#original character: myr

[reagan-the-saunders]

Myr Velarith, Arcanist

[drymushroomfics]

Fraye Hill of House Lannister

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Chapter Thirty

Fraye can't believe Sandor isn't putting up more of an arguement. He agreed so quickly to fight Beric. She almost hates him for it.

The large fire pit in the middle of the cave shines bright. It's  warm enough to make her injured skin tingle.

She watches Thoros stare into the fire.

"Lord, cast your light upon us.", he says.

"Lord of Light, defend us.", all the Brotherhood say in unison.

Fraye's heartbeat quickens as Anguy unties Sandor.

She watches him roll his shoulders and straighten out his armor.

"Show us the truth. Strick this man down if he is guilty. Give strength to his sword if he is true. Lord of Light, give us wisdom. For the night is dark and full of terrors.", Thoros preaches.

"For the night is dark and full of terrors.", the Brotherhood repeats.

Someone hands Fraye a sword and she walks up to him, handing it to him.

"Please. I'd appreciate it if you lived.", she tells him.

He takes the sword.

"Just stay back and don't interfere. You aren't ready to fight yet... I don't go down easily so don't worry your pretty head.", he tells her, leaning down to kiss her forehead and give her a small glimpse of the Sandor she's used to.

She nods, forcing herself to move away from him.

Fraye gasps when Beric's sword ignites into a wild blaze of fire. Fear runs through her. She looks at Sandor and sees fear. She's never seen this kind of fear in him before.

Someone hands Sandor a shield and he twirls the sword around his hand, readying himself.

They both suddenly charge at each other. Sandor lunging for him but Beric dodges it. Everything moves so fast for Fraye's eyes as their swords clink together.

Fraye watches people scurry out of the way as their swords barrel through the air, knocking down everything in their paths.

Sandor knocks Beric in the shoulder, almost causing him to lose balance. He regains it quickly, twirling his torched sword through the air and stricking Sandor's sword without missing a beat.

Irritation runs through Sandor as Beric is able to handle every blow so far. Anger takes over and Sandor lunges his sword once more, missing as Beric ducks under. Fraye watches as Sandor tries again, only landing a blow to his opponent's wooden shield.

Fraye thinks of running toward Sandor when she sees Beric knock him into a lit fire.

Sparks fly and Sandor yells.

"No!", Fraye yells moving to run after him.

She's grabbed by two men, forcing her to stay put.

"Please! You can't let him burn!", she pleads with them.

"I'm sorry M'lady but his life is in the hands of the Lord. We can't interfere.", one says to her.

Sandor angrily emergers unharmed and kicks away the vases on the dirt floor that lay in his way. Beric and Sandor clink swords once more and Beric twists around, knocking Sandor to his knees.

He's quick to recover, turning around and blocking Beric's sword.

Back on his feet, Sandor barrels his way toward Beric, throwing blow after blow at him. Beric doesn't seem phased and returns the attack, throwing equal blows and knocking Sandor to his back.

Fraye holders her breath as Beric lands a hard blow to Sandor's shield, lighting it a blaze.

Sandor shoots up off the ground, trying to fight off Beric.

Fraye can see the anguish in his eyes as he tries to put out the fire. Slashing at it with his sword is no use and rage takes hold of him.

Fraye tries to fight the men holding her. Pleading with them to let go.

They refuse, holding her so tightly they dig into her wounds.

He fights Beric with all his might.

Everyone around Fraye starts to chant, "Guilty! Guilty! Guilt!"

She even hears Arya screaming, "Kill him!".

It makes Fraye's ears ring. She can feel herself start to breathe heavier and her whole body starts to shake.

The only sound bringing her back down is Sandor's battle cry.

•○•◇•○•♡•○•◇•○•

Sandor breathes heavily as he pulls his sword from Beric's shoulder. He falls to the ground, remembering the heat surrounding his arm.

He can feel panic set in. He hits at the ground hard, doing anything he can to exstinguish the flame. Childhood memories flash through his head of his brother. His whole body shakes with fear.

He doesn't even realize Fraye is next to him until she's got the shield off of him. He looks up at her and sees worry in her eyes. Seeing her face, grounds him.

