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concussed-to-pieces · 4 years

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Her Dove, His Falcon, Their Shield Part One

Fandom: Game Of Thrones

Pairing: Eventual Oberyn/Reader/Ellaria

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Disclaimer for Game Of Thrones writing here! This installment contains a reader that is a ruff tuff cheeto puff, a damn juggernaut. STRONK. I would like to extend my heartfelt thanks to culturalrebel and hulia for recommending me compilation videos, as well as to @zeldasayer for inspiring me to write a hella buff reader. This is peak indulgence, pauldronsexual hours bois. I wax poetic about Ellaria, it’s a great time. I'll see you all with part two on Monday. Enjoy!

Tag List: @culturalrebel @huliabitch @absurdthirst @helplessly-nonstop

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains depictions of canon-typical violence, allusions to canon-typical abuse, depictions of sexual activities with a pregnant party and vague allusions to breeding kink. Stay safe!]

You were sure your fingers were broken.

The pain flickered sunlight-bright behind your eyes every time you had tried to move your pinky or your index, your entire right hand so gristly you didn't dare to look at it after you had bound it up as best as you could.

You clutched your hand to your chest, forcing yourself to focus. The wharf. You had to reach the docks. That had been your plan this morning, before everything had gone so terribly wrong.

You crept through the shadows, dashing away your tears with your threadbare shawl. Your weeping would only be a sign of weakness, urging the vultures to circle on your corpse before it was even cold.

The creak of timbers heralded your arrival to the waterfront and a soft sigh of relief left your mouth when you spotted who you were looking for. The sailor that had promised you passage was there, leaned against the wall of the nearby harbormaster's quarters. He glanced up at the sound of your voice when you hailed him, tipping his head.

"Well well, look what the cat dragged in." He chuckled, wandering hands already tugging at your shawl. "Have you brought the payment, my dear?"

You pulled forth a small purse of coins. "I know it is less than what we promised, but I was unable to-" The man clicked his tongue, obviously disappointed. "I-I am certain we can come to an agreement, please." You begged desperately. You were so close to your escape!

"Darling, we had a deal." The sailor chided, sounding like he was scolding a child. "You bring me the payment, and I convince my captain that having a woman on board our vessel isn't bad luck. Now, at the eleventh hour, you decide you want to bargain?" The man crowded you back against the wall, his face inches from yours when he muttered, "I don't barter with whores." The blow caught you unawares, the back of his hand connecting with your cheek. You shut your eyes when he raised his hand again, gritting your teeth in anticipation of stifling your noise.

Gods, you were so tired of this.

"What are you doing to that girl?" A man's voice demanded, his distinctive Dornish accent thick with either drink or weariness. "Get away from her or I will cut you down where you stand, you cur."

"She is hurt, lover." That voice was lilting, intrigued, a woman's voice. "Look at her hand, and the way her face is turned. She has been struck."

You abruptly felt the sailor's weight removed from your body, the sudden action making you cringe back against the wall. Large, trembling fingers eased your wounded hand away from where you had it protectively curled into your chest. "What has happened to you, sweetling?" You didn't dare to open your eyes and the man tsked after a moment, relinquishing your hand.

"Lover, we must get you onboard, your wounds-"

"A moment, Ellaria. This…" A hand touched your cheek, making you start and open your eyes. Dark, textured leather armor met your gaze, the surface spattered rusty with blood. Your breathing stuttered. You didn't dare to look up at the man who wore the armor, staring at his chest as hard as you could manage.

The hand slid beneath your chin, tugging your eyes reluctantly upwards as your shawl slid off of your head. You gasped when you caught sight of his face. The man appeared battered, the sides of his head badly bruised at the temples and cheeks. There were livid contusions that looked suspiciously like large handprints, as if someone had attempted to crush his skull with their bare hands. His left eye was bloodied, laced with spiderwebbed veins and swollen half-shut. The fingers that touched your face were still shaking, his other hand pressed to a dressing that wrapped around his left elbow.

"Not a girl, I see. A woman." The Dornishman said quietly after enduring a moment of your impolite gawking. "And as such, I cannot make this choice for you."

You swallowed hard. You had heard stories about the people of Dorne, about Sunspear and the supposed depravity that took place there. True, you had been hoping to get aboard a ship and go somewhere, anywhere, as far away as you could manage. And with that sailor denying you passage...

The man's deep brown eyes saddened at your silence. "Would you stay here and endure this mistreatment from men like him, simply because it is familiar?"

You shook your head, fleetingly meeting his gaze and opening your mouth. "I have never been on a ship before, m-my lord." You attempted a belated curtsey. You had no idea who this man was, but it was best to err on the side of caution that he was of a higher social ranking than you. Most people were.

He seemed amused if anything, a pained smile crossing his haggard features. "You will soon grow to love it, little dove."

"If it pleases you, my lord." You demurred in a whisper, your heart pounding in your chest. Were you trading one cruel man for another? They often hid their true intentions until their audience was gone. But the woman at his side...she didn't seem fearful. "I have naught to offer for my passage but this, my lord." The small purse of coins jingled softly as you extended it to the man in front of you. "I am uncertain how much distance it will buy me, but I am not afraid of hard work."

The man waved it off, cupping your hand around the purse. "Do not trouble yourself with such things, my dove. Our time grows short."

…

You had been warned of the sea illness, but you appeared to be able to ward off the heaves if you stayed above decks. The fresh salt air stung your cheeks, yet you refused to move from your spot by the railing. You made yourself scarce beside a pile of coiled rope, staying out of the way of the sailors bustling about and watching everything with wide eyes. Your injured hand was still cradled to your chest, but you had no attention for it as you hungrily devoured your surroundings.

King's Landing had been an area tinged gray, dour with gilded suffering. The golden sunsets that would pour through the high windows of your barren room paled in comparison to the sunset you were witnessing now. It was as if the horizon itself was ablaze, a cacophony of reds and oranges that turned the ocean brilliant. You had never seen such a sunset in all your years, and you prayed that it was a good omen.

The sailors sang as they worked, all of them settling into a rhythm in order to keep everything running smoothly. It was fascinating to watch men pulling lines taut and tacking the mighty vessel into the wind, the ship nimble enough to respond to such rapid adjustments.

"There you are, little dove." Ellaria swayed easily with the motion of the craft, one hand resting on the shrouds to keep her balance. You started in surprise, having not noticed her approach. "You enjoy watching the sailors?"

"They are incredible, my lady." You replied honestly, cocking your head to the side. "I know very little about sailing, but surely their skill is unmatched? You must be immensely proud."

Her laughter was a beautiful noise, just as beautiful as she was. "My lover will be pleased to hear such flattery from your lips! He takes great delight in sailing. Now come with me, flattering dove. We must have the healer tend to your hand."

You shakily climbed upright, gripping the bannister with your good hand as if your life depended on it. The journey back to the elaborate cabin was fraught with peril for you, and you envied Ellaria's gauzy, simplistic garb every time your heavy skirts got caught on the various cleats and belaying pins.

Ellaria opened the cabin door and ushered you into the darker environment, tutting between her teeth. "Lover, you should not be upright." She scolded.

The wounded man (now heavily bandaged), shot her a lazy smile from his place at a desk, quill resting on a half-used sheet of vellum. "I know, Ellaria. She tried her best to tell me so as well."

An older woman (the healer, judging from her no-nonsense expression) rolled her eyes and dusted off her hands, approaching you rapidly. You flinched back and she slowed, her gaze flicking to Ellaria in question.

"We encountered this sweet dove on the docks. It is her hand, Ael." Ellaria said quietly, taking your arm. "Come, sit. Ael will not harm you."

You were settled onto a soft cushion and the healer slid your hand into her own, her touch light and careful while she unwrapped your bruised fingers. "How?" She asked, her voice just as quiet as Ellaria's.

You squeezed your eyes shut against the memory, biting your lip. "It was an accident, I didn't mean...I upset him."

"Him?" The man asked, leaning forward and then grimacing in pain. "That man on the docks?"

"N-No, my master. I am...well, I suppose I was, a-a helpmate of sorts. Shield-maiden. I...helped him to don and doff his armor, and I," you hesitated, "well, did whatever was asked of me."

Ellaria made a noise in her throat. "So what crime did you commit, to earn such punishment that would render you useless for your primary task?"

"I...I broke two of his fingers." You extended your uninjured hand in a gesture to allay concern. "I did not mean to! It was an a-accident, he had a trial to prepare for today with a fearsome opponent. His mind was elsewhere, and when I went to slide his gauntlet on-"

"What was your master's name, little dove?" The man interrupted you, his expression thoughtful.

"His name is Ser Gregor Clegane, my lord. An enormous man who has been dubbed The Mountain."

"You mentioned a fearsome opponent. But with a master such as that, who was this fearsome opponent?"

"A prince of Dorne, my lord, one of your own! Can you even imagine?" You sighed dreamily, vaguely aware that Ael was giving you an odd look. She probably thought you childish, still swooning over faceless royalty. "I was told that he was an immensely fierce and clever man, though not in such forgiving language." Then, forgetting your place, you muttered, "I hope that he roundly trounced Ser Clegane."

The man burst out laughing, but winced and held his jaw as Ael fixed him a stern glare. You were certain your confusion was quite bare on your face. "Apologies, I do not laugh at your misfortune, little dove. Rather, at the providence of it all." He explained, still chuckling. "You are to thank for his terrible temper and sloppy work at the trial, then?"

"Oh, you witnessed the duel? What happened?" You asked excitedly, rocking on your seat in anticipation.

"Oberyn, stop teasing." Ellaria murmured, sounding almost like she was chiding him.

Oberyn.

Your heart leaped into your throat as the man tossed you a pained smirk, moving to the pile of cushions and blankets on the floor. "Y...You? You are-?" Your voice failed you.

"Prince Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper, a fierce and clever man among many other virtues?" He drawled, looking like the cat that ate the canary as he gingerly reclined on his soft throne. "None other than, sweet dove."

"They are so deliciously genuine, lover." Ellaria crooned to him while you felt your skin flush hot with embarrassment. "They had nothing but lovely things to say about your crew, and now this? Such courtesy."

"Truly?" Oberyn (Prince Oberyn! your mind shrieked in horror) asked, his tone bordering on surprised. "And all of that, without even knowing who you spoke to? Rare courtesy indeed."

"I...I am so sorry if I've offended you, your highness." You whispered, "I know there is no excuse for my ignorance."

"Nonsense! I owe you a debt, it seems!" Oberyn replied cheerily. You dared to look up, finding him with a hand pressed to the side of his well-bandaged jaw. "Ser Gregor sought to crush my skull after I had run him through. Clearly, it is thanks to you that he could not maintain his grip and I escaped with this colorful bruising."

"So you killed him?" You asked, knowing full-well that the hope in your voice was unbecoming.

"If he is not dead yet, he will be soon." Oberyn seemed outrageously pleased with himself, though his eyes were strangely melancholy. "Justice has been served. I only wish that I could have stayed to witness him breathe his filthy last, but it seemed that the royal family had other plans regarding the outcome of the trial. I thought it better to take my leave before they decided to finish what Ser Gregor began."

You ducked your face into your elbow, trying to quickly hide your tears. Ellaria caught your chin though, her confusion evident. "Why do you weep, little dove?"

"P-Please forgive my loss of composure! I w-weep for myself, my lady." You hiccupped, the words spilling out of you. "I suffered much by the hand of that man. To know that Ser Clegane is in agony or already perished…it feels like a precious gift, yet I should take no joy in the knowledge. To luxuriate in his demise makes me no better than him."

"You are alive and he is not. Luxuriate in that, if you will not give yourself the satisfaction of indulging in vicarious revenge." Oberyn murmured, his tone troubled. "Did he shame you, little dove?"

You raised your eyes to his and he must have seen the truth there, even though you said softly that you had heard of him doing far worse than what had ever been done to you. "I believe I was one of the luckier ones, your highness."

The prince cursed under his breath, rubbing his temples. "I will be overjoyed to be back in Dorne once again. King's Landing is fraught with madness. A wonder that it still fills me with fury! I am half-dead." He muttered.

"Indeed you are, lover. You ought to be resting." Ellaria chastised him, her tone fondly concerned.

"Yes, my love. I am immensely weary. But council me before I slumber. What shall I do with this unforeseen ally?" The prince asked, waving a hand in your direction. "They spake so sweetly to me, and I could have been the lowest man in all of Dorne. Such honesty deserves reward."

"Not to mention that without their aid, your head would have been crushed." Ellaria pressed a soft kiss to his lips. "And I would not be able to do this."

"You graciously offered me passage, your highness. That is more than enough-" You began to protest, wincing when Ael tightly bound your fingers together once again.

Oberyn dismissed your reasoning with naught but a slow flick of his wrist, yawning widely. "Ellaria, the weariness has ensnared me. Do with them what you wish, my love." He mumbled, sinking down into the nest of blankets. Ellaria studied you for a time as you sat silently, letting Ael tend to your hand. You didn't dare to meet her eyes, so frightened that she might view you as defiant.

"I know you must be used to making yourself small, little dove." She finally spoke softly. "Take heart, the people of Dorne are not so cruel as those you have encountered." Ael had finished wrapping your fingers and Ellaria encircled your wrists, the other woman searching your eyes. "Men use such pretty terms to describe the anguish their counterparts inflict upon us. Shamed, as if you were a naughty child." She shook her head unhappily. "I would promise you your heart's desire, for it is because of you that my beloved still breathes. Anything you wish, you need only ask."

You stared at her dumbly, trying in vain to blink back the fresh tears that rose at her practical words.

Ellaria tutted, her hand rising to smooth over your tangled hair in a maternal fashion while the tears spilled down your cheeks. "You are exhausted, little dove." She soothed, a gossamer sleeve catching your tears and patting your face dry. "Sleep now. I will ask you in the morning."

...

You woke to someone gently brushing your hair, the groan of timber and faint sounds of water all around you. Certain that you were dreaming, you hummed and shifted your weight, snuggling a little closer to the lap your head rested in.

"Dove, are you awake?" Ellaria. You nodded sleepily, trying to remember who that name belonged to. "I had hoped to be done before you woke." She sighed. "Try to stay still for me, sweet. I will be finished in a few moments."

As you felt her begin to plait your hair, your mind slowly seemed to shake off the warm haze of sleep. The Mountain. Your hand. Prince Oberyn--

Gods, Prince Oberyn! You flinched, wide awake now. Ellaria patted the top of your head, obviously satisfied with her handiwork. "There! Beautiful." She said decisively. "You slept so soundly, my little dove! You needed the rest, I imagine."

"My lady…" Right back to where you had started, you nearly wept all over again. Your life had been devoid of tenderness for so long, cut off from any warmth or care. Now here was a small smattering, a ray of sunlight through the clouds, and you were utterly in a shambles. "I apologize for my turbulent emotions." You breathed. "I am at a loss."

"Hush, little dove." The woman murmured, a finger tucking beneath your chin to tilt your face up. "You are so pensive! I would see you smile. Breakfast, perhaps?"

You hesitated, your stomach knotting uncertainly. "I do not know if I will be able to, my lady. The ship...I am unused to its motion."

Ellaria smiled at you, a genuine, soft smile that wrapped around your soul like a secret. "We shall eat above decks, my dove. Something light, to baby that green belly of yours."

Gods, was she teasing you? You had no idea what to think as she got to her feet and extended a hand to you. The light played across her golden skin when she helped you rise, even more of her body on display in today's garb. You felt like a drab sparrow beside a brilliant goldfinch, trying vainly to smooth the wrinkles out of your skirts as you followed behind her.

The sky was blue overhead, the sun just slightly above the horizon. It was still early, though normally you would be going to sleep at this hour.

Your shudder had nothing to do with the brisk sea wind.

"Beautiful, is it not?" Ellaria said gladly, tilting her head at you. Her brown eyes fairly danced with good humor, like she was sharing a joke.

Your heart clenched in your chest and you swallowed roughly. When you agreed with her, you were unsure of whether you spoke of the sky or the woman beside you.

After a light breakfast, Ellaria left you to your own devices. You continued to watch the sailors with awe, thankful that they all seemed perfectly content to ignore you.

It did not take long for the prince to grow bored in his confinement, his complaints growing louder and louder until he emerged onto the deck. Half-dressed, Ellaria following after him bearing a light golden wrapper, Oberyn stalked to the railing and stared moodily across the water at the other ship that had departed alongside his at King's Landing.

"Had I not promised Cersei that I would bring that miserable pile of driftwood to her child, I would scuttle the whole affair." He muttered, stroking his facial hair. Ellaria attempted to drape the dressing gown around him, beckoning for you to come assist her. "Even after all the harm she's done, I will not cause undue grief to...ah, my dove!" The sight of you seemed to shake him from his doleful contemplation, and you couldn't help your flush when the prince idly brushed his fingers over your cheek after you had succeeded in helping Ellaria. "Have you decided what you might ask of me, little dove?" Inhaling a bracing gulp of air, you nodded. The prince inclined his head, tucking Ellaria into his side and then raising his eyebrows at you in silent query.

"I ask...I-I ask two things of you, your highness." You winced when your voice squeaked nervously. "First, I humbly request that you hear me until the end. What I will ask...I know that it is laughable." The prince frowned, but nodded. "I was trained for much of my years in the manner of a soldier, as my mother bore my father no sons. That is how Gregor found me." You steeled yourself. "I would like to continue my tutelage and, once I have become a full-fledged warrior, I would ask to join your soldiers and fight under the flag of Martell."

"Why...Why would you ask for that?" Oberyn queried, his tone one of immense confusion. Ellaria looked bewildered as well.

"After everything that has...happened, to me, everything that has been done to me, I am no longer fit to marry." You explained, doing your best to be ginger with your speech. "Yet, I would serve the man who slew Gregor with my very life. All I can ask for is the chance."

The prince lifted his hand, laying it across the back of your neck and tugging you to lean close. He pressed his forehead to your own, his eyes searching yours. "Not a dove at all." He murmured finally. "A falcon. You will have your wish and one better, my falcon. I will not see you amongst the rank and file of soldiers in my brother's army. You shall train as a knight." His hand clapped your shoulder warmly. "A knight of House Martell. It will be difficult! But I know you would not expect ease after the life you have endured." He glanced at Ellaria. "What say you, my love?"

Ellaria's smile was soft and a bit sad. She cupped your face, touching her forehead to your own as well. "Elia would have loved the spirit of this one."

Elia Martell. You had heard the stories, of course, but the depth of the anguish you saw in Oberyn's gaze took your breath away.

The prince nodded sorrowfully after a moment, kissing Ellaria's knuckles. "Aye, she would have. But she can rest easy now, my love, and that is all that matters."

…

"Again!" The battlemaster shouted, his hand extended to direct. "First form!"

You had flourished under the watchful eye of the head warriors of House Martell, training alongside several of Oberyn's own daughters. The strength you had built through your prior training with heavy plate and shield made you unexpectedly hardy, especially when clad in the much lighter leather and chain mail that the Dornish warriors wore.

You were able to wield a pike on foot with relative ease, and Oberyn saw to it personally that you were granted a larger shield. "If you are to be drawing the enemy's attention, I would rather you are shielded…"

You assumed the first stance, your form wavering ever so slightly when Oberyn and Ellaria emerged from a nearby hallway to observe the training.

The prince was well on the mend from his grisly ordeal with Gregor, only bearing a slight tenderness in his left elbow during poor weather. He was a truly lucky man. Ellaria was in good spirits this afternoon, her smile radiant as she waved to you. You bowed, panting a little from the exertion of your training. The battlemaster dismissed you with a grin, overused to such royal interruptions.

Oberyn's younger daughters flung themselves at you in their typical fashion the second they were permitted, all of them piling onto you in an effort to take you to the ground. You struggled valiantly against the assault as Oberyn laughed, the man wading into the mass of bodies after a moment to pluck Loreza from your back. "Such violence from my beautiful children! You are your mother's daughters." He teased with a broad smile, rubbing his nose against Loreza's.

Dorea danced around her mother, tugging at her hands. "May we go to the water gardens, mama?" She asked, pausing to meticulously straighten her petite bracers. Dorea took the training very seriously.

Ellaria nodded, patting her on the head. "Alright my little snakes, rise from the sand and go play." She urged, "You have all done so well in your training today! I am very proud." Elia rolled her eyes, shaking her head when Obella and Dorea shrieked their delight. She was, of course, too old to let such maternal praise cloud her impressions of how her training had actually gone.

You wished you didn't light up as bright as the children whenever the prince and his paramour praised them. You knew that it was foolish.

"We are both impressed with your progress. It has only been five months and yet, you fight as if you were of Dorne yourself." Oberyn observed after his children had departed, his hand resting at the small of Ellaria's back.

You went hot at the praise, bowing and stammering, "a-all due to your faith in me, your highness!"

"How many times must I insist that you simply call me Oberyn?" He asked, the grin he shot you making your knees weak. "After all, unwittingly or not, we conspired together as equals!"

"Do not tease her so, lover!" Ellaria chided him. "We had something to tell her, remember?"

"Apologies, my love." Oberyn cleared his throat, and his face grew incredibly serious. "My falcon, we come bearing wonderful news. My paramour is pregnant once again." He announced, "A new Sand Snake will be born in but six months time."

You gaped at him, then at Ellaria, who was beaming. "Oh, that is...good?" You half-questioned. True, the people of Dorne had radically different viewpoints from the rest of the world when it came to bastards, carnal acts and indeed, their sexuality in general. You were still adjusting to such broad views.

Ellaria nodded, thankfully not visibly offended by your hesitation. "In Dorne, children are a treasured blessing, not the death knell that so many seem to see them as." She rested her hands on the nearly imperceptible swell of her belly. "Oberyn wished to ask you to become my sworn knight, to defend me from such trials that pregnancy brings." Her eyes were dancing again; she was joking with you.

You chuckled nervously, dusting the knees of your breeches off. "I fear I would do more harm than good in that department, my lady." Despite her insistence that she was but a bastard, you always referred to her as 'my lady', just as you always referred to Oberyn by archaic honorifics.

"Are you greatly concerned with the skirmish I am sending you to, my falcon?" Oberyn asked bluntly.

You shook your head. "Not at all, your highness. I have faith in my skill, as well as the competence of Prince Doran's military."

"I will be there as well, though only advising in my elder brother's stead." Oberyn sighed wistfully. "You must be twice as fierce on the battlefield, my falcon! Fill my place in the ranks."

"I must be at least six times as fierce if I were to try and match you, your highness!" You protested.

"The genuine nature of your flattery never ceases to raise my spirits, my falcon! Dorne will need your strength." The prince grinned sharply, "And your ferocity. I assume we can expect great things from you?" He extended his forearm and you clasped it, feeling the coil of muscle that lurked beneath the sleeve of his brocade robe.

"You may depend on me, Prince Oberyn." You replied firmly.

...

It was to be a simple pincer attack, your small battalion held in reserve to strike at the most opportune moment. Everything always seemed so straightforward when in the map room.

Now, in the muddy chaos of the battlefield, you planted your massive tower shield as a rallying point for the foot soldiers and warded off the attacks that poured around it like river water. Cavalry thundered past you into the fray, lances up and proud Martell trappings flapping in the breeze. You struck down Dorne's foes without mercy, attempting to do the absent Oberyn justice.

Until you caught sight of Elia, torn from her horse by a greatsword-wielding warrior. She hit the mud hard, barely rolling out of the way of the man's full swing. He landed a glancing blow on her shoulder and you heard her cry out.

