#fenrick (oc)

[zeciex]

A Vow of Blood

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: “You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you,“ the witch said….

Daenera Velaryon returns to King’s Landing with the intention of bolstering her mother’s position and reminding both the Greens and nobility that Rhaenyra is the rightful heir to the throne. She has a specific goal in mind: to be a constant source of annoyance to the Greens and is willing to play the political game without hesitation.

However, what catches her off guard is the way Aemond gazes at her and seems to relish in her suffering. He openly expresses his desire to bring about her downfall, her ruination.

This situation leads to a tense game of cat and mouse, with each move escalating the already high stakes. Will their precarious situation crumble as the dragons soar above, or will fate intervene?

After all, love often demands the sacrifice of duty, just as duty can sometimes lead to the demise of love. Characters: Aemond Targaryen X OC, HOTD characters.

Chapter 12: The Whore that Lies

AO3 - Masterlist

“This is a bad, bad idea,” Jelissa said with a quivering voice filled with anxiety, her hands twisting in distress as she paced back and forth, wearing a visible path into the stone floor. Unlike her companion, Daenera, who appeared calm and composed, Jelissa was a bundle of nerves. 

Meanwhile, Daenera sat upon the settee, attempting to stitch an intricate design of various plants. Her attempts proved futile, as the tansy resembled nothing more than a simple yellow circle, the bird’s-foot trefoil failed to portray its climbing nature and lay lifeless on the canvas, and even the coriander flower, while the most successful of her stitching attempts, left much to be desired. 

Jelissa’s apprehension echoed in her voice as she reiterated her concerns. “This is a very bad idea.”

“Yes, thank you for your assessment. I will take it into consideration,” Daenera replied dismissively, eyes never leaving her embroidery. Jelissa wasn’t the only one who gave voice to her apprehension, Joyce had also expressed her reluctance, but Daenera knew she would ultimately follow through with the plan, as she always did.

Jelissa’s worry persisted. “What if we get caught?”

“We won’t get caught, but he will know.”

“And what if it goes wrong?”

“Then we’re sure to be ostracized,” Daenera answered simply. 

Jelissa came with a feeble, mousy sound, beginning to further wear a path in the stone floor. How could Daenera be so nonchalant about it? 

As the doors swung open, the three hooded figures made their entrance. Fenrick hastened to shut the doors behind them, visibly uneasy as he removed his own hood, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. He had been adamantly opposed to the plan from the very start. 

Joyce followed suit, removing her hood and the figure beside her did the same. A cascade of dark curls spilled around the woman’s shoulders, thick and lush, slightly shorter and more coiled than Daenera’s own tresses. A faint, uneasy smile played upon the woman’s lips as she stood before Daenera, hands folded in front of her, a display of nervousness that contradicted the flicker of deception in her eyes. 

Rising from the settee, Daenera carefully placed her unfinished embroidery on the table, her gaze fixed upon the woman. Slowly, she circled her, observing the woman’s figure and features with keen eyes, lips pursing in contemplation. 

The room was charged with tension, the air heavy and warm. 

The woman’s complexion was fair and unblemished, her face round and plump with youthful features There was a striking resemblance between the two of them, and in dim light, Daenera believed they could easily be mistaken for one another. However, the woman stood slightly taller and broader than Daenera, and the most distinctive difference lay in their eyes. 

While Daenera possessed cornflower blue eyes, the woman’s eyes were a deep shade of gray. 

Nevertheless, Daenera’s expression conveyed her approval to Joyce, a silent affirmation of her satisfaction with the woman standing before them. 

“What is your name?” Daenera inquired.

“Selma, misstre-my lady,” The young woman answered and made a sweet, albeit, clumsy curtsy. 

“And how old are you?”

“Nine and ten.”

“How long have you been in this profession?” 

Selma released a burst of air that could have turned into laughter, her body assuming the coy posture that mirrored Daenera’s own. Coy, yet sly. The similarity between them was not lost on the princess. 

“So, you’re asking how long I’ve been a whore?” Semla surmised, her tone carrying a hint of amusement. “Since I was two and ten, princess.”

“Would you prefer to be called a whore or a mistress of the night?” Daenera’s question seemed to puzzle Selma, as if she had never been given the voice of how she preferred to be addressed. Her wide gray eyes scanned Daenera, eyes flickering as she tried to decipher the situation. 

Daenera didn’t mind the skepticism, in fact, she expected it. It would be unusual for a woman in Selma’s line of work not to be wary of any given situation, considering the risk involved. 

“You can call me whatever you please, though ‘whore’ is the most common term used for what I am called,” Selma replied, her voice calm and measured. 

She began moving around in the room slowly, her eyes darting over the surroundings, keen to gather as much information as possible about the situation she found herself in. Daenera understood as much. 

Fenrick was less allowing, positioned near the door, and shifting uncomfortably, clearly unsettled by Selma’s ease in making herself at home. His scowl deepened, resembling someone bothered by a pebble in their shoe. 

Joyce was more relaxed in posture, but her eyes never left the girl. And Jelissa was standing in a corner, swaying from one foot to another, wringing her hands in front of her, shoulders up to her ears. 

“It is not often I am invited to The Red Keep,” Selma mused, running a finger over a table as if looking for dust. “Why am I here?”

“I have a task that requires someone of your profession .”

Selma’s clips curled into a playful, if not insolent, smile and plucked one of the berries from the array of fruits, savoring its taste behind her painted lips. Her eyes gleamed with mischief. “Obviously. I assume it requires deceit, deception and above all discretion.”

“Indeed, those are the key elements.” Daenera nodded, acknowledging Selma’s astute observation. “And what do you know about Prince Aemond?”

Daenera noticed Selma’s sudden shift in demeanor as her full attention was captured by the mention of Prince Aemond. The young woman’s eyes widened, her eyebrows rising and her lips parting in surprise. It was evident that this went beyond the usual encounters within the walls of the Keep. While whores were often sneaked in for the pleasure of lustful lords seeking refuge from the outside world, involving oneself with a prince was an entirely different matter. The stakes were higher, and the risk greater. 

“He’s the one-eyed prince,” Selma replied, her filled with apprehension. “I’ve heard rumors about him… and how he lost his eye.”

Daenera leaned closer, her voice dropping to a hushed tone. “Tell me, Selma, what else have you heard about the prince?”

“He’s… unlike his brother. That the prince, Aemond, is restrained, a skilled fighter, fearsome and cold. One could almost call him frigid,” Selma revealed, hesitant and cautious. 

Daenera nodded in agreement. “Yes, he possesses all those qualities. But he also possesses a sense of moral superiority and smugness. It infuriates me. Aemond carries himself with an air of righteousness, believing himself above the same vices that inflict his brother. I intend to expose his hypocrisy.”

Understanding dawned on Selma’s face. “You wish to humiliate him.”

Daenera’s eyes gleamed with mischief and she made an upside down smirk. “Exactly. Aegon is known for his indulgences in pleasure, he visits the brothels often and has a reputation of being a pervert. The Queen must be disappointed with her firstborn. I want to show her that her other son is no different.”

Selma’s eyes fixated on the heavy coin purse Joyce pressed into the palm of Daenera, greed flickering in the whores eyes. 

“And what is the task you require of me?”

“I want you to surprise Aemond in his chambers, to be discovered in a compromising situation,” Daenera informed, head tilting to the side as she observed the woman. “I want you to make a scene when he tries to remove you from his chambers.”

“What if he does not try to throw me out? What if he takes my presence as a gift?” Selma posed a valid concern, her eyes glimmering with as much curiosity as the did caution.

Daenera’s mind briefly faltered at the thought. It hadn’t crossed her mind that Aemond might not react as she expected him to do. The notion grated on her. It felt like an itch she could not scratch. Bothersome, uncomfortable and confusing. After all, Aemond was a man, and men were weak to the desires of the flesh.

But Aemond was also a man of steel and ice, a complex puzzle of conflicting traits. Daenera regained her composure and spoke with certainty. “If he chooses to take pleasure in your company, that will be your decision. However, your primary task is for you to cause a scene that will be heard throughout the Red Keep. I want to embarrass and humiliate him.”

Selma’s eyes flickered with caution. “Men can become dangerous when they’re humiliated. They may lash out, leaving marks or worse.”

Daenera met Selma’s gaze and said with assurance. “Aemond may threaten you, he may corner you, but he will not harm you. He considered himself above such acts.”

“Many men do, princess. It doesn’t always stop them.”

The assurance Daenera had given wasn’t entirely false, but it wasn’t entirely true either, and a whore knew that well. Daenera also knew the fierce look that had once glickered in Aemond’s eyes, the moment he had contemplated violence, where he had picked up a rock and prepared to swing it, or more recently, in the sept when he had burned her hand. Instinctively she brushed a thumb over the healed skin. She could never be certain of his limits, nor assured by his restraint. “He may tighten his grip on you, but he would not take your life.”

“And what of the Queen?” Selma continued. 

Daenera’s expression softened slightly as she considered the Queen’s potential reaction. “The Queen will likely want you to leave discreetly. She may even offer compensation to ensure your silence, along with a threat.” Daenera took Selma’s hand and pressed the heavy coin purse into her palm. “And if not, this should be sufficient to secure your discretion.”

A mischievous smile played across Selma’s lips as she closed her fingers around the coins. “Discretion is a whore’s most precious trait.”

