if she only now realised it had happened, that she was his wife, that there was no turning back.

She lifted her hand and stroked his cheek, looking at him with her lips slightly parted, in her eyes some kind of awe from which squeezed his throat.

"− my husband −" She said softly. He felt her words throughout his body, a wave of heat went through him, and in a sudden, involuntary reflex he kissed her, clasping his hands in her hair, slipping his tongue between her lips, drawing a sweet, innocent moan from her.

They kissed for a while, purring and panting, stroking each other's faces, necks and hair, sure that this time they didn't have to be afraid that someone would catch them, that they didn't have to be quiet, didn't have to hide.

He grabbed her hips and lifted her up, walking with her to his bed, laying her on her back.

She looked up at him with trusting eyes as he untied her nightgown, spreading the material to the sides, revealing her bare, plump breasts to him at last. He felt his cock pulsate hard at this sight, raw, final, shameless, of her pure, beautiful flesh.

She moaned loudly, surprised, as he pressed his lips to her breast, licking her hard, puffy nipple with his tongue, teasing it with the very tip, her hands clenched in his hair, pressing him closer, her thighs spread wide before him in some natural, subconscious impulse.

"− please − please, husband −" She mumbled helplessly and that was the end of it – he lifted himself up on his hands and clung to her lips, with firm, sure jerks ripping her nightgown open. She gasped loudly into his throat, her fingers reaching for the buckles of his tunic, unbuckling them one by one.

He couldn't consider that undressing went easily for them, but he didn't think anything of it, helping her to pull off his tunic, shirt and breeches until finally they were both left wonderfully naked. They moved away from each other, giving themselves a moment to admire what they were seeing.

He parted his lips in an accelerated breath when he felt her fingers run over his bare chest, her fingers small, soft and warm, a pleasant shiver went through him.

He leaned in, nuzzling his face between her breasts, kissing her beautiful, firm, sweet-smelling skin, going lower and lower.

"− your husband is going to taste you tonight −" He murmured and felt her move restlessly beneath him, unsure of exactly what he meant.

He didn't stop when she squealed suddenly, seeing his face between her thighs, trying fruitlessly to push him away, startled, his breath surrounded her warm womanhood leaking with her moisture, the tip of his tongue trailing over her sensitive skin, wanting to taste her.

"− Aemond − what are you - oh gods −" She mewled with difficulty as she heard him hum with satisfaction, discovering that her wetness was smelling of her and her arousal – his tongue forced its way inside her without warning as his nose teased her pearl, drawing sounds from her that he had not heard before.

He gripped her hips with his hands and spread her thighs wider, sinking his face completely into her soft flesh, her fingers tightened on his hair holding him close – she was sobbing each time the tip of his tongue teased and massaged a spot hidden deep inside her.

"− come on, little sister − give it to me −" He purred in between the loud, slurping clicks of her juices caused by the flicks of his tongue, and she fell apart in his arms. He moaned low as he felt how much wetness flowed out of her through her fulfilment, licking it all away with devotion.

"− you taste so good −" He cooed, wiping his face with his hand, lifting himself up, resting his weight on his knees, pushing her hips closer to him with one hand, the other jerking his manhood a few times, already dripping with his precum. "− now it's time for your big bother, don't you think? −"

He asked, watching with amusement as she failed to recover from what had just happened to her, her breath heavy, her gaze clouded, her mouth parted wide, her hands lying loosely on either side of her head.

"− I − oh −" She mumbled out as she felt him guide the fat head of his cock to her entrance. He slided into her with one, sure thrust, her oversensitive, hot muscles clenched against him in panic – his wife moaned loudly, clasping her hands at his sides, both of them all sweaty.

He leaned over her and kissed her, moaning and purring as he slid in and out of her with slow, deep, purposeful pushes with the loud slaps of flesh against flesh, their tongues meeting and licking each time he sank deep into her body again.

"− yes −" She whispered with pleasure in a trembling voice, her hands shamelessly slid down to his back and buttocks, exploring his body with as much curiosity as he did – he felt a powerful shiver run down his spine and he sped up feeling that he would not last long.

"− for you to give me an heir as soon as possible − I should fill you with my seed every day − don't you think? −" He exhaled between their sticky wet kisses and felt her walls clench against him greedily at his words with pleasure, his hands on either side of her head, her thighs spread wide before him allowing him to penetrate her as deeply as he wished.

"− yes −" She uttered with difficulty between his one thrust and another – he felt his fulfillment approaching, she was too soft, too beautiful, her naked flesh pressed against him too hot.

"− beg − beg your brother-husband to fill you −" He hissed, looking down at her with satisfaction, feeling from the way her walls throbbed that she was on the verge of a second elation too.

He heard her swallow loudly and gasp, breathing hard, his bed beneath them creaking loudly with each of his brutal thrusts, her breasts bouncing up and down, mesmerising him completely, her face expressing absolute submission.

"− please − please, brother, fill me − gods, I need it −" She mewled helplessly clenching her fingers on his buttocks, as if she wanted him to thrust even deeper into her.

"− just like that − oh, fuck − yes −" He growled out with difficulty, coming inside her so hard that for a moment he went dark before his eyes, the wave of his pleasure completely stupefying him. All he could hear was her moans of pleasure, her walls clenching against him greedily in fulfilment as his warm spend finally filled her core.

"− Aemond −" She mumbled softly, panting loudly along with him, their bodies moving for a moment longer, trying to prolong their pleasure.

He knew that although many men mocked him because of the fact that he was a cripple, they would be envious of his marriage, of who his wife was to him.

He collapsed on top of her, breathing unevenly, feeling her hands immediately embrace him. They laid like that for a long moment, trying to calm themselves.

He thought that what they had done was heard by the entire Red Keep for sure and involuntarily smirked under his breath.

Everything.

_____

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[witchofhimring]

Loyalty Chapter 16

Synopsis: Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x Tyrell Reader

Aemond Targaryen x Ellyn Baratheon

Alys Rivers x Aemond Targaryen

Jaecerion Targaryen x Reader

Jason Lannister x Reader (minor)

(more to come!)

Y/n Tyrells Profiles

Warnings: Angst, heartbreak, childbirth, emotional turmoil, death, unrequited love?, humiliation by Ellyn Baratheon, marital abuse, marital consummation, misogamy (internalized as well as external), brief depictions of smut, moontea/abortions, suicide, mentions of rape (not to the reader), Plot twist at the end!

They say when one dies there should be as few regrets as possible. Many spend their lives making sure that when the hour comes, they can look back with satisfaction. You were not dying, but your living days were over. With the sentence came the end of life. Your body may be breathing, your mind conscious, but your state of existence would be of less than a ghost. Your room was a tomb and your dull green dress funeral garb.

Regret was a heavy cross to bear. Tossing and turning you thought of all the moments you could have done something. Every interaction was analyzed, baked in your seething impotent hatred. Sometimes you wished for death. Others you imagined bursting out of the prison cell and killing every last one of them. Eating, drinking and sleeping in woe you wondered if this was madness. If it was you greatly lamented it. Could your madness have not made you unaware so as to spare you further suffering?

They say the gods punish those non believers. And your subs had been great. In hell you were, no need to die. Every day yawned onto a new dark night where you lingered in purgatory. You might have prayed. ‘But none can hear my prayers now.’

You were beyond the help of men.

To say you had no visitors would be a lie. Every few days Cerilla would come in and read from The Seven Pointed Star. Her favourites were on whores and adulteresses who met bad ends. At times like these you tuned her out. It was easier in a way. Being locked alone made you so used to the silence it could be overwhelming. She was like a fly you could not catch. Irritating, but so miniscule. The trial and constant anguish had drenched your fire. Where once you might have spat and clawed her beautiful white face, oh those days. Their like would not be seen in this life.

'No!' With a great wail you were wrenched out of sleep. A horrid agony seized you with such ferocity it was painful. Doubled up you moaned; 'No...no...' Slipping off the bed onto cold stone floor you were a lowly creature. Burning tears streamed down a cold worn face. The day before Cerilla had read Fate of a Sinner, a story where an evil queen was locked up for the rest of her days. Grieving over her loss the queen raged unrepentantly, for she had been evil. When the last of her hope was killed the queen shriveled up, never to set out again. You felt like that queen, crumpled to dust on the ground.

All night you remained on the ground. Not even the cold could encourage you to get up. 'I fear I shall never get up again.' Despair triumphed over sadness.

Only thoughts of Owen kept you sane. 'She will not kill him. Jenna needs him.' Then you would go to sleep, for that was the only way to escape. Mercifully your dreams were sweet. Small mercies.

What would Owen think of you in the years to come? One day he would be Lord of Highgarden. Should you be alive in such a time, then who knows. So much could happen. There was a small glimmer of hope at you imagined freedom in the future. It was not something you wholly believed in. Maybe when you were younger, but the years had stripped that from you. You contented yourself with the knowledge that whatever happened, Owen was safe.

'Your son is dead.' Cerilla did not even give you any warning. She simply came in and mentioned your only childs death as if it were the weather. Immediately you understood the truth. The glint in her eyes and the crow of her voice said everything. Owen, your son, was dead. 'Di you kill him.' The voice was not your own. Pitched and ragged it belonged to a mad woman, someone who was not you. All you could think of was Owen. Owen who was your son. Owen who was dead.

Cerilla did not stay for long. She mentioned about just having gotten back from King's Landing, something about Tyshara. And then she was gone. There was no need. Cerilla had succeeded in utterly break you. She would not visit you, there was no reason to. Now you were just some childless madwoman left to die alone and unloved. All the dead swam before you and into the arms of despair you fell. And there the specter of Owen, Jeacerion, your father and all the dead stood, blue dripping from their mouths.

Alicent Hightower was breathing her last. Day and night merged into one as the hour of her death drew nearer. She was so, so cold. Her sight was unfocused. There was a window and sunlight, but her eyes did not register these things. Someone was sitting by her bed, murmuring.

The white dress she was felt soothing against skin. When all the green was cleared she felt a sense of relief. Only white adorned her room, pure innocent white. Alicent had not worn white except to bed since her wedding day. She had always thought death would be scary, but right now she welcomed it. She was drifting away from this sad world of men. She only prayed regret would not follow her to the afterlife.

She mumbled something in the midst of her delirium. Her eyes burned from crying. The figure leaned in forward and said something. The former Querns mouth opened as wispy words tumbled out. And she saw their faces….oh their sweet faces. ‘I want to see my sons again, and Helaena my sweet girl, oh…and Rhaenyra. I will read to her under the Weirwood tree as we did when we were little. Flying around on Syrax eating lemon cakes.’ And ahead she saw clouds. Soaring above she saw them flying on dragons. And she was amongst them, older, but happier. There was a dull ache as she dreamed of what could have been. A world where women had a say in their destinies. 'In another life, pray I make the right choices. Let me be happy in heaven.' Happy as she had not been in life. As Alicent drifted away her thoughts were of those she loved.

Tyshara stood above Owen’s crib. She had never met her younger brother. He was small and very cute. Despite that woman’s colouring the babe looked very much like her father. Tyshara had entertained the possibility of Y/n having an affair. But she had never truly given it any real credence. Reaching down Tyshara brushed hair out of Owen’s face. Tyshara wondered if she could hate the babe. But now the very idea seemed ridiculous. Picking him up, Owen rested his little head against her shoulder.

‘He has no mother now.’ And something heavy fell into her stomach. Yes, there was a reason, and she had seen to it. Tyshara comforted herself with the notion Owen was better off without a murderer for a mother. That night she slept.

Highgarden was everything she dreamed of. Lucious gardens, flowers large as her head, tea parties with lemon cakes, warm night with stars twinkling. She missed her sisters but Jenna Tyrell and Cerilla Swann were always nice. Two of her friends joined. Karina her cousin and Lolly Payne joined and provided a blanket of security. She made new friends, including Jenna Tyrell’s good-daughter Florice Swann. She had been nervous when told she would be sent to Highgarden as a ward. But so far everything was very nice indeed.

‘Did you hear that Y/n Tyrell is coming back to Highgarden?’ Startled, Tyshara gapped at Cerilla Swann. ‘Truly? How come?’ Tyshara did not much look forward to seeing Y/n Tyrell slinking about the castle. ‘Yes. We have suitable room for a woman of her….situation.’ ‘I won’t have to see her, will I?’ Cerilla laughed. Unlike her other laughs this one sent unpleasant tingles down her spine. ‘Oh, no. Y/n will never be free again. I assure you that.’ Somehow this did not cheer Tyshara up. Something ugly stirred within. For now Tyshara decided to ignore it.

'A letter from my father's uncle?' Tyshara was paying a visit to Jenna Tyrell as she normally did. Once a day Jenna summoned her to speak over tea. These gatherings were very nice. She enjoyed cakes and treats from Essos. Jenna was kind enough. They flipped through books and Jenna gave her advice. 'Always keep your ears open, my child. A man may have his sword, but we posses other weapons.' Thinking it sage advice Tyshara hung onto every word. Jenna sat in a great oak chair. Tyshara had never met a queen before, hand queen Helaena or Alicent lived she might have been a lady in waiting. All she had were picture books of queens long past. Her favourites had always been Good Queen Alysanne and Visenya. Alysanne had been a just queen in her day, and Visenya had answered every challenge with bravery. It may be odd to idolize both women, as one gave birth to the man who terrorized the other. Maybe she just admired bravery. As a little girl Tyshara dreamed of meeting such a queen. Seeing Jenna sitting there looking every inch regal Tyshara was nearly blown away.

'My Lady.' Tyshara dipped into a curtsy. The great lady gave a smile and Tyshara blushed. To have the attention of such a woman. 'Lady Tyshara, please sit.' Tyshara sat down, careful to straighten out her dress, discretely. Jenna had given her a new green dress. Hanging off her shoulders the silk flowed behind her. A golden ribbon adorned her hair holding it up. Tyshara noticed the rings on Jenna's fingers. There were several, glittering and standing out. The one that caught Tyshara's attention, however, was the most plain. Well, by most standards it would not be considered plain. The gold circular disk had a rose embedded into it. Long ago the Tyrells had been stuarts of Highgarden. Tyshara found it funny that the Gardeners were gone only for a flower to be the lands symbol. It rested, shining on Jenna's finger. The ring had been passed down through the past hundred or so years, to be worn by the Lady of Highgarden. The Lady of Highgarden.

Wait.....was it not Florice Swann, Cerilla's elder sister, who was Lady of Highgarden. Granted she had hardly seen the true Lady of Highgarden. Cerilla told her Florice was a reclusive sort. Still it was rather odd that the ring remained with Jenna.

Jenna set aside the parchment. 'As mentioned, your great uncle has sent word from Casterly Rock. You are to attend the Maidens Ball as a candidate for queen." Tyshara nearly leapt from her seat with joy. Her a queen! Tyshara's noble heritage had always entailed prospects of a fine marriage. But to be a queen! There would be others of course. She had no doubt Lady Baratheon would put her girls out. But she had seen the Baratheon girls (at least the two remaining, Ellyn having died of poison and Floris in childbed). Sugars knew she was by far the prettiest.

‘While you are there I want to hear what is going on at court. Normally I would go myself but these troubled times call for certain sacrifices. Could you do that for me?’ Rushers readily agreed, of course she would. It felt good to be so important, bring a future queen and companion of Jenna Tyrell. ‘I will be a great lady.’ She thought.

Later that day Tyshara ran up to Cerilla’s room. Upon arrival she noticed Cerilla sitting with her sister Florice Swann. There were few similarities. The elders hair was the colour of straw and had a drowned quality to it. Her pale parlour gave her no glow that young women of her age were said to have. While Cerilla’s brown eyes sparkled nearly like gold Florice’s own looked dull. Never before had Tyshara seen such an unhappy woman.

‘Tyshara, how good to see you.’ Graciously Cerilla stood up and took Tyshara by the hands. She lead her to the table where cakes and tea were laid out. Florice’s thin boney hand stretched out taking the cup. Shaking she brought it to her lips. Was she ill? Worried, Tyshara looked to Cerilla. Yet Cerilla looked unbothered. Tyshara wondered if she should say anything. Finally, she decided to remain silent. Of course they would realize Florice was less than healthy. And anyway it may be rude to inquire on such a personal matter. So Tyshara said nothing.

‘That is a lovely dress you are wearing.’ Cerilla smiled with a simple ‘Thank you.’ Cerilla’s dress was similar to Jenna’s with long draping green sleeves. Today Cerilla’s long reddish gold hair was in a half up-do which Tyshara admired. She considered doing the same some time. ‘You look lovely yourself.’ Florice’s voice was wispy and the only reason Tyshara heard it was because of how few people were there. Tyshara quickly composed herself. ‘Thank you, My Lady.’ Tyshara sat down and the three of them ate and talked. Though the talking was mostly done by Cerilla and herself. ‘Tell me, where did you get that bracelet?’ Tyshara looked down at the ruby bracelet sparkling in sunlight. ‘It was a gift from my father, passed down through generations.’ This explanation was not entirely truthful. It was an heirloom but it belonged to a collection passed down to every Lady of Casterly Rock. When she heard her father was remarrying Tyshara took what she could. It gave her satisfaction to know Y/n would not get everything that belonged to her mother. ‘A worthy lady of Casterly Rock may have this bracelet, no one else.’ And so Tyshara kept it for herself. She fully intended to give the bracelet to Owen’s future wife, but that was years away. For now, however, it remained with her, a worthy lady of Casterly Rock.

‘And that is The Mother, see?’ Tyshara held Owen in her arms. He was old enough to hold his head high. By now Owen had gotten used to her presence and so no longer fussed. Tyshara was thrilled to have a brother, even if that woman was his mother. There had been another brother. The birth that had taken her mother’s life produced a boy, weak, who only outlasted their mother by a day. The only thing that gave Tyshara comfort was that her mother had died thinking the baby would live. It made Tyshara angry that her mother tried so hard for so long to have a son only for some woman to sweep in and triumph in only a year. The bitterness was still there, dwelling like a malignant tumor.

'I will be this boy's mother. He won't need her.' Tyshara convinced herself. And with that woman gone she could pretend there was no other woman, that they shared the same parents. It did not matter that they looked so different. He was her beloved brother and she would do anything to protect him. Her beloved baby brother.

