hiiii so this is a little tidbit from a much larger cregan stark fic i’ve been slaving away at. not sure where exactly this scene will ultimately end up in the finished piece but i just wanted to share since i’ve been promising my writing and thus far neglecting you all. lmk what you think! ‹𝟹 ― cregnstark
“Is this what has become of our great house? Whoring our women out to flea-ridden dogs in The North?” Aemond’s intrusion came with no knock or announcement, simply pushing his way through the grand oak door, letting it slam against the wall before a guard rushed to close it behind the prince.
The queen and her lord father, The Hand, jumped at the sudden bang upon the prince’s entrance into the otherwise peaceful and empty room.
“Aemond. We were just fashioning to summon you.” Alicent stood quickly to greet her son, reaching forth to him as his mother, as she had dozens of times throughout their shared life together.
He did not reciprocate the gesture.
“For naught. The whole of the keep is bustling with the thrilling news,” He locked eyes with his grandsire, Otto Hightower, but only for a moment before moving past his mother towards the balcony at the window. “Why has this been allowed? Why has she who was promised to me being sanctioned to wed the Lord Stark?”
“It was not of our control, Aemond,” Otto answered for the queen, looking to quell his grandson’s anger before it turned violent, as it was likely to since claiming Vhagar some years prior. “The King has dwelled upon the histories and legacies for many a year. There has been no Targaryen and Stark marriage in recorded time. Viserys was more than delighted to bless this match; the first of its kind.”
Otto Hightower looking to be the optimist amongst them. Otto Hightower looking to take control of the situation.
“And what happens when his offspring attempt to lay claim to our birthright? We just allow wolves to become dragonlords, hm?” Prince Aemond turned on his heel, taking large strides toward his mother and grandfather where they stood at the small council’s table.
His shouldered were squared and his firsts curled in on themselves at his side, knuckles almost white. He looked ever the force of fury as he often was these days. Alicent’s babe, her boy ― now a man grown, with his own achievements and attitude; driven by a powerful energy she did not always understand.
“The King has led no indication that any children they have would be given dragon eggs to cradle. Nor is there a reason to believe they would hatch either.” She attempted to soothe her son’s concerns, unsuccessfully.
“She was promised to me, mother. It is the principle.” Aemond sneered, almost hissing like the dragon his blood made him to be. This was more than just anger at a Targaryen women marrying outside their own house, as was very uncommon to begin with; no, this was a personal matter. Aemond One-Eye had been personally slighted. What was once promised his to stake claim to was now that of another man’s.
“We will make a good match for you, my love. Forge a strong alliance for our house and the realm.”
“Our children would have been the true Targaryens, like Aegon and Helaena’s. Purest blood of the dragon. Now that of Old Valyria is to be gifted to a Northman under silver cloche. Viserys has long been weak against the wishes of his daughters and it is repugnant that he not only granted her this wish but is celebrating it.”
In that, Alicent could not disagree.
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WIP Wednesday on a Thursday again because I’m like that.
(Spoilers for the end of Part 1 of the manga)
Playing around with a little fic that charts the progression of Sherliam’s relationship in NYC with a focus on hands, because I’m still not over the way William touched his wrist where Sherlock grabbed him 😭
This is a scene early on where Sherlock finds Liam staring at a piece of paper that simply looks like a mess of ink smudges, but which they both know is the remnants of Liam’s letter — kept in Sherlock’s pocket when they took their tumble into the thames, and now the words seem to be lost to the water forever.
But Liam didn’t spend all night penning words from the heart just to let them fade and be forgotten. Maybe this time, he can give Sherlock his answers face to face.
(Under the cut because it’s like 2k+ words 🥴)
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