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lovetwist · 6 months

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Veil of Deception (I)

SYNOPSIS: In a world where political alliances are forged in blood and treachery lurks around every corner, you find yourself thrust into marriage with Feyd-Rautha, the enigmatic scion of House Harkonnen. Born to be his perfect mate, you grapple with the terrifying prospect of becoming entangled with a man known for his brutality, obsession, and madness. As your union unfolds, you navigate a landscape of deception and dark desires, struggling to find your footing in a marriage fraught with danger and uncertainty. Caught between duty and defiance, summon your strength and resilience to survive in a world where loyalty is a luxury and love is a dangerous game.

WARNINGS (R18+): mildly dub-con, smut, first time, weapons kink, mentions of violence, manipulations, genetic breeding, power play

Word Count: 3.5k

PART 2

Below the towering spires of obsidian and steel, against a backdrop of opulent extravagance that flaunted wealth and power, a tension hung heavy, pregnant with the promise of destiny.

As Lady Atreides, sole daughter of Leto Atreides, you stood poised on the precipice of a meeting that would shape the course of your future. Your heart seized with nerves as you awaited the arrival of your betrothed.

Since your 15th name day, you had known of your engagement to the na-Baron. It was an inescapable fate predetermined by the Bene Geserrit. Your mother, Lady Jessica, had gone against them by giving birth to Paul, a male heir for Leto. Two years later, she gave birth to you – a gift of compromise for both sides. In return, Lady Jessica and Leto achieved the familial harmony they wanted, through the sacrifice of their daughter.

Every year, the Harkonnens requested your portrait to be sent along with a lock of hair. In exchange, they sent House Atreides jewels, gold, silks, and spice; disguised bribes for the upkeep of such a fine lady. They had only sent a portrait of Feyd-Rautha once. It was taken during his coming-of-age ceremony, a lean young man dressed in black fighting leathers. You stared often at the picture, looking to find some clue that could reveal his character. His demeanor was unnaturally cold and collected, yet his dark eyes barely concealed a burning rage. You wondered if Feyd-Rautha poured over you pictures as you did his.

Years passed and the engagement felt more like a false formality than reality. Unlike other noble families, you never exchanged letters with Feyd-Rautha or even met as a courtesy. Having completed your Bene Geserrit training under your mother, you learned that such things did not matter when it came to pairings arranged by the Reverand Mother. You caught whispers of conversation between your mother and her Bene Geserrit sisters. There would be no chance of failure, this union would be perfect. You were genetically engineered to be his absolute mate. Attraction and physical compatibility was assured. Everything about you was designed to lure him in – your scent, your voice, your everything was to be his undoing from the moment he would lay eyes on you.

Yet the thought gave you no confidence as you stood here now in Giedi Prime. Sexual attraction differed greatly from love, he didn’t need emotions to breed you. Feyd-Rautha, the enigmatic scion of House Harkonnen, was a man followed by countless stories of brutality and wickedness. You heard that he laughed when Reverand Mother subjected him to the Gom Jabbar. He didn’t endure pain, he reveled in it.

Your palms grew clammy, breath becoming increasingly shallow as you pondered the dark fate that awaited you in the form of this formidable man. Would Feyd-Rautha be the embodiment of all the whispered sin that had reached your ears, or would he prove to be an enigma beyond your wildest imaginings? With each passing moment, the anticipation mounted, weaving a delicate web of uncertainty around your heart as your braced yourself to meet the man who held your destiny in his hands.

The grand doors of the chamber swung open with a regal flourish, your heart quickened its pace, echoing the rhythm of anticipation that thrummed through the air. Through the gray haze of incense, you beheld Feyd-Rautha, a vision of masculinity and charisma, whose presence seemed to command the very essence of the room. His eyes met yours across the expanse of the chamber, a charged moment filled with unspoken tension, as if the universe itself held its breath in anticipation of this meeting.

You were ensnared in a tempest of conflicting emotions, thoughts swirling like sand caught in a desert storm. You questioned your own composure, wondering if you could maintain the facade of confidence expected of a lady of House Atreides in the presence of the young Harkonnen and the terrifying Baron. Feyd-Rautha may be your future husband, but he was not required to provide you a good nor happy life. After all, why would he? You were the daughter of his family’s sworn enemy. He may have been bound in marriage to you by centuries of bloodline manipulation, but he maintained a free will.

Would his words falter, betraying the tumult and hatred raging within him? Or would he summon the grace and poise befitting his station, masking the turmoil that churned beneath the surface? Your apprehension mounted, a symphony of doubt and fear playing out in the recesses of your mind. Yet, amidst the chaos of your thoughts, a glimmer of determination flickered like a distant star on the horizon, urging you forward into the unknown with a quiet resolve born of necessity.

For in the labyrinthine dance of politics and power that defined their world, you knew that you could ill afford to falter now. With a steadying breath, you squared your shoulders and prepared to face your destiny, whatever form it may take in the guise of a madman husband.

Feyd-Rautha, with an air of effortless confidence, strode forward, his gaze a smoldering ember that ignited a spark within your soul. In that fleeting moment, as your paths converged amidst the darkness and mist of the surroundings, you felt a surge of something unfamiliar yet undeniable—an electric current that crackled between your bodies, binding your fates together inextricably.

Words eluded you as you struggled to articulate the wave of emotions that threatened to consume you. Yet, in the silence that stretched between you two, you found solace in the understanding that this meeting was but the first step on a journey fraught with uncertainty and possibility. He bowed without taking his eyes off you. In greeting, you extended a gloved hand, Feyd-Rautha grasped it with a firm sense of resolve. You knew that your lives were now intertwined in ways neither could fully comprehend nor stop.

And in that moment, amidst the hazy dream of your shared future, you glimpsed the faintest flicker of something akin to desire dance across his eyes. You noticed a dilation of his pupils as he laid a kiss on the back of your hand. Then, his grasp of you tightened and tightened. Your face contorted in pain as a crooked smirk appeared on his features.

In the dim light of the chamber, your eyes traced the contours of his cheekbones and the fullness of his lips, searching for traces of the young man you once memorized in a portrait. Yet, try as you might, only a beast stood before you in the guise of a gentleman. When he stood at his full height with his darkened leer, you held yourself back from cowering. His gaze was vicious, his smile vulgar with blackened teeth, and he exuded an air of savagery.

“How delightful it is to finally meet you, Lady Atreides.”

His deep, raspy voice caught you off guard. What a performer he could be! Long gone was the ethereal allure he displayed when first entering the room, now you could see him for what he was.

“Likewise, my Lord Feyd-Rautha.”

Uncertainty lingered like a specter in the room, casting a pall over the impending union that would bind you with him. You let your gaze lower onto the floor as your parents approached to talk with the Baron and na-Baron.

You could feel his intense gaze burning through your body even as you moved away to be with your brother. Could his eyes pierce through your facade, unraveling the intricacies of your soul like fine thread? Such questions gnawed at the edges of your consciousness, casting shadows on your will to remain strong.

As the evening progressed, the tension in the air thickened like a fog, suffocating any semblance of ease. Seated at the long banquet table surrounded by your family, the Harkonnens, and noble guests, you found yourself ensnared in a delicate dance of propriety and peril.

Across from you, Feyd-Rautha lounged in his seat, a predatory gleam in his eyes as he watched you with unabashed fascination. His demeanor was that of a predator toying with its prey, his every movement calculated to instill a sense of discomfort. Your family would leave to Arrakis after the wedding festivities, then you would be truly left alone with him. The precariousness of your position tugged at your heart.

As the meal commenced, the atmosphere grew increasingly tense, punctuated by the clinking of silverware and the strained chatter of polite conversation. You forced yourself to engage in small talk with those seated around you, your words measured and careful, lest you betray the fear that coiled like a serpent in the pit of your stomach.

Despite your best efforts to maintain a facade of composure, you couldn't shake the feeling of being scrutinized by those dark, probing eyes. It was as if Feyd-Rautha could see straight through you, peeling away the layers of pretense to expose your most secret vulnerabilities. You found yourself growing increasingly unsettled. You longed to escape, to retreat to the safety of your chambers and away from the suffocating presence of the Harkonnen heir.

But you knew that there would be no reprieve, no sanctuary from the darkness that had descended upon your life like a shadow. For tonight, and every night thereafter, you were bound to him by the cruel machinations of fate, condemned to walk a path fraught with danger and uncertainty. And as you raised your glass to Feyd-Rautha’s toast to your impending union, you couldn't help but wonder what horrors awaited you.

“To the most beautiful bride in the world, I will certainly savor tomorrow’s…memories.”

The men at the table chuckled darkly while your father’s and brother’s jaws clenched. You lay your delicate hand over theirs, do not mourn me. If I am to die, I shall do so with honor.

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As your mother lowered your veil, you noticed tears forming in her eyes. You never thought you’d live to see the day the impenetrable Lady Jessica shed tears for you. I must really be walking into my death, you thought.

You looked at your reflection in the mirror. There were no words to describe the vision you saw. Crafted from the finest silk and satin, your wedding gown exuded an air of majestic elegance with flowing skirts cascading like waves of moonlight around your figure.

The bodice, adorned with intricate beadwork and delicate lace, hugged your curves with a tailored precision, accentuating a slender waist and graceful neckline. A row of tiny diamonds trailed down your body, gleaming against the smooth expanse of your back. While the front of the dress was conservative, your back was tastefully exposed through a combination of sheer silk, diamonds and pearls.

Your hair was pinned neatly into a bun with a delicate braid on each side. The veil was gauzy, making your face seem like a daydream. The ivory fabric of your dress pooled at your feet in a sea of frothy tulle and satin, forming a train that trailed behind you like a regal cloak. The wedding dress was embroidered with delicate motifs of growing vines, mountains and ocean waves – a reminder of Caladan.

At your collar, a border of intricate lacework added a touch of timeless elegance, its patterns catching the light in a dazzling display of shimmering beauty. With every movement, the gown seemed to whisper tales of romance and splendor, a clear hope to the love and devotion the seamstress had prayed you’d find. You choked down a sob.

You’ve made me an angel for him to ruin.

The wedding hall was adorned with such grandeur, you’d expect the emperor’s daughter was getting married instead. The flickering silver torches cast dancing shadows upon the ebony stone walls. As guests gathered in hushed reverence, the air crackled with anticipation, as if the very walls themselves whispered of your impeding damnation.

At the front of the hall, beneath a canopy of arched black silk, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen stood, an imposing figure in his ceremonial garb. His porcelain skin was stark against the darkness of his clothes as he awaited his bride.

You approached with measured steps, hardening your grip on your father’s arm. Your eyes must’ve betrayed your fear and resignation because you could see Feyd-Rautha biting the inside of his cheek to suppress a laugh.

As you reached the altar, his lips curled into a predatory smile, his voice dripping with malice as he spoke the vows that bound you together in unholy matrimony. The words echoed through the hall like a curse, sealing your fate alongside his.

As you exchanged rings, a union forged in the fires of despair, you vowed that though your body may be bound to Feyd-Rautha, your spirit would remain forever free.

Standing before him, you felt the weight of his gaze like chains around your soul.

With a solemn nod from the officiant, you and Feyd-Rautha were instructed to seal your union with a kiss. He removed your veil, his eyes lingering on your face. As his lips met yours, a shiver ran down your spine.

The kiss was surprisingly gentle, but devoid of love. You gasped when his tongue entered your mouth. It was a macabre dance of dominance and submission, a twisted mockery of affection that left a bitter taste upon your lips. You try to push him away, but he holds your hands firm against his chest. The Harkonnens roar with applause and laughter. As you pulled away, a sense of profound emptiness washed over you, a hollow echo of the dreams and desires that had once burned within your heart.

The rest of the wedding banquet was a blur. As you were led to the high table by Feyd-Rautha's side, you couldn't shake the feeling of being trapped, ensnared in a web of malevolence. The guests, mostly Harkonnen allies, noble families, and sycophants, feigned smiles and exchanged whispers, their eyes gleaming with a perverse curiosity at the spectacle of your union.

The feast itself was a decadent display of excess, with platters of exotic delicacies and goblets overflowing with rich wines. But the opulence only served to accentuate the suffocating atmosphere, as the room was closing in on you with each additional piece of ornate furniture.

Feyd-Rautha, ever the consummate host, played his part with calculated charm, his laughter ringing hollow in your ears as he regaled the guests with tales of conquest and murder. You watched him from across the table, his features twisted in a mask of false benevolence, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of revulsion mingled with a sliver of pity. He, too, was playing a part – ever the performer.

Throughout the banquet, you were subjected to the leering gazes and whispered innuendos of the Harkonnen cronies, their crude remarks slicing through the thin veneer of civility like daggers. But you held your composure, steeling yourself against their taunts and jeers, refusing to let them see the cracks in your mask.

As the night wore on and the wine flowed freely, the mood grew increasingly raucous, the revelry descending into a frenzied ecstasy. You found yourself adrift in a sea of faces, each one a grotesque caricature of humanity, their laughter and applause a cruel mockery of your predicament.

And amidst the chaos and debauchery, you couldn't help but wonder what was in store for you, chained to a man whose heart was as black as midnight. As you absentmindedly finished your last sip of wine, Feyd-Rautha stood suddenly, his chair loudly rattling against the granite floors. A chilling silence descended upon the hall.

He extended a hand towards you and you immediately understood his intentions. You departed the hall, hand-in-hand as men watched with envy and women stared with pity. You couldn’t bear to look at the faces of your family, afraid that you might beg them to take you home.

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As you left the banquet hall with Feyd-Rautha, a heavy sense of foreboding settled over you. The echoes of the evening's macabre festivities lingered in your mind, each laughter, each lewd jest, a reminder of the gilded cage in which you now found yourself imprisoned.

You walked beside Feyd-Rautha, his grip firm upon your hand, guiding you through the labyrinthine corridors of the Harkonnen estate. There was an eerie stillness in the air. With each step, you felt the weight of your predicament pressing down upon you, the reality of your situation sinking in like a cold, unyielding truth.

You stole a glance at Feyd-Rautha, his expression unreadable in the dim light. Occasionally fireworks would alight by the window, allowing you to see his eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger that made you look away immediately.

As you walked in silence, your mind raced with a flurry of thoughts and emotions, a storm raging within you. You couldn't help but wonder what awaited in the bedchamber. You weren’t ignorant to the act of consummating a marriage, but your husband was no ordinary man. What horrors lay in store for a woman bound to a man as cruel and cunning as Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen… what would satisfy a man like him? But amidst the fear and uncertainty, a flicker of desire burned within you, a stubborn resolve to claim him as much as he claims you.

He led you into a large room with double doors. Compared to the gaudy decorations of the wedding hall, this room was relatively simple: a chamber of dark elegance and understated grandeur. There were only the bare necessities required of a bedroom, but each piece had been impeccably handmade with the most exquisite of materials. At its center, a massive four-poster bed stands as the focal point, its frame crafted from polished ebony wood, intricately carved with motifs of serpents and ivy. Perfectly sized above the bed, stretching over the ceiling was pure reflective glass. You swallowed thickly, this man had no shame.

A grand chandelier hangs from the center of the ceiling, its crystals casting prismatic rays of light across the room, illuminating the space with a haunting allure.

The walls are lined with dark, navy paneling, adorned sparingly with antique tapestries depicting scenes of forgotten battles and dangerously sharpened weapons. A sleek, black writing desk sits nearby, stacked with books on war strategies and adorned with quill and parchment.

A sense of regal simplicity pervades the space, each element carefully curated to its master. This is a sanctuary of solitude, where one can retreat from the heaviness of the Harkonnen world and immerse themselves in the embrace of peace.

Busy admiring the room, you didn’t notice Feyd-Rautha locking the doors behind you. You tensed when you suddenly felt the coldness of a blade against your back. With one precise slice, he cut your wedding dress open leading all the decorative pearls to fall to the ground. Your hands instinctively went to cover yourself, but his newfound grip on your wrists was even faster.

“You are mine now, pet.” His hands slowly guided yours down as he ripped away the rest of your dress. “Do not resist me, I want to see you in all your beauty.”

Your face flushed as you looked away from him. You knew objecting to his wish was futile, perhaps if you appeased him then he’d be gentler. You learned this was a useless thought the moment you saw his expression – raw, animalistic hunger chipped away at the edges of his sanity. His pupils dilated so wide that his eyes became monochromatic orbs of obsidian.

He removed his own clothes with swift and lithe movements, revealing pure sculpted muscle. Through the rapid rise and fall of his chest, you could see that he was barely holding back his lust. Feyd-Rautha was going to devour you without leaving a single morsel for the world.

“I-I… If you hurt me, I will scream.”

“Go ahead, it’ll only stroke my ego if you do. Scream loud enough for the whole banquet to hear. Let them know what pleasures your husband bestows upon you.”

With each step he took towards you, you took two steps back. When you felt the bed come into contact with the back of your knees, you realize you’ve been trapped.

“Lie down.” he commanded.

Sensing the tonal shift in his voice, you obeyed. You felt his long, slender fingers enter your most intimate place. When he curved against your inner wall, you let out an involuntarily moan – which he quickly swallowed from your lips. You had touched yourself before, but only rarely during occasions when you couldn’t sleep and the moon was hanging high.

However, this was different – he was different. His fingers reached places where yours never could. Your body made lewd sounds as he pumped in and out of you with torturous speed. The way you grind against his hand was indecent, but he rewarded you with such sweet friction. Hearing his low pants against your ear, you couldn't help but writhe into his touch. When you came undone, he smirked and licked your essence from his fingers.

Before you could catch your breath, he was on top of you again; caging you between his toned arms. He reached out to grasp your chin before roughly crashing his lips down on yours. The kiss was all-consuming, he was drinking in every part of you without letting you breathe. Your eyes wandered down to where his member stood unnaturally stiff and enlarged. Your new husband sneered at your expression before his right hand circled around your throat.

“Your throat… it shall be my axis tonight.”

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thewulf · 2 months

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Soothing Shadows || Azriel

Summary: Request - Can I request some fluffy angst with Azriel? She’s usually soft, sweet and shy but she’s suddenly moody and snapping trying to seem tough from a REALLY bad period?

A/N: Well I got way too carried away on the intro but I love it. Love this one. ACOTAR is just so much fun to write. the characters are just... perfect. I hope you all enjoy :)

Pairing: Azriel x Female Reader (Day Court Reader)

Word Count: 6.7k +

TW: Yelling, frustration, crying

The Meeting

In the golden light of the Day Court's grand hall the sunlight danced playfully across the marble floors. It was an atmosphere thick with the potential of new alliances that buzzed through the air. Azriel was enveloped in his characteristic shadows despite the overwhelming brightness. He entered the hall alongside Rhysand and Cassian looking rather unimpressed. Day Court was never his favorite. Their steps were confident yet cautious, reflective of the gravity of their mission.

The room was populated with dignitaries and advisors. It seemed to pause momentarily as their attention was drawn to the Night Court's formidable high fae. But for Azriel it wasn’t the opulent surroundings nor the stares of the courtiers that unsettled him—it was you.

Standing among the Day Court's delegation, you were pointing to a map seemingly unfazed by their arrival. Your aura shone more brilliantly than anything else he’d ever seen. You were a strategist he concluded as you kept pointing and offering up solutions. Your attire was remarkably vibrant and expressive even for a Day Court fae. It contrasted starkly with his dark, subdued tones. Yet the garments mirrored the radiant environment of your home or what he assumed was your home. It wasn’t until Rhysand cleared is through that your eyes, keen and perceptive, swept over the newcomers. They paused just a touch longer on him than on the others. And he’d be lying if he didn’t say that your piercing eyes didn’t unsettle him a touch further.

Azriel’s heart was usually so stead but that looked you gave him made it skip unevenly beneath his armor. He meant to greet you with his customary reserve, but his voice caught still in his throat. Instead, the words stumbled over themselves like his shadows at noon. Cassian’s barely concealed smirk did little to soothe his discomfort. Rhysand’s knowing glance only deepened the flush that dared to climb Azriel’s neck.

You cocked an eyebrow in surprise at the new comers. The High Lord of the Night Court and his Inner Circle. You were expecting Night Court emissaries not the High Lord himself. And certainly not flanked by the Shadowsinger and General you’d heard so much about. The war was brutal, but they seemingly made themselves known through their selfless actions. "Welcome to the Day Court High Lord," you said with a hit of a smile on your lips. Your voice was clear and melodious, and it sliced through his momentary lapse with ease. He noticed how you bowed reverently to Rhysand and nobody else. "We hope our discussions today will strengthen the ties between our courts during these challenging times. High Lord Helion will be joining us shortly. He ran into a minor hiccup with High Lord Kallias.” You smirked looking directly at Rhysand after your gaze had settled on Azriel for a beat too long. “You know how those seasonal courts are, fickle is as fickle does.”

Your smile was warm and inviting as it clashed with the cool, calculated persona he had anticipated. As you extended your hand in greeting to the three of them Azriel’s shadows flickered uncertainly around him. Taking a deep breath, he managed to gather his composure, his hand meeting yours first. The contact sent a jolt of unexpected warmth coursing up his arm and settling deep within his chest. Rhysand’s low chuckle was barely audible and hinted that he found the situation amusing. He was already piecing together the reason behind Azriel’s sudden awkwardness

The High Lord’s response was a measured one. His expression unfaltering as he took in your words and the underlying tone. The faintest smile touched his lips, a gleam of amusement—or perhaps appreciation—flickering in the depths of his blue violet eyes. He was no stranger to the complexities and occasional theatrics of court relations and your comment about the seasonal courts didn't go unnoticed. "Thank you for your kind welcome," Rhysand replied. His voice was smooth and commanding yet carrying an undercurrent of warmth that he reserved for those he deemed worth his genuine attention. "It is always enlightening to visit the Day Court. The light here is quite invigorating," he continued, his gaze briefly sweeping the sunlit hall before settling back on you and giving your own hand a shake after Azriel.

He stepped forward slightly, around you, closing some of the formal distance that the court protocol initially demanded. "Indeed though, the fickleness of the seasonal courts can often be... challenging. But it’s the steadfast nature of courts like yours and mine that often brings balance," he added. The slight emphasis on 'steadfast' subtly acknowledged both the compliment and the jest you had woven into your very own greeting.

Rhysand's demeanor remained composed but there was a keen sharpness to his observation. It was indicative of his role not just as a leader but as a tactician. He was always reading between the lines, always ready to engage on more than just the surface level. "We look forward to discussing ways our courts might work together more closely," he concluded. His tone implying that your directness and evident acumen had not only been noted but were also appreciated. His response set the stage for a dialogue that promised to be as engaging and sharp as the participants involved.

You smile brightly at his calculated response. You’d heard many stories of Rhysand and his cleverness. "Then by all means, please have a seat and we will get started once High Lord Helion arrives shortly." You motion to the golden table behind you.

Rhysand nodded at your invitation with the hint of a strategic mind playing behind his affable smile. He gestured gracefully to his companions indicating they should take their seats in preparation for the meeting. As Cassian moved to take a spot near the end of the table, Rhysand placed a hand on Azriel's shoulder, his voice just loud enough for those nearby to catch, "Azriel, why don’t you take the seat next to our esteemed strategist from the Day Court? It might be beneficial for our discussions."

Azriel cast a brief, slightly questioning glance at Rhysand but there was an unspoken understanding in the exchange. With a barely perceptible nod Azriel complied moving smoothly to the indicated chair beside you. His presence was quiet and unobtrusive, yet you couldn’t help but feel the weight of his gaze as he settled next to you. The Shadowsinger’s famed subtlety making him a curious, albeit intriguing, neighbor.

As he took his seat next to you his voice was a low murmur just for you, "I hope my presence here serves to facilitate a fruitful dialogue between our courts," Azriel said. His tone earnest yet carrying an edge of his characteristic reserve.

Rhysand watched this arrangement unfold, a barely there smile playing on his lips, clearly pleased with his own maneuvering. His eyes met yours for a moment and the look was both a challenge and a promise—the proceedings today would be anything but mundane.

With Azriel now seated beside you, his presence both imposing and intriguing, you turned to him with a playful glint in your eye. "I'm sure your presence will not only facilitate but enhance our discussions," you replied. Your voice tinged with a hint of flirtation. "After all, it's not every day we get graced by the infamous Shadowsinger." Your words hung lightly between you as an invitation to a more relaxed interaction despite the formal setting. Azriel's expression which was usually so guarded softened slightly at your approach. A faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he acknowledged the compliment mixed with your light jest.

"Infamous, is it?" Azriel responded. The undertone of his voice suggesting he was both amused and intrigued by your characterization. "I suppose there are worse reputations to have." The subtle exchange, though brief, set a tone of ease and mild flirtation, hinting at the potential for not only diplomatic success but personal connection as well.