She read to him all the stories her mother once had. They were all happy tales with no sad ending. Just light, justice and good triumphing over evil. Just as the world was made to be. Tyshara enjoyed, at night, hiding in her room and having Owen snuggled up in the sheets. A makeshift fort was built like she was still a little girl. Safe and cozy under blankets she slipped into another, happier, world. 'You will be just like one of those knights, Owen. A brave true man who stands up for justice.' It sounded so silly but Tyshara liked to think of herself as a sort of mysterious guardian. Like the handmaidens of The Mother. Looking after the young. With those sweet sentiments, she was lulled into sleep, blocking out the waking world.

She had thought that while those stolen nights allowed her to dwell in dreams, daytime was not so bad. Tyshara could look in those picture books she loved so well and compare them to her life. Jousts, masked balls, fabulous dresses, feasts and laughing the night away. She even had several suitors. At ten and six Tyshara was a woman now and had been turning heads for years. Like most Lannisters she was golden haired with green eyes. Tall and lithe with a slender waist she stood out amongst all the others. It gave her a great deal of joy to be the center of attention. Being fabulously wealthy also helped. New dresses for ever night, glittering in moonlight. 'I am a princess in a story, soon to be a queen.' swept up in the moment Tyshara could only think of how happy she was. Oh how happy she was! 'Let it never end.' She prayed.

Maiden's Day Ball was to take place at the heart of power. With little Jaehaera Targaryen's death Aegon the Third would need a wife. It did not matter than he was miserable, or that every night he awoke in terror, he was king. There was never room for things such as emotions, or pity for a little boy. Tyshara thought of none of these things. Not that he was just a boy, or that her father helped defeat his mother. Not once did she even truly consider him. Sure, she did not expect to bed him, or even feel love. She just saw the crown un all its splendor. When little the idea she might marry Aegon Targaryen, firstborn living son of Viserys, had floated around. That had fallen through with the insistence he marry his sister. At the time the refused had hardly bothered her. Being so little Tyshara had other matters. Such as what was for desert that night. But now and then she considered it. In dreams Tyshara dreamed of bring like a fairytale princess. And now she would be one for real. A beautiful queen coming after war and bloodshed.

They set out in great splendor. After spending months in Highgarden it would be hard to leave. But leaving for King's Landing! There would be celebrations there too. Jenna Tyrell would not be coming, to Tyshara's surprise. Jenna had been invited. But being busy with post-war matters was an understandable reason. No one else was surprised. Apparently Jenna rarely left the confines of her castle. Thankfully Cerilla would be coming along with several other ladies, including Katrina. All bundled into carriages they feasted on sweetmeats and cakes, playing cards and telling stories. They all talked about who was wearing what. They took the greatest interest in gossip and idle chatter. It was a blessed relief after two years of war and misery.

As much as Tyshara looked forward to the ball it was starting to get cold. Highgarden had a cold tinge that was easy to ignore. But despite going south, Tyshara found that the closer to King's Landing they were, the colder it was. Thankfully she had several sturdy cloaks Tyshara had done up. The weather was no true issue. Excitement was so infectious Tyshara cared not a fig for something such as weather. There were greater matters.

Whispers Tyshara paid little head to were the beginning. Of course the roads were not totally safe after a was such as this. Some maidens died or were horribly injured, so they said. But their retinue was so large that Tyshara cared not. Certain maidens were pleased to hear of such morbid details, including a rumor that one girls had her face slit open, nose in half, as it meant less competition. Tyshara tried to put it out of mind. 'Likely a rumor.' One day Tyshara went out of the wheelhouse to ride horses instead. Accompanying her was Katrina and other such friends. Naturally she was not without guards so they were all perfectly safe. Riding on ahead Tyshara enjoyed the wind rippling through her blonde hair. She truly looked a sight, so beautiful with tumbles of hair in curls. 'Katrina, hurry!' They sped on, Katrina laughing. Tyshara was filled with happiness. Soon she would be in King's Landing and Gods willing be queen.

Crack!

There was a scream and Tyshara's horse bolted forward. With a great cry she clung on. The world became a haze of panic and confusion. Fingers slipped and with a thrill of fear Tyshara realized she was falling. Wind was knocked right out of her as Tyshara landed. Both teeth and brain rattled, every bone shook. People were all over her when Tyshara needed space. Someone picked her up and in her pain did not realize immediately what had happened. When the world was back in focus Tyshara realized a great tree had fallen. And under its great body was the crumpled form of Katrina.

She was not celebrating anymore. The horror of seeing Katrina being crushed under such a weight tore at Tyshara. Her dear sweet friend was gone. Any joy there was dissipated, replaced by the feeling of something cold. Staying in the wheelhouse Tyshara held a figure of The Mother. May she guide Katrina in the after life. News of other mysterious deaths were no longer simply speculation. She cursed herself for not paying attention. Otherwise Katrina might be alive. Cerilla seemed oddly detached from the situation. The normally fun loving woman seemed to not care that such a young girl had died. 'At least it was not you.' Cerilla said as if that were comforting.

People grieved but they forced themselves on. Suddenly Tyshara wanted to flee home. Casterly Rock was her haven, not this castle Tyshara had only visited once before, during the trial. This journey felt so much worse. In stoic silence Tyshara remained for the rest of journey. The absence of Katrina widening.

King's Landing was silent, eerily so. The smallfolk looked out through their windows at the lavish procession before them. A chill had descended over the quiet city. Tyshara had heard the stories of riots. Angry smallfolk sweeping through the streets killing all in their path. They had even managed to kill dragons. And yet now these people remained hidden. Perhaps they had enough of fighting.

The Red Keep, on the other hand, was bustling with life. Decorations of white lilies festooned red stone. Silk draped from windows like banners. Perfume emanated from lanterns in an attempt to disguise the stink. Carriages had been pulled and people were escorted inside. When Tyshara arrived she was helped out and could hear music. The scene was truly beautiful, and there was a painful pang as Tyshara thought of how Katrina would have loved it. What Katrina would not have liked was the very clear tension. Something was off and Tyshara felt someone come up behind her. Alarmed, Tyshara spun around to see a large horse, its rider proudly sitting. Unwin Peake bore the crest of his house, imperiously looking down on her. 'Lady Tyshara.' His voice dripped with pomp. 'I am a Lannister you fool.' She thought. Who did this man think he was? Behind him was Myrielle Peake, a little girl with pale feeble features. In her hands was a doll, why he let her Tyshara did not know.

After that frosty reception Tyshara was ushered inside to get ready. Every candidate was expected to present themselves before king Aegon the Third. Bathed, Tyshara was dressed in Lannister finery. Proudly on her wrist glittered the bracelet. Walking though the halls she truly felt like a queen. Unlike last time she was here for a show and dressed as such. During Y/n's trial she had been advised to dress modestly. The double doors were thrown open and a herald bellowed 'Lady Tyshara of House Lannister!' The crowd parted and Tyshara's self importance doubled.

King Aegon shocked Tyshara. She had not seen the king before. Of course she had not expected to see a warrior or a strong handsome man. What she saw was not a boy, less than a ghost. Never had she seen a such a miserable child. His silver locks hanging limply, King Aegon looked forlornly out at her. She knew he was still a boy, but by the Gods he looked far younger than his years! He looked about ready to topple over with a single gust of wind. Tyshara pulled herself together. 'Think of queenship.' She suffered his dark look and curtsied. He gave a nod and then just like that it was over. Relived, Tyshara blended into the crowd. Another name was called and Tyshara knew that had Katrina lived, she would have been next.

The next few days were filled with banquets and dances. She was not obliged to attend the king, thankfully. In fact, Tyshara could have spent the rest of her life without seeing the forlorn boy. Thoughts of queenship abandoned she resolved to enjoy the festivities. Plays bawdier than she had ever before dared to see, costume parties and hunts were carried out. Rings set with emeralds were passed around and Tyshara wore in on her slim finger. But every now and then, no, more often than that, she remembered Katrina. In those moments she paused in her tracks. Before bed she prayed for Katrina's soul, and in those dark hours thought of others. One must unburned themselves before The Seven, otherwise how can they be truly clean? Tyshara had always tried to be good, dutiful daughter and sister. But something nagged at her conscience. They say when a death happens one becomes thoughtful. Unbidden, Y/n came to mind. She had tried to banish the image of that bedraggled sickly looking woman. Before it had been so easy to hate her, the woman who wore her mothers things. Gold and ruby had been replaced by rags. It was harder to hate her.

Tyshara found Cerilla giggling over a letter. Curiously she walked over. 'What is it?' With a grin that sent Tyshara's stomach clenching Cerilla shoved the letter into her hands. 'You will be glad to hear of this I recon.' Jenna's wax stamp still lung to parchment. The woman's small curved writing was hard to read, but Tyshara managed. What she read was not pleasing, not in the slightest. 'Is this not cruel?' Tyshara protested without thinking. Surely, even with who she was, Y/n did not deserve such treatment. A murderer she might be, but something did not feel right and Tyshara could not put her finger on it. Alone in a dark cold cell made her shiver. As a little girl her septa showed pictures of damnation. 'This is where the bad go.' One image that stood out was a cell. It had only one sole occupant, doomed to eternity in solitude.

Cerilla's laughter shook Tyshara. For the first time Tyshara was afraid of this girl. It had been easy to talk with Cerilla and lambast Y/n. She told her all sorts of things. Of how Y/n was with Jaecerion every waking hour. Or perhaps it was that way? Or not? Tyshara could not truly remember. Only that she had said the words. Savage anger had coursed though her. An anger deflating by the day. 'We will not let her die, not yet at least.' Tyshara felt she may be sick. 'Why do you hate her?' Tyshara had always assumed it was because of Y/n's true personality. A scheming evil little whore. But Tyshara was finding the rage Cerilla held quite alarming. Horrifyingly so. Cerilla tossed her head sending red locks cascading down. 'Lady Jenna tells me everything. She is a horrid creature who tried to steal my sisters husband. 'I thought Y/n grew up in King's Landing.' Tyshara knew that Y/n grew up in the Red Keep and Jenna's son in Highgarden. 'My lady's son came to King's Landing on occasion.' Cerilla shrugged as if this was no big deal. She did not seem to realize how truly disturbed Tyshara was.

Tyshara brought the subject up no more. It was not needed as Cerilla could not see, to keep Y/n out of her mouth. There was just something not right about Cerilla's hatred. And the stories she told started to not make sense. She still remembered how Cerilla had prodded for stories about Y/n before the trial, how she herself had spilt out words, suspicions she told a fact. And as Cerilla spun tales of Y/n, and others, Tyshara felt caught in a web.

Owen's nanny had written on his progress. Tyshara was glad to hear he was well. By now Tyshara was torn between returning to Highgarden or Casterly Rock. She missed her little sisters, even the bastard ones. More than ever she missed Katrina and wished to pay her family a visit. Already a letter had been sent yet that felt insufficient. She considered summoning Katrina's younger brother over but decided not to. Soon she would leave.

Tyshara sat in her bed fingering the ruby bracelet. So many times she had seen it on her mothers wrist. Cerilla entered and Tyshara placed it on the table. The silk sheets were soft and the bed heavenly. Despite that she was careful to remain stationary. Cerilla slid in next to her and pulled up the covers. Cerilla seemed quite unbothered, as usual. 'Who do you think the king will marry?' Tyshara shrugged, she had not been keeping track. 'There are a lot of pretty maidens this year.' Cerilla continue. Tyshara did not want to continue the conversation, because Cerilla held the tone of one setting..... something up. Tyshara was too tired and too weary to carry on at the moment. Laying down her blonde head Tyshara tried to fall asleep.

'You knew, they say the king may marry you.' Her eyes flew open. Not turning around, Tyshara's ears were shop. Suddenly it was like sleeping next to a panther. Feeling Cerilla slide closer, the bed dipping, Tyshara suppressed a shudder. How could she ever have liked this girl? 'Lets see, you, Cassandra Baratheon, a few others I recon. Do you wish to marry the king?' This time Tyshara turned around. The question made her feel invaded, and slightly indignant. 'And if I did?' Tyshara rolled over and closed her eyes, praying for sleep.

Tyshara had taken to watching Cerilla's moves. There was just something off about her. There was something else that off put her, apart from Cerilla's malice towards Y/n. Cerilla was watching her too. A tension had grown between the pair of them. Of course Tyshara was not fool enough to voice any of this. By now she was sure going back to Casterly Rock was for the best. First, she would gather Owen. It was about time he come to his seat. Jenna would hopefully be understanding.

Dear Lady Jenna,

I hope this letter finds you well. I would like to thank you for your patronage these past few months. Owen, I am sure, is under the best of care under your supervision, which is why it pains me to say he must leave for Casterly Rock. Your hospital is greatly appreciated and I will always be grateful for your kindness. I will return to Highgarden once I receive permission from Lord Leon Lannister. I pray to The Seven that our friendship shall remain.

Sincerely,

Tyshara Lannister

Thankfully Tyshara did not need to write a letter to Leon Lannister. Her great uncle resided in King's Landing thanks to this ball. After sending the letter out Tyshara headed off to Leon Lannister's rooms. They were situated in the Hand's Tower, although he was not part of the council. Dressed in Lannister finery, bracelet included, Tyshara sought an audience. Looking surprised, Leon met with her. They exchanged pleasantries before getting down to business. 'My brother should take up his seat. Naturally you will remain regent but the west should get to know their lord, should they not.' Leon had a thinning goatee that Tyshara found slightly ridiculous. He stoked the hair while pondering quietly. 'I suppose.' He did not sound totally sure, which made Tyshara nervous. Why should Owen not go back to Casterly Rock? Seeing the look on her face Leon quickly agreed. But Tyshara was warry.

Each morning Tyshara would wake up and write letters. Her sisters wanted to know about the ball , her friends the same and she wrote to Jenna. It was just small things, the comings and goings of the court. Tyshara wrote about her discussion with Leon Lannister, how he had consented to her return. What Tyshara did not enclose was his odd behavior, but Jenna did not have to know that.

'Getting ready to leave so soon?' Cerilla appeared by the door as Tyshara was taking an inventory of all her things. Not looking up from the list Tyshara said 'Yes. Then I will be leaving.' Cerilla raised an eyebrow. 'Some other ladies are leaving. The ones that are not injured or maimed have started packing. They may fear that once chosen to be queen they will be harmed. Tyshara was only half listening, thoughts of her siblings. 'It is a pity your sisters are not here.' Cerilla took a step forward. 'Too young.' Even then Cerilla did not look up. She did not leave, instead hovering like some malignant specter. 'Is there something you would like to tell me?' Tyshara was starting to get impatient, sounding more aggressive than a lady of her standing aught to. 'Do you still wish to marry the king?' And Cerilla was right behind her, breath blowing at the back of Tyshara's slender neck. Tyshara said nothing.

She should have said something, anything to derail Cerilla from her plan. Tyshara might have noticed Cerilla's malice, but not the depths it would go. For the next two days they said little to one another. As her departure time came closer Tyshara looked forward to seeing Owen. One night she was packing away the gifts, dressed for the girls and a little wooden sword for Owen. Once that was done Tyshara washed her face and get ready for bed. A maid came in and laid out the next days clothes. As Tyshara drifted off to sleep she did not notice that the door remained unlocked.

She woke up to rough shaking and shouting. Groggily she stirred awake to find an angry face over hers. A septa was shouting overhead, shaking Tyshara by her shoulders. With a gasp of pain Tyshara was awake. Crying out Tyshara launched herself back in fright. Hitting a body, she turned to see a boy, not much older than herself. Surrounding her bed were three others. Screaming, Tyshara hit the boy. 'Who is this!?' 'Do not play the innocent with us Tyshara Lannister. He was spotted sneaking into your chambers several hours hence.' 'But I am not at fault!. This boy is unknown to me!' Her pleas fell on deaf ears. She was quickly forced to changed and taken to the office of Lord Unwin Peake.

If Unwin Peake scared her before it was nothing to the fear she felt now. A snarl played on his thing worm like lips. In the room with him were two guards, Leon Lannister and, to Tyshara's surprise, Cerilla. 'Lady Tyshara, sit.' Under any other circumstance Tyshara might have reminded this man who she was. But alone and friendless she felt so small. Tentatively she sat down on the chair. 'This very morning you were caught abed with a stable boy. And do not lie we all saw it.' Tears rose in Tyshara's eyes, both from the unfair accusations and distress.' 'I...I swear I have no idea who this boy is I....' She could not continue any longer. 'Lady Cerilla told us you had been having carnal relations with this stableboy since your arrival. Tyshara gave Cerilla a horrified look. Surely she wouldn't have....

'You will be sent back to Casterly Rock immediately. You are a shame to your family and house.' Cerilla was quick to interject. 'My Lord, pardon my interruption but Lady Tyshara resides in Highgarden.' 'Very well. Lady Tyshara you will go to Higharden to collect your brother.' Leon Lannister was the next to speak. 'I see no need for her to go to Highgarden. We can have her things brought to Casterly Rock.' Unwin nodded. ' But My Lords, my brother-' They did not care what she had to say. 'You will go back to Casterly Rock.' Unwin Peake ordered. There was no pity in his eyes, only a sick triumph. Stung by the anger and injustice of it all Tyshara called out 'wait'. They all scrutinized her. 'Let me prove my innocents.'

When Tyshara asked to clear her name she had not imagined this. She was brought into a room where several septas laid her back. When they entered the cold metal all Tyshara felt was pain and humiliation. It was over in a moment and afterwards she was cleaned up and brought before the lords. Humiliation coursed through her veins as she hobbled into the office and needed help sitting down. These cold hard men were staring her down, the little insignificant girl she was. Her hymen was broken, although no one mentioned that a hymen could easily be broken upon a horse. Most noble girls lost their maidenheads to such activities. Cerilla then got up and mentioned that Tyshara was up late into the night. This was the truth but Cerilla was alleging something she knew not to be true. A maid was brought in and probed. The things in the beginning she said were true, that Tyshara stayed up late, that she requested tea and went for nighttime walks. The the story was spun, so that these walks and staying up awake were spent in sin, that the tea was of a certain type. And by the end they all thought her guilty.

She was finally leaving. Despite the disgrace she had endured it was a relief to leave King's Landing behind. There was the double satisfaction of having Unwin Peake's plans being foiled. Despite all the deaths and mutilations to make his daughter queen it was Daenaera Velaryon who would be queen. By new Tyshara was sure he had Katrina killed. Oh how she desired vengeance. But what could a woman of her position do? A Lannister she might be, but still a woman.