He remembers where they are and turns his head just in time to see Arya Stark running at him. Her friend tackles her to the ground and Sandor finds himself laughing at the twisted fate. He killed Beric and the girl didn't manage any revenge.

He thinks their god is nothing but horse shit.

"Looks like their god likes me more than your butcher's boy.", Sandor laughs, taking in more deep breaths.

He leans his head back and feels Fraye again.

He closes his eyes for a small moment as Fraye cups his face in her soft hands.

"Are you alright?", she asks him.

He opens his eyes and looks at her. She is frantically searching his body for wounds.

He nods, turning on his side and spitting a bit of blood from his mouth.

She leans down and kisses his forehead, her touch calming Sandor's racing heart.

The "Burn in hell!", Arya yells at Sandor fading in the background.

The feeling of Fraye's touch and love is more holy than any God to Sandor.

Their focused is pulled from each other as they hear Beric speak.

"He will. But not today."

Confusion runs through both of their heads when they see him alive as if Sandor didn't just put his sword clean through him.

[tryanmybest]

writing is insane actually bc today i replaced a falling in love montage with my main character confronting all of his trauma because things were going too well

[twiliastral]

birthday gift for keilincy with our beloved ocs 🥺

[im-just-a-dumb-gay]

Dug through the art tub and found all my old stuff for Sage's story. Definitely want to change up some stuff and bring back concepts I originally scrapped from the dream that started this story lol.

Here some of the old art I found lol.

Sage's species. Pretty much rocks held together by magic lol. The rock part of their bodies can shift hence why Sage looks humanoid. More segments equals lived longer.

J.J. Pretty much the troublemaker gremlin of the group lol. She an enhanced human with powerful cyborg arm. Don't underestimate her, that's how she gets you.

Sage herself

Datí, used to know Sage. May change his name. We'll see lol

There is also Nóme (might change spelling to Nomai or Nomei) who is supposed to be nameless/faceless so all old art was either them shape-shifting or a cloak lol. There was also Myr-ze who was meant to be a brother to Nomei but I'm changing him to be a brother figure to J.J. instead and they already travel together before meeting up with Sage and Nomei/Nomay/idk lol. Also probably gonna change Myr-ze's name lol.

[o-moonlightgardens-o]

An older piece of Llewel and Myr’s mom from The Twins of Masylm.

[cherryheairt]

Hi :)

I’ve had this headcanon for a while where thranduil, upon falling in love again, makes it quite obvious he feels strongly about reader but won’t push physical limits of affection quite yet. Due to him having been married before he wants to be sure the Gods approve of him falling in love/marrying again as to not cause ill intend to fall upon reader because of him not being in control of his carnal desires. Reader is oblivious to this and pushes/teases him relentlessly.

Might end in smut upon him knowing reader is safe and he may pursue them fully or just him saying fuck it I see no god but me down here lol

Or just might end in him teasing back big time n leaving reader high and dry (but maybe with an explanation lol we love some open communication ✨)

Thank you! And feel free to mix it up and or change ending I’d just love to see a take on this 🙂‍↕️

hello! I'm so sorry that its been forever since you submitted this. thranduil is a character that we only ever got to see in super serious king mode, and had little screentime at that so I wanted to think through his personality a lot. might be ooc

I personally don't know how to write smut, so I didn't include it. I hope that's okay.

The character will be named Myria (meer-rhea), but have no skin color, body shape, hair color, etc description. She is eleven though, if that matters.

👑

The Gods had long since forsaken Thranduil. After he lost his wife, Legolas' mother, the world seemed to darken along with his own attitude. He changed, and everyone in Middle Earth knew it. Legolas never grew up to know the kind and magnanimous person his father was before his late wife's death.

To him, and the world, Thranduil was a stoic and unforgiving King.

To all, perhaps, except Myria. Myria had been born not too long after Thranduil—in Rivendell. Though the two never met until well into adulthood, Myria liked to say that they hit it off well. Thranduil would never admit the same out loud.

Myria moved from Rivendell to Mirkwood for her studies, thanks to her friend Elrond's advisory, and had since lived there for thousands of years. Youthful as ever, Myria made it her unofficial duty to occupy the King of Murkwood's free time.