Just as you were about to deliver a witty retort to Azriel's comment the grand doors to the meeting hall swung open. Your High Lord strode in with his characteristic regal poise but an apologetic smile. As Helion settled into his chair with his characteristic regal ease he apologized for his tardiness. His eyes twinkling slightly with humor. "My apologies for the delay," Helion announced. The resonant timbre of his voice filling the room. "It seems that even the best of us are not immune to the whims of weather and politics. Kallias can be rather persuasive in his timing."

Before you could respond though Rhysand chimed in. A slight smirk playing on his lips as he glanced at you. "No worries, Helion. Your strategist here has been more than welcoming," he said while nodding towards you with a hint of playfulness in his tone. "It seems the Day Court excels not only in strategy but also in hospitality."

You smiled, catching Rhysand's eye with a look that matched his own amusement. "We do our best to keep our guests comfortable, High Lord Rhysand. It helps to ensure a more productive discussion," you replied smoothly. Your words subtly acknowledging his compliment while keeping the tone light and engaging.

Helion chuckled at the exchange, clearly pleased with the rapport between his strategist and the Night Court's leader. The room relaxed into a more congenial atmosphere setting a positive tone for the serious diplomatic discussions that were about to unfold.

As the meeting unfolded Azriel found himself repeatedly glancing at you. You were unfailingly professional. Your insights sharp and your arguments compelling. Yet, there was an undercurrent of gentleness in your approach. A lightness that seemed to permeate the very air around you. It was in stark contrast to the shadows that clung to him. A poignant irony not lost on him. The shadowsinger drawn inexplicably towards a child of daylight. Despite the limited words exchanged between you two each interaction left Azriel more intrigued. He was increasingly ensnared by the bright strategist whose presence seemed to challenge the depths of his shadows.

The Panic

Back in the Night Court within the familiar shadows of their favored lounge, Azriel faced the relentless teasing of his closest friends. Cassian was lounging on an oversized chair with that irrepressible grin. He watched Azriel with an amused twinkle in his eye. "You know, I've seen you calm in the face of Hybern's armies yet a few sweet words from a lady of the Day Court and you're more tangled than your shadows in sunlight." He snickered knowing it was getting under his brothers skin.

Rhysand was always one for teasing and couldn't resist joining in. His voice laced with laughter. "Truly, it's a sight. Our master of stealth and subtlety was undone by a pretty smile and a strategic mind. Tell us, Az, what exactly did she say to fluster the great Shadowsinger?"

Azriel, whose usual composure was as solid as the mountains surrounding Velaris, felt an unusual heat creeping up his neck for the second time that day. Each jab from his friends pricked at him. It was stirring a whirlpool of thoughts and emotions he was usually so adept at managing. "It’s not just her words," he began. His voice defensive, but as their teasing continued his defenses began to thin.

"Come on, spill it then, Az. Did she outmaneuver you with her wit or was it the sunlight in her hair?" Cassian quipped not missing the slight shift in Azriel’s stance.

The shadows around Azriel deepened, reacting to his rising frustration and embarrassment. Unable to hold back the truth from his brothers relentless teasing he blurted out, "She's my mate, alright? The shadows... they whispered it to me as soon as I saw her standing there." Cassian’s laughter halted abruptly. His expression shifting to shock while Rhysand paused. His own smirk fading into a more thoughtful gaze.

Azriel's admission hung heavily in the air. His heart pounding as he faced the reality he had only dared to acknowledge in the darkest corners of his mind. She’s my mate. How? Why her? Why now? His thoughts raced, chaotic and overwhelming. The concept of having a mate had always been distant, abstract. It was something meant for others. Not for him, cloaked as he was in secrecy and shadows. He didn’t even think Shadowsinger’s could have mates until his shadows confirmed it.

As the initial shock of his declaration settled Rhysand’s features softened. "Az, this... this is significant. But think about it. The Cauldron knows what it’s doing. She brings light where you bring shadow. Balance, in its purest form."

As the shadows around Azriel grew more restless so did his thoughts. His words spilled out in an uncharacteristic torrent. "It doesn't make sense," he started. His words rushing out as if he was trying to keep pace with the whirlwind inside him. "Why her? Why now? She's light and life, and I'm... I'm the opposite. I live in the shadows, in the secrets and silence. How can I bring someone like her into that world? It's not just about balance or opposites attracting. It's about her world and mine, and they just don't... they don't align."

He paused only to draw a shallow breath, hardly noticing Cassian and Rhysand exchanging worried glances. "And what about what she needs? She thrives in the sun, in the warmth. I can offer her none of that. My world is night and cold and hidden things. What if I'm not what she needs? What if I'm just... just another shadow in her bright world?"

Rhysand tried to interject, "Az..."

But Azriel pressed on, relentless. "And the Cauldron, why would it choose this? Why would it choose now to tell me she's my mate? I’ve managed this long on my own, kept to myself. Why throw this... this chaos into my life? It’s like it’s testing me, pushing me to my limits. She deserves someone who can walk in the light with her. Someone who doesn't hide from the world."

His voice was a mix of disbelief and desperation. His words tumbling faster as his anxiety peaked. "And what am I supposed to do? Just walk up to her and say, 'Here I am, your mate, doomed to live in the dark'? How is that fair to her? She has her life, her court. I can’t ask her to leave that behind. I can’t ask her to adjust to the night. It’s not fair. It’s just not fair to her."

Cassian finally stood, grasping Azriel's shoulders to stop his pacing, forcing him to meet his gaze. "Azriel, breathe, brother. You’re spiraling. You’re thinking about all the ways it can go wrong instead of how it could go right. You’re not considering that maybe she’s been waiting for someone who can appreciate her brightness because he understands the dark."

Rhysand nodded, his voice calm and steady. "Cassian’s right. And remember, the Cauldron doesn’t make these decisions lightly. There’s a reason you’re drawn to each other, a reason beyond what we can see. Maybe it’s not about what you think you can or can’t give her. Maybe it’s about what you can create together." The room fell silent as Azriel's breaths slowly evened out. The words of his brothers began to sink in as he processed what they said. The shadows around him calmed, settling as he considered their words. The frenzy of his thoughts gradually giving way to a cautious hope.

Azriel stood there with the weight of his friends’ hands on his shoulders grounding him. Slowly, their words began to penetrate the chaos in his mind, like light piercing through the shadows. Rhysand’s calm assurance and Cassian’s steadfast support made him realize something important: he wasn’t alone in this. He had his brothers. And maybe, just maybe, he could have you too.

He took a deep breath after finally stilling his frantic thoughts. "Maybe you’re right," he said quietly. The tension in his voice easing. "Maybe... maybe there’s a reason for this. I just have to find it."

With his brothers’ encouragement and their unwavering belief in the bond the Cauldron had forged, Azriel decided to give it a chance. He started visiting the Day Court more frequently. He found reasons to see you and to learn more about you. Each visit was a step closer. Each conversation a bridge over the chasm of his doubts.

At first the visits were all business—discussing strategies, alliances, the future of their courts. But quickly thereafter the conversations turned more personal. You talked about your dreams, your fears, and the way the sun felt on your skin. He shared pieces of himself he had kept hidden for so long. He talked of the shadows that lingered in his past, the secrets he carried. He was encouraged when you didn’t recoil away from the conversation but asked more. Wanted to see more.

You began to spend time in Velaris as well. You were invited by Azriel to see the beauty of his world. You wandered the streets together. Explored the hidden corners of the city and discovered the charm of the Night Court. The contrast between the bright, open spaces of the Day Court and the intimate, star-lit beauty of Velaris fascinated you. You found yourself growing to love Velaris as much as he did.

Months passed and the bond between you deepened. Azriel’s initial fears slowly melted away as he realized that the light and shadow within your relationship didn’t clash. Instead, they complemented each other just as Rhysand suggested. You brought warmth to his life, and he brought a depth of understanding to yours. It wasn’t about changing each other but about creating something new together.

Finally, after months of Azriel seeming to court you he told you of what he’d known for a long while now. It was a sunny afternoon in the Day Court as you both stood in the garden where you had first met. He wasn’t planning on telling you that day but the way the sun cast delicate shadows over your frame he knew it was time. The flowers bloomed brightly around you making you as ethereal as ever. He took your hands in his, the shadows curling gently around your fingers.

His heart was steady as he looked into your eyes, filled with the certainty that had eluded him for so long. He told you everything—the whispers of his shadows, the bond he had felt from the start, and the journey he had taken to accept it. And when he finally said it out loud, that you were his mate, the joy that spread across your face was more beautiful than any sunlight or shadow he had known.

You had suspected, had even felt the bond too, but had waited for him to come to you in his own time. And now that he had the happiness between you was undeniable. Together you would embrace the future. You knew you would find the perfect balance of light and shadow. You were more than ready to face whatever came next.

The Decision

A few more days had passed and the question of where the two of you would live rang heavily in his head. He didn’t want to bombard you, but he couldn’t let his mind rest until he knew what was going to happen. You’d told him you would move to Velaris to be with him, but the conversation seemed so long ago now. Like maybe he was dreaming it himself.

In a quiet corner of the Day Court gardens you and Azriel sat on a bench beneath a canopy of blooming flowers. The gentle hum of life around you contrasted with the serious conversation at hand. Azriel’s eyes that were normally so composed were filled with a mix of concern and determination.

"I need to ask you something," he began. His voice steady but his hands fidgeting slightly. "Are you truly ready to leave the Day Court and move to Velaris? To take on a new role and a new life there? I don’t want you to feel like you have to sacrifice everything for me." He admitted in earnest.

You reached out taking his hands in yours, feeling the comforting weight of his touch. "Yes. Azriel, this feels right. I’ve come to love Velaris, its people, and its beauty. Being with you has shown me a world I never knew I could belong to. It’s not a sacrifice. It’s a new beginning." Your smile was genuine, but he felt uneasy. He didn’t want you to resent him for your leaving of your home court. The only court you’d ever known.

Azriel’s brow furrowed slightly, the shadows around him flickering with his unease. "But what about your responsibilities here? Your role in the Day Court? Your family? I don’t want you to feel like you’re abandoning your life for me."

You smiled with your heart swelling with affection for this man who cared so deeply for your well-being. "I’m not abandoning anything. We can find a way to maintain my connection to the Day Court. Rhysand and Helion can work out an arrangement where I can serve both courts, acting as a bridge between them. It’s a role I believe I’m meant to play. My family will understand. They just want me to be happy. And you make me happy. Velaris will make me happy." You gave his hands a squeeze in yours

He sighed. His shoulders relaxing slightly as he absorbed your words. "And you’re sure? You’re truly sure this is what you want?"

You leaned in closer. Your voice filled with conviction. "I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. Being with you, in Velaris, feels like coming home. It’s where I want to be, with you. We can make this work together."

Azriel nodded. A smile slowly spreading across his face. "Then let’s do it. We’ll talk to Rhysand and Helion and make this official. We’ll find a way for you to fulfill your duties to both courts while being together."

The conversation with Rhysand and Helion was productive and filled with mutual respect. Rhysand’s approval and Helion’s support solidified the plan for you to become an ambassador between the Day and Night Courts. This arrangement ensured that you could maintain your influence in the Day Court while building a new life in Velaris with your mate. For even High Lord’s would never come between a fae and their mate.

The Cycle

The streets of Velaris hummed with the gentle bustle of evening activity as the city welcomed Azriel back into its embrace. His shadowed silhouette moved effortlessly through the crowd, a figure of quiet strength returning from a covert mission. By his side, you walked with a smile, your presence a bright counter to his darker aura. The bond between you, still fresh and filled with the thrill of discovery, seemed to deepen with every step you took together.

Despite the jovial atmosphere of the city, a ripple of discomfort threaded through you. The onset of your cycle beginning just as Azriel returned. The timing was far from ideal, and you decided to keep the discomfort to yourself. You did not want to cloud his homecoming with the burden of your pain.

"Azriel, it seems Velaris hasn’t slept a wink since you left," you remarked lightly trying to steer clear of your discomfort by engaging him with the vibrancy of the city.

He chuckled a soft, melodious sound that easily blended with the evening air. "Or perhaps it’s just waking up now that I’m back." His eyes that were especially dark and perceptive tonight, flicked to yours with a smile tugging at his lips. Despite the playfulness of his words, his gaze was probing, always searching beneath the surface even if he didn't yet know what he was looking for.

As you approached the quieter lamp-lit streets near your home the pain discreetly intensified. Each step became a little more measured though you masked it well with practiced ease. Azriel was caught up in recounting the details of his mission. He didn’t immediately notice the subtle shifts in your demeanor. The slightly too-long pauses, the faint grimaces quickly smoothed into neutral expressions.

Once home you busied yourself with preparing a late dinner by moving around the kitchen with a grace that belied the growing ache. Azriel was unpacking and settling back into the space. He watched you from the corner of his eye. Something in your movement, perhaps a stiffness you hadn’t possessed before, hinted at an unspoken truth.

Dinner passed with light conversation and shared laughter. You asked about his travels, the people he met, the sights he saw, all while carefully balancing your own discomfort on a tightrope of normalcy. Azriel responded with stories and light-hearted comments, but his observant eyes missed little. He noted each careful movement and each strained smile.

Later though, as you both settled into the quiet comfort of the living room with the flickering candles casting soft shadows across the walls, Azriel’s concern finally found its voice. “You know you can talk to me, right? About anything,” he said softly, his voice a gentle nudge in the quiet room. It wasn’t an accusation, nor a confrontation. It was just an offer hanging softly between you.

You met his gaze with a soft smile. His warmth and worry there evident. You hesitated. A part of you, the part woven tightly to him through the bond, yearned to share the burden, to lean on him as you had promised each other. But another part, the part steeled by independence and not wanting to cast a shadow over his return, held back.

“I know,” you replied. Your voice softer than intended, a smile attempting to mask your discomfort. “I’m just glad you’re home, Azriel. Really, I’m fine.”

Azriel nodded, accepting your words for now but not deceived by them. His offer stood. A silent vow reflected in the steadiness of his gaze ready for when you chose to accept it. And as the evening wore on the unspoken understanding deepened. The assurance that when you were ready, he would be there, just as the city’s lights would always return with the stars.

The next morning in Velaris began with the soft glow of the rising sun streaming through the windows, bathing the kitchen in warm light. It was usually a welcome sight, but today, as the rays hit your eyes it sparked an unexpected irritation. You squinted sharply, shielding your face with your hand. "Why is the sun so bright this morning?" you grumbled more to yourself than to Azriel.

Azriel, standing nearby and preparing breakfast, glanced over with a mixture of concern and a slight smile noting the irony of a Day Court Fae being annoyed by the sun. "Would you like me to close the curtains?" he offered, his voice gentle, recognizing your discomfort as more than just a complaint about the light.

"Yes, please," you sighed before rubbing your temples as he moved to adjust the drapes, softening the room's brightness. Your mood felt as fragile as glass, each sensory input amplified.

Throughout the morning these small irritations bubbled up unexpectedly. When the kettle whistled loudly as it reached a boil, you winced. The sound slicing through the quiet like a siren. "Does it always need to be that loud?" you muttered. The frustration edging your words.

Azriel turned off the stove. His movements calm and deliberate, designed not to provoke your sensitivities further. "It's done now," he said soothingly, pouring the hot water into a teapot with practiced care.

As you both sat to eat, the scraping of your chair against the floor made you cringe. You held your head in your hands for a moment, feeling overwhelmed. "Sorry, everything just feels a bit much this morning," you apologized. Your voice muffled by your hands.

Azriel’s response was filled with an empathetic patience. "It’s okay. We all have those days. Is there anything else I can do to make the morning easier for you my love?"

You shook your head instead managing a small smile as you looked up at him. "Just having you here helps."

He returned your smile with a nod. His presence a quiet reassurance. Azriel continued to navigate the morning with a considerate grace by turning down the volume on the music player that usually filled your mornings with lively tunes. He replaced it instead with the soft, soothing sounds of a gentle instrumental.

Later, as you prepared to leave the kitchen, a sharp pain from your cycle struck drawing a hiss of pain from your lips. Azriel was at your side in an instant, his concern deepening. "Is everything alright?" he asked. His voice laced with worry.

You nodded your head not wanting to worry him with the details just yet. "Just a bit of a headache," you lied, not ready to divulge the true cause of your discomfort.

Azriel didn't press further, respecting your space, but his offer was clear. "If you need anything—anything at all, just let me know." His assurance was comforting. He was a steady anchor in the choppy waters of your morning. As you leaned into his support, appreciating the depth of his patience, you realized how much it meant to have someone who could weather your storm without taking it personally. Azriel's understanding allowed you to face the more challenging days with a sense of security knowing that even when you couldn't control the storm within you weren't alone in navigating it.

Later that evening, as the city of Velaris began to quiet down under the night sky, the calm in your shared home was punctuated by the subtle but persistent struggles of your condition. After a day fraught with sensitivity and muted pain you had finally found a moment of respite by drifting into a light sleep.

Azriel, ever so cautious, tried to maintain the tranquility of your environment. However, as he moved around the bedroom preparing for his own rest a book slipped from his grasp. The soft thud it made as it hit the floor seemed deafening in the quiet room. Startled from your shallow slumber you snapped awake with irritation flaring immediately. "Can you just be quiet for once?" you lashed out. Your voice sharp and louder than intended. The darkness of the room seemed to swell with the tension of your words.

Azriel froze, the book forgotten at his feet. He turned towards you. His face a mask of surprise and hurt. The room was thick with your frustration and his growing concern. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, his voice steady despite the emotion you could hear just under the surface. "I didn’t mean to wake you."

You sighed, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes, frustration at yourself now mingling with the physical pain. "No, I’m the one who should be sorry. I... I just fell asleep, and I’m so tired, Az. I didn’t mean to snap."

There was a moment of silence as Azriel digested your words. The gentle shifting of his stance indicating his internal debate on how to proceed. Finally, he spoke, his words careful but filled with the need to understand. "This isn’t like you love. You’re not just tired. Please, talk to me. What’s really going on?"

The concern in his voice, the genuine worry for your well-being, broke through the last of your defenses. The dam built around your emotions and the pain you had been trying to hide all day finally burst. Tears started to gather in your eyes, blurring your vision as you faced not just the physical pain but also the emotional strain of keeping it hidden. "It’s my cycle, Az. It’s really painful this time and I didn’t want to make a fuss about it, especially today. But I’ve gone and made a fuss about it by being mean to you."

Azriel's reaction was immediate and intense. His eyes widened in alarm. "Your cycle? Is it supposed to hurt this much? Should I call a healer? Maybe there’s something wrong. We should do something. What can I do? Tell me how to help you." His questions tumbled out in a hurried stream; his usual calm demeanor replaced by a flustered, almost panicked response.

You couldn’t help but let out a small giggle despite your discomfort. You were struck by how uncharacteristically panicked he was. The sight of Azriel, always so in control, now scrambling to figure out how to deal with a normal albeit painful part of your life, was oddly endearing. "Really, Az, I don’t need a healer," you reassured him by still chuckling a little. "It’s not unusual, just uncomfortable. Maybe just some warmth and quiet would help."

Seeing you laugh, Azriel took a deep breath, attempting to calm his racing thoughts. "Okay, warmth, I can manage that," he muttered to himself almost as if making a mental checklist. "And quiet. Right. I’ll get you a heating pad and some tea. Does chamomile sound good? I read somewhere once that it’s supposed to be soothing." Watching him take determined strides toward the kitchen you felt a mix of gratitude and amusement. His earnestness and sudden eagerness to do anything to make you feel better warmed your heart and eased some of your discomfort.

Azriel carefully placed the heating pad and tea on the bedside table then hesitantly perched on the very edge of the bed. He maintained a noticeable distance between you. His eyes flickered with concern and an unusual hint of hesitance as he watched you curl up under the blankets, seeking comfort and warmth. Noticing the space he'd kept away from you, you pouted slightly, feeling the chill of his absence more acutely than the air around you. "Why are you all the way over there?" you asked him. Your voice carrying a soft note of longing and a touch of playful reproach.

He looked at you, a wry smile touching his lips. He held up his hands "I’m cold, always cold. My hands are freezing. ," he replied. His voice tinged with a half-hearted jest. "And you need warmth."

You rolled your eyes affectionately before extending your hand towards him. "I don’t care. Come here," you insisted. Your tone gentle yet firm.

Without missing a beat, Azriel moved closer to you. His earlier hesitation vanishing as he lay down next to you. However, ever considerate, he strategically placed a soft blanket between you and him just in case his cooler, shadow-clad nature made you uncomfortable. Then with a tender smile he pulled you into his embrace ensuring that the blanket acted as a warm buffer. Making sure to keep any chill his presence might hold at bay.

Azriel's embrace enveloped you, the blanket between you two a considerate barrier to his naturally cool presence. He held you close, his voice a soft murmur near your ear, "I’m here, no matter what. Always.”

As you nestled against him feeling the warmth of his care seep through the fabric, he chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest. "You know," he started, a playful twinkle lighting up his eyes, "I’ve heard that certain... activities can be quite beneficial for soothing cycles. Something about natural pain relief?" His tone was teasing, deliberately light to coax a smile from you.

Azriel's playful suggestion hung in the air, wrapped in the warmth and the soft chuckle that followed. You raised an eyebrow. Your laughter still echoing softly in the room. Leaning in a little closer you matched his mischievous gaze with one of your own. "What certain activities are you alluding to, Azriel?" you teased. Your voice dripping with feigned innocence. "You'll have to be more specific. I'm not sure I follow."

The twinkle in Azriel’s eyes brightened, amused, and slightly challenged by your seemingly innocent response. "Oh, you know," he replied, his voice lowering into a suggestive murmur, "activities that involve being very... close and unclothed. I've heard they can be quite therapeutic."

Your laughter filled the room again, lighter, and more carefree than it had been all day. "Therapeutic, huh? That sounds like a very scientific approach," you quipped back. The banter easing the remnants of your earlier discomfort.

Azriel nodded solemnly but his eyes betrayed his mirth. "Absolutely. It’s all in the name of health," he assured you, drawing you even closer within the safe harbor of his arms. The proximity was charged with your shared jest. It softened the edges of the day’s pain and discomfort, replacing it with a comforting intimacy.

Wrapped in the warmth of Azriel's embrace you couldn't help but play along with his cheeky suggestion. Your tone light but laced with mock consideration. "Well, if it’s for health reasons," you mused before giving him a playful look, "then I suppose we should probably follow doctor’s orders, shouldn’t we?"

Azriel's smile widened. His eyes alight with amusement and a hint of mischief. "Correct," he replied, his voice low and teasing. "It’s important to take health matters very seriously."

The playful banter and light-hearted mood set a comforting ease between you two and as you both settled in closer the earlier discomforts seemed to melt away. Instead replaced by a shared anticipation and warmth. Your laughter and his soft chuckles filled the room, creating a bubble of joy and closeness that made the rest of the world fade away. You leaned closer to him whispering conspiratorially, "Then let’s not waste any more time on formalities." Azriel's response was a gentle squeeze at your hip before pulling you even closer. As you both prepared to follow through on the playful prescription, keeping the mood light and deeply connected. This tender moment was filled with laughter and soft promises. It was a perfect, shared escape from the day's earlier challenges.

The next morning sunlight streamed softly through the curtains casting a gentle glow across the room where you and Azriel lay tangled in the sheets. The peaceful air was filled with the quiet sounds of Velaris awakening outside. Azriel was already awake and watching the light play across your face. He brushed a loose strand of hair from your eyes.

"Good morning," he murmured, his voice soft with affection. The events of the previous night had not only brought relief but had also woven a deeper layer of intimacy and trust between you.

"How are you feeling today?" he asked with a hint of a cheeky smile playing at the corners of his lips. The playful twinkle in his eyes was unmistakable clearly alluding to the 'therapeutic activities' from the night before. "Did the... treatment help?"

You couldn't help but laugh at his antics. The sound of your laughter was light and clear, a stark contrast to the discomfort of the previous day. "Yes, I believe it did," you replied as you matched his playful tone. "Doctor’s orders might just be the best medicine."

Azriel's laugh joined yours, the sound warm and comforting. As the laughter faded he shifted to a more serious tone, though his eyes still held a gentle warmth. "I mean it, though," he said earnestly. "I’m here for you, whatever you need. If there’s anything else that can help or something different you want to try next time, just tell me."

You reached out, tracing a line along his jaw with your fingers, moved by his sincerity and openness. "Thank you, Az. It means everything to me that you’re here and so willing to help. We'll just keep adjusting and figuring it out. And I promise I won’t be so… bitchy next time."

Azriel nodded with a smirk forming across his face at your words. His hand covering yours. "Absolutely," he agreed. There was a gentle determination in his tone. "Whatever comes, we face it."