Tyshara would be heading right back to Casterly Rock. Her companions sat in stony silence all the way there. If only Katrina were here. It wounded Tyshara how not a single one of them spoke up in her defense. Now they all thought her guilty despite all the years spent together. Counting back the days till she arrived at Casterly Rock Tyshara thought of her siblings. Cerelle would be glad to have her back. Caren had been so little when she last saw her. Briefly her thoughts went to Crissa, her bastard half-sister. She had died the day the Ironborn invaded the Westerlands, along with her mother Lady Redwyne. She had hated her fathers mistress too. But after finding out the woman's grim hate it was hard.

The moment she arrived back at Casterly Rock she fell into Cerelle's arms. They hugged each other and cried. 'I missed you so much.' Tyshara sobbed. 'I too. And I am so sorry.' 'Oh Cerelle, you have nothing to apologize so.' Hugging her tighter, Cerelle said 'Owen-' Tyshara quickly broke apart. 'Owen? What happened?!' The look on Cerelle's face was pure horror.

When Cerelle told Tyshara Owen was dead she could not truly comprehend what she meant. Dead? Owen? And then suddenly she was screaming, a long drawn out wail. Everything was dark and wretched. Somehow she was taken to bed and left there to whither. Every breath was agony. This had to be some horrid nightmare. At some point Tyshara asked if Y/n knew. She probably did.

The days dragged on like she was being hauled over sharp stones. Sinking into the soft covers Tyshara was in purgatory. She thought of a storybook in which a queen was punished and locked up left to whither alone. And there she dwelt within herself until Owen's body arrived. Taking off every piece of finery, including the bracelet, Tyshara now wore black, was draped in it. During his funeral in the sept she was beyond the tears. Statues of The Seven looked down upon Owen's body with care, hers with judgment. Once the funeral was gone and everyone left Tyshara watched as they loaded his body into the stone casket. He would sleep for eternity bellow Casterly Rock, in the great Lion Vault.

Late that night Tyshara headed out alone. She crept through the silent passages, keeping to the darkness. When her own mother passed Tyshara visited the crypt one final time to gaze upon her face. After that she had never done it again. Same with her father. Tyshara wondered if Y/n would lay here when dead. Probably not, likely in the garden in they were kind. The entrance to Lions Vault were two iron carved lions, rubies set into the metal. They let her in without a word. As a Lannister this was her right. There was a long gallery held up by marble pillars. Tapestries worn by centuries depicted the arrival of House Lannister. Some of these tapestries hailed back to a time where the Lannisters were kings, not mere lords. She walked passed the countless carved statues until she arrived at one newly built.

Owne was depicted as a child, his likeness sending a shard of pain through Tyshara's heart. 'I am sorry.' She said. Hopefully he could hear her. Tyshara then fumbled around the edges of his crypt. The Lannisters had a small secret few others knew. But every coffin was built so that the cover could be easily moved. She found and pulled the pulley. With a crunch it slid open to reveal her brother. He looked so tiny, even for his young age. Tyshara reached down and shuddered when she felt his stiff skin. Her thumb crushed his lips and she smeared off skin. Recoiling back Tyshara thought there was dead skin on her hand. But upon closer inspection she realized it was not her brothers remains, but paint. Leaning in Tyshara inspected her brothers face. There was blue on his lips.

Tyshara stumbled back. Not even breathing her heart was bumping furiously. A hand went to her mouth. Taking off the blindfold Tyshara now saw clearly. The world was in colour and now she knew the truth. And it was too late.

'Novice Joan.' Tyshara, now a novice prepared to take her vows, get up. Gone were the jewels and her mothers bracelet. Here she stood in septas garbs. Most thought this was a choice made by Leon Lannister, the new Lord of Casterly Rock. Little did they know this was made of her own volition. A life of penitents. She stood alone in her room, a prison. Behind her were two candles. A silent prayer still lingered, along with two names. Owen Lannister, and Y/n Tyrell.

It was over, she had won. Jenna stood on the balcony overlooking all that was hers. Ever since she was a girl Jenna had dreamed of greatness. So when her father married her to the son of a second son Jenna had been bitterly dissatisfied. She had wanted greater but was forced to settle for him. She remembered when Amelia Tarley arrived shortly after for her wedding. On sight Jenna loathed her. This thin weak looking woman who was to be Lady of Highgarden. She had been overjoyed when Amelia gave birth to only one little girl, Y/n. She attempted to betroth the girl to her newborn son. But it was reflected and Jenna’s hatred grew.

Jenna had been reborn when married. The youngest of three sisters, Jenna had always been in their shadow. Cristina the eldest was beautiful, Justina was clever, and then there was her, just Jenna. So when Jenna was married with a second chance at a family she swore she would be great. ‘One day they will all kneel to me.’

She would not be marrying the Lord of Highgarden or his heir. Some cousin, but close enough to that great seat. At the time she married Owen Tyrell was the heir, a man slightly older than herself. She did not think much of that wife, some Tarley girl named Amelia. Even the girls looks were meager, although she was not ugly. So thin was she Jenna wondered if Amelia even have children. Her own son, strong and healthy, showed Amelia's bareness for all to see. That satisfaction had been oh so sweet.

Of course the Gods were fickle. Shortly afterwards Amelia was with child. Bitterly Jenna had prayed the babe would be born dead, or at least a girl. The latter turned out to be granted and that night Jenna stayed up in anticipation. If Amelia could have one child, even some squalling daughter she named Y/n, there could be others. But they never came and as the years went by Jenna became more hopeful.

Although Lord Owen Tyrell had no more children from that weak simpering fool he had no intention of divorcing her and remarrying. Jenna considered that a good thing. A new pretty wife may very well provide sons. Amelia was not the only one having fertility issues. Jenna herself had not gotten with child since Gerald. She consulted midwives, maesters and even woodswitches but to no avail. Once, she had visited a traveling wise woman with green eyes. When Jenna demanded assistance the woman only laughed. 'You will strangle the vine and spread the seeds. Or perhaps you will be wise.' Her words Jenna did not care to understand. But the bit about 'strangle the vine' always remained. Yes. She should strangle the vine. Nothing else mattered

Jenna’s first husband Gerion had passed from fever and soon after Jenna looked about. For a time Jenna fancied Owen Tyrell might marry her. It never happened. So Jenna simply removed a piece and Owen Tyrell was a widower. Her intention had been to attract him. One night she came upon with great ardor. It was not hard, so wealthy and handsome. But Lord Tyrell had dismissed her with great fury. Jenna was sent away with her son and bitterness as companions.

When she found out Owen Tyrell passed Jenna nearly collapsed with joy. Immediately she raced to Highgarden. It seemed the poison and her allies had done their work. In no time her son was Lord Paramount of Highgarden. It was suggested that her boy marry Owen's little girl. 'You had your chance Owen, my blood alone will rule Highgarden.' That did not mean the girl had no uses. Jenna was quick to utilize this new tool. it was easy to tether the girl to her. And she did her work well. When Y/n was old enough to comprehend the world around her Jenna received news. Because of her birth and good standing with the royal family Jenna learned much. 'Your girl is mine, all mine Owen.' Jenna mused.

Everyone but Viserys saw the upcoming war. As the king slowly crawled towards his grave Jenna planned for the future. Alliances were built and none were so great as those made through marriage. Alicent Hightower wanted the Lannisters. Although already silently pledged to Aegon a marriage was decided. There were no Targaryen princesses and Jenna had no daughters. So she put forward Y/n as a bride for Tyland Lannister, so conveniently in need of a wife. The thought of Owen's daughter being Lady Lannister galled her. Jenna contented herself that Y/n would still be under her control. Whatever name the girl took she was still a mere pawn.

She spent the war in Highgarden, in the safety of its walls. It was much light being a gardener, plotting every location. But by the Gods she was good at it. Y/n was brining daily new of the comings and going of Casterly Rock. One day she had asked Y/n to intercede on her behalf to Jason Lannister. It was so useful to receive assistance from Casterly Rock. Some complained, it was said, that Lady Y/n of Casterly Rock was favouring her Tyrell relations. Resentment was stirred. This had the mixed effect of concern as Jenna did not want the dislike of House Lannister heaped upon her. At least the dislike seemed focused on Y/n rather than herself. And it felt good for Owen Tyrells little spawn to suffer as he should have.

When she got word that Jason Tyrell had passed Jenna seized her chance. She had wanted Y/n, pregnant, brought to Highgarden. This had been counteracted by Prince Regent Aemond having her placed in Harrenhal. Why he placed her there she could not say. Word came that a boy was born. 'Owen Lannister.' She spat. The letter was flung into the fire. Y/n having a boy suited her plans. Her sons wife had given birth to a daughter. The idea of having a granddaughter as Lady of Casterly Rock was tempting. Finally she had been able to have Y/n brought. With the political ground shifting Harrenhal was no longer a safe option. Better news was to come. Leon Lannister, uncle to Jason Lannister, had a son. A confirmed bachelor, many had marveled when he finally settled down. And so another heir to Casterly Rock was born. This opened another possibility. She had only consented to her granddaughter being married to Owen Lannister to gain power. But now the boy was no longer needed as he was. Thanks to Y/n intercepting on her behalf to House Lannister Jenna knew Lord Leon. The pair had met and decided on marrying the tow little ones. But this had all been kept secret. Then it was time to rid herself of Y/n.

Some might have said it was unnecessary. Some could say it was the girls own fault. Y/n had behaved rather foolishly with Prince Aemond, and made enemies. Jenna's spies brought together all those who may provide incriminating evidence. By the time the trial happened all of Y/n's friends were either gone, banished or dead. Jaecerion had been taken care of quickly. She had been rather surprised to find the prince truly did kill Ellyn Baratheon. But it all worked out in the end. Owen Tyrell's daughter was locked up forever. Her time had come and Jenna felt dizzy with excitement. Another case of Winter Fever and swept through Westeros, and the final stone was laid. One cold night she had Owen brought to her. A little less than a year old Jenna observed him. He slept soundly, unaware of what was to come. From a small wooden box under her bed Jenna withdrew a thin vile. Thick blue liquid sloshed around inside. Carefully she uncorked the bottle. A small scent of mint was whiffed. Then, she turned upon Owen. Every step sounded like a trumpet of victory. Her heart pounded victoriously. Extending an arm clothed in green, Jenna poured the poison into Owens mouth. It was all over in but a moment. The babes eyes flew opened. He shook violently and all healthy colour drained. Then his panicked eyes rolled up, lips turned blue, and lay still. For a few moments she looked to the still figure. A thin finger checked, there was no pulse. Then a great gasp of jubilation broke free. And that gasp turned into a laugh. Turning her face to the sky and raced to the window. Throwing open the balcony window she burst into the windy cold night. And her crows of victory were heard only to the wind, and Alys Rivers.

Alys Rivers stood under the three Weirwood trees in Highgardens forest. It was not the forest that interested her but the Weirwood. Right above her, looming like a Spector of death the tree gently swayed. She could see their faces in its wood. One might wonder why she chose to go north, especially during winter time. Especially with a babe. Her son, his silver hair swaying in the breeze, slept peacefully. Aeron was small as his father had been at birth, and just as strong. He would thrive in the north. The other world ruled here as the one who held power dwelled beyond the wall.

But as much as Alys loved this place there was work to do. Aeron would be safe. This would be an ambitious assignment yet it would all be worth it in the end. The dreams that haunted her could not, must not, come to pass. Otherwise an eternal night would reign.

Tucked beneath her clock was a scabbard. It was well concealed in its sheath but it was not the blade which worried her. The Valyrian steele with a hilt imbued with the remains of the First Children, laced with venom, was the threat. She would need to be very careful because the effects were neatly instantaneous. Alys had built up an immunity but would still need caution. It had taken her lifetimes to set everything into place. Carrying on the wind Alys heard a cackle of laughter. Alys turned back to her son. ‘We are almost there.’ And then the battle for Y/n’s soul, and the world, would begin.

Notes: A grim ending for part one. But part two is coming. The epilogue will be out tomorrow, and the teaser at a later date. Book 2 will be out in a few months because I want to write some of it first. I am so excited because it is gonna be crazy!

I begun writing this book back last summer on a whim. Back then I did not know how much this story would mean to me. Writing and all the support I have received has truly provided me with a new experience. Thank you to every last one of you who has read, reposted, liked and discussed the story with me.

Epilogue (Coming tomorrow!)

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[oops-it-happened-again]

The Pretty Prince - Chapter 1

From the start, I want to specify that I'm not looking for hostile discourse about camps and who's right and wrong. Please, do not come to me seeking to fight.

If this is not your vision, that's okay. Please don't come for me!

Ellyn Baratheon lives a life in the shadows in her father's keeping. Until the day she and her sisters are told that they might soon be married to the King's brother. Dreading an uncertain future where all their secrets may come to light, she takes a reckless decision.

Words: 3k

Pairing: Aemond x Ellyn Baratheon (textual ghost)

Warnings: abuse, neglect, insecurity, arranged marriage, mention of brothel, mention of disfigurement, insults, slightly Aemond-apologetic, Aemond is a sad boy

Aemond kept as still as he could while the Lord of Storm’s End went through the usual motions of displaying his power and influence with despicable self-importance.

He’d expected as much, but it made him slightly uneasy, nevertheless, to feel the eyes of so many courtiers and counsellors following his every minute movement.

What were they thinking? Were they in awe or wickedly amused by his presumption?

His mother had been very clear in her instructions—he was to cement his brother’s claim to the throne by offering his hand in marriage to bind Borros Baratheon to their cause.

“At least there are two of them,” Alicent had sighed when she’d looked at her unfortunate son with quiet discouragement. “It’s your name—our name—you’ll be selling. Let’s hope that is convincing enough.”

As he now weathered the insidious tempest of disobliging whispering, Aemond sank deeper into his immobility for fear that even the minutest flinch would give away his thoughts.

Neither his mother nor his grandsire or brother had considered, even for a minute, that a maiden might want to wed him.

He was the king’s son, the king’s brother, and those fraying links of blood and loyalty were all he had to show in his favour.

As he stood, tall and cold as a statue, in the draughty hall, Aemond couldn’t shake the memory of the subdued despair painting his relatives’ faces a ghostly white—things were dire, he’d been told, and they had to make bold strokes.

Daeron, of course, was too young and outside the reach of their mother’s grasp, so she’d seen herself compelled to offer what she clearly thought of as “damaged goods” in hopes that the wave of good fortune and pure luck that had carried their House thus far would overwhelm others into complying.

Once upon a time, Aemond knew, a young Alicent had herself made her fortune by being sweet and comely, thus catching the eye and affection of a widowed king, but he could boast neither one of these favours.

Lord Borros grunted loudly, and Aemond had to suppress a shiver of apprehension. What if this formidable ally would deny his brother’s request for fealty on account of the prospective groom’s shortcomings?

He couldn’t bear imagining the look of utter revulsion on his mother’s face if he came back without having secured an advantageous match—thus, he clenched his jaw and waited.

All the knowledge and skill he’d acquired over the years meant nothing in this arena, and Aemond dreaded the arrival of the daughters of the house.

He knew for a fact that they’d been summoned, but the hall remained eerily empty. Their potentially wilful tardiness annoyed him because his stomach was churning with tension as he was reminded of the countless times he’d been deliberately snubbed and excluded before.

“I don’t have all day,” he hissed, earning but a tired look from the resident Lord.

“They’ll be here soon enough, and then you can have your pick,” Baratheon drawled, leaning back in his chair in an explicit show of disinterested superiority.

Aemond found that he was relieved to see that his negotiation partner seemed disinclined to maudlin preoccupation—this would be vital if the girls outright refused to do as they were told.

The scene taking shape in his head—a sweet-looking, dark-haired girl clutching at her father’s legs while begging him not to condemn her to such a terrible fate—made his mouth curl into a sour sneer.

“Ah, here they come now. My Prince—meet my daughters.”

“Come on, Ellyn,” Cassandra hissed as she burst into her sister’s room like an autumn storm unleashed. “The King’s brother is here—he’s agreed to wed one of us.”

Laying her book aside with a guilty flinch, Ellyn stood and patted her hair nervously.

“Remember!” Cassandra said urgently to which the other merely nodded. “Leave it to me!”

Ellyn Baratheon was almost two and twenty years of age, but her father—guided by his meddling council—had long since decided that he would pass her off as his third-born daughter instead, which was easily done as she was small of stature and soft-featured.

Cassandra, of course, was so much like him that she was the perfect choice for a provisional heir while he prayed for a son nightly.

Tall and stern, Maris was by far the smartest of the gaggle of daughters, and Ellyn had readily agreed not to stand in the way of her bright sister’s promising future.

Thus, she’d taken her place on the third rung—a future consolation prize for a minor lord or ally at best, and a contented spinster at worst.

She was not overly worried about Floris, their youngest, either for she was already beautiful and would most probably catch the eye and heart of any Lord she fancied without too much trouble.

“I thought the King’s brother was presently betrothed?” Ellyn whispered urgently as she was ushered into the tenebrous throne room.

“The new King,” Maris, who kept herself informed about the events and developments of the realm, replied haughtily. “Now be quiet and look pretty.”

Ellyn only managed to keep herself from rolling her eyes because her father’s imperious gaze settled on her at that very moment.

“My daughters,” he thundered and waved towards the row of young, nubile ladies expressively.

“Go then,” Maris said without moving her lips all too much and gave Cassandra a little nudge. “You wanted to be the oldest and the heir—go entertain our esteemed guest.”

“Oh, he’s disfigured,” Cassandra mumbled as she pretended to fuss with Maris’s collar. “Do I really have to?”

Ellyn meanwhile was spellbound by the apparition in black leather, shifting his weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably as he waited for either one of them to go talk to him.

He was prodigiously tall and stood very upright as if aggressively demanding to be acknowledged by the milling courtiers and her wilfully dispassionate father.

From this distance, Ellyn couldn’t make out every subtlety of his features, but his overall demeanour was self-possessed and dignified enough to make her spine tingle.

“You can be your nasty self and make sure he won’t choose you,” Maris grinned and slouched. She’d been told many a time that she was the least comely of the bunch, and she evidently planned on taking advantage of that unfortunate shortcoming to avoid a less-than-alluring fate.

“He looks funny,” Floris whispered, tugging at Ellyn’s sleeve. Being barely more than a child, she couldn’t yet fully understand the intricacies of court life and its intrigues—to her, Ellyn was her oldest, most reliable sister, and she turned to her in her confusion.