With grace and precision, Aemond skilfully evaded Ser Criston Cole’s sword swipe, his silver hair swishing with each nimble movement. He dove and spun, his sword pointing at the Kingsguard as if daring him to strike again. The exhilaration of combat coursed through Aemond’s veins, his muscles primed and tingling with anticipation. Training made him feel alive, much like riding Vhagar, his heart pounding within his chest.

Ser Criston pressed forward, their swords colliding with the intent on winning. Aemond absorbed the impact of each blow, skillfully redirecting the force while yielding ground. The vibrations reverberated through his hands, arms, and shoulders, a familiar ache that no longer caused him to drop his weapon.

“I heard about the incident with the princess,” Ser Criston commented, his dark eyes intently focused on Aemond’s every move. 

Aemond pressed on, annoyance gripping his lungs tightly at the mere mention of Daenera. Ser Criston met each swing of the sword with practiced ease. 

“It was unbecoming of someone of her status to even consider something as… indecent as that. I suppose she takes after her mother in that regard,” Ser Criston sneered. His disdain for Rhaenyra and her children was no secret, even if he attempted to withhold the bitterness from his words. It seemed as though their very existence repulsed him to his core. 

Silent determination etched across Aemond’s features as he deflected Ser Criston’s sword and delivered a powerful kick to the Kingsguard’s chest, causing him to stumble backward. Aemond continued his assault, landing blows upon Ser Criston’s padded form. 

“Good,” Ser Criston complimented as Aemond pressed the tip of his sword against the Kingsguard’s chest, signaling the end of their practice round. 

A smug smile curved Aemond’s lips as Ser Criston clapped him on the shoulder, both of them breathing heavily from their intense training session. They made their way towards the benches, seeking respite from the intense training. 

“The princess has always thought herself better than everyone. It wouldn’t hurt to take her down a notch or two,” Ser Criston continued, grabbing a ladle to fill with water and lifting it to his lips. “ Once, she kicked me in the ribs. She’s always been insolent. Women shouldn’t act in such a manner.”

Irritation stiffened Aemonds movements as he began to undo the leather straps around the grip of his sword so that he could redo it again. “After you were attacked by Ser Harwin Strong.”

“Yes,” Ser Criston replied, his voice dripping with loathing. “That man had no honor. He was a meddlesome cunt.”

The vivid memory of Ser Harwin Strong overpowering Ser Criston, sending him crashing to the ground, flashed in Aemond’s mind. It had been a display of pure brute strength, each strike capable of killing a lesser man. Yet, Ser Criston had endured with a resilience bestowed by the gods, aided by the intervention of four Kingsguard members and his own stubbornness. Ser Harwin had earned his epithet, ‘Breakbones,’ for a good reason. 

And Ser Criston possessed a thick skull.

Aemond also recalled the events that led to the fight. 

“And it would seem his… offspring are much the same,” Ser Criston lowered his voice, recognizing the sensitivity of calling the princess a bastard. 

Aemond felt a twinge of annoyance at the lack of respect the Kingsguard showed Daenera, despite him calling her much worse. She may be a bastard, but she was a royal bastard, and one not to be trifled with so easily.

“She appears to be a whore, much like her mother. It is fortunate that the court is now aware of her nature.”

“Ser Criston,” Aemond interjected, his tone stern. “I understand you hold them in low opinion, but do not forget yourself.” 

“Of course, my apologies, my prince,” Ser Criston conceded, though his emotions often overwhelmed him. “Aegon should be careful, she’s sure to retaliate.”

“I am sure she will,” Aemond agreed, wrapping the leather strap tightly around the hilt of his sword, the leather groaning as it was pulled. 

Underestimating Daenera and her capabilities would be foolish. Aemond made that mistake before and vowed never to repeat it. However, he couldn’t shake the belief that any damage she could inflict would be limited. He did not have a salacious letter and his reputation would not be easily damaged. 

He had burned her hand, and in retaliation, she had poisoned his sword, causing his hands to burn and itch. 

Now, he humiliated her publicly, and he knew she’d attempt to do the same. What he couldn’t figure out was how, or when. 

Daenera had shown herself to be petty and resourceful, something was bound to happen, and while he felt apprehensive there was also a peculiar intrigue growing within him. 

As the sky turned orange and a chill descended upon the air, Aemond and Ser Criston persisted with their practice in the tiltyard. When the session drew to a close, Aemond bid Ser Criston a goodnight and made his way into the Keep. 

He followed the corridor that led to Maegor’s Holdfast, where his apartments awaited, fatigue hummed through his weary muscles. 

Aches lingered in his limbs, while the tips of his fingers had gone numb from the repeated strikes his sword had endured. His hair clung to the nape of his neck and his undershirt seemed to stick to his skin. Crossing the threshold of his chambers, he found solace in the small sitting area positioned before the crackling fire where he took his meals. Adjacent to the hearth were his bedchamber, the canopy bed itself adorned with heavy curtains that was tied to the posts. 

Books lay strewn around the floor beside the hearth, a testament to his voracious appetite for knowledge. 

Kicking off his boots upon entry, Aemond unfastened his sword belt and laid it alongside them. With a satisfying stretch and a roll of his neck, he proceeded to undo his doublet, casually tossing it over the armrest of a nearby chair. 

The hearth cast its warmth and radiance throughout the room. Typically dimly lit by candles, the heavy curtains by the windows limited the ingress of light, creating an atmosphere of seclusion seldom found elsewhere. Here, he could relish in solitude, free from the weight of expectations, surrounded only by his books. 

Lifting the flagon of wine, Aemond poured himself a cup, the bitter liquid meeting his lips as he took a prolonged swig. As he turned his gaze, his eyes were drawn to the entrance of his bedchamber, his bed more specifically. In that moment he froze, brows drawing down in a confused frown. 

There, a woman leisurely sprawled out across his bed. With her back turned to him, her dark, cascading hair adorned her bare shoulders and fell like a river of black silk down her back. The pale, smooth expanse of her skin stretched over plump yet delicate curves, the flames licking across it with wicked intent, an invitation to be touched, to be claimed. 

Perplexity held Aemond captive as he stared, his heart thrumming within his chest as a fervent fire kindled in the deepest pit of his stomach, spreading warmth through his veins. It was as if his senses struggled to reconcile what lay before him with the familiar reality he had always known. 

“Daenera?” He muttered the name, soft, gentle, confused. 

Aemond’s eye darted over the woman’s enticing figure as she sat up, her back still partially turned to him. Her hand traced the contours of her hip, causing his breath to hitch. With deliberate slowness, she rotated her body to face him fully, her voluptuous breasts captivating his attention, her abdomen smooth and alluring, and a hint of curls nestled between her thighs. 

Aemond blinked, his mind struggling to process what was before him and a fist seemed to tighten around his stomach. 

As her face came into view, he scrutinized her features. It was her face that betrayed her, with its rounded shape, the subtle shadows that emphasized her cheekbones. Her lips possessed a sharpness he didn’t anticipate, her nose slightly more prominent. Yet, it was her eyes, deep gray and distinctly different from the ones that haunted him, that confirmed the truth. 

A smile played upon her lips, a mischievous tilt of her head indicating amusement. She remained on her knees on his bed. 

Aemond snapped out of his stupor, his confusion transforming into a surge of indignation that radiated through his body like icy tendrils

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” He sneered at the unfamiliar woman who was distinctly not Daenera. The deception festered in his stomach, a churning of rage and… bitter, awful disappointment . 

“I’m here for you, of course, my prince ,” the woman purred, her voice shrouded in playful sensuality. It was a voice that didn’t belong to Daenera, and it’s very sound grated against Aemond’s core as a dull blade trying to cut wood.

“Get out,” Aemond breathed in anger and disbelief, an underlying reverberation of frustration making its mark on his tone. 

“My prince?” 

“Get out!” Aemond’s shout echoed through the room, his cup of wine abandoned on a shelf as he stormed towards the woman on the bed. It felt like a violation, and intrusion of his space. With rough force, he grabbed her arm, causing her to cry out in shock and pain. His voice trembled as he spoke, “Who put you up to this?! Aegon?”

“Please, you’re hurting me,” the woman yelped, attempting to pry his hand from her arm. Fear and confusion contorted her face, her gray eyes, so unlike the ones he desired, only added to the dissonance of the moment. 

“Who sent you?!” Aemond yelled, shaking her vigorously, his grip tightening.

“Aegon! Aegon sent me,” she yelled back, her flustered cheek and downturned lips betraying her distress. “Aegon sent me. He thought you would enjoy my company, my prince.”

“You’re one of his whores,” Aemond concluded, seething with contempt. It was utterly characteristic of his brother to do something like this. It was never enough to ruin his own reputation, he also wished to ruin Aemonds. And Aemond had been foolish to believe Aegon would have ceased to bring whores into the Keep after the last time Aemond had caught him. It seemed his brother couldn’t help himself, wholly unable to resist his own vices. 

It disgusted him, and now Aegon wanted to ensnare Aemond into his sordid affairs. 

“Please,” the whore pleaded, attempting to quell the tension by placing her hand on his chest, the thin fabric barely separating her touch from his skin. Her distressed expression shifted into a mask of seduction, with a false innocence. “Let me please you.”

She pressed herself against his body and murmured, “I can be whatever you want. Whomever you want.”

Aemond’s lip curled in disgust as a wave of revulsion washed over him at her touch, her hand sliding up his chest and grazing the tips of his hair. The audacity of her presumption made his blood boil. He recoiled, his body instinctively rejecting the woman’s advances. 