The moment was simple yet profound, affirming the depth of your connection. It was these instances—of laughter, shared vulnerability, and light planning for the future—that deepened your bond, making it stronger with each challenge faced and each joy shared. As you both lay there, the morning light seemed to promise new beginnings and the assurance that no matter what challenges awaited you would meet them with love and a bit of humor always at hand.

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truly-sincerely · 6 months

Text

Even More Comprehensive BG3 Timeline

(Now with citations!) Years in (paren) are confirmed, all other lines are approximations. For my own sanity this timeline is based on available in-game information and not the Forgotten Realms at large.

1450s

Enver Flymm born

Gale Dekarios born (1457)

Enver Flymm sold to Raphael by his parents, renamed Gortash

Gortash learns about Crown of Karsus while a prisoner of Raphael

Karlach Cliffgate born

1460s

Gortash escapes the House of Hope

Gale Dekarios summons Tara the Tressym (1467)

Wyll Ravengard born (1468)

1470s

Lae’zel of K’liir born (1470)

Gortash in his Heapside Reavers period

Gortash rebrands as a black market arms dealer

Orin the Red born to Helena and Sarevok Anchev

Durge begins their serial killing spree in Baldur’s Gate (1477)

The Emperor dominates Duke Belynne Stelmane (1479)

1480s

Elminster resurrects Mystra (1480)

Gortash trades Karlach to Zariel for infernal machines & iron (1482)

Baldur’s Gate’s Beloved Ranger statue goes missing (1482)

Duke Abdel Adrian murdered during Returning Day speech (1482) - Bhaal resurrected - Ulder Ravengard replaces Adrian as Marshall and as Duke

Orin kills her mother Helena in self-defense

Gortash recruits Franc Peartree to distribute infernal iron weapons

Gortash establishes a cult of Bane in Baldur’s Gate

Gortash approaches Durge about an alliance

Gortash moves against the Zhentarim & Knights of the Shield

Ulder Ravengard named Grand Duke

Wyll Ravengard pact with Mizora, leaves Baldur’s Gate (1485)

Dead Three made aware of the Crown of Karsus (most likely informed by Gortash)* - Gortash becomes Bane’s Chosen - Durge becomes Bhaal’s chosen - Gortash & Durge are instructed to recruit Ketheric

Gortash tells Durge about Crown of Karsus (via correspondence)

Hall/House of Wonders test mission* - Durge gets Bhaalist memorabilia - Gortash gets a bunch of Gondian designs - Durge & Gortash get companionship

1490s

The Chosen visit Ketheric at Moonrise, learn about Illithid colony

Gortash & Durge visit the House of Hope (for intel on Mephistar?)

Gortash & Durge raid Mephistar - They get the Crown of Karsus - They get the book on the accelerated grand design

Gortash captures the Emperor

Gortash & Durge return to Moonrise - Their identities are kept secret from Ketheric’s people - Durge impresses the Moonrise Gnolls, but not Steelclaw - Ketheric yells at Durge in the throne room for an unknown reason

Durge proposes their plan to the Elder Brain who accepts

Raid on the illithid colony (1491) - Durge puts the Crown on the Elder Brain - Orin gets Durge alone during the raid & stabs them in the head - Orin tadpoles Durge, making them the first True Soul - Orin declares herself the Chosen of Bhaal

1492

Durge is found by Kressa Bonedaughter

Minsc captured by Absolutists at a recruitment rally in the Undercity

Gortash gets weird and intense with unethical experiments - Some futzing to get the tadpoles to consistently remain in stasis - This is when the name ‘True Souls’ gets coined - Extremely questionable fun with brains - Getting the Absolute’s voice sorted out - Tadpoling his parents - Poorly conceived experiments on children & their parents

Gortash has Iron Throne converted to hold hostages

Gortash presents prototype Steel Watcher to the city council

Jaheira tracks cult to shadow-cursed land, meets Isobel

Minthara Baenre is 'recruited' by Orin and Ketheric

The Descent, Elturel fall into Avernus happens

Duke Vanthampur revealed as a diabolist, killed by adventurers

Guild Bursar Uktar launders money for Gortash’s Campaign funds

Isobel is resurrected by the Dead Three

The Elder Brain sends the Chosen dreams about the Astral Prism

Gortash researches the Prism, finds out that Vlaakith has it

Gortash tasks Ketheric with sending a team to get the Astral Prism - They send a nautiloid piloted by the Emperor and other illithid - The Elder Brain lets the Emperor slip its leash - Magthew Budj arranges for Durge to be on the nautiloid as well

Gortash deploys Steel Watch in Lower/Outer City

At this point Elturel is no longer in Avernus

First Druid Halsin captured by goblins

Nautiloid picks up Shadowheart & the Prism from Astral Plane

Nautiloid picks up Lae’zel

Nautiloid goes to Baldur’s Gate, picks up Gale & Astarion

Nautiloid goes to Avernus, picks up Karlach & Wyll

Nautiloid crashes, (20 Eleasis, 1492)

Some helpful links:

A page from Sarevok’s book: Sarevok - (Murder tribunal)

Accelerated Grand Design: Gortash - (Gortash's Office)

An Offer: Gortash - (Peartree basement)

Aquatic Labor: Gortash - (Flymm’s Cargo Basement)

Baldur’s Gate Temple of Bhaal: Yanthus - (Gortash’s Office)

Balthazar’s Notes: Balthazar - (Necrotic laboratory)

Clasped Book: Balthazar - (Balthazar’s chambers)

Devil’s Fee Observer’s Report**: Himberloo - (Nine-Fingers’ office)

Elder Brain Domination: Ketheric/Yanthus - (Ketheric’s Room)

Enhanced Weapons - Sales Ledger: Peartree - (Peartree basement)

Experiment on Cruor: Orin - (Temple of Bhaal)

How To Build a Watcher: deceased Gondian - (Steel Watch foundry)

Journal of Enver Gortash: Gortash - (Gortash’s Office)

Magical Histories: Volume 2: The Spellplague: unknown - (Sorcerous Sundries)

Memoir Notes with Recent Addenda: Gortash - (Gortash’s office)

Missive from Gortash: Gortash - (Ketheric’s room)

Missive from Ketheric: Ketheric - (Moonrise, 2nd floor)

Mistress of Souls’ Research Log: Kressa - (Mind flayer barracks)

My Gratitude: Gortash - To Peartree (Peartree basement)

Next Steps: Gortash - (Gortash’s office)

Prayer for Forgiveness: Durge - (Necrotic laboratory)

Scrapbook of Letters: Gortash/Durge - (Flymm’s Cobblers)

Special Operations - Infernal Arms: Uktar -

Studies of the Elder Brains: Gortash/Yanthus - (Gortash’s Office)

Suspended Ceremorphosis: Gortash/Yanthus - (Tadpoling center)

Test Mission with Gortash: Durge - (Temple of Bhaal)

The Astral Prism Heist: Gortash - (Gortash’s office)

The Dukes of Baldur’s Gate: unknown - (Baldur’s Mouth/Peartree’s house)

The Grand Design: Gortash/Yanthus - (Mind flayer colony)

The True Life of ‘Lord’ Gortash: a skeleton - (Wyrm’s Rock Prison)

The Ultimate State: Gortash - (Gortash’s office/Flymm’s Cobblers)

*an in-game contradiction between Gortash and Durge. See: ‘Test Mission with Gortash’ and ‘Memoir Notes with Recent Addenda’. I’ve placed it after, but there’s also a legitimate argument to be made that Gortash and Durge met and became allies much earlier, possibly around the same time as Gortash’s betrayal of Karlach

Additionally, the House of Wonders (church/workshop) and the Hall of Wonders (museum) are two different buildings in the Upper City. Durge writes that the Hall is their target, while Gortash writes that the House is their target. It is my opinion that they hit both locations.

**no link cuz the bg3.wiki doesn’t have it??

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roseglazedlens · 1 year

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⦑ THE FUCKING DEAD ⦒ 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

➠ series masterlist | 🔃girl’s route | 🔃boy’s route |

𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓┇𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑┇𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐅𝐈𝐂┇𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐃𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 LEON S. KENNEDY & CARLOS OLIVEIRA X AFAB GN! READER ADA WONG & JILL VALENTINE X AFAB GN! READER chapter synopsis: You are amongst the top five selected for this infiltration to take down Glenn Arias. An argument unfolds between the agents and you are forced to pick a side. chapter content: smut in next chapter, resident evil: vendetta spoilers, zombies, haunted mansion, explicit themes throughout this series. a/n: welcome to my second series!! (need to finish my first one oops) on a thursday one month ago, i thought to myself 'zombie threesome hehehe', then i took the idea and sprinted with it and this series is born. so, uh... zombiefuckers rise up?? « 3.3 k words | general masterlist | ao3 | reblogs appreciated! »

Millions are dying—Mass infections are happening across the globe swamping the streets with an unbeknownst fear. The symptoms of this virus are faint, indecipherable next to an x-ray of a man who is perfectly healthy. Not even the carrier themselves are aware of how the virus lies underneath their veins, dormant, until a click of button is pressed from a commander far away, then their symptoms worsen: a headache, a cold, veins turning purple as the poison hatches in them, spreading, until the only thing that can manoeuvre their limbs is the word: KILL.

That’s the greatest strength of this virus. Anyone can be infected, and maybe, you already are.

This product first reached the underground market three months ago. Called the A-Virus; a bioweapon succeeded in the market for its ability to infect targeted communities remotely and leaving no evidence on the perpetrator, which no other distributors had successfully produced before.

Engineered by Glenn Arias, the researcher sold over thousands of this bioweapon, becoming a billionaire overnight at the cost of lives lost from the whims of the rich. He supplied the wealthy and corrupted, like insatiable brats, with new remote-controlled monster trucks, who only aims to tear down families and have their victims beg mercy to a monster that will not speak reason.

Hence, this problem brought attention to a global scale, having the DSO come in alliance with the BSAA and other independent mercenaries to hunt down the vaccine and put a stop to Arias’ grand schemes. Handpicking five agents who are equipped with both experience and skill to combat a zombie attack on this scale of doom and urgency.

Those five agents are Jill Valentine, Carlos Oliveira, Leon S. Kennedy, Ada Wong, and you.

A plan is already in place. A distraction concocted with your intel and the help of a senior researcher of all things bioweapons, Rebecca Chambers. While Arias is busy attending fake business meetings on the other side of the world, the five of you will infiltrate his private mansion to retrieve a concentrated sample of the A-Virus. Rebecca can use the sample to reverse engineer it into a cure and send her findings to facilities across the world.

The plan sounds brilliant in writing, but when you arrived his private mansion in Queretaro region, Mexico, something is off about this place.

Arias is a mastermind, you had been warned many times, in which you appropriately prepared all your best gear for this mission to treat it with utmost gravity. You’re thinking armed guards, well-equipped security, BOWs. But when the five of you pushed open the front doors of his mansion, it was quiet.

Empty. Not a single soul. Just five of you greeted by the whisk of wind through weakly hinged windows that somehow makes the humid air stick to your skin further. Did Rebecca get the wrong info? No one lived there. From what you heard when you were in town, not even the locals dare to venture anywhere near the odd gothic mansion on the top of the hill. They said it’s abandoned, cursed, rumoured to whisk away young children if they ever step foot inside.

It’s a story they say to stop the naughty kids, you remind yourself. It’s not haunted. And you’re not a kid anymore.

The inside is abandoned. Cobwebs lay thick between cornices and carved columns, the floors laced with a film of dust on the luxurious dark wood flooring, creaking with worn age as you take each step. Besides the chandelier, every single piece of furniture is either the same colour of black or red, or nothing else. The soft red velvet upholstery and the rug are made with the same fabric. And you can find the same dark wood in every corner of this house. It’s in the tables, the shelves, the chaise, the painting frames, and stone-like head sculpture whittled with the same exact dark wood, ridged the exact uniform way.

Then, you look at the wall. Black patches of mould smearing across the burgundy wallpaper like a crime scene.

Something creaks behind you. The hair on your arms stands up as you shiver, immediately followed by a wave of embarrassment. Despite the number of times you had taken down hordes of incoming zombies like they’re cardboard targets, why is a bit of wind freaking you out? It’s not a ghost, just old foundations, maybe mice, or wind kicking something off a table, like how every old house sounds like. You look around to see if anyone else catches you jumping at nothing, before Jill says, thankfully unaware of your worry:

“God, the smell. What have they done to this place?” Her hand flies over her nose as if that will help to shield any smell whatsoever. Unfortunately, the building is moulded far beyond salvageable that the stench lingers in every part of the mansion.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad. We get weeks-old corpses in body bags every day. It’s absolutely retching.” Jill’s earpiece fizzes into life, and she recognises the familiar playful lilt of Rebecca’s voice on the other side of the line.

“At least that’s refrigerated and contained, Rebecca. This fucking stinks.” Jill scrunches her face like she just ate something unpleasant.

“I’m sending my sympathies from my well-conditioned lab right now.”

Carlos appears from Jill’s behind, placing a firm, teasing hand on top of Jill’s shoulder. His wavy curls catch in the wind and his teeth glistens sparkly white. “Yeah Jill, got a problem with my natural musk?”

Jill shrugs his hand off, grimacing at his attempts at flirtation. “Take a shower first, then we’ll talk.”

In which Carlos laughs, holds his hand out at his heart as if it was just torn into shreds. “That hurts my feelings, Jill. Why aren’t you ever saying things like that to pretty boy over there?”

“I have a name, Oliveira.” The blond man turns around at the call of his nickname, familiar with the nickname, but it's not pleasantly received by him.

“I think pretty boy suits you more, Kennedy.” Carlos replies, a glint in his voice that hints something a bit less than friendliness between them.

“Ah, so you do know my name.” Leon quips back while staring directly into Carlos’ eyes, before getting cut off by Jill.

“I would, Carlos, but if I have to hear one more corny ass comeback from Leon’s mouth, I’ll throw myself out the window right now.”

“Takes a genius to get my humour.” Leon smirks.

Your eyebrows raise almost immediately to chime in. “Erm… I think we have different meanings for the word ‘genius’.”

Quiet chuckles ripple through the room. It helps that you have worked with these guys throughout the years and had come to know and get close to them—some a bit closer than just friends—but none of them are strangers by far. Usually, you would be working with only one or two of these guys, never in a big group like this, but it seems that everyone is already well-acquainted with each other.

You toss a glance at Carlos and catch him staring at you, smiling. Ah, you see now. Carlos must have been trying to lighten the mood because you had been jumpy ever since you had arrived. You nod at him, a silent thank you before the five of you venture deeper into the eerie atmosphere.

The goal is to arrive at Glenn Aria’s office. According to Rebecca’s intel, Arias hid a concentrated sample in a safe last time he was here. You will need Ada to crack the safe to retrieve the sample and deliver it to Rebecca. As you traverse the corridors, it twists and turns in different directions—whoever engineered this did not enjoy unexpected guests at all. But under Rebecca’s guidance, she walks you and your team through the labyrinth with ease and precision.

But unfortunately, not ease and precision on your part. You trip over your own leg and almost fall to the floor as you round a harsh turn according to Rebecca’s instructions, and Jill catches you right on the arm before you fall.

“Easy there.” Jill pulls you up the ground, and you regain some balance. “You good? Mind your step.”

“Why did I agree to babysit?” Ada speaks, finally, for the first time in this mission. Despite how quietly she spoke under her breath, her words abruptly cut through the air, and all attention is on her and the red sweater dress that curves into her frame perfectly now.

“Oh, I bet once you get your paycheck it will be worth it. Or will you be betraying us, huh, Ada?”

Leon smirks loudly. Ada’s face goes from tired to exhausted in one second. “You just can’t let bygones be bygones, can you?”

“That’s rich coming from someone who used to work for Wesker.” Ada’s heels come to a stop, and with a slow turn, she stares deeply into Leon’s eyes that speak a million threats without needing to be utter a word. Oh, and believe me, you do not want to be messing with Ada. You learnt that the hard way.

“Woah, guys. Let’s keep this civil. No need to get heated.” Carlos rushes to stand right between them as the duo glares at each other with passionate fury and resentment.

You nod, joining Carlos’ side to stand by him. “Carlos’s right. This is not the time to pick a fight.” But it falls on the deaf ears of Leon and Ada.

“Thousands were killed. I want what’s good for the people, and I’m not sure Ada here is on the same page.” Leon continues, adding fuel to the fire.

Ada lets out a disbelieved gasp in response, before recollecting herself and replying in her usual tone of calmness: “Someone has to pay the price. I’m just the executor.”

“Regardless of our motivations, we all are on the same side here.” Carlos attempts at resolution again, putting his hands up in between them, and fails embarrassingly once more.

The air is heated with hostility; Leon and Ada’s eyes are locked in a trance, a hazy spite that reigns their composure, that looking away from each other means forfeiting. You don’t see either of them walking away first, they are both prideful people after all.

“Uh… Jill? Some help?” Carlos looks around to find Jill, who is leaning against a wall, her arms relaxing by her sides, unphased by the fire stirring right in front of the crowd.

“Not my circus, not my monkeys.” Jill is merely waiting for either one of the parties roll over.

You feel speckles of flame through the two of them, as if steam is retreating over the top of their heads, burning not just them, but also everyone else in the room. Until the boiling point hits, and it erupts all in one second. The duo walks away, off to different directions in bitter adrenaline, until you and Carlos are just looking at each other.

“I guess we’ll take five. There’s a safe room up ahead.” Carlos is speaking, but you’re the one listening.

The five of you enters the safe room in silence. It is a storage room—despite its name, it’s quite large for a normal storage room—with boxes stacked on all ends that made the room seem smaller in comparison. A ceiling light illuminates the room dimly, but it isn’t enough to shade away years of old animosity from their past.

The lively conversations you had mere minutes ago is gone now. Just silence and awkward rustling as each of you sits in your own designated corner. Carlos and Jill find themselves a seat on top of a firm box. Leon and Ada giving each other the silent treatment, standing on farthest end of the room to each other. You are simply minding your own business, gathering materials to craft a flashbang to pass the time. Doesn’t hurt to have more supplies anyway.

There is a notable division on each side, an imaginary alliance that you choose to be on neither side. Until Leon crosses the boundary line, somehow making his way to you. He picks up an empty grenade case next to you, assembling the pieces together for your project.

“Sorry you had to see that.” A little guilt tugs at Leon’s voice.

“Not at all. I get why you felt that way.” Leon nods, a look of gratitude hanging softly through a smile. His other finger seals the flashbang cap and hands it back to you. “But you need to learn to control your temper. Especially when it comes to Ada.”

Speaking of Ada, a shiver runs down your spine suddenly. The feeling of someone sending laser signs and telepathic warnings towards you. You turn around towards the direction of the aura to find Ada, her back leaning against the wall, arms crossed without engaging or acknowledging anyone in the room. She stands by herself alone, and that’s how you had always known Ada—distant and in her own mysterious world. Not really a chatter, despite the number of times she had saved you in the past.

Ada does not look at you, but you can feel her glaring down—either you or Leon—with her entire body.

“Good to see the two of you getting along at least.” Carlos holds out two plastic water bottles to you two from a supply crate he found in the room, which Jill has finished downing two of them already.

You two gesture ‘no thanks.’ Ada does not spare Carlos a glance at his direction when he offers.

“You’re welcome, I guess.” Carlos says sarcastically, before taking in a generous sip from his drink.

There’s a moment of silence. Then, a moment of dry coughs; a squeak of footsteps, a joint click from a stretching neck. Then silence once more.

“I’ve had enough.” Jill slaps her hands on her thigh before pushing herself up from her seat. “You guys gonna keep acting like kids? Grow up, this isn’t high school anymore. Take your drama outside. If we’re gonna take down Arias, we have to get along. And yes, that means moving on from shit that happened… five years ago? Five years ago and you two are still hung up? Unlike you all, I’m actually looking forward to go home and get a decent shower, hopefully soon.”

You nod in approval as Jill speaks her mind, and you are glad at least the few of you have their priorities in order. Ada flicks her head away from Jill, but her silence is telling of how much she is thinking over Jill’s words.

“Leon, can you accept this?” Jill asks.

There’s a bit of reluctance in his voice, but he agrees anyway. “Fine.”

“Ada?”

Before Ada can respond, smoke is creeping into your vision, coming in quick. It merges into your view, obscuring it, and you whiff something artificial, some kind of chemicals that is piercing to your nose and eyes. You can’t help but wince, hands groping the air in attempts to find comfort in the person closest to you—anyone for that matter—to indicate you’re safe and is indeed not under attack. Your fingers find themselves in a fistful of someone’s shirt, muscles tensing tightly underneath the fabric on their shoulder cap.

“Leon. Is that you?” You cry out.

“It’s me. Stay close and don’t let go. It’s an ambush.” Leon pulls your arm towards him, securing your safety with his hand in yours.

There is some coughing through the air, faint panic in voices underneath the hissing of gas that seems to be coming from above. You hold onto Leon a bit tighter.

Carlos calls out desperately “Where are you guys? Is everyone okay?” as he flaps his hand around the smoke to stir it away. He finds you and Leon almost immediately, and looks down to your hands, finding them clasped tight against each other. Your hand lets go of Leon flying behind your back, but Carlos already saw it.

Jill is coughing deep from the smoke. “I-I’m here!”

“It seems like we’re all here.” Ada says, composed as ever despite the circumstances.

The smoke dissipates—until most of the fog fades away, escaping through the cracks underneath the door to the other side. Leaving the five of you standing in the same storage room darting eyes around, seemingly unharmed, and even more confused.

After what feels like a while later, Jill finally breaks the silence: “Huh. What was that?”

“No enemies.” Ada unholsters the pistol from her belt, inspecting the room and the door behind the room. “Clear on this side too.”

It’s strange. If this is an ambush, why isn’t there an attack?

Leon places a finger on his earpiece to activate his microphone. “Rebecca, come in. We’ve just been ambushed by some kind of smoke, but nobody’s hurt. Happen to know what’s going on?”

His earpiece buzzes into life. “Hmm, let’s see. From the architecture plans, I see the vents are connected to a lab below. It seems abandoned, there are no signs of anyone triggering an attack on my end.”

“Whatever it is, we need to investigate.” Leon’s voice is firm and serious. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

You swallow deeply, fear settling back inside you. “You think it’s a trap?”

“I think…” Leon pinches his chin. “…Arias knows that we’re here.”

Your heart drops—Bundle of fear, anxiety and stress springing back into your nerves as you probe at the possibility of Glen Arias knowing where you are. What you’re trying to do. Making sure you will never reach that sample despite your hardest wills.

“He shouldn’t. Rebecca, didn’t Arias get on the jet?” Carlos is also thinking too.

“Affirmative. Security footage showed Arias walking into his private jet, and it took off four hours ago. He should still be in the air. No signal of them making a pitstop anywhere.”

You hear black pumps clacking against the hardwood floor. “I’m getting the sample.” Says Ada, her foot is already halfway out of the door. “Follow me or not, I don’t care. I’m here for the objective, and only that.”

“And what if something happens to you?” Carlos asks, genuinely concerned.

“I’ll deal with it if it happens.” Ada waves dismissively.

“Ada’s right, we could be set on a wild goose chase.” Jill chimes in. “Millions of lives are dying. We don’t have time to waste.”

“I guess it’s just you and me then, pretty boy.” Carlos rounds his arm around Leon’s neck, bringing him closer in an almost choking grip, a little too close and tight to his liking. And with Leon’s history with Carlos, Leon refuses to believe this is just a friendly gesture.

Leon grimaces, removing Carlos’ hand over him. “So that’s it? We’re splitting up?” The answer is unanimous. “Fine. I guess we’ll cover more ground if we split up.”

Rebecca, through the other side of your earpiece, speaks: “Be careful everyone. You don’t know what kind of schemes Glenn Arias had set up. Please stay safe.”

“We’ll be fine, as long as we don't have any traitors in our team.” Leon says the word ‘traitor’ while maintaining eye contact with Ada. She ignores him, simply deadpans.

“Well, what about you?” Leon nudges at your arm.

You are faced with two options. Indulge in your curiosity and find the source of the gas, or stick to mission as planned? Both options will be dangerous. So who will you trust with your life?

[OPTION A] “I’ll follow the girls.”

[OPTION B] “I’ll follow the boys.”

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 thanks for reading! come check out my other works! —yours truly, rose. i love my beta reader @scar-crossedlvrs! series taglist: @j3llyd0nut @ovaryacted @daydreamrot @madcap-riflette @access--granted @obsolescent @briermelli @secretiveauthor @ghosty-frog @navstuffs @slowcryinginthedark @rentaldarling @lesbntired © roseglazedlens — please do not repost, plagiarise, or feed to ai.

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darkdevasofdestruction · 2 years

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My Innocent Snowdrop ~ Oberyn Martell x Stark!Reader

Summary: The eldest Stark girl is forced to marry Oberyn Martell as a political alliance made by Cersei, but what she does not know is that the Prince of Dorne is a very loving man who easily falls in love with her and cherishes her deeply.