“Hush, little one,” Ellyn cautioned. “He might well become a very important man soon. Just hold on to your doll and think of pleasant things.”

Not her, Ellyn prayed, not the baby. Floris was too young to be carried away to King’s Landing where she would be without her friends and family.

Let it be one of us, one who can defend herself and cry noiselessly. Please, Gods, spare the child—she wouldn’t know how to be a bride.

Despite her glacial pace, Cassandra had now reached their guest and was making conversation when, suddenly, the door opened anew, and the Queen’s young son was announced.

Aemond fought the instinctive impulse to avert his face from the cool gaze of the tall, self-possessed maiden walking towards him with grim determination.

“My Prince,” she greeted without an ounce of virginal shyness or understandable fear. “I trust you’ve had a pleasant trip.”

Oh, he thought, she’d been taught how to behave in such a situation and taught well at that. From her calm demeanour and steady gaze, he could deduce that she’d entertained and humoured more than one unwelcome guest of her father’s in her short life.

Despite his better knowledge, he wished that she’d show any kind of candid emotion other than steadfast dutifulness. Even horror would have been better than cold indifference.

Along the back wall stood three other girls, trying hard to dissimulate their hushed conversation by hiding their mouths behind slender hands.

“Your sisters won’t join us?” he asked, aghast at how tense and breathless his voice sounded.

Cassandra Baratheon—oldest daughter and heir apparent—cocked one eyebrow impatiently as she took a nimble step to bar his view on her siblings.

“You shall have the opportunity to meet each of them in turn if that is your desire,” she replied in the bored tone of a tired shopkeeper.

Different answers, unduly angry and even bordering on despicably petulant, rose to Aemond’s pinched lips and died unspoken in the damp air between them.

The girl lifted her head defiantly, her eyes narrowing as she stared at him as one gazed into an abyss just before taking a leap of faith.

“I take it you’d join your wife in Storm’s End?” she then said as he merely returned her icy look unflinchingly.

That reflection surprised and startled Aemond. “No,” he answered slowly.

“Well, as long as my father has no son, I’m bound to this place,” she shrugged.

For the first time since stepping out of the shadow of the hallway leading to their private rooms, Aemond saw her eyes light up with what he now recognised as insultingly earnest relief.

"What about your sisters?” he inquired, holding back his temper. The agony of being unwanted and unwelcome yet again thrashed like a wild beast within his chest, but he couldn’t let his undeniable faults ruin this tremendous chance for his House.

“Floris is too young to be taken away,” Cassandra replied sharply. “And Maris would probably nag you into taking her to Old Town to your mother’s kin.”

Mentally, Aemond weighed every piece of information carefully. There was a fourth daughter, he knew, but the young lady seemed unwilling to bring her up.

From where he stood, he could see her, bent over the youngest of the brood admonishingly. He couldn’t see her face very well, but she seemed comely enough, and the little girl’s expression was full of trust and love as she looked up at her older sister.

Cassandra followed his gaze and stiffened. “Ellyn,” she said in an unfathomably vague tone. “Who knows what she’d want—she’s a dreamer.”

Pulling himself back to the conversation at hand, Aemond snuffed out the spark of torturous envy that had been ignited in his heart at the sight of Ellyn’s small, pale hand smoothing down the youngest daughter’s braids soothingly.

Even after all these years, he still wished that things had been different between him and Aegon at times.

“I’d speak—”

He never got to finish his sentence as Lucerys was announced at that very moment.

An eternity of hurt and compounded slights came tumbling down to bury Aemond under his own folly.

In the end, he had to return to King’s Landing not only without the bride he’d sworn to secure but also with the terrible news that the first fell stroke of the looming war had been dealt by his very hand.

His mother only looked at him, eyes empty and lips pinched, before sweeping out of the room in disgust.

Later, Ellyn would hardly remember all the minute shifts in tone and demeanour that had led to the monumental tragedy of Prince Lucerys’s death, but the voice—raw, angry, and shockingly pained—of that looming, white-haired intruder stayed with her through many a night.

“Father will let him have one of us, nevertheless,” Cassandra prophesied as they sat around a blazing fire, Floris asleep on a nest of pillows at their feet. “He found Maris unprepossessing, and I must admit that he’s not what I’d hoped for either.”

When both her sisters turned to her, Ellyn drew her shoulders up as if to protect that spark of undue curiosity she’d buried deep within herself.

“He sounds…wounded,” she said cautiously.

“You don’t say? Were you so distracted by your romantic novels that you failed to notice the glaring lack of an eye?” Maris mocked. “What kind of man plans to present his mother with such a gruesome offering? He was outright frightening, no?”

Her tone was hard and unforgiving, and Ellyn frowned at the sight of the bitterness overtaking her plain features.

“One who wants to impress her?” she offered. “He’s well-grown and looks healthy. And he’s well-spoken.”

“If you disregard the unequivocal blemish and the fact that he’s a murderer,” Maris interjected coolly.

“Of course,” Ellyn sighed, feeling chastised once again. Her heart was too soft, and her mind too inclined to lose itself in fantastic stories to be relied upon to say the right thing at the right time.

“He has a face like a crescent moon,” Floris, who’d of course woken up at the worst possible moment mumbled.

“He looks dull,” Maris added pitilessly.

“He kind of is,” Cassandra agreed. “He’s just not…impressive enough. All those black clothes and the petulant expression—I’d rather hoped to marry someone more grandiose if you know what I mean?”

“You’re being ungenerous,” Ellyn interrupted their flood of mean words. “I thought him a fine-looking young man.”

“Well, then you can marry him for all I care,” Cassandra scoffed and breezed out of the room in a fit of unjust vexation.

As she lifted Floris into her arms to carry her to bed, Maris gave her sister a hard but not unkind stare. “Be happy that father demoted you—you clearly have much to learn still about the ways of the world and…men,” she said and left Ellyn alone, staring at the flames wistfully.

Even after she’d gone to bed, her sisters’ words haunted her. Displaced as she was, she loved them and wished to spare them any harm or pain.

In the eyes of the world, she might have been a lesser, younger daughter, but—in her heart of hearts—she knew what was expected of her.

Thus, she made a hare-brained, daring plan. Taking advantage of the fact that she’d grown almost invisible to those around her as war loomed on the horizon, she prepared for days before slipping out of her father’s castle under the cover of night.

To ensure that her disappearance would stay undiscovered for as long as possible, she didn’t take any of the guards or soldiers but fled with only her personal maid towards King’s Landing.

As soon as she’d made landfall, she hurried up a busy street and stopped at a vendor’s stall.

“I’m looking for the prince,” she whispered, jingling a few coins in her palm to signify that any information would be rewarded well.

“Which one?” the crone asked in a bored tone as she kept chewing on something soft and wet.

“The pretty one?” Ellyn said, afraid to speak his name where so many could overhear.

“He’s the King now,” the other laughed.

“No…the other one,” Ellyn sighed. “I mean him no harm—I—” She stopped herself before she could give away her identity inadvertently.

“Listen, lass, a pretty young thing like you should not go looking for Aemond One-Eye—he’s dangerous.” The woman spat into a street corner with admirable precision and then turned back to Ellyn. “Take it from me, dearie, you don’t want anything to do with him.”

I might not have a choice, Ellyn thought as her heart sank.

“I thank you, good woman,” she replied politely. “Where can I find out more? I’d like to know what kind of man he is.”

“Why?” The beady eyes of the old vendor now inspected her shrewdly, drinking in her dark, curly hair and her gentle, black eyes. “You’re not from here, are you?”

Knowing that she couldn’t very well tell this stranger that she wanted to protect her family and, if necessary, warn her sisters, Ellyn nodded wordlessly.

“I’ve seen him when he flew around the kingdom in the name of his brother…and I found him very intriguing,” she then breathed cautiously, hoping that her tone and wavering smile would give the impression of a puerile infatuation rather than of a deadly serious scouting mission.

“You’re as mad as he is,” the crone cackled. “Either way, ask around in the pillow houses and taverns—not that you’d find him there, but there might be people who know him better than I do, Gods be thanked.”

Bowing low, Ellyn dropped the coins into the gnarled hand that was extended towards her demandingly.

“Not promising,” Hala, her faithful maid and friend, who’d been standing just behind her throughout that whole conversation, whispered as they made their way into the bowels of the bright, sunny city. “What’s your plan?”

Just ahead, Ellyn saw the oddly familiar silhouette of a tall man walking stiff-backed towards an establishment of ill-repute, so she quickened her pace.

“Milady?” Hala called with mounting alarm.

Ideas and thoughts were considered and discarded at a pace that would have rivalled even Maris’s quick wit as they pushed their way through the throng of unwashed paupers and ruthless thieves.

Her father’s hall had been gloomy and ill-lit, and the Prince had certainly had other considerations on his mind than the seemingly innumerable daughters of a sour-tempered Lord—consequently, it was highly unlikely that His Highness would recognise her if he were to meet her again, stripped of all the trappings of her station and her house.

It was worth a try—instead of buying potentially false information from every low-born crook in the city, she might as well try to get to the man himself and make up her own mind about him.

Ellyn wasn’t naïve enough not to be fiercely aware of the moral peril she’d be, in for her father would certainly shun her if he ever learned of this, but she’d come too far to give up now.

“Why, my dear friend,” Ellyn grinned mischievously, feeling more like her brave, ferocious father’s daughter than ever before. “I’m going to pretend to be a whore.”

So, this was the first chapter. -> Chapter 2

⤳Masterlist

Thank you for reading! If you want to read more of this, please let me know!

[goodqueenaly]

Hi and I hope you are well! I don’t know if this is a weird question, but I’m always fascinated by the legends of the Reach particularly regarding the children of Garth Greenhand, and how that connects to the Faith in those areas. I think I saw a post you wrote some time ago about how for example Rowan Gold Tree’s story might have been adapted by the Faith into a parable about the Mother (apologies if I’m mistaken). I guess my question is, do you think Rowan and the others might have been actually worshipped as gods before the Faith, like Garth might have been? Also if I may ask a second question: do you have thoughts about Floris (my personal fave) how her story fits into Westeros’ patriarchal attitudes towards women? Does the fact that she founded three houses mean that she’s not vilified by the Faith for being non monogamous? Thanks and sorry again for weird questions!!

(I was mistaken, I think it was actually about Rowan’s story as a parable about the Maiden, like that her hair turned into a tree as a sign of being favored by the Maiden? I don’t quite remember who wrote this post.)

I have a vague memory of a post I wrote along similar lines a very long time ago too, but I couldn’t find it, so either I never did or I deleted it. Anyway, I do very much like to headcanon that the myth of Rowan Gold-Tree was co-opted by the Faith during its early establishment in the Reach as a myth about the Maiden - that Rowan, abandoned by her love for a richer rival, prayed to the Maiden in her heartbreak, and the Maiden, guardian and benefactor of virtuous maids, gave Rowan her golden tree, almost Cinderella style, perhaps as a sort of dowry to show that maidenly virtue was literally worth more than gold.

Whatever the particular relationship between the Faith and the myth of Rowan Gold-Tree, do I think that some or all of the legendary children of Garth Greenhand may have been worshiped as gods themselves? Very possibly. We know that there was at least some tradition of Garth being worshiped as or at least considered a god by Westerosi: Yandel notes that “[s]ome even say [Garth Greenhand] was a god” and that “[a] few of the very oldest tales” present Garth as a “considerably darker deity, one who demanded blood sacrifice from his worshippers to ensure a bountiful harvest” and a “green god [who] die[d] every autumn … only to be reborn with the coming of spring”. Yandel also compares Garth to fertility gods and goddesses worshiped by “[m]any of the more primitive peoples of the earth”, as Garth not only “taught men to farm” and “showed them how to plant and sow, how to raise crops and reap the harvest” but also scattered a seemingly divinely plentiful bag of various seeds and “brought the gift of fertility” to people and crops alike. Nor was this early history of Westeros an era without the worship of local deities beyond the old gods: the myth of Durran Godsgrief features a sea god and a goddess of the wind, the people of the Three Sisters worshiped the Lady of the Waved and the Lord of the Skies, and of course the ironborn believe in the eternal divine struggle between the Drowned God and the Storm God.  

So I could see where, depending on the era and the location, various individuals among Garth’s legendary children might have been worshiped as gods or semi-divine heroes themselves. If Garth Greenhand was worshiped as a god for teaching the First Men to sow, cultivate, and reap, might Gilbert of the Vines have been similarly worshiped by the people of the Arbor for teaching these people “to make sweet wine” from their island’s lush native grapes (and indeed, might there have been some local tradition that Gilbert had inherited his father’s fertility and made these grapes grow “so fat and lush across their island”)? If Garth was treated as a god for his apparently mystical and/or divine ability to bring and cultivate life from the land, might Ellyn Ever-Sweet, Rowan Gold-Tree, and/or Rose of Red Lake have been similarly worshiped by the locals of Beesbury, Goldengrove, and/or Red Lake, respectively, for their supernatural, perhaps also seemingly divine, connections to and power over the natural world? If the earliest worshipers of Garth Greenhand offered him blood sacrifices in return for bountiful harvests, might worshipers have given Bors the Breaker similar blood sacrifices in return for grants of strength and courage, since he himself had supposedly drunk the blood of bulls to gain the power of 20 men? If Garth’s divine power included the gift of specifically sexual fertility so strong that he “[made] barren women fruitful with a touch” and caused “[m]aidens [to ripen] in his presence”, “mothers [to bring] forth twins or even triplets when he blessed them”, and “young girls [to flower] at his smile”, then might Harlon and Herndon have been similarly worshiped for the seeming eternal fertility they apparently enjoyed and represented as husbands to their woods witch wife, or Foss the Archer worshiped as a similar roving fertility god casting a welcome eye on maidens as his father had done (with his arrow and apple exploits perhaps a sort of sexual euphemism)? Again, these are just a few creative examples, but the larger point is that I could very well see where Garth’s children may have been seen not only as extensions of his own legend, but gods in their own right who took over aspects of the worship of Garth Greenhand. (To say nothing of whether any of them might have been worshiped for their own persons and/or deeds - if, say, John the Oak, Owen Oakenshield, and/or Brandon of the Bloody Blade might have been viewed as a sort of proto-Warrior or god of war, or if Maris the Maid became a sort of mother goddess for Oldtown and House Hightower.) 

As far as Florys the Fox goes … eh. I think that strict monogamy was not an entirely consistent or mandated practiced among the First Men before the arrival of the Andals, including in the Reach: not only do the myths of both Florys and the twin ancestors of House Tarly feature as their protagonists participants in polygamous (and, indeed, polyandrous) marriages, but King Garland II successfully brought Oldtown into the Gardener kingdom by putting aside his wives, plural, to marry Lymond Hightower’s daughter. Nor indeed should we ignore the fact that Florys seems to have been considered clever not just for having three husbands but for keeping each a secret from the others - a suggestion, perhaps, that the expected (read: patriarchal) order of the universe, playfully subverted by the literally extraordinary Florys, was that a woman should be the submissive partner to a single man, rather than the dominant mistress keeping three men at her nuptial leisure. So I think the pre-Andal Reach may have accepted two beliefs as true at the same time - namely, a patriarchal world in which women were expected to serve and obey men and also a pro-polygamy world in which a demigod/heroine/goddess figure could be lauded for having kept multiple husbands simultaneously without being caught. 

Too, I think it’s possible that just as septons and maesters downplayed the mythology and divinity of Garth Greenhand in later accounts - with Yandel noting that legends of Garth Greenhand, “though cherished by the smallfolk, are largely discounted by both the maesters of the Citadel and the septons of the Faith, who share the view that Garth Greenhand was a man, not a god” - so these same post-Andal Invasion academics may have deemphasized the myths surrounding Florys the Fox, including her celebrated polyandry. Perhaps dynastically persnickety maesters or septons argued that Florys had not really been married to three men, but rather that the myths had conflated her marriage to the ancestor of House Ball/Peake/Florent with marriages by other women, or perhaps remarriages by Florys, to the ancestors of the other two Houses. Perhaps the myth was bowdlerized to have Florys merely be courted by the founders of each of these Houses, rather than having her marrying each, with Florys perhaps then serving as more of a spiritual or romantic ancestress rather than a literal matriarch of this bloodline. Of course, it’s also possible that septons did look down on and preach against Florys for her polygamous marriages, branding her a “wanton” - though to what extent they could or would do so, while also looking to convert these powerful aristocratic families of the Reach, is speculative at best. 

[whenthesnowfelloverwinterfell]

Vatic - Chapter III " Maiden's Day "

Series Description : The youngest daughter of King Viserys and Queen Alicent grows up split between the two sides of her family. With dreams plaguing her sleep of people she does not know, and a war looming ahead of her. She will be forced to choose between the two sides of her family, between the love for her brother, and the loyalty for her sister. 

Chapter Description : Y/n Targaryen makes a friend during Maiden's Day.

Warnings : none in this chapter

Pairing : eventual Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader ( cannon typical targcest idk what to tell you )

Word Count : 1.6k

Despite her own belief in the new gods in the faith of the seven, Y/n found the Sept to be dreadfully boring. This was her second time participating in Maiden Day. The noble women of King’s Landing, the ladies of the court, and of course, the two young princesses who were unmarried were all gathered in the sept. 

It was an old building, dating back to Aegon the Conqueror. The sept was built upon Visenya’s hill. Y/n knew the history of it, Aemond had read it to her once. It was a grand sept whose construction was funded by the high septon during Aegon’s reign. It was only used by the nobles of King’s Landing, There were others in King’s Landing. Smaller ones for the smallfolk.

All Y/n could truly think of while standing in front of the statue of the maiden, was how Maegor I destroyed a sept. She’d fallen asleep while Aemond had been reading her that history book, so the details weren’t clear. But she could recall that there had once been a sept on the Hill of Rhaenys. The Sept of Rememberance. Meant to commomerate the life of one of Aegon’s sister-wives after her death during the first Dornish War. That sept was said to have been grander than this one. 

Y/n had questioned her mother that morning, as to why she and Helaena had to go to the sept upon Visenya’s Hill when there was one in the keep that the two princesses could pray and sing hymns of innocence in. 

She’d never gotten a clear answer from her lady mother. 