You jerked your shield up out of the ground, terrified beyond measure that she would not hear your voice. You gathered your legs beneath you to brace for her weight and shouted, "Lady Elia!" Her eyes met yours for a split-second. "Ninth form!" With your shoulder and knee set into the back of your shield, you tilted the metal.

The smaller woman bolted up and onto your slanted shield, then wheeled and sprang off with her arm outstretched to grapple the warrior's neck. The man was floored by the blow, he and Elia tumbling to the ground. You thrust your spear through the offending wrist that still gripped his sword, your razor-sharp weapon piercing the weak point in his armor and pinning his hand to the ground as he screamed.

"If any man dares to touch a Sand Snake, he shall lose his hand and his life." You seethed, raising and then crushing the edge of your shield down on his throat. Elia stared up at you, hurriedly accepting your hand when you offered it. "Are you badly injured, my lady?" You asked worriedly.

"Just winded." She jibed but winced afterwards, touching the blood blotting her armor at the shoulder. "Damn it, and perhaps my shoulder could use tending."

"Shall I escort you back to the stratagem, my lady?"

"So courteous! A true knight." She teased, laughing. "Of course, deliver me to the hands of my hen of a father, that he might chatter and squawk about how careless I was." She tossed her head haughtily. "Wonderful."

"I meant no disrespect, my lady." Elia had a rebellious streak that may have very well been the entirety of her body. Fiercely capable and cunning beyond measure, this would be a blow to her pride. But you could not very well permit her to venture on wounded and get herself killed in the bargain, so you herded her gently back towards the stratagem tents.

You were both soaked head to toe with the blood and sweat of battle, so Oberyn's gut-wrenching expression of terror upon catching sight of his daughter was to be expected. "Elia!" He cried, striding out of the tent. "Where is the wound? You would not retreat willingly, you are too stubborn."

"Hush, I am well. Your falcon saw to that." Elia retorted, gesturing at your massive shield. "She clove a man's head off with that simply for touching me."

"He did a sight more than touch you, my lady." You replied stiffly, "I merely retaliated."

Oberyn enfolded his daughter in his arms, squeezing her tightly as you stripped your helmet off. "Straight to Ael with you. You have done well." He praised her, "but this shoulder will need to be tended lest you lose feeling in your hand."

After Elia had departed, you dropped to one knee. "Forgive me, your highness. I was not fast enough to keep her from harm."

"Lightning itself is not fast enough to keep that one from being wherever she wants." Oberyn replied dryly, clapping your shoulder and urging you to stand. "You brought her to me, a task which I'm certain she did not make simple. You are…" he trailed off, staring at you. Since you had removed your helmet, you assumed you must have some mud on your face. Why else would he look at you as though he had never seen you before? Perhaps the sun was in his eyes, or maybe your hair was much more hopeless than usual.

You quickly scrubbed at your cheeks, but Oberyn remained silent. "Prince Oberyn?" You queried tentatively.

"You are capable." He managed to finish his thought after several more moments. His voice was strangely faint. "Thank you for returning her hale and whole to me."

"Are you well, your highness?"

"Quite well. Astonishingly so, given the circumstances."

...

You were knighted formally as Ser Shieldove of House Martell on the following new moon. Oberyn winked at you in playful insinuation when you and several other new knights knelt before his brother to be anointed with seven oils, nearly causing you to embarrass yourself by laughing. The younger prince had become markedly more flirtatious towards you after the skirmish, his teasing bold even for his standards. You had dismissed it though, certain that he was merely expressing his gratitude with some flattering attention directed your way.

At the feast that followed, Oberyn and Ellaria flanked you instead of taking up their usual position at the head of the table with Prince Doran. Ellaria in particular was nearly hanging off your arm as the both of them fed you from their own trenchers. His tender touch while he plied you with fruits and the brush of the pads of her fingers against your lips made your throat burn with an odd emotion that you dared not examine. The flavorful dolmas hit your tongue and turned to ash in the wake of Ellaria's beautiful smile and Oberyn's jests.

The prince was regaling anyone who would listen with the thrilling (and greatly exaggerated) tale of you and Elia in the skirmish. "-my daughter, Elia Sand, though wounded, fought valiantly against a warrior seven times her size. Ser Shieldove, thinking quickly as she always does-"

"That is a falsehood, your highness." You protested, making Oberyn and his audience laugh. "I was in a panic. I was so fearful I would not reach her in time."

"What is a skirmish if not an opportunity to embellish?" The prince teased. "As I was saying, Ser Shieldove utilized one of the many tactics she learned in her knightly training…" While Oberyn prattled on, you felt his hand rest idly on your leg. You barely kept from leaping out of your skin when he gripped down a little tighter, his fingers rubbing circles through the gossamer of your gown and the fabric of your hosiery.

"More wine?" Ellaria asked sweetly, refilling your goblet before you even had the chance to nod.

"Thank you, my lady." You cocked your head to the side. "Are you well? I hope the babe does not grieve you."

Her lovely laughter, combined with the hypnotic press and drag of Oberyn's fingers, made you wish that you could stay where you were forever. "I have done this four times before, my falcon. Or should I say, Ser Shieldove?" She chuckled. "I am prepared for whatever discomfort this little one sees fit to inflict upon me."

You smiled at her, stating sincerely, "I am in awe of you, Lady Ellaria."

"Of me? Whatever for?" She asked in surprise.

"Your willingness to bear children. It is...I do not know if I would ever have the strength for such an endeavor." You admitted softly, leaning in a little. "Your joy is pure and rare, unlike anything I have ever witnessed. You are practically aglow. It makes my heart ache and sing all at once, to see you so happy."

Ellaria took your hands in her own, clasping them to her heart. "Ser Shieldove, your flattery has not lost its edge." She murmured, her eyes bright. "Though I know your duties may take you elsewhere, when you have a moment of respite, I...would be more than willing to have one of my midwives explain certain things to you. I understand that fear of the unknown keeps many in the darkness."

Your heart buckled in your chest, hope and terror at war with one another. "I know not whether I...that is, I am uncertain if I am able, Lady Ellaria." You replied in a hushed tone.

Ellaria nodded, her expression saddened. "I know, sweet dove." After a moment, she rose to her feet. "Oberyn, lover, will you accompany Ser Shieldove and myself to the water gardens?"

The prince immediately rose and you floundered to do the same, caught off-guard by the sudden request. "Of course, my love." Oberyn's tone was light, but you couldn't shake the notion that he had been waiting for her to say something.

His hand stayed on the small of her back the entire stroll to the gardens, and you found yourself envious of those fingers, envious of her skin. To know such gentle touch, to be able to touch so gently…

During the day the pools were alive with the sound of children of all ages, laughing and splashing about in the refreshing waters. But here and now, the only sounds were the wind stirring the water's surface and the low, inquisitive calls of the bullfrogs. Ellaria settled onto a bench, patting the stone beside her after a moment. You sank down in an unwieldy mass of delicate fabrics, longing for your armor. The dress was beautiful, but it drew so much attention.

"Speak to us, sweet dove." Ellaria implored, taking your hands in her own again. "We would know what troubles you in regards to these delicate matters, without fear of judgement or embarrassment."

Oberyn cleared his throat, large hands framing Ellaria's shoulders. "The merrymaking of the evening cannot erase the furrow of contemplation from your brow, my falcon."

You hesitated, staring down at Ellaria's hands wrapped around your own. Her fingers were slender, delicate. "I see the two of you, how tender you are with one another and I wonder if...I wonder whether I might ever find such companionship." You shrugged helplessly. "I am unskilled in these matters. Gregor was...the only one. I do not know if I could ever subject myself to...if I could ever…" You trailed off, biting your lip.

Oberyn muttered an oath under his breath and then quickly apologized, continuing on to say, "Brave, fierce falcon. You were dealt a terrible wound the day that monster stole you away. I had wondered why you did not accept the propositions offered to you by many of the other knights, but I merely assumed it was a difference of our cultures."

You shook your head shyly. "No, your highness. I find their attentions flattering, yet frightening for this very reason." You were dealt a terrible wound. Oberyn regarding it as such, instead of simply as a normal occurrence for a woman to overcome, was strangely heartening. "Perhaps the wound lingers, festers beneath my skin. Perhaps I shall never be gentle again, and never know myself what such gentleness feels like." You thought aloud, voicing your worst fears. "Perhaps my life will be nothing but roughness and the whirling tumult of battle, my only chance thieved away from me."

"Oh, my sweet dove." Ellaria sounded distraught and you turned your attention to her, surprised when you saw her weeping. Her hands cupped your jaw, tugging you close enough to rest your forehead against her own. "You have such an immense capacity for love, daughter-defender. My heart breaks at the thought of you locking yourself away out of fear."

"My lady…" Tears welled up in your own eyes and you tried to wipe them away hastily.

Oberyn shifted to the side, his arms wrapped loosely around both you and his paramour. "Do you watch us often, my dove?" He asked quietly. "Does it bring you peace to see how we exist together and with others, as easily as rising in the morning?"

Your throat ached with your tears. "The way that you touch her, your highness-"

"My body was designed solely for the pleasure of my lovers, sweet dove." Oberyn informed you, his deep brown eyes unbearably soft in the dim light of the lanterns. "It is a weapon on the battlefield, but never in the bedroom. Even if I come at my lovers with passion, there is not and should not be fear."

"I am a knight of House Martell, and yet I cringe at something so mundane!" You tried to jest, tried to smile.

"Many a warrior is thrown from a horse once and refuses to ever ride again." Oberyn pointed out, his hand absently stroking over your hair in a calming motion. "If an action has only ever caused you agony, you learn to avoid it." Ellaria tugged at Oberyn's sleeve, whispering in his ear when he bent lower. The prince smiled after a moment, nodding. "Of course. Whatever you like, my love." He agreed.

"Sweet dove, at some point in the future I would like to invite you to witness us in our bed chamber," said Ellaria, the words from her mouth damning and sweet as honey. "We are comfortable with an audience and multiple partners, as you are well aware. We would be more than happy to display the way certain acts ought to be performed." She laughed after a moment. "Truly, if I get much larger I may have no recourse but to ask for assistance when my cravings grow too raw!"

You swallowed, then inhaled raggedly. How long were you planning on languishing in this manner? Ignoring your desires out of fear and anxiety over what had transpired? Though Oberyn had assuaged your feelings of inadequacy, you no longer wanted to be the warrior thrown from your horse. You were a knight of House Martell, in soul and now in title. "I would be honored to witness such a thing, my lady." You croaked out, wincing and clearing your throat awkwardly.

Oberyn's smile was a fond one, the man placing a kiss on his paramour's forehead. "Never fear, falcon. We shall not push you further than you can go."

…

Some weeks later, the battlemaster woke you out of a sound sleep, his tone one of long suffering. "Prince Oberyn seeks your council, Ser Shieldove. He bade you wear your armor, but bring no weapons."

Your mind whirled. Had something happened? Gods, Ellaria-

You weren't certain if you had ever donned your armor faster. It was scarcely ten minutes before you were striding through the airy halls, your tunic rustling beneath your light armor and mail. No weapons, he had said. What manner of exercise could this possibly be?

The prince flung open the doors of his chambers when you approached, his expression tight yet grateful. "I apologize for rousing you at such a late hour, my falcon."

You dropped to a knee in typical salute. "What has transpired, Prince Oberyn?"

"Ellaria believed that tonight would be a good night for you to...witness. That being said, she wished for your assistance." The man said delicately. "My love is--ah, how to say this without being crass. She is swollen with child, and yet she craves a certain position." Oberyn raised his eyes to your own. "She reasoned that your strength would be sufficient to keep her balance while she indulges."

Your mouth went dry. "M-My strength?" You stammered. He nodded, studying you intently. His heavy gaze alone had you smoldering, had you nodding without thinking twice. He gestured you onwards into their private chambers, closing the doors after you.

Ellaria, her form barely concealed by the thin curtains of their bed, called your name so sweetly. Like a sinner to judgement you crept close, eyes averted from her nudity. "My dove, there is no shame here." She crooned, one finger beneath your chin urging your attentions to her body. Her kiss to your forehead was gentle, her heavy breasts pressed against your armor with her closeness.

"Lady Ellaria." you breathed, wanting more than anything to greedily embrace her in your arms, shield her from the world. No one deserved to even look at her, no one--

Except Oberyn, of course. The prince was leaning easily against one of the banisters, one ankle tucked over the other while he observed his paramour with a blissful expression. Only Oberyn. Your heart ached, full enough to burst with your unspoken affection for the prince and his beloved.

"The prince said you requested my presence, my lady?"

"I want you to see us, my dove." Ellaria said simply. "I may require your assistance, but until then…" She beckoned Oberyn closer and did not finish her sentence.

The prince cupped her face and kissed her passionately, his smile curved against her lips. Once he was done, however, he turned to you. The bristle of his mustache met your forehead, grazing the skin teasingly before he kissed it. "A kiss from a prince. Let us hope you do not turn into a frog!" He said with a grin.

Ellaria's fingers kneaded at his light dressing gown, spurring him to peel and discard the garment. "Come, Ser Shieldove. Sit on the side of the bed and watch us." She implored.

"Are you certain, my lady?" You asked, hesitation plain in your voice even as your fingers twined greedily into their rich bedspread. "It is not...distracting that I am here?"

"Far from it." Oberyn grunted, chucking you under the chin. "It is a rare treat, to have my devastating falcon in the same bed as my lovely paramour. I will not involve you beyond function, of course, not without your consent. You are the audience tonight, and Ellaria wishes to show you the tender acts I inflict upon her."

You did not trust your voice to reply. You knew logically that there was no possibility of Oberyn causing her harm. You watched his hands, the shift of the candlelight shadows playing across the olive skin. Oberyn was languid in nearly every aspect of his life aside from training and battle, so it was no great shock that he was slow in his approach as well.

He trailed a single finger down between Ellaria's bare breasts, over the swell of her stomach. Your hands fisted tight enough to ache in the bedspread when Ellaria crooned to him, the sunset-hued fabric wrinkling in your grasp. You were entranced, enthralled as surely as if you had been under some spell.

"Lover, please…" Ellaria begged, and oh! Her voice was the sweetest music, a wine heady and luxuriant. How did Oberyn resist her? How did he temper his longing, when all you wanted to do upon hearing her ask once was fall to pieces?

"She knows I will satisfy her." Oberyn said softly, as though he had read your thoughts. He lowered his mouth to her breast and her fingers found his hair, cradling him close. His hand wandered lower and lower, seeking out the wetness that had built between her thighs.

Your gorget threatened to choke you when you swallowed convulsively at Ellaria's trembling sob of pleasure, the prince shooting you a smirk from his prime seating.

"I think our falcon has taken a shine to your mewling, my love." He informed Ellaria quietly. His hand spread her wide, fingers lewdly displaying her plush entrance slick and pink, delicious--you caught yourself leaning in and quickly jerked upright.

Ellaria noticed your interest, if her moan was any indicator. One hand left Oberyn's hair and reached out over the blankets to you, fingers extended as far as they could go. She fell just shy inches from your arm, blindly fumbling.

Oberyn carefully scooped her hand back up, kissing her knuckles. "We do not touch her, my love." He reminded her. "Until you need her help to take me, and even then. Our falcon, our dove, she is a warrior, not a plaything." He glanced over at you, his expression mischievous. "It is enough that she wishes to touch you already, my love." His fingers plunged into her cunt and gods, she was wet enough to hear.

Your thighs clenched and you felt shameful, like an intruder, but Oberyn hummed as if to draw your averted gaze to where his fingers plundered her slick folds.

"She is much more sensitive when she is bearing." He sounded a little breathless, his dark eyes nearly black in the dimmed lighting. "I can wring two or three from her with ease, just my fingers. No pain."

"Two or three?" You echoed him in doubt, your voice rasping in your throat when Ellaria's back arched off the bed. She cried out and Oberyn moaned with her, his own enthusiasm evident in the way he claimed her mouth with his. She was beautiful, skin flushed and damp with sweat, and he was so gentle with her.

"I need you now, lover. I cannot wait, please, please-" Ellaria implored against his lips, and the tender way he soothed her hair back from her forehead made your chest ache. "I have missed you beneath me, my sweet Oberyn."

"And I have missed you, my divine Ellaria." Oberyn helped her kneel, then gestured you closer. "If you wrap your arms around her midsection--"

"Is that safe?" You interrupted warily, concern destroying your propriety. Oberyn just chuckled, rolling off of the bed to divest himself of his pants. You fought the urge to bury your face in Ellaria's neck out of embarrassment.

"Sweet dove," Ellaria's hand cupped your burning cheek. "If this is not to your liking…"

"Of course it--I mean, if-if I...what if I do something wrong? What if I hurt you?" You mumbled. "Men act as though we are unreasonably delicate for expecting an ounce of caution, yet we endure so much at their whim."

Ellaria interlaced her fingers with your own, bringing your palms to her defined hips. "I will not break, my gentle dove." She stated, a defiant toss of her head serving to drive her words home. She was the devoted paramour of Prince Oberyn, after all! Already mother to four of his children, soon to be five.

Oberyn knelt on the bed and you couldn't help the way your eyes devoured him. His hair tousled, mouth still red from hungry kisses, lean body on full display. The member that hung between his legs had your breath hitching with a mixture of vague apprehension and arousal, how-

You tore your eyes away, tucking your nose in the thick waves of Ellaria's hair as your thighs flexed yet again. She smelled of comfort, of citrus and the spiced strongwine from their evening meal. Ellaria sighed, relaxing her weight back into your arms. "You are so warm, sweet dove."

Oberyn's hand stroked your cheek and you were unable to conceal your flinch. "Do not fear me, gentle dove. I would never harm in the bedroom; here, I am no longer the Red Viper." His tone was grave, and you saw sorrow in his eyes when you dared to look up. "I am simply a man hopelessly in love." His hands covered your own, tightening your grip on Ellaria's hips. "Now, help my paramour to rend me as she sees fit."

You did as you were asked, feeling the anticipatory tremor that ran through Ellaria's body. She wanted him. She yearned for him, canting her hips as far as she could to draw him close. But Oberyn was thorough, coaxing her thighs apart inch by inch and laving her hot skin with thousands upon thousands of adoring kisses. She was on the verge of collapse before he even deigned to lay down beneath her, and now you understood your place in their endeavor.

She sank down onto his cock without hesitation, a breathless whine of delight leaving her lips while her head lolled back against your shoulder. Oberyn's cry in response was low, wanting, the prince's chest heaving as he thrust up into her. "Ellaria, you beautiful fucking woman." He seethed through his teeth, "Help her take me, my falcon, hold her steady while she tears me apart."

"Oberyn!" Ellaria sobbed, clinging to your arms while he urged her hips forward and back to ride his cock.

"If she wishes for another child, she entices me by laying on her stomach and beckoning me near." Oberyn informed you lazily between arching his hips up to meet his paramour. "When she does I am but her willing stud horse, lost to breed. Her hips fit perfectly in my hands and she begs me so sweetly for another babe, another little one to bring to her breast and nourish. My Ellaria, my beautiful, precious Ellaria."

Oberyn reached up, his eyes so warm and fond as he cradled Ellaria's face in his large palms. You buried your face in Ellaria's hair again, not wanting either of them to notice the tears threatening to spill over.

Ellaria nuzzled against his fingers, coaxing a ragged groan out of Oberyn. "Lover, you always know what to do to make my body sing for you." She breathed, planting her hands on his chest and circling her hips. Oberyn swore and gritted his teeth, his head falling back against the pillows. "But I would much rather you sing for me instead."

The prince's voice broke wordlessly in his throat, the noise sharp with longing. Your eyes widened and your whole body tensed at the sound, warmth coating the worn trews between your legs. What…? You had never experienced such a rapid reaction, and all it had been was a simple groan! Your grip on Ellaria tightened unconsciously and she moaned your name, her body pushing back against your armored chest as she rose up onto her knees.

Oberyn fairly growled at her, one hand clutching at her thigh while the other delved between her legs. She cried out and you could feel her body spasm when he found her center, hips undulating hard to grind herself against his palm. "Come for me, my love, drench me." Oberyn encouraged softly. "Tear my seed from my body, milk me with that divine cunt of yours."

His heated words made you feel like your heart would beat out of your chest. Ellaria tilted her face into your neck, her panting, breathy cries whispering over your skin and making you wish more than anything that you were the one causing them-

She went taut in your hold and you watched Oberyn watch her come with the same blissful expression on his face that he had sported earlier. It was as if his own release was an afterthought, the prince humming to echo Ellaria's incoherent whimpering while he shifted his hips restlessly beneath her. "Keep gripping me, my love, keep-" Oberyn bucked up hard, hands covering your own on her hips to keep her still when he buried himself in her again. His shoulders tensed, thighs trembling as he came with a shuddering gasp of her name.

Gods, you wished it was your name he spoke with such passion!

Ellaria nearly collapsed, your arms around her the only thing keeping her upright. "I have you." You breathed, cradling her back against your chest. "I have you."

The other woman blinked up at you sleepily, one shaking hand raising to stroke over your hair. "Thank you, Ser Shieldove." She whispered. Oberyn clapped her thigh, carefully tilting her hips and closing her legs once he slipped out from beneath her.

"Steady, I need to fetch a cloth." He instructed you, nearly staggering when he rose from the bed. "Gods, Ellaria, you will make me swoon one of these days." Oberyn continued, half-laughing and shaking his head. He wrapped his light robe back around his body, looping the belt once and then abandoning it.

You hid your face at the sight of him stretching languidly, his lithe and golden form barely covered by the haphazardly-tied dressing gown. "You can look at him, you know." Ellaria sighed in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "He loves being observed. He preens." She confided, chuckling softly.

"What are you telling her, my love?" Oberyn called from the washbasin, shooting her a suspicious glance.

"Nothing, lover." Ellaria winked up at you, relaxing into your arms a bit more. "Nothing at all."

"Now, my falcon. Is it your turn?" Oberyn asked conversationally while he tenderly bathed Ellaria's intimate area. The other woman hadn't stopped squirming, trembling beneath his careful ministrations even as she clung to you.

Panic seized your body at the idea of being naked, being vulnerable, exposed, and despite the hard work the both of them had done, you found yourself shaking your head violently.

Oberyn simply laughed, dismissing his own words as a jest and easily soothing your terror.

...

When you returned to your quarters later that evening, you could not remove your armor fast enough. Clad in only your underthings, you slumped into the chair beside your bed and put your head in your hands.

I can wring two or three from her with ease, just my fingers. No pain.

Ellaria's wanton cries rang softly in your ears. The way she had sought him out with her body, sought to be cherished, claimed-

You are so warm, sweet dove.

You flushed hot, rubbing frantically at your eyes. Gods, the way the two of them praised each other, praised you...it hurt, it made your body throb. You bit back a sound of pain, your eyes watering. To be loved by someone, to have their love in return...well, that is what all the songs and stories of man were about!

Yet here you sat on the outskirts of a camp you dared not approach, gazing at the raging bonfire of someone else's affection.

And you envied, with a ferocity that made your jaw ache from how tight you clenched it.

Envied Oberyn, for being a prince, being free to do as he wished, being able to trace secret patterns over Ellaria's skin as often as he pleased. Envied Ellaria, for being brave, being so effortlessly sensual, being able to bring Oberyn to heights of ecstasy that you could not even dream of.

You felt like a child that had been happily playing pretend, only to have a bucket of cold water thrown on you.

Your fingers dug into your thighs, rubbing over the scarring there. No, you would never know, would you? You would never know the true depth of another's love. You were not destined for such things, and you had been foolish to grasp for them in the first place.