The wolves never strayed away from the North - Y/N told herself, staring up at the head of her father, rotting on that wretched pike. He should have rejected the spot as the Hand of the King - Look where it got him and all the men that came with them. Septa Mordane’s head was also there, staring up at the Sun... And poor Jayne Poole, being imprisoned and... Lord knows what is being done to her.

Lady was dead, Nymeria and Meria, Y/N’s direwolf, were long since away from their premises. All the Stark wolves were very much dispersed all over Westeros, with Sansa and Y/N the only unfortunate souls licking each other’s wounds in King’s Landing.

Y/N would think hard, if there was any good memory she had of this forsaken place. Perhaps the time that she saw Arya being taught how to ‘dance’ by the master. The castle, the courtyard... Maybe everything except for the flower gardens was completely awful - Just like the stench of Flea’s Bottom. A good memory would be when she cheered for Sandor Clegane during the journey for Prince Joffrey’s name day... While he was still Prince, at least. He was such a good man, despite that rough exterior he puts out - Though Sansa was afraid to even look at him, Y/N always felt safe around him. Ironically, the same could be said about Tyrion, the Lannister dwarf with that silver tongue and cheek to match him. She could could count on her fingers the amount of times he had saved her and Sansa from danger - And she wouldn’t have enough hands.

She missed the North so much. That harsh cold was soothing, and the whipping wind was a caress. She wanted to hear the lullaby of the forest and the beauty of the fauna and flora around. She wanted to feel the fluffy snow under her feet again, and see her North lights with her old friend, the bastard of Dreadfort. She was glad that her parents had no idea she would meet up with Ramsay Snow every fortnight, in the Wolf’s Woods - He might have been the craziest psychopath, she thought, but she hadn’t felt more alive than when they were running with their canine companions through the frozen forests.

“Alys, do you think we will ever see home again?” Alys Manderly was Y/N’s best friend since early childhood, they have been inseparable, just like Sansa and Jeyne. They were closer than sisters - She would call them soul-sisters, or something. She remembers Theon one time telling them to marry twins, so they would never be torn apart. For a while, they actually pondered that idea. “I hope so, Y/N. I hope so.” the dark haired girl hugged her friend dearly.

But perhaps there was room for celebration - King Joffrey’s name day approached again, and a another tourney would take place. Though Y/N encouraged Sandor to participate, he merely barked at her - One win was enough for the old dog.

This time, the festivity was even greater than before. There were many houses that wouldn’t join anymore, being at war with either Stannis or Renly - But at the same time, there were a few houses from down South that were going to arrive in grand maniere. Royal, noble houses from Dorne.

“Y/N, you are so beautiful!” Alys complimented her friend, who looked down bashfully and shook her head. “Please do not jest so. You are far more beautiful.” Y/N went to fix her friend’s hair, before they went to the the stands. Sansa was to stay next to Joffrey and the other Lannisters, unfortunately for her, but the two friends were glued to the rails of the stands. They saw many a great knights - Until Alys gasped, and blushed powerfully. “Y/N, look - That is the Prince of Dorne! Isn’t he so beautiful?!” Alys’s voice was chirped with glee - And the Prince proudly strutted by them - And then he stopped, right in front of them, with a beautiful deep pink rose into his hand, and grinning charmingly as every lady was cheering and chanting his name. Y/N didn’t dare, but Alys was almost bent over the railing, wanting to get closer to the man. “A beautiful flower for a beautiful lady.” the man said, and though Alys melted, his arm went directly past her, and in front of the Stark girl, whose eyes were wide. Her hands trembled, unable to reach out for the flower - And the man approached her, ripping the stem and putting the flower in her hair. “Much better.” his smile was so gentle and sweet, Y/N thought she would die on the spot. Instead, she reached out to the ribbon in her hair and tied it around his palm. “I pray that you will win, My Lord.” the Prince’s smile widened, and Y/N could swear that he, in that golden outfit of his, was radiating brighter than the morning Sun. “For you, I will. sweet rose.” with a wink, the Lord trotted away to end the grand finale of the tournament. “You’re SO lucky, Y/N! Prince Oberyn himself chose you!” Alys shook Y/N’s whole body, and the girl couldn’t help but let out a weak, amused exhale. “Calm yourself, Alys. It is just a flower, nothing more. He will not even remember that I exist.” the girl smiled gently at her friend, reassuring her - But she had missed the envious look in her eyes.

Just as he had promised, the Red Viper of Dorne had won the tourney - And for the remainder of the day, the Dornish retinue drank and cheered and sang songs - And many more other things that were only for adults to speak of. Y/n smiled, watching Oberyn kissing the woman she found out was named Ellaria Sand, the Prince’s paramour. She was a tall and slender lady, with sun-kissed skin, black hair like ebony, and dark, warm, kind eyes. They seemed to be very happy - And so was Y/N. A happy couple always made Y/N happy as well - It meant that there was still hope for people out there, even if she, herself, couldn’t see it.

Alys was more of a party person, whilst Y/N wanted nothing more than to run away and hide in her room, now that she knew Sansa was safe in her room, and people were actually enjoying the feast - But Alys was insistent, and she dragged her friend forcefully to the Dornish table, pushing away some of the drunker men so that her and her friend could sit down and pretend they belong there.

Lady Ellaria gave them a weird look, while the Prince seemed to be smirking in amusement - Not only for the evident desperation of the Manderly girl, but the way the Stark girl was hiding her face with her hands. “Alys - That was rude!” Y/N whisper-yelled at her friend, who outright stared at the Prince with starry eyes. “Let us return to our chambers, Alys - It is far too late for us to be out.” but Y/N’s pleas were in vain. “It is not every day that you get to meet a Prince, Y/N! Lighten up, it’s a party!” the comment made not only Y/N, but the two lovers look at her perplex. “You... Do realise that... You are in King’s Landing. And you have met two Kings, a Queen, a prince and a princess... Right? And you see them every day.” the timid lady pointed out, shocked about her friend’s absolute moment of dumbness. “Well - Yes, I know - But none of them are so exotically beautiful, are they? The Prince’s skin is sun-kissed, and that smile was painted by the Gods.” hearing these affirmations made Y/N’s head spin in vertigo. Her eyes were cast down in shame, and her cheeks were pinker than the flower in her hair. “What an interesting pair we have before us, my love. An innocent and timid little snowdrop, accompanied by a bold and fierce rose. How intriguing.” the Prince was now focused on the two new-comers, though his arms were still snaked around his lover’s waist. “We are undeserving of such compliments, Your Grace.” Y/N spoke softly - Oberyn was so used to all the strong-willed and strong women of Dorne, that he completely forgot that shy little fawns like her existed. Shy, and very much traumatised, by the looks of it. His heart was almost swelling with dear, just looking at the girl. “Don’t be rude, Y/N - The Prince is giving us compliments, you have to accept them.” Alys grunted at her friend, before turning at the Martell Prince, batting her eyelashes dearly. “I, uh... I just think that Her Grace is far more beautiful than I am.” her voice was like that of a little mouse - It amused the woman, but also, made her feel protective of her. “Ellaria Sand is my name, little one. I am no noble, just a bastard of Dorne.” the woman smiled kindly at her. “Noble or not, it does not take away from your beauty.” Y/N retorted quickly - Ellaria and Oberyn shared a look, before looking back at them with mischievous smirks. “What are your names, sweet flowers?” the woman asked them. “I am Alys Manderly - And this is Y/N Stark. It is a pleasure meeting you.” though Alys looked at the Prince with lust in her eyes, but she did not once look at Ellaria. “Beautiful names, just like the ladies having them.” Oberyn nodded. “Then, would the ladies wish to share our chambers tonight?” Y/N almost fell backwards off the bench from complete shock and fright. “A-Ah, n-n-no... W-We, uh... W-We were just, uhhh, retiring for the night! Yes -- G-Goodnight, Your Grace. My Lady.” Y/N shot up to her feet as if electrified, and though she jumped to the other side of the bench, her wrist was caught by Alys, and she was roughly pulled back on the seat. “Don’t be such a bore, Y/N! Let’s have some fun~! Lord knows, we need some distraction after everything the Crown put us through!” Alys’s mouth got slapped by the Stark girl, as she was given a warning look. Y/N was looking around for unexpected onlookers and eavesdroppers, like a skittery bunny during a hunt. “Watch your mouth, Alys. You do not know who is listening in. If you are not careful, your head will end up on a spike, next to my father’s.” Y/N had seen enough for a life time. The last thing she needed was to see her best friend being killed. There was only so many family members she could see dead, before she’d lose her mind. “Come on, Y/N, loosen up a bit!” but Y/N snatched her hand away, and rose to her feet, looking down at her friend with a simple look. “I will be seeing you tomorrow at breakfast, Alys. Sweet dreams.” Y/N spoke curtly. “May you have sweet dreams also, Prince Oberyn. Lady Ellaria.” with a quick courtesy, the terrified beauty went rushing back to the castle and hid herself in the safety of her own room.

Although, safety was a great word - Only she knew the amount of times she had escaped assassination attempts. She hated sleeping alone - Anything could happen at night, when you are sleeping - Alas, she could not share a bed with anyone, even her own sister. The rules of King’s Landing were unnecessarily strict and harsh. She wanted home already.

The next morning was unusually quiet and relaxing. The weather was fine, the Sun was warm and the breeze just right. Somehow, during this beautiful morning, even the royal stench wasn’t as awful on the senses as usual. Y/N decided to have a plate of fruit tarts and find her peace in the flower garden, alone from everyone else. It was her hiding place - A little silly, she knew, but sitting down on the soft green grass and gazing at the myriad of colourful flowers was the only thing that made Y/N smile.

“My Lady has such a beautiful smile. You put the flowers around to shame.” Y/N found herself squeaking in shock - She had been found! What a shame. She had attempted to raise to her feet and made a little courtesy, but the Prince’s hand on her shoulder stopped her - Instead, he had opted for sitting on the ground next to her, and with a leisure smile, he snatched the tart plateau and popped a small strawberry tart into his mouth. “Not bad for something done in this place.” he tilted his head to the side comically. “Your Grace --” the girl began to speak to him, but was cut off by the man, saying his name instead. “I-I dare not.” “I insist, My Lady.” his brown eyes were so warm and welcoming, like a loving embrace. “I dare not address the Prince so colloquially.” she spoke. “I am just a girl from the North.” “Your father was the Warden of the North. Your brother is the King in the North. You cannot tell me you are ‘just’ a girl.” he watched her shamefully hanging her head. “I have no achievement of significance of mine own. My sister Sansa is the beautiful one. She can embroider and seam like no other, and she sings the prettiest songs. My other sister, Arya, is a fantastic archer, and she learnt how to swordfight from a braavosi water dancer. Mother is the beauty of the Riverlands. Robb is the King in the North. Bran is... Well, was...The most capable climber... Before he got crippled... By the bad men... And Rickon is just a babe of three.” she spoke softly, yet the love and pride in her voice when addressing her family was evident. “And there, here I am. Y/N, the firstborn child of Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully. The family’s disappointment - Though they would never admit to it.” she let out a self-deprecating exhale. “Your Grace is kind, but there is no need to waste your precious time with the likes of me.” “I beg to differ, young lady.” Oberyn frowned for a second. “There are not many who can catch my eyes, yet you certainly did. You are underplaying your self - I wonder why. Gorgeous - You are, beyond words. And your voice is sweet as a nightingale. I’d say you are just overly modest. Is it how they teach you in this place?” he ask, reaching his hand to her hair and absent-mindedly playing with a strand of her long, luscious red hair that shone auburn like the red rose of love and passion. “I have long since heard that the people of Dorne are the happiest. That they are free, and life-loving, and very confident. I can only guess this may come as a huge surprise for you. Although... You have also seen my sister-friend Alys, and she is the complete opposite of me.” the man hummed, hearing of the other girl’s name. “Ah, yes, that one. Rather impolite and a little arrogant, after you left. The Dornish may be lax and permissive, but we still do take into high regards our courtesies.” he seemed completely unbothered, but the girl’s heart froze. “O-Oh, my -- Please forgive her , Your Grace. She has been through a lot since we have come to this place... She - She thought she could find some comfort in the arms of a temporary lover. She meant no harm or disrespect.” although Y/N apologised profusely in the girl’s stead, only to see the Prince wave his hand dismissively, as if it was nothing. “You are far too naive and innocent for your age, little one. And the look in those beautiful eyes of yours makes me realise that you are already aware of that.” his finger reached underneath his chin, raising it up just a little bit. “Forgive my language, Your Grace, but I think the right word you are searching for is much harsher and down to earth. I am an outright simple idiot.” her delicate hand was placed over his, so she could move his hand away from her face. “That will not do.” he shook his head. “I found it rather amusing that you hate this place, and its people, almost as much as I do.” his smile was perked up again, especially amused once he saw the terrified look in her place. “Fret not, sweetling - All of Dorne feels the same. I have no reason to speak out your feelings in your stead. I respect you and your boundaries - Forgive me for teasing you. I find great pleasure watching your face turn the colour of your hair.” the girl could say nothing more, but she hung her head in defeat, hoping to hide her bashfulness with her long locks. “I am undeserving of your compliments, Your Grace - Though, I am grateful for your discretion.” her sweet voice made the man want to snatch her into his arms and plant kisses all over that snow-white skin of hers. People of the North truly were so pale - Almost sickly pale. Would she end up sun-burnt often, should she end up travelling in Dorne one day? That supple neck looked and her uncovered cleavage were so inviting - How was he to resist? The birds have started to chirp a pretty song, and Y/N found herself caring naught for her worries, and she closed her eyes and inched her face up to the sky, bathing in the caressing love of late Spring. “Does this bring you joy?” the man asked, and he saw her head nodding lightly. “It is one of the very few things that I can still appreciate without being punished for. It is not much, but these few moments of bliss are enough to make me forget for a while of the woes of life spent in the capital.” she sounded more at peace now, as if she wasn’t as guarded around him. Surely, the mutual hatred of this place and the Crown must have made her feel at ease. With a soft smile, Oberyn put his hands on her shoulders, and pushed her down on the grass. “How about now?” he asked, gesturing for her to close your eyes. “I... Feel a bit... Uneasy.” she admitted, embarrassed. “Are you afraid?” she let out a small, affirmative answer. “I will protect you, so fear not.” though a bit skeptical, Y/N closed her eyes again, and rested the back of her head on her palms, and she took a deep breath. For once, she forced herself to keep a clean, empty mind, and to relax. If the Prince of Dorne said he would stay on lookout, he would. Though, perhaps that was a weird way of saying that he protected her. Oberyn was laying on his side, next to her, and he was gazing at the beautiful lady as he stroked her velvety hair. Apart from her mother, she had never, once, felt anyone taking care of her so dearly. She loved this feeling so much that she was afraid she would get used to it, and by the time the man leaves for back home, she will feel all alone. She couldn’t afford to get complacent.

The Prince, however, thought of last night - He wanted to tell her that he did not believe Alys was a good influence on her, but why would she believe a complete stranger, over her sister-friend? Would she believe the suspicions of a seasoned man, over the pleading eyes of her faux friend? Ellaria, too, was reticent, when she looked at the Manderly girl - She could smell the venom dripping from her tongue - The complete anti thesis from the innocent girl who seemed to fight so hard to remain good to the word. Was it to keep hope for her friend? Or was it that she wanted to believe humanity was not yet lost to her?

The party from Dorne had remained guest to King’s Landing for the whole week - Time in which Oberyn tried to get closer to the sweet dove, but could not, because she was always taken away by some one. Though irritating, it was to be expected. What a pity.

Or so he thought - For the Lannister Lioness herself came up with rather the interesting proposal - Claim an even more solidified alliance, through the knot of marriage between the Prince of Dorne and the firstborn daughter of the greatest House of the North. The Seven Kingdoms had to be kept tightly knit together, after all. Were it anyone else, Oberyn would have laughed in Cersei’s face, thinking she sent some lackey of hers to spy on him. Even if Y/N was forced to be a spy, he knew he could persuade her not to be afraid of the Queen Regent and her fearsome claws. For so many years, he had been opposed to marrying - He was very fine with his loving paramour and his children. He needn’t anything else. And even better, he needn’t have the wedding in this stinking city, for he could have it at his own, glorious home, in Sunspear. It was perfect. The Queen had no idea how stupid she was. Or perhaps she wanted to get rid of the elder Stark sister, and claim monopole over the younger one in her entirety? Possible, as well. Only Lions knew how many lions they could tell, in a single minute.

Once Y/N heard the knew of her leaving with the retinue all the way down South, she felt faint - It was hard enough to get used to the climate and people of the Reach, let alone the deserts and scorching heat of Dorne? And the... Very friendly people as well. She had the tiniest glimpse of that whenever Oberyn passed by her, and would reach out to cup her face or quickly caress a lock of her hair. But Y/N was lucky she had not seen the dark look in Alys’s eyes - The Prince had seen it, and he did not like it. It would be fine though - She will be leagues away from Y/N, so there was no way of bringing her harm, or to his family by being a Lannister lackey.

Y/N felt absolutely terrified of Ellaria for a quick second - She felt like an intruder in their loving relationship. Like a homewrecker. She felt like she outright destroyed the peace and harmony of the whole country of Dorne. Or perhaps, she was simply fatalistic by nature - She wasn’t yet sure. But Ellaria was the sweetest woman in the world, and she hugged her dearly to her chest and kissed the top of her head. “Sweet little flower, worrying so much over nothing. It should be yourself you should be worrying about. Being traded off like an object of political means. You needn’t apologise to me. I pity you - But fret not. Oberyn is a good man. He will take good care of you. And so will I.” she remembers tearing up and hugging the woman tighter, thanking her over and over again for being so understanding and benevolent.

The wedding was not to be properly planned until a few months to come, under the pretext that the young girl has to get used to her new environment - To truly become part of the family. Simply put, it was Oberyn’s way of keeping the pressure off the girl.

Some of his daughters seemed interesting in the new girl, while some cared little or even less about her existence. Just another woman in his life, they said. How long she would last, it was only a matter of time.

The Prince made sure to keep her at the lust Water Gardens, where the palace was cool, and she could indulge in the warm waters of the numerous pools - Maybe play around with the children of the common folk, if he felt uncomfortable with the adults. The outfits, also, were completely different from what she used to where, even in King’s Landing, where the weather was mild. Now, she was given the most luxurious silks and linens, some more sheer or revealing than the others - She felt far too outrageous to leave her room like that, so she kept with the more modest clothes, that would hide her silhouette better.

Most of the time, however, she would spend her time in her room, doing various activities, be that reading Dornish books, or practicing over and over again strategies for the card game that Oberyn had thought her. She wanted to be a worthy opponent for the man - She had to live up to the expectations of a Prince, after all. Or, at least as close as she can get. Sometimes, she would embroider some of her dresses, and even some of the tunics that the Prince may or may not have intentionally taken over to her room. He had even taught her how to paint, and brought her all kinds of paints and paper, and though it wasn’t perfect, she had a particular fondness and skill in painting the flowers she would see in the gardens.

Once in a while, she would write letters - All addressed to King’s Landing. Of course, out of respect, she had Oberyn read and approve of them. She had written her sweet sister, to make sure she is okay, and she wrote to Sandor, her most unlikely friend, to see how he fared. But the most beautiful envelope was directed to Alys. It was of rose gold colour, and inside, she had pressed various flower petals, and sprayed perfume on the letter - Which was written in cursive ink - But she had not sealed it yet. This one, especially, she would seal with a flower instead, so Alys would know who it was from, without a name being addressed.

The two sister-friends would shower each other in compliments and confessions of how much they missed each other, and would speak about the happenings of the countries they were in, or interesting rumours and gossips - Here and there, a little tricket would also be brought.

“This letter seems particularly tender, compared to the others.” Oberyn hummed, pacing around the room, pondering. “It is her birthday. In fact, it is the first birthday we spend apart. It must be hard for her, all alone in that lion pit. Who knows how Joffrey is torturing her.” she spoke lightly - Though she was still shy around the man, he cherished him deeply. Not once, did he try to pressure her - Instead, he was always gentle with her, and would never raise his voice around her, or speak foul. “Do you love women, Y/N?” he asked in the most casual tone possible. “If yes, I can have any woman of your liking brought over for you.” it only made her cheeks flare up. “N-No, nothing like that!” she denied immediately. “You needn’t be cautious with me, sweetling. Men loving men, women loving women - People loving people - It matters little, as long as the love is genuine. You can tell me. I want to know the preferences of my lovely wife.” he always knew how to make her mind spin around. “No, Oberyn - Really, it is just a letter sent in good faith, on her name’s day. This is how we used to talk, even back in the North. My sister Sansa with her friend Jeyne were the same.” the girl explained, only to stop for a moment, as the man gazed at her as if she was the most innocent thing in the world. “Does it... Sound weird?” “I think it is sweet that you can express your love this way, my dear. I just fear what would happen if any of those stuck-up idiots would get the letter instead, and accuse either of you of... Unspeakable rule breakings, in the name of the Gods... Or something ridiculous like that.” he turned to look back at Ellaria, who was leaning on the door frame. “Will I be the recipient of these sweet words one day, little flower?” “Darling - Don’t tease her like that.” Ellaria sighed, rolling her eyes and snatching the letter from his hand. She scanned it quickly with her eyes, before she let out an exhale once more, and she shook her head. “Oh, sweetling... The world is not yet ready for such a mellow heart.” the look of distraught on her face made her reconsider, however. “Although... If you keep the letter anonymous, they should have no way of tracing it. Have you used different birds like we told you too?” the girl nodded. “Then, I suppose it should be fine. But be careful who you rely on.” the woman couldn’t tell her about her suspicions she had of her so-called best friend. How could she, when Y/N looked most alive, speaking of her dear friend? “Of course! Alys wouldn’t do me any evil. We have grown up together, closer than sisters. We always covered for and took care of each other!” she exclaimed, with new-found vitality in her eyes. “I will have this sent, then. Darling, why don’t you go with Y/N to the pools? It’s evening already, they should be warmest at this hour, and mostly empty.” with a sultry smile, the woman left the chamber, leaving the two alone. The Prince stepped in front of his betrothed, and bent slightly at the waist, extending his hand for her to take. “Will you join me by the pools, sweetling?” he rejoiced in the blush that graced her features, and the delicate feeling of her hand feathering his own. She had remained quiet, feeling bashful enough as it was, walking hand in hand like that with the Prince of Dorne - But thankfully, the guards were nowhere to be seen, and they were as alone as they can be. Private and intimate, and very much away from the eyes of the onlookers.

She listened dearly to the proud and loving way in which he spoke of the Gardens, and their history, who created them and why. The loud and harmonious song of the crickets and the toads, even the rattles of the snakes. It was peaceful. The breeze was warm, and the sky was filled with thousands of colours, ranging from yellow, red, orange and pink, but purple and indigo as well - And many other hues in between. She had never been able to sit back and admire the sky like this in a while - Especially not since she’s been sent to the hell that the Red Keep is. When the day met with the night, and the stars were shyly peeking and twinkling, thought it wasn’t yet as dark as midnight - It was a breath-taking sight.

She was so lost in the sight that she didn’t realise the way the man besides her looked at her. He was gazing at her as if she was his most beloved person in the world. It was true, he held a deep love for Ellaria, and had fathered several children together - But he had never even thought about marrying her. Between the parties and the debauchery, the fun, the many men and women that shared his bed, and the amount of travels he partook in... But now, there she stood, before him, someone so completely different than anyone he’s ever met before. Different from all the treacherous people, the liars, the flatterers, the manipulators and what not.

She was so good of heart and innocent - As if she was living in a completely different world than his own. A world of complete peace and harmony, where people can do no wrong, and everyone is trustworthy and reliable. It only made him even more desperate to keep her safe from the cruel world. He wanted to keep her in this oasis, and keep the mirage of goodness for her to keep believing in. Little by little, she will find herself not only comfortable in her new home, but with them as well. With him, most specially, as he wanted her so badly.

Suddenly, a mischievous smirk played on his lips - He was so enchanted by her, that he couldn’t help himself. He threw his arms around her body and jumped into the warm water of the shallow pools. The little squeak of surprise, as she met with the water surface, made his heart beat faster. He stared down at her adorable expression, at her wet hair and the incredibly attractive way the light material of her dress revealed the shape of her body as it stuck to it so tantalizingly sweet. There was only so much the Prince could refrain himself, after the few weeks since she’s been brought to his country. His hands cupped her cheeks, and he leaned in to kiss those soft and pink flower petals of her lips. The few seconds of surprise in which she felt her body and mind frozen, completely dissipated, and Oberyn could feel her melting into the kiss. For just a moment, he let go to gaze at her awestruck look, before one of his arms snaked around her middle, holding her dearly, whilst his other hand was buried into her hair. He felt like being breathed into him - It was unlike anything he’s ever felt before. Passion and fire from Ellaria especially, but now, his heart was beating alive, and he felt tender and mellow.