So she stood, in front of the statue of the maiden, hand in hand with her sister while all the young women stood and sang their silly little songs. She wished to be running in the garden right now. Getting dirt on her dress that she’d surely be yelled at for by her mother after the fact.

The singing finally ended for once, and Y/n looked up to her sister who seemed to occupied with staring as a corner of the circular room. When Y/n glanced at that same corner, she understood why. A large black, shiny spider with a fat thorax was spinning its web  in that corner.

Y/n didn’t want to get anywhere near the spider. Bugs had never interested Y/n like they did her sister. Anything that could crawl on the wall and had multiple legs would always make Y/n cringe whenever she looked at the. So whenever sweet Helaena spoke of insects, Y/n would always listen intently and ask questions, even though she wasn’t truly interested, giving her sister an ear so she enever felt as though she was speaking to a stone wall echoing back at her. She’d listen to her sister’s murmmerings, and be in awe of her when they turned out to be true. Their father had always been obsessed with the idea of Dragon Dreamers, and Y/n was certain that her older sister had that gift. 

“Take a moment amongst yourselves, my ladies. Pray to The Maiden, or to the other gods, in our brief respite.” Septa Ellyn spoke, gesturing the group of young women before her, all unmarried, and most still children. 

Helaena began to wander off towards the corner. And Y/n watched as she did. She stayed in her spot in front of The Maiden, looking at the stone statue with such intensity that she swore the statue would look away any second. 

But she never did. 

So Instead, Y/n admired the beauty the attributed to the god. Yes, her image was captured in stone, But Y/n could imagine the woman as a live person, and not stone. Whenever she thought of beauty, she thought of the women she would sometimes see in her dreams. But when she looked at The Maiden, she thought of the younger girl in her dreams. Likely only a few years older than herself, red hair that looked like flames whenever the wind swept her hair from off her shoulders, trying to carry it with the leaves, and as the sunrays from behind her caught the young girl’s hair, it would look like flames being carried in the wind. Her gown similar to the kind many women of the Riverlands wore, and a firefly necklace hanging tightly around her neck. 

Her lady mother had said that The Maiden represented innocence, and more oft than not, The Maiden was presented as a beautiful young woman. So the young princess imagined the young red haired girl she saw in her dreams. 

“Princess,” The voice caught ehr off guard, and her head snapped to her left where a slightly older girl was standing, holding what must have been the best curtsy the young princess had ever seen. 

“My Lady,” Y/n returned the curtsy, though her own felt clumsy. 

“It is a pleasure to meet you.” The young girl had chestnut brown hair, the light shining in through the large arched windows showing the shine in her hair that reflected a reddish brown color. She had eyes that reminded Y/n of a necklace her mother once wore, with an Amber stone in it. Her eyes were the color of a warm toned polished stone of amber. Her skin was pale with freckles littered from her chees to her neck, and presumably to her chest and shoulders. Her skin looked soft. She wore a brilliant bright green dress with red stitching and embroidery on it, the neckline of her dress had an archer’s arrows embroidered on either side, the arrow heads pointing towards one another. House Tarly. 

“I am Maris of House Tarly,” She finally introduced herself, awkwardly giving another curtsy. 

Y/n, much like Maris, gave another awkward curtsy. “I did not know we had someone of House Tarly here in the sept.” Y/n was rarely around people her own age, and when she was, it was while at court instead of in her family’s wing of the keep. It was always when she was told to behave herself and act like a proper lady by her mother, so she was always sure to be seen and not heard. And even in the sept on Maiden’s Day, she had not spoken to any of the other girls. 

“My lord father sent me to the capital in order to learn the ways of the court. My lady mother told me to try to make friends with some of the ladies in court. . . I’m afraid most are not as friendly as I had hoped.” Maris looked down at the stone flooring for a moment before looking down back up to Y/n. 

“Why do you need to learn the ways of court?” Y/n asked curiously, holding her hands behind her back and tilting her head. 

“My father wishes for me to become a maid-in-waiting. It’s considered a high honor to serve a woman of a high standing house. To do so you must learn the ways of court. . . At least, that’s what my septa told me.” Maris seemed unsure of her own words, and gave Y/n an uncertain smile. 

Y/n didn’t know what to say to Lady Maris. She herself hardly knew anything of the court. She was usually always glued to either her mother or Rhaenyra’s side and wouldn’t leave it until safely away from the lords and ladies of the court. She knew her mother had Ladies-in-waiting, though, her mother seemed disinterested in their presence a majority of the time, and she could recall a conversation that her father and Rhaenyra had once while Y/n and Luke were playing their wooden horses on the ground, where Rhaenyra declined the opportunity to have any ladies or maids-in-waiting. 

“Princess, I wanted to ask if you would be willing to show me the ways of the court?” 

Helaena was older than Y/n, and was surely a better choice in this matter, but many found Helaena to be odd. Her fascination with insects, and her speaking in riddles. 

“I do not know much of the court. . .” Y/n confessed, looking down at the ground almost shyly. 

“Then will you be my friend at court? I’m sure you and I can both learn about it together? But only if you wish to, Princess.” 

Before Y/n could open her mouth to speak, Septa Ellyn began to call them back to their hymns all the while the septa was bringing more candles to place at the base of the Maiden’s statue.

Maris gave a curtsy to Y/n once more and went to return to wherever in the sept she had previously been  singing her hymns. However, before Y/n could even realize what she’d done, she’d reached out and grabbed Maris’ hand. 

“If we’re to be friends, we should sing hymns together, should we not?” Y/n questioned, noticing how Maris tried to hide her excitement and her smile, to try and put the face of a true lady on in front of everyone else. 

“Yes, I suppose we should.” Maris agreed, returning Y/n’s hold on her hand, coming to stand next to Y/n and look up at the statue of The Maiden as the young ladies readied themselves to continue to sing their songs, and just as they were about to, Helaena returned from her corner, and grabbed onto Y/n’s other hand, and as if she hadn’t even been off staring at the spider, began to sing along with the rest of them. 

Add yourself to the taglist !!

@disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @winxschester

[clouseplayssims]

Brannelle Beesbury, 18 years old.

Lastly, I couldn't resist having a Beesbury. Brannelle is another lady-in-waiting to Vaella (who you will have to wait to see!) and is admittedly kind of a brat. Deeply resents being compared to her ancestor Ellyn Ever Sweet or her milk-and-honey sisters who are all seen as great beauties that all married at 16.

Brannelle remains unattached... probably because of her sour attitude. Which she is self-aware enough to recognize, but it just hurts her feelings even more to be the one Beesbury girl unchosen. Even her younger sister Briony has a husband!

Dour personality or not, Vaella finds Brannelle charming which is the only reason she remains at court.

[lady-ellyn-of-the-storm]

the princess & the pearl

a dialogue within @asongofgoldenfireandblackblood, a closed starter with @thefallenprincesss

Coming to King’s Landing had been a joy for Ellyn. It was a chance to be away from Storm’s End for the first time in many moons, years even. She could speak with other women that she was not related to in some capacity and entertain the thoughts of men which she had not seen a hundred times, or ones she had turned away despite their brave efforts. Few of them truly impressed her, and so she left them to the wind. King’s Landing was fresh and new. Well, perhaps new in a certain way. She had been a young girl when Lord Borros had come before King Viserys regarding petitions of the Stormlands. Her mother had come as well, wishing for her young girls to be educated in the ways of the court. Some of the training had remained within Ellyn’s mind, but just she truly remembered was the people.

Ellyn thought herself to be the most hospitable of all her sisters, as evidenced by the connections she kept at court despite the distance and the years. Princess Rhaena often wrote her of the finest silks and cloths in King’s Landing. Ellyn had even sent the Princess a silken peachy pink lily to pin in her hair some time ago; it had been half of her allowance at that point in time. It was a symbol of their friendship, of the colors that favored them. Now, she roamed the halls of the Red Keep as Rhaena’s lady-in-waiting. She wore the title with pride, happy to serve with grace and honor. It kept her in the eye of the court as one advantage to her reputation, plus it allowed her to spend time with her companions. Princess Rhaena was one of them, but Princess Rhaenya was the other.

Years previously, Princess Rhaenya had been the first noblewoman to greet Ellyn. Then, she cowered behind her sister Maris, only coming out to argue with her other sisters. She had yet to find her bold nature, but the new space certainly encouraged it. Princess Rhaenya had taken her by the hand, complimented her hair, and took her to the gardens. There, they had scuttled about in the dirt and flowers for hours, giggling about the flower crowns they had made. Her lady mother scolded her for her dirty dress and ruined hair while her sisters snickered, but Lady Elenda softened when Ellyn offered her a purple rose from underneath her skirts. The next day, Ellyn ran to meet Rhaenya once more, smiling as the Targaryen princess wrapped her arms around her shoulders and held her tight. Her lord father joked that if he saw young girls with a head of silver hair and a head of black hair, it was Rhaenya and Ellyn. The day in the dirt bound them, continuing their friendships in lengthy letters over the years of anything and everything between. She had told Rhaenya of her quarrelsome sisters, her troubles, her desires, and most of all, her dreams as a lady of Westeros, a daughter of Storm’s End.

“My sweet Rhaenya!” Ellyn called from down the hall, watching the locks of the youngest of King Viserys’ children sway as she walked. Ellyn lifted her skirts elegantly, laughing quietly as her shoes clicked against the stone of the floor. For now, she had no care for the way of the court or who watched. She longed to be the little girl in the garden, weaving a crown of pale morning glories for her beloved princess. For a moment, she let the little girl out, a wild smile stretching across her face.

“I do apologize for my tardiness. Our Rhaena has been terribly busy with Queen Rhaenyra’s upcoming coronation and Floris decided this afternoon would be a fine time to try to practice singing again.” Ellyn dropped her skirts as she linked an arm with Rhaenya, laughing under her breath as she remembered Floris’ attempt at song. She used her free hand to smooth out the lines in her skirts. Today, she had worn a fine dress of silken cream embroidered with dark flowers and golden leaves. It was a dress for a day of light and happiness, one she intended to enjoy. She leaned closer to Rhaenya, her voice taking a more secretive and whispering tone.

“But now, I am all yours.” Ellyn smiled triumphantly as they walked in the direction of Rhaenya’s chambers. While they had exchanged letters, Ellyn longed to hear her companion’s thoughts and wishes in words. Rhaenya looked happy, and Ellyn had heard mutterings of why she was despite her father’s death being so recent. Ellyn intended to hear the glad tidings herself if her friend was willing to tell them. Ellyn could be persuasive, not so clever as Maris, but she had a charming smile that often won the heart of any man or woman. Her voice increased in volume, her blue eyes shining as she looked at her friend.

“My schedule is cleared, and no one besides the Queen herself can take me from you!”

[darkhearthorns]

The Reunion of Twin Souls || Maverick & Ellyn

@lady-llewellyn

Maverick stood at the front of his formal court, surrounded by his council members and subjects, anticipation filling the air. He had missed Ellyn dearly during the weeks of her absence, and he longed to see her again. As the doors to the throne room swung open, he turned his gaze towards the entrance, his heart skipping a beat at the sight that greeted him.

There she was, the Fae Queen, walking with confidence and purpose, her silver crown sparkling with gemstones and her dress adorned in his colors. But it wasn't just her appearance that surprised him. Maverick's eyes widened as he took in everything unfolding before him—the collared council members, the portals opening in the shadows, and the Orc guards ready to restrain the conspirators.

Relief flooded Maverick's being as he realized what Ellyn had done. She had taken matters into her own hands, exposing the traitors and ensuring they would face justice. That is not something he can ever imagine anyone doing for him- ever. Tears welled up within him, and as she drew closer, he couldn't contain himself any longer. She was right there, after who knows how long of being apart. Maverick stepped down from his throne and hurriedly approached Ellyn, forgetting to be graceful and instead flying towards her.

He held her tight in his arms. "Ellyn," he whispered her sweet name after so long. "You've done so much for me. I don't even know what to say. You've freed me from a fate I thought I'd be trapped in forever. My love, you've shown me the depth of your love and loyalty, and I will be forever grateful."

Maverick pulled back slightly, his hands still holding onto hers. He looked into her eyes, with —relief, love, and admiration. "I never expected you to go to such lengths for me," he spoke. "But I want you to know that I understand why you did it. You did it out of love, and I can't thank you enough for that."

He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss against her forehead. "You're my soul mate, Ellyn. Please, marry me now. I have seen my future with you and I don't want to delay it any longer."

[alex-dontknow]

time for some gw headcanons since we're fixated again (under the cut)

Phantom only really likes food that's rather bland in taste. he doesn't mind some sweet / spicy things, but he'd rather play safely. (he also has a ridiculous spice tolerance but refuses to eat really spicy things regardless)

X is a metalhead.

Nova, when corrupted, tried to justify his actions by believing he was doing everything for the greater good, and the better for his Faction. Obviously he was wrong, and even after he was freed he spent quite a while trying to break from that mentality.

Everyone who was corrupted has some form of PTSD from it.

Sylph once made a tornado upon accident after sneezing.

X, Clover and Phantom have dubbed themselves the three Mixgeteers (X's idea, required some persuasion for the others)

Phantom once tried to teach Bones how to cook. He needed to buy a new hob after that.

Ellyn has ridiculous impulses. She once adopted a snake and it freaked out the other lunatics. (William Snakespeare reference)

Just a little theory I like to think about: Torch (see Cykopath: Birth) grew up to become Inferno (see Xkour Skylines)

[lemonhemlock]

In effort to better understand Helaena, I've gone deep into ASOIAF's bug lore, and I wonder if little Helaena ever interrogated Lord Beesbury about his legendary ancestor Ellyn Ever-Sweet's pact with the King of the Bees. Like, first of all, *George* why is it the king of the bees, when bees pretty famously have queens? Then I looked it up, and apparently queen bees were called kings until the 17th century, because of course everyone assumed the head bee in charge was male (even though.... it lays eggs.....) But now I believe that eco-feminist Helaena would be singlehandedly correcting this misconception, and its on the top of her agenda as queen-consort. Ellyn Ever-Sweet and the Queen of the Bees is feminist praxis and Helaena will be bringing this to light.

(I lose a little of my sanity every time I go a page deeper into the wiki)

Branwen, this is adorable, I don't even have much to add, but Helaena stanning Ellyn Ever-Sweet is such a darling detail to include. 😭

I have to say, even though they're, ahem, traitors, House Beesbury is positively precious. House Beesbury of Honeyholt, located next to the Honeywine river, with a penchant for beekeeping?? Please, how does George even come up with this? 😭

[witchofhimring]

Loyalty Chapter 14

Synopsis: Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x Tyrell Reader

Aemond Targaryen x Ellyn Baratheon

Alys Rivers x Aemond Targaryen

Jaecerion Targaryen x Reader

Jason Lannister x Reader (minor)

(more to come!)

Y/n Tyrells Profiles

Warnings: Angst, heartbreak, childbirth, emotional turmoil, death, unrequited love?, humiliation by Ellyn Baratheon, marital abuse, marital consummation, misogamy (internalized as well as external), brief depictions of smut, moontea/abortions, suicide, mentions of rape (not to the reader), Plot twist at the end!

"Queen Helaena is dead." Black hung before you face, the veil a mask of calm. Sitting in a straight backed chair some would think you were a ghostly apparition. Cloth hung about you life a shroud.

"How did she die?" Lady Mari looked to her hands, pale and shaking. "She threw herself off Maegor's Holdfast. There was a riot in Kings Landing. Dragons were killed and Rhaenyra has fled." "So she is alive." Despite the numbness there was a flair of anger. Sweet Helaena was dead while Rhaenyra was alive. "Yes. But not her son Joffrey. He tried riding Syrax and....." Lady Mari was unable to finish. Once upon a timw you too would have felt pity. He was not Lucery's. Now you felt nothing but deepening horror. "Did Helaena suffer?" "No. I think it was quick." Letters of the dead had flowed in. Prince Maelor had also passed, torn apart by a mob.

You no longer dreamed of the forest or darkness. For the first time in months you had true dreams. Dreams of the lost flitted through your head. Alana, Elinor, Flora, Clarissa, Aemond, your parents. Even Lucerys and Ellyn's cases loomed from the darkness. Owen was now sleeping in your arms at night. Every time night came you feared he would disappear. This war had taken everything from you. Would all those you loved all die or leave? Every day you waited for new that more would die. Looking at Ladies Mari and Dara you feared they too would perish. Quietly you waited in the room. Waiting for the other shoe to drop.

As Westeros smolders in the wake of dragon fire survivors are left devastated. Rhaenyra Targaryen flees with her son Aegon. Her Strong children and Velaryon son dead. The youngest son dead or missing. Bereft and with little comfort Rhaenyra flees to Duskendale. The Battle of Tumbleton ends in the death of Prince Daeron the Daring along with three dragonseeds. Aegon is left in pain on Dragonstone, Alicent Hightower, his mother, is left on her knees in anguish.

"Prince Jaecerion is just outside of Kings Landing with his army. But My Lady, his dragon has died.” Lady Mari looked up at you with trepidation in her eyes. Sitting in your chair you said nothing. Information seemed to be slowly trickling in. Prince Daeron was dead and Jaecerion was right outside of Kings Landing, right in the belly of the beast.

You barely reacted to the new, at least outwardly. Lady Mari looked are you warily, unsure of what to do. It did not matter to you. Nothing really mattered, except your son. Owen lay in his crib beside your chair. He would not leave your side again. The chair was the only thing keeping you up. Otherwise you likely would have just slumped on the bed. The hard back on the chair forced you to sit up straight. Painful cramps you did not acknowledge formed in the muscle. Your body was as numb as your emotions. Perhaps the dark green dress you wore might have itched terribly otherwise. The corset ached, your ribs crying out. Ribbons tied tightly into your hair nearly looked painful, and it was.

"My Lady." Lady Mari seemed to have made up her mind about something. Dismissing herself, she disappeared. Closing your eyes you just sat there. You wanted to do something, but nothing occurred. Books and sewing held no appeal anymore. You could always ask for food. Lady Jenna had never denied you that.

Lady Dara and Cerilla entered. Cerilla stayed put as Lady Dara walked towards you. Without asking she took your hand. With no energy to rebuke her you did nothing. "Why not write a letter to Prince Jaecerion?" Annoyance peaked through the numbness. "I would hardly think he has the time to respond.” Ignoring the coldness of your tone Lady Dara pulled out parchment and quill. "He may not. But it might help you." Maybe it would. With Lady Dara's help you stood up and hobbled over to the table. "I can write it for you." All she got was a nod. But when she dipped the quill in ink no words came. Sitting there as a mute you only looked outside. "Why don't we start with his name?" "Alright. Dear Jaeceryon."