You had been greedy, overeager to voyeur on the prince and his paramour due to your deep admiration of and attraction to the couple. This was hardly behavior befitting a knight of House Martell! You would have to do better in the future, instead of taking advantage of the generosity extended to you in good faith. All Ellaria and Oberyn had wanted to do was help you, and you had turned it into some lewd fantasy.

You shook your head at your own thoughts, thoroughly disgusted. You would tear down everything good that you ever had, just to delude yourself into believing you could be bedded by a prince of Dorne and his beautiful lady.

Part Two

#game of thrones #oberyn martell #prince oberyn #oberyn x ellaria #oberyn x ellaria x reader #knight!reader #strong!reader #canon-typical violence #oberyn martell x reader x ellaria sand #oberyn imagine #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal characters #I apologize if this is OOC #I hope you can ignore it and still enjoy!#I got very indulgent

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mudwingpropaganda · 4 years

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gimme your take on skywings bc 1) your take on mudwings is excellent 2) im writing a story that focuses on the skywing military and their employment of child soldiers and bread-and-circuses style of rule and 3) the skywings are so poorly designed and worldbuilt in canon

I LOOOOOVE the SkyWings. I’ve only recently fully understood the appeal of the tribe and after working on a few headcanons for them and Prince Cliff (pre-blog) I realized just how much sustenance they were lacking and how much they were deserving! I’d love to talk your ear off about what I have in mind.

SkyWings were once a tribe focused on music, theater, storytelling, and the arts. They prided themselves on their bards. They were known around the world as one of the most artistic tribes whose bands you simply HAD to have at your events, the sculptors you HAD to commission for your bust, the tribe you HAD to come to the parties of or else you simply haven’t lived. They were a tribe of merriment, festivals, games, and more. And don’t even get me started on their impressive air stunts and light displays, the fire dancers, and more.

The SkyWings were close friends of the SeaWings, who loved to share this passion for the arts and exchange techniques, styles, and inspiration. It wasn’t until the SeaWing Massacre that this friendship became unsteady and nerve wracking, until they cut each other off - officially, sans a few independent artists - completely.

In the grand scheme of things, the militarized SkyWings are a very new idea. It wasn’t until a few queens before Scarlet that the tribe aimed to display strength and firepower as opposed to inspiration and joy. And perhaps this is why these dragons are seen as more grumpy nowadays. They’re simply not in touch with their personal side and under Scarlet’s reign, they simply stagnated in creativity and individuality.

Scarlet’s reign used her dragons as pawns for her master plans, instead of individuals who could improve their tribe. She was inspired by the elite theater productions her mother had taken her and her sisters to when she was young. So much so that she thought the drama, the fights, the bloodshed, oh, it simply HAD to be brought to reality. She relished in the emotional turmoil of pitting her citizens together, watching reality television in real life as her servants turned against each other for fear that they’d push each other onto Scarlet’s bad side. She threw dragons in her arena for the pettiest of crimes to watch them duel, with her daughter by her side, and her sons preparing and pleasing the crowds.

This only ceased, somewhat, when the war struck. Oh, a war would simply bring so much entertainment for the arena. Scarlet organized the breeding program to further strengthen her dragons for war, children raised for battle, with more armored scales than the elder’s flexible scales made simply for flying. Dragonets without parents. Simply a duty to their tribe and to their throne.

Ruby’s reign is going much better, to say the least. She’s trying to bring back the theater, music, and arts, with Vermillion taking lead in things such as opera and theatrics. Her son, Cliff, is taking massive steps in bringing back individuality, so much so, he rejected his responsibilities as Prince but uses their wealth for a plethora of creatively inspired organizations.

But Ruby’s rule still isn’t perfect. She’s trying hard to inspire the youth to take the steps to be individuals. But they were born soldiers. They were born to fight and survive for the throne, but there’s no more war to fight, and with no families to turn to and very little stability to take them in, the tribe is trying to rebuild to accommodate these dragonets with lost childhoods.

As for appearances, SkyWings are comedically long, lanky dragons. They struggle participating in other tribes’ social spaces due to how long their spines, tails, and wings are, in comparison to their quite stumpy legs. They often walk like arched up cats or perpetually bent inchworms in order to get around on land. No wonder they prefer flying. SkyWings typically have beaks, talons, vents for their internal fire, and feathers. Though most dragons often burn their feathers by accident, those in higher positions such as royalty, merchants, or artists tend to have the cleaner, more elegant ruffs of feathers behind their ears.

An important part of the SkyWings’ cultures are their horns. Their horns never stop growing as long as they’re alive and can bend in a number of intricate patterns, remain somewhat straight, or loop like rams until they’re stabbed by their own bones. But it’s gravely looked down upon to shave your horns or trim them down, regardless of how much they might irritate your scales or may weigh your head down. Elder SkyWings struggle to get through doors because of their pride in their heavy rack. Taking care of your horns is a priority in SkyWing culture. While women are always bigger than males, there is no discernable dimorphism between their horns.

True SkyWings lacked armored scales. They were often very thinly protected by their soft scales with the texture of feathers, but as of the war, armored scales are more common, alongside inflated firepower. Firescales, in the reigns leading up to the war, were becoming more frequent due to the steady escalation of dragons with more intense fire.

Speaking of firescales, I like to take this idea more literally and say that firescale SkyWings literally look like they are on fire. All SkyWings are capable of venting smoke from their scales if they feel a bit too intensely, but can control their internal fire. Firescales are incapable of this, and burst into flames with every heartbeat, every sense of emotion, and every feeling. To kill firescales dragonets was seen as a mercy. They could never be loved properly, they claimed, and their only destiny was destruction and death.

In a similar idea, SkyWings killed animus dragons and firescales because they had a deep sense of self accomplishment. Being born with special powers was something they looked down upon, whether literally or socially. Everyone had to earn things equally, and no one could simply earn magic or the ability to set themselves on fire. These dragonets were killed on the mountain side, in the hopes they would be reborn anew. While recent queens forbade those who bore animus or firescale SkyWings, the parents were often encouraged to lay new clutches in hopes that their children would be reborn in their families.

One other idea I’d like to add is the subset of SkyWings I’ve been playing around with. Mountain SkyWings are SkyWings who are essentially hermits, recluses, and loners of the dragon world. Derogatorily deemed “feral,” mountain SkyWings are individuals who live in the cave systems of their queendom, horde the treasures they find, and enjoy their territory in their lonesome. They chase off other dragons and grow so old that they frequently die in their own caves, unable to find their ways out due to their size, deteriorating vision, or simple exhaustion.

Queen Scarlet prioritized reacquiring mountain SkyWings to “reintroduce them with a sense of nationalism,” but mostly because she simply wanted their hordes. Osprey was one of these dragons, an individual who had lived in the mountains his whole life, his scales rocky, spiked, and brittle, and was forced to join society as a standoffish, snappy SkyWing with a love of literature and law, looking for loopholes to get his treasures back. He unfortunately died before he could find a loophole from Scarlet’s “because I say so” judicial system, but found joy in giving Peril, a terrifying dragonet, someone to look up to, confide in, and talk to without going into full body trembles.

#regulus-ready-to-scream #skywings #wings of fire #skywings wings of fire

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bexterbex · 4 years

Text

A Soul to Mend His Own | Ch. 80

Warning, PLEASE CHECK TAGS IF YOU SEE SOMETHING YOU DON’T WANT TO READ THEN DON’T READ. | Tag lists are closed | INBOX OPEN

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Will tag as I go along, Will update tags, Slow Burn, Influenced by Star Trek and other Sci-Fi themes, References to We Happy Few, Tons of References and quotes to George Orwells 1984 see if you can find them all, The First Order is the new Big Brother, but who is really surprised, Blatant Nazi Symbolism, Interrogation Themes, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Really just drawn out Slow Burn, Don’t repost without permission, Torture themes, Suggestive Themes, Execution themes, Disturbing Themes, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Verbal Abuse, Controlling Kylo Ren, Physical Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, Possessive Kylo Ren, A character shamelessly based on Zelda

A Kylo Ren x Modern! Reader in a soulmate au with canon divergence. —————————————SLOWBURN————————————–

He is already the Supreme leader, searching the universe to find you, his Empress. Your name on his wrist has been the only constant in his life, while you have doubts about his existence and his acceptance of you. He isn’t in the database and why did the name Kylo Ren cover Ben Solo?

MASTERLIST

Chapter 80: Epilogue

You woke up alone, one of your least favorite things to do, right up there with presenting at public executions and planetary political banquets. You got up and headed to your dressing room, where you were attended by your two ladies-in-waiting. One heavily pregnant with her second child, and the other coming gracefully out of middle age. These were the two women who prepared you for war every single day, the ones who put you back together when you needed it. Today war would end, at least temporarily.

They dressed you and prepared you for the day. You took your breakfast peacefully out on the balcony like you did every morning. The planet had changed; it was no longer the dark dreary thing that you first saw, now it was thriving with life. A beautiful utopia, all built to please you as Empress and as a capital to build your Empire. It was now a planet that could see its sun, you watched as ships buzzed around in the atmosphere, your people were alive and thriving.

But you watched as one particular ship landed down beneath the palace, one that always caught your attention. A unique TIE Silencer. You were off to the palace entrance, servants and officers dodging out of your way as you stormed to the platform. You were lowered down to the surface of the planet, guarded by your trusty captain in silver armor, and her golden comrade. Both very used to keeping up with your quick paces and split-second decisions. You exited the palace with them at your heels; they knew your destination and were unconcerned about your immediate safety as a result.

You rushed to the ship, its pilot not yet departing it. You waited as patiently as you could as you watched the pilot disembark from the intimidating craft. His black uniform blending in with the ship itself. Both of which were now out of place in your bright planet. But you felt every molecule in you rejoice as your eyes made contact with the chrome encompassed visor. The pilot offered you their hand which you took, happily, the soft leather warm against your bare palm. You lead the pilot silently into the palace, your gilded guards leaving you. You waited patiently for the platform to lower you down into the big chamber. Guiding the pilot passed the large statues, and passed the throne and side chamber, into the little piece of hidden paradise within the palace.

Servants and staff dissipated when you entered, leaving you alone as you brought the pilot to the fountain in the middle, where you both sat down along the fountain’s edge. You leaned in and kissed the mouthpiece of his helmet before ordering it off. You were met with the beautiful eyes of your husband. You leaned in for another kiss, this time he held you against him. After a few moments of sweet bliss, and the only sounds to be heard were running water and of the birds in the garden, you spoke up.

“How was your mission?” You pushed back a lock of hair from his face. He looked as if he hasn’t aged a day since you first met him.

He gave you a peck on the lips before responding, “Good, the revolution of Jakku has been squashed. The leader executed, and all seems to be right in the galaxy once more.” He held you in his arms like a damsel in distress, like he was your personal savior, which wasn’t far off from the truth.

You smiled up at him. “And your home just in time for our anniversary tomorrow.” One of your hands braced itself against his broad chest, feeling the ribbing of his armor underneath it. A familiar texture that your body deemed as safe.

He kissed your forehead as you leaned against his chest, “Five years of marriage.” His hand rubbing circles into your back.

You made a small noise of contentment, “Five years of forever.” You could feel his Force energy surrounding you with a happy feeling, one that you now recognized as his version of love. Your husband was a complicated man, one you were the only person to understand, your match.

He chuckled at you scooting to get closer to him; he picked you up and placed you in his lap, his chin resting on the top of your head, just avoiding your Empress Crown. “Do you have anything special planned for us,” he asked. He knew you did, but he asked anyway.

You gently removed your head from out from under his, avoiding him being hit with the points of the crown. You looked up at him, with a face, “Of course I do, but do you have anything planned mister?” You crossed your arms over your chest.

He leaned in real close to your ear, “Of course I do, it is my number one priority, as guard dog to the Empress, to keep her happy.” His lips then caressed your cheek as they made their way to yours.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, allowing the kiss to deepen. It has been days since you last saw him, and you were worried about the small revolution taking too long and that he would miss your anniversary. You could stand strong without him, but everything was much easier when he was by your side. When the kiss broke, Kylo was the first to speak.

He teased, “So are we going to have a proper reunion, or are you going to make me wait until tomorrow?” His hands trailing down your sides before coming to rest and squeezing your ass.

After all these years your body still responded to his advancements with blush and squeals. Essentially a hormonal inexperienced teenager, but you two had been used to each other so much that it wasn’t the case. You could feel the heat growing between your legs.

You buried your face into his neck trying to hide your already evident blush, “A proper reunion.”

And that’s all he needed to carry you off out of the garden, down the hall, up a flight of stairs, down another hall, before dumping you onto your large bed. Causing a squeak from you before he climbed up over top of you. A proper reunion indeed.

You were two halves of the same soul, combined, mended together to become one. You saved him and he saved you, together you held the galaxy in your hands. Together all the stars were yours to have, all the stars in the galaxy were yours to share together. Both of your dreams came true, but together they were one dream, one soul, one eternity.

A/N: Thank you all for joining me on this journey, but the time is here my friends, the story must end. I want to thank every single one of you for leaving kind comments, likes and reblogs. It really does mean a lot to me that so many people like my story. I am glad to have shared a part of myself with you all. I hope you are well and happy my friends.

#kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren imagine #a soul to mend his own #kylo x reader #kylo x you #star wars #first order #star wars imagine #Star wars soulmate au #sw first order imagine #star wars first order #i'm not crying you're crying #this is the end

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jacqueline314 · 3 years

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Desirable Greetings

Part 1

Carts, farmers, scholars, and merchants occupies the streets of large and massive, bright structures.

Welcome to Vria. A city, made out of columns of a mixture of limestone, sandstone, and other bright colored materials. There are districts with buildings that look similar to one another, it almost feels like a maze in certain spots of the city. Other structures are consist of columns with no walls, walls with no columns, columns with no roofs, columns with roofs, and walls with no roofs.

The history of this city takes back a hundred years ago. The founders were architects. They come from the distant east, after a kingdom had fallen. They were hired by the remaining survivors of the royal family. Their down fall was caused by a war, and they accept defeat. The architects were paid with a hidden stash of gold and treasure that were passed from generations. They were tasked to locate a land that would be best suited for not just the survivors’ taste, but also where the architects would paint their canvas.

It took a few decade of travelling, maneuvering and surviving to find their canvas. As they set foot to a beach with a cliff side, where the peak could just reach the heavens, and a stable slope from the back, they settled and put their lives’ effort to build Vria from the bottom up. The surviving royal family helped maintaining the resources and financials while building their home. After Fifty years, the city was built. It was then ruled under, the royal family’s most organized sister, Queen Luisa Sevada. And every year, they celebrate on two separate days of the start and end of the harvest season. To dedicate the memory of their new found home. And that is the story of Vria.

With in the middle of the day, a tiefling merchant was selling goods to shopper. His shop consist of dried meats, fresh fruits, vegetables, and herbs. He to wards a new face that was approaching to him. He sees a human girl with Short, shiny black hair, olive skin, and dark brown eyes, wearing goggles with magnifying lenses, a brown cloak, studded armor with one glove attachment, modest orange clothing under the armor with only one sleeve that's opposite to the glove and a bag that hangs across her body. Strange to see someone wear any armor, considering that she seems to be over ten years old for a human.

As they get closer, the merchant goes “Hello and what can I get ya?”

She then replies “Hi, what can I get with five copper?” Her voice sounds lightly squeaky.

“Well, that will get you one fruit, half a meat jerky, and a hand full of herbs.”

“What kind of fruits do you have in stock?”

“Umm...just the usual oranges and apples. Oh oh! I just remembered we have one mango left in stock. These are our best sellers.”

The human girl smiles as she says “I will try one then.”

He hands over the mango to her and she pays the five copper. As she walks away from the merchant, peeling the fruit, the merchant goes “Pleasure doing business with you.” As she bites into the mango, she turns around and waves goodbye to him.

“He’s very nice.” She mutters while chewing the mango in her mouth.

He wasn’t kidding about the mango being sold out very quickly. the texture is soft, moist, and the taste is really sweet. Sweeter than any apples and oranges combined. The fruit is very drippy with every bite intake. The juices falls onto her cloak. Other drops slide to her chin and falls on her leather armor. Eventually, her hand will get soaked with the juice when she finishes it.

Amongst the big crowd, she finds a fountain in the middle. She heads towards it to take a seat. She finishes eating the fruit, but she doesn’t know where to put away the scraps. The streets are relatively clean. She finds two families sitting on the fountain as well. One of them are sitting near her and the other is on the opposite side. The human tries to secretly wash her hand and the scraps to get rid of the sticky juice, but the small toss of the fountain water, towards her hand, creates a splash loud enough to get their attention.

They glance over to the human in concern. She smiles at them and says “Hi.”

They continue to watch her as she dips the scraps with her hand into the fountain, washes it, shakes off the excess water, and places it into her bag.

The family then stood up, gather their things and walked away. “You look lovely today.” She said as they left.

A moment passes, then she hears a loud voice that goes “Attention! Attention! A big event has occurred!” It seems to be the Town Crier, giving announcements.

“The queen has said word that the princess’ coronation will be at sundown, today!”

The blacked haired human looks around and sees the surprised discomfort of the crowd. She hears some of them mutter “Sundown?”

“Our attires aren’t ready.”

“Strange.”

The Town Crier finishes handing out the papers and shouts “Alright, go and get ready! The Queen also says that she wants every one to witness this!” And they all rush their walking pace in order to not be looked down upon the royal family.”

As they all nudge and push through each other, our human swiftly maneuver through the crowd, pretty well handedly. After a while, it fells less crowded that it was. In order to not take the chance of being over run, she finds the nearest, stable column that’s short enough to climb on to, but as her hand gets a grip of it, someone bumped into her and she was pushed away from her safe zone. She’s prone to the ground and crawls towards a corner to hide in. People didn’t seem to notice her presence, considering the task at hand. She sit’s there until the sun is about to turn the sky orange.

Carts and horses are tucked away and fed by the owners before they leave for the coronation. The streets are clear of the market stands, that it’s even less crowded than it were previously. The locals are wearing formal attires, some with hints of yellow to intimidate gold. Our human comes out of her corner and walks along the crowd as they all head to the ceremony.

She eventually arrives to the palace. It’s ginormously large, bigger than any other large building she encountered. On what she can see on the front, there are two watch towers on either side, and small statues of Aasimars. One on top of each tower, and center peak of the front. There are also a set of stairs on the base of the palace, and giant columns that support the roof. Upon entering though the iron bolted doors, the main hall/throne room, has many tables and chairs, exclusively for everyone. Torches hanging on the walls and columns. Above there are a couple of large bowls of fire, hanging from the ceiling and interior balconies that over look all the central bottom floor and the opposite side of where the viewers can see. The thrones are located at the back, there are two of which belong to the queen and her mate. And a red curtain behind them.

A lot of people seem to have taken their seats. Our human finds hers as well, located near the second column from the front left. Upon sitting, she sees other people who attended the coronation, not wearing what the locals wear. They seem to be dressed modestly like her. There are mixtures of races within the building. There are Aarakocras, Dwarves, Goliaths, Elves, and a group with a tiefling, a couple humans, a pale soldier, what seems to be an orc, a pink firbolg, and a green halfling. Perhaps it’s an open house party.

Time passes as the tables are being filled. Then, a clinking sound appears from the thrones. The choir sings in a beautiful tune, in front of the thrones. What comes out of the curtained background of the thrones is the king. A Tiefling in his late fifties, with a white color stripe on his beard, wears a blue robe. He bows forward to the audience, stands up, and walks towards his throne that’s on his left, to sit down. Another clink occurs and comes out, the queen. A Goliath and also in her late fifties, wears a pink dress. She bows as well and walks toward her thrown on her right to sit. And after that, comes out the princess. A Tiefling like her father, and seems to be almost in her twenties. Has majestic long hair, a round face, and tanned skin. Wears a green dress, and seems to be holding a scepter with two hands. It’s made out of valuable material and the top of it is in a circular ring shape. There are six spikes around with non pointed shapes, and four chains, linking towards a central jewels, what appears to be a Jasper.

She then clinks the ground with it, and what appears to be an elderly female bishop. The princess then drops the scepter into a compartment, so it will stand in front of the throne. She turns and the bishop hands her, what seems to be a family heirloom. A crystal, covered out of a precious metal. The princess faced towards the audience, and the bishop raises a golden choker with a pearl attached, as the choir stops singing. She chants in a Zemnian language as she lowers the jewelry to the princess’ shoulder levels and as she was about to attach it to the princess’ neck, she finishes her chant by saying “Queen Bree Sevada” And every one in the building cheers in her name.

Then, while the audience clap, our human notices that the bishop twirled the princess’ hair on her right as she placed her hands on her shoulders. A moment passes, and servants came down the stairs on each side of the hall, bringing the guests food and beverages. When all of them were set, Queen Bree says “May the feast fill your desires.” and bows to them, then turns and joins her parents on her own throne that the servants brought to her after the coronation.

The food is consist of pastries, roasted chicken, potatoes, fruit and vegetables. And the drinks are pitchers of water and bottles of wine. Everyone, and our human, starts gathering food and eating their plate. There were not enough chairs for every one, because of tourists, though the former queen had already thought this out. There is a buffet amongst the sides of the main hall, for the extra guests to grab a plate and have their free evening meal.

When everyone finished their dinner, it has turned dark. And all of a sudden, they all hear a tune playing. There are a hand full of people who are just holding their plats while standing in the doorway.

They all looked outside and one of them shouts “There’s a band playing outside!”

One of the guests says “I wanna go dance.” And it encourages more people to go out and dance as well.

Our human stands at the door way, sees the band at the bottom of the stairs, and pairs dancing to the beat.

She hears a couple of guests, sitting on the side of the stairs, one of them tells the other “This is so weird. First the early coronation, and now a band outside? They say that there will be a dance after, but don’t coronation dances take place inside? They even said that the palace has a ball room big enough for all of us.”

It brought concern to her. If that were the case, that would mean they want to watch us dance. As she turned to check on the royal family, she finds no one at the throne area, but she does catch a glimpse of the king and queen walking through a door on the left of the throne. She rushes over them as the echoing sounds of her steps fills the room.

She reaches to the door and knocks on it “Your majesties, is there something wrong?”

The door creaks open slightly, then a voice goes “They no longer hold that title and are very busy right now, please do not disturb.” She can’t see anything from the door crack. There is no torch light in there.

The door closes and she tries to keep the gap open, but her middle and ring finger ends up being crushed by the door. “AHH-” She screamed in agony, but blocked off her sound with her off hand.

She didn’t want the citizens to panic over the disappearance of their new queen.

She then pulled in her fingers and held them tightly to numb the pain. “I know you have a ball room in the palace, why are we dancing outside anyway?”

There was silence, no reply. “I’ll help you with anything, please tell me what’s wrong?”

A minute passes, then the door opens, they waved their hands to for her to enter. She gets in, and the door closes behind her.

The sound of a spark creates a fire to light and the inside is a ten by ten feet room. A door that leads to the back and another door where the human just entered. There is a shelf of brushes and a broom. It seems to be a a cleaner’s closet.

The Goliath former queen and Tiefling former king are wrapping each other with their arms, holding one another. “What’s wrong?” said the human.

“Tell us your name.” Asked the Tiefling.

She replies with “I am Ezuvae.”

“Ezuvae what?” says the Goliath.

“It’s just Ezuvae, madam.”

“You are very young” says the tiefling.

Ezuvae replies “I helped out my master when he needed things like errands and monsters that encountered his home.”

“I see”

“But I want to help you. I have the sense that you’re in trouble.”