She had even befriended his only son, Legolas, despite their age gap. The young elf was approaching 3000 years old soon, and he swore that he was more mature than the she-elf that graced their halls.

Myria didn't mind the head shakes or comments from royal advisors, telling her to mind herself around their King. Thranduil had long grown used to it, anyway.

Myria made her way to his royal chambers, uncaring about her unpropriety with visiting without being called upon. This was their daily routine. Thranduil had his meetings before breakfast, then went back to his chambers to dine alone. Or, he would, if Myria wasn't always waiting right there at his table for him.

"What is for breakfast today, My King?" Myria asked jovially, perched upon one of his carved wooden chairs. Originally, there had only been one for himself, but he ordered a matching one to me made after the woman's incessant visits. Before there was a seat, she simply stood at the table. The thought bothered him, a tinging in the back of his mind telling him that she must be on the same level as him, at all times.

Thranduil's long flowing sleeves and cloaks followed behind him as he entered the room. "You ask this every day, Myr. And what is my answer every day?" He asks, though there is no bite to his words.

"That you 'do not know'. Quite amusing, the all-knowing King not knowing something so simple." She mused, scrunching her nose up at his tall frame.

He fought an amused eye roll, sitting in front of her. He poured himself a chalice of sweet red wine, sipping on it as he replied. "Simple, or trivial? I do not concern myself with such affairs, the food is brought to me and I eat it."

"Careful, Thranduil. That may one day get you poisoned." She mirrored his movements, having waited for him to start drinking.

"By whom? Yourself?" He chuckled darkly, amused at the prospect of such a thing. Mirkwood elves' loyalties ran deep, the chances of him dying suddenly from a cold where higher than dying of poison. "You are the only outsider residing here."

Myria 'hmphed' vehemently, lifting her nose at the accusation. "I hardly can be called an outsider these days. How long have I lived here? Four...five thousand years?"

"Five thousand, two hundred and thirty." He answered for her.

Shocked, she stared at him, mouth agape. "You know the exact year?"

"How could I not? That is the year when my life started to get ten times harder."

She snorted, shaking her head. "I disagree. I think it only got better."

Two servants entered the chambers, one plate in hand each. Platters were lifted to reveal the neatly presented food, a light breakfast of fruit and toasted bread.

Myria and Thranduil dug into it, a pleasent chatter filling the room. "What are your plans for today?" She asked him.

"Same as usual, final preparations for the Feast of Starlight. Though, there is a task I wanted to assign you–" Thranduil was interrupted by a guard rushing into the room. He lifted an unimpressed brow, staring the guard down for his brash action.

"Your majesty, a party of rogue Dwarves have been apprehended in the Mirkwood forest!" To this, Thranduil immediately stood and strided past the guard out of the chambers. Myria, struck by the news, eagerly followed in suite.

"You are not supposed to sit in on prisoners being interrogated, Myria." Thranduil told her sternly, knowing the sound of her light steps trailed behind his own heavy ones.

"When has that stopped me before?" She laughed. It had been a nearly a hundred years since she'd seen a dwarf, and much longer than that since one had been in the depths of the Elvenking's Halls. She was excited to see what brave adventurers had come, and survived the dark forest's curse.

Thranduil seated himself at the head of his lifted throne, elegant giant antlers rooting themselves out from behind the throne like a crown. The one perched on his head mirrored that, thick branches striking in contrast to his pure white hair. Myria took a moment to admire him from her spot at the base of the stairs. The guard next to her didn't even blink at her intrusion, knowing the relationship between the ward and the King was a complex one that even the elders didn't bother to deduce.

Myria stayed silent during the precedings, not moving an inch except to lean her head forward and inspect the Dwarves. The party was quite large, a whole gaggle of Dwarves were bravely setting off to reclaim Erebor's keep and defeat the dragon nested under it. The leader, Thorin, was quite handsome for a Dwarf, not that Myria would say so aloud. For all her teasings, that would surely be the tip of the iceburg for Thranduil's patience.