Dear Jaecerion,

I hope this letter finds you well. I dearly miss you and hope you return to my side. It has not been long since we last met and I miss you every day. Please return to my side soon.

With much love,

Y/n

The letter was hardly anything to write home about. But Lady Mari could tell you were tired. The sun was setting and it was nearly night. "Why don't we get ready for bed?" In no mood to object you allowed her to lead you to the bed. Laying down you reached out for Owen. He was quickly settled into your arms.

You dream of a prince with silver hair. This was not one of your nightmares born out of others power. In the darkness a light had appeared. He sat astride on a great stallion. His silver armor bedecked with amethysts gleamed in pure sunlight. He was ridding towards you across a green field. You raced towards him.

Jaecerion had yet to write back. Normally you would think he was ignoring you (although Jaecerion never had before) if it were not for the war. Every day you waited as there was little else in your world. Who did you give the letter to?" Lady Mari asked you. "I gave it to Lady Dara." Lady Mari looked skeptical. "Do you know who she gave it to?" "Yes. Some page boy." "And did she say the letter made it directly to his hands, in her presence." Placing down the brush you turned to Lady Mari. "What is with the sudden interrogation?" "Not interrogation My Lady. I am simply worried the letters never made it." You thought about it. The only person you could think of who might do this was Cerilla. But you had made sure there was no way she could get her hands onto your letters. "Very well. I shall call up the page boy next time."

You started to write another letter.

Dear Jaecerion,

I do not know if my past letters have made it to you. If they have then I understand the labour of your task is of the upmost importance. However I would at least like to know if you are getting my letters. I hope you are feeling well, and may the Gods keep you safe.

Sincerely,

Y/n Tyrell

You were starting to desire a life outside of Highgarden. This place was starting to feel like a prison. The walls were starting to close in around you. A headache had started to set in leaving you nearly bedridden. And none if this could be good for your son. Lady Mari had offered to take the boy out but you refused. Although you trusted her Owen would not leave your sight. You started to truly dream of life once the war was done. That was not if you were not killed, should Rhaenyra win. Who knew what would happen, the realm had gone to hell.

A week later the page boy came to your door. When he opened the door you ran right to him. Taking the letter, forgetting your manners, you opened the letter in great haste. Lady Mari looked up from her book, which you swore she had read over a dozen times. Lady Mari, who was sitting by the window, turned her head. Quickly the boy was dismissed. "What does it say?" Lady Mari walked up to you. Eagerly you tore apart the trappings.

Lady Y/n,

I have received your letters and am very glad to have them. The lateness for this letter is not due to my negligence. This war has made it difficult for any letters to get through. I hope when the false queen is dead that you will return to me, and think of my proposition.

Sincerely,

Prince Jaecerion of House Targaryen.

"Well that's good." Lady Mari placed a hand on your shoulder. Taking the letter from you she looked it over, eyes narrowed. Smiling, you walked over to the small writing table. "Will you be replying?" "Of course. Get me my ink will you." With ink and parchment you replied, feeling lighter than you had in a while.

Dear Jaecerion,

I am happy to hear from you again. And I apologize if my letters came at an inconvenient time. As to your proposition for marriage, I wish to see you in person regarding this. Of course I must speak to Lady Jenna Tyrell about this. There is so much I have to tell you, and I so wish to see your dear face soon.

With much love,

Y/n

"I will be leaving." Lady Jenna had visited you for tea the next day. It was just the two of you. Lady Mari, Lady Dara and Cerilla had all been dismissed. On edge you sat straight backed, careful not to spill any tea. Lady Jenna's deep green sleeves draped to the floor. Silk imported from Lys hung off her figure catching the light. Even Dowager Queen Alicent had never worn such sumptuous garbs. "Where to, My Lady?" You did not want to sound too nosy. However it seemed rude not to inquire when she was the one to bring it up first. Lady Jenna set the tea aside and looked to you. "I must visit my vassals, this war will end sooner than later. We need to be ready when it does." She stared at you.

"Is your son not already making the rounds?" Not wanting to sound accusatory, you simply posed it as an observation. Your cousin, Lady Jenna's only child, was already visiting the troupes. His wife, Cerilla's elder sister, resided in this castle yet you had not seen her. Whether she knew you were here could not be said.

"We must also discuss in detail regarding what will happen when you leave. Casterly Rock will obviously be your place of residence. I have also received letter of betrothal. King Aegon will want a male heir, which you have shown able to provide. Tyland Lannister, your former brother in law is a contender. The sept will grant permission if the marriage goes forth. There are others, but I was wondering if you had anyone in mind." Lady Jenna's eyes made you squirm. "I am not sure as of yet." You had not known Tyland well, he was hardly at Casterly Rock. The idea of being married to Aegon of all people nearly made you feel ill. You had seen much and heard worse. Somehow you doubted that war, burns and the death of poor Helaena would temper him. More likely he was worse these days.

After that Lady Jenna left, the tea cooling in her cup.

"Lady Jenna wants you to marry who?" Lady Mari was doing up your hair. The morning was cold but she had insisted a walk would do you good. The night before you had little chance to tell her anything. Lady Mari had disappeared shortly after Lady Jenna entered and had only returned at nightfall. By then you were too tired for gossip. Already you had told Lady Dara but sworn her to secrecy. Cerilla you told nothing. Speaking of the girl, Cerilla had made herself scarce as of late. You liked to imagine that Lady Jenna was displeased with her, although you knew there was no evidence for this.

“King Aegon. But I loath the very idea. Not for his scars but because he is loathsome. Also please repeat this to no one. Yet I have known the king since childhood and think I know his character quite well.” “What about Lord Tyland Lannister? He was your brother in law.” You picked up a piece of ribbon. “True. Although I hardly know him. You probably have a better measure of his character than I.” Lady Mari wove the ribbon into your hair. “I do not pretend to know Lord Tyland very well. We have only interacted in passing.” You were not too surprised. Your former husband had once complained his brother was frightfully dull. Although you could not say with certainty if this was true or an elder brother’s callous remark.

“Either way I will bring it up with Lady Jenna.” Lady Mari frowned upon hearing this? Seeing the look on your face she said “It is only in your hands who you marry, not Lady Jenna. As a widow you have the right to choose your own husband.” You conceded that she was right. “ If is just that I do not know how. Well, Lady Jenna will tell me.” Rising from the chair you turned to face her.

“May I speak freely?” Lady Mari had the most grace look upon her face. Concerned, you gave her permission. “I understand Lady Jenna has been something of a mother to you.” You nearly pulled a face. Whatever she was not you was not a mother. That title belonged to Elinor. “But I beseech you to think carefully about the future, and not to rely on others. She has a son, granddaughter and others whose cause she will put forth first. I would subject that the final decision be yours alone.”

The door, which had been left slightly open, slammed shut. Both of you, alarmed, leaped back in fright. Dashing to the door Lady Mari flung it open. No one was there. Lady Jenna had recently felt there was no need for guards posted just outside. After all, you are not a prisoner. She looked around and then came back in. “No one. The wind?” Neither of you found the explanation satisfactory. Lady Mari quickly bolted the door. “Just in case.” She explained.

The castle became alive with the bustle of servants. You knew because of the racket clearly heard. Although you did not know why. Hopefully at first you thought it might be tidings that the war was over. But upon asking a servant she said it was not so. You could not think of any celebration that was taking place. They seemed to be bustling to and to fro, cooking and cleaning. The clatter irritated you greatly. So long had it been since you could go out into large crowds that things which were once quite normal were suddenly very alarming.

Deciding it was of no consequence, you played with Owen. He was getting stronger by the day and more beautiful. “Well aren’t you just lovely.” Owen gave you the list beautiful smile. Kissing him on the head his little hands seized your hair. “Ouch!” You cried out. He quickly let go and stretched out. With a sigh you placed him back on the bed. As of late Owen had stated to grab things. Lady Mari told you this was a good sign.

Taking care of Owen was not the only thing you did. Writing to Jaecerion had become a part of your daily schedule. It seemed that once he knew you wanted to communicate he was more than happy to comply. Today you sat at the desk with his latest letter.

Dear Y/n,

I understand we have seen little of each other during the war. It is lamentable that taking you to Highgarden was our only interaction. Please tell me where we shall meet after the war. And Y/n, I have no desire to continue my life without you. When this war is finished I wish to be with you. Should you chose me, I would be the happiest man in the world.

Yours,

Jaecerion Targaryen

“What does it say?” Nosily Lady Dara looked over. The large grin on your face made the letters contents evident. Hope. If Lady Jenna consented then you would be queen. Unless Aegon had a son but that seemed unlikely given the nature of his injuries. Rumour that it that the burns sustained by Rhaenys Targaryen had made him impotent. They said he ordered knight to fuck whores in front of him. And then when he remembered his own inadequacies Aegon would weep. Of course you were not sure if this was true. Strangely pity stirred for his plight. Even if Aegon repelled you with his lustful urges. He had no sons, who had both been cruelly cut down by Rhaenyra. It would be unlikely that he could father a son. Suggestion had of a new wife had been brought up. Other than you, there was Cassandra Baratheon and Tyshara Lannister. One was the elder sister of Ellyn, the other a former step-daughter who loathed you. Neither spelled good news for you. Tyshara loathed you and although Cassandra’s personality was a mystery she was Ellyn’s sister. You doubted she would take to you. Then again he might marry another. Snidely Cerilla had mentioned her name being put forth. At that young age laughed and said “I doubt they will look to you. There are greater woman of good character and lineage, of which you are not amongst their number.” At that she had turned red and stormed off. Either way, if you married Jaecerion they would not be able to touch you. Pondering queenship, you thought about how satisfying it would be to rule over them. At that moment you regretted Ellyn’s death. If only she could see you as queen. They would all regret and beg for mercy. Oh how sweet the scent of revenge would taste.

In that moment you made your decision.

Dear Jaecerion,

I am glad to hear you are well. As to the matter of marriage, I accept. Gladly I would be your wife. Lady Jenna will be breached on the subject.

With much love,

Y/n

Later that night you sat with Lady Mari on the bed, holding Owen. You told her of your plans and hopes. To your dismay Lady Mari did not look pleased, not in the slightest. Instead she looked worried, very much so. Did she think you were reaching too high? "Who took the letter?" Lady Maris's questions were making you feel on edge. The slight amount of safety you felt dissipated with her anxious eyes boring into you. "To Lady Dara. I already told you this." You had not meant to sound so rude but the disappointment in Lady Mari's less than enthusiastic reaction stung. Seeing the look on your face Lady Mari said "I am happy for you, truly. But I would suggest you make this official before telling Lady Jenna." "Why?" Lady Mari looked towards the door. "I am not accusing anyone of anything. But as Lady of Casterly Rock is it not your duty, not Lady Jenna's?" You considered what she said. Technically what Lady Mari was saying rang true. At one and twenty, a widow and mother, you had the right to dictate your own path. At least to a certain extent. "Alright. I will work out everything with Jaecerion. Make sure no one but you gets the letter." Lady Mari nodded.

Winter had come. You should have known but most information was filtered through Lady Jenna. The air had become colder and the sun looked diminished. Owen was bundled up in furs to keep him warm. Wood was supplied to heat the circular room. Despite this you woke up cold that morning. Walks outside had stopped. Most days were spent reading or playing chess, Lady Dara had found a set in the library. Day by day you waited for Jaecerion's letter. Every morning Lady Mari would check to see if any more letters were received. Other than official letters taken care of by Lady Jenna there was nothing. "He is likely just busy." You convinced yourself.

One day the worst storm in years broke over Highgarden. A howling wind rattled the windows. Snow fell, covering the once beautiful gardens. A winter had not come in years. Depending on how long this winter was your son may very well grow up in the cold and dark. "My mum told we winter is called down by the gods to punish mankind." Lady Dara was gazing out the window. "Who knows." With a sigh you leaned back into the chair. "Eww!" Looking up you noticed Lady Dara on her feet. "What is it?" Lady Dara pointed to the dead butterflies on the windowsill. Taking a handkerchief you swept the butterfly remains up and dumped them out the window. The snow and grey sky swallowed them up. Their remains would likely be frozen and crumpled by the sheer weight of snow. Wistfully you looked out, a hole in your heart yawning like some great dark chasm.

That morning you had woken up cold. Not a physical cold, the type that reached ones soul. In your stomach there seemed to be a fist clenching with all its might. There was the sensation of wanting to throw up without the nausea. The skin on your face was oily and you guessed there would be a break out. Lips moved and felt painfully dry. Watching those butterflies drift into the cold yet gave you cause to sit by the window. For a while you looked out. It felt like you were missing something. You had tried thinking about what it could be. But whatever it was stubbornly alluded you.

Eventually realizing that this nagging anxiety would not be cured through lingering on it you took to reading. Old Legends from across the Narrow Sea was a book that you swore you remembered from your childhood. The pictures seemed familiar, blue especially taking up your memory. Some of the stories were familiar, coming back after having been forgotten for so long. The Emerald Empress was embossed with the image of a woman. An emerald tiara glittered on her head. Long ago in an empire thousands of years ago, before even Old Valyria, the Dawn Age was upon the world. It was ruled by emperor who ruled for thousands of years, and wielded untold power. The greatest empire on earth was laid low when a younger brother killed his elder sister, the Amethyst Empress. Then the empire collapsed and everything was destroyed. Still feeling unsettled, you set the book out of sight.

Calling for tea you settled by the fire. Lady Dara was fast asleep, a cup of wine set aside. Waiting for your tea there was suddenly the sound of someone running up. Jumping to her feet Lady Mari rushed to the door. Before she reached it the door burst open, stirring Lady Dara out of sleep. Your tea was nowhere in sight. Instead all you got was a gasping red faced page boy. Lady Dara reached for the cup as you picked up Owen. Lady Mari drawing to your side she demanded the boy to state his purpose. "The pretender.....Rhaenyra Targaryen.....she is dead!" Everyone stood there as if the words did not make sense. Then Lady Dara loud out something between a laugh and gasp. Lady Mari fell to her knees, hands clasped. You stood there rooted to the spot as the situation washed over. Rhaenyra was dead. The woman who so wanted you gone, who had Alana killed, who started this whole was, was dead. Numbly you walked over to the chair and sat down. "You may leave." Everyone looked startled by your lackluster reaction. You should be dancing for joy. So why were you unhappy?

The war was over. Peace still alluded Westeros as fractions battled for Kings Landing. The grief of two years of war had ended with Rhaenyra's death. You had won. But as a winter wind howled outside, it did not feel so.

You had always imagined that when the war ended there would be celebrations. Instead all of Highgarden fell silent. Instead of a bright sun hailing a new age winter storms tore apart the land. Instead of feeling light as air you spent your days in bed or sitting by the fireplace. In the meantime you had heard the finer details of Rhaenyra's death. She had fled with her son Aegon to Dragonstone, only to find her brother the king waiting. Making her young son watch, Rhaenyra was fed to Sunfyre. There ended the life of Rhaenyra Targaryen.

And as it turned out the war had not truly ended. Although Rhaenyra was dead her supporters still proclaimed her line as the path of succession. The North still rallied behind the red and black banner. With Aegon having no sons and only one remaining brother many wondered if the presidents of succession would naturally make Rhaenyra's son king. Jaecerion was already urged to marry. Every day you prayed for a letter from Jaecerion. A Lannister girl had been proposed, as he had been betrothed to one until her untimely death. Only you knew where his heart truly lay.

"Are you sure there is no letter?" Lady Mari confirmed that indeed there had been no letter. With a sigh of frustration you paced throughout the room. It was a wonder that the wood beneath you feet did not become marked by your pacing. The hems of your green gown had become frayed from all the picking. Any day now Jaecerion would come. That was what you told yourself when despair reared its ugly head. Seeing your distress Lady Mari volunteered to go down. She looked slightly pale and her thin lips were set in a hard line. Giving her leave you were still restless.

"May inquire as to your distress?" The unwelcome presence of Cerissa made itself known. "Leave. I have no need of you." Unperturbed, Cerissa stepped in as if she owned the place. "What is Lady Mari doing in such a hurry?" Shooting her a cold look, you told Cerissa that it was hardly her business. She only smirked. "I would hate if it were for some....unbecoming reason." You gave a cold harsh laugh. What she was implying was clear. "No. Women of good breeding do not sneak off. She is simply fulfilling an errand. Now speaking of sneaking off I do have to wonder what you have been up to. Gone for so long with no knowledge of you whereabouts." You returned an equally nasty look. Then there was a knock and the tea you ordered came in. The maid quickly left shooting a backward glance. Cerilla also made a move to leave, but you called out and ordered her to stay. "I have to given you leave."

Lady Mari returned nearly an hour later. Immediately you knew something was wrong. There was that feeling one gets before something unspeakably horrible happens. She looked exhausted sagging against a maid. Looking unnaturally pale she collapsed into a chair. Quickly you rushed to pour her. "What happened?" Lady Mari could only shake her head, blue eyes wide and frantic. Her lips were moving but no sound came out. Every breath seemed forced out. The maid poured a cup of tea and had Lady Mari drink it. Spluttering, Lady Mari fell over. "Get someone!" Dropping to your knees you could only hoover over Lady Mari's fast fading form. She seemed to be trying to say something. Her lips started to turn blue and you would have thought she was choking. "Mari!" You could only hold Lay Mari and slowly she lost any remaining colour, all except the blue that spread over her lips.

Lady Maris's last moments seemed to be the longest of your life. So quickly had it happened you half suspected this was a dream. A horrible dream that felt all too real. "This isn't real. I've had these sorts of dreams before. I will wake up and she will be alright." But this was the waking world. Horrid reality which you were trapped in. Lady Mari grew still, one last wheeze escaping. And you were holding her body, standing over your fathers body. Eyes unseeing looked up at you. A maester arrived. But when he walked up you simply said "She's dead."