Her eyes, once filled with fiery desire, now flickered with a dull gray, lacking the unique depth of the eyes that haunted his dreams. Aemond knew all too well the truth behind those whores eyes, they were nothing more than a facade, lacking the spark of intellect and captivating mystery that had drawn him to Daenera in the first place. 

He hated the whores eyes for not being Daenera, and he hated Daenera’s eyes for being the way they were. 

“I can be Daenera if it pleases you,” she whispered sweetly.

Aemond steadied himself and met her gaze with unwavering coldness. The corners of his mouth curled into a disdainful sneer, his voice dripping with contempt. “ I will not be deceived by some cheap imitation. Aegon may find amusement in pretense, but I will not be so easily corrupted. You disgust me.”

Something snapped within Aemond, shattering the barriers that had held him back. In an instant, his demeanor had transformed from a controlled facade to a maelstrom of repulsion and fury. His eye blazed with an intensity that seemed to consume the very air around him. How dare she presume to know his desires, to imitate Daenera, the very thought twisted his features into a snarl of disgust. 

Without hesitation, Aemond seized her, his grip firm and unyielding, and forcefully pulled her off the bed. In one swift motion, he propelled her towards the arch that marked the barrier between his bedchamber and sitting room. The woman collided with the stone column, her body staggering, her hands scrambling for purchase on the cold stone. She glanced back at him with fear and confusion etched upon her face. 

Aemond was upon her in an instant, closing the distance between them. His hand found its place around her throat, pressing her back against the unforgiving stone, denying her a chance of escape. The woman’s eyes widened in shock, the same color of dirty water, so far from the elusive, unfathomable blue that haunted him. 

A grim satisfaction filled Aemond as he gazed into those gray eyes, words spoken with disdain. “You are nothing more than a repugnant creature.” 

The tension seemed palpable as Aemond held her captive, the air between them filled with fear and raw loathing. She had clearly been sent to his chambers due to her resemblance to the princess solely for the purpose of taunting him. She had wished to deceive him, to lure him into bed with the batting of her eyes, to taint and shame him. 

His grip tightened, his fingers digging into her flesh, as he leaned in closer, his voice laced with venom. “You mistake me for my brother if you think I would lower myself by fucking a whore.”

“Aemond-,” she choked out.

“Do not call me that,” Aemond seethed, his face twisted with anger. “I am Prince Aemond Targaryen, and you will address me as such.”

“Please, my prince,” she stammered, her breaths coming out in panicked gasps. 

Aemond gritted his teeth and forcibly disengaged himself from her, prying his hand from her neck to snatch up her scattered garments and thrusting them into her arms. The woman stumbled as he dragged her towards the door, unable to match his long strides while clutching her clothes and trying to cover herself, teetering on the verge of dropping them all together. 

He swung the doors to his chambers open and flung her out into the hallway, with little thought on anything else that removing her from his apartments. The girl stumped and a sock fell from the bundle of clothes that she used to cover her exposed body. 

It was only then he had realized his mistake as loud gasps echoed in the hall, and he froze. 

Queen Alicent’s eyes were wide, darting between the naked girl, her face flushed and tear-streaked, and Aemond’s furious expression, his ears visibly crimson. The silence grew uncomfortable, punctuated only by the sniffs of the disheveled girl desperately attempting to shield her nudity. Her legs, shoulders, and entire backside were exposed, while her dark, tangled curls resembled more a bird's nest than what he had previously noticed. She looked like she had just rolled out of bed. 

In the light of the hallway, the semblance between the whore and Daenera dissipated like the morning mist, and the differences became evident. The whore stood taller, broader, with faint lines etching across her face as a testimony to the years she had spent in her profession. 

“Mother…” Aemond’s voice faltered as Queen Alicent raised a commanding hand, silencing him with a single gesture. 

Standing behind the Queen was lady Talya, her lips pressed into a thin line, fully aware that this was not the opportune moment to interject. To Alicent’s left stood lady Merryweather, lady Caswell, and, to Aemond’s detriment, Princess Daenera herself, her eyes widened with shock and something else. The remaining ladies either wore expressions of surprise or maintained tight-lipped composure, but Daenera’s lips held an unmistakable quirk, as if she found the situation somewhat amusing. 

Alicent directed her eyes towards the disheveled girl, naked and still recovering from her undignified expulsion from Aemond’s chambers. The Queen’s demeanor remained poised and composed, seemingly unfazed by the scandalous scene before her, though her clasped hands betrayed the tension simmering beneath the surface. 

With regal grace she addressed the girl. “What is your name?”

“S-selma, Your Grace,” the girl answered, voice quivering as much as her body was. Selma attempted a curtsy, but dropped more of her clothes. 

“Selma,” Alicent spoke with an air of authority, her tone belying the underlying anger she undoubtedly felt. “May I inquire as to what is transpiring here?”

“I… I was keeping the prince company, Your Grace,” Selma replied, her brows lifting in an attempt at honesty. She dared not meet Aemond’s incensed eye, the glare sharpening as she spoke. 

“We… We were…” Selma hesitated, leaving the unspoken words to hang in the air, allowing the audience to fill in the blanks. 

Aemond’s eyes snapped back to her, ablaze with accusation and bitter at the insinuation that something had transpired between them when it was wholly false. He clenched his jaw, hands curling into fists.

“We were in bed together, and I must have… I must have said something that offended the good prince… for he… he…” She trailed off, her hands tracing the cold skin of her arm, precisely where he had forcefully grabbed her. A bruise had formed, a visible mark of aggression. Then, her trembling hand moved to push a strand of hair behind her ear, revealing the redness and bruising around her throat and eye, a testament to an act of violence. The bruises were a deep purple, and stark against the pale of her skin. 

The accusation of violence lingered heavily in the air. Aemond knew that his grip had not been strong enough to cause such bruising, and he had certainly not hit her. The accusation was a blatant lie, but why would she?

“I beg your forgiveness, my prince, if I said something-,” the whore whimpered, tentatively approaching him.

Aemond loomed over her, his face a mask of icy indifference, unyielding and unrepentant. She reached out for him, but the clenching of his jaw seemed to deter her. 

Lady Merryweather gasped, her face flushing bright red as her eyes averted to the ceiling after having caught a glimpse of the whore’s buttock marked with red and purple handprints. 

Aemond glared coldly at each and every one of them, daring them to say anything. His eye flickered to Daenera and grazed over the sly quirk of her lips, almost forming a smirk. At that moment, he understood. 

That wretched fucking bastard. 

“Please, my prince. Please forgive me!” Selma the whore pleaded, playing her role with skilled ease, understanding just how to make the performance believable. She knew precisely when to turn, when to raise her voice, when to appear pitiful and sympathetic. “I have done nothing wrong, you must believe me.”

“Hush now,” the Queen cooed, attempting to calm the sobbing whore. She shot her son a piercing glare, conveying her disappointment and disapproval. “Talya, would you kindly see to it that this girl is dressed and quietly escorted out of the Keep?”

The request was short but firm, and lady Talya nodded, gracefully moving towards Selma. She picked up the garments the whore had dropped and gestured for her to follow. Lady Talya knew exactly how to handle such delicate matters with discretion, armed with a pouch of coins and an unspoken threat. It was after all not the first time she had to deal with something like this. He supposed she never expected he would be involved. 

The Queen then turned her attention to the other ladies, offering them a tight, apologetic smile. “Please forgive me, it appears there are matters I must attend to. I kindly request your discretion. It would not serve anyone well if it were to become a point of discussion.”

The ladies all bowed to the Queen, assuming the facade of innocent, virtuous girls who would never dream of spreading such scandalous gossip. Yet, they all knew that the whole castle would know by supper. 

Aemond’s eye narrowed, the intensity of his glare cutting through the air like a dagger. Daenera’s mask of false innocence only fueled his anger and contempt. She was a wretched, spiteful cunt, who had caused all of this. And he had played right into her hands. The realization burned bitter at the back of his throat. 

“I never thought Prince Aemond would…” Lady Merryweather whispered as she turned the corner with the other ladies, leaving Aemond behind with his mother. The whisper only confirmed that the incident was beginning to circulate. It wouldn’t be long before it had spread to every corner and crevice of the Red Keep. 

Aemond and the Queen retreated into his chambers, the heavy door clicking shut behind them. As his mother faced him, her expression contorted with disapproval and concern, and Aemond knew he was about to face the consequences of what had transpired. 

“Aemond,” his mother said, her tone stern. Her green skirts swirled around her as she moved, her hair pinned up in a net of gold string and pearls. “Explain.”

Aemond swallowed the acrid taste in his mouth, this tongue gliding over the back of his teeth. His voice was strained as he spoke. “It’s not as it seems.”

“So you did not create a spectacle by exposing a naked and distressed whore in the halls?” Alicent interjected furiously. “And you did not lay with her or put your hands on her?”

Aemond clenched his jaw, his body coiled like a tightly wound spring. “I was framed.”

“Framed,” Alicent repeated, tasting the word. She shook her head in confusion. “Why and by who?”

“Daenera,” Aemond answered, unable to hide the resentment and disdain in his voice. “It is retaliation for humiliating her.” 

“The letter,” Alicent assumed. “I thought it was Aegon who humiliated her.”

“He did but I was the one who gave him the letter,” Aemond admitted. Of course, his mother had heard about the incident, he assumed it was the Lord Confessor who had brought her the news. 

Alicent stepped back, her astonishment bleeding into disappointment. She had warned him about Daenera’s scheming nature, but he had failed to heed her advice. “And now she humiliates you.” 

The muscles in his jaw flexed. “It appears so.”