As the majority of the Dwarves were escorted to the dungeons, only Thorin was left in Thranduil's audience. She listened as Thranduil made his offer, then got rejected harshly by the Dwarven King. Screamed at, being told off by a life form deemed lesser than an Elf, Thranduil had enough. He sent the man away with a flick of his wrist.

As he slowly desended the steps after the dwarf 'king' was escorted away, Thranduil placed a hand on Myrias shoulder.

The cold rings on his hand raised goosebumps on the back of her neck and arms, shivering at the feeling. She cursed herself for wearing an off-shoulder dress, dressing herself for the nice weather that morning. If he noticed, Thranduil didn't say anything. But the tiny lift to the corners of his mouth said plenty. "Do not fraternize with the filth that dirties our halls."

Our halls. The brief words pleasently rung in the back of Myria's mind. She nodded. He knew her well, guessing that she would try to sneak into the dungeons during the feast to try to speak with the curious Dwarves.

He moved his hand down, resting it gently on the small of her back. "Let us go, the feast will not oversee itself."

👑

Myria and Thranduil lounged in his chambers, simply biding time until the Feast of Starlight had begun. Admist muted chuckles and jests, mostly from Myria, Tauriel entered the room. "You called for me, My King?" She bowed shortly. "I have come to report to you." Tauriel glanced briefly towards Myria, nodding when she lifted a goblet towards her silvan friend.

"I thought I ordered that nest to be destroyed." Thranduil said, voice taut with frustration. The spiders had been plaguing their forest for years now, unrelenting.

"We cleared the forest as ordered, my Lord." The woman insisted. "But more spiders keep coming from nests in the South. If we could kill them at their source–"

"That fortress lies beyond our borders. Your orders are to keep our lands clear of those foul creatures. That is your task."

"And when we drive them off, what then? Will they not spread to other lands?" Ever the bleeding heart, Tauriel worried for other people.

"Other lands are not my concern." Thranduil said coldly. "The fortunes of this land will rise and fall. But here in this kingdom, we will endure." As had been the way for thousands of years. Thranduil insisted that Mirkwood keep to themselves, not needing or offering help from any others.

Tauriel nodded stiffly, excusing herself from the King's presence. Before she left, however, he spoke again. "Legolas said you fought well today. He has grown...fond of you."

She paused, thinking his words over carefully. "I assure you my Lord, Legolas thinks of me as no more than captain of the guard.

"Perhaps he did once. Now, I'm not so sure." Thranduil pushed.

"I did not think that you would allow your son to pledge himself toward a lowly silvan elf." She responded, voice slightly hopeful.

Myria leaned forward, too, curious of his answer. Would he allow his heir to love an elf with no royale blood?

"You are right, I would not." Thranduil chuckled humorlessly at the thought of it. Myria bit her tongue, hurt by the comment indirectly. She was no common-born Elf, sure, but had no royal blood to speak of either. She deflated in her seat, drinking down the rest of her wine. "Do not give him hope where there is none."

Is that what Thranduil had been doing for Myria, merely giving her hope? Slivers of special attention, with no intentions of truly loving her. She stood from her seat, leaving the chambers without a word.

Tauriel, too, left quickly after that.

Thranduil stood alone in his chambers, looking at the spot where Myria had once been.

👑

The feast came and passed quickly, Myria in no mood to sing or dance like she usual did at such events. She attended for the sake of politeness, leaving when she had greeted enough people for the night.

She spend the rest of it wallowing in her chambers.

Word got out that the entire party of Dwarves escaped, and Myria silently applauded them for their boldness. She hoped, for their sake, that they were successful in freeing their home.

Days passed, and news of Smaug's death had spread to every corner of Middle Earth. Thranduil was quick to organize his army to march toward Erebor, wasting no time to retrieve his precious gems. Myria had come along on her own white elk mount, following behind Thranduil silently, if only to satiate her curiosity. Last time they had come, Thranduil had rejected the Dwarves' desperate plea for help. This time, he came to declare war if they refused to return his gems.

The damned gems. Always on his mind. True, they were a physical reminder of his late wife and Queen. But it seemed as though he dwelled on them more than he cherished her memory. He did not speak of her, ever. Even to his own son, his wife was but a ghost haunting the halls.