Weeks later they told you Lady Jenna had returned. The weeks without Cerilla was a blessing. Without lady Mari your world had become even more lonely and Cerilla only made everything hurt. Lady Dara was a good woman. But poor Lady Mari had not deserved to die. She had only been so four and twenty. Still with her whole life ahead. All the children and love she might have had was robbed. Wars end had brought little joy. Only the threat of Rhaenyra's wrath was removed. Your live had become marred by death. Survive you might have, but at what cost? Three ladies you had lost, two untimely taken, you ending herself. You were self tempted to send Lady Dara away. Only a selfish part of you, the part that did not want to be lonely

Sorting through Lady Mari's things was hard to say the least. She had not brought much from Casterly Rock, but every hard of cloth, every small tin, was a small stab to the soul. Being well organized she had kept a will so the affairs were in order. Your hand trembled as you wrote meaningless words to her family. Once more you had been completely useless when it came to saving others. When had you ever been able to save anyone? What use was there in being one of the most powerful women in the land if you could not protect those you cared for? When Alana and Clarissa had died it had fallen upon those bellow to write letters of condolences. These days you had so few attendants that the duty could be carried out by no one else. You also felt that this was owed to Lady Mari, who so tirelessly provided unwavering support.

Afterwards your hand ached, yet it dulled in comparison to that within the heart. Afterwards you took to bed before dinner. There was no appetite for food. Owen was already sleep and you placed him in your arms. As of now you were alone and with a great desire to weep. Being alone was for the best. In your pride none would subject you to public humiliation. A dull pain in the cast lulled you to sleep.

"I apologize. I have no stomach for embroidery today." Understanding, Lady Dara went back to knitting. Rarely you left the room. It was like a prison, yet a prison partially assisted by you. Cerilla had been making herself scarce these days. You were not upset about this. Sometimes Lady Jenna would drop by. These conversations usually surrounded the comings and goings of court. Now that the war was over nobles were starting to reside in Kings Landing once more. "Of course you must come. Your widowhood is well past being over." You had no desire to return to those blood coloured walls. Every happy memory had been soured. It reminded you of happier times, and the past few months there had been spent in utter humiliation. You would be happy to stay away. Most likely you would be taken to Casterly Rock. There were few if any cheerful memories of that place. But it was better than the place you grew up.

Lady Joan had taken care of most preparations. Normally that duty would fall to you. Exhaustion had weighted heavily on you. Not the type as the result of little sleep, but the type that wearies ones soul. All you wanted to do was sleep. If not for Owen or Jaecerion...

As the twenty second day of the tenth moon dawned upon Westeros you awoke in great pain. Pulling back the sheets you noticed a pool of blood staining them red. Your blood had come early this month with a vengeance. Throbbing made you want to curl up. For a few moments you lay there in agony. It was not until Lady Dara realized your condition that this was rectified. After being bathed and dressed it was time to care for Owen. Once fed he was placed on your knee. Lady Dara took it upon herself to read. Today she was reading an old story. One were a prince and princess fell in love, married and everything worked out. Oh to live in such a world.

The hours dragged on painfully. Pain was still radiating in your womb despite the use of mandrake. Not since the birth of Owen had you issued forth so much blood or felt such physical pain. Lady Dara mentioned that a lack of exercise could make ones blood more unpleasant. Unpleasant was certainly one way to describe it, although you would have used stronger terms. Eventually Lady Dara convinced you to take some fresh air. "Sitting by your window is not suitable, My lady." Surprisingly she had put away drink and abstained from all pleasures. Granted, you could not be totally sure of this. Romance books may very well be a liked past time.

Once back you decided to pen another letter to Jaecerion.

Dear Jaecerion,

I hope that when this letter arrives you are well. When this war is won I hope we can be together. Greatly do I miss the days of our childhood. Often I find myself missing those days. While we can never get them back I do hope we can find some semblance of it.

With much love,

Y/n Tyrell

Looking over it you knew Jaecerion might find it unsatisfying. He desired to marry you. But such decisions felt too exhausting. You did not even feel ready to marry. Memories of the dead pilled upon you so completely it was suffocating. You could see no end to your present suffering. Even a hundred, two hundred years from now, you might still carry around this pain like a wound. Sometimes your heart bet so strongly it hurt. If only you could have torn it out.

"Lady Y/n?" Lady Dara looked up from her embroidery. "I am fine. Send this letter out, will you?" Lady Dara took it. "Will you go out walking today?" "I don't know. Owen doesn't look up to it." "Then I will take him." Hesitantly you looked at her. "He should get used to meeting other people." Still, you were not convinced. Lady Dara sighed. "How about I stay here with Owen while you walk in the garden?" Looking towards the door you knew a walk was needed.

Still, you refused. Orders had been given for you to hide, they must be obeyed.

The sheets of your bed suddenly felt cold. You had been nearly falling to sleep when a shock of could banished exhaustion. jerking up you were face to face with someone. Or could it truly be called someone when that being was translucent? Your mothers ghost stood there. You should have felt more, but she had always been such a shadowy figure and Elinor had been so mother-like the urge to miss her might never have been very strong.

"Hello." You wanted to kick yourself. But how else should you address her. She beckoned you to sit up. Hesitating you looked over at Owen, fast asleep. She shook her head. "Leave him." Looking back you shot her a cold look. "That is my son." "Leave him. Where you are going will not be safe for him." "Then were are you taking me?" "Down the only path that can save your son."

A few minutes later you were alone walking down the hall. You had no difficult leaving. There were no guards at the door or in the hallway. Everything was eerily quiet. Each step sounded loud to the ear. A black sky made it feel later than the night truly was. You could see windows still lit up. Donning the same black dress frequently worn these past two years, you ventured to who knows where. A serenity you had not felt in a while descended. Normally you would be afraid to disobey Lady Jenna. You guessed it had to be your mothers presence (or could it truly be a presence if it was her ghosts, if that is what it truly was). Her hair swayed back and forth, every step naturally taken. This had once been her place. Likely, if this was your mother, she knew the place better than you

Down a flanking tower you went. Still no one in the way. At the bottom of the tower was a door. Your mother stood aside. Opening it you stepped out into the garden. Or rather one of Highgarden's many gardens. Placing a piece of wood between the door so it did not lock you suddenly noticed a symbol on the door. The carving of a rose caught your attention. Beneath you was a cobbled path. "Where to now?" Your mother pointed to a rose bush. As you approached it a door appeared beneath your feet. "What is this?!" Spinning around you face her. "Is this witchcraft!" She gave you a look. "No. Now do you want to save your son?" She had got you in her grip. There was no turning back now.

Bending down you attempted to yank it free. "How does this unlock?" You fiddled with the lock some more. "Blood." You looked up. "Sorry?" "Blood. Smear it on the door." Reaching over you seized a rose stem. Thornes cut your delicate skin. Blood stained the skin horribly. Wincing you brushed it against the door. Swinging open you saw a flight of dark staircases. Taking caution you stepped down the cold flight. Torches burst into life lighting the way. The door above closed. With no railing the journey was somewhat treacherous. Although the trip was not long it certainly felt that way. Once at the bottom you breathed a sigh of relief. Looking back you saw your mother float down. Ahead was a door which had certainly seen better days. It looked to be hanging on just barely. When you touched it would the door merely fall over?

The door remained and did not fall over. For whatever reason there were no torches. Thankfully there was enough light emanating from the hallway to provide sufficient sight. Recoiling, you nearly fleed from the room.

Adorning the circular wall was the drawing of a great tree, sketched in red. A metallic scent stung the air nearly making you hurl. On what was supposed to be the trunk a face, twisted. archaic, looked out. Branches stuck out like hands, in the flickering of lights they looked alive. You half expected for those ghostly hands to reached out and slam the door shut. Looking closely you thought there were small faces in the pain. All of this was too eerily similar to your dreams. Now they had truly invaded the waking world.

"What is this place?" Your mother walked right past you. before the painting she stood. "Your ancestors left these markings here. long had we endured on the blood of First Children. The beyond strings us along. A great power allows us to walk for, defying." You were by the door. Without even realizing it you had stepped back. You breathing echoed in the black, bounding off stone. "Is this a curse?" She shook her head. "No. This is your lifeline. Do you want to save your son?"

They would call this heresy. But this be to the damnation of your soul? What Seven Hell would you reside in for this act? Fear for your son alone caused you to act. A burning was felt in the wrists. You shouted out as cuts appeared. Looking down the blood gushed forward. "Just as you spilt blood on the Weirwood tree in King Landing, so you spill blood here. Wipe it on the face." Stepping forward you reached out. Closer you got and the face moved. Not seemed to, it truly moved. Once your blood stained its white lips it sucked your blood in. With that it was gone, the pact was made.

Cold sweat ran down your back. "If this is to the damnation of my soul will it save my son?" Those eyes looked at you. "Oh you know nothing."

Your wounds were there the next morning. Looking down you saw thin white lines. When they dressed you effort was taken to make sure no one would see them. Ache emanated from the recently healed skin. It made it difficult to rotate the skin. Owen stayed beside you all day. After what you had done he was all that mattered. Even your death was a worthy price for his survival.

The days stretched out into long agonizing drawls. Every breath you took ached to the core. Cold sweat rolled down your back. You became painfully aware of every sensation. Weight of your soul made actions such as even breathing difficult. Every moment took a great effort. Sometime unbidden tears would roll down your face. If it were not for Lady Dara constantly bringing food and tea you might have wasted away, more than you were already. Your state had become such that Lady Dara would sometimes take it upon herself to feed Owen. Thankfully he was old enough to be weaned off breastmilk. Doom was hanging over your head like an axe. Any moment you expected it to fall.

"It truly is a pity." Cerilla's presence had become more frequent. Seemingly in Lady Mari's absence Cerilla seemed eager to fill it. Another young might have cared. A young naive girl with only happy days ahead and a child’s notion of the world. Even as she was before you Cerilla’s face was not in focus. She might as well be a shadow on the wall. With a detached observation you wondered at your lack of emotion. The world was a haze in front of you, a lucid dream. You wondered if this was the price payed for your pact. But it if saved Owen all would be well. So long as he lived you were alive.

Cerilla persisted in her presence. At some point she pulled out a letter. It bore the royal seal and was already open. “This was naturally addressed to Lady Joan, but it concerns you as well.” With a sickening smile she opened the letter with a flourish. Clearing her throat Cerilla spoke.

We regret to inform the kingdom of King Aegon Targaryens passing. He departed to the Gods as the sun set. It is also with equal regret that we announce the death of Prince Jaecerion Targaryen-"

Not even Cerilla expected your reaction. If she expected crying or wailing she was sorely disappointed. To her it looked as if all the air had been let out of you. A great breath, your chest heaved and eye grew impossibly wide. Struggling to breath you were unablr to move. Your mind and body had become two separate things, unable to control the other. Anyone walking in would have thought you were seizing right up. But the wound you had been dealt was not physical. No maester could help you in this state.

Recollection in this state was impossible. When Cerissa left and Lady Dara entered you could not say. Cast into an abyss of darkness and grief all you did was merely exist in frozen horror. Jaecerion was dead. Young handsome Jaecerion. His life flashed before you eyes. From boyhood to a man he had always been there. And it occurred to you at that moment, Jaecerion had been the only one to love you. Now you were all left alone, save for Owen. No other had loved or protected you so. He joined the great mass of the dead who had left your life. They swarmed into one force that haunted you to sleep.

That night you dreamed of a handsome prince with purple eyes. His silver armor flashing in the light, he had saved you from darkness. And in that dream you lived in a fantasy. In all the stories you read good triumphed and she lived happily ever after. And a handsome prince accompanied her to whatever end.

Waking up brought back all the pain. How bitterly you had wept. Terrors came to your mind. Nothing to preoccupy you from this grief. All their faces came. Aemond, Alana, all their faces came before you deathly pale. Unlike your sweet dream that brought you so much joy these faces spoke of despair. No amethyst eyes, just empty sockets.

You did not protest when they moved you. Bathing, feeding ,dressing, all of it, was done with the upmost obedience. Sometimes you were aware of Cerilla's presence. Sometimes she spoke, not that you understood anything. You had become mute and deaf to the world. Only the inner turmoil of your mind existed.

"Will she get better?" "I dunno." "Do you know what has distressed her so?" Their voices blended together into a symphony of confusion. "Do they think I have gone mad?" You thought to yourself. Although your mind could now make out words they meant little. In the past week the only thing you had been able to do was care for Owen. Every day Lady Dara would male sure the two of you had time together. Every morning you pressed kisses to his soft curls and Lady Dara brought toys. Slowly you started to gain some soft of existence. Between the waking world and lucid dreams of the dead became a way of life.

They peeled the nightgown off of you. A silver tub had been moved. Citrus filled the air and you were lowered into the warm water. Someone's hands were running through your hair. A pitcher of water washed the suds away. Leaning back you allowed the scents to overtake. Citrus, wax candles, the fireplace. This grounded you more than anything else. Floating in the water you became aware of your physical pain. Days at a time of immobility had stiffened you and made every move painful. For a while you simply stayed there. For the first time in a while you were calm. Or rather, you were simply too tired to care anymore.

Hands rested themselves on your shoulders. Thinking it was Lady Dara or one of the maids you remained unworried. Fingertips pressed themselves into your skin, traced the back of your neck. "It truly is a pity." Jerking forward sending water flashing to the floor you turned to see Cerilla standing there. You realized it was just the two of you. Completely vulnerable in both body and mind all you could do was pray she would leave. Cerilla made no move to leave, leering at you. "They are all dead now. And Alicent Hightower is locked away." A sickening smile curled on her face. It reminded you of a snake, poised to strike with a deadly curl of the lips. "That's Queen Dowager to you." A small spark showed itself. Only for Cerilla to smoother it. "You haven't heard? Well I am not surprised." She waited, watching for a reaction. When your face showed fear she continued. "Alicent has been locked up. She will not be killed, of course. Her granddaughter will marry Aegon." Aegon? Hadn't he died? And wasn't he her father on top of that?! Seeing the confusion Cerillas laughed. "Not him. Rhaenyra's son. King Aegon, third of his name. I will be going to his coronation." It took a moment for reality to set in. The truth was so hard to grasp that you just sat there. For the first time Cerilla looked displeased. A frown appeared on her face.

"Would you like to hear about Jaecerion's death? I mean you did love him so. Wasn't there a marriage in the works. How disappointed you must be." Finally, you spoke. "Why....why would I want to hear the details." Cracked, you voice was small ,weak. Finally Cerilla looked happy. And she showed no mercy. "He had been ill for a while. An arrow to the chest is a nasty think. They thought he was getting better, but sadly the poor prince passed. They say he had some sort of spasm, choked, and the life left his eyes. I heard his lips turned completely blue." A maid entered and Cerilla stood up. "Get her dressed." Cerilla ordered, and left.

The sun was setting. Watching its progress you wondered if it would ever rise again. A fanciful thought born of grief. While the sun might rise for others, for you it would not. For the rest of this life you would endure a long night that would follow you to the grave. Long ago you had watched Laena Velaryon's coffin being dropped into the sea with a horrid finality. You had imagined it sinking to the bottom. Separated from her family and friends. Now Aemond lay in his own watery grave. Jaecerion died chocking on his own blood. His mouth had turned blue, they said. You remembered your own father growing ridged, bloodshot eyes staring into nothing.

The two of you had been having cake. It had been a favourite of his, you only just remembered. Sitting in his office your father had made time for his only child. On that day he had been telling an interesting tale, so your cake remained untouched. He took a mouthful of cake and continued talking. Suddenly he had chocked and gasping for breath, knocked your plate over. You had screamed and cried, Guards rushed in. A maester soon arrive, but it was too late. they had said he chocked on the cake. The memory had been so horrid that up till now you tried forgetting it. Now it roared back with a vengeance.

He had blue lips. Lady Mari had blue lips. Jaecerion had blue lips. Touching your own you suddenly felt cold. A type of cold that ties in knots as you made the realization.

"Owen!" Your ran.

Notes: This chapter was definitely depressing, sorry. I have been waiting so long to get to this point. The story is going to get darker so hang on. There will be two more chapters and then a short epilogue. Afterwards I will be taking a break before writing part 2. I know this part of the story will get y'all down but please continue. The "plot twist" is going to come up! I also want to make it very clear that Jaecerion is dead, for now.

I know the paragraph dividers look different this chapter and I will fix that.

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[lya-dustin]

All is bliss

Chapter 16

Cw: liberal use of the word whore, mentioned murder, mentions of gaslighting someone

Taglist: @mercedesdecorazon @darylandbethfanforever9 @sweethoneyblossom1 @aemondx

Gif by @lady-phasma

“I believe I have the answer to our little problem.” Larys tries not to look too smug about it.

Alys Rivers, the Whore of Harrenhal, is six moons pregnant.

All signs point to a son.

The gods mock her by making Aegon’s only children bastards.

“Your grace.” She curtseys as best as her condition allows.

She wants something, they all do.

Lord Beesbury wanted Aegon to recognize Ellyn Flowers or lose his support.

But little Ellyn was two name days old and female.

Alys’ bastard was conceived right before his illness six moons ago.

“How much do you want?” she asks, all these women only wanted compensation.

“Nothing,” the wench lies. “I only seek to serve you and aid you in your cause.”

Of course, she needs Aegon to be king to get what she wants.

But she can get rid of her like she did with Ellyn’s mother and one of the whores at the Street of Silk who wanted the bastard recognized by him.

“Have my son brought to me, tell him I need to speak with him urgently.” Alicent tells her loyal handmaid who cannot stop staring at Lord Strong’s sister.

“What can be so important that you make me come to your rooms before that infernal dinner with father?” Aegon asks irritated after he is so rudely denied a pre-dinner entertainment courtesy of a peephole that gives him a great view into his wife’s room.

Mother has company, a dark-haired beauty several moons pregnant.

Was the bastard his?

When Beatrice ‘Bee’ Beesbury was discovered to be with child, mother dragged him here and made him deny he had fucked her.

Was she looking for an encore of that performance?

He had felt shitty after, seeing sweet Bee cry and be called a whore by her father and uncle as she begged him to say the truth.

He had wanted to and did the moment little Ellyn was born with the cutest curls and his eyes; a shame Bee died in that carriage accident on her way to court.

“I see the gods spared you from the effects of the pox, your highness.” The woman said with a voice that matched her unnerving blue eyes.

Alys.

The Great Whore of Harrenhal.

The wench who read his future in the flames after giving him the greatest fuck in his life.

She may have given him the pox, but there had been so many women before and after, he couldn’t be sure.

“I do not know this woman.” He says to his mother who tries not to roll her eyes.