“I warned you to exercise caution around her,” Alicent retorted sharply, pacing back and forth on his rug, unable to keep still. “I specifically requested that you keep an eye on her to prevent her from causing any trouble, and yet you choose to provoke trouble instead.”

“I thought hurting her reputation would send her fleeing back to Dragonstone,” Aemond said, his contempt seeping through his words. The idea of humiliation had worked in the past, so why shouldn’t it now? Rhaenyra had fled to Dragonstone when the rumors of her indiscretion nibbed at her heels. Why shouldn’t Daenera’s indiscretion cause the same reaction?

Alicent’s brown eyes softened, and she reached out to brush a strand of silver hair away from her son's face. Her eyes lingered on his eyepatch, and guilt and shame bloomed on her face as it always did when she looked at it. “You mustn't be so careless with your own honor by risking it to humiliate Daenera. It is clear that she is more poisonous than her mother, like Daemon. We cannot afford to act recklessly. We do not possess the same security that they do. We must be better than them, and I believe that justice will be served in the end.” 

He understood her implication, acknowledging her belief that justice would eventually prevail for what he had endured. However, Aemond harbored doubt, for he had never witnessed justice being served for the loss of his eye. If justice were to be achieved, he knew he would have to take matters into his own hands. 

He hated being reminded of it. 

And he hated Daenera for humiliating him. He felt it burn within him, gnawing at his senses, eating away at him and festering in him. 

“We must endure her presence and minimize the damage she may cause,” Alicent continued, regaining her regal composure. “Do not let her get under your skin.”

How could he not let her get under his skin? She was everything that infuriated him, everything that he resented, everything he was haunted by. Her mere presence was a nuisance. 

The desire to ruin her coursed through his veins like poison.

[nyanberri]

Fen asked for a mohawk once when he was 8 and has never known peace since

[dragofelid]

Does anyone rememeber Fenrick?

well here is his redesign!!!

he's a bastard and he hurt my children

he's a Maine Coon with Polydactylism

[prider-parker-doodles]

Prompt #6: scared

Character: Fen Forrester

[mosscoveredclown]

My OC Fenrick

He's kind of a sociopath

[breathingcolorsdraws]

😈 Fenrick 

Demon Fenrick Orchest

[wyrmghost]

Hello I’m Arthur (he/him), but I’ve been called Wyrm so much that it’s basically my nickname so that’s cool too.

My commissions are open via Venmo

I mostly draw my ocs and the object of whatever my current hyperfixation is and occasionally just things I have a normal amount of interest in.

Currently the fandoms I interact with and occasionally draw things for are (the bolded ones are hyperfixations)

Ace Attorney

Ninjago

Hermitcraft

The Life Series

Trigun Stampede

If you’d like to request I draw something or just want to give me ideas or say something random don’t hesitate to hit up my ask box!

OC STUFF

my oc tag is #my oc stuff

My oc’s and their stories are (this isn’t even all of them just the ones I draw more often)

Liar Street

Reign

Nikolai

Valentine

Riley

Daniel

Annie

Abscond

Terra

Matt

Lyon

Sinoco

Rowan

Robot/android story

Charlie

Benedict

lilie

stage performer story

Clement

Jynx

Gay urban fantasy story

Luca

Dahlia

Eve

Derek

Clow

Misty

Bethany

God run city story

Sarah

Alondra

Nick

Leo

London

Cracks

Ritz

gamby

ww2 secret husband podcast

Percival

thomas

hunted

Claus

Devin

Molly

superheros?

Neil

Calibri

Sealia

Fenrick

Baxter

Nicole

Ace attorney ocs

Percy Irvin (perceiving)(private investigator)

Obasea Irvin (observing)

Sea Irvin (serving)

Una Irvin (unnerving)

and many many more

[cakedrawsthings]

D&D 3.5, I miss you oh so much. This is Fenrick. He’s an age-old oc that I haven’t updated since I was like, 16. His left arm is a prosthetic and he’s a lion shifter.

[authoralexharvey]

G, N, L, and X for A-Z character asks!

--Joy (@italiangothicwriteblr)

Wow let's see if I have any of these lol. Thanks for the ask! @italiangothicwriteblr

So technically, I do have a G from a book I wrote a long time ago called The Last Nephilim.

Gideon Rider(?) was the main character, the last Nephilim in existence. In this world, Nephilim were the offspring of angels and demons, something that super pissed off plenty of readers because "inaccuracy" but whatever. He was tasked with stopping war from breaking out between angels and demons with the help of his best friend... Karma? I think? As well as Fenrick, a six-inch tall all-blue fairy who dripped literal glitter and was most definitely gay, and Uxie, who was secretly the princess of the Angels but in disguise to go on this quest. Gideon was... an interesting character to write, for sure.

...looks like the only one I really have is L, which is

Lorne Maverick is a main character of TOOD and Quinn's lover. They worked as a sex worker for several years before their parents' poor health made them retire from sex work so they could take over their tailoring business. Lorne is an excellent seamstress and always has been, and kinda re-discovers a love for their work after the events of TOOD. I really love them a lot tbh.

Send me a letter of the alphabet A-Z, and if I have an OC starting with that letter, I’ll tell about them.

[starsystcms-blog]

Muse List

1. Lyla ( OC ) MARVEL

2. Kalarma  ( OC ) STARWARS

3. Krow  ( OC ) MARVEL

4. Fenrick  ( OC ) STARWARS

5. Karena  ( OC ) MARVEL

6. Kirylam  ( OC ) STARWARS

7. Rocket MARVEL

8. Amelia  ( OC ) MARVEL

9. Anelywn  ( OC ) MARVEL

10. BB-8 STARWARS

11. Margaret MARVEL

12. Brock  MARVEL

[zeciex]

A Vow of Blood

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: “You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you,“ the witch said….

Daenera Velaryon returns to King’s Landing with the intention of bolstering her mother’s position and reminding both the Greens and nobility that Rhaenyra is the rightful heir to the throne. She has a specific goal in mind: to be a constant source of annoyance to the Greens and is willing to play the political game without hesitation.

However, what catches her off guard is the way Aemond gazes at her and seems to relish in her suffering. He openly expresses his desire to bring about her downfall, her ruination.

This situation leads to a tense game of cat and mouse, with each move escalating the already high stakes. Will their precarious situation crumble as the dragons soar above, or will fate intervene?

After all, love often demands the sacrifice of duty, just as duty can sometimes lead to the demise of love. Characters: Aemond Targaryen X OC, HOTD characters.

Chapter 4: The Arrival

AO3 - Masterlist

 King’s Landing had become unfamiliar in the years she had been away. 

The city itself hadn’t changed all that much. Life, it would seem, to the small folk remained the same. Or perhaps she just didn’t recognize the changes they’d all face, sitting on her high horse in her fine jewels and silks. But the hustle and bustle of the city was the same. Merchants trying to sell their wares, workers moving to and fro, children playing in the streets. And there, deeper and lower, were the beggars and orphans. All fighting to stay alive. 

“Are you sure of this, my Lady?” Ser Fenrick questioned once more. He had asked at every turn, from the port on Dragonstone and all the way over the seas to King’s Landing. Her sworn sword sat heavy in his armor, eyes flickering through the crowd for enemies and dangers. 

“I am,” Daenera answered once more. The answer to the question remained the same.

“Your mother could have sent for more Maesters.”

“And it would not change a thing. The Maesters can do little to make things grow on Dragonstone. The environment is too harsh and changing. If I am to continue my studies I’d need to actually get my hands dirty.” Maesters could only do so much with books and drawings. If she were to really learn it, she’d have to go where things could grow. Besides, it wasn’t the only reason for her return. 

“Your mother wished for you to stay,” Ser Fenrick pointed out, as if it’d change the answer. 

“My mother understands my decision.” 

In truth, Princess Rhaenyra hadn’t been happy when Daenera broached the subject of returning to King’s Landing. In fact, she was very opposed to it. ‘A den of Vipers’ was what she had called it, ‘Few and far between those who could be trusted’. She hadn’t liked the idea of her daughter returning to the capital with no one to protect her. It had been Daemon that had convinced her in the end. 

Her and Daemon had agreed that it would be her that went back. Jacaerys was the next in line to the throne after their mother and Luke was too young to go on his own. 

So it was Daenera who went back with the mission of strengthening her mothers claim.

“I should think King Viserys will be happy to see me,” Daenera  said. “I am his favorite after all.”

Fenrick didn’t accept the change of subject. “Your return will draw much attention.”

“I’m aware.”

They rode through the city in silence, watching a mere glimpse of the small folks’ lives. Daenera often wondered whether their lives were easier, but then she’d think of all the poor people toiling at work, trying to make ends meet. The struggles may be different, but they struggled all the same.

Still, she quite liked the chaos of the city, even if the smell was absolutely terrible.

They rode through the gates of the Red Keep, riding into one of the smaller courtyards. The walls of the Keep remained red, hence the name. And its towers still stood tall and true. Why she should think it was any different, she didn’t know. The courtyard felt smaller though. 

She felt eyes prickle over her skin and she straightened her spine and held her head high. Out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of white, like moonlight given life. He moved with agility and speed, avoiding the blade with ease, stepping aside to thrust his own blade back at his opponent. Steel met steel, the sound ricocheting through the courtyard, bouncing off the walls.

Her uncle beat his opponent's sword out of his hands, pressing the tip of the blade to his throat, the man yelding with his hands up and breath quick on his lips. It was then that Aemond’s eye met hers. She felt it slide along her skin like a blade, threatening to sink into her flesh and draw blood. 