At some point, he was even afraid of getting greedy - Not only did he not want to scare his sweet little fawn away, but he also was afraid of how drunk he would get if he went even further, indulging in those lips of hers, and the smell of her flower perfume... That was how she deserved to smell - The stench of King’s Landing was finally washed off for good. He was never going to let her go back to that awful place. He hated it as much as she did. Were it not for the situation of the captive sister, or that devious bitch who calls claims to be her friend, then she wouldn’t have any further worry about that disgusting city.

Now, even more than before, he would come over to her chambers and would bring her new jewellery, all of them shining gold like the Sun, with precious stones of every kind and colours, and he would steal long and tender kisses from her. If he were gifting her a necklace, he would put it around her neck from behind, admiring how it embellished her flawless snow-white cleavage, and would embrace her from behind, leaning down to tickle her with soft neck kisses - She would always giggle from those. If there were rings, he would kneel in front of her and slid them on, before kissing each of her knuckles, the back of her hand, and then he would lean his face into her touch and kiss the inside of her wrist - She would get so bashful that she would get on the ground next to him and hug him tightly to her chest, whispering the sweetest confessions of love and care. And if he were to bring he any kind of hair accessory, be it a flower crown or pearls, a golden gem tiara, or a sheer veil filled with diamonds and zircons that would make her hair shine even more, then he would ask to brush her hair and he would fix the accessory in her hair himself, then tilt her head to kiss her forehead - She would put her hand over his, and cheekily bring his hand for her to kiss.

What he wouldn’t do to keep her away from all the horrors that waited them across the borders...

During the day, the two would play the newest card and dice game that was trending all around the young people - It became a trend, as she called it - And he had to admit, it was a nice game that combined strategy and luck rather beautifully. But better than that, he loved how she would make such adorable expressions when she would lose. He didn’t even imagine there could exist one with such awful luck, but she proved him wrong, times and times again, when out of 10 dices, none of them would depict the element she needed... For multiple rounds... For multiple games.

But he knew just how to make her forget about her lost games, by either going horse riding, or for a walk by the beach - Maybe even a little swim, if they so wished to. At evening, she would sneak by the shore and dance - But it wasn’t just any type of dancing, Oberyn realised - But spear dancing. After he showed off to her multiple times when training, it seemed to have inspired the little flower to practice herself. She was fast and agile, but more than anything, she was so graceful and elegant, with her flowing skirts spinning around her slender form, and her long hair flying with every move. More than anything, however, she was having fun. Never had he seen her grinning so widely and having fun with all her heart. She looked free - As free as a bird, allowed to sing at will and fly at win - Allowed to do anything without anything restricting her in any way. She had some difficulty with the weight of the weapon, but twirling around made it feel less than a feather. And her voice - The way she would hum whatever melody she was thinking of - Some familiar to the Prince, while some, completely foreign - Oberyn felt himself completely relaxing whilst he leaned on a tree and admiring her from afar.

Then, came the night, the most honeyed part of the day. The time when he either spends the most passionate hours in the flames of excitement with Ellaria, and perhaps even other participants - Or he stays in Y/N’s room, with her cuddled into his side as he strokes her hair and he reads her a book. She was sleeping so peacefully in his embrace that he could never bring himself to return to his own chambers. It was always wonderful, waking up to such a lovely woman by his side, especially when she’d snuggle even closer to him while asleep, like a little kitten.

Though she was still very much worried about her family scattered all over the Seven Kingdoms, and the on-going war with the Crown, she at least had found the closest thing to a feeling of peace and belonging, here, in Dorne, soon to be married to Oberyn, and good friend with Ellaria, his paramour. Getting even closer to the man, the two agreed to finally plan the wedding, and everything was as great as it could get. Y/N was happy and felt at home, and Oberyn was glad that his soon to be wife was had finally found a family in him, but also Ellaria, his many daughters, and all the citizens of Sunspear.

But in Westeros there can never be a moment of respiro, and much to his dread and anger, there was a letter he received - It was for Y/N, not for him, but she had long since agreed that he should read any letter she writes or receives, for safety purposes. She hated that she was still far too naive when it came to the harsh political affairs between the more powerful houses, so she was fine with someone who could handle this better to take care of these trivial things.

He had called his paramour to read this as well - He knew the Lannisters were the scum of the earth, but to think they would find something as ridiculous and innocent as Y/N’s friendship with Alys, just to bring them pain and exploit the Stark name... It was cruel, and the Prince was getting very quickly fed up with the lions. He had not forgotten, nor forgiven, the way they treated his dear sister, Elia, and her two children. He sure as hell won’t be lenient now. He needed his sweet revenge... Dorne needed the long awaited vengeance, and somehow, he shall have it. Especially on the perpetrator of all evils... The Mountain.

But how was he to tell Y/N about the contents of this letter, without alarming her, or making her feel guilty? In a way, he wondered if Alys was also a conspirator to this ploy - Surely, she was, he thought. At first, he wanted to just throw the letter in the fire and ignore the matters from the Crown - But Ellaria had reminded him that Y/N’s own sister was helplessly caged in King’s Landing, and they could easily threaten to kill her, just as they did with their father.

That night, he had taken Y/N to bed with him, just like many other nights. Usually, he would be reading her a story, or tell her of some of his weirder adventures from his long travels - Or, on particularly sleepless nights, she would tell him about home and her interactions with her family, and how unique all of them were. This night, especially, as soon as he stepped inside her room, he saw her in one of those sheer, light pink night gowns - It was a pretty warm night, even this late - And she was at the table, painting. She was gracing a serene, happy smile on her face. As soon as she turned her head to look at her visitor, her smile widened even more, and her eyes lit up. “Ryn!” she called out his new nickname breathlessly, throwing the paint brush into the water glass and wiping her coloured hands. “What a coincidence, I was thinking of you!” she had become so much bolder and more honest with her feelings, it was very endearing. “I made this for you! I saw you liked the desert roses the most whenever we’d go through the garden - Thought I’d make something for you to hang on the wall in your room, if you like it.” quickly fanning the painting to dry faster, Oberyn went next to the table, admiring her creation. “I’m surprised, lovely, Y/N, you have become so good at this.” seeing as it had dried, he held up the long paper and admired it. “Just like the real flower - I’ll have someone hang it so I can see it every time I wake up. Thank you, sweet one.” he raised her chin slightly, before kissing her forehead.

He watched as she scurried to clean her hands properly, before taking a book and getting in bed, she motioned for him to come along faster. “I found this book that talks about the culture and history of many countries in Essos - And I have seen many a story about the Rhoynar, and the water mages and witches - I was so fascinated by it, and then I remembered, Nymeria was one of the Rhoynar, and most of the traditions from the Dorne of these days were brought by her and her people. Can you tell me more about it?” how could he ever decline a request from her, especially as she wanted to learn more about his own country? She was just so beautiful and lovely, he could not understand how could anyone wish her ill. “Of course I will, my sweet Snowdrop. Anything you wish for, I will do for you.” he sat on the bed and pulled her into a small kiss. “Before that, I have something to tell you.” he could see the anxiety form into her eyes, so he quickly brought her into an embrace, caressing her hair, reassuring her that she had nothing to fear. “We must leave for King’s Landing in three days.” Y/N looked up at him with confusion, yet he could also see the disgust she held for that place. “But... Why? I thought you said you hated that place.” “O, darling, trust me, I do. If it were after me, I would burn the whole capital to the ground, and all the people in it, beginning with the Lannisters.” he explained, and the girl nodded her head in approval - She would have done the same. “A letter had arrived from King’s Landing today, with the seal of the Crown.” the girl gulped in fright. “They had called for you to attend the trial of Alys Manderly, under the pretexts of adultery, seducing and indulging in... Unethical misconducts with at least a woman.” just like he had feared, the Queen had used their letters to accuse the Stark girl of indirectly going against the laws of the Faith of the Seven. “So... Alys is being sentenced for indulging with women... And their proof are our letters, yes?” the man nodded. “But I was in Dorne, and here it is not illegal. And they cannot prove anything from the time I was in the capital.” “If they want to, they can prove anything, with enough bribing. After all, they are not directly accusing you, but your friend, who is from a far less important family. Not to mention, if she is found guilty, by extension, so will you be, and by those stupid laws of the Church, they have every right to take you away and put you through very harsh conversion punishments, and maybe force you to renounce your family’s name and title and become a Septa, or join the Silent Sisters.” the gravity in the man’s voice made the girl feel as if her soul was sucked out from her body. “What does Cersei get out of this? If she wanted me dead, she could have done so when I was in the capital, not have me marry you, and be far away from her grasp, under your protection. Moreover, she couldn’t have known we would wait so much to legally marry. And if she wanted to threaten me, she has Sansa in her hands. Why go through all this trouble? I do not understand.” she asked, aggravated by all this mess. “The less Starks alive, the better. She did not want Sansa to marry Joffrey, but the King did, and because of that, she can’t change until someone better comes along - And there aren’t many families that can beat yours.” he explained. “Your brother is leading a rebellion, and you are allied with the region that is most likely to go against the Crown for vengeance. You could seduce me into joining your brother’s cause and take over Casterly Rock.” Y/N’s eyes went wide, and was about to protest, but got silenced by a kiss. “I know, I know, you would never do that. Surely, Alys would have told Cersei by now, and I, myself, know you would never even think of attempting something like that.” Y/N frowned and looked down, pondering and thinking deeply, and she sighed in utmost defeat. “I’m so sorry, Ryn. I shouldn’t have involved you in this. I was a stupid, naive little girl who hoped that, if I was away from them, they couldn’t lay their hand on me anymore.” her head was hung, and Oberyn could even see her eyes watering - She must have been feeling very angry and guilty. “I will go to King’s Landing by myself. You have enough on your shoulders anyway.” but the man scoffed and ruffled her hair. “Are you done speaking nonsense?” he asked, giving her a look. “I will not have my wife slandered, nor accused or prosecuted like that, especially not by that accursed family.” though he was serious, it didn’t seem to convince the girl. “I am not yet your wife, Ryn. You do not have to go that far for someone like me. I have only brought you problems since you have met me, and given you reasons for migraines. That is already far more than anyone would do for me... And I do not want to abuse your kindness.” she had tried to raise from the bed, but was pulled back by his strong hand. “You do not get it at all, do you? Or is that you do not want to understand?” he asked, putting Y/N on his lap. “It is you that I love.” Oberyn pulled the girl into a long and passionate kiss. “And I will have no one hurt the one I love.” he kept pulling her closer and closer with each kiss. The fire was suffocating her, but it also made her long for more. “I was unable to save Elia, but I will not allow those fuckers to lay their hand on you, my love.” Y/N was feeling her body and mind melting altogether in his embrace, and she was sure that, soon, she will transform into a puddle and slip between his fingers. “I am no saving Alys. I am saving you.” “Are you sure you want to go through all this troublesomeness, Ryn?” she managed to breath out, her brain almost blank, as his wet lips traced her neck veins. “I would go to the ends of the world for you, my darling. I would reach out and grab the Sun rays, to make you a shining crown, fitting for the Princess of Dorne.” the more his hands were roaming all over her skin, and underneath the sheer material of her night gown, the more she felt her blood scorching from within. “R-Ryn!” she gasped from embarrassment, the same way his compliments always overwhelmed her - In that instant, she felt herself being rolled on her back, and the only things she could see were his gorgeously chiseled visage, his sweet smile painted on those perfect lips of his, and those warm, loving dark eyes, that only ever looked at her with such deep emotion. “Hush, my love. Say no more. You are safe with me, so cease your worrying.”

Three days from then, the Dorne retinue had moved forwards towards the Capital of Westeros. Through the days, Oberyn looked seemingly unbothered, though both Y/N and Ellaria were on the edge, more or less, afraid for what was to come. No one willingly went inside the Lion’s den and thought they would get out unscathed. Still, the Martell Prince had no problem easing his two lovers, and comforting them - Even while inside the awful castle.

They had a good deal of food and wine to drink at the feast, but everyone new, the following morning at court, the Seven Hells would break loose. Y/N had told that night to both Oberyn and Ellaria about the many times she had to be held accountable at court, and how Joffrey had humiliated both her and her sister countless times. Also, she had told them how, despite Jeyne being Sansa’s best friend, she had a different treatment compared to Alys. Oberyn realised that even she suspected something was amiss, but did not stray away from wanting to save her.

This time, however, things were different. It was not inside the Castle’s court that they held the trial, but outside - Was it because of the fine weather? Or because it was far easier to have so many people outside, without too many voices echoing all at once and blending together? Y/N did not know, but she was extremely afraid. The young King was in the middle, on a large throne, and on either side of him were Cersei, and Sandor, Sansa and Tywin, and some other guards. Blasted thing, Y/N thought, Sansa was looking as awful as the day she had left her in this awful place.

“I have an awful feeling about this.” Y/N muttered, only to feel both Oberyn and Ellaria holding her hands. The Dorne envoy was somewhere up there, all on the same stand, watching the trial unfolding, as Maester Pycelle was down, speaking of the sins committed, before Alys was dragged by two guards She looked ragged and tattered, and beaten up and starved. Y/N’s breath was hitched in her throat, and she immediately shot to her feet. Oberyn realised that any suspicion she ever had of Alys was destroyed by the mere visual of her abused childhood friend, and the pity and guilt she felt for putting her through it all, because of some minor indiscretion

“As we all know, we are gathered here to judge the actions of Lady Alys Manderly, and her unethical actions that go directly against the rightful laws dictated to us by the Sept of the Seven, ancient and brought to us so long ago, by the Andals.” Oberyn could see her small hands gripping the railing so tightly, and the way her chest was heaving up and down. “Septa Nadya has discovered letters written by Lady Alys addressed to Lady Y/N Stark, in which she confesses her love for the Lady, under the pretext of being childhood friends. She has abused the kindness of her Lady through the years and continued to endanger her by association. She has committed acts of manipulation and blackmail towards her liege Lady.” Y/N wanted to hit her head against the railing - Everything they were saying was almost word for word what Oberyn had warned her. “Septa Nadya has also caught Lady Y/N Stark sneaking out at night to go sleep at Lady Manderly’s chambers, which is improper behaviour for women of marrying age.” “What a load of bullshit.” Ellaria grimaced. “Girls are girls. Let them gossip the night away, for fuck’s sake.” it was obvious even she was pissed off by the ridiculous accusations. “Your Grace, these are the accusations against Lady Alys Manderly, and by default, Lady Y/N Stark, through association.” The Maester spoke clearly, despite his old age. “So this is a trial for two traitors of the Faith, not just one!” the King rose to his feet. “Lady Stark was in Dorne when these letters were sent. The laws of Dorne are different from the ones here, so she has nothing to do with these accusations.” Tyrion was the first to stand up for the girl. “Thank you, Tyrion.” Y/N muttered under her breath - the Prince rose an interested eyebrow - So the little wolf girl actually had some allies around the Crown, even if that ally was a dwarf Lion. “That does not take away from the sneaking around at night.” the King spat back. “Your Grace, Lady Stark had gone through many assassination attempts while staying here. I had personally escorted her to Lady Manderly’s chambers, so she would not feel afraid alone.” Sandor Clegane also spoke up for her. “O, Sandor, you shouldn’t have.” Y/N gritted her teeth, suddenly afraid for a completely different friend - Whilst the Martell almost huffed in amusement - The Mountain was a ruthless piece of shit who mutilated, raped and abused to death his own sister and her children, but his younger brother was a good hearted loyal dog. How ironic. “That means all accusations against Lady Stark are null?” Cersei was the one to ask, and from the looks of it, Y/N was more or less safe. For now. “Your Grace, what punishment do you find appropriate for Lady Alys Manderly?” the Grand Maester asked. “Any crime against the Faith is a great offense directly against the Crown as well. I say - Flog her to death!” murmurs and gasps were heard throughout the court - What was with that death sentence?! Over something as ridiculous as a girl telling her friend how much she cares for her. “YOUR GRACE, PLEASE -- I BEG OF YOU!! SPARE ME! HAVE MERCY! WE ARE JUST FRIENDS -- WE DID NOT REALISE HOW DIFFERENT THINGS WERE HERE, COMPARED TO BACK HOME, WHEN WE WERE CHILDREN! PLEASE, PLEASE, SPARE ME! SPARE ME!” Alys was on the ground, weeping and imploring the King to at least give a lighter sentence. Oberyn looked up, realising Y/N’s body was trembling, and her grip on the railing was even tighter. A single tear made its way down her face. King’s Landing truly was the city of sorrow. “GUARDS! UNFOLD THE PUNISHMENT HERE, BEFORE EVERYONE’S EYES - LET HER SERVE AS AN EXAMPLE FOR EVERYONE WHO DARES BETRAY THE CROWN AND THE FAITH!” Joffrey was smirking wickedly. Tywin looked seemingly unbothered, though he realised his own grandson was almost as mad as the Mad King himself, and he did not want another situation like that. Cersei, also, was annoyed that her own child was, once again, ruining her scheming by killing the people she was using. Tyrion was disgusted by his nephew’s behaviour, Sansa was too horrified to even watch, remembering Jeyne and seeing her instead of Alys down there... And Sandor... His eyes scanned for the Stark Girl, and upon seeing her, he felt pity. Only he knew how many times he saved her from the assassins and even those stupid guards like Meryn Trant. As the very same guard stepped forward with a large wooden rod, he readied himself before using all his force to strike the girl’s back. Her screams were shrill and raw, and with each him, Y/N was jolting as if she was the recipient of those aims.

“I DEMAND TRIAL BY COMBAT!”

The whole court went quiet.

“I DEMAND TRIAL BY COMBAT!” the very same wavery voice shrieked out, her voice echoing loudly through everyone’s ears. “Your King does not allow it!” Joffrey snarled at the woman. “No one has the authority to deny an ancient right like the trial by combat... Your Grace.” Y/N spat with disgust. She snatched her arms from both Oberyn and Ellaria and ran through the crowd, all the way down to the court, where she pushed Meryn Trant away from the girl. “Three days for now - I demand a fight to determine Alys Manderly’s fate. Choose your fighter, Your Grace.” each time she used the honorifics, she spat with mocking and disgust. “You dare challenge me?!” the young King was getting angrier by the minute. “Your Grace, as the Stark Lady said, the trial by combat is irrefutable. Choose a fighter and we will prepare for the fight.” the Hand of the King, Lord Tywin Lannister, spoke up with a solemn grace. “Fine then. Ser Gregor - Step forward. Show Lady Stark and Lady Manderly that the authority of the Faith and of the Crown are far stronger than some silly girl friendship.” thus, the monster of a man, clad in heavy plate armor from head to toe, holding a longsword that must have been taller than even Y/N herself, and he strutted in front of the Stark girl, who stood tall, and looked at him with sternly, despite her heart dropping with fear. “So it is you they send again, isn’t it, you fucking monster?” the people gasped at the unlady-like vocabulary displayed by the Lady. “Do you find pleasure in killing young ladies? Is that why you so willingly volunteer to do all the dirty deeds the Lannisters order you to?” her voice was getting louder and harsher with each word. “First, you abused and killed your own sister.” Y/N spat at him. “Then, you dared to touch Princess Elia Martell.” she continued - both Ellaria and Oberyn were now on their feet, shocked by her recklessness - But whilst Ellaria was more frightened, the Prince was proud and satisfied - His sweet flower wasn’t afraid to speak up anymore. “You raped her! You ruthlessly cut her body in half! You outright destroyed her children!” she yelled at him. “And now, you would kill two other women, for no reason -- You must be jerking off to the thought of butchering us... Mayhaps you want to rape us too, don’t you? Then cut us in half? Or do you first rape after death as well?” the challenging of the Mountain made the man raise his sword up - Though both Tyrion and Cersei yelled out for him not to hurt the Stark girl, as it would go against the Law of the Trial by Combat, Y/N was quick to dodge, with a graceful twirl - And she snatched away the heavy sword of Meryn Trant, choosing a defensive stance in front of her friend. “So you even have against your Master’s rules, don’t you, you fucking deaf beast?!” lucky her, however, Sandor leapt from the stands and caught his brother’s attention, protecting her. “LEAVE HER BE!” he roared, giving Y/N time to step away. “Is that how you rule over your guards, Your Grace?! You let them go savage and rampage everything in their path?! Where is the Rule of the Crown, then? Where is the abiding to the Faith?! Gregor Clegane is disobeying you, and you let him go! How is it any different from Alys Manderly’s case?!” Y/N yelled out, accusing the King, and by association, all the Lannisters. “IS THIS HOW IT WENT FOR ELIA MARTELL?! AND WHO KNOW HOW MANY OTHER COMPLETELY INNOCENT PEOPLE WHO HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS WAR?! HOW MANY CHILDREN WERE SLAUGHTERED AND CARVED UP, WRAPPED IN LANNISTER BLANKETS, BECAUSE OF THE HEARTLESS WHIMS OF A TYRANT LEADING A BRAINLESS MONSTER?!” “ENOUGH!!!” King Joffrey screamed - His eyes were red with anger, and if he could, he would burn everyone alive in that place. “GUARDS - BEAT HER TO DEATH, RIGHT NOW!” “Not yet, you have not the right to do that - Your Grace. Wait three days, and if my fighter loses, then by all means, my life will be yours. Until then, it is mine own, and no one else’s.” as the King had his temper tantrum, realising he couldn’t touch the woman humiliating him, Y/N made a mock curtesy bow and spun around, pacing towards Alys and roughly grabbing her by the wrist, dragging her away from there, in the castle, to her own room. “Stay here. Don’t move.” she ordered, locking the door.

Y/N’s whole body was shaking like a leaf. She had never protested, or raised her voice, or acted violent in any way. She had never mocked or humiliated anyone, let alone, tried to stand up for someone like that, even putting her own life on the line.

How stupid could she be?

Frankly, she wanted to bash her skull against a wall and end it all, but she knew she had to come up with a plan, and fast. There was no way she could fight against the Mountain, of all people. She should have known it would be him... Hell, she didn’t even want the Trial by Combat, but seeing her friend being beaten up made her mind go array. Instead, she leaned back on the wall and looked up at the ceiling of the hall, trying to clear her brain and think rationally.

Where could she go now? What can she do? She only knows Tyrion and Sandor here, in King’s Landing, and neither would prove to be too great of a help. “You! How-- HOW COULD YOU DO SOMETHING SO STUPID?!” a familiar voice cried out, as rapid footsteps echoed - Y/N felt herself being pushed against the wall by weak hands. Her beautiful sister Sansa was crying in her chest, shaking and sobbing tragically. “You will die! How could you do that?! Was seeing dad die not enough?! Now you will have me watch you die as well?!” “Sansa...” Y/N pulled her younger sister into a tight embrace, petting her hair dearly. “I don’t care about Alys! I don’t care about Jeyne either! I don’t care about anyone! Anyone can die - But you can’t! You can’t leave me all alone! I don’t want to be here anymore!” her voice was so broken, just like her heart. It shattered Y/N. If she could, she would kidnap Sansa and get the hell out of here, with the first opportunity. “Dorne and House Martell is known to cause problems for the Crown for hundreds of years. Might as well sneak you out and bring you back to Sunspear with your elder sister. You will see that she has taken quite a liking to the Water Gardens especially.” Oberyn’s amused voice betrayed none of his nervousness. Sansa had a glare on her face, looking at him. She saw him as the man who took her sister away from her. “Lord Martell, I would greatly appreciate it if you would not disturb my reunion with my sister, or imply such unseeming nonsense. I would not dare commit treason against the Crown and neither would Y/N.” somehow, the younger Stark child was able to keep her courtesies up. “Ahh, I see, so those pretty words run through the family, now that makes sense. You see, little flower, the truth is - Your sweet sister was happiest away from this place. I think that was obvious by what happened just moments ago.” Oberyn chuckled lightly. “Enough, you two. I am busy. I don’t have time for silly banters.” Y/N grumbled, prying her sister away from her embrace. “Busy? And with what, might I ask? Surely, you won’t go train to fight the Mountain yourself, will you?” the girl did not look at him. “Ahh, you’re playing stubborn again. Do you like me reassuring you every time, or are you willingly forgetful?” “I will not have you dying to that monster, Ryn! I won’t let him take away someone important to me.” she snapped at him strongly. “Is that your declaration of love, sweetling?” this comment made the girl groan. “And who said anything about - Dying - Anyway? Do you think me so weak as to die to that meat brain? Surely not, otherwise I would get offended.” Oberyn tut-tut’ed at the girl playfully. “I don’t want to take chances.” came her resolute reply. “You created the perfect opportunity for me to get my vengeance against that thing who took Elia away from me. Whether you want to or not, I will have my revenge.” Oberyn stepped in front of her, gently picking her chin and raising it. “On the other hand, your bold declarations of today have turned me on so bad that I will have to steal you until tomorrow. Little flower, go back to your room, your sister is safe with me.” the gallant man with the mischievous smile easily picked his soon to be wife up bridal style and brought her to his room. The look on her face was almost hilarious, that’s how bewildered and embarrassed she was by him acting so forward, in front of her sister, no less. “Now, my sweet snowdrop, how about I show my love for you? It should serve as enough of a reassurance that I will win against that thing.”