Myria couldn't begin to understand the loss of a spouse, but she did understand that he was too caught up in himself.

Even though she had little intention of fighting the Dwarves, Myria still brought a dagger and bow on the march. Could never be too careful, Thranduil always reminded her. She guided her elk to stand behind his, watching him greet the human leader stiffly. It was almost laughable how mad his manners were, his kingly presence deemed to good for polite small talk.

Myria had been given a temporary quarter near Thranduil's, their tents close as they usually were. He had been too busy to notice her absence lately, both to her joy and displeasure. She missed his daily warmth around her, but knew it was best to distance himself from him. Just this last journey, then she sould go back to Rivendell to live out the rest of her long and lonesome life.

Thranduil plotted with the human leader, Bard, and a wizard by the name of Gandalf. Myria wandered the decrepit town while they did, having no place in war council, nor did she wish to.

By the time she had returned, night had fallen and all the humans of the town were asleep. Myria ducked into her tent, desperate for some solid rest before a potential battle on the morrow. She was surprised to see Thranduil sitting awkwardyl on her cot.

"Thranduil? What are you doing here, you should be resting." Myria insisted, brow furrowed.He stood at her entrance, possibly being left waiting for quite a while.

"I wished to see you before we go to Erebor's gates in the morning. I suspect that the Dwarf will have something up his tiny sleeve. I know you are a capable fighter, but I want you to stay in town tomorrow just in case."

She protested sharply, "I am just as much a fighter as any elf in your army. I will not sit around and wait for you to return–"

"Please, Myria." He rested both of his hands on her shoulders, looking down at her with his deep blue eyes "I could not focus if I knew you were behind me somewhere. If I know you are safe, I can retrieve the jewels easier." Always about the jewels. He should have married them, she thought bitterly.

"Is that an order?"

"It is a request. From a friend." Thranduil said softly.

Myria bit her cheek, crossing her arms. "Fine. I will stay here on the morrow. But, if any fighting breaks out, I will join."

He seemed content with her answer, knowing its as far as he'll get with her stubbornness. "Very well, I'll see you when this is over." He planted a tender kiss to the top of her head before he left to his own tent.

👑

Myria could only watch from afar as negotiations with the Dwarves had clearly gone to shit. More dwarves had shown up, an entire army to match the Elves' golden one. Myria rushed back to grab her bow, bursting out of her tent to the sound of screams in the town. Surely the Dwarves wouldn't target the women and children who had stayed behind?

She was right. It was orcs who had invaded the town, cutting off exits as they slashed through defenseless crowds of people. Myria rushed to help whoever she could, shooting down orcs' fat heads whenever they got too close to a fleeing human. With her dagger, she slashed through whoever she could reach to retrieve each of her arrows.

This arduous process repeated for some time, Myria panting with effort as she continued. The sounds of screams toned done as golden-armored soldiers flooded into the cobble streets and started to push back at the beastly creatins. Myria breathed a sigh of relief, engaging another orc. It was larger than most, with armor protecting its head and chest. She slashed at his with a sword she had taken from dead enemy, yelping when he stabbed into her abdomen with his own weapon. She gasped, trying to keep her composure as he approached above her menacingly. As he lifted his sword above his head again, ready to strike down the Elf, his head was detached from his body in a spray of hot blood.

Myria flinched at the feeling on her skin, feeling disgusted more than she already was with the sweat and dirt covering her. Thranduil came from behind the orc, who was now dead on the floor. He crouched down in front of her, a frantic look in his eye that betrayed his regal appearance. "Myria, look at me!" He shouted, her blurry vision shakily focusing on him. He held her face in his hands, watching her try to keep them open. "It's okay, I'll get you help." Thranduil promised her, gingerly lifting her up princess style. He flinched when she protested in pain, clutching at her stomach to stop the blood from gushing out.

"It's okay, you'll be alright, sweet." He told her, repeating himself multiple times as if to convince himself, too.