The two glanced over at each other and back to Ezuvae. The former queen goes “Our daughter is in trouble.” They then tell what happened two months ago. Bree was studying in her room. She wanted to learn how to solve problems, and help our people. However, she had trouble understanding some particular books she had because they were written in Zemnian. They hired the bishop since she spoke and read Zemnian. It wen’t fine until earlier today. The bishop ambushed their meal with pirates and snatched Bree. She demanded to have the coronation at sundown or the pirates will harm her. Once the coronation was over, they have to draw out the guests in order to have the new queen all to herself. She even told the two to not disturb them.

“Where is Queen Bree right now?” Asked Ezuvae.

The former king lets go of his wife, and places both hands on Ezuvae’s shoulders and goes “The bishop took her to our room. It has our family’s mark on it.”

Ezuvae is guessing that the mark is in a hexagon shape with what seems to be a weird looking pine tree going through. The trunk is too short & thin, and the leaves and branches forms a kind of tall pyramid separated into pieces. She has seen that mark when she arrived here.

As she starts to turn to the door, the tiefling hold her still and continues “What ever you do, don’t let your guard down. The bishop hasn’t been herself lately.”

She nods to him as the guard, who was holding the door the entire time, opens it and she swiftly heads up to the closest flight of stairs.

Just as soon as she reaches to the top the stairs, a crossbow bold flies pass her face and pierces to the stone wall. She lost balance when she leaned back, but she quickly grabbed hold of the railing and stands back up again. She glances to her right, she sees for a brief moment, what could be the captain, and their crew member.

A deep voice occurs and goes “Get them!” as foot steps are fading to the left.

They are in a 10ft wide/ 180ft long hall way with a set of doors on the right that lead to a room she doesn’t know. and two path that lead to the left

The pirate rushes towards her, swings his hook, but she dodges the out of the way, still holding on to the railings. She then goes pass him, grabs the pirate’s back, leans backwards, sets her feet on him, and launches him across the hall as she rolls to a three point stance. The pirate falls on to his back., just laying there. As Ezuvae stands back up, another pirate takes her swing with a light hammer, but Ezuvae manages to stop it on time. The pirate then disengages, going 10ft backwards into the open path. The other path is an intersecting hall way. The human can see the captain heading into another path, behind the pirate.

Ezuvae force kicks the pirate and tries to punch her, but she immediately gets out of the way. The human tries to kick her again, but she blocked it and punched Ezuvae right into the face. She steps back 5ft. Meanwhile, the pirate that was prone, stands up and sees Ezuvae, backing up from the punch. He rushes towards her from the back. The other pirate takes a swing at her. The hammer hits her stomach. Ezuvae pulls out her dagger and stabs the pirate on the back (literally) By this time, she notices the first pirate rushing. She passes by the other and quickly heads towards the end of the hall way. The two Pirates rush towards her, one of them throws the hammer but it misses.

As Ezuvae was running, she pulls out a small metal barrel with a wooden base and points it at them, it made a small explosion and the wall seemed to be hit my a mysterious force. With that, the pirates stop themselves from chasing. Ezuvae continued on forward into another hall way.

Based on where she saw the captain headed, she follows. Upon looking for the master bedroom, Ezuvae finds an open door. In it, was an alchemist’s lab. There is a lot of equipment, chemicals and elements, fully stocked. She finds a greater healing potion, on one of the desks and a container of sulfur pieces. She takes this opportunity to craft equipment and drinks the potion. After twenty minutes, she has crafted a blasting powder within a pouch. After that, she rushes out to the door, she accidently bumped a shelf, and a weird potion spilled on her. There seems to be no effect, so she continued onward.

Racing against time, she finds the family’s mark on the door. Ezuvae looks around and finds a few paintings on the wall. They’re portraits of the royal family. At least, what’s left of them. She takes Princess Bree’s, the painting before the coronation. Holds up the painting’s back towards the door and kicks it open. As the doors flung open, a bolt appeared on the painting. The tip nearly touches her armor. Ezuvae drops the painting to see the captain standing on top of the bed. He has long hair, wears a purple robe, and welds a hand crossbow with a long sword on his side. The room itself, is large. About 40/50ft. Four columns supporting another interior balcony, two flight of stairs, and a huge window behind the bed. The captain quickly reloads his crossbow then the human hides behind the column. He fires but it misses.

“Just c’mon and give up!” Yelled the pirate.

“Our master promises she will give us great pleasure when she’s done with the queen. She may be old, but she knows how to satisfy a man.”

Ezuvae muttered “Ew.”

He then hops off the bed and walks toward the pillar she’s hiding. He draws his sword as he continues “You might have a taste of her, if you’d stop interfering.”

He stops at the pillar and peaks around, “I promise we’ll go slow.”

And all of a sudden, she quickly draws the barrel and points it at the captains face and *Boom* nothing happened to him, except for the loud sound. He got startled and stepped back.

Ezuvae drops the blasting powder underneath him, runs away from him and points the barrel at the pouch. It explodes, launching him 3ft into the air and prone to the ground. The human rushed over to him, kicks away his crossbow, tries to steal his sword but that was unsuccessful. She then proceeds to punching his stomach and miss stabbing his wrist that welds the sword. She backs up as the captain gets up. Unable to do anything at the moment, Ezuvae stabs him twice but misses, and she grabbed him to head-butt him.

The pirate captain slashes his sword at her, but somehow, Ezuvae didn’t get cut. He aimed at her stomach, so why aren’t her gut spilled out?. With out even thinking, Ezuvae slashes him with the dagger. Her two attempts miss, but the third and punch succeeds. He aims towards her head and misses, but she manages to slash him. She also kicked the back of his leg to fall on one knee.

As he gets up and turns around, he was met with an upper cut. Falling backwards, he becomes prone once again. Ezuvae stabs his wrist, making him let go of his sword. He screams from the pain and then she kicks him in the face. He quickly gets up and grabs his sword with his other hand., but as he stands up, he gets greeted with a kick in the stomach. He manages to keep standing after backing a few feet.

Looking at his condition, he looks really beaten up. Blood is comming out of the stab wounds and from the head-butt.

Ezuvae says “You should be the one to give up.”

Without saying anything, He swings at her, but missed. She then slashes him, and points the barrel at his right shoulder. *Boom* blood splashed on to the floor, and He lies there unconscious.

After a relived sigh, Ezuvae hears a sinister laugh. And behind her are the sound of chains clanking. She turns around to see Queen Bree being lowered down. Her wrists are shackled over her head. Her dress, completely shredded, leaving behind a shoulder piece and strips of her dress. And her one-piece girdle is exposed to see. And her face expresses in a miserable exhaustion. She can see the leftover trail of tears on her cheeks.

Shocked to see her condition, Ezuvae shouts to her “YOUR MAJESTY!! CAN YOU HEAR ME?!”

The voice echoes the room “Ha ha ha ha ha,”

Glancing up, she sees a red humanoid figure falling from the ceiling and circles around her before it hits the ground, and continues saying “She cant hear you. I drained all of her energy. But don’t worry, it’ll return after a few hours of rest.” It then stops and floats in front of her.

What Ezuvae sees the figure with red skin, sharp nails, a pointed tail, giant bat wings attached to the back, and wears the attire of a bishop. Taking a closer look, she realizes that the winged figure is the bishop she saw before. Ezuvae was frightened for seeing a being like this for the first time. The bishop smirked. Ezuvae glances towards the queen behind the bishop, and shrugs off the fear. She then puts away the barrel, holds the dagger with both of hands in front of her. The bishop was impressed. Like it is her first time encountering such bravery.

But she gives Ezuvae a remorse look. “Delicious, but annoying. So, DIE!!!” She then takes her claws and swings it at Ezuvae.

Before the claw meets, Ezuvae felt a shattering force hitting on her back. Then what comes a blue mist surrounding her. The red bishop backs away from the mist, cause it harmed her mildly, and what comes are two individuals running into the bedroom. As the mist fades, Ezuvae sees them in front of her. On her right is a wood elf, welding a staff, wearing a brown robe with the royal family’s marking on the back. And on her left is a tiefling wearing chainmail armor, welding a mace and a shield.

“What was that?” asked Ezuvae.

“I just gave you an upgrade.” answered the tieflng.

Confused, she was about to ask- but was cut off when the wood elf goes “No time for questioning. We have to save her.”

He’s right. Ezuvae positions herself by widening her stance, lowering her body, points the dagger at the bishop, and rests her free hand on the bottom handle.

The elf walks forward to the bed and releases a lightning bolt, from this chest, at the bishop. The strike boils her veins, painfully. Ezuvae then gets closer underneath and throws her dagger, right on to her stomach, and backs away. The tiefling then summons a spiritual weapon next to the bishop. The weapon is in a form of Darlin the Baseball Bat. It takes a swing and hits the back of her head. The bishop leans forward from the blow.

Looking at the bat, the bishop notices Ezuvae and casts a charm spell on her. Evuvae felt her body being paralyzed as the speel takes over. She can’t speack either. All she can do is watch and feel the world around her. The bishop then flies towards Ezuvae. The elf runs toward the human and tries to hit her with his staff, but she dodged the impact. She then kicked the elf and pulls the dagger out of the bishop. But then, *POW* Ezuvae gets hit right at the face by the tiefling’s handle. The hit was able to brake off the spell. As the bishop was surprised, she gets hit on the head again by the magic baseball bat.

Frustrated, she charges toward and slashes Ezuvae and the tieffling with her claws. Ezuvae got scratched on her shoulder, it felt worse than a slap, while the tiefling blocks it with her shield. The bishop scratches the shield, and the tiefling pushes forward, grabs her arm, and the bishop feels her arm being pierced over and over again like salt rubbing her wounds. And then was pushed 180 degrees around the tiefling. As all of that is happening, the spiritual weapon flies over, behind the bishop and smacks her once again. After that, the elf also smacked her head with his staff. The bishop is weaken. The necroticy did a number on her. As she lies prone, Ezuvae kicks her over, pulls out and points the barrel at her beaten face and says, “You’re gross.” And the bishop’s head explodes, leaving a splatter of blood and bits of scorch marks all over the floor..

It’s now over. They won. After a minute passes the elf created a magical hand to unshackle the queen’s wrists. Ezuvae stands underneath Queen Bree to catch her. As the chains are freed, she falls onto Ezuvaes arms. She manages to catch her, but being bearably clumsy, she falls back, onto the bed. The queen lands flat on top of her. Her head rests next to Ezuvae’s, arms still over her head. In a brief moment, her arms contract and wraps them around Ezuvae. She’s still unconscious, but she feels like there’s someone there. Whatever happen to her, whatever she experienced, she holds that person tight and does not wish to let go. She wants to feel safe. Ezuvae felt Bree’s sorrow.

She wraps her arms around her body, holds her in close and whispers “Don’t worry, you’re safe now.”

#oc #d&d inspired #fan writing

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justfandomwritings · 5 years

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United in Fear (Part Four - Soulmate!Robb)

Pairing: Robb Stark x Reader; Soulmates AU

Word count: 9.1k

Warnings: This chapter depicts a ‘bedding ceremony’. Which is a ceremony in the GoT universe that involves a group of men stripping a woman naked on her wedding night and shouting obscene things at her. The reader’s character is disturbed by said ceremony in the story, though it is not described in what I would deem a disturbingly graphic manner for readers, nor is the practice glorified in any way.

There is also a separate scene involving nudity and a sexual situation (sexual situation, not sex) which is fully and unambiguously consensual.

Summary: The names were the greatest mystery in Westeros. Each kingdom had their own telling of the story. None of the kingdoms could agree on where they were from or how they came to be. Each thought a different god, their own interpretation of religion, was responsible, but all seemed to agree on one thing: they were a gift.

Notes: So, this chapter does have warnings. If you choose to read it, please read it informed of what is coming. If you’re looking for a ‘rating’ of how extreme or graphic I would class this, then my answer would be “if you watched these scenes in Game of Thrones, none of them come close to how disturbing the show could get at times”

Oh also... Um note before you read.... I’m not a huge fan of Bran’s character at any point in the series soooo.... yeah.

Start From the Beginning… Part One

Previously On... Part Three

“Son.”

Robb looked up to see his father standing in the door. His appearance was a sign of what was to come.

In Winterfell, the Starks had very little use for fine, Southern clothes. Such garments were impractical for daily use, and what was impractical for daily use was never bothered with when meeting Northern Lords. Even the King, for all the pomp of his arrival, had only seen the Starks clean up their usual appearance. Sansa had worn one of her nicer dresses in hopes of meeting the princes, but none of the others had actually dressed up for the occasion.

The fine leather tunic, embossed with a running direwolf across the chest, which graced Ned Stark now was a piece Robb had never seen his father wear. Perhaps, he had never worn it before at all. Robb had certainly never worn the fine fur cloak around his shoulders nor the polished boots covering his feet.

“Are you ready?” Ned looked Robb over once.

“I wish Sansa could go in my stead,” Robb confessed. His head hung as he left his rooms.

Ned hummed in agreement, “I know. I wish you did not have to witness this.”

“You did not marry your mate either.” Robb pointed out.

Ned nodded confirmation, “Yes, that is true.”

“But you moved on?” Robb’s tone was questioning, hopeful.

From a young age, Robb knew his parents were not soulmates. His father had been the one to explain the name on his arm to him, and Ned had to tell Robb, rather frankly, that there was a chance he would never meet her and would almost certainly never have her. Ned Stark had been right on one of those counts, and Robb would have to accept it just as his parents had.

“I will not pretend moving on was something I did willingly.” Ned gave a heavy sigh, “It is hard to give up on the idea of a perfect life, a perfect love; but for most of us life is not meant to be that easy. You have been given a particularly hard life to lead, but the gods have given you this life for a reason. They have shown you her for a reason, and they have taken her for a reason. Finding happiness, after meeting her, will be difficult, but it is not impossible.”

Robb paused in his step, and Ned carried on another pace before he stopped and turned back to his son. “You,” Robb hesitated, “You speak from experience.” Robb never knew his father had met his mate. The name, not that Robb had ever read it, was still on his father’s arm.

Ned seemed to think for a long moment before he spoke, “I was once where you are now. I stood in a sept and watched my soulmate marry another man.”

“Where is she now?” Robb asked.

Ned didn’t answer. He turned away and waited for Robb to come back to his side before the pair walked on without another word.

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The Sept of Winterfell was a small one. It had been built by Ned Stark for his new wife, Catelyn, as a gift, and had rarely been used by anyone but the Lady of Winterfell. Shoulder to shoulder, it comfortably held only sixteen, fifteen if one of those was Robert Baratheon.

The King’s only joy in being slighted by the Lannister’s had been in Tywin’s rush to marry off his daughter. Lady (Y/n), a Lannister bride as worthy of the Sept of Baelor as Princess Myrcella herself, would be forced to marry in the miniscule stone hut of a sept that heard the praises of only one woman and saw none of the splendor accustomed to (Y/n)’s station. Robert had revelled in the thought.

While even the Great Lion could not build a newer, more worthy sept in time, Tywin Lannister never truly lost. Even this small ceremony, this disadvantage, this insult to their wealth and grandeur, had proven to be to the Lannister’s benefit.

In all of Westeros, only fifteen people would be permitted to witness what Robb knew would be the wedding of the century. If the Lannisters could not display their wealth, then they would at least flaunt their superiority. The countless lords and ladies of the King’s party practically tripped over themselves to reach Tywin’s chambers first; they desperately argued and debated who was deserving to see the ceremony. Even Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen had not made the guest list with their parents and the crown prince.

Robb had hoped he would be similarly forgotten.

Tywin Lannister himself had dashed that dream with a personal invitation extended immediately after the public announcement.

Tywin’s invitation positioned Robb between his father and Tyrion Lannister at the front of the floor, right where (Y/n) would come to stand. He was in full view of every lord and lady in the Sept and had an unobstructed eye on the woman that should have been his.

That was what Tywin wanted, and Robb knew it. He wanted Robb to know (Y/n) was not and would never be his. He wanted Robb to watch her hands join with another man, wanted Robb to hear to her swear vows to an insignificant knight. He wanted to remind Robb, and thereby his father and the King, who was really in charge.

As such, Robb was forced to watch the lumbering Harwyn Plumm march to the front of the Sept, standing in front of King Robert and Queen Cersei.

Harwyn was accompanied by Jaime Lannister, taking the place of Harwyn’s elder brothers and father as the bearer of (Y/n)’s marriage cloak.

Robb glared at the offending fabric, brought North from Casterly Rock by a soldier who had joined Mace Tyrell’s march to Winterfell. It was folded neatly under the Kingslayer’s arm, and Robb could not make out it’s texture or color. He didn’t need to see it to know what it represented, though.

It was the end, the end of any hope, not that there had ever been much.

“Rise.” The Septon was from the Riverlands, the Twins if Robb remembered correctly. There was no formal Septon at Winterfell to lead the ceremony, so Tywin had sent orders for Mace Tyrell to procure and bring a suitable man when he passed through House Frey.

Strictly speaking, the King, being above all but the gods, was not required to stand, but Robert Baratheon rose like all the rest as heads turned for (Y/n)’s entrance.

Robb’s eyes turned, and the moment he caught sight of her he desperately wished he hadn’t.

She was gorgeous, even more so than usual.

Robb had wondered, on occasion, if his attraction to her was real or if it was simply the gods’ way of drawing him to her, but even the gods, old and new, couldn’t fake such a beauty.

Her dress was a simple sheer white silk, draped more than fitted over her body. The straps were without sleeves and slipped over her shoulders as if they supported none of the weight of the fabric. Only a trail of ruching up the center between her breasts provided any support or structure for the slippery material.

The dress was topped with the only break from the immaculate white. A large piece of twisting golden metal hung from (Y/n)’s neck. Extending out over her shoulders, the vine-like twists framed her width and wove down her frame to finish in the top of the folds between her breasts. The neck piece gave a severe, serious armor, to an otherwise innocent appearance; and the polished gold of which it was made reminded the room her name.

Beautiful but Lannister.

Robb looked away.

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Prayer.

Seven blessings.

Song.

Seven promises.

Song.

Seven vows.

Prayer.

Lighting the candle.

Prayer.

Robb had only been to one wedding in a sept, and he recalled it had been a similarly tedious, albeit less emotionally painful, affair.

As a child, he had gone to a wedding in White Harbor the year before Arya was born. House Manderly were the only house in the North to worship the new gods, Lord Manderly’s sister had invited the entirety of the North to their Sept to bare witness to her wedding some minor southern lord.

The lords and ladies of the North descended on White Harbour, but most respectfully declined to enter the Sept to honor gods they did not believe, instead partaking only in the feast and celebrations of the couples’ marriage.

Robb’s mother had made a point that, while her children would worship the gods of their father, they would at least understand the gods of herself and the other kingdoms. As such, Robb had sat at the front of the Sept with his mother for the entirety of the dull affair. She explained it all to him, every moment of the ceremony whispered in his young ears.

In his heart, Robb knew he would never need to know. He would not be married in a Sept. He would be married in front of the weirwood tree, alone with his wife and the gods. He would not be made to attend any Southern court or play at diplomacy in a feasting hall. All he needed to know of the Seven was their names and their purpose.

Right now, that was all Robb wished he knew. He tried desperately to forget everything his mother had taught him, to forget what came next.

Tywin Lannister stepped forward behind his daughter and reached around the front of her neck, undoing the tie holding her Lannister cloak to the metal collar of her dress.

Gently, with all the reverence the old man was capable of, he touched he folded the cloak over his arm and retreated to his place.

Harwyn Plumm raised an hand and Jaime Lannister stepped forward, draping the marriage cloak over his outstretched arm.

The cloak, in itself, was surely enough to convince most that Tywin had indeed been planning this wedding long before he sprung the news on the King.

The face was hidden, covered in the folds of the material, but the lining alone was a work of art.

Marriage cloaks were the most treasured possession of any bride. Usually far finer than her dress and equally as expensive as the entire feast.

In the South, they were works of art to be marveled. Made from the finest silks and softest satins, they only touched the earth or saw the sun for the grandest occasions. Houses used the open display of their banners to showcase their importance in any way they saw fit. A cloak’s craftsmanship testified the wealth and love her husband held for her in what he willingly invested in showing her importance.

In the North, they were pretty enough, certainly more magnificent than everyday cloaks, but they always served a function. Silks and satins were uselessly discarded for furs and wools. Worn constantly in the cold, the sigils born by the cloak spoke for themselves, the names that accompanied them carrying far greater weight than any display of prowess. Wealth and love were proven through the deed of a man keeping his wife warm, not by showing off his gold to others.

(Y/n)’s marriage cloak was a feat that North and South alike could not deny.

The lining, displayed as it fell across Harwyn’s arm, was the golden hide of a lion, many lions by its length; yet there was no seam. Tireless work had gone into creating an unbroken chain of fur. An unending field made from the skin of their sigil. Lions and gold, a golden lion, the only thing worthy of touching Lannister skin.

Harwyn took the cloak in his hands and presented its interior for the world to see.

Robb had held some amount of pride that, at the least, Harwyn would present his soulmate with an unworthy rag. Some frilly Southern thing that was not to (Y/n)’s taste or at least not to Robb’s own. The presentation of its lining removed Robb of that notion. The hide lining was a majestic thing more than fitting of the South, but more than enough to cut the chill.

With an artful flourish, surely practiced for no man of Harwyn’s size could be so graceful without help, he swung it around (Y/n)’s shoulders. (Y/n), in a small moment of defiance that Robb would cherish to his dying day, batted Harwyn’s hands away to secure the cloak in place herself.

“With this kiss,” Harwyn took (Y/n)’s hands in his and leaned into her, “I pledge my love.”

“With this kiss, I pledge my love,” (Y/n) parroted back, and their lips met. A brush so soft and swift that even Robb did not have time to feel any anger over it.

It wasn’t until the wedded pair turned to lead their guests from the Sept that everyone else present realized what Robb already knew.

The cloak around (Y/n)’s shoulders was not Harwyn Plumm’s.

Topping the fur lining of (Y/n)’s marriage cloak was a field of brilliantly crimson satin, hemmed in by a black, fur border. Stitched into the center were not the unintimidating, three purple fruits of House Plumm as it should have been, nor even the roaring lion of House Lannister.

Woven into the center of the fabric, so seemlessly it looked as though it was painted, was a proud lionness in golden thread. She leapt off her hind legs, facing out of the sigil towards the wedding guests with a vicious snarl at her teeth. A lioness on the hunt, the personal arms of Lady (Y/n) Lannister.

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“How much gold do you think the Lannisters paid Plumm’s father to allow that travesty?”

To say Robert was enraged might have been an understatement of the King’s actions at the feast.

The Lannister girl’s cloak didn’t really mean much. In truth, it was far more a slight to her husband than the king, but the fact that Harwyn Plumm was entirely unphased seemed to cause Robert further distress. Like he knew, by the knights inaction, that there was something more to the crest, something meant not for the knight but for the king.

Ned, sitting at the King’s side, simply could not conceive of such a thing. “You think the Plumm’s knew this was being planned? Surely not. The cloak is a symbol of his protection. What man would willingly have his honor questioned for a few pieces of gold?”

It was true that many had begun to whisper about the cloak, but the harsh words against Harwyn came mostly from Northmen, those with a far different sense of duty to their family. Harwyn’s peers, those knights and lords of the South, whispered as well, but with a far deeper understanding of what such a sign might mean.

“You Starks,” Robert grumbled, “you’ll never understand the South.”

“I don’t understand,” Ned agreed. “And yet you’d have me as your Hand.”

Robert turned to his old friend with a smile meant more for reminiscing than anything. “Yes, I know that well enough, Ned. It’s for that reason I want you as my Hand. I need a man removed of all of this, someone I can trust to remain above the fray.”