The three days passed by far too quickly, and Y/N could only watch Oberyn train, or speak to Sandor and hopefully find out whatever weakness his awful brother might have had, that they could exploit. The outside court was, once again, the place where the Trial took place, and while the Mountain was already on the fighting ground, Oberyn was kissing and embracing Y/N and watching as Ellaria polished his spear. And coated it with the deadliest poison there was.

“Ryn, please, please, please - Promise me you won’t leave me alone. I can’t bare the idea of losing you.” her wet eyes made the man smile even more as he pulled her into another loving kiss. “I won’t ever leave you, my love.” he put his forehead to her own, his hands on her cheeks. “I love you, Y/N.” “I love you, Ryn.” she held tightly onto his wrists, afraid of letting go. Still, it was thanks to Ellaria, who gathered her into her own arms, that she unclenched her fingers from around his hands, so he could get his weapon and go for the fateful fight. “Don’t worry, Y/N. Oberyn won’t lose. There is no other Red Viper in Westeros.” she petted her hair as the two watched the fight to death unfold.

Oberyn entered the fighting area by twirling around and showing off his agile and elegant moves - It almost looked as if he was dancing - Was it his way of showing Y/N that she has nothing to fear, and that the fight will be as easy as when she’d dancing around with the spear by the beach, and she’s smiling all happy and content?

He was taunting the Mountain, and parrying each and every one of his heavy blows. It was magnificent, watching the Viper mess around with his opponent, but every time Clegane would approach and hit, both Y/N and Ellaria would flinch and hug each other tighter.

The enemy was able to cut the spear in two, and even throw Oberyn to the ground - But it was the only damage he could do, as an enraged Prince impaled with ease the huge man’s torso, and even cut away at his leg’s tendons, making him kneel to the ground, before striking him even harder. The Mountain was laying flat on the ground, as Oberyn circled him, accusing him of the crimes he committed against Elia Martell, and kept ordering him to tell to the world who gave the wretched order - To prove that it was indeed Tywin Lannister.

“DON’T LOSE FOCUS!!!” Y/N shrieked at him, seeing the Mountain still twitching on the ground. Thankfully, the Viper took heed of the warning and dodged once the enemy tried to sweep him off his feet with his swinging arm. “RYN!!” it took every ounce of strength Ellaria had to keep the little flower away from the fighting ring, as Oberyn kept taunting and stabbing the Mountain, until finally, his last words became swept away into the stinking breeze of King’s Landing, and with one last defiant act, the Mountain had betrayed his former master.

“Tywin Lannister.” Gregor Clegane was dead, and so was the whole crowd, from shock. Only Y/N burst out of Ellaria’s arms once the trial was deemed finalized and the Martell Prince declared the winner, and she jumped in his arms, shamelessly peppering his whole face with kisses. Finally Dorne had received the confession and redemption of the perpetrator who committed such heinous, unforgivable acts against their beloved Princess. Now, it was only the Lannisters to bring to justice - Somehow - But all in due time. “I’m so not letting go of you tonight, my sweet Y/N.” the man couldn’t help but chuckle at the uncharacteristic display of affection from the otherwise timid and reserved lady - But it was, by far, the most endearing thing he’s felt. “Never let me go, Ryn.” how can anyone resist those sweet words, and those beautiful eyes of hers?

But Oberyn will soon learn that going against the Crown and getting revenge will prove to be far more devastating than he could ever imagine - Not for him directly, but for those dearest to him. The loss of the greatest Knight of the Lannisters must have been a huge blow, and they had to retaliate... Or that is what he thought at first... Though at the breakfast feast where only the select few members of the Royal family were invited, and the ones attending the Small Council. Everyone, but one, was shocked at what was to unfold.

They were supposed to just leave back home that day - How could things shatter so easily? Everything was under control, and they were the victors... How could the tides turn so quickly?

At the long table, King Joffrey and the Hand of the King were sitting on the opposite ends of the table. Oberyn, Y/N, Ellaria, Cersei were on one side, while Varys, Tyrion, Baelish and Grand Maester Pycelle were on the other side. There were two more chairs left vacant, one on each side. Y/N looked at Oberyn and whispered in his ear, worried - Where was Sansa? Surely, as the future Queen, she would be there? Y/N then looked at the King, further up, at Sandor, but even he seemed to know nothing. Tyrion, as well, was simply drinking wine, not bothering to raise the covering platter from his dish.

“I see my sister is running late. Is it appropriate to begin our meal without the future Queen?” Y/N asked, her hands holding each other on her lap. “Clegane, why don’t you go by Lady Sansa’s room and see how she is doing?” Tyrion ordered the Hound. “I have not been informed by her maid of any illness.” Cersei spoke, slowly reaching for her cup of wine. She shared a look with both Tyrion and her father - A look of imminent danger. They were all suspecting something was wrong. “The food will get cold if we wait any longer. Perhaps my Lady wife has lost the track of time putting on make up or doing her hair. That is what pretty girls do, don’t they?” with a wave of his hand, the people at the table had to reluctantly begin the meal, taking off the covers of their plates.

An ear-piercing shriek, followed by the loud sound of a heavy chair colliding with the cold ground. All at once, the chamber was silent, save for the loud, ragged pants of distress from the Stark girl, whose eyes were glued to the contents of the plate before her, as she stood huddled and small, like a scared little mouse, absolutely terrified.

“You have declared war with the whole North, irredeemably, and now, with the South as well. Is this how the Crown knows to keep old alliances in place? Perhaps the Mad old King Aerys wasn’t as bad as we thought.” Oberyn rose to his feet, glaring at the oldest Lannister man, who couldn’t peel his eyes from the blasted thing that ultimately sealed the end of the Lannister House.

“Sansa...” there, on Y/N’s very platter, lay her own sister’s beautiful head. Her expression was fixed, terrified, in agony. “My sweet Sansa... What have they done to you...” powerlessly crawling back to the table, Y/N reached out and gingerly grabbed her sister’s head, hugging it dearly to her chest, sobbing in her still very soft red hair. “Who did this to you, my sweet Sansa? Tell me... And I will kill them with my own two hands. Who ever it is... No matter who it is... I will make sure to avenge you.” her voice was so low and serene, that it sent shivers to most of the people present. “I assure you, this crime has nothing to do with us. We didn’t want Eddark Stark’s death, nor Sansa’s. We did not want a war with the North.” Cersei’s desperate voice seemed to make Oberyn realise that although not herself guilty, King Joffrey was the culprit. “You were Queen Regent, and still allowed her father’s death to happen. It is your fault, as well as King Joffrey’s, that the North wants you all dead.” Oberyn felt himself re-living the very same moment he learnt the news of Elia’s death. He was enraged. “I will have Varys and Lord Baelish investigate her death.” Tywin waved his hand to the two. “The same way you investigated Elia’s death? Or the same way you ordered it?” the Prince slammed his fist onto the table. “The disobedience of a subject does not fall under my jurisdiction.” the old Lannister spoke up. “A leader who cannot control his subjects is a bad one.” Oberyn refuted immediately. “What is it, Sansa...?” Y/N’s soft voice made everyone silent. “Did you say... Joffrey? The bastard born of incest? The boy-King who is crueler than Maegor, and madder than Aerys?” that seemed to anger both the mother and the child. “It is your own fault that you had to retort to killing my father to get rid of those accusations. They only made you even more guilty.” Y/N looked straight at Cersei, with piercing eyes. “Out of all the Stark children, only Arya looked like father. Us, the other five, looked just like mother. You were in the same position. You were just too dumb to realise. Now, look around you - The whole Westeros knows your secret, yet you have the stupidity to create even more enemies. The North remembers, Cersei. I have long since wished for a lion’s pelt for a carpet. Might as well have more than one.” the Queen Regent shot to her feet and stormed in front of Y/N, only to have Ellaria get in between. “I do not think you are in the right to step anywhere closer to the Princess of Dorne.” it was a warning. “And neither of you has a right to slander and threaten the Crown.” she shot back immediately. “I have every right to do whatever the fuck I want. You took my father and sister from me, for no reason. Surely, you have forgotten... That your own twin brother and lover is being held captive by my brother and mother. Let us see how long does it take my mother to take the sword herself and put Jaime Lannister’s head on a spike, once she learns that her sweet Sansa met the same fate her as beloved husband. Let us see how long it takes Robb to ally himself with Stannis. Imagine King’s Landing... Against the North... The East... The South... And, perhaps, if that does not work, than the Targaryen girl with her three dragons... She is still in Essos now, isn’t she? And Essos is so very close to Dorne... I’m sure it wouldn’t be too difficult to go in search for her and get her over to claim her throne... So many possibilities... All very tempting...” Y/N spoke, not once blinking, not once extending her gaze else where, and once she was done, she turned around to leave. “DOG, DON’T LET HER LEAVE! CAPTURE HER AND THROW HER IN JAIL!” but the Hound did nothing. “DOG!” “Fuck the king.” Clegane spat, as he threw his weapon to the ground. “I am done doing the stupid orders of a brat.” “I AM YOUR KING!” Joffrey kicked his chair in his rage. “You are no king. You are just a fucking cunt.” he was the first to punch open the doors, and he stomped away, followed by Y/N and the Martells. “Sandor. Will you come with us?” Y/N’s soft voice called out, down the corridor. “No, little fawn. I’m done with this shit. Fuck this city and all the people in it.” the man growled, and the girl agreed with a hum. “But don’t you want to avenge Sansa?” Sandor stopped in his tracks. “I know you loved her.” she continued. “She told me she wanted to run away with you. Up North, back home. Said she only ever felt safe when she saw you. We have not forgotten the many times you saved us.” she felt herself being pinned to the wall. “Avenging her won’t bring her back to life!” Sandor growled at the girl. “I know. But I’ve lost too much to let those fuckers continue to live without facing the consequences of their actions.” Y/N’s was calm... Too calm. “I have a friend in the North. He is known for flaying people alive. He had shown me, once. I think it is time I polish up those skills.” “And what would you have me do, then?” he let go of her. “You either become my guard and come to Dorne with me, or you go and join Robb in the war. Whether or not you want to fight, it is your choice, but I need someone I can trust up there. And I need to find a way to get Robb to ally himself with Stannis. He’s got a fleet. If Robb goes to attack the Westerlands again, threatening Casterly Rock, and Stannis attacks King’s Landing from Blackwater Bay... And if we attack from the South... There’s no way the Lannisters can win. We just need a good strategy, and a great many deal of people.” Oberyn had heard her speak this way for the first time. She wasn’t soft and shy anymore, nor was she erratic and desperate. Now, she was smart, collected and worst of all, grieving and war-driven. She had never been to war, but it was clear, all her trauma made her fearless. It was now that the young she-wolf was the most dangerous. “Fine. I’m going North. Your brother better not have me killed on the spot.” he scoffed, only to receive a pendant. “Robb gifted it to me before I left for the capital. It has a small letter addressed to him. He will know. Tell him I had sent you. Tell them what happened. The North never forgets.” she explained the plan. “You have changed, little fawn.” he was the last thing the man spoke to the eldest Stark girl. “I am no longer a little fawn, Sandor. Not anymore.” thus, Sandor Clegane left for his horse, Stranger, and galloped North, while Y/N and the retinue for Dorne, including Alys Manderly, set South, only stopping by a distant part of the God’s Wood to set fire to what remained of Sansa.

She was far too beautiful to rot away. Best remain ashes, and let herself be carried by the wind and travel wherever she wants to. Now, she is no longer a caged bird. Now, she is free. The days in Dorne were no better, and Y/N kept herself locked in her room, staring helplessly at the wall besides her. She was heart broken, and only revenge could quench the rageful fire in her heart. Day in and day out, she sent out letters - The first, to her brother, Robb, informing him of Sandor’s arrival, and the ideas of allying either with the greatest force on which Renly was relying on, the Tyrells, or on Stannis’s army. Then, to Ramsay, learning more of Lord Bolton’s plans, and convincing him to strive harder to become legitimized and quickly take over the Dreadfort. Lastly, she had sent a letter to Tyrion. He was the only one from King’s Landing that she did not want to kill. He had told her that he was planning a certain one’s death, after being snubbed harshly for even thinking about becoming the Heir of Casterly Rock.

Though Alys was here, she did not want to see her. In fact, save for Oberyn and Ellaria, Y/N had not allowed anyone to enter her chambers. It was clear that she could not get over the shock of losing two of her family members in such a fashion, and for the most part, the only thing she discussed with Oberyn were war strategies - Unless he wanted to help the girl sleep and dismiss her nightmares, at least for the night, and he would pamper and spoil her until she would forget even her name. His sweet words and tender caresses, those passionate kisses and the culminating sounds were all but sinful secrets that will forever remain in her chambers.

Even so, she hardly smiled - And the idea of their wedding was long since forgotten, until one evening, as she was very comfortably sitting on his lap, she found herself telling him about the preparations. “I have made you wait long enough. Everyone needs a reason to celebrate these days - Us, most of all. I wish Sansa... My family... I wish they were here. But it’s fine. You are my family, just like they are, and Dorne is my home, they same as Winterfell.” “You are still hurting, my love. There is no need for you to rush or hide your mourning. You need to heal.” his voice was so gentle and loving, Y/N felt herself melting in his touch. “I know. But I was raised with very traditional and stuck up views. I have long since broken many of those sacred laws, but by mine own selfishness, I am invoking the marriage pact so I can have you even closer to me. Will you forgive me for my unbecoming selfishness, my sweet Prince?” his chuckled breath on her skin as he was kissing her neck made her fingers dig into his shoulder as she let out a sweet mewl. “There is nothing to forgive, my love. I am sure Dorne would be filled with joy. They will see the most beautiful Princess.” he smiled, looking up to her. “And as a wedding gift, I promise you, my love, I will bring you lion pelts for carpets.” for the first time since so long, a smile appeared on her face, and life seemed to return in those beautiful eyes of hers. “Really...?” she asked, breathlessly. “I may have killed the perpetrator who did those awful crimes against Elia, but it doesn’t take away that she is still dead, while the Lannisters are thriving, and well. Now, they have made my sweet Princess suffer and they killed her family. I will have them brought to justice.” her heart was beating so fast, and she was completely charmed. She almost couldn’t breathe anymore, that’s how excited she was, imagining the dead bodies of the Lannisters. “I love you more than life itself.” without even thinking, her heart spoke out. “That’s what I love to hear, my sweet flower.” he chuckled lightly before pulling the girl into his arms once again.

The wedding was fa more spectacular than any Dornish would expect - Was it because of all the pain and suffering they had to endure? Or because the region needed all the cheering up needed? Or, simply, because Oberyn loved Y/N so much that he wanted to spoil and pamper her with every resource available in his hands, fitting for the Princess of Dorne.

Either way, it did not matter - Ellaria was the one that Y/N wanted to help dress her in all the jewellery and expensive brocades and the linen embroidered with the shiniest golden threads and sparkly zircons. Her long hair, red like the Rhoynar Sun brought by Princess Nymeria herself, was embellished with the most precious brilliants and diamonds in existence. Her make up, also, made her lips red like the blood oranges that were ripe and sweet, but her eyes were dark and seductive, making them look even more attractive and piercing than they already were.

Her dress, also, was highlighting her gorgeous silhouette and her bossom, and it was of gold and orange - Fitting for the Princess of Dorne - And Oberyn, also, was wearing his best clothes, all in the same colours of the Martell.

The songs were so joyful and fun, all the people were having a blast, everyone was dancing and drinking and were excited to celebrate the happy marriage between their beloved Prince and the kind and beautiful Stark girl.

The two lovers, despite all the woes and sorrow in their hearts, found that, together, they could move on and find reason for happiness within each other. Not once, did they break apart from each other, their hands always together, fingers always intertwined, and they were kissing so shamelessly in front of everyone, without any care in the world.

But garments were of no use at night, and their bodies spoke every words that was left unsaid. There was no need for anything else, for the passion they had for each other was enough to be understood, and their love was like no other.

For many nights, the two were the happiest people in Dorne, and even through the letters, she had received many positive news - Perhaps there was still hope for a good future for the Stark family? Perhaps, there is even promise for peace? Who knew.

There was one person, however, who was very against everything going on, and her plans all ruined. There was one last act of vengeance that she could commit.

One night, Y/N was drinking with Ellaria and Oberyn, and they were telling stories of old, and laughing about all the silliest things - Y/N especially wasn’t used to drinking so much so she was in an even gigglier disposition - But as long as she was in glee, and smiling, the two were content. A knock on the door made them raise their head, and as it opened, Alys timidly walked inside.

“Alys - So good to see you. Here, take a seat, drink some wine with us.” Y/N smiled gracefully at her friend, kicking a stool for her to sit on. Alys could see very well that Y/N wasn’t the same shy girl from up North, but someone far more refined and fitting of her title of a Princess. And the way she was cuddled up into the Prince’s side was even more of an insult. “I dare not...” the Manderly girl muttered bashfully, looking down. “Why are you acting all timid for, all of a sudden? Oh - Are you intimidated to sit with the Prince and his paramour? You were far more eager to bed them some months ago.” the Princess laughed shamelessly, making the girl keep her head even lower. “So King’s Landing was able to destroy even the most sociable of people. No surprise. Come on, you, just sit down and drink some wine with us.” Y/N sigh and rose to her feet, grabbing her wrist in an attempt to pull her on the chair - But Alys had brought her old friend into a tight embrace. “Forgive me, Y/N, I have not been able to get over what happened at the capital. I’m still shaken up that I almost died back there... And were it not for you and the Prince to save me... I am so sorry I wasn’t able to celebrate your wedding as you deserved... I am a shameful friend...” the Manderly girl sobbed into the crook of her neck, making the Stark girl sigh and roll her eyes. “Enough of that. I don’t want to hear it. You either sit down with us, or you go back to sleep. I can’t see other reason for coming here.” but then, Alys whispered into her ear. “The Lannisters send their regards -” she thought she was being sneaky, coming over at night when she was drunk - What a fool. Before she could plunge the dagger hidden in her sleeve into Y/N’s torso, the Princess had already grabbed her wrist and threw her into the stool she had kicked earlier, making her stumble to the ground, allowing Y/N to grab the hand in which she was holding the weapon and she slammed it hard onto the hand laying on the table, which was keeping her up. “First of all - Fuck the Lannisters. Second of all... Fuck you.” Y/N chuckled, seeing Alys with huge tears in her eyes, groaning from the pain. “H-How did you -- How did you know?!” the Manderly girl shrieked at her, making Y/N cringe and rub her ears. “Sheesh, so loud, calm down already.” the Princess muttered, plopping back down on the comfortable couch. “Neither Oberyn nor Ellaria trusted you, from the very beginning. Every time they warned me of you, it had come to light.” she reached towards the bowl to eat some grapes. “Also - Tyrion told me you’re Cersei’s lackey. I had been on the lookout for you for... A while now.” “T-Tyrion?! The Queen’s own brother?!” Alys’s eyes were bulged wide open. “There’s no man who wants Cersei dead more than Tyrion, trust me on that. Which reminds me... Would you now tell me why exactly do you want me dead? You were safe here, which means whatever vendetta Cersei has against me, it could have been erased... So you have something personal against me. Why?” the girl asked, her voice mocking her, as she felt Oberyn embracing her lovingly. “She is jealous of you, my love.” Oberyn spoke, taunting the girl. “From the moment I wanted to bed you, but rejected her, she has had it out for you.” he chuckled darkly. “O, so the little peasant girl wanted your wealth and status, didn’t she? How quaint.” Y/N rolled her eyes, amused, but also disgusted. “IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ME!” Alys yelled at her. “It should have been me...!” she started sobbing. “Cersei promised me she would marry me to you! She promised me wealth and status and everything I wanted, as long as I worked for her!” “And you were stupid enough to believe her?” Ellaria snorted in disbelief. “Why would Oberyn ever marry someone like you?” Y/N asked in amusement. “Why would he marry YOU?!” the glare on her face made her look even uglier than before. “Because I’m cute.” Y/N laughed at her, only for her lover to agree. “Cersei thought she was being smart, creating a political alliance between the Starks and the Martells - But instead, she created an alliance that would one day come to destroy the Crown. Stupid bitch.” she shrugged at her. “Cersei would have never tried to marry you to me. Your House is nothing. Your name is nothing. Cersei isn’t smart, but she’s not that stupid either. She was only lucky I had fallen for this beautiful little lady over here, otherwise, I would have declined her offer too.” Oberyn planted a sweet kiss on the girl’s temple. “Lucky me, rather. You got me out of there, and you took care of me so dearly. I owe you everything, Ryn.” she leaned forward, her arms around his neck, pulling him into another sweet kiss. “You’re a woman worth loving and pampering, my love.” the man pulled her even closer to his body. “Just you wait until the Boltons skin your cunt of a mother and poor excuse of a brother -” Y/N immediately snapped up. “The Boltons are on the side of the North.” she corrected her, but by the look on her face, she realised otherwise. “Tywin bought Roose Bolton, didn’t he?” Y/N cursed under her breath, getting up to write a letter to her brother and to her bastard friend. “Not for long.” “The Boltons aren’t the only ones who support the Crown, you stupid girl!” Alys tried to shout, but she got ignored - For the most part. “The bastard son of Roose Bolton is MY friend. He is not loyal to anyone, even his father. Once he gets legitimized, he will kill Roose and will join our cause for good.” Y/N spoke, before looking up at Alys. “Which reminded me... Ramsay had always told me that, to get proficient at flaying, one must practice hard. I suppose it is high time I put in practice his teachings. I have to find out the other families that you claim are traitors to the Starks, after all.” Alys blanched on the spot. “Riri, will you help me out with her~?” that fakely sweet smile that Y/N had on her face made Alys even more terrified. This was not her old friend, Y/N Stark. This was a completely different person. “Gladly.” Ellaria got up from the couch and roughed up the Manderly girl, dragging her to the cellars. “Surely, you can go have your fun with her later. My sweet, innocent snowdrop aroused me too much, and I couldn’t possibly continue my night peacefully without some aid from my beautiful and lovely wife.” lazily extending his arm, he grabbed the girl’s wrist and pulled her back on top of him. “Since you ask me so nicely, I suppose I can make her wait a night... Or maybe two, to take care of my sweet husband of mine.”

#game of thrones #got #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones imagine #oberyn martell #oberyn nymeros martell #oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell imagine #got x reader #got imagine

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𝗖𝗥𝗬𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗟 𝗖𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗟𝗘 (II)

𝘀𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝗹 𝘁𝗼 𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗧𝗘𝗖𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗠

pairing(s): jacaerys velaryon x targ!reader, aemond "one eye" targaryen x targ!reader (you are daemon and laena's firstborn)

synopsis: You arrive at Harrenhal seeking to reconcile with your father, only to find his disastrous decisions have caused chaos. The grief over your grandmother’s death casts a dark shadow, making any prospect of recovery seem bleak.

notes: daemon fr had to face some of his demons at riverrun lol. but on a side note, be aware this is much more story dense. cw: daemon being a bad dad:(

Daemon awoke to the dawn’s harsh light, his dreams of uniting the fractured memories already unraveling in the cold grip of reality. His morning was not one of renewal but of stark reminders: the promises broken, the alliances fraying, and the ever-looming threat of rebellion. As he stared out over the restless waters, the weight of his failures pressed down upon him, each wave taunting the unity he still sought but had yet to achieve.

His days became numbered and restless very quickly. The Rogue Prince’s patience falters as he stomps down Harrenhal’s halls, they are looming with light and motionless calmness. Dark Sister is strung by his side, clinging to his belt and waist. When will it end? What could possibly make his day any worse?

“Dragon!”

A distant envoy’s screech. Oh, he’s heard. Anyone who dared to come to Harrenhal would know of his prowess simply because Caraxes await them. No matter foe or friend, Daemon grips his Valyrian blade tightly before turning toward the Weirwood tree. Caraxes usually resided near the old tree, it was wide and unbound by anywhere else in the castle. Undoubtedly, he would sense his rider’s stride, gradually becoming anticipated hungry for battle.