He brought her outside of the town, where Elven medics had set up a discreet few tents disguised to the orc's vision by Elven magic. The King layed her gently on a stiff cot, petting her hair comfortingly as she screamed in pain at the medic disinfecting and stitching her wound up. He glared at the Elf assigned to help her, making the poor young fellow sweat in fear of messing uo in front of his King.

Eventually, the sounds outside died out. Thranduil regretted taking his forces to this pit of death. He had lost more Elves today than had ever been lost at one time since the Great War. Elves did not die easily. This was a massacre of great damage to their ranks, to their people. Thranduil mourned the deaths of his kin dearly.

Myria had calmed, pain dulling when given some numbing herbs. She focused her attention on Thranduil, "you came for me." She said, voice barely a whisper.

"Of course, I did. Why wouldn't I?" He asked, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles.

"Your gems...they're still locked away in the keep, aren't they?" She asked.

"The gems are not my priority. They are merely objects, remembrances. You are alive, I need you."

Myria felt tears blurr her vision, clamping her throat shut. "But–I am not from any important bloodline. I am not a Princess, nor—"

"I do not care. You are Myria. The woman who has been by my side for five thousand years. The only lady worthy of being Queen by my side is you."

Thranduil took her into his arms as she cried. He shushed her gently, hands locked into her hair as she clung to him.

"I love you, Thranduil. I have for a long, long time."

"And I, you, my dearest Myr."

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

Corlys Velaryon NSFW Alphabet

summary: it's in the title :)

notes: why is writing fanfic so easy compared to original works :///

warnings: written with afab!reader in mind, smut, mentions of corlys' god complex

tagged: @majesticwren @obsessiveformiyatwins @levithestripper @cookielovesbook-akie  @a-beaverhousen @ilikeitbetterangsty (hmu to be added/removed!)

masterlist | requests are OPEN!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He knows his size. That’s all I’m gonna say. Takes care of you real good, massages you if you feel sore.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He likes his hands, especially his fingers. Also knows exactly what his ringed hands do to you, and uses it to his full advantage.

Loves your ass. Corlys is definitely into spanking, and it shows.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

All this talk of legacy makes me 100% sure that he always cums inside.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Wants to fuck you on every centimeter of Driftmark, and then some.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s seen the world, of course he’s experienced (also he’s a dilf so…)

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

It’s a tie between anal and doggy. He really does love your ass, and anal is a way to be super super close to you. Doggy is just for the view tbh.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He’s a serious person, and that translates into the bedroom.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Definitely has a manscaping kit from Lys.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

I think he’d be surprisingly romantic and gentle with you, but then he notices the size difference between your head and his hands and…

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

While he’s away, he does it to relieve himself, but he doesn’t need that when you’re there.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Size kink, breeding kink, bondage and dom/sub dynamics

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere really, as long as it’s not public

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

A display of power from you gets him a little bit excited tbh. It’s more pride than anything, but he still finds it hot.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Share you. You’re his, and it should stay that way. Also, he wouldn’t enjoy subbing or being tied up, but he loves it on you.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Prefers giving, like the man he is. He’s also disgustingly good at it.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Look at him. He does whatever gets your brain mushy.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Seldom, if there’s been a long time period without seeing each other.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

As long as the risks aren’t any of his No’s he’s okay with experimenting (on you)

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Lasts forever. He needs a little rebound time, but he could go at it all night.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He’s traveled the world, so I’d assume he’s brought some stuff back.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Loves to tease you. As said, he wants you to be a little cockdumb. Especially if you’re very powerful normally, there’s something about you being a babbling mess for him that just gets him going

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Silent and deadly

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Brings you lingerie from Lys and Myr to tear it apart

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He knows his size, and his size is big :)

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Pretty high I’d say. He needs it, especially if he’s had a long day.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He takes care of you for a while, but as soon as you’re cuddling together, he’s gone

[mouldy-gremlin]

A couple of player characters for D&D

First is a half orc warlock I’m playing in an evil campaign. Made in eldritch foundry. Arrogant, cranky and a blast to play. I saw the skull pauldrons and couldn’t resist

Second is a dwarf fighter I’ll be playing in an upcoming campaign. I was looking at dwarves on myminifactory when i found this fella and figured he would work pretty well so i bought the file, swapped his axe blade for a warpick.