“By staying above the fray,” Ned deduced, “you mean someone who can’t be bought by Lannisters.”

“That does help your cause.” Robert and Ned laughed quietly together as though it were old times, and they were alone in the halls of the Eyrie avoiding Jon Arryn’s watchful eyes.

For a moment, Ned could almost forget his friend had changed.

Not in appearance, he didn’t need to forget that. Despite his heavier, darker physique, Robert Baratheon was still strong and harsh as ever. His body had aged more poorly than Ned’s own, but it didn’t detract from his friend at all.

Ned had almost forgotten his friend’s rage. Forgotten the cruel look in Robert’s eyes as he relished in the death of the Targaryen dynasty. Forgotten the stench of drink and sex that seemed to permeate Winterfell from the moment Robert arrived. Forgotten the thunk of his son’s soulmate hitting the floor. Forgotten the plotting and scheming against his enemies like a man bereft of sanity.

Almost.

It was impossible to forget when the living reminder sat two places away from Robert’s other side.

(Y/n) had taken a break from dancing with her husband and perched on the edge of her seat, chin high, shoulders back, high and mighty as only a Lannister could be.

Looking at her family, Ned could see Robert’s longing to cut them down to size, of reminding them that their place was the Rock, not the Throne. He could see Tywin marching into the throne room and demanding more respect than the King; Jaime Lannister prancing about the Red Keep like the arrogant fool who’d killed its previous owner; the Queen spitting on the name of her husband every time his back was turned; Tyrion blathering drunk and still thinking he knew more than all.

Ned knew, not only from (Y/n)’s last name but from his every encounter with the girl, that she was as dangerous as their lord father, proud as the knight, defiant as the queen, and smart as the imp. And yet, Ned could not, would not, envisage anyone cutting down (Y/n). Perhaps it was Ashara in her, or perhaps it was his son, but Ned could not stand to forget or forgive for what Robert had done.

In brief moments such as this, joking over Ned’s ignorance or reminiscing about times before the rebellion, Ned could almost see the valiant young lord who fought by Ned’s side to avenge his family and save his sister.

Now, Robert struck women he once would have protected and groped serving maids for the sheer joy of being unfaithful to his wife.

Ned fumed beneath his skin imagining Lyanna where Cersei now stood, being shamed and defied by a man who swore to love her alone, and Ned broke picturing Ashara, bedecked in her final Lannister red and gold, sitting next to a man who threw her to the floor. Ned’s imagination but Robb’s reality.

Robb looked ready to become the second man in the room to slay a king.

Ned turned his head away from Robert and leaned in so only Robb could hear. “He, and the rest of the party, will soon be gone. Do nothing to incur their wrath in these final hours.”

“I will not,” Robb huffed, “assuming you are done ingratiating the man who attacked one of our own.” Robb turned his harsh gaze on his father. “Or did you forget she wears our name now.”

“Our name, but not our colors.” Ned flitted his gaze over the raucous hall. “None know what she is to us.”

“You know.”

Robb pushed to his feet and moved several seats down to ask Sansa to dance, if for nothing more than an excuse to be away from his father and the King.

This day had been a trial of his will, and thus far it had held. He refused to allow it to be broken by the laughter of old men.

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Unsurprisingly, no one had seen when Tyrion Lannister rose to his feet.

Despite being heir to the Rock, the Imp had not received the same place of honor at the table as had the heir of Winterfell. Tyrion was, instead, sat on his sister’s side of the high table, far at the end, next to a snivelling Mace Tyrell and the irritating Lord Banefort. Both men spoke over the head of the shorter man, and neither seemed to notice or care that their companion had abandoned them.

Tyrion was perfectly fine with that arrangement. Neither provided the prospect of particularly scintillating conversation. He would have preferred, ideally, to be sat on the husband’s far end of the table beside his brother or in his rightful seat beside his favored sister, but being ignored by two unworthy men was far preferable to being bored talking to them.

Tyrion pushed to his feet only moments after the eldest Stark boy had abandoned his chair. He’d been told by his father to wait till the heir of Winterfell had full view, and while his timing was certainly more obvious than if he had waited a few moments, Tyrion simply didn’t think he could stand the room for another minute. This was his excuse to leave, and he hoped to seize the opportunity immediately.

With short, swift paces, Tyrion rounded the high table and dropped down two stone steps in height before he continued along its length towards the center of the room.

Seeing his youngest son approach, Tywin rose to his feet.

No one had seen, heard, or bothered with Tyrion standing, but the entire room stilled and fell quiet for his father.

“Father,” Tyrion fell to one knee, though he rested it on the step above where he stood to avoid losing any more height on the rest of the room. He spoke as loudly as he dared, “I have come before this hall to beg forgiveness.”

“For what, my son?” Tywin spoke what was meant to be a question but came without the tone.

“Forgiveness from the burden of bearing your name and my inability to do so. My Lord Father,” With a deep breath Tyrion recited the words. “May the Crone deem me wise. May the Father deem me just. May the Smith deem me strong. May the Mother deem me merciful. May the Warriror deem me brave. I ask the Maiden to pass my burden onto one of her own, and the Stranger to claim me swiftly if I prove wrong.”

“Tyrion Lannister, you would pass on your inheritance as Lord of Casterly Rock.” Tywin confirmed for his youngest son.

“I would.”

In a booming voice, for all to hear, Tywin announced, “Tyrion of House Lannister, born successor to the Lord of Casterly Rock, I pass you on as heir and hand the title my daughter, Lady (Y/N) Lannister. May she prove fit to bear the name.”

She would. Robb knew that much.

And as the celebrations resumed their levity, Robert Baratheon began to laugh.

Robb knew why. Tywin had seemingly given his House away to the Plumm’s.

Robert jeered his rival with a confidence the larger man would never have had on a sober morning, and Tywin met the rebukes with a cool smirk. Leaning over several seats, Tywin whispered to the King a single sentence that made the Baratheon’s face fall in an instance.

A sentence Robb, again, already knew. “My daughter is cloaked under her own protection and bares her own name; her children will be Lannister to their core.”

Lannister heirs. Something Robb, much as he wanted (Y/n), could never give.

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“The bedding!”

Robert’s voice roared and echoed across the stones.

Only Ned or the King could call for the end of the feast, and Robert seemed rather eager to do so quickly after Tyrion’s show and Tywin’s explanation.

The King should have married Tywin’s daughter to a Stark but was thwarted by the girl’s rejection. The King should have forced the betrothal but was thwarted by Tywin’s arrival. The King should have undone Harwyn Plumm but was thwarted by the sudden wedding.

Tywin should have cloaked his daughter in purple and yellow but instead managed to slight the Plumms and his guests by draping her in red. Tywin should have been robbed of his heir after Tyrion’s deferment but instead passed it to his daughter. Tywin should have lost his name to the Plumms but instead preserved his reign for years to come.

Robert was no longer in the mood for anything, even drinking. The greatest whore in King’s Landing could not satisfy the King’s mind, and the whore of Winterfell were far from the greatest in King’s Landing.

Robert wanted to watch the unruly Northmen shove the girl out of his sight so they might degrade her as she walked naked through the frigid halls of Winterfell. It was ceremony, a ceremony the King greatly enjoyed, and with his daughter left naked, it was one Tywin Lannister could not dare to stop.

The men, on any other occasion, would have rushed the bride. Drunkeningly tearing away her dignity for the whole kingdom to see without any care for whether they were still in the company of the feasting hall. Then, most women resisted or cowered at their fate.

“The bedding!”

Harwyn, still dancing with an older southern lady, was the first to be ushered away by the giggling maidens in his midst. He smiled, amused by the prospect, and put up little resistance as the women dragged him along towards the entrance hall. Shrill laughing and squeals of amusement following in their wake.

(Y/n) rose without emotion or hesitation as Robert called for it to begin.

The two dozen or so men, unknighted Northern soldiers mostly, assembled in the entryway. They laughed and shoved each other at the edge of the hall, waiting for the seemingly compliant woman to join their midst.

(Y/n) had to join them.

Usually the men would carry the bride. Usually, they would strip her naked in their arms, touch and feel her body as they pleased, and say whatever horrific obscenity came to their mind to humiliate the bride before they dropped her, crying usually, in bed with her husband as they laughed at the man for what they had seen of her or done to her before her husband could.

Tradition stated she must accompany them to her room, and that she should not resist their ‘preparations’ for her night, an elegant description for an inelegant deed.

(Y/n) walked straight through the group for the entrance hall, and the men rushed after her quick unfaltering pace.

“Leaving so soon?” One man called as the stumbling group tried to catch up with her.

“I knew she was just another Southern whore.”

Another voice joined in over the chorus of laughter. “Come back here; we want to see if your cunt is really made of gold!”

(Y/n) said nothing. She didn’t want this. She wanted to break into a run for her rooms. She wanted to call her guards and have Jaime or the Mountain cut them down. She wanted turn and slap the ones who spoke and show them to their proper place, far beneath her feet.

She couldn’t though. She wouldn’t. They were under her skin, but she wouldn’t allow them the pleasure of knowing it.

(Y/n) weaved her way through the halls at an unrelenting pace, always one step short of bolting for her door. If they caught her, it would not be in the entry halls, traversed by many where all could see her shame. If they caught her, it wouldn’t be for her lack of trying.

As she turned the corner towards the stairwell, one soldier, less drunk than his comrades presumably, kept better on his feet and matched (Y/n)’s pace as the raucous group came down the empty hall.

“Not so fast, my lady,” his voice growled. With thick, pudgy fingers, he caught the hem of her cloak and jerked.

(Y/n) was wrenched back by her neck into the crowd of pawing hands who all cheered their friend’s achievement.

With a crack of the clasp, her beautiful cloak fluttered to the floor beneath their feet as muddy boots trod over it in the men’s haste to get a better grip on the Lady of the Rock.

The men were intended to lift her on their shoulders and strip her as they traveled, but their walk after her had made them impatient and indulgent in their reward.

(Y/n) snapped her eyes tightly shut and balled her hands at her hands. Her teeth bit back the tip of her tongue as one voice shouted.

“Come on then! Show the rest of us! Is it gold?”

Hands trailed over (Y/n)’s curves, slipping over and under the thin material of her dress. They fought for what they deemed the best spaces and elbowed each other to make room for a better grip on her flesh.

A hand fisted in the folds at the front of her dress, and (Y/n) felt herself being dragged forward, pressed tight against the offending man’s chest. He and the nearest man behind her rubbed themselves against her, pressing and squeezing into her body with groans of pleasure.

“Savor it. We all need to have a turn!” One man snarked, ripping away the man at her front to try to replace him.

Bodies closed in around her; hands touched her chest and thighs in more places and ways than she could count.

(Y/n) was sure every man had their piece, but the voices made it seem some did not or were at least unsatisfied with the contact. They shouted at each other to make room. They shouted grotesque comments to her. They shouted what they would do when they had her.

She tried. She really, truly tried to keep herself hidden. She didn’t open her eyes or unclench her hands. She said nothing to the men and tried, in turn, to ignore what was said to her.

But when a pair of them lifted her arms above her head to get better access to her breasts, a lone tear finally broke and slid down her cheek.

“Leave us.” A voice, as cold and dark as the night outside the walls, broke the daze which had consumed the men.

A few maintained their rhythms, touching, groping and rubbing against the disturbed woman in their midst, but most hands, most bodies jerked away from her skin as if the voice cast some magic which burned their touch.

“My lord, we simply…” It was the same voice that told the others to savor it.

“I said leave us.” Darker, colder than the night this time.

(Y/n) dared not look as she heard the men retreating behind her; some willingly, others too drunk to know better had to be dragged away by their friends.

It took what (Y/n) thought must have been at least five minutes before the hall was completely quiet of the mobs crude noises and harsh words.

“They should be ashamed.” The words were spat with as much disgust as (Y/n) had ever heard.

“In the morning, they will say the same of you.” (Y/n) replied quietly, staying rooted to her spot in the middle of the hall.

Footsteps paced cautiously up behind her. They approached with all the hesitation and care the previous men had lacked. They came at her slowly, each step testing if it was one step too far before the next was made.

(Y/n) did not bother to open her eyes. She could hear quite clearly the path the feet took around in front of her, and when they finally settled, she felt the body heat pulsing out at her chest, drawing her in with its comforting warmth.

“I should have come sooner.” A gentle hand touched her cheek, wiping alone the lone tear clinging to her skin.

“I wish you had,” (Y/n) confessed in a voice meant for only their ears to hear.

A sigh blew across her face, “I’m not expected to join the bedding, or I would have sent them away at once. Robert tried to keep me in the hall; he insisted you were no longer my concern.”

(Y/n) let her eyelids flutter open to meet the dazzling blue eyes meer inches from her own. “In a way, I suppose he’s right.”

A small, sad smile tugged the corner of Robb’s lips. “I don’t suppose you would have a Septon set aside your marriage, turn your back on your father and your husband, give up becoming the most powerful woman in Westeros, force Tyrion to become heir to the Rock, leave your gold and all your other lavish Southern possessions and join me in the cold, barren North for the boring life of an incredibly traditional lady.”

(Y/n) laughed and let her face fall into Robb’s chest, dragging him into her with her arms around his waist.

Robb returned the gesture with a tight grip around her shoulders, holding her into him for what he worried might be the last time.

“I don’t suppose,” she teased in return, “if I set aside my marriage, you would be willing to forsake your inheritance, remove your sigil, leave your family, and follow me to Casterly Rock where you and your children will be known as Lannisters and never be allowed to bear the name Stark?”

They let the sad joke that was their lives hang in the air between them, and for a moment, though admittedly just a moment, Robb considered saying yes, he would.

“What do the old gods say happen to soulmates who cannot have each other this life?” (Y/n) suddenly asked, burrowing herself deeper into Robb’s embrace.

“Not much,” Robb confessed. “We have no afterlife. I like to believe we simply do not know of it, or that there is some kind of peace with those we love.”

(Y/n) turned her head to the side, pressing her cheek to Robb, so she could speak more clearly. “The new gods have seven heavens and seven hells. I like to think the pain of living in this world without your soulmate is enough suffering to warrant a place in at least the lowest heaven, or the highest hell, at the side of the soulmate we missed.”

Robb touched his lips to the top of her hair. He couldn’t bare to kiss (Y/n)’s skin. He worried the action might addict him to it. “Whatever fate befalls us,” Robb whispered into her quietly, “I promise you we will have our day.”

“We will have our day.” (Y/n) echoed Robb’s words with a far deeper emotion than she echoed Harwyn’s pledge of love earlier that day.

Robb unhappily pulled himself away and walked back several feet down the hall, stooping to salvage (Y/n)’s marriage cloak from the stones. “It’s a cold night. You should not be traveling through the halls without this.” Brushing the dirt and mud of the men from the cloth, Robb presented it to her.

(Y/n) turned her back to him, and Robb laid the cloak softly over her shoulders, wrapping her in warmth. She hadn’t realized it was so cold surrounded by the men, and when they’d left Robb had more than filled the void of heat. In fact, Robb was right, without the fires or bodies filling the feast, the air in the empty halls was heavy with the chill.

“Thank you,” She held the cloak tightly around herself.

“You’re welcome, my Lady.” Robb chuckled, “Now,” He didn’t want to break apart their moment, but he would rather end it himself, his way, than have it rudely interrupted by a passerby or search party. “I believe my fellow soldiers diverted tradition.”

“In what way?” (Y/n) looked back over her shoulder just in time.

Robb bent down, and with one arm on the small of her back and one behind her knees, swept his mate off her feet. “They were meant, my lady, to carry you.”

(Y/n) laughed, a loud, open sound not at all curved by her strong sense of propriety. It bounced off the stone and echoed down the halls with a joyous noise not at all befitting the moment, but certainly the first glint of amusement or happiness she or Robb had seen since their last fireside talk seemingly a lifetime ago.

Robb’s smile matched her own as he held her close for the journey up the stairs, and she rested her head on his shoulder with a natural comfort.

Despite their situation, they talked with ease.

(Y/n) groaned over how tediously long her maid had spent doing her hair in three different styles before her sister finally settled on the one that best framed her face. Robb lamented the snowy evening keeping the party crowded indoors. (Y/n) countered that he should join her at the Rock where space was never an issue, and Robb reminded her that the North was a far larger kingdom than the Westerlands.

(Y/n), having never been to the North before, asked its future lord just how large his domain would be. Robb recounted a tale where he, Theon, and Jon rode to House Manderly and ended up accompanying a convoy of supplies from Ramsgate to the Stony Shore, not even the full width of the North and still a ride achievable in no less than three weeks, though usually a month. (Y/n) asked if it was made longer by winter weather, to which Robb conceded that sometimes was the case, though not in the story he told. He added that even at the height of summer, a ride from Last Hearth to Greywater took a month and a week.

(Y/n) gushed over having so much room to breath and groaned how a ride from Casterly Rock to Lannisport could sometimes take two days, not for distance but for the sheer number of carts on the roads. Robb wondered allowed how long the distance was and how large the Westerlands were, as even studying countless maps never gave anyone a true idea of space. (Y/n) told him a ride from Banefort to Crakehall usually took two weeks, but time could be cut if a traveler was willing to avoid roads through the Rock, not that many were for fear of thieves.

Robb asked the width of her lands, and she agreed that, without burgeoning trade, Silver Hall to Lannisport would be easily traversed in a week, no more. Though she liked to mention the mountains made it a far rougher ride than the flat ice plains of the North.

And then they were at her door. And Robb was setting her back on her feet.

“My lady,” Robb bowed before (Y/n), “I believe this is where I leave you.”

They stood together silently for a moment. Robb, waiting for her facade of passive indifference to return as she sent him away; (Y/n), waiting for she knew not what.

She didn’t want it to end this way. Chatting mildly about kingdoms and weather. It had been so lovely as it happened, but now knowing that was all there would be, it felt like time thoroughly wasted.

“Robb Stark,” (Y/n) curtsied in return to him, “I dare say you will never truly leave me.”

She was right, and they both knew it was so.

Robb turned away, not to leave her, for she was right that he never would, but to walk away. (Y/n) caught his hand. “Wait.”

“Yes, my lady,” Robb paused but couldn’t bring himself to look back at her.

“I,” (Y/n), for once in her life, had nothing to say. “I don’t believe this is how I’m intended to be delivered to my husband,” She said the first thing that came to her mind.

Robb shifted his palm so her hand slipped into his, and he laced her fingers between his own. “I won’t be like those men who defiled you.”

(Y/n) pressed her chest into Robb’s back, squeezing his fingers between her own for encouragement. “I believe, to defile me, would require I not be a willing participant in the act.”

What restraint Robb held, seemed to gradually melt away as (Y/n)’s free hand caressed over his shoulder and ran down his spine. (Y/n)’s breath fanned faintly over the back of Robb’s neck as she whispered, “Robb, he is nothing to me; I don’t want a stranger to be the first to see me.”

Robb whipped around, pulling himself free from (Y/n) as he faced her. “This is what you want?” His voice was stern, controlled. He had to be. To give her this, he had to be on guard to going too far. Not on guard to going beyond what she allowed, he needn’t worry about that. If she felt even half of what he did, Robb could claim her for his own right now against the door of her husband’s bedchambers. He worried more about going beyond his place, their places.

Her husband was on the other side of the door. Their fathers were downstairs on either side of the King. They had duties and responsibilities that even being soulmates would not allow them, namely her, to forsake, and he feared how much beyond those duties she would willingly give and he would gladly take.

“I want it to be you in there,” She motioned to the thick wooden door in the wall right beside them. “Barring that, I want you here, or at least I want what you’re allowed to have.”

Robb closed the step he had put between them, looking on her for the first time with completely unbridled emotion. He didn’t love her yet, nor did she love him. But by the old gods and the new, Robb knew he would love her one day. It was simply a matter of where and when, and looking on her in her wedding dress, it felt like the answer to both of those questions was the same. Close. Soon.

They moved together, lazily, drawing out the moment for all it was worth.

(Y/n) lifted her arms and rested them across the top of her head, giving Robb an obstructed view.

The pure white dress was stained with dirt and grime from the men she was longing for Robb to make her forget, but her survival, her defiance, only made her all the more beautiful. Even surrounded by a mob, she would not break or cave.

Robb’s hands rested at her waist. They were calloused over years of sword fighting and hunting, but for her, and her alone, they moved as delicately as an artist. Tracing up her shape with languid movements that sent a welcome shiver down her back.

He reached the underside of her shoulders and followed up her forearms. A subtle pressure of his fingers bent back her elbows and brought her arms straight above her head. Crossed at the wrist, he made no move to hold them in place, leaving it to her to stay willingly at his mercy.

His attention dropped to the metal encircling her neck. She had tucked the edges of her cloak, where the clasp had been broken, under the metal to keep it from slipping from her shoulders. The memory of her husband tossing it over her back long replaced by Robb folding her caringly in its depths.

Robb took the warmth from her, a flick of his wrist pulling the cloak free and pooling the lioness at their feet.

She shook again, though not from the cold.

“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” Robb sighed a desperate noise, pained by the realization that this moment would be the best he ever lived.

(Y/n) smiled up at him equally pained. “I would say the same of you, but let this moment be only us, something to cherish in our dying breaths.”

Standing close, Robb could see small hooks in the metal attached it to loops in the top of (Y/n)’s dress, and he began to free them as he spoke, “I do believe that every moment with you will be one I cherish in my dying breaths.”

(Y/n)’s hands dropped to hold her hair out of the way as Robb lifted the glorified necklace over her head. “Robb, please,” she begged, “try not to love me. I believe it will prove near impossible for me not to love you, but it is better for us both that, save these often visited memories, we fade away.”

Robb moved closer as his hands slid behind her back. His chest pushed into (Y/n)’s, forcing the hands above her head to fall around his neck.

“I don’t want to fade away.” Robb confessed.

Silk ties corseting her dress were hidden by a panel of silk that Robb deftly slipped beneath. Clutching the ends of the string, Robb pulled the knot loose and with it the last barrier from his mate. The fabric of her dress went slack around her body, held up only by the pressure of Robb tight against her. Along the seam of her back, the dress fell open entirely, exposing a huge expanse of her longing form to Robb’s yearning gaze.

His fingers glided down beneath the soft silk and rested flat against her backside, holding her to him, not that she ever wanted to leave.

“I want every other man to fade away. I want to wipe them from your memory, remove them from this place. I want to ruin you for your husband before he ever gets to claim you.”

With a squeeze, Robb elicited a groan from his mate, and while Harwyn Plumm was the last person he should be thinking of, Robb prayed that inside his room the knight had heard the noise.

“We have a duty,” Robb conceded, delicately drawing the tips of his fingers over every inch of (Y/n) exposed to his touch. He trailed up and down the length of her spine, feeling every bone of her back and tracing the shape of each with care as (Y/n) quaked from the sensation.

“And I promise you.” His palms, rough from work felt the breadth of her shoulders with a relieving pressure that brought (Y/n)’s head rolling back in his grasp.

Robb worked his fingers up into her hair as her head lulled to the side, gently massaging over her scalp, peppered with a tug here and there to draw a pleased sigh from her lips. “I won’t forsake that.”

(Y/n) could barely register Robb’s words. She knew what he was saying, but she was sure that, until his fingers ceased toying with pulling down the neckline of her dress, she wouldn’t actually know what they meant.

“But make no mistake. I will not forget you, and you will not forget me.”

Perhaps, it was only that Robb was so clearly more handsome than her husband. Perhaps, she was only consumed by a moment’s gratitude to Robb for freeing her from the men who grabbed her. Perhaps, Robb knew his way around a woman with more skill than she initially believed. Perhaps, for once in her life, (Y/n) was enjoying indulging in something rebellious. Perhaps, this was all only a trick of the gods.