“Do not lie to me, son. In this instance, you may speak the truth.” She said and he wondered what game they were playing.

Aemond is the one with a head for intrigues and politics, Aegon does the fun part like revelries, hunting, drinking and fucking.

“Did you give me the pox?” he asks the woman who cleared her throat in embarrassment and shook her head.

With that out of the way, he continues.

“Alright, the head of my household will jot down your details, and you will get a manse in the city and alimony until the brat is old enough to sustain you or dies.” None of her children lived to term, she’ll be gone before the harvest festivals even begin, he thinks. “If it is a daughter name her what you will, but if it is a son, he will be named Maegor.”

The Maegor to Aemma’s Aenys, he is so clever sometimes he has to take a break to avoid getting dizzy from it.

“Aegon.” His mother warned, her patience wearing thin.

“Isn’t that what is done when recognizing a bastard, mother?” he asks hoping she will speak plainly.

“It is not just that, Aegon. Tomorrow the High Septon will need to see proof of whether the rumors of your problem are true. Lady Alys is proof those are just lies spread by our enemies.” Mother gets as snappy as a turtle whenever she has to do something improper.

Gets so embarrassed by it but doesn’t stop until she is as covered in shit as the rest of this rotten court.

“I will agree to this on one condition.” Aegon said knowing mother cannot say no. “Let me introduce her at dinner.”

Had this been planned by Aemma or even Helaena, she would have been seated near Aemond.

But this was the work of her darling goodmother and she is sat between Aegon and Helaena who gives her husband’s excuses to them on account of his father’s recent execution.

They will be leaving for Driftmark for the funeral tomorrow morning, Aemma is to leave on Silverwing with Helaena flying on her own dragon while Daeron takes his father’s body in the ship that is now his.

“You should come and stay with us a while, Aemond. It has been some time since Vhagar was near her own kind.” Helaena suggested without a hint of motive except some loneliness. “My Daeron will be in over his head getting the guards and the fleet to take him seriously, perhaps your presence will settle them down.” She adds as if she were speaking of unruly children instead of men seething in rage for the death of their lord and general.

“Isn’t our Daeron returning with you to your home?” Aemond asks pretending he isn’t too eager about this offer.

“I’m going to squire for Uncle Gwayne, I’ll be leaving with him tomorrow as well.” Daeron, who sits between him and Helaena, answered his question unaware of everything going on.

He was roughly two moons older than Luke and just as innocent of the world as him.

And yet their rivalry knew no bounds as he is very quick to show off Tessarion and his skills to Luke who doesn’t train as much for fear of hurting others now.

As punishment for their part in Aemond’s accident, father had taken his and Jace’s daggers ---a necessity in westrosi society--- and forbidden them from training until he was old enough to squire for him.

Jacaerys had become Daemon’s squire three years past, and would be replaced with Luke as he is going to Driftmark with grandfather to cement his place as his heir.

Especially now that their half-brother, Addam, claimed Seasmoke some four moons ago, and many remark on his uncanny resemblance to father.

There was talk of him being legitimized, but grandmother absolutely forbids it as it is a threat to their clear cut succession.

“You should go, who knows, your stay will be fruitful.” Aegon said with a wink that caused his mother to quietly chastise him, Ser Otto to study them more and Daeron to ask what he meant.

“And in that vein, I have some news.” Aegon says just as Aemma’s family arrives at the same time as an all too familiar witch.

Luckily her mother is running late because of some trouble with Joffrey refusing to stay in the nursery with their little brothers.

[theladydaisy]

Would You, Please?

Challenge for @asongofgoldenfireandblackblood

PROMPT: defining moment

▪︎▪︎☆▪︎▪︎☆▪︎▪︎

“Ugh!” She let out a bark of frustration. “I mean, is my brother so blind that he can't see what he's doing to the poor woman - seven hells, what he did to Ellyn, too?”

Daisy slammed Jasper's letter down on the wooden table hard enough that her hand stung. When his first wife died, Daisy (only ten at the time) put it up to the hand of the Stranger. Tragic, and she did blame him a little, how could she not, but these things happened to women sometimes. He stood quietly at her funeral, with nothing more than his customary stony expression. Others might say it was just a brave face for the children, but Daisy wondered if perhaps he truly did not see his hand in this. If he even cared.

She glanced at the offending object. “It is with great pleasure and joy that I tell you that the gods have blessed us again and Lady Ysabel is with child.” The gall of the man! He had ten children, six sons (six!), and yet so no reason to stop. Not even his lady-wife's health, which had been fading since the birth of her last child.

“Daisy, my flower, I need you to take a breath.” Robin, her dear, sweet Robin, came up behind her, folding her in his arms, his voice a fine autumn mist to cool her burning anger.

“It's… it's like she means nothing to him, like nothing and no one means anything to him, besides himself. Does he not remember Ellyn?” In a smaller voice, she added, “Does he not remember Tyana?” She certainly did. Daisy leaned into her husband's warm body and wished her brother could see what his actions have wrought.

“I can't speak for your brother, but I know Ellyn's loss still haunts him greatly.”

Daisy felt her temper spark. “Good! Maybe he deserves to be haunted! I hope Ellyn's ghost is still rattling around the Rain House, leaving spiders in his boots.” Robin laughed at that, short but full-bodied and bright. Letting her go, he leaned over to read the rest of the letter that she had been too angry to read.

“He'll be paying us a visit in a few days, he says. Would it make you feel better if I spoke to him?”

“Would you, please?”

☆

If Daisy could go back and shake herself, scream at herself, slap herself, she would.

She's killed him. With three little syllables, she's killed him. He'll go off with Jasper, and it will go poorly, and only Jasper will come back, all full of false grief and falser love. If she'd been less selfish, or perhaps more selfish, and said “no” or “I'll do it” or hell, even “it's no use,” Robin would be alive and her children would still have a father and she'd still have a husband.

And a brother.

[moonflowerbread]

calamitous

ca•lam•i•tous

/kəˈlamədəs/

adjective

involving calamity; catastrophic or disastrous.

"You can taste the satisfying, chaotic, calamitous losses and defeats the near future holds for the House of the Dragon."

fandom(s) : HotD/DotD (asoiaf)

genre(s) : fantasy, romance, drama

pairing(s) : Prince Aemond Targaryen × Baratheon! Reader (Fem) - Slight/Implied

rating : 16+ recommend

warning(s) : reader is a kinda crazy?, mentions of disfigurement (Aemond losing his eye), OC! Reader (if that makes any sense),

plot : Prince Aemond Targaryen goes to Storm's End in order to gain the loyalty of Lord Borros Baratheon. In order to do so, Prince Aemond must choose between five sisters to marry.

A/N : this is basically just an Aemond × OC story but with the use of you/your :D, this is also my first story to be shared publicly so I do hope you enjoy!

(I do NOT give permission to edit this story, in ANY way)

(gif(s) used above does NOT belong to me and I do NOT claim any rights to it)

Just hours ago, your father had forewarned you and your sisters of the stately Targaryen Prince that stood before you all now.

Throughout your childhood, you had been told many stories of House Targaryen and the questionable sanity of its family members. Apparently, or so Cassandra has claimed, a hatred had been seeded between the family after King Viserys named his eldest child, the comley Princess Rhaenyra his heir.

It's said that the hostility between family members only grew stronger after a lamentable event occurred that lead to the loss of Prince Aemond Targaryen's left eye at the hands of his younger nephew, Prince Lucerys Velaryon.

It was wrong, but after learning of what happened to the Prince all those years ago, when you were only a child, you began wondering what it was like. How you wished to experience what it felt like to take the eye of another person, to permanently maim another person.

You were immediately aware how distasteful your unusual appetite for all things dark and gruesome. No child of nine should be daydreaming of the odious murders and torture of others when breaking one's fast, or taking a bath, or when laying awake instead of trying to fall asleep.

You knew all this, but eventually the thoughts of harming others consummed you entirely. You were no longer a curious child who had heard one too many stories of morbid things before bedtime, you had become a young beast whose mind constantly thought of fantasy images of all things brutal.

"Sister," Your sweet younger sister Floris whispers out to your youngest sister, Ellyn.

In physical appearance and personality, you and your sisters are very different.

Your four sisters, two older and two younger, were nicknamed the Four Storms because of their constant and merciless bickering, while you usually stood silently to the side, unamused.

Each of your sisters shared the same untamed dark hair and remarkable blue eyes of your father. You, however, had the dark eyes and strawberry-blonde hair of your adored mother.

Floris, who is five-and-ten, is widely regared as the prettiest daughter of Lord Borros Baratheon and Lady Elenda Caron due to her thick eyelashes, plump lips, and naturally curvy body. You have been envious of Floris since your shared youth, with you being only eleven moons older than her, before you could even understand what the word even meant.

This, alone, is why you strongly suspect Prince Aemond will choose your sweet younger sister as his bride tonight.

If you am correct in my prediction, Maris will surely be upset. Maris, who is only a year older than you, had been yearning to be in a place of high power since her childhood. Always wanting to use her intelligence to become powerfully and wealthy. So, becoming the wife of a Prince, like the stoic young man listening to our father's ramblings, is just what she needs to achieve these life-long goals.

Everything was going smoothly, with the white haired Prince staring expectantly at each of you, his impressive sword proudly poking out from behind his black leather cloak.

A hand came to rest on your stomach in an attempt to pacify the uncomfortable nerves shooting through your body as the Prince's intimidating purple eye began to gaze upon you silently.

The intensity of his stare felt like a challenge to you, purple and black clashing together in a silent demand to keep eye contact.

The tranquility inside the icy interior of Storm's End was interrupted by the fortuitous arrival of the timid Prince Lucerys.

A pup of a man, your father's voice mocks in your head.

"Prince Lucerys Velaryon," A voice introduced the young boy.

Prince Aemond turned away from you, something dangerous glinting in his beautiful eye as he looked at his newly arrived nephew.

"Son of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen." The man finished, thunder sounding off somewhere in the distance.

Involuntarily, your eyes narrow at the dark haired Prince, immediately understanding why the bastard has made an appearance. No doubt acting as a loyal messenger for his mother, trying to remind who swore themselves to the late King Viserys' eldest born.

"Lord Borros, I have brought you a message from my mother," The pup finally speaks up, his jaw clenching slightly, "The Queen."

You can feel laughter bubbling in your throat at his impressively brave, but stupid words. You have no personal quarrel with Princess Rhaenyra and would love nothing more than to finally see a woman rule, to see a Queen sit the Iron Throne. But, you are no fool. You ade aware, thanks to your father's enjoyment of hearing himself speak, what is likely to become of the kingdom if a woman was to rule.

"Yet earlier this day, I received an envoy from the King. Which is it?" Your father jokes, his hands wrapping impatiently around the arms of his seat, "King or Queen?"

A titter spills from your throat, the same suppressed laugh that had been waiting to be released.

Prince Aemond turns his head to stare at you once again, a tight smirk playing on his lips as words begin flying out of your mouth in a sneer as you look up to my father, "The House of the Dragon does not seem to know who rules it."

You have nothing against Prince Lucerys or anyone else from the noble House Targaryen, but your eyes still desperately search my father's face. The strong desire to please your father has blurred right and wrong since you were a toddler.

Your heart lifts in your chest as your father, and your two oldest sisters, crease up at your deride towards the younger Prince.

When you finally look away from your father, you notice the intense but welcoming stare from Prince Aemond.

For just a moment, you feared maybe he disliked you now, but then you quickly remember his feelings for you are worth nothing as he will not choose you to wed.

"What's your mothers message?" The demanding voice of your father pulls you from your distraction.

Prince Lucerys reaches inside his red cloak, successfully pulling out a tightly rolled letter from within.

Your throat dries in anticipation, dark eyes glancing to the tall Prince standing slightly in front of you for just a moment before watching the important letter be handed off to your father.

He holds the unopened paper before raising his voice in annoyance, "Where's the bloody maester?"

Your eyes fall onto one of the people standing neatly in the distance. A pressure begins to form in the middle of your eyebrows as his eyes meet yours for a second, sensing your stare before scurrying to your father, the satisfying panicked tapping of his poorly polished shoes echoing his embarrassment throughout the tenebrous castle.

Now tired of waiting to learn the contents within the letter delivered by Prince Lucerys, you look to your sweet sister Floris who stands silently to your right, symbolizing to Prince Aemond that you are older than she is.

She playfully raised her eyebrows at tou once your eyes meet, her blue eyes glancing to the boy pup and to you again.

You eyes roll at her silent question, her smile is interrupted by your father's sudden outburst. His anger was visible in the way his pupils expand to devour almost all the blue of his iris'.

"King Aegon at least came with an offer; my swords and banners for a marriage pact. If I do as your mother bids, which one of my daughters will you wed," He glances over to you and your sisters for a moment, "Boy."

You can almost taste the panic swell inside the young Prince, his chin raising slightly in an attempt to calm his nerves before responding.

"My lord, I am not free to marry. I am already betrothed."

Your father lets out a deep sigh, "So, you come with empty hands. Go home, pup. And tell your mother that the Lord of Storm's End is not some dog that she can whistle up at need to set against her foes."

Your eyes dart from your father to the younger Prince who stands silently, trying desperately to stay brave in the face of such harsh rejection.

After taking in a small breath to steady himself, Prince Lucerys claims, "I shall take your answer to the Queen, my Lord." His brown eyes narrowing slightly at his soundless uncle.

The One-Eyed Prince smirks humorlessly at his pug-nosed nephew, his sharp jaw clenching in clear annoyance.

Your eyes close shut as the bastard Prince begins to leave, the tightness enveloped around your chest slowly leaving, much to your distaste.

"Wait," Prince Aemons demands, his voice alone stopping his family member from leaving and forcing your eyes to open again, "My Lord Strong."

A satisfied smile spreads on your face, deep dimples forming effortlessly at the domineering jest.

You watch the young Prince quietly as he turns to face his uncle.

"Did you really think that you could fly about the realm trying to my brother's throne at no cost?" The Prince of Old Valyria colours speaks again, his polished black shoes slowly tapping the hard floor.

Quickly, Prince Lucerys says, "I will not fight you."

How unfortunate, you think as your eyes narrow at the boy just barely younger than yourself.

"I came as a messenger, not a warrior."

Your head tilts to one side, making some of your hair fall from it's near place tucked behind your ear as you let a scoff escape into the air, "Prince Lucerys, forgive me but, you do not actually believe yourself fit to fight, do you?"

The secondborn son of Princess Rhaenyra looks at you, his dark eyebrows creased in worry at your comment, likely detecting your threatening tone.

Feeling the stare of the first Prince to arrive in Storm's End, you look at him, expecting to be greeted with an unwelcome glare but, instead, you are being smiled at.

A few silent seconds pass as he continues to stare at you silently before turning his head back to his eldest sister's bastard.

"I want you to put out your eye," The Targaryen Prince begins, his fingers taking ahold of the black patch covering his left eye to removing it, revealing a beautiful sapphire which has replaced the eye he lost so many years ago, "As payment for mine. One will serve; I do not wish to blind you."

You let out a quiet breath from between the small opening between your lips when Prince Aemond pulls a small dagger from his waist, only to throw it to the ground and towards his nephew.

Your hand comes to your mouth, your teeth taking the nail of my thumb between them as excitement squeezes at your heart.

"I plan to make a gift of it to my wife," Prince Aemond declares, his purple eye fixating on you for only a second.

Your head lowers slightly in thought, wondering if you had merely imagined Prince Aemond's eye on you.

"No." Was Prince Lucerys' simple answer.

Prince Aemond's long white hair fluttered lightly with the wind flowing in the great castle as he spoke, his chin raised high, "Than you are craven, as well as a traitor."

"Not here." Your father attempts to intervene the brewing argument.

Suddenly, without warning, Prince Aemond advanced forward, easily picking up the dagger he had thrown earlier, his voice much more manic from just seconds ago, "Give me your eye, or I will take it, bastard!"

Prince Lucerys took his sword out of its sheath, taking multiple steps back as fear contorts his face.

"Not in my hall !" Your father yells out, standing up from his seat made of stone as his eyes look between the two young Princes.

Prince Aemond stops his aggressive approach, the dagger tight in his hands as his eyes continue to stare holes into the bastard Prince.

"The boy came as an envoy." He reminds the roomful of people, but mostly Prince Aemons whose chest heaves, "I'll not have bloodshed beneath my roof."

You look to your father's tense frame, eyes narrowing at him, disappointed in the sudden halt of action between the two feuding Princes.

"Take Prince Lucerys back to his dragon."

When nobody dares to move, scared to disturb the calmness washing over, almost, everyone now that the fight has been stopped before it could get any more dangerous.

"Now." He demands coldly.

And so, the guards do as they are told.

As the knights escort the young Prince through the great doors of Storm's End, you watch the back of Prince Lucerys' head carefully, thinking fondly of the sudden flavor of death melting on your sharp tongue.

You can taste the satisfying, chaotic, calamitous losses and defeats the near future holds for the House of the Dragon.

[thecleverestorm]

starter for @lady-ellyn-of-the-storm

“I look after you, because I care for you,”

There was always something behind the eyes of Maris Baratheon. She wasn’t like her elder sister, wild, bold, and beautiful. She was just herself. She would rather have her nose in a book and read when she could. Much different than her father…

Some question her ability to read, because of her father’s lack of knowledge and ability to read. But from a young age her mother had taught her well. She had read everything from the histories to whatever was given in front of her.

If it had words, Maris had probably read it by now. Though she was unwed… that was an issue by now, she was now 19… when most ladies were married and even had kids by now. The only children she ever imagined taking care of was her sisters. That was the truth. Beside her love for books she had loved the idea of becoming a mother.

From the youngest age she could remember, she would do any length to help her mother with looking after her baby sisters. She was able to find away to put her book down and play with them when she could. She was happy this way. She was in the library for a short period of time today, as she wanted to go visit on of her loveliest sister.

Today, all she could think about was the well-being of Ellyn. There probably was nothing wrong with Ellyn, but she felt like she had to give her a little check in.

She closed the book she was reading and she went to her chambers to place it down, before she went to Ellyn. Maris made sure she left everything else with her, before she went to go see her sister, just in case she lost anything.

The girl cleaned up her hair and face, flattened her dress out before she headed out the door. She walked down hall and she knocked on her sister’s door. “Ellyn!”

Her voice was sweet full of excitement, to see her sister.