Daenera turned her attention back on the doors to the Keep and the young queen that had graciously awaited her arrival.

Fenrick was the first one down from horseback, the sworn sword coming up to the reins of Daenera’s horse and taking them as Daenera stepped down from it, her deep purple dress falling heavy around her feet, slightly wrinkled from the time spent on horseback. It was one of her finer dresses, though modest. Her return would cause enough stir and it would have been quite the talk had she arrived in trousers.

Daenera felt the queen's eyes follow her as she approached. 

“Princess Daenera, welcome back. I do hope the journey wasn’t too rough on you,” Alicent greeted. “One should think there were many oceans between us and Dragonstone.”

The snide comment didn’t go unnoticed, but it would go unmet. “The journey has been long, your grace, but I found comfort in the thought of returning home.”

Daenera remembered the day they had fled the queens ire and the rumors nipping at their heels. Alicent remained as beautiful as she was then. A shame, Daenera had hoped that the blatant resentment in the queen's heart had poisoned her appearance. 

Beauty was always a great weapon.

One she did not wield herself. 

“You will find much has changed since you were here last.” The smile on Alicent’s lips didn’t reach her eyes. They were distrustful, uncertain of the princesses intention.

“That tends to happen with the passage of time, your grace.”

“I assume your mother is in good health? And your brothers?” Alicent questioned. The two of them walked into the Keep. 

“Yes, my queen,” Daenera answered though her attention was drawn to the changes made in the keep. Most of the Targaryen house symbols and sigils were gone, replaced with religious memorabilia of the Seven Pointed Star. She schooled her expression and swallowed the distaste, feeling the eyes of the Red Keep on her. “She is with child again.”

“What a blessing,” Alicent crooned, though Daenera didn’t believe it. If it stood to the queen, all of Rhaenyra’s heirs would be dead. It would lessen her claim to the throne. Those thoughts would never be spoken though, like so much else. 

“May I ask what brings you back from Dragonstone?”

“My studies, your grace. As you can imagine, Dragonstone is a hostile environment. King’s Landing is more agreeable when it comes to plants,” Daenera said, using the prescribed answer she had come up with. It wouldn’t be in her best interest to outright say that she was here to keep an eye on her and the king. “And if I’m being honest, I missed the Keep and my grandsire. He has begged by return for years.”

The queen’s smile got tight. “Yes, the King has always had a soft spot for you, princess.” 

“I thought the King may have taken time to welcome me back himself,” Daenera ventured. “I suppose he’s too busy.”

They had stopped on the stairs, the queen a few steps above her, looking down on her. She was the pillar of proprietary, hands clasped in front of her, a righteous look in her eyes and the green modest dress on her form, ordained by a golden, seven pointed star. 

“Do not take offense to his absence, princess. The King has not been of good health as of late and he is resting.” The excuse was weak but true enough. Viserys had been ill for some time now, some days were better than others. Daenera kept her expression schooled. “You must be tired from the long journey.”

Now, it was Daenera who got a tightlipped smile. “Yes, a bath and some rest would do me good.”

“Talya,” the queen voiced, bringing forth a rather pretty lady-in-waiting with red hair and sharp features. She bowed respectfully. “Please show the princess to her chambers and make sure she’s well taken care of.”

“Yes, my queen.”

Daenera followed Lady Talya towards what would become Daenera’s private quarters. Behind her were Joyce, Jelissa and Ser Fenrick. The Seven Pointed Star of The Faith was everywhere they turned, edged into stone, replacing the three headed dragon of House Targaryen. Most of the wall hangings had also been replaced, the once sexual tapestries now a bland mirage of forestry. Daenera found it distasteful if not outright disrespectful. It was as if the Hightowers had tried to erase the Targaryen claim to the throne. She severely doubted it was Viserys doing. 

Hightower cunts. 

Eyes seemed to follow her through the halls as the nobility realized who she was. Daenera took it in strides, a mask of indifference and politeness upon her face as she nodded to them, pretending not to know what they were thinking. 

The Hightowers had been surrounding themselves with their people it would seem, and had let their tales spread like an infection through the halls. 

By the time she reached her quarters the whole castle was bustling with her arrival. Hushed whispers spoken in shadows, ripping up old rumors to blow dust from them and speak to them anew.  

It was those rumors that had made them flee King’s Landing in the first place. 

They entered her new quarters. Daenera looked it over with a skeptical eye. The apartment was made of a large sitting area, with the bedroom connected to the right side. The rooms were big and finely decorated, sufficient. 

“I will have the maids bring water for the tub, my Lady,” Talya spoke politely. 

Daenera smiled. “Thank you.”

“I will also assign some maids to you.”

“That won't be necessary. I’ve brought my own maids Joyce and Jelissa.”

“As you wish.” Talya left the princesses chambers with new information to sell, the door clicking shut behind her. 

Daenera breathed a sigh of relief, rolling her neck and rubbing her fingers against her temples, letting go of the mask of politeness and respectfulness. 

Fenrick stood by the door, hand resting on the hilt of his sword, looking at the princess with slight concern. “If you’re already exhausted from pretending then perhaps returning was the wrong decision.”

“I’m exhausted from the travels and the ugly seven pointed star everywhere,” Daenera complained, glaring at the small round window that held the star within it. She felt as if she were in the sept and the gods were staring down at her in judgment. They could stare all they wanted. 

“The queen honored you with her welcome,” Jelissa said, beginning to unpack one of the huge trunks that had been brought to her chambers, plucking  one dress after another from its depths. 

“The queen wanted to size the princess up,” Joyce told her younger pupil, the older maid coming up to Daenera to brush her hair away from her shoulders as she began to unlace her dress. “Did you notice what they did to the Keep? It’s nothing but disrespectful.” 

“They’re honoring the Faith,” Jelissa countered. 

“The Hightowers are erasing everything Targaryen as if their children are Hightowers only,” Joyce raged, pulling the strings loose. 

“Be careful,” Fenrick warned. “There are spiders everywhere in the Keep.” 

As if to underline his warning the doors opened to let a string of maids in, each one carrying a bucket of hot water, pouring it into the tub standing in front of the fire, seam rising into the air. Daeneras' company fell silent while the maids poured the water. 

When they left again it was Daenera who spoke up. “We must be careful of our words. We never know who might listen and as we are now, we are surrounded by vipers waiting to strike.”

“Yes, my Lady,” her company agreed. 

Daenera wiggled out of the dress, standing only in her bodice and underdress. Fenrick averted his eyes, staring straight into the room while Joyce helped remove the rest of Daeneras' clothing. Red lines were drawn across her pale skin, marking out where her bodice had pressed in on her. She went to the tub, fingers skimming the hot water, her thoughts turning in her head. “When you move around in the Keep I want you to gather as much information as you can without drawing attention to yourselves. Make friends and connections. And if something happens with the King I wish to know.” 

They all agreed. 

“You may leave,” Daenera dismissed. 

Her room fell silent as her company left. Fenrick stood guard outside the door.

Daenera had often thought how utterly boring the job must be. Most of the time they just stood and stared. How they managed not to go insane she didn’t know. She herself would lose her mind out of boredom. 

With a sigh Daenera stepped into the warm waters, letting the heat prickle at her skin reddening it. She sank beneath the surface all the way to her chin, inhaling the lavender and rosemary scent, finding it far better than the smell of horse that clung to her skin. The journey hadn’t been that long. Dragonstone wasn't far from King’s Landing, but Daenera didn’t care much for traveling the sea. It wasn’t because she became greensick like her brother Luke did the moment he stepped onto a boat, the future fleet commander utterly cursed in that regard, it was the boredom of being stuck that bothered her. And perhaps Luke could command the fleet from dragonback instead. 

Daenera scrubbed her skin clean and washed her hair twice to get the smell of horse out of it before oiling it. Her lithe fingers ran through her dark curls, the very thing that started the whole fuss about her parentage. She was aware, of course, of why she looked nothing like her Father Laenor Velaryon. 

Daenera frowned at the memories her return brought up. Memories she thought best buried. But nothing ever stayed buried, unfortunately, and she’d have to contend with the fact that time may have changed but the rumors would persist. 

The princess got up from the water and wrapped herself in a robe, hair dripping down her back as she headed towards the balcony, opening the doors to let in some fresh air. She looked down over the courtyard, watched Prince Aemond move as he continued his sword lessons with none other than Ser Criston Cole. Daenera made a face. How he still managed to have a position in the Kingsguard was beyond her understanding.

 No, not beyond it, she understood very much why he still had his position, she just didn’t understand why Vierserys allowed it. The queen's favor should only reach so far. And with a man who murdered someone at a royal wedding's welcome feast should have been punished. And again when he continued to disrespect the children of the crown princess. 

Her eyes turned to Aemond again. Daenera hadn’t seen him since that night when he stole Vhagar and lost an eye. 

As if sensing her eyes on him, Aemond turned his face towards her, their eyes catching once more. Daenera didn’t school the distaste on her face and was of half a mind to roll her eyes. Aemond smirked at her.

He was going to be a thorn in her side, she just knew it. 

Daenera turned and headed towards the bed.

The heavy skirt of her cornflower blue dress swished as she walked up the steps of the Red Keep, heading towards the Kings Chambers. She had specifically chosen the dress for its complement to her eyes and the memory of Viserys telling her that blue suited her. 

This was her armor for the day.