Or perhaps, it was the affectionate bond they formed in their early days by the light of the fire. Perhaps, it was how easily they enjoyed talking to one another. Perhaps, it was the tender care with which he always treated her. Perhaps, she was drawn to a man so visibly consumed with her. Perhaps, she was, truly, made for him.

Whatever the cause, (Y/n) had no words for what she felt as Robb took a step away from her and let her dress crumble to the floor. No words she could speak, anyway.

He looked at her as if she was the only woman in the world, and she looked on him wishing he was the only man.

With her naked before him, Robb no longer raised a hand. His arms stayed firmly at his sides. His eyes moved enough for the rest of him.

She felt his gaze caressing every inch of her skin, touching her, holding her everywhere he wanted to but didn’t dare.

(Y/n) turned in her spot, moving as slowly as she was willing to risk. If she never got to see him, and he could only see her once, then he would see all she had to offer him.

They had traveled, till now, under the guise of the bedding, and much as she wished, their mask provided no excuse for her to see him in the state he saw her now. She lived, vicariously, through her mate, consuming his expressions and his eyes as those she would return if their positions were reversed.

(Y/n) reached out a hand to take Robb’s own, and the two stayed joined for a long moment, enjoying what they could of each other for the last time.

“I believe,” Robb’s voice was gruff, deeper with desire than it had ever been before. “It is custom to take you to your bed.”

(Y/n) bit back a smile. “I believe you are right.”

Robb was careful with what he touched as he lifted (Y/n), naked as her birth, against his chest.

(Y/n) waited patiently in his arms as Robb closed his eyes to memorize this moment. He felt every curve and plane of her body pressing against him from her breasts to her thighs. He inhaled her scent, unadulterated by oil or perfume. He listened to the sound of her heartbeat, hammering so hard in her chest that he could count the thuds in time with his own.

Robb opened his eyes and stepped to the door.

(Y/n), taking cue, reached down and opened it for her mate.

“You’re finally here. I was worried something had…”

Harwyn was tucked into their marriage bed, bare as his wife and shocked speechless by her presence.

Robb marched with sure steps around to the empty side of the bed, laying (Y/n) down atop the soft furs. Lowering his head, Robb took one last liberty for himself, kissing the flat bone between (Y/n)’s naked breasts before he rose.

“I hope your night brings all the pleasure you deserve,” Robb brushed a hair from (Y/n)’s eyes as he smiled painfully down at her.

It was, Robb thought as he made for the door, the last time he would ever touch her, the last words he would ever say to her.

His knuckles went white to restrain himself as he turned back to see Harwyn sat up, leaning protectively over his wife as he glared after Robb. Jealous of Robb, as if there was anything for Harwyn to be jealous of. The most beautiful woman in the world was lying at his side, and all Robb had of her were fleeting memories and a family name on his arm.

Robb was the one, rightly, jealous of Harwyn Plumm, a man so unworthy of the prize he’d claimed.

Perhaps, Robb hoped fleetingly, he could give the man’s jealousy cause.

Robb looked over Harwyn’s heavy set shoulders to see (Y/n) had moved up onto her knees to watch him leave. “If he doesn’t satisfy your pleasures, my lady,” Robb turned his eyes on Harwyn with a cruel smirk, “you know where to find me.”

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That night, upset by the actions of her husband, the queen left the festivities early, long before the bedding.

Her twin accompanied her, attempting to conceal the very real emotion projecting on the queen’s usually passive face.

That night, upset that himself, his youngest sister, and younger brother were not allowed into the feast, a young Stark took to climbing the towers around the keep to get a peak in the high windows.

He was alone, climbing slick, icy stones facing strong winds. It was no wonder to any but his family why the boy fell. It was no wonder to any, including his family, that the howls of his wolf went unnoticed in the clatter of celebration.

The next morning as he prepared for his ride to the Wall, a bastard found the boy’s body, blue with cold.

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“Tyrek!”

The squire rushed into Tywin’s quarters.

Kevan, Tywin, and (Y/n) sat huddled around his desk, preparing their route to leave Winterfell.

The regrettable fall of Bran had already delayed the party’s departure by a week and was set to delay the King by at least one more.

Ned Stark, despairing of what happened to his son, couldn’t bare the sight of his own home and couldn’t bare the thought of letting his daughters out of his sight, let alone allowing them to travel to King’s Landing.

The King, ingratiating himself to the Stark who now agreed to be his hand, ordered a week of mourning, no travel, no planning, no celebrating.

Robert only lifted the ban for fear that, should the entirety of the court remain any longer, Winterfell would again be facing a shortfall of food. This time, without a flush of Tyrell travelers to provide relief.

A group of lesser courtiers, those deemed nonessential to the King, were to leave in two days time, and Tywin hoped he and his daughter would be among them, along with all but one of his men.

“Tyrek, bar the door.”

The young squire did as instructed and closed the door, latching it in place. Clanging of armor just beyond the wood, assured the Mountain was stationed outside. They would not be overheard or interrupted.

“I have a task for you which will require you do not return with us to Casterly Rock.” Tywin addressed his nephew.

(Y/n) rose to her feet and motioned for Tyrek to take her place. For once, (Y/n) found she didn’t know what her father had called Tyrek in to discuss. It was not often that she was left out of his plans, and it usually only occurred for the lack of convenience brought by her distance.

On this occasion, the reasoning was entirely different, and one she wished to be on her feet and braced to hear.

Tyrek took the empty chair between Kevan and Tywin, nervously looking between his uncles. “Anything you ask, my lord.”

Tywin withdrew from his desk a piece of paper. “By order of the King, you are to join Lancel as his squire.”

Tyrek took the paper and unfolded it, reading the words with his own eyes. “By what reason, may I ask?”

“By reason that I have asked it.” Tywin dismissed the question promptly.

“What would you have me do?”

Tywin lifted a bag from beneath his desk and and dumped its contents.

A small vial fell out of the leather and rolled across the table, stopping only where it hit Tyrek’s outstretched hand. “What is this?” Tyrek lifted the vial and examined the thick brown liquid as it oozed slowly across the surface of its container.

“Thickened manticore venom.”

“Father!” (Y/n)’s tone wasn’t rebuking, but it was certainly shocked. Poison was not her father’s weapon, nor a common item in the Westerlands.

Tywin rose from his chair, assuming his full height as he rounded the table to face his daughter with hard, cold eyes. “You disapprove?”

She didn’t, of course. She was surprised, of course; caught off guard, but not at all against the thought. “I’m told,” she hedged, “it’s a slow and painful death.”

“Precisely as he deserves.” Tywin turned to his nephew who stared up on the pair with wide eyed fascination. “Tyrek, I have a job for you. Should you succeed, you will be rewarded far beyond your dreams.”

“What would you have me do?” Tyrek clutched the poison in his fist.

“I would have you murder the King.”

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Next Time on… Part Five (Coming soon)

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sevenincubistolemyheart · 4 years

Text

Lightened Shadows

AU: Final Fantasy 4

Tag list: @xsunnyhoseokx @otomehideout-indecentconfessions @file-missing @risefallrise

Rating: M

Potential Triggers: I’m rating M overall from the get-go just for later things in the series I may not want to spoil! Right now though, only light fantasy violence!

Pairing: Ever-evolving :)

Genre: Drama, Romance, Angst, Fluff, Hurt & Comfort

Length: 6.2k+

Your heart had never been so heavy, eyes shut in pained contemplation as you longed to shut out the gory images dancing in swirling colors within your mind. Your body was rigid as a board underneath your arms and you barely registered the typical feeling of the wind on the exposed part of your face.

“My Lady Captain! We’re nearly to the Baron border!”

You barely flinched, still lost in your thoughts as you gave a barely imperceptible nod with a muttered.

“So we are..”

You didn’t pay the mumbles behind you any mind even as you clenched your jaw at the sounds.

“It troubles her too.”

A soldier nodded quickly in agreement whispering conspiratorially just behind your back.

“Orders may be orders but this? This goes too far.”

You closed your eyes once again, this time the vicious images flashing vividly behind your eyelids before you could will them away.

Only 3 enemies in the Crystal Chamber- the other mages you’d all disposed of or subdued were mere children’s play. You hadn’t even needed to raise your shadowy sword in defense yet.

The lone White Mage, Black Mage, and the famed Elder himself were all that remained between you and your prize..

You only needed to raise your sword to block the old elder’s blow with his staff. It wasn’t an attack. Not truly, there was no intent behind it. Still, you looked into his pleading eyes with cold indifference. Not that anyone could see your irises behind the blackened armored mask you shielded yourself with.

“I implore you! This Crystal is not a mere stone! You know not what you do!”

This caused light irritation to stir in your gut and you shoved your sword forward, a soldier already waiting to force the man to his knees.

‘The king said they knew too much concerning the Crystal’s mysteries. This is just further proof that he’s right. As His Majesty always is.’

Your supposedly reassuring thoughts did little to bring true triumph or comfort to your victory, the elders pleading gaze haunting your mind even as you ascended the stairs and claimed the Water Crystal for Baron.

You flinched upwards- jolted out of your thoughts as you turned to face the soldier who’d called out your rank.

He looked nervous, that much was clear from his fidgeting hands and shifty eyes as you narrowed your own at the sight of his clenched fists. His resolve stayed strong though.

“Lady Captain! We are the Red Wings- the pride of Baron! Must we now be thieves, sent to plunder from the weak?!“

Your winced, thankful your soldiers couldn’t see it as you’d turned your back to them, lowering your head in shame even as you made your voice firm.

“Enough.”

Others spoke up, your men clearly feeling the same guilt you did.

“But Lady Captain!”

“The Mysidians offered no resistance! And still, we cut them down.”

You could sense the unasked questions they sought the answers to and turned to half face them with a frown, turning it into a neutral expression as below your nose was still visible, and firmly squashing your emotions down as you began re-establishing your authority in hopes of putting them at ease as you knew they trusted you. You prayed your words would offer them solace- they had no need to suffer any nightmares.

“Listen to me! We did no more than what our kingdom’s peace and prosperity required us to do. The Mysidian’s knew too much of the Crystal and its secrets. His Majesty deemed it so. We are the Red Wings of Baron!”

Your voice held an edge of warning as you stood up straight, turned to face them fully and raised your chin to look down at your men, a warning clear in the words even as your voice softened a bit, letting the soldiers know they weren’t alone but that they should have faith as you did in His Majesty.

“…It is not our place to question the orders of our King.”

The outspoken soldiers lowered their heads in understanding, and one spoke up, voice remorseful.

“Lady Captain…”

The watchman called down to you with a shout.

“Lady Captain! Monsters at the fore!!”

Your eyes widened and you whirled to face your opponents, seeing 2 Floating Eyes ready to attack one of your unarmed engineers. You lunged forward, dark blade already coming down in a merciless slash and watched as the cerulean creature, with it’s textured dark pink wings screeched in defeat as the blade slashed clear through it in a stronger than usual hit thanks to your momentum.

You turned on your heel to face the remaining Floating Eye and it only took 2 more slashes to cause the fiend to dissipate as the hate holding it together was no longer strong enough once it’d been worn down.

You panted as you recovered from the battle watching as your men helped one another to their feet while some of the more tired ones merely stayed on the deck for a moment more.

“Everyone alright?!”

You called out as your eyes danced across your men, worry they’d never witness directly behind your visor clear as the sky all around you in your irises.

They responded weakly.

“Aye!’

“But all these monsters as of late…”

One of them trailed off as he caught his breath and his friend nodded in agreement as he tugged him to his feet.

“Disturbing, is it not?”

You almost smiled at the moment of camaraderie until a final voice broke the peaceful silence.

“I wonder what it bodes.”

Dread washed over you and you straightened as a frown of contemplation graced your lips.

Before you had too long to dwell on what this all could mean the watchmen yelled out.

“We’ve reached the castle milady!”

Snapped back into your role as Captain, you swiped your arm out in a flourish.

“Well then, prepare for landing men!”

They all rushed to stand in attention and nodded. You could tell they found at least some comfort in something they were so used to hearing. Something they actually knew how to respond to without question.

“Milady!”

They all rushed to get the airship down and it wasn’t long until you were being welcomed back into the castle with cheers and proclamations of victory by those standing guard at the gate. Your men had already departed- to the tavern within the walls you were sure.

Baigan greeted you once you properly entered the warm glow of the first floor of the castle.

"Baron hails your return _____! I could hear the triumphant cries before I even reached the floor! You truly have proven yourself worthy of being taken under His Majesty’s wing.”

He praised and you nodded, forcing a smile even as your eyes darted to the side as you mumbled.

“The Mysidians didn’t even raise a sword in their own defense. They were all but at our mercy.”

Baigan’s smile paused before it grew as he spread his arm slowly in a languid stroke, eyes sparking behind his own mask, taking in your tone.

“Alls the better then is it not? Only fools would dare oppose the mighty will of Baron. Come. His Majesty awaits.”

He led you forward and you followed solemnly, wincing inwardly. How could he be so…unsympathetic? Perhaps you should’ve kept your thoughts to yourself. You were already deemed weak as you were the only female commander. Hell, the only female soldier period. Most found the training too difficult and dropped out if they tried- and most heard of its difficulties and opted for White Magic instead if drafted.

Truthfully you’d almost given up yourself and surely would have if Yoongi hadn’t urged you on- if you called pushing your buttons till you were so filled with rage your exhaustion was forgotten and you came at him again. And of course, Hoseok had always been there to nurse you both back to health with a well-timed Cura spell and a scolding.

You forced your fond smile to a neutral expression at the thought of your closest friend and loving boyfriend both. Now was not the time to find solace in the past.

“A moment my lady.”

Baigan stopped you with a nod and headed into the throne room.

“I’m afraid our captain has begun to have doubts, your Majesty.”

He informed the King quietly.

The old man barely reacted, merely offering a nod in response.

“She retrieved the Water Crystal did she not? That is all that concerns me. Bring her forward.”

Baigan watched the King for a moment before he descended the few steps leading to the elaborate throne and called out.

“Lady Captain! His Majesty bids you enter!”

You walked in and the King smiled at you.

“Baron is overjoyed at your return! Did you successfully retrieve the Crystal?”

“I have your Majesty.”

You nodded, holding it out to Baigan who brought it up and handed it off to the ruler with a mutter.

“It’s genuine.”

The King basked in the Crystal’s glittering.

“So it is! See how it shines! That will be all ______. You may depart.”

You began to walk away when the haunted eyes of your men made you stop in in your tracks- looking at the elegantly carpeted floor with clenched fists before you turned back and called out.

“Your Majesty!”

He looked up in surprise, bewilderment evident on his face.

“Have we some other matter to discuss?”

Baigan all but snarled coldly.

“Our King has bid you your leave and yet you would trouble him further?”

You didn’t let yourself falter and continued on brazenly.

“Forgive my indiscretion your Majesty, but what is it you aim to do? My men…they grow weary of such secrecy.”

The ruler’s eyes narrowed to pinpricks.

“…As do you?”

You rushed to shake your head.

“No of course not-”

He interrupted you as he stood up to glare down at you.

“Do you take me for a fool child? Do you think your treasonous whisperings escape my ears?”

His eyes softened fractionally in pain.

“After all I’ve done for you…____, you wound me. I have no other course of action. You are henceforth stripped of your command of the Red Wings.”

Your eyes widened in horror and it felt like you’d been punched in the gut as you gasped.

“My liege!”

The King continued mercilessly.

“Instead you will go to the village of Mist. There is a task I would have you do. Slay the Eidolon within the Cave of Mist and deliver this ring to the town inhabitants just beyond- they will know its meaning.”

A new voice entered the fray, one you knew all too well and you closed your eyes in pain at it.

'You idiot…’

“Your Highness, I humbly beg you, reconsider! You know ___ would never betray you!”

The ruler took in Yoongi with mild distaste and surprise but he took it all in stride.

“Yoongi. I was not aware this matter concerned you. But seeing as you seem so eager to protect your friend-”

There was a bitter, almost sadistically amused emphasis there that made you frown in confusion though he quickly continued.

“Let your spear accompany her blade on the road to Mist.”

That made you perk up.

“My liege please!”

He shook his head, raising his chin at the 3 waiting guard soldiers who began to push you and Yoongi out of the throne room.

“Take the ring and begone, while my mood is yet fair.”

He said coldly.

You grabbed the ring pushed into your palm and stared at the slammed door in helpless shock before lowering your head in remorse.

“Yoongi…please forgive me. I didn’t mean to drag you into this.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to raise your head from the shame of it.

Yoongi sighed heavily and patted your shoulder.

“Don’t apologize. You didn’t force me to walk into that throne room, did you? It was my decision to make.”

Your half-hearted shrug made him narrow his eyes in aggression behind his own visor, though not at you. What was the King possibly thinking?! Here he was- having taken you in and raised you. All but begged you to shove aside any notion of being a White Mage in favor of being a Dark Knight for him which you did without question and now he dismisses you for mere curiosity and concern for your men?

He felt the shakes of anger begin anew and grit his teeth before he met your gaze.

“We’ll slay this Eidolon and all will be forgiven. I’m sure of it. His Majesty knows not of your importance though he will soon learn it firsthand when your men’s work ethic falls through the basement and their mistrust only grows. He will see the error of his ways, have no doubt of that.”

You were slightly taken aback at the aggression in his tone but he was already patting your shoulder once more before turning to walk off.

“Get some rest. We leave on the first light of the morrow. Leave the preparations to me. Perhaps go see how your men are faring hm?”

You nodded after a moment but felt the guilt still eat at you even as he walked away. He was always there as a constant source of comfort in your life. He’d defend you over just about anything, you knew. Between him and Hoseok, no harm could befall you without major repercussions. A faint smirk twitched at your lips as you recalled sneaking out of the castle to engage with some of the fiends surrounding it.

________________________________________________________________

“C'mon! It’s just a little further!”

Yoongi seemed hesitant despite letting you drag him across the grassy fields. His expression was stalwart however, giving nothing away.

“I know you want to train but the King said it wasn’t safe at night…”

You shrugged off his attempt to drag you back and pouted at him.

“I won’t get stronger unless I fight proper fiends! The soldiers in the castle all treat me like glass because his Majesty watches us as they train me. And I use the term loosely. Even you go easy on me Yoongi, don’t think I haven’t noticed!”

The whine was evident in your voice and his eyes narrowed before you were on the floor, hands angled in a lightly painful pin against your back.

“…I have to. You’re not even used to wearing your armor yet. I’m sure your muscles ache beyond belief. I see the way you wince when His Royal Highness isn’t looking.”

A blush of embarrassment at being caught and called out filled your cheeks.

“But I need to get stronger-”

“Then we’ll train. Once you adjust to the weight of the armor and have the basics down. You may swing a sword but there’s no technique- and obviously no defense to be spoken of. And give His Majesty some credit. You know he’s skilled in the way of the sword as well. When it comes time to train you properly he will.”

Yoongi’s eyes softened as his grip loosened.

“…He wouldn’t have asked you to follow in his footsteps of becoming a Dark Knight if he didn’t think you’d get there. You’ve nothing to prove just because-”

A loud squawk interrupted his words.

He suddenly pressed down on you and winced as a Cockatrice attempted to peck down at you both, swatting it away with his spear, even as it managed to get a claw at his cheek.

"Vile beast-!”

He hissed in pain as he sprang to his feet with you quickly following suit as you both began to run, ducking and weaving in an attempt to avoid the angered birds from being awoken.

You both made it back in one piece, you breathless from laughter even as your arms were covered from light scratches and Yoongi eyed you with irritation as you giggled.

“…I’m glad you find risking our lives so amusing.”

He commented dryly but even before you’d established the rapport you now had, you noticed how his lips quirked up and he looked away to hide his own grin at the exhilaration and risk of it all.

“____?”

Hoseok’s familiar voice made you both jump as though you’d been caught smuggling filled croissants from the kitchens and you turned to him with a sheepish, if still adrenaline-filled, grin.

Hoseok took in your light injuries with distaste but huffed and stomped over to the both of you- grumbling under his breath all the while about how his “friends are a bunch of children.” as he began dragging you to his room.

“You’re both lucky those injuries aren’t too bad. I swear the second I learn Cure you think you can go out into the forests in the dead of night!? What were you thinking!?”

He glared at you but you saw the gentle concern just behind the anger and felt guilt settle low in your stomach as he continued to berate you.

“If the King found out he’d put a security detail on you for the next month. And you-! You typically at least somewhat have your head on straight and reel her in when she gets like this. Why didn’t you physically stop her?!”

His voice was a hiss and Yoongi turned sheepish as he muttered a gruff.

“I tried to stop her but she insisted. You know how stubborn she can be. Better I be there to protect her than let her go alone by sneaking out instead of coming to me no?”

His dark, even gaze turned to you even as he continued conversing with Hoseok, his words causing a blush to light up your cheeks.

“You already have my word I wouldn’t abandon her or let anything hurt her. I made that vow to her before we even met you. You really think I’d break it now?“

You remember being surprised at his vehemence. Yoongi typically never fought with Hoseok and agreed with him. You found yourself oddly flustered at the thought that you could be the reason to make him so defensive.

Hoseok had quieted in shock and reluctantly conceded, too surprised to say anything more as he ever so gently ran his fingertips along the wound before applying pressure as his hands covered both your cheek and your upper arm.

His eyes closed and he began mumbling- a prayer incantation you recalled faintly in the back of your mind. His palms began to cool your skin though not painfully. More a comfort than anything until your wounds-or where your wounds used to be more correctly-were tingling instead of the pain you’d grown accustomed to with a numbing sensation.

He turned to Yoongi and did the same and you watched as he shivered. He’d never particularly liked the sensation White Magic caused as it healed his skin.

—–

You shook your head to clear the memory from your thoughts. This was no time for reminiscing.

Of course, back then the brown bird’s viciousness had never been as high as it now was. If anyone attempted what you did now they’d likely be pecked or clawed to death.

The realization made you frown as you walked around the castle. The whispers about how his Majesty had changed were as present as ever and you knew it would only grow worse when you went into the town to gather supplies.

You spotted Yoongi and felt guilt once again squeeze your chest. Sure; you hadn’t forced him to enter by any means but…if you had just kept your mouth shut this never would’ve happened.

"Yoongi…this is all my doing. Forgive me.”

The proud Dragoon frowned, expression unreadable as he turned to face you.

“I already told you there’s nothing to forgive. What’s troubling you? It isn’t like you to act like this.”

Your heart pulsed with pain and you looked away to hide your glassy gaze, however, you couldn’t stop the falter in your voice.

“I did not train in the ways of the dark sword to steal from innocents Yoongi- I did it because his Majesty asked it of me.”

He shook his head with a quick exhale of sympathetic frustration.

“You mustn’t blame yourself for the orders you were given. What’s done is done and I’m sure his Majesty has his reasons. He always does, does he not?”

You shrugged half-heartedly and looked up to meet his eyes with an almost bitter smile.

“Truthfully, I envy you, Yoongi.”

You saw a flash in his eyes and in the next moment, he was hauling you up the stairs to the roof making you stumble after him.

“Yoongi what-!?”

He didn’t respond, instead resolutely marching you up the stone steps until he finally released you once you’d reached your typical training spot just outside the airship maintenance deck.

He situated himself in the same position you’d initially come across him in and finally opened his mouth.

“…So you saw me.”

Your eyes narrowed; already in training mode as you drew your sword.

“I saw the openings you left! How can you expect to lead the Dragoons if you cannot even protect your own flank?!”

He hit your sword with his lance and hissed back with the good-natured spite he only carried when in a good fight.