Despite his commanding presence, he is stopped by a small servant who wobbles his feet uneasily. My prince! They holler when he does not mean to halt, ignoring the random babbles from the man’s mouth. “Lord Simon Strong requests your presence!” A feverish shiver as the servant trembles under the gaze of Daemon. King Consort to Queen Rhaenyra. Yet here, alone with his dragon, he should be considered King.

“It seems we have company though,” The silver-haired swordsman blatantly takes no notice of the servant’s distress. It would be the least of Simon Strong’s problems if Daemon would deal with the unannounced dragon rider. But the castellan had a knack for appearing at the most inopportune moments. Should he leave now to deal with the foreign enemy, he wouldn’t have to meet with Lord Strong at all. The Rogue Prince had magnifying eyes. His lavender orbs pierced the man with intensity and undeclared rage. It felt suffocating to be looked under as the servant could only muster a feeble plea, hands scrambling together to keep his calm.

“It- It is your daughter who was seen!” Your name was pronounced, oddly by the man’s tongue. It is you who he wishes for to soothe Daemon’s grievances. In response, the possible emergence of the prince’s benevolence could perspire. Still, it was unlikely that King Viserys' brother would abide simply because of his king's presence. For his daughter, the man could only anticipate so. “Her dragon resides on the other side of the Keep! And she wishes for an audience with you and Lord Strong…”

Wonderful.

Perhaps, in the absence of the Black Council, he has grown irritated and longing for a sense of direction. He lacks it here clearly. No Riverlord would consider his commands even if they were put down to be eaten by Caraxes. This was how stubborn Southerners were. They are adamant to follow the old ways, never embracing the new. In turn, they’ve become grumpy old men and women.

You sure made a grand entrance which terrified most of the people in the castle. Daemon can only assume you came under Rhaenyra’s obligation. Why else? It has been days since he left Dragonstone without a word or raven. The Council must’ve spiraled into madness without their most skilled warrior by their table. A permanent scowl was on his face as Daemon treaded heavily to the Grand hall. His mind is blinded with thoughts, as his judgment deters. The swift clatter of the double doors being pushed and bouncing as they close is unmistakable.

An unpleasant frown was on the face of Daemon as he entered unprecedentedly. “What are you doing here?” You did not move from your position, bizarrely calm, and in doing so sat on the edge of one of the chairs accompanied by Lord Strong. The castellan himself is seated beside you, with his usual robes and heavy garments. Pure vexation was what you heard from Daemon’s accent. Whether it was directed at you or Lord Strong, both of you felt the underlying intensity a man of the Rogue prince’s caliber can do.

You rise, with a grim expression. “I came here to help you,” Now Daemon sees it. Your expression was hardened by the stoic frown and concentrated stare. It was like staring into the eyes of a viper. Alluring and dangerous as it was, Daemon rarely witnessed this side of you. It is plain how distinct you are from your sisters, Baela and Rhaena. You were all of the blood of the dragon, yet it was your heart and soul that resembled the Rogue Prince’s ambitious nature.

“Harrenhal has been handled,” He scoffs, advancing in the manner reminiscent of an irritated cat. The rhythm of his steps was concise and slow like he would approach a troubled animal.

“Then why has it taken you so long to return home?” You snap, and the lines of your disappointed pout are apparent now. Indeed was the harsh blaze of daylight that hit your face perfectly. It accentuates your bright-hued view, fondly. Knowing the gods, they have blessed you with a burning spirit and charm. Your coin has flipped long ago. And Daemon sees for the first time what will become of your destiny. “Have you not heard? Rhaenys died at the battle of Rook’s Rest against Cole’s army!”

Daemon believes you would become mad if you hadn’t left Dragonstone. Grasping your inherent qualities, a death such as Rhaenys would devastate you. And it has, for how much time has passed since the Battle of Rook’s Rest he had no idea, but confirmed that you came here out of your own volition. What you intend to do is something he hasn’t foreseen yet.

A deafening silence passes when your father says nothing in response to your anger. But then he says, “She did what had to be done.” A soft-spoken retribution on Daemon’s part. His gaze follows your shallow breath when you sniffle laboriously. A prominent shine is transparent on top of your eyes. You did your best to stay restrained in front of your father. Your appearance brought bitter news along with an imprinted image of his daughter’s unfortunate disintegration.

Seemingly his words struck a chord in you. “And what have you done?” Sneering, you disregard the ache in your chest to pursue your father further of his drawn-out disappearance. More than ever, you needed him. You needed Daemon, your father there to comfort you. Especially then when victory is forfeited in the worst-case scenario. You weren’t there. And you felt even more compelled to define every mistake he has made. The murder, the destruction, and the divide. “Nothing!”

“Mind your tongue,” He snaps when Daemon is suddenly provoked by your words of spite.

Your head shifts, intimidatingly. “No! Because while you ransacked innocents with the Southern lords, Rhaenys fled and defended a lord at our council!” You clenched your fisted hands, restraining your further temper. “It’s barbaric.”

“Well we need to be ruthless to win a war, don’t we?” Daemon guffs, his hand landing in the familiar space where his Vaylrian blade was. It was his way to warn you. To dominate and show you he is superior despite your lineage. “You are a child. What do you know of war? I presume nothing because your actions have demonstrated ignorance and naivety.”

“I’m not a child!”

“Yes, you are!” Your father authoritatively steps forward and merely breathes away from your own. “You are naive and weak like one! You lash out when you see fit and choose to lament when the lords have something else to give you!” Word by word, and piece by piece, you can feel your heart shatter. You’re silent, unable to mumble another word to your father, afraid and rectified by his brutal dispute. You are young but the blood of the dragon ran thick. You were just like your father when he wanted to please and grab his brother’s attention. You were desperate to find the comforts of him yet found yourself left abandoned and cast off.

The tears you had been holding were free now. An overwhelming amount flooded your vision as you dared not to turn away from your father’s relentless gaze. Even though he knew, his words were harsh and sharp. Under further silence, Daemon notices the tremble of your lips and puffed cheeks. His heart crumbles with guilt but he does not so much as return an apologetic gesture.

Perhaps in your distorted view, you did catch his slight hesitation. Nevertheless, you paid no heed and dashed out of the room before the guards could open the doors. The absence of your presence left a regretful mark on Daemon’s chest as he dismissed Lord Strong’s pleas entirely.

And not far from the Weirwood, a sound resembling Sheepstealer’s cry can be heard.

No defiance was left unchecked in your family. You figured this out long before you left Pentos with a heavy heart. When your mother was alive, she and your father were avid parents. Happy and easily pleased with their three daughters. You could not remember when your relationship faltered as badly as now. Disobedience was something foreign as the consequence of your peaceful time in the East. On the contrary, you were more distant with your sisters and father than ever before. You spoke less as the days passed. Barely offering a fleeting look of solace, that not even your father could reassure.

For the rest of your time, you became oddly acquitted with Lord Strong and his men. He was a timid character but all of most, welcoming of your presence and cooperation. Much contrast to the Rogue Prince, you were at least willing to seek out the other lords of the River lands and speak on reasonable terms.

“I do appreciate your service, Princess,” The castellan meekly grins as the two of you stroll in unison to the ancient Weirwood tree. A magnificent monument and staple of the castle of Harrenhal you had heard. For generations, the tree had spouted its roots deeply into the defiled castle like a parasite, relying on its nutrients to stay alive. You acknowledged how important the old ways were with the old folk and Southern houses. It was their way of living and for many was what they relied on during these times of turmoil. “Much was needed after your father’s arrival, I’m afraid. I wasn’t sure if sending a raven to the Queen would’ve been necessary.”

A grim sigh escaped your breath. “I’m glad to be of service, Lord Strong. I’m sure after today, we can put all this behind us.” A passive promise, as you weren’t sure if the River Houses would be willing to listen to you. Surely the daughter of the King consort’s would bring attention to some. However, Daemon’s actions as of late became a domino effect in causing distrust and provocation with the lords.

“I do hope so,” Lord Strong’s feeble words meant nothing to you. The eerie entrance of the garden itself was dreary and dry. Dead leaves scattered all across the floors. Empty and broken carts of nothing were laid to be disregarded. And in the far center, was the Weirwood tree, standing tall and glum. It was the most spectacular sight you had seen since arriving at Harrenhal. Its luscious red leaves were full of life and blood. The many faces on the tree, each resembling a different person with a different story. Out of everything, it was the only thing that gave you security and clarity.

The Weirwood tree itself was essential to many people of Westeros. Whether they worshiped the old gods or new, it stood as a staple, to allow empathy for those who know they are watching. And you knew the gods were watching you.

In front of the majestic timber, was a young boy. Most likely close to the age of Lucerys if you had imagined. He was a meek and wide-eyed little thing. Wearing the sigil of House Tully, he carried those prominent features a Tully should have. Red curly hair and honest blue eyes.

“Princess,” The boy welcomes, stepping forward, timidly. He utters your name in respect and soft admiration. “Welcome to the Riverlands, I am Oscar Tully, heir and lord of House Tully.”

You halt before glancing behind at Lord Strong with a soothing nod. The castellan takes it valiantly, returning with a tender smile. He returns to close the doors before walking back inside the castle. Both you and the Tully boy stood alone outside with the winds and distant tides now.

“The pleasure is mine, Lord Tully,” You say, attempting your best to appeal more invitingly. More pleasant and sincere at his hospitality. The strained guilt you feel for the destruction constructed by Daemon makes your chest heave heavily. It was not your doing but you regardless were remorseful for the chaos the Southerners must have endured. “Never in my lifetime was I blessed to visit the River lands. And now that I’m here, it’s obvious that Harrenhal was never my first choice.”

The boy laughs. “Yes, well Harrenhal certainly has that kind of reputation,” Oscar smiles cheekily as though relieved and infatuated at your calmer personality and aid. He was ignorant to believe you would be like your father. Of course, the resemblance was uncanny. However luckily, you did not pout and have a commanding tone with your words. Rather you were calm and docile like a majestic wolf from the North. Oscar cannot seem to pinpoint it but there is a magnetic ease he feels when you gaze at him with your keen eyes. “But on other matters, I hope you’re aware of the certain situations with the Riverland army?”

“Of course,” An exaggerated groan as you crossed your hands behind your back to cruise around the abandoned garden. The leather black boots you wore gave you easy access away from the mud and dirt. You neared closer to the heir of House Tully. “Has my father considered instating the terms you have given to him?”

Knowing Daemon, an apology was out of the question. He was a man of action. The Rogue Prince demonstrated as much when he burned some of the Bracken men for not bending their knees. The least he can do is force his hand and then have to negotiate with them with reasonable terms. Though your father has always been a difficult man.

A delayed cough comes from the boy. “I’m not afraid not, Princess.” Almost as if afraid of how you might react to his failed attempts. There was no reason to be scared yet it was an accidental reflex on his part to estimate the Princess of Dragonstone.

“Then what are your terms?” Your attention was entirely on the Weirwood tree. You see the leaking red blood dripping from the many faces and you can feel the nervous energy from the boy. “I’ll agree to them as long as you accept and do your part to assemble the lords of the River lands.”

Oscar looks at you, startled. “I- Our terms… Well then I suppose justice.” You meet his sapphire blue one, as captivating and electric as your deep indigo pools. Much resembling the night sky. “Your father has condemned one of the lords to treason and outright murder. I believe as a Southerner, a follower of the old ways, that he should stand for his crimes.” A courageous feat on his part which you could not help but respect. A boy as young as he is now holds the responsibility of many Houses. They all look to House Tully for guidance and Oscar is now their precedent ruler.

“Then that is done,” You shrugged with a nonchalant pout. Simply one man to face his crimes was enough to receive the largest army. Then you should have it. It was something Daemon would most likely not accommodate. His bowing and agreeing on someone’s terms was not his style. He needed to have something more out of the bargain. Still, you’ve grown restless of your father and needed the army urgently. “See that Lord Blackwood be executed here by the Weirwood tree when all of the lords are present. Should they be convinced we do not tolerate murder and anarchy, they can be a witness of the beheading.” You shake your head, with a smile.

The Tully boy feels a chill run down his spine. "I appreciate how accommodating you've been given our situation, Princess." He feels flustered but at the same time, relieved. He did not expect this was how your conversation would pan out. But he was pleasantly surprised and would honorably accept your terms. He would only hope now that your father could comply and that you would persuade him on the matter.

With a brief nod, your fixed stare turns to Oscar’s House sigil. He wears it proudly on his chest, carved out of leather, an imprint of a trout, jumping out of the water. “Tully's honor their promises, so I only ask you to do the same.”

He stands there, looking in awe at you. He doesn’t so much as return with a stutter, as if not catching you the first time. His delayed response makes Oscar regain himself and clear his throat. “Please forgive me, Princess, but you are not what I had anticipated from the daughter of the Rogue Prince and King Consort to the Queen..."

Unexpectedly, you chuckled, much to the Riverland Lord’s expectation. Gods, why were you so unpredictable? Not to mention, your laughter was rather magnetic to listen to. How could he resist a princess such as yourself, who rides the wild dragon, Sheepstealer, and has a father as one of the most pronounced fighters alive?

House Targaryen in its history had many beautiful women and men over the years of their reign as Rulers of Westeros. They were known for their profound and striking qualities, signaling out any other candidate for beauty charm. You embody it wholly, with the way you stand and present yourself. You’re courageous and strong-willed, admirable talents anyone should have. For Oscar Tully, it fascinates him.

“Then what do you think I would be like?” You’re intrigued, giving a sly smile when you beam at his shy and embarrassed state. It had been some time since you felt this giddy. Since Lucerys death, your family has dealt with another grief. Then came the death of King Viserys which shifted entirely your lives to madness. You never did have enough time to grieve. Even for your mother, you considered it now, no one would let you rest and had always expected you to be fine with things.

Maybe that was the reason why you refused to visit Dragonstone many times before. When Rhaenyra married Daemon, you were obligated to live in the ancient Targaryen home with them. Even though you complied, you never stayed long, always finding ways to be on Driftmark with your sister and grandparents. It was a way to distract your mind and soul. You did not want to be in the same room as Daemon. So perhaps Corlys and Rhaenys truly felt more like your parents.

Oscar looks at the tips of his feet, unable to meet your penetrating periwinkle gaze. “I don’t know. I- I thought you would be more aligned with your father.” He raises his tone slightly on the last part, unsure if his words meant offense to you. “And I apologize, I mean no offense!”

“And you’re not wrong to believe so,” Your tone teased, indifferent to how you glanced at him, endearing and eternal much like a sapphire, cherished by the island of Tarth.

Jacaerys was worried for you. He could not understand why you would be so reckless to leave Dragonstone with Sheepstealer. There was war! For all he knew, you could’ve already been killed airborne alongside your wild dragon. But he digresses, the Prince of Dragonstone should not underestimate your worth as a dragon rider and aggressive nature. You were careless but knew how to ride a Sheepstealer well, everyone else couldn’t.

Regardless, you were his betrothed. The future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms! You should not fly in this condition! He would tell you if you had been still present and he berated you around the castle like an annoying servant. He would have it, Jacaerys could not stand not knowing of your well-being. News from Harrenhal? No raven has been flown there since Daemon’s disappearance. You were driving him mad and you were not even aware of it!

The Queen’s son paced around his room, exhausted. Your leave did not surprise his mother, which as expected he should’ve anticipated. You and Daemon. Two born from the same blood and now, he understands what his mother felt when he left for Harrenhal. You do as you please, he supposes. Though most of the time he knew of you, it was ever unlikely for you to be so daring. You were brash but never went as far as abandoning your home. Jacaerys feels a small sort of guilt for not letting you leave. He willingly let you. He isn’t sure if you have some sort of sorcery against him or more so he cannot control you as much as you do to him, but the crowned prince still thinks of you.

He can still recall the day he and you were renowned as betroths. It was the hearing for the heir of Driftmark. The entire hall was consumed by people and servants. The iron throne sat in the center, all and menacingly. His mother stood by his side while Lucerys and Rhaena were slightly behind. Alongside Daemon who lurked around the crowds, watching everyone. On the other side was Rhaenys Targaryen, the standing figure for Corlys Velaryon. You and Baela were behind her, always so close to each other. Your presence comforted one another as it did to him.

“It was ever my husband’s decision to pass Driftmark to our son, Laenor, and his son, Lucerys,” Rhaenys confidently speaks in front of the Hand of the King as Otto’s daughter can only frown in silence. While the rest of the crowd stayed awning. “And Princess Rhaenyra had just proposed to her two sons to be wedded to Laena’s daughters,” She motions to you and Baela. And when he catches a glimpse of you, butterflies flutters. As you meet his eye with a cheeky smile. “Which I wholeheartedly agree.”

The looks you gave to one another spoke greater volume than the words from your mouths. Jacaerys understood that yes, you were satisfied with the marriage proposal, And he was as well. You two couldn’t be more relieved and happier. You had always assumed he would marry your cousin, Helaena. However Alicent claimed she was to be married to her older brother, Aegon, you believed the odds of it happening to be more promising. And it has.

Also across where you stood from the throne, Aemond’s eye catches your elevated expression. Those simple words of your engagement troubled him. So much so that he could feel the vexation that began to build in his chest. It was unlike the second son to feel this emotional towards marriage. He always avoided the subject. But somehow when you became the topic, his mind suddenly scrambled into mush and his attention followed you willingly.

It was more obvious when dinner came. His cold stare pierced the side of your head as you continued to converse with your sisters. You sat beside Jacaery as promised. It irks Aemond immensely to see you happily and comfortably with his sister’s bastard. It was unfair and unjust. Just how was he considered legitimated as a Targaryen? He had no characteristics of his ancestors, only those of his father. Harwin Strong. The one-eyed prince made sure to make a scene when he decided to toast in front of everyone.

You were seated, content with a plate of food in front of you. As you listened to him speak for the first time, holding a chalice up to your lips.

To the health of my nephews, Jace, Luke, and Joffrey. As his words died down from silence, you knew what was coming. Aemond had constraints but sometimes even he could break. Each of them… handsome… wise… strong. His attention was solely on you now. His one good eye glistened under the candlelight. Its hue is dark and sinister. As if believing you would be ecstatic with his insults. Did he expect you to be pleased? You were not sure, everything afterward was a blur.

A few punches and tensed stares divided the room apart. Rhaenyra consoled her children while Alicent attempted to get a hold of her sons. The boys, Aemond and Jacaerys did not stand comfortably in the tense environment. The one-eyed prince couldn’t help but feel satisfied with his efforts. At the same time, his nephew tries to refrain from anything else brash. Out of the corner, Daemon appears, effectively separating the two. His calm and contented expression rather irritated Aemond, allowing him to leave without haste. In comparison, Jacaerys contended to his mother’s orders and left the room. You were expected to follow behind your betrothed footsteps.

Despite having other plans.

Under the dark coven of King’s Landing, you whisk away into the shadows. It was like running around in a maze, every corridor you seemed to pass looked similar. You had no clue where you were heading or your intention to go this far away from your chambers. But your cousin’s actions confused you. If you could speak to Aemond, you would dissolve whatever strain he feels under this obligation.

“Have you no shame?” You voiced, coming into the moonlight’s center. The simple garden of the Weirwood tree where the two of you found each other. It was a comforting place to read poetry or listen to a musician play. You found yourself here too many times now. “It seems like your grievances have gotten the better of you, cousin.”

Aemond hums with a sneer. “Aren’t you bothered by it?”

“Bothered by what?” you retort, your irritation rising at his insolence.

“You’re betrothed,” he says, pausing before adding, “to a bastard.”

“Why should I be?” you snap back, icy and curt. “His mother is a Targaryen and heir to the Iron Throne, so he remains a Targaryen.”

The second son turns, catching your angry expression. It bothers him how fitting you believe having Jacaerys as your betrothed would not bring any consequences. “His blood is not pure.”

“Because his father is not Ser Laenor?” You joust, moving closer to where he was. Close to the roots of the many-faced tree as it stares back at you blankly. “Does it matter? He is still Rhaenyra’s child and your nephew by right and blood.”

“And you don’t think this would affect you? Your future? Your family?” On and on, the one-eyed prince pushes nonsensical questions. You clearly did not understand the faults of marrying a bastard, one so close to the proclaimed heir. It would falter your status. “You should have a better suitor that will elevate your status, not dishonor it.”

“And who could you provide that for me?” A humorless laugh escapes your mouth, grinning like a hysterical maniac. You did not take his words seriously. Even so, you had never looked more magnificent, bathed in the purest light the gods could provide. The maroon gown you wore draped flawlessly over your figure, embodying the combined beauty of the Targaryens and Velaryons. You were the epitome of both beautiful Valyrian lineages. Your curved, sly smile accentuated your playful nature. You beam under his sight because simply he’s enamored by you. Why couldn’t his mother propose him to you? Not with anyone else. You.

Nothing comes out of the prince’s mouth. He was not sure why.

His delayed response gave you the chance to speak once more. “It’s just like you said,” you whispered, barely audible from where you stood a few paces away. “I’ll have a husband soon enough.

Jace. When the Weirwood leaves ruffled, you cupped your hands together. You sat in silence for a while before thinking of all the ways to approach him when the time came for you to return to Dragonstone. I had to leave. Yes, staying on Dragonstone felt intolerable. You would only be reminded of Rhaenys remains, how her last moments were of your playful banter of burning the Greens. How did it compare now when her body is underneath rubble along with her mighty Meleys? She was the one who taught you how to fly. Did he know that?

Amid the chaos, your name is hollered out. “Princess of Dragonstone, future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms,” You depart your solemn eyes away from the stormy skies of Harrenhal to the witch that approaches. You recognized her from your lord’s description. “I see you’ve taken a liking to the Godswoods.”

Alys Rivers remains a mystery to you. She seems to wander the grounds alone much like the owls roaming the halls. She appears with the lords, she’s there with your father. And she is here, alone with you, as the Weirwood tree stands witness. Her black-painted locks are enchanting, and her enigmatic beauty captivates you with curiosity. She was a bastard but if you’ve learned anything coming from your family, it shouldn’t be considered a burden.

“What do you want?” Your attention bounces back and forth from her to elsewhere, she assumes your thoughts. Your voice was laced with gentle sarcasm and lightheartedness. It seemed to her you too became acquitted with her. You had gotten used to her disappearances and reappearances quicker than your father.

“I noticed you come here often,” The witch mentions, making you feel spellbound by her words. “A princess who flees from the safety of her home. To reconcile with her father only to be let down by his anguish. Surely she is feeling overwhelmed…”

She tries to lure you in yet you concur. "Is it wrong to aid my father when he fails to do what he intended?”

“Greed comes in many different ways, Princess,” She perks up, wide-eyed like a nocturnal barn owl. Her stare invites intrigue and bizarre curiosity to those who would allow her to indulge. Yet you felt sort of unease the way she looked at you. As if she could read your mind.

You allow silence to sit a few seconds longer. With a stoic expression, you state. “Yes, it does.”

“Mm,” She grins, much like a mischievous cat. "I hope it doesn’t lead you to act recklessly. Gathering the largest army does not ensure you will achieve glory."

At this, you tilt your head to the side. “Do you expect treason from me, Rivers?”

“Oh not at all, Princess,” She exclaims with a touch of sarcasm. “But you should know the lords here aren’t as accommodating as the ones you find at home.” It was as if a mix of mockery and degradation was interwoven into her words. Alys did not seem at all worried about your reaction. It looked as if she was playing you, to get a reaction out of you. "Your fate was sealed long ago; it is clear what the gods have planned for you."

"Whatever the gods intend," you said slowly, your tone dropping to a dangerous whisper, "matters not, for I shall carve my own path." A sudden screech rings out, alarming and shaking the leaves around you. The ancient tree stands solemnly, its crimson leaves fluttering against the storm. Out of the corner of her eye, Alys spots your dragon with scales of mottled green and copper, his disordered appearance piquing her curiosity.

His exotic wings are both powerful and fierce, mirroring your own nature. He grunts and prowls around the Weirwood tree while you maintain a gaze of striking boldness. Dragons surpass mere prophecy, being molded by blood magic and incantations. Many see them as formidable beasts and deities, a notion that terrifies her with its sheer incomprehensibility.

And with that, she cannot tear her eyes away from your beast, caught between terror and awe, her sapphire gaze frozen. As if sensing her fear, Sheepstealer sneers wickedly, revealing his sharp canines.

“The River Lords will be arriving shortly,” You clasped your hands together, “Find my father, will you?”

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qwimblenorrisstan · 1 month

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Saving Grace | Rhysand x Reader

Summary: The war between humans and Fae is about to happen, and you, desperate to save Autumn Court, your home, from the destruction to come, are going to attempt a political alliance with the current High Lord of Night Court’s son, Rhysand.

Word Count: ~ 2k

Warnings: toxic family, political marriage, Beron being annoying, nothing too bad

A/N: the notes you see in the beginning are from another outside character you will meet more later, not me. im trying out something new for this series, so lmk what you think and how you’d want it to go in the future (FOR ALL THE RHYS GIRLIES I SEE YOU) hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

It starts anew, as any other tale would.