Her heels clicked over the stone as she made her way through the Keep and towards the King's chambers, her spine straight and head held high. Behind her followed Fenrick, his armor clanking as he walked. 

The last few days the queen had dismissed her before she was able to seek an audience with the King. She would not allow it any longer. The King had sent for her after all. He’d want to see her.

So, she had sent out Jelissa to keep an eye on the King’s Chambers and the queens movement. Word had come not half through the morning that the queen had left his chambers and the king within. Daenera took her chance then. If she had to scheme and sneak around to see the king then she would do just that. 

“Lord Commander, I wish to see the King,” Daenera said, armed with a kind smile on her face. 

“The queen has just left the King's side, princess,” Ser Harrold Westerling told her. 

“Does the queen need to be present when I visit the King, Ser Harrold?”

Behind his battle worn exterior the lord commander smiled. “No, princess.”

Ser Harrold knocked on the wooden door before opening it for the princess, who smiled appreciatively at him as she passed, walking into the King's chamber to find the King sitting in a chair propped up on pillows, a thick blanket wrapped around his lower half. Daenera felt her heart sink at the sight of her grandsire, finding that age had come at him hard and unforgiving. He had lost much of his hair, having only a few brittle strings of it left. At his side sat a young stone mason, carving details into a stone figure as the King told him about the building being made, voice low and rumbling with age. Viserys one good eye lifted from his stone map of old Valyria to his grandchild, lightning up at the sight. 

“Daenera,” he greeted as loudly as he could. 

Daenera hid her pity and concern beneath a smile. She would not show him anything else than what he deserved. “Grandsire!” 

Her feet hurried over the floor, dress swissing around her feet, dark curls tumbling over her shoulders as she leaned down to press a kiss on the King's cheek. He smelled of old age and the illness that was slowly killing him. He had lost his left arm years ago, even before the incident that made them flee to Dragonstone, the sleeve empty.

 And from the look of it, an infection had taken the sight of one of his eyes, the skin beneath it hollowed out and irritated.  Daenera wondered how she’d tell her mother about how bad it had gotten. 

“It is so good to see you, my sweetling,” the King said, waving away the stone mason. Viserys tried to stand, his knees buckling and his breath alluding him as he forced himself to his feet. Daenera was quick to wrap an arm around him, supporting him as they made their way towards more comfortable seats in front of the fire. “Have you brought your mother and siblings with you?”

“No, unfortunately not, my king,” Daenera answered softly, trying to lessen the blow. “I hope I do not disappoint you, your grace.”

“You could never disappoint me, Daenera,” Viseryes told her, pinching the apple of her cheek as she wrapped the blanket around his legs once more. “I just wish we could all be together.” 

“Perhaps soon we will,” Daenera said. 

“How are my daughter and brothers?” Viserys asked. Daenera sat down in the chair opposite him, finding the seat uncomfortably hard. Her hand reached for her grandsires, holding his thin and bony hand, cold with age despite the warmth of the room. 

“They are good, your grace. My mother is pregnant with her and Daemon’s second child. I’m sad to miss the birth of my sibling but I suppose that is the price to pay if I wish to further my education,” Daenera said. In truth her education came second as to why she was here. Her concern for the King and what was happening in King's Landing was the main reason for her presence. 

“You’re still buried in books and plants?” Viserys smiled. 

“Yes. Dragonstone is a fine place but there’s not a lot of… green.” In the regard for nature it was bad, but it was a blessed place to avoid the Hightowers. “And of course I missed my grandsire.” 

“You’re too kind. I fear I’m not much these days,” the king said sadly. 

Daenera squeezed his hand as much as she dared. “And yet it is enough. You’re still the King and you are blood. I could not wish for a greater grandsire than you.”

“Flatter will get you far,” Viserys chuckled. “And how’s my other grandchildren?”

“Jacaerys is as hot-tempered as ever, I hope age will teach him to control it. He is a fine swordsman and dragonrider. You’ll find that he’s very educated in most subjects but he’s having trouble with Valyrian. And Lucerys follows his big brother around like a puppy. I’ve never seen anyone with as great of a love for their brother as him… well, perhaps between you and Daemon.”

“Is Luceryes as big of a pain in the ass for his big brother as Daemon has been in mine?”

Daenera tried and failed to hold back a laugh. “No, not yet. He’s still in the obey every word age, mayhaps when he’s older.” 

“I hope not.”

“Joffrey is still very young. Growing every day,” Daenera finished. 

They sat in content silence for a while before Daenera decided to break it with an inquiry about the changes to the Keep and by extension who was making the decisions. She had a feeling she already knew but the answer was still as cutting as it would have been had she not expected it. 

“Ah, Alicent and Otto are the ones taking care of such matters. I’m not particularly fond of the changes, but it honors the Faith and keeps the peace.” 

“You can honor the Faith and still keep some of the house symbols, your grace,” Daenera said. She knew Viseryes would avoid conflict at most cost, but she would never understand why he let the Hightowers run rampant and desecrate everything Targaryen as if he wasn’t still king. It was disrespectful. Daenera was about to press further when the door opened and the Queen swept in, her brown locks waving down her back, crown jutting from the curls, eyes finding the princess immediately and narrowing a little. Daenera got up and bowed as customary. If it wouldn’t have consequences she’d have remained seated, but alas her mother had raised her well. 

“How nice to see you again, Princess Daenera,” the queen greeted, coming up to the side of her lord husband, placing a hand on his shoulder. Her green dress gleamed in the light from the fire. Daenera wished for the flames to lick a little closer to the dress. 

“You as well, your grace.”

“I think we should hold a feast for the princesses return to King's Landing, don’t you think, Alicent?” The King asked, his frail hand reaching to pat Alicent’s hand on his shoulder. She withdrew it immediately, clasping her hands together in front of her. 

“A feast is a big affair, my king. It would take time to prepare and it would cost-,”

“I think it’s worth it for my granddaughter's return. We would have held one upon your arrival, had we known you’d have come sooner,” the king cut her off. 

Daenera pressed her lips together. They had known of her return for a fortnight. It was plenty of time to not only prepare her a proper welcome with lords and ladies present but also with the king, it would also have been enough time to prepare a feast. The queen's lips had turned into a line having been cornered. Would she refuse it would be perceived as an insult.

“Of course, your grace.” Alicent looked anything but happy, which pleased Daenera immensely. Alicent schooled her expression and stepped forward, reaching out to take Daeneras’ hand in hers. “Forgive us for our unpreparedness. We will hold a feast in your honor.”

“I understand, running the kingdom is a grand task that requires great attention.” 

“Thank you for your understanding, princess, and I hope you will understand that I need to speak with the king about private matters.” 

“Of course,” Daenera smiled sharply. It was a pretty way of throwing her out of the King's chambers. Daenera passed the queen and knelt down in front of the King, taking his frail hand in hers, trying to pass some of her warmth onto him. Their eyes met and Viseryes gave her an apologetic look that Daenera dismissed with a quirk of her lips and an understanding nod. She kissed the king on his cheek before rising. “I will come visit you soon, my king.” 

“I will look forward to it, Daenera.” 

Daenera gave one final bow before exiting the chambers. Fenrick fell into step behind her, though she didn’t not hear the clanking of his armor, her mind elsewhere. How was she going to tell her mother how bad it had gotten? She doubted her letters would leave unread by others. And how do you tell the daughter that her father was ailing and in pain, overrun by Hightowers and powerseekers. She feared for the king and his health. Most of all she feared the time when Viserys would pass. 

“Joyce has confirmed that Lord Caswell will take lunch in one of the groves of the garden at noon.”

A small smile formed on Daenera’s lips. “Perfect.”

Daenera decided to head to the library in the meantime.

The smell of dust and old books were familiar to her, having spent a lot of her childhood buried in books, soaking up all that she could while her brothers trained with their dragons. Of course, she had also had dragon training. But there wasn’t much improvement nor need if one did not have a dragon. So instead, Daenera found fulfillment elsewhere. 

The book she plucked from the shelves were of dark binding, with golden but crackled writing on the front. It was one of the old tales about a prince and a princess at odds, a tale of treachery and betrayal, of love and honor. Contented with her pick she headed towards the small sitting area by the fire, sinking into one of the chairs, fingers flipping to the first page. 

“Why have you come back?” Aemond’s smoothe voice interrupted Daenera’s concentration, though her eyes never moved from the page. She hadn’t expected him to approach her. Out of the corner of her eye, above the focus on the pages, she saw him move in front of her, back to the fireplace, a pillar of cold shadows. 

“Nice to see you too, uncle,” Daenera acknowledged, voice light and unbothered. 

“Why have you come back?”

Daenera sighed, finally laying eyes upon him, noting the intense glare in his eye, lips sharp and set in a cold smirk, that left little to interpretation. He didn’t want her here. “Would you believe me if I said I missed King’s Landing?”

“No.”

Her head tilted to the side, a bothered and thoughtful expression upon her face. “I came back to further my studies in herbal medicine and such.”

His eye darted across her features, like a knife seeking purchase. It slid along her skin, threatening to draw blood. Daenera let him glare. 

“Liar,” he hummed. 

“Oh, I’m a liar now, am I?” Daenera responded to the accurate accusation. “Tell me then, why else would I be back? To bother you specifically? Or are you implying some other nefarious reason?”

“You should go back to Dragonstone. You’re not welcome nor wanted here,” Aemond disclosed shortly.

Daenera rolled her eyes, lifting the book back into position in front of her, to continue reading from where she left off. “Hmm… It seems that the King quite enjoys my presence, and he is the only one that matters is he not?” 