“My father’s blood is in me! I’ll lead the Dragoons- have no fear of that!!”

You gave a hum of amused approval.

“You’re certainly headstrong enough.”

He drew his lance back into its typical position for a fight, held firmly between his mythril gloved hands.

“No more holding back ____. Fight to win this time!!”

The clang of metal against metal and your battle cries rang out once more until he finally stopped and headed back downstairs.

“What’s the streak now?”

His men chortled and cheered as you sheepishly rubbed your neck.

“…He’s one ahead again.”

You snuck a glance at Yoongi as he took in their enthusiasm with little more than a detached smirk but you and they both knew the fact that he didn’t flinch at their touch as they slung an arm around his shoulder(he leaned into it you noticed- not that he’d ever admit that) said what he’d never verbalize.

He really was a great captain.

You suddenly thought of your own men and their reaction to the news and Yoongi must have noticed it because he instantly walked over.

“…Don’t overthink things. You need your wits about you. Or do you mean to send me off against the Eidolon alone?”

Your eyes widened and you grabbed the hand he’d placed on your shoulder in panic, a loud outburst out of character for you escaping your lips.

“Of course not!”

He gave a dark chuckle as he took your hand and brought it to his soft lips in a rare sign of affection.

“Well then; we leave early on the morrow. Best get some sleep.”

________________________________________________________________

You made your way down the stairs almost as if in a dream as the thoughts of your men’s state filled you with worry. A cry of your name made you slip and you would’ve surely fallen if not for Hoseok rushing to support you around the waist.

“Angel! Be careful…”

He sighed lightly as you both managed to make it to solid, sturdy ground once more.

“Honestly, it’s not like you to be so clumsy.”

His warm, gentle gaze looked down into your own as he softly caressed your cheek with his thumb.

“I’m so glad to see you’re alright. The orders for you to depart to Mysidia came so quickly I’d worried!”

You forced a smile and stepped back- knowing you didn’t truly deserve the affection or the reassurance the intimacy made you feel. You turned to go so he wouldn’t see your face.

“We’re fine. Small wonder considering we assaulted mages who did not fight back.”

You went to continue on your way when he called out to you again.

“___!”

Hoseok smiled kindly when you turned back, a depth beyond his eyes that you knew meant he’d seen through your performance, softened voice only confirming your suspicions further.

“… I’ll visit you in your tower later.”

“Of course.”

You responded without even thinking consciously- so used to the routine that you couldn’t even think of saying anything else.

Hoseok offered you a gentle smile and then retreated back up the stairs from whence he came.

You stifle a sigh, knowing that that conversation wasn’t going to be a fun one.

After a brief walk through the courtyard, you finally stilled at the sight of the two cobblestone towers side by side in front of you.

A steely resolve settled in your gut as you eyed the tavern and infirmary door right next to your own tower where your bed chamber resided.

Just as you made up your mind and went to step forward a shout next to your ear made you let out an uncharacteristic squeal.

“HEY! Back from your trip to Mysidia so soon lassie? You’d better be treating my babies all right y’hear?”

“Eep! Seokjin-”

You let out a frustrated breath of relief as you took your hand off your sword; thankful your reflexes hadn’t made you chop the airship engineer’s head off.

He grinned widely as he stepped back to pout at him, feathers thoroughly ruffled.

“Heh heh, gotcha good hm? You’d think you’d be less easy to catch off guard after all these years what with all that fancy trainin’ you did for the King!”

He snickered as he teased you but there was no genuine malice behind the jabs and his friendly grin quickly morphed into a worried expression at the grimace that must’ve crossed your face before you could think better of it.

“…What happened lass?”

You knew well that if you didn’t speak now he’d simply find out another way or worse; would go vent his concerns to Yoongi or Hoseok.

"His Majesty has deemed me unfit to serve as the Red Wings Captain and has therefore given me another quest to fulfill in an attempt to regain his trust.”

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides as you looked pleadingly into his eyes.

“You must believe me Seokjin. I did not mean to draw his Majesty’s ire. I merely hoped to discover why he longed for the Crystals so!”

The older man shook his head as his brows furrowed with concern initially moving to raise his arm but thinking better of it at the sight of your expression.

“What!? And he means to have you slay the Eidolon instead? But what’ll happen to the Red Wings without you? Honestly, I don’t know what his Royal Highness is thinking. You know he ordered me to build a new airship recently? One with more firepower and maneuverability?”

He huffed, a frown marring his handsome though oil stained face.

“I’m not building these ships for a war! Everyone’s getting more and more restless as of late, unsure about Baron’s future. And at a time like this, they send you away from us to kill some beast.”

He sighed, shaking his head.

“Hoseok was worried sick aboutcha the whole time you were gone. I know I don’t have to worry ‘bout you but still just…be careful, alright? I’d better be heading home too. That daughter of mine is gonna wring my neck if I stay here working another overnight again.”

He rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish chuckle before offering a wave and heading off back the way you came. You risked a glance at the infirmary doors and raised your chin as you steeled your resolve before entering.

Only two of your men were in the beds, but that was still too many for your liking. They’d been there before you left though, having been mauled by a group of goblins on their way back from a supply run. Wedge had thrown himself in front of Biggs when he caught sight of one of the nasty creatures sneaking up on him and had taken a wound. Without Wedge for backup Biggs had hightailed it out of there, cursing his partner all the while. It brought a faint smile to your face behind the cool metal.

Still, seeing them sleeping contentedly without having to accompany you on your blood-stained mission…you were happy two of your best men were spared the effort and pain.

You looked over to the visitor’s table and felt your heart lurch violently at the sight of your men drunk out of their wits in an attempt to cope. You swallowed hard and approached, knowing you deserved to hear their unfiltered thoughts as you idled just outside their line of sight. Their words did indeed hit their mark.

“The Red Wings have fallen far.”

“Never has victory tasted so bitter upon my tongue.”

“We cannot erase the memories of what was done in Mysidia- but we can drown them.”

“Would that I only have had more courage…”

“Did you see how out of it the Lady Captain was? Even she’s starting to have doubts, I’m sure of it.”

At that, you decided to take your leave. They clearly hadn’t gotten the news yet and you didn’t want to be there when they did, even if it was selfish. They’d only worry if you told them of your new mission and you wouldn’t be surprised if some of your more bold men even tried to follow you to provide backup.

A scoffed laugh escaped your lips as you exited the way you came.

You really didn’t deserve them.

A mere 10 feet away was your own tower and you pushed open the heavy wooden door and made your way up the first set of stairs. You noticed the maid descending from your bedchamber and she smiled at your approach.

“I’ve turned your bed, my lady. I heard you depart again on the morrow. Pray, get some rest.”

She curtsied before departing and as you entered your room, you felt not relief but instead, the crushing guilt of your actions hit you hard. You aren’t sure for how long you gazed out at the double moons adorning the night sky but did it even truly matter?

‘Your Majesty…What’s become of you? Where is the noble knight? The man who took me in as an orphan, and raised me as his own? The strong, just king I once knew.’

You turned your face away from the light of the moon, deeming even that too good a beauty for you to gaze upon and instead turned your dead gaze to your black armor.

‘Is a Crystal worth all this? Robbing a peaceful people of what’s theirs by right, what need could be so great? King’s orders or no…there’s no forgiving what we’ve done.’

You closed your eyes at the pain the dark thoughts brought, steeling yourself as the echo of your lover’s ascending footsteps was deafening in silence of the tower.

“_____? Won’t you tell me what happened? First you’re sent off to Mysidia, and now to hunt some beast again so soon?”

He paused for only a moment before continuing.

“Did something happen in Mysidia?”

You barely brought yourself to meet his gaze as he called your name. His tone was carefully controlled to sound gentle but you knew from Seokjin and from how tense he’d been earlier that he’d once again been worried sick. As if you deserved such kindness after all you’d done…

The thought made your eyes drop to your bedsheets.

“…No. It’s nothing.”

After another beat of heavy silence in which he analyzed you he probed once more, taking a step forward that made you all but cringe as you turned your entire body away from him now and towards the Moon’s embrace, the light casting shadows all too familiar to you.

“Then why won’t you look at me?”

Damn him for knowing you so well. Before you knew it was happening words choked from between your lips like acid.

“I, in Mysidia we-”

You cut yourself off to steal a breath of air for a moment.

“We stole a Crystal from people who had done no wrong. I’ve worn this darkened armor for so long now…there’s no mote of light left in me.”

You curled in on yourself, the agony wracking your body and mind too much to bear as you brought the hand leaning on your knee to the area above your breastplate, slamming your eyes shut as it threatened to overwhelm you.

“Not even, in my heart.”

Hoseok struggled, an expression of pain crossing his face that you couldn’t see before he hid it behind a smile.

“You’re a good woman, ______.”

You shook your head, frustrated that he wasn’t grasping what an awful person you were. You didn’t deserve his love, his affection, his praise. How did he not see it?

“I’m a coward. A coward who cannot even defy orders she knows she ought not follow.”

Hoseok’s voice raised as he turned to the side to hide his quickly growing emotions, and you noted his clenched fists when you finally turned to face him in surprise.

“____ of the Red Wings is many things, but she is no coward!”

His voice softened but was no less resolute.

“Not the ____ who I love.”

Your heart clenched at the declaration and it only grew tighter as his head lowered in contemplation and he continued, knowingly.

“The King is sending you to Mist to slay the Eidolon isn’t he?”

He whirled to look at you and your heart fell to pieces at the torment and want to protect in his gaze.

“If anything were to happen to you, I couldn’t…”

His voice choked with emotion and as his gaze once again lowered to the floor you moved to stand. You countered, voice the same gentle tone he greeted you with as you approached.

“Yoongi will be with me. I’ll be fine.”

You placed a comforting hand on the side of his arm, knowing the cold of the metal would bring him comfort that you were still here. That you would come back to him.

“It’s late. You should get some rest.”

After a moment of taking in your presence, he beamed at you.

“Be careful.”

As he turned to depart you could’ve sworn you saw the worried sadness take over his expression before he ran down the stairs again.

He didn’t deserve to cry tears over you…

You turned back to the Moons and felt your mind and heart finally settle as you came to your resolution.

“Thank you Hoseok. But I know what I’ve become.”

Morrows light pierced your eyelids sooner than you would’ve liked but you begrudgingly got up nonetheless. You had an Eidolon to slay, and the thought of merely delivering a ring after yesterday’s bloodbath was a welcome relief.

You rose and went through your morning routine quickly, wrestling your way into your freshly shined armor and placing your sharpened sword in its scabbard. A quick glance in the mirror you were intent not to dwell on and you were off, making your way towards the entrance of the eerily silent castle. Many of the guards were lightly dozing but at the clanking of your armor they swiftly remedied that, much to your amusement. You said nothing, however, and soon the familiar yet slightly different tone of Yoongi’s armor rang in your ears as the sound mingled with your own steps until you were in perfect sync.

You’d also been secretly jealous of his pretty teal armor that he was awarded for being Captain of the Dragoons but you were pretty sure if you told him that he wouldn’t talk to you for at least a week.

The thought made you smirk, but it was quickly wiped away as you met him at the foot of the stairs and he looked deeply into your eyes, all serious business and determination. You played along, your mask still lowered to reveal your expression for once as well as your visor so your eyes were exposed.

“Shall we then, _______?”

You nodded in affirmation not finding the strength to mirror his confident smirk but managing a serious nod nonetheless.

“I’ll be counting on you, my friend.”

His response was instantaneous.

“Then you’ve nothing to fear.”

You raised your mask and lowered your visor at that, and you saw Yoongi’s smirk widen for what you assumed was pride at being the only one to see you so open, and vulnerable without a single worry of judgment as you both made your way out of the gates between the rows of guards who stood on either side of you to watch out of respect for your ranks as you departed.

________________________________________________________________

And so the Dark Knight ____, stripped of her command of the Red Wings, set out for the distant Valley of Mist. Together with Yoongi, he would pursue a faceless quarry- and a chance for redemption. The advent of the airship had marked the realization of mankind’s most ancient dream. But man is a creature seldom sated, and he was quick to dream anew. With the unparalleled might of the Red Wings Baron’s military soon reigned supreme. Why, then, does its King now seek the Crystals? And why have fearsome monsters suddenly begun to overrun the once calm land? If the Crystals know, they share no answers- only their pure and silent light.

A/N: Well it certainly has been a minute hasn’t it guys? I’m so glad to be making my return with this piece! For those that may have played the original game; yes I stuck pretty heavily to the in-game dialogue and all the voiced cutscenes in the DS played out in both word and body language in this first chapter.

Not only was it insanely time consuming to go through the game with a fine toothed comb but I don’t want to plagiarize the game but with BTS caricatures. I want this to be an adaptation and a retelling of sorts, so things may be switched around or not happen at all going forward, and I’ve already added a few little scenes and moments as well.

I would like to keep the cutscenes as best I can for those that will still be included in my story though and to implement the thought bubbles that gave me so much joy while playing through the game(if you switched the character you walked around as you could open the menu and see what they were thinking!) as alternate chapters from others point of view.

These would, of course, be much shorter and merely little drabbles to give their thoughts on things and situations they’ve experienced or are experiencing.

Something I’m very unsure of at the moment of is ships. As you have seen, Reader is already in a committed and very loving relationship with Hoseok, but who knows if that’ll change besides me? <3

Okay I’ll shut up now but it’s so good to be back! More fics are on the way so please do leave your feedback!

I put so much time and energy into this over many months, so I’d love to hear your thoughts, ramblings and general ideas for what’s to come! (FF4 spoilers are welcome in the Discord server where you can see me write live and receive spoilers below but not on the blog since I don’t want to spoil any of the plot I’m planning to include please!)

https://discord.gg/ye45QXb

Love yoooooooou and thank you again for your patience!

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bydragonfireandblood · 5 years

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What happened after The Iron Throne

In my ideal world, we would have never gotten to this point anyway, but that's what the show gave us. So here's what happened afterwards. A lot of these points are inspired by other people's posts, but they all needed to be collected together for the ending Dany deserves, so here goes.

Drogon, following his instincts, takes Dany to Kinvara, where she is resurrected

Dany probably has to sit back and think things over, consider some of her choices—but in the end she decides against going back to Westeros

She goes back to Meereen, where people are overjoyed to see her back

They smile when they see her, just like she'd hoped

She meets Daario again. He's one of the only men who didn't screw her over in the end (also—awesome dyed beard and cocky rogue attitude? He's cooler than people give him credit for). He becomes one of her closest advisors (maybe more, if you don't hate him)

She also reunites with Grey Worm and the remaining Dothraki and Unsullied. Grey Worm remains her trusted Master of War and close military advisor

Yara is thrilled to see Dany alive again in Volantis, and sticks by her side as the commander of the navy

Dany often spends her time not in the palace, but in her house she has built. She paints the doors red, and plants lemon trees

She makes a close alliance with Dorne, as its people are no more fond of Bran's leadership than she is

She continues to overthrow slavers throughout Essos until it can truly be considered a free land

At one point, nobles in Westeros who made a profit from the slavery send a war fleet to deal with this "problem". They're almost annihilated by Yara's ships, and you can imagine their surprise and fear as a great black dragon soars from the sky, with none other than Daenerys Targaryen on his back. They don't dare come back

Dany finds more "stone" dragon eggs and hatches them. She names some of the new hatchlings after her ancestors' dragons, like Sunfyre and Silverwing

Drogon is like a big, kinda-grumpy-sometimes dad to them

Crime is pretty low—Daenerys cares about justice, and besides, who's going to run around hurting people when there's a pretty good chance a dragon will fly down and eat you?

She also puts a huge focus on food and water supply, building aquaducts and plantations so that starvation will never be a problem for her people

Since dragons and magic are back, the people set about rebuilding Valyria as a future capitol

Children play with dragon kites of shining silks

(Oooh, imagine a kite festival with dragon kites! That would be awesome)

Dany wears more blue like she used to, because she looked good in blue, damnit! But also if she has to fight anyone, she has some badass Targaryen-like armor with dragon scale textures and a crown-helmet like a dragon's wings

Her crown is shaped like three dragons' heads, one bejeweled with onyx and rubies, one with emeralds, and one with citrine

There are sometimes plays and puppet shows about Dany freeing the slaves, played with elaborate fabric dragon puppets sewn with jewels or glass beads until they sparkle

"Mhysa" is one of Dany's favorite titles, and she's always cheered to hear her people saying it

She makes it a point to personally hear the requests and complaints of the people

She's an unusual queen—she doesn't seem unreachable to her people, not so far above her that they cannot talk to her and trust her. When she walks the street they can talk with her, and children often run over to spend some time with her. She buys them sweets or small toys from the marketplace as they walk

Her nameday is celebrated by all with feasting and dancing. Sometimes the parties last nearly a week. She didn't want them to make such a huge deal of it at first, but she was assured that it is because they love her. Now she joins in personally and invites everyone to Meereen for a feast

Anyone who wants to flee the oppressive monarchy in Westeros is free to come to Essos. All are welcome, regardless of where they're from

There are two statues in the city square: Missandei and Jorah. Dany actually wrote a poem for each of them (which I can't share because I can't write poetry) and had them engraved on the bases

Dragons are a beloved symbol—think dragon stained glass and mosaics, gardens with dragon topiaries. The Targaryen sigil is the flag

Dany keeps a close council of people on every subject (including Grey Worm, Yara, and Daario) since she cannot know everything about ruling. She trusts their advice and listens to everything they have to say

Dany is probably the most loved ruler that Essos has ever had

#queen daenerys #daenerys stormborn #pro daenerys #daenerys targaryen #got daenerys targaryen #targaryen #meereen #volantis #dany #drogon #it's the ending she deserves after everything d&d put her through

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justallamaimaginingthings · 5 years

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Scars [Jorah Mormont x Reader]

Request: "Okay, so can I ask for a Jorah fic? I don’t care what you write, I haven’t cried during Game of Thrones yet and I’m just now into s5. Maybe something soft, some vulnerability when it comes to his... greyscale? Is that what it’s called?? 😂😂😂" by @morganas-pendragons

A/n: I’ve edited this three times and completely gave up after that. Really hope you like it!! Btw exams are almost over and I couldn’t be happier 💘💘

Words: 2000 || GoT Masterlist

You couldn’t hold back a flinch the moment the washcloth came in contact with your skin. The gaping wound on your shoulder was, however, a small price to be paid against surviving the Battle of Winterfell. The healing room around you was bursting with groans of pain as not everyone stood as lucky as you had been. Scanning the place for what seemed like the hundredth time, you were unable to spot Jorah once again, feeling another wave of fear course through you.

The last time you had seen him was just before the battle began and that had only been for the two of you to get into a tremendous fight. Jorah had insisted on you staying back and despite knowing he simply wanted to protect you, there was no way you’d listen to him. Letting out a sight, you were about to wrap a cloth around your wound and go back to searching for the man that was preoccupying your thoughts when the doors slammed open revealing a very distressed Missandei helping a barely standing Jorah.

Upon seeing the couple entering you hopped off the cot you had been sitting in, knocking almost everything off in the process as you rushed towards them. Allowing Jorah to hold onto you, you helped Missandei carry him to the nearest cot and gently lie him down. A pained groan escaped the man’s lips before he managed to take in his surroundings through half lidded eyes. His look was confused and blurry until it landed on you.

“Tyrion said you’d know what to do” Missandei explained in a panicked tone motioning towards Jorah and the terrible state he was in. He was covered in blood and mud and his armor was damaged to the point where you had trouble getting it off of his body. The moment you did, multiple deep cuts were revealed causing your breath to get caught in your throat in shock.

“Hopefully” you replied taking a deep breath in an attempt to slow down your increasingly frantic heartbeat “Pass me some clean cloths and water” you requested after inspecting the wounds, feeling slightly more optimistic upon realizing neither of them was located close enough to his heart to be life threatening.

“Y/n?” Jorah’s hoarse voice startled you causing you to almost drop the pieces of fabric you were holding.

“Hey. We made it, you’re safe now, we’re all safe” you explained while gently running your hand through his hair in a comforting manner while your other made its way to his cheek. The action seemed to have the desired result as he slightly relaxed into your touch.

“You’re fine…” He rasped as a small smile graces his features, the cuts on his face making even that movement painful.

“Of course I’m fine, you stubborn man. Now I just need you to hold on a little longer” you whispered softly taking his hand on yours “Can you do that for me?” you asked to which he replied with a tiny nod. The motion was enough for you, though as you gave his hand a reassuring squeeze before starting to work on his wounds, attempting to clean away the blood.

Every time the cloth came in contact with the damaged skin, you felt Jorah’s muscles tense and a stifled groan of pain escaped his lips one in a while. You despised nothing more than being the one to cause him even more pain, but it had to be done. At some point he must have passed out from the pain and exhaustion as his eyes shut and a more relaxed expression was apparent on his face.

After almost an hour which to you had seemed like an eternity, each and every cut and bruise in Jorah’s chest and face had been washed and tended to. Taking a moment to observe the rhythmic rising and falling of his chest you finally allowed yourself to feel relieved. Jorah was alive and despite the number of blows he had received, there was no doubt he was going to make it. Taking a deep breath, you pulled a chair next to the bed and sat down, the pulsing ache in your limbs reminding you of your own exhaustion as you fell back on the chair.

“Thank the gods you’re alive, I don’t know what I would do without you” you whispered even though you knew Jorah couldn’t hear any of it, right before falling asleep.

Rays of sunshine were passing through the curtains, hitting both you and Jorah and causing the man to stir in his sleep before finally waking up. The first thing he felt after opening his eyes was a piercing pain running through his entire body as he fell back into the mattress. Any attempts of moving proved to be futile, so Jorah settled for glancing around in order to fully observe his surroundings. Last thing he remembered before passing out was the loud noises of the healing room but now he found himself in a small bedroom.

Turning around his eyes met your sleeping form, curled up in a chair that has been placed near the bed. You were still in your armor and your hair was a mess, both proving you had been too preoccupied by taking care of him to look after yourself. The smile that had begun forming in his lips was instantly erased when he realized that underneath the sheet he was wearing nothing but his trousers which left his scar covered chest completely naked.

The noise of someone swirling around the bed woke you up as well. Eyes fluttering open, you were met by the sight of pure distress being written all over Jorah’s face.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” You asked, currently aware of the hoarseness your morning voice carried being mixed with worry.

“How did I end up here?” Jorah answered your question with one of his own.

“Grey Worm helped me carried you. The room is Jon’s offering” you explained carefully, not wanting to add more to his confused state. There was something more lingering in his eyes, but you were too distracted by the imminent wave of appreciation of the fact that he looked much better than he had the previous night.

“And did you…?” He trailed off motioning towards himself, actively avoiding your glance as if being ashamed of what that would imply. Since he had returned from the Citadell, you hadn’t gotten the chance to actually see the damage greyscale had left on him and he seemed to avoid facing that problem as much as possible.

“I tended to your wounds if that’s what you’re asking” you replied hesitantly, not sure about the reason behind his embarrassment. Jorah's mind was racing with countless thoughts and contradicting emotions. He was unimaginably thankful you had made it out alive and mostly uninjured. At the same time he could feel his heart swelling with affection at the thought of you caring to such extend even though there was also a hint of guilt caused by the trouble he had out you through. However, the most dominant one was fear, at the thought of you having to withstand the painful remark of his greyscale.

“No, Y/n, did you see?” He asked tensely and you could hear the strain of his voice. Since he had returned, you had noticed there had been a change in his behavior, as if he was hiding something that concerned him.