It is only fair for me to warn you now, that even as I write to you from the box of my new home, the solitary walls pushing in on me until I turn into something else, something new and changing, that you should not proceed.

Our doom was set into place the moment we opened that letter, and so I’ll give you another warning, my dear reader.

You have more power than you think. Be careful how you use it.

“I believe you’ll enjoy the letter on your desk, sister.”

Eris spoke in a dry tone, only a hint of his hidden flamboyance underneath the snake's skin he wore most of the time. He had just passed by you in the hallway of the grand palace we called our home in the Autumn Court, something most of the royal family took for granted, even I did to an extent.

Even makeup and magic couldn’t hide the effects that the looming war had on him, the bags under his eyes slightly visible, and the usual cunning spark in his fiery gaze dimmed to some degree. All of your brothers had experienced the same thing to some point, even Lucien.

The rumors were getting worse, and word breaking free everywhere if the human slave revolts. You saw the glimmer in the eyes of the humans that your father enslaved and forced to work here, and even though you could never say it, lest you be beheaded or worse, you thought it was about time their species stood up. You couldn’t imagine being forced into such cruel conditions and not doing anything about it.

Submission never came easily to you, though.

It still doesn’t.

You tried to smile up at Eris, even as he strode past without another word. Relationships in this family were rough, considering how the males just tried to take each other out with every given opportunity. Had you not been born a female, you might’ve suffered the same fate.

You couldn’t help but wonder what the letter on my desk could be, even as you walked to my room. It could be anything, from lunch with a friend, to an opening for a job opportunity anywhere you could help. You wanted to help people, help your struggling Court pull itself together with war on the horizon. Rumor had it that the mortal king, Hybern, was gathering his forces still and that he wouldn’t let go of any of his slaves. Not even one.

Pushing open your already ajar room door, you strode quickly over to the desk, still a bit cluttered from all the different things our mind was trying to think about at the same time while working and writing letters to friends and allies in neighboring courts.

A letter lay on your desk, and not just any letter, but a valuable one, based on the stamp and rich, violet wax that shimmered slightly.

A Night Court stamp.

Considering Night Court wasn’t the closest ally, if an ally at all with Autumn Court, you weren't exactly sure what it meant at the time, or why Eris thought you might be excited about it. How would he even know what was in it, now that you thought of it?

You grabbed the cold metal letter opener, sliding it neatly under the wax, and popping it off satisfyingly. Sliding the warm parchment from its sheath, you unfolded the letter, the details of it surprising you.

The High Lord of Night Court had delivered a letter personally to you, and the contents of it? Nothing but strange.

In short, it was a formal invitation to a Solstice Party, a night where you’d heard that supposedly other spirits would cross over the night sky, making a beautiful scene for all those able to witness it. However, the true reason became apparent at the bottom, where a single sentence blasted holes through all of the male’s fake formality and politeness in the previous statements.

“I’m certain that you and my son would get along quite well.”

An alliance. A political marriage.

That was what he wanted.

To strengthen his alliances while he could before the war began, and to blast away any humans standing in their path. His son might as well have been in on it for all you knew, probably willing to marry you and produce an heir, treating you like breeding cattle. You’d heard rumors of Illyrians before, and they weren’t pretty. Especially not the ones who lived in the mountains.

But the real question was, why would he send it to you, and not your father?

Was it a test? A way to test the boundaries and see if you would go tattle to your father at the littlest prod? Or maybe a way to see how far you were willing to go to ensure the safety of your court during this war.

You didn’t believe in slavery. You never had. But for your court, your home, and all the other courts as well to possibly be destroyed by unruly humans? That would be disastrous. Their species didn’t stand a chance, anyway. Not when they had inferior strength, weapons, and not a lick of magic.

But still…in the case that they did manage something, the reassurance of an alliance between your courts could help.

The only question was whether to involve your father or not. If you did, he would probably refuse to trade you away for an alliance with Night Court, waiting for a better deal from a people that had more items to trade or land to offer. Sure, Night Court had the most land and soldiers, but there were little to no trade routes running openly through the area, leaving little economic profit other than what they earned on their own. The Illyrian Steppes were too harsh for anyone to handle, and Hewn City could barely be counted as an economy it was so small.

In that small moment, you made a decision that would change both of our existences, the decision to hide it. Your father wouldn’t understand, and you were doing this for the better of your court. You were doing it to help him, to save your people from what you suspected to be carnage ahead.

You didn’t realize you’d been staring at the letter for so long until you heard your door creak a bit wider open, and you immediately whirled, putting the letter face down onto your desk. Lucien cocked a brow, his hazel eyes immediately going to the letter in what looked like suspicion.

“Hiding something?”

He asked, and you rolled your eyes, biting your lip slightly in what looked to be an expression of a flustered female.

“I don’t think you’d like to read the letters of my most recent lover, Luci.”

His expression immediately changed, going to being a bit caught off guard himself, before he shook his head. He gestured for you to follow him, and before you did, you slipped the letter between the small crack of the shelf and the desk itself. He only gave you a withering glance at that, and you glared back.

“I wouldn’t want anyone else finding it. Imagine if Beron found it.”

You said in a wry tone, and Lucien let out an undignified snort at that while he led you down to the dining hall, the first bit of laughter you’d managed to coax out of him in a while. You must’ve lost track of time while thinking, a common habit of yours.

“Yes, I don’t think he’d appreciate a letter from one of your notorious lovers.”

He said in a quieter tone, probably not wanting anyone else to overhear. Rumors of the royal family spread too quickly for their good, especially when the human servants were paid by others, sometimes journalists, to spill the drama.

Most of it, of course, was made up simply to get money, but sometimes…the rumors were true enough to make you be a lot more secretive with what you did and displayed in public, and even behind closed doors. Eyes and ears were everywhere, after all.

“Notorious is a strong word.”

You mumbled in an amused tone, right as you entered the dining room, your father at the head of the table, your mother to his left, Eris to his right, and all your other brothers seated miscellaneously. Lucien sat down in his spot, and you sat in yours that was beside his, your other brother to your right.

“I’m glad you finally decided to join us, Y/N.”

Your father’s monotonous but still annoyed voice rang out from the head of the table as he began to eat, signaling everyone else could as well. You stabbed a potato with your fork, taking a small bite to give yourself time to formulate a coherent response to it, something that you could use to distract from the letter you’d gotten. Unless…

Swallowing your food, you spoke.

“I received a letter.”

The sentence alone was a challenge. The normal response would be a formal apology for your tardiness to dinner, which was more like an event you had to attend than any family activity. You didn’t go on, another challenge. Making him wait for you to speak.

The silence grew oppressive, and you continued eating. Your brothers watched, some openly staring in confusion, Eris only glancing once with something of a warning in his eyes, and Lucien stared down at his plate, probably already having figured out that the letter he’d seen you hide hadn’t been one from a lover.

Your mother then pinned you with her sharp gaze, the intelligence behind her submissive figure clear in the moment. Even if your father wasn’t smart enough to see it like you did.

“What did it contain?”

She asked, intervening between you and your father. Your father didn’t so much as glance at her, now scowling and staring at you. You put your fork down on your napkin, swallowing a mouthful of delicious food before speaking again.

“I’ve been invited to Night Court.”

You spoke, looking up to meet your father’s gaze, unwavering. He seemed to tense at that, and the news you’d shared with him.

“Why.”

He demanded, his eyes narrowing.

“For the prospect of seeking out an alliance in your stead. Though with the coming war, it might be my last chance to see Night Court at all.”

Everyone tensed at that, your casual but realistic words hitting right where they should’ve. Reminding everyone of the insecurity in the court, that the coming war could kill you, or take out Night Court. The latter Beron wouldn’t mind, but the former…you were a valuable trading piece for him, one that he didn’t want to dispose of through your possibly untimely demise.

Beron swallowed, sighing through his nose as he broke his stare to glance down at his plate, clearly considering it. Eris then spoke up.

“If I may, she has a point, father. An alliance with the Night Court and their considerable armies could prove useful during the battle to come.”

He spoke, glancing over at you with a clear look of “You had better know what you’re doing.” You didn’t know why he was helping you, considering he’d probably looked inside the letter. His words to you, that you would enjoy the letter, only supported that theory. For whatever reason he wanted you to go into Night Court wasn’t clear, but he was helping you nonetheless.

Beron finally spoke, everyone holding their breath.

“Very well. You will remain there 2 months at most, but at any hint of attack, you will return here immediately.”

You gave a dip of your head in obedience and appreciation, before going back to your dinner as the tension remained in the room. You had told your father of the alliance prospect, but nothing of a political marriage. A half-truth at best.

You were going to Night Court, to woo the heir to the throne and convince him to marry you for an alliance, all in time to save your Court before the first attack came.

The real question was, would you be quick enough?

We’ll see.

#acotar fanfiction #writers on tumblr #acotar fandom #acotar x reader #rhysand x reader #rhys acotar #rhysand acotar #pro lucien vanserra #eris vanserra #beron vanserra #lady of autumn #acotar #a court of thorns and roses

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aerynwrites · 11 months

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Make is Right

Gale x Dark Urge!Reader

A/N: Had this idea come to me when @thedreamlessnights told me that Gale yelled at their dark urge after talking to Gortash in Baldur’s Gate. Hope y’all enjoy the angst and fluff that follows.

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: MAJOR SPOILERS FOR BG3. Spoilers for dark urge plot specifically. Angst, emotional Hurt/Comfort, major character death, resurrection, fluff, happy ending.

You’ve been in a spiral ever since the Nautiloid crashed, your mind a jumble of blankness and confusing violent urges you can’t hope to control. Your sleep plagued with terrible dreams and that infuriating butler. Urges that have made you do terrible things and almost make you do worse.

But now…now it feels as if everything has come crashing down around you. You’d hoped coming to Baldur’s Gate would give you answers to your past, hopefully bring to light memories that are still lost to you.

You never expected it to be worse than you thought.

You never expected to be on the receiving end of Lord Gortash’s cunning smile as he greets his favorite assassin. You didn’t think learning of your past would make your heart drop to your stomach.

But as you stand here, in this grand throne room and listen as Gortash tells you of your bloody past…you feel bile rise in your throat.

You watch numbly as Duke Ravengard crowns Gortash as the archduke of Baldur’s Gate, acutely aware of how your companions shift uneasily behind you. You accept begrudgingly when Gortash offers you an alliance, that sickening smile tugging at his lips as he steps closer to you.

“I tolerate Orin,” he tells you, a strange fondness in his eyes that makes your stomach roll. “But I liked you.”

He waves his hand dismissively. “Go get the stone. And don’t come back until you have it in hand.”

You obey his command, not because you want to listen to him, but because you want to get as far away from here as possible. Your feet carry you faster than you expect, and soon you’re out of the oppressive building that is Wyrm’s Crossing making your way across the bridge.

It’s only then that any feeling comes back to you at all, and you’re acutely aware of piercing gaze burning into your back. You stop in your tracks, turning to see Gale as the source.

The look he gives you…The man who you’ve come to love and who you thought felt the same…His eyes are full of nothing but betrayal and anger.

You reach out to him, fear gripping your heart like you’ve never felt before. “Gale, what-?”

He recoils from you, lips turned down wards. “Don’t.” He says, the one word coming out harsher than you anticipate, making you retreat into yourself as he continues. “The absolute, the tadpoles…it was because of you?”

That last word is said with such venom it makes your heart fracture in your chest. You’ve never been on the receiving end of such vitriol, at least not from him, and it makes tears burn at the back of your eyes.

“Gale, please…I didn’t even know-“

He cuts you off with a raised hand, eyes falling shut as he turns his head away from you, as if it pains him to even hear your voice.

“I think you’ve said and done more than enough,” he lowers his hand to a fist at his side, still not looking at you. “Leave me be.”

He offers nothing else as he brushes past you, walking back towards camp with a rigid set to his shoulders. You feel your lower lip wobble, and out of instinct look back to your other companions for guidance, hoping for anything other than hatred.

You at least get that much. Not even Karlach will look right at you, her hands clenching at her sides as she too walks past, uttering something about catching up with Gale. Astarion offers one of his humorous quips, but even that does nothing to help.

Only Shadowheart seems truly sorry, her eyes meeting yours in a knowing way. You suppose she’s the only one who understands being a slave to your blank past and eventually finding out the brutal truth.

But even her…you can see the thin set of her lips, and you know. You know on some level she blames you too.

And as they all leave one after the other, you’re left alone on the wooden bridge, the wind whistling around you, and your mind still infuriatingly blank.

————

No one approaches you at camp that evening, all of them being pleasant enough but losing that usual camaraderie that typically fills the air.

It’s only after dinner has been served and eaten that you move to seek out your partner, your bowl of stew left untouched by your spot at the fire.

Gale is in front of his tent, deep in one of his books as he usually is. Normally the sight would bring a smile to your face, but now as you approach, nothing but dread settles in your stomach.

The man doesn’t even acknowledge you as you walk up, eyes never leaving the pages of his book as you stand in front of him, shifting nervously in your feet.

“Can we talk?” you finally ask, voice soft in the night air.

Not looking up from his reading, Gale turns a page as he answers, “I don’t see what there is to talk about.”

You bite your lip, trying to keep the tears welling up at bay.

“You know what.”

Gale scoffs, finally closing his book with a resounding snap as he finally looks at you. His eyes are ablaze with anger but deep below the surface you can sense a sadness. He feels betrayed.

“Oh yes,” he says, “I suppose we do need to address the fact that you are the reason we are all in this bloody predicament. Where would you like to start?” He asks cruelly. “The fact that you’re actually a bloodthirsty assassin set on fulfilling your fathers diabolical wishes? Or should we discuss the tiny detail that you were seemingly cozy with none other than Enver Gortash?”

Frustration bubbles up in you then, and finally the tears spill over - hurt and anger and utter confusion proving too much for you to handle.

“You act like that person is me!” You cry, wavering. “Like I haven’t proven again and again since I’ve met you that I’m not…that. I don’t want to be that person anymore I don’t…I can’t be.”

Gale says nothing, so you continue. “I can’t control who I was but until today I didn’t even know that was my past but I -“ you choke on a sob, wiping furiously at the tears streaming down your cheeks. “We’ve done so much good. That has to count for something.”

You watch as Gale softens ever so slightly, but it’s so slight that if you didn’t know him as well as you do, you would have missed it.

He sighs, eyes clenching shut as he turns his face from you again. “Sometimes…Sometimes our past is not something we can separate ourselves from.” He says simply, hands falling limply by his side. “I…I need time to think. I think it’s best if you go.”

His words feel like a stake to your heart, the pain radiating out to your fingertips and making your knees weak.

You want to scream. You want to fall on your knees and beg for him to understand, for him to not push you away. But you know it would do no good. So instead, you only nod, swallowing the lump in your throat as you retreat to your bedroll by the fire.

You avoid the sideways stares the others give you, no doubt having heard your fight with Gale.

The bedroll is cold beneath you, even the fire doing nothing to warm the icy hurt seeping through your veins. Minutes tick by into hours and soon everyone retires to bed.

But you remain awake.

Astarion and Karlach lay on the other bedrolls near you - but the one across the fire is achingly empty.

As the night draws on and the flames of the fire dwindle to nothing but smoldering embers, your mind runs endlessly.

You try fruitlessly to counjure up memories of your past, the past Gortash laid out for you. But there’s nothing. Nothing but blankness and and cloud of black anger bubbling in your chest.

Orin.

She’s the only thing that keeps fighting it’s way to the forefront of your mind. Since you’ve been in the city she’s already made it clear she’s watching you, and after what was revealed to you, you know why.

She did this to you.

She created this vast expanse of emptiness within you. Made you forget your past and took your place as Bhaals chosen, but maybe…

It was for the better. You know this, and silently you thank her for doing it. For orchestrating your fall from grace so to speak. Because now…now you’re someone else, someone better.

All at once an idea forms in your mind. One that would hopefully solve all your problems.

Orin took your place when she got rid of you…what if you could do the same. But instead of taking her place when she falls…you can deny your father his chosen.

You’ll have two of the stones, Orin out of the way and one step closer to righting the wrongs you’ve unknowingly created.

You’re on your feet before you can overthink it. You enter your tent and don your armor and weapons in a mindless haze, only when you exit your tent do you pause, your eyes trailing over to the familiar blue tent across camp.

You approach quietly, not wanting to wake the sleeping body inside, and you carefully peel back the tent flap. Gale rests on his side, face lax with sleep as his chest rises and falls slowly.

For a moment you’re struck with a pang of fear. What if this venture ends in your death? What if you never see the man you love again?

These thoughts run through your head as you gaze softly at your sleeping lover, and before you can let the fear control you, you lean in and press a featherlight kiss to his cheek.

He barely stirs, eyes fluttering lightly before he settles once more. You smile sadly before reaching into your pocket, your fingers wrapping around the cool red stone before you pull it out.

You place the netherstone beside his pillow where he’ll be sure to see it. If this does go sideways…they can still continue the mission.

You stand, giving one last glance at Gale before you let the tent flap fall shut and turn to go face your past head on.

———

Orins arrogance is her downfall, just as you hoped it would be.

She could have easily overpowered you. Taken advantage of your worn down state from trying to find the temple. She could have used the handful of cultists around her to aid in her battle against you.

But she was arrogant, bloodthirsty, and ready to end what she had started.

That had been her mistake.

The fight was not easy, there were moments where you thought you would fall, a few injuries too close to fatal for you to be too haughty in your victory.

But as she lay, broken and bloodied at your feet, you can’t help but be acutely aware of the vast emptiness still yawing within you.

You thought killing Orin would make you feel something. Maybe a sick sense of satisfaction, or possibly even trigger some memories of what she did to you or what you’ve done.

But there’s…nothing. There’s nothing but the sound of your own breath as it bubbles wetly in your chest.

Somethings wrong, you’re injured worse than you’ve ever been before but at this moment you can’t find it in you to care.

Will this be enough?

Will Gale forgive you for your wrongs? Or, when you return to camp with the second netherstone, will it just prove that he was right? That you can’t in fact separate yourself from your bloody past.

That you’ll never be more than the spawn of Bhaal, created to do one thing only.

Will you ever truly be free?

Your answer comes in a wave of telekinetic pain, washing over your mind and nearly bringing you to your knees as a voice speaks through you.

There’s a tinge of familiarity as it speaks, and it’s only then you realize who is speaking.

Bhaal.

The god of murder. Your father. The thing that made you who you were - who you are.

You stand there, that pain slowly ebbing away as he offers you greatness. Offers you the title as his chosen once more and showers you with false praises.

You feel that all too familiar urge tug violently at your mind, begging - screaming at you to accept your rightful place.

You almost give in, your despair and emptiness almost winning out. But then…then you remember the way Gale looked at you, the way they all looked at you. With pain and fear and betrayal in their eyes.

And suddenly the emptiness is gone. The vast yawning cavern of blackness in your mind no longer feels like a burden. You may not remember who you were but…You aren’t them anymore. You’re someone new. Someone kind and loving and caring. You’re someone who laughs around the campfire at Karlach’s jokes and teases Astarion about his always perfect hair.

But more than that…You’re someone who’s known love.

Gales face flickers before your mind then, that kind small smile when you ask him about his magic. The way his eyes crinkle when he laughs. The way his hands feel against your skin as he holds you, or the way he stayed with you as you fought your urges.

Your mind isn’t empty. It’s so full. Just as your heart is. Full of love and hope and brightness despite the urges that tempt you everyday.

You’re not his anymore.

You reject his gift as powerfully as you can muster and you feel the way his power reels back in anger and hatred.

How dare you refuse me!

His voice rages in your mind just as you feel the tendrils of pain seep into your bones.

Your name echoes off the cavernous temple walls, and through the pain and the voice screaming in your head it takes you longer than usual to realize where it’s coming from.

You turn to see your companions, your friends, rushing towards you from the entrance of the temple, shouts of your name and other jumbled words greet your ears.

But then you see Gale.

His eyes filled with worry and regret, reaching for you, fingers outstretched towards your quaking form.

They’re closer now, each step bringing them closer and closer to your bleeding body. You reach out your own hand, limbs quaking with effort against the ever crushing weight consuming you.

Your fingers just barley brush Gale’s, his eyes glossing with relief.

But it’s too late.

His hand slips into your own as Bhaal strikes you down.

Bones cracking, sinew snapping, and blood rushing out of you as darkness swallows you whole. The last thing you remember as death surrounds you, is the pain in your throat as you cry out Gale’s name.

————

It feels like mere moments after the pain and darkness that light erupts around you.

Warm tendrils of light wrap around the emptiness that was your life and soul forming you once more back onto the mortal plane. It blinds you, making you unable to see what happens until you materialize and your boots hit solid ground, your knees buckling beneath you.

But instead of meeting the cold hard floor beneath you, warm arms catch you as you fall, your body falling against a much sturdier one.

Your mind is muddled as your sense come back to you, a multitude of faces swimming before you. You see Karlach and Halsin hovering off to the side with Shadowheart. Even Astarion’s face swims with worry.

But what catches your attention most is the familiar face of your lover right above you, tears clinging to his lashes.

Tears?

You’ve never seen Gale cry, never seen him so much as sniffle or whimper. But now…

Small, warm tears drip onto your cheeks as he leans down to press his forehead against your own, his arms crushing you to his chest so fiercely you nearly can’t breathe.

“Thank the gods-“ he chokes on a sob, “you’re alive. You’re alive. I…” he pulls away from you then, reaching a hand up to wipe the moisture from your skin. “I watched you die and all I could think about was what a fool I’d been - how unfair and cruel I was to you.”

You shake your head, bringing a hand up cradle his cheek, wiping at the tears there as you furrow your brow.

“What happened?”

Gale opens his mouth to speak, but another raspy echoing voice answers. You turn your head just enough to see Withers standing a few paces away.

“Bhaal tried to extinguish thee, but his wrath is imprecise. He only succeeded in killing the part of thee he knew,” the being says plainly, voice lacking any emotion. “The Urge that drove thee to terrible acts. The spark of brutality that made thee his. But there is a new part of thee that has grown during thy travels.” You swear you see the bag of bones smile. “That part Bhaal could not extinguish. And so, instead of destroying thee, he hath made thee anew.”

He continues. “The heart of a savior hath overshadowed the mind of a murderer” he clenches a fist triumphantly. “Thou hast vanquished thy Urge.”

It's then, when his words truly settle in that you sense it - or, don’t sense it.

There’s…nothing. No primal bloodlust, no violent tug at the edge of your mind.

It’s gone.

Hope swells in your chest as you look back to Gale, eyes swimming with tears of your own now.

“He’s right I - I can’t feel it. The urge. I think it’s gone, for good this time.”

Gale shakes his head, pulling you ever closer as his lips fall to your cheek. “I don’t care,” he says firmly, causing momentary panic to tug at your heart.

But Gale is quick to sooth, pulling away to look into your eyes. “I only mean that I do not care if your urges are with you or not. I would love you all the same and I-“ he closes his eyes, shoulders tense with regret. “I was a fool for making you think I felt otherwise. You stuck by me even when I didn’t deserve it and I…I did not give you the same respect or care.”

His voice is soft and broken as he speaks, eyes opening again. “I love you, more than than even my goddess, more than the stars that litter the night skies and I - I can only beg for your forgiveness, though I would not begrudge you for holding it from me.”

As his words sink in, you faintly recognize that the others have retreated quietly, even Withers has taken his leave, allowing you and Gale a moment of privacy.

Slowly you move so you are kneeling before Gale who mirrors your position, his arms still wrapped around you. You bring your hands up to cradle his cheeks, thumbs brushing back and forth slowly.

“I love you too,” you tell him, eyes watering with tears once more. “That’s why I…I wanted to make things right - prove that I wasn’t that person anymore.”

“But you have!” Gale says, voice striken with grief. “Time and time again you showed us who you truly are, proved that the urges you felt were against your will and yet I still-“ he laughs bitterly, “I still let the revelation of your past cloud who I know you truly are. I was cruel. And there is no excuse for the harsh words I uttered. I only hope to show you the error of my ways, no matter how long it takes.”

You smile at him - your lover, your partner, the only person you want to spend your future with - and kiss him.

You pour all of your love and desperate aching need for him into that one action, heart swelling with warmth as he responds in kind.

You only part when you need air, moving to rest your head against his own, your breathes mingling together.

“There’s nothing to forgive, my love,” you whisper. “Just stay by my side until the end as I will you.”

Gale smiles, arms wrapping tighter around your waist.

“I would love nothing more.”

#Gale dekarios x reader #gale x reader #bg3 gale x reader #gale x dark urge #Dark urge #bg3 #baldurs gate 3

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