Aemond stepped closer to her, snapping the book right out of her hands, her eyes widening in surprise at the sudden incursion. He held the book out of her reach, one hand on the tall back of the chair, back curved as he half leaned over her. His hair of pure moonlight fell smoothly over his shoulders, a stark contrast to her own dark, common locks. “Why are you really here?”

Daenera glared up at him, eyes as sharp as his own. He didn’t believe her lie about her education, which wasn’t as surprising as it was annoying. Alicent might not have believed it either, but she at least knew how impolite and disrespectful it was to flat out question her like this. 

“What would you like my answer to be, since all of the option’s I’ve provided do not seem to hit the mark? Would you like me to admit I’m here to find a husband? That my mother doesn’t hold court on Dragonstone and has therefore made it impossible for me to do so? That King’s Landing provides a much better place in my search? Is that honest enough for you?”

It wasn’t a lie. Not only had she come in search of allies and to keep an eye on the Hightowers, she came to find a husband. They had gotten many a letter the day she came of age, asking for her hand in marriage, but her mother had kept the hounds at bay. Coming back to King’s Landing in search of a husband created the perfect cover and with the addition of her wishing to further her studies, no one could really question her reasoning. No one, but Aemond apparently. 

“Hm…” Aemond hummed, releasing the back of her chair to stretch to his full hight again. He gave her a once over, then turned and walked away, heading to the doors. 

“My book,” Daenera chided. 

Aemond didn’t look back at her, he simply held the book up, waving it in the air before releasing his grip, letting it fall to the floor with a loud thud and then he was gone. It was such a childish and petty move that Daenera couldn’t help but stare a burning hole into the space he had preoccupied mere moments before. 

It was Fenrick who picked up the book, a thick brow raised in question. Daenera just shook her head, waving his question off.

[zeciex]

It's totally fine to be disappointed in a story and change your mind about it or the main character (truth is no author will satisfy every single reader out there and that's fine) but telling the author how much you dislike the OC??? Just unsubscribe and find another fic to read if the character is bothering you this much. There are over 1500 Aemond/OC fics on AO3, surely that user can find something that suits their tastes much better. Sorry for for barging in but I really can't stand when people are throwing a tantrum in the comments section of a fic because the story doesn't go their way or the main character doesn't act according to their wishes. Maybe that user could've taken some more time to write a more detailed comment had they truly wanted to make a valid point about your character or to give out some constructive criticism but the way they did it screams "I hate it and I'm going to let the author KNOW about". At the end of the day authors are real people who are writing fics for FREE, they don't owe anyone anything and shouldn't write their story under pressure from certain readers.

Its one of the two spanish readers that I received multiple comments from a few months back. It started at chapter 1 and then comments all the way to around 12, but they only stated how much of a hypocrite Daenera is and how annoying they found her, or how she was wrong for her view on things.

(This got long, sorry)

It was made very clear that they were Team Green Stans, and the toxic ones at that. Nothing Daenera could do would ever be right in their eyes, and nothing Rhaenyra ever did was right either. In the early chapters its very clear that Daenera is influenced by being the SISTER of Luke and therefore defending him when Aemond lost his eye. And because she's a bastard she's even more hated.

Narratively, we follow someone who's clearly Team Black because she's literally Rhaenyra's daughter and she loves her family. I very consciously made her biased the same way I make Aemond biased. They call her a hypocrite, but never point out that literally ALL of the characters are hypocrites... They are flawed and they are biased in their views of one another.

When I write for Alicent, I try to make it clear what she thinks of both Daenera and Rhaenyra, and make it clear that her view of Daenera is affected by her view of Rhaenyra. I have sympathy for her character and find her really interesting and complex, and I try and do that for all of the characters. For Daemon, for Fenrick, for Aemond and Aegon. All of them.

Often time I make a narrative decision depending on the character I write for, and I try consciously to be sympathetic towards them and figure out why they're doing the things they're doing or why they think the way they think.

Daenera is flawed. People lie to themselves, and people are hypocrites. Daenera thinks she's dutiful, but she has continuously tried to control what duty she upholds. She is dutiful as in marrying Boris, but she is also reckless and going against duty by having an affair with Aemond. Aemond thinks himself honorable, but his honor can bend under his own desire. He is dutiful, yet he is selective of his duty. He wants what he wants, and often grabs for it IN SPITE of what duty calls for.

It's fine if you don't like my story, and I admit, it's not for everyone. But that's just how it is. There are people who are with me on this journey, and they can get off whenever they want. I never understood the reason to leave criticism or mean comments. If you don't like a story, you can click out and say 'its not for me. It's for somebody, but not me.' and find something else better suited for their tastes. There's also another level to their comments, since they're in spanish, a language I don't know AND they seem to know each other because they refer to each other and makes note to individual conversations. It feels like walking past a group of girls and they all stop and stare at you and then they giggle and make fun of you, but you don't know, you just know something is off.

It reminds me of the time some of the Aemond writers got notified that there was a discord group that was solely made to make fun of other peoples work and picking it all apart for shits and giggles. It's mean girl energy and I'm not having it.

They can think whatever they want about the story, but it's not for them I write, it is for you and those who wants to be on this journey.

I do take constructive criticism, and I'm always up for hearing how the story is translated to the readers because as the writer, I know everything and something might be lost that I'd want to make up for.

This got longer than I expected, sorry. But also thank you for your comment! And for your support! It really does mean the world to me <3

[nyanberri]

I've finally finished the first set! It's the same kids again tho, lol. But next time will be never before seen characters! So I wanted to get everyone drawn in the Omniverse style so I could visualize it all properly and it also made for a good opportunity to tweak designs as needed. They're all heavily referenced from official art so I could get it perfect and it made for great practice too! Of course I added some personal touches to the art style too cuz if I didn't it would have bothered me too much, lol.

Anyway, below the cut are finally proper profiles for all the kids and some additional info as well!

M'kay, so before we get started on the kids' bios, it's important to specify this is an alternate universe. And I don't mean it's an AU of the Prime Dimension. This is quite literally another universe within the omniverse. It's a mostly untouched one that even Paradox, Eon, and Maltruant have never been to and therefore a lot of things are different while a lot of things are still the same tho. It's unofficially called the Feniverse cuz Fen is the main character, but it does have a more official name. I'm just, uh… not aware of what that name is yet, lol!

Anyway, the Ben in this dimension branches off from the development of Prime Ben. Anybody remember the fact that the very first Ben 10K episode said Ben became the way he did in the future cuz he killed Vilgax by ripping him to pieces? Yep! That's what this Ben did too! But obviously he doesn't end up exactly like that Ben 10K. But so this dimension's Ben is therefore officially labelled Slayer Ben since some people refer to him as 'The Vilgax Slayer'. And that experience did definitely screw him up pretty bad, which is why he's so different from both Prime and 10K.

So from left to right:

Name: Fenrick Fih Rook-Tennyson

Age: 13

Height: 5'1

Voice: Todd Haberkorn

Bio: Fen is Ben and Rook's son. He has always been known for being quiet, surprisingly wise for his age, and quite the troublemaker. In actuality, only two of these things are true. Fen is more calm than he seems and as a young child he wasn't much of a talker, giving people the perception that he's quiet. Unfortunately, Fen also has many great ideas that end up badly. However, his ideas always come from the desire to help someone or solve a problem, but he always gets caught when his plans fall apart, making it look like he causes trouble. Some people even accuse him of trouble he didn't start, not helping his reputation. And as the son of Ben 10 of all people, he tends to be held to higher expectations. His wisdom never ceases to amaze people either. Even Ben and Rook get surprised at the wisdom he recites, wondering where exactly he learned it all. Due to that, he tends to put up a fight whenever himself or someone else gets wronged. He especially defends his friends and fellow alien kids in town. Although his only true friends seem to consist of his childhood friend, Millie, and his cousin, Sven.

At the age of 13, Fen discovered his ability to transform into a couple dozen of Ben's aliens. He quickly aspired to become a hero like his parents, much to Ben's disapproval, who worries about his safety. Despite that, Fen wants to form a hero trio with Sven and Millie and become the next generation of heroes in the galaxy.

Developer's Notes:

Fen's almost always been the same since I first created him, with just a few design and character tweaks done to him. He used to have a talent for jewelry making but that was switched out for him being wise for his age. He was also a bit more generic as far as the upbeat and reckless young male protagonist with famous parents archetype goes, but he's been adjusted enough that he now stands out from that archetype. Or, at least I hope, lol. Also, funny thing to note, Fenrick is not a real name! The closest name there is is Fenwick and iirc, that's a last name! I considered changing it to Fenwick or even Fenick but Fenrick is too special to me. His, uh, unfortunate name even has an impact in-universe with him being embarrassed by it and some using it to make fun of him. Also in-universe, I chalk it up to Ben having a dumb moment by misremembering the name Fenwick and Rook not knowing any better to catch Ben's mistake. Also, if you think his hair style is stupid, good. That's the point. He wanted it like that when he was seven and Ben and Rook were like 'sure' and it's been like that ever since.

Name: Millicent

Age: 13

Height: 5'0

Voice: Jennifer Paz

Bio: Millie is Ester's daughter. Her biological father is a human who decided he didn't want to be a father and Antonio soon stepped up to fill the father role when he and Ester got married. She has been friends with Fen and Sven since they were all babies. Millie is the level-headed one of the group and has been noted as being oddly emotionless. Her tone of voice is almost always flat and she usually keeps a straight face when not looking nervous. She never intends to be rude, but she will bluntly say whatever comes to her mind to her peers. At the same time, she can be nervous about making bold decisions and hates being a part of any decision making. She either refuses to do anything, or apologizes profusely for making a decision even when nothing bad happens.

Due to being more human than Kraaho, Millie is perfectly capable of handling the temperatures of Bellwood. However, she is still a bit sensitive to cold temperatures and needs to bundle up more than others during the winter. She sadly cannot handle the heat in the Hot Spot for very long either. Much to Millie's dismay, she was not born with the Kraaho's stretching ability. No one can figure out why, but it's simply something she can't do. As a result, she considers herself a normal human and has resigned herself to the fact that 'normal' is simply all she will ever be. Despite this, she has taken up quite a big secret that contradicts her decision and expresses who she wishes she really was.

Developer's Notes:

Millie only ever had one design change with her outfit and slight adjustment to the way her hair works and she's been the same ever since. Since the beginning she was always calm and stoic and I've always worried that she doesn't have much of a presence or purpose, but now I feel like she plays off Fen and Sven well enough that she stands out thanks to them. I've always flipped back and forth between Fen and/or Millie having a crush on each other, but I've finally settled on them both just seeing each other as near and dear loyal friends. It ultimately works out better that way and doesn't cause conflict with Millie's personal story or Fen's real love interest(and the one other character with feelings for him). Her name also used to be Mina, but since I've now taken that as one of my own names, it felt really awkward to keep her as that. I used to have a habit of naming characters with names I wanted before realizing I could change my name in the future, lol.

Name: Sven Elijah Levin

Age: 12

Height: 4'8

Voice: Wally Wingert

Bio: Sven is Gwendolyn and Kevin's son and Jenny's older brother. Sven is a rather unfortunate boy. He is constantly terrified of everything to the point of running millions of 'bad ends' through his head. He can barely talk most of the time without being a stuttering mess and always thinks he's going to be in trouble for anything and everything he does. Everyone is certain he either has severe anxiety or paranoia, or likely both. Perhaps even more. Who knows. Sven tends to cling to his cousin, Fen, who he looks to for guidance and advice, most of which isn't anything Sven should actually be following. Because he is a grade below Fen and Millie, he's often left alone to deal with problems in his own classes, or really just panic about them. He does, however, have a close relationship with Zed and likes to be the one to take her out on walks in the afternoon. And not many people know it, but he's actually a pretty decent artist.

Even though he is an Osmosian thanks to being Kevin's son, no one knows what ability he may have. It doesn't really matter though, since he wants to stay out of any potential trouble that having powers could bring him. Regardless of that, he has an interest in magic thanks to Gwendolyn's expertise in it. He even sneaks peeks at her spellbook and the strange bag she keeps in her office that he can hear a voice coming from at night.

Developer's Notes:

Now Sven is a character whose personality has always been pretty much the same while his design was never consistent until reaching his current one. He was originally very anime looking and in a gaudy orange outfit that I regret even thinking about, lol. He looks much better in neutral colors. I guess there's not much to say on him though, which makes me worry he's a tad unremarkable, but perhaps it's just since I'm leaving out the things about him that are better left discovering on your own… if I ever get to finishing that fic that is… ahaha.

Name: Saki Boulais

Age: 13

Height: 4'11

Voice: Stephanie Sheh

Bio: Julie and Hervé's daughter, one of the more popular girls in school, and the most deceptive in town. Saki has gone her whole life, since the first time she told a successful lie, tricking people into thinking she's a completely innocent little girl who's never done anything wrong. This allows her to get away with anything she wants, and she especially enjoys getting Fen in trouble when they butt heads with each other. The two have even been enemies since they first met at age three and Saki pulled Fen's tail, he pulled her hair in return, and she managed to get away with claiming he started it. Their feud has even turned into murderous intent, which Saki refuses to hide.

On a lighter note, Saki always has the company of her two best friends, Rachel and Diane, who will gladly join her in her tormenting of others. Saki even greatly admires the most popular girl in school, Fiona, and whoever the mysterious new hero girl, Miracle-M, is.

Developer's Notes:

Yes, Saki was always meant to be That Bitch in the cast. I feel like it's unrealistic to have all next gen kids be friends and get along with each other. It's perfectly believable to have some of them dislike, and in Saki and Fen's case, even hate each other. It makes it more interesting with them being Ben and Julie's kids respectively too. Adds good drama, lol. But anyway, really the only thing that's changed about Saki is her hairstyle and some other slight design tweaks like her necklace, shorts, and shoes. I also just recently changed her colors from purple and blue-ish purple to just blue so that isn't not all three girls here wearing purple. She also looks better in blue and it contrasts nicely with Julie's pink imo. I suppose I do worry about her being disliked since she's so antagonistic and with her being Julie's daughter, I really hope her character doesn't send the wrong message since I genuinely love Julie a lot. It really is just For The Drama Of It All. I think it's really fun to watch her go into full 'Murder Fen' mode too. Very fun to write, lol. Oh right, also Boulais is my headcanon last name for Herve. I just wanted her to have his last name but he doesn’t have one! So I had to pick one for myself.

Name: Jennifer Elizabeth Levin

Age: 10

Height: 4'6

Voice: Brina Palencia

Bio: Jenny is Gwendolyn and Kevin's daughter and Sven's younger sister. She is surprisingly serious and stoic for her age. She gets annoyed by her family's constant 'abnormal' status and wishes everyone could just act normal with no weird events happening. She throws herself into school work as a means to keep herself out of it and tries to keep her personal life at school with friends far away from her life involving family. She seems to have a quick temper, but really she just acts that way to get what she wants since she knows it works and in the hopes that she can use it as an opportunity to vent her frustrations. She hates getting involved in her brother and cousin Fen's antics, but sometimes her no nonsense attitude is needed to resolve a situation. She has a strange obsession with eating bread, finding it the perfect food and almost always exclusively eating something with bread involved. Gwendolyn definitely worries about her diet, but Kevin finds it harmless.

She may not have the spark like her mother, but she doesn't dare confess that her status as an Osmosian became very apparent just recently. As a result, she has a stash of broken objects stuffed under her bed and cracked floorboards that she covers with her rug.

Developer's Notes:

Jenny went through a decent redesign. Character wise I feel like I still don't have some things etched in stone for her as I still haven't gotten to the point in my writing where she does anything of interest. She could honestly probably end up pretty different from her bio here if I'm not careful, lol. The characters write themselves as they say after all! But I definitely prefer the newer Jenny compared to the previous way I envisioned her character, which was designed to fit a character type I actually hate just cuz I felt it worked for her. Thankfully I can avoid it tho with the big overhaul I did after returning to these characters. And I do like Jenny cuz I like writing her dialogue, but it still feels like her character is still that of a person I would not wanna be around, lol.

Name: Bevel Tennyson

Age: 20

Height: 5'9

Voice: Dee Bradley Baker/Yuri Lowenthal

Bio: Bevel is the youngest of the Big Chill offspring born twenty years ago. They were in an accident involving a passing spaceship on their way to Kylmyys that damaged their right wing to the point they could no longer fly. It's suspected the wing has severe nerve damage, making Bevel unable to unfold it as well. Their siblings helped them make it the rest of the way to Kylmyys, but over the years, the dangers of Kylmyys left the siblings with only Bevel and the eldest two, Emboss and Curve, remaining. As they got older, Bevel could never forget their only memory of their parent, who the others didn't remember. A desire to reunite with their parent caused Bevel to make the lone decision to explore the universe in search of their parent.

Bevel is a very cheerful and sweet person, but their secluded upbringing and lack of knowledge about Earth makes them very naive. They will believe anything they are told and have a very black and white moral view due to not understanding nuance. They have strange habits that appear unnatural in their attempt to act human and have an intense craving for Earth candy. They have also taken up being a mercenary to get by after leaving Kylmyys and once they join the Tennyson family, Rook suggests they use the skills they've picked up to become a Plumber, but that's an idea Ben isn't fully onboard with.

Developer's Notes:

Right off the bat I want to shout out that his old human design used to keep the Necrofriggian antennae. I still think it's a cute design even tho it wasn't canon compliant with the antennae. The only things that have changed about him too are just that, his hair style, and his shoes. Plus I stuck bunny ears on his hoodie recently as a shout out to those antennae he used to have. Otherwise he's always been the same. And I guess I haven't explained why he has a human form, but that's also an answer to discover later. I didn't draw his Necrofriggian form tho cuz we should all know what the UAF design looks like(and yes I am screwing with art style difference bullshit cuz OV Big Chill is not real and you cannot convince me otherwise). And I also just realized his pronouns aren't matching up in this section so I should add his official pronouns are he/they, but characters refer to him by he/him and narration uses they/them. He is still a Necrofriggian and therefore doesn't do the whole gender thing after all. Which is why he's fine with anyone viewing him as whatever they want to too. He just goes with it. That's also why he doesn't get what's weird about him calling Ben 'Mother' after he learned the word, lol.

[nyanberri]

Tmw you find out the genderless mothman mercenary that was hired to kill your dad turns out to be your long lost older sibling

[nyanberri]

Wanted to put together a 'through the years' type thing for my main three Ben 10 OCs, Fen, Sven, and Millie, since I've had them since 9th grade and I've both, come back to them several times, and tweaked their designs multiple times over the years. Seeing the first drawings is pretty nostalgic actually(and kinda cringe ngl).

[prider-parker-doodles]

Prompt #5: wings

Character: Fen Forrester