“The only thing I saw what just how deep those cuts run. You’re lucky to be alive. And by the looks of it they need to be bandaged up once more” you stated as a red stain of blood had started forming on the sheet covering Jorah’s chest. Getting up, you picked up a clean piece of fabric making your way towards the bed.

“Let me” Jorah said trying to take the bandages but you refused shaking your head.

“Moving will only risk tearing your stitches” you explained

“I can do it” he insisted and there was a hint of urgency in his tone confusing you even further.

“Yeah so can I. You don’t have to worry, I’m here for you, Jorah” you stated voices getting softer towards the end as you moved to remove the sheet but Jorah grasped your wrist before you could.

“I-I don’t want you to see this” he confessed slowly, bending his head down in shame.

“Jorah, I was the one who placed the stitches there, I’ve seen the wounds”

“I mean the scars. When Samwel Tarly cured me he said they’d never go away. I don’t want you to see them, it’s hideous” he explained pleadingly as despair and bitterness were evident in his voice. In his mind, the sight you'd be faced with was just another reason he felt unworthy of your love and affections. How could such a young and beautiful woman as yourself find it in her heart to care about him? He was damaged both mentally and physically and now that was more evident than ever.

“The only thing I care about is that you are alive. Scars only show what you’ve been through and what you have overcome. If anything, they show just how strong you are” you reassured him, taking his hand in yours and gently squeezing it. The thought of him believing you would be repelled by any part of him hurt you, but you chose not to let it show.

“They are revolting”

“You only see them as such, but do you know what I see? I see a beautiful and strong heart with an equally handsome appearance. Jorah, when I say I love you I mean all of you”

You extended your arm once more, gripping the sheet while you looked into his eyes waiting for a reaction. You hadn’t even realized you were holding your breath as he gave you a hesitant nod of agreement. The moment the sheet was thrown away, Jorah turned away, too afraid to face your reaction. A trembling hand was placed right on top of his heart, slowly trailing upwards to ghost over his collarbone until it reached his cheek prompting him to look at you.

Time seemed to freeze as your eyes met his, giving you the chance to observe the anticipation and the fear of rejection that was hiding in his look. Leaning down, you placed a feathery light kiss right where your hand had been, the rough texture if his skin being the complete opposite of your soft lips. Looking up at him, you repeated the action until every hint of anxiousness had disappeared, replaced by pure awe and a few unshed tears of relief.

“Scars or not, you’re the only one I have and will ever love” you said voice thick with emotion.

For a while neither of you spoke as you were both overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. Jorah’s hand was tangled in your hair while his thumb softly traced over your lips as he leaned his forehead against yours.

“Thank you” he said before pulling you in for a passionate kiss. Channeling all of your love and devotion into it, you tried to chase away his insecurities. Jorah meant the world to you, and that wouldn’t change for all the scars in the world.

“Now let’s take a look at those stitches” you said after the kiss was broken causing the man to smile up at you. Feeling the affection and gentleness in your touch, Jorah knew it was all he needed for his fears to disappear. He still believed you to be too good for him, but actually getting to see just how deep your feelings for him ran, a glimmer of hope lit up as the chance of a brighter future slowly became plausible…

#jorah mormont imagine #jorah mormont x reader #jorah mormont #jorah x reader #jorah imagine #game of thrones #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones x reader #got imagine #got x reader #got season 8 #got

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trinuviel · 6 years

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A Lady’s Armour - Some thoughts on Sansa Stark’s season 8 black dress (part 1)

Game of Thrones is moving towards the endgame and promo season is upon us. That means teaser trailers, photo shoots and posters - and it also means a sneak peak at some of the new costumes. I’m a big fan of Michele Clapton’s work on the show so I’m really excited to see some of the new costumes, especially for the female characters.

Not long ago Sophie Turner revealed that Sansa Stark would get an all-black new costume made of leather - and she characterized it as a kind of armour:

“This is the first time I’ve had armor,” Sophie Turner tells EW. The costume is not Jaime Lannister or Brienne of Tarth-style metal armor, but more like a jet-black ensemble made of thick leather or similar material. (Sophie Turner, Entertainment Weekly)

This quote provoked a lot of discussion among Sansa fans - some loved the idea while others hated it. However, we were all thrilled that to know that she got a new costume because at that point the teaser trailers and the still photos only showed Sansa wearing costumes from season 7.

The costumes in question were the charcoal dress with the feathered bodice and another grey piece with patterned fabric. She also wore her signature Stark furs.

Luckily, the new ForTheThrone posters and the big EW photo spread gave us a look at one of Sansa’s new costumes: a spectacular black dress (with a blue tint?) made up of soft and glossy leather.

It looks to be an intricate piece made up of a staggering amount of tiny leather flaps sew together in an overlapping pattern, which creates a richly textured surface. I’m can’t wait to see it on the screen, in motion, because it promises to be a show-stopping piece.

The question is, of course, whether this dress is the costume that Sophie Turner refers to - but unless she has two jet-black leather costumes, I think it is safe to say that this textured leather dress is the armour costume that Turner refers to. However, it doesn't look armour in a practical sense - it is not a garment that will block a weapon. Rather, it is a protective garment in a more symbolic sense. The leather dress covers the actress from neck to ankle and it incorporates the heavy leather belt that wraps around her torso, which is an element that was designed to convey how Sansa emotionally protects herself after all the abuse she has suffered:

“All the characters’ costumes are a consequence of the journey and lifestyle,” Clapton states, particularly referencing a favorite piece of hers — Sansa’s belt. “This is her taking back control of her body. I designed it to wrap around over her side-laced dress to represent the absolute removal of any possible physical touch. Her dresses are also tightly-laced on, incredibly difficult to remove.” (Michele Clapton, Making Game of Thrones)

“With one of the key pieces this year, I wanted it to look as if she was actually sewn or laced into her dress—like there was no way in. So I designed a belt that comes around the neck, across the chest and around the waist. She’s trying to protect herself from all the awfulness that’s happened. It’s a form of armor. It will be interesting to see how that moves forward.” (Michele Clapton, Elle)

With this new dress we see the same effect. Sansa’s body is tightly bound and completely encased in this second skin of leather - and that certainly plays into the idea that Sansa’s costumes express how she’s building walls to protect herself. However, Sophie Turner also said something interesting about this new dress:

“We the idea of it being very protective and she buttons herself up,” Turner says. “I wanted her to have a bit of armor and be a bit more warrior like. She’s like the warrior of Winterfell.” (Sophie Turner, EW)

So Sansa is still armoured - but it isn’t just about keeping people at arm’s length anymore but also a reflection of the fact that battle against the Army of the Dead is finally here and that she is ready for war. So it is about protection but also a battle dress signalling that Sansa is a leader, a warrior of Winterfell on the symbolic level. She isn’t going to wield a sword but she is involved in organizing the defense, we saw that in season 7.

There’s a stylistic continuity to the new costume in that it has almost the same silhouette as her season 7 costumes. It is the colour and the material that has changed. The only other difference is the absence of the shoulder tabs that characterized Sansa’s dresses in season 7. We don’t know when Sansa will wear this new black leather dress but I think she’ll wear it in the 2nd and/or 3rd episode (when the big battle most likely will take place at Winterfell). I don’t think this dress will incarnate Sansa’s final style at the end of the story.

I my opinion, this is very much a transitional costume. It keeps the general silhouette of her season 7 costumes with the high neck and the hidden side-lacing on the front of the bodice. It also keeps the belt and it looks as though the feathers that adorns the bodice of the season 7 dress has spread entirely over the new black dress. So, no, this is most likely not Sansa’s only new costume nor the final one she’ll wear on the show.

A MATTER OF TEXTURE

As the photos show, Sansa’s new black gown is heavily textured - an effect that is created by what looks to a multitude of tiny leather flaps sewn together to create a kind of scaly appearance. This texture is really what draws the eye, mainly because it covers the entire dress but also because the material is very different from the more muted and discrete textures of Sansa’s season 7 costumes (@lostlittlesatellites has written a great essay on the subject of the textures in the season 7 costumes).

The question is: Is this visually extravagant texture just an aesthetic feature or does it have symbolic meaning? The answer is: Yes! Michele Clapton has always approached costume design in terms of narrative where patterns, colours and embroidery all tell a story about the characters. However, in regard to season 7 she really emphasized how the costumes are saturated with meaning:

We try to be really symbolic about everything everyone wears now.” (Michele Clapton, Insider)

So when every detail is has meaning, when the elements of a costume are symbolic, what does the scaly texture of Sansa’s black leather dress signify? There are several options, which I’ll consider in the following section.

Dragonglass?

I’ve seen several people mention dragonglass (obsidian) in relation to this dress, probably due to the bluish iridescence we can see in the photos and because the dress has been described as armour and obsidian is a hard substance that can protect people against the White Walkers.

There is a certain resemblance when we put a photo of the dress and a piece of chipped obsidian side by side - and there certainly is a similarity between the blue tint of this dress and the way dragonglass looks in the cold North (where the scenes are often filmed with a blue tint).

The dress appears blue-black and very shiny in the photos but we have to take into account that the lighting for a photo shoot is much stronger than the lighting on the show and we also have to remember that the photos have been through a photo editing program, which may have enhanced the bluish shine. It is possible that the leather isn’t jet-black like Sophie said but has a bluish tint and it is possible that it has been treated in a way that makes it reflect light more than usual. It is hard to tell what is Photoshop, what is an effect of the lighting and what is the dress itself with the pictures we have - even when we zoom in on a photo taken in daylight.

However, jet-black is a glossy black colour - and if the leather is shiny and glossy as all the photos strongly suggest, then reflected light will show up as dark blue.

Initially, I wasn’t really sold on the idea that that this dress could evoke dragonglass but in a private discussion @lostlittlesatellites presented some interesting arguments, such as the visual similarities between the dragonglass in Gendry’s smithy (seen in the trailer) and the photos of Sansa’s dress. She also suggested that a dragonglass reference could work as an image of strength but also as another type of “glass” as a foil to the brittle glass pieces that adorns Cersei’s season 7 costumes (x).

“I mean with Cersei I wanted to show this brittleness to her. So I started adding these jagged edges and points to what she was wearing. I’m trying to give clues to their situation, to subtly show when the characters are feeling strong, when they are feeling weak.” (Michele Clapton, The Independent)

Sansa and Cersei have a complicated relationship and that has manifested in the costumes as well (x). Narratively, they are foils to each other so if Cersei’s excessive adornment signals a brittle strength, then Sansa’s unadorned but textured gown externalizes an inner strength that has evolved over the course of her story. This is, after all, power dressing taken to the ninth degree.

I’m still not quite sold on the dragonglass argument since the stylistic elements of the dress echo elements that have previously been associated with Sansa - feathers from her time in the Eyrie and fish scales as a nod to her Tully heritage through her mother. I’ve mentioned that I think this is a transitional dress and as such it builds on the stylistic and symbolic approach that Clapton took with Sansa’s costumes in season 7 where they visually express all of the things that has happened to her - the abuse and the lessons:

“...she’s bringing all that she’s been through to her costume.” (Michele Clapton, The Insider)

I was trying to grasp all that has happened to Sansa, all the hurt and abuse and frustration, and trying to understand how she would express this yet appear strong. She adapts all she has learnt to her look.” (Michele Clapton, The HuffPost)

The fact that it is a kind of armour or battle dress also represents a further hardening due to the seriousness of the circumstances that Clapton spoke about in the previous season:

“There’s war coming. Everything’s quite muted and quite bleak. I think it’s important for the four women left to have a very strong—it’s not masculine, there’s still a femininity to it—but there’s a sort of hardening. Each one of them has been through such a journey, so I tried to reflect that in their costumes.” (Michele Clapton, Harper’s Bazaar)

The dragonglass theory certainly fits with this notion of a hardening in the face of war. Still, it is a theory I’m not completely sold but it did make me recall this wonderful Magician’s Cloak that Sandy Powell created for Prospera in Julie Taymor’s adaptation of William Shakespeare’s The Tempest.

This magnificent costume was created from 3.000 pieces of plastic painted and cut to resemble glass-like volcanic rock (x) - a sort of combination of obsidian and the basalt rock that is created from cooling lava flows. It is an amazing piece and I just wanted to share it with my dear readers.

Dragon Scales?

Other people have suggested that Sansa’s costume resembles dragon scales - and there is a certain resemblance when we compare the dress to the scales of the dragons in the show.

However, this issue of dragon scales regarding Sansa’s new costume really ought to be discussed in relation to previous costumes that features elements meant to evoke dragon scales, not the dragons themselves - as they belong to a coherent body of work created by costumier Michele Clapton and embroiderer Michele Carragher.

The only person that wears dragon scales on her costumes is Daenerys Targaryen, which makes perfect sense since she’s the descendant of the dragon lords of Old Valyria and because she has three living dragons from which she derives her power and her mystique. As we can see from the photos above, Michele Clapton and the embroiderer Michele Carragher have used various techniques over the seasons to evoke dragon scales on Dany’s clothing - from pleating and other fabric manipulation to beading with square Tila beads made of glass as well as pointy metallic sequins.

Stylistically, you could make an argument that Sansa’s black leather scales resemble the soft white cloth scales on Dany’s white queenly dress from season 5. However, in terms of narrative it makes no sense whatsoever for Sansa to suddenly cover herself in dragon scales just because Daenerys enters her narrative.

In her quest to fit in, Sansa has always been very influenced by other people and her costumes mirror her journey towards finding out who she is as Clapton explains:

“Initially we see her try to emulate Cersei in her costumes, and then when that starts going wrong she sort of stalls and her colors start drifting back towards blue. But they’re not quite blue, they’re mauve. Wherever she goes, she’s sort of pulled in each direction. Finally we see her as Dark Sansa, when she very dramatically changes her appearance and darkens her hair, and has a very dark costume.” … " Now we see her back at Winterfell — I think, slowly, she’s becoming slightly more her own woman rather than always being influenced by those around her. She’s finally finding herself, and it’s really interesting to explore that in Season 7, and it’s exciting.“ (Michele Clapton, BuzzFeed)

Season 8 is the time for Sansa to finally have found herself - to know herself and what she wants, which is going to be expressed in her costumes and her hair styles:

For so long, Sansa’s hair changed season by season depending on who was influencing her. The first few episodes she was a Northerner in Winterfell and took after her mother with a simple braid down the back. Then when she went to King’s Landing it was a big, decadent halo that was very much like what the Queen wore. With Littlefinger, she dyes her hair black and wears all black. Then she goes back to Winterfell and returns to her mother’s hair. She created her own identity in season 7 and that kind of runs through to season 8. She’s chosen how she wants her hair to be, and she’s finally the leader and influencer instead of being influenced by everyone else. (Sophie Turner, InStyle)

This quote is about Sansa’s hair style but it will certainly also apply to her costumes because Clapton creates her designs to visually express the character’s narrative journeys. And Sophie Turner has hinted that in this final season, Sansa has indeed come to know herself:

The past few seasons for her and the whole series for her, she’s kind of been somewhat lost as a matter of where she wants to be, who she wants to be, who she wants to surround herself with, and this season she is very very self-assured. She knows what she wants. She knows what she stands for. She knows who she wants to be around, and she faces threats to that this season. (Sophie Turner, Vulture)

So, no - Sansa Stark’s scaly new battle dress doesn’t represent dragon scales because it makes absolutely no narrative sense for her to suddenly adopt a Targaryen style. Her narrative arc has been a long journey back towards her roots but also a journey of self-discovery, a tempering of character by way of much hardship.

Fish or Fowl?

If the leather scales on this costume evoke neither dragonglass nor dragon scales, what do they refer to? As seen below, the texture of the dress looks very similar to both raven feather and fish scales.

Sansa has worn feathers before and she has had a lot of winged imagery - in the form of dragonflies, moths, and raven feathers in her costuming whilst she has been called “Little Dove” by Cersei and “Little Bird” by the Hound in the dialogue of the show. Narratively, there’s a precedent for her new dress to evoke feathers and the individual flaps looks to have textured surfaces in a manner that looks a bit feathery. The iridescence in the photos also reminds one of raven feathers but it is hard to tell whether this blue sheen is an effect of lighting and Photoshop or whether it comes from some kind of surface treatment of the material or whether the leather is more of a midnight blue than jet-black. It is very hard to tell.

THE TULLY CONNECTION

Despite the bird imagery in Sansa’s narrative arc and the use of feathers in her previous costumes, I don’t think that we should dismiss the possibility that the texture on her new dress is meant to evoke fish scales. After all, her mother was born a Tully of Riverrun. The sigil of House Tully is a trout and in the show their armour is made of textured leather flaps assembled to evoke fish scales!

If we take a closer look at the armour that Edmure and Brynden Tully wear, you can see that it is made of layered flaps of stiff leather - and that each flap is been embossed to create a pattern of raised bumps, giving the whole ensemble an extra layer of texture. The similarities of both pattern and material between Sansa’s dress and the Tully armour makes a compelling argument that this battle dress is a female variation on the traditional armour of her mother’s House.

So why would Sansa, who as Lady of Winterfell is the head of House Stark, wear something that looks like Tully armour? As said, Sansa’s mother Catelyn was born a Tully of Riverrun and since the end of season 2, Sansa has included elements of her mother’s style and symbols of her mother’s heritage in her clothing and her hair style.

From the end of season 2 to the end of season 4, Sansa wears her dresses and her hair in the style of her mother (x). Sansa styling herself as her mother in King’s Landing is way for her to signal her distance from Cersei’s toxic wisdom. Sansa doesn’t want to look like the woman who not only turns the blind eye to Joffrey’s abuse of her but who herself delights in tormenting the girl emotionally. Whereas Sansa started to emulate Cersei’s style before she knew any better, she now models herself on her mother (”I must be as strong as my lady mother” - AGoT, Sansa V).

In season 5, Sansa returns to Winterfell, sold into a marriage with her family’s enemy. After a brief and drastic change of style (”DarkSansa”), she reverts to her mother’s style again - the dresses are of the same cut and she dons a double embroidered collar such as Catelyn wore. At this point her mother (and most of her family are either dead or missing) and therefore Sansa does homage to her lost family by incorporating elements associated with them in her white wedding dress:

"It’s Sansa trying to respect everyone that’s been before her. She finally feels like she can make Winterfell a family home again. So I wanted to incorporate pieces that represented her family." (Michele Clapton, Fashionista)

She pays a special homage to her late mother by wearing a set of silver clasps in the shape of the Tully trout. Her mother had worn similar clasps but in season 2 the observant viewer can see that she left a few behind at Winterfell.

In season 6, Sansa once more turns to the style of her mother in order to reclaim her identity as a Stark after all the abuse she has endured. Thus, when she travels the North with Jon to raise troops in order to retake Winterfell, she is styled in a way that visually echoes Catelyn Stark’s style.

Sansa’s dress of teal velvet is the same colour of one of the dresses that Catelyn wore in season 1 and she wears a silver and black fur cape over her cloak, just like her mother.

"She has these amazing green dresses. She's vibrant again. She has the Stark embroidery and her furs are much like her mother's." (Sophie Turner, USAToday)

Even the large direwolf embroidered on the bodice of her gown, proclaiming her identity as a Stark, contains subtle nods to her mother’s heritage.

“The direwolf is the Stark sigil, but Carragher’s design also refers to Sansa’s mother, a Tully of Riverrun. The tufts of the wolf’s fur fall in a scale-like pattern that is outlined in silver thread, evoking House Tully’s fish sigil; its neck terminates in a mass of dark-gray mother-of-pearl beads. “We always try to use shells and pearls within her embroidery, because it references the water,” Carragher said. Minute, reflective cut-steel beads, used to make purses in the early twentieth century, pick out the wolf’s glinting teeth.” - (Michele Carragher, New Yorker)

The embroiderer Michele Carragher emphasizes that she makes a point of using materials associated with water in the embroidered pieces for Sansa, like the freshwater pearls and shells in this piece. Another very interesting feature is the way that the stylized fur of the wolf morphs into a more scaly pattern where the iridescence of the mother of pearl beads clearly evoke fish scales. So while feathers have been more prominent in Sansa’s costuming so far, the fish scales have been used as well - but in a much more subtle manner!

Sansa’s wardrobe takes a more plain and practical turn in season 7 with a new silhouette and colour palette. Her gowns are grey, in more rough-spun and heavy fabrics - and she no longer embellishes her dresses with beaded embroidery. Winter and war is here - and there’s no room for frivolity. However, that doesn’t mean that there aren’t a subtle nod to her Tully heritage - now it is just expressed through the textures of her clothes.

”Within each of their costumes, there are influences. […] Sansa’s are part father, part mother. It’s her father’s silhouette with the fur, her mother’s within. The textures are very much from her mother.” - (Michele Clapton, Elle)

Or rather one specific dress where Clapton used a heavy and slightly shiny fabric because the pattern reminded her of fish swimming:

Q: Is Sansa’s fabric one of the furnishing fabrics?

MC: I think it is – it might be the reverse side. I thought it looked like fishes swimming. I think we worked into it a bit – it’s beautiful. (Michele Clapton, FIDM Museum)

And there’s an element in the dress of her mother, the pattern is almost like fishes swimming. (Michele Clapton, UpRoxx)

Ever since her death, Catelyn’s character seems to have been forgotten by her children - at least they don’t speak about her, which really stood out in season 7 where Sansa and Arya spoke about their father but never mentioned their mother. However, throughout the seasons Michele Clapton has ensured that Catelyn Stark has remained an unspoken presence with her eldest daughter - a presence expressed through the way that Sansa styles herself.

Until now, the Tully connection in Sansa’s costumes has always been a very personal one - referencing her mother Catelyn. She has worn colours, silhouettes and jewellery in her mother’s style and her some textures, patterns and embroidery has had subtle references to the Tully sigil. However, while Sansa’s new leather dress looks like a female version of the traditional Tully armour, it is not a style that has ever been associated with Catelyn’s personal look! So while this dress can be interpreted as an homage to her murdered mother (x), its symbolism encompass more than the memory of a beloved parent.

A Tully armour dress is also a political statement!

Sansa is, according to Clapton, a person who “tends to express herself visually” (x) and on Game of Thrones fashion choices are always meaningful:

Everything – even a fashion choice – has meaning on “Game of Thrones.” In this cutthroat world where men fight for the Iron Throne and the women yield a different kind of power, a choice of fabric or a different cut of cloth can be a political statement, costume designer Michele Clapton told TODAY.com. (Michele Clapton, Today)

Though the style of this costume may invoke several different meanings, I am of the opinion it is first and foremost a nod to the heraldic sigil of House Tully because the stylistic similarities between Sansa’s dress and the Tully armour are so strong. This raises some very interesting possibilities in terms of what may happen in the story - because we have to ask ourselves: Why would Lady Stark wear a garment that invokes the sigil of House Tully?

At this point in the story, Sansa has accrued quite a bit of political influence. The Northern lords have become rather impressed with her during her tenure as Jon’s regent, she also has the allegiance of the Knights of the Vale through Lord Royce. That is two major regions that she has in her pocket so to speak. However, her mother’s heritage may also become politically important - after all, her uncle is Lord of Riverrun. House Tully hasn’t had much of a presence in the story after the Red Wedding and we last saw Edmure Tully in season 6 where he yielded Riverrun to Jaime Lannister. Will House Tully have a role to play in this final season of Game of Thrones? It seems so because Tobias Menzies has been confirmed to appear in the first episode of the last season, along with the actor who plays the Robert Arryn, the young Lord of the Vale (x). Thus, two political figures with personal ties to Sansa is set to enter the political arena - and it is very likely that Sansa’s impressive fish scale battle dress is related to this.

To be continued...

#game of thrones #sansa stark #costume design #michele clapton #michele carragher

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