The design is from Trudvang, a norse mythology inspired setting with some truly spectacular art direction.

The original model is by Myr Tabletop on myminifactory

[myrmyrtheorca]

♡ 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐒. ♡ Tag 10 followers you’d like to get to know better

TAGGED BY @dreamieparadise @lixenn (I'm sorry guys I'm super slow these days)

TAGGING. most of my moots already answered but I'll tag @steamworksfairy, @upsilambic, @ketchup-chup - I don't want to tag that many people so if anyone reads this and wants to do it consider yourself tagged

✧. ┊ 𝑵𝑨𝑴𝑬 : Cecilia ! Internet safety be damned. It's not really a name I like, but mom was very proud of it.

✧. ┊ 𝑨𝑳𝑰𝑨𝑺 : everyone knows me by Myell by now, but for some time before choosing it I've gone with Myr too (then decided it would become too confusing with time, also no biggie if you still call me Myr, totally fine!). My base discord name is Nowi because it was the name of my second ever DnD character.

✧. ┊ 𝑮𝑬𝑵𝑫𝑬𝑹 : female, she/her pronouns

✧. ┊ 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹 𝑺𝑰𝑮𝑵 : a big whiny Leo (22/08)

✧. ┊ 𝑯𝑬𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻 : approx 1.65m, slonky!

✧. ┊ 𝑺𝑬𝑿𝑼𝑨𝑳𝑰𝑻𝒀 : straight

✧. ┊ 𝑨𝑽𝑬𝑹𝑨𝑮𝑬 𝑯𝑶𝑼𝑹𝑺 𝑶𝑭 𝑺𝑳𝑬𝑬𝑷 : L M A O- ok no for real, I usually manage to go for 7 but I've hit numbers I'm not proud of when I don't have to go to work. Usually though I wake up in the middle of the night for a good 30 minutes and cut the sleep session in two parts like that. I really like sleeping but afternoon naps usually nuclearize me for the rest of the day with headache so I must avoid them at all costs - unless I'm sick, there's nothing better than sleeping with a fever.

✧. ┊ 𝑫𝑶𝑮 𝑶𝑹 𝑪𝑨𝑻 𝑷𝑬𝑹𝑺𝑶𝑵 : ask the love if my life 🩵

✧. ┊ 𝑩𝑳𝑨𝑵𝑲𝑬𝑻 𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑺𝑳𝑬𝑬𝑷 𝑾𝑰𝑻𝑯 : I really like blankets so I have many of them. My favorite one has to be my white one with the Peanuts characters on it. It's fluffy!

✧. ┊ 𝑫𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑴 𝑻𝑹𝑰𝑷 : eeeh... I'm not really a traveller, long trips often give me anxiety and in general I don't like staying far or even just out of the house for too much. I'm a sucker for museums and history though, so I'd say a cultural trip across Italy's most famous medieval towns would probably feel very exciting.

✧. ┊ 𝑩𝑳𝑶𝑮 𝑩𝑰𝑹𝑻𝑯𝑫𝑨𝑻𝑬 : gooood question! I have 0 idea. around the 8th of march it seems from what I can see from my post history...

✧. ┊ 𝑾𝑯𝒀 𝑰 𝑴𝑨𝑫𝑬 𝑨 𝑻𝑼𝑴𝑩𝑳𝑹 𝑩𝑳𝑶𝑮 : originally, it was to be an archive for anything related to Killer Whale. When I discovered the community and was welcomed in it, it became both that and my personal window into KHR daily.

✧. ┊ 𝑼𝑹𝑳 𝑴𝑬𝑨𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮 : it's a direct KW reference, "myrtheorca" felt too short so it became "myrmyr". Again, since it was supposed to be an archive for all things KW, I thought to identify myself with the name Myr, but abandoned the idea when she got presented to the public via her first character sheet.

[aegor-bamfsteel]

Hello there, I was looking at the asoiaf appendices and noticed House Greyjoy’s current Maester is called Wendamyr - my question is, based on naming conventions in the story, where do you think Maester Wendamyr is from originally and do you think he would be of the nobility or lowborn? Thanks

I’ve speculated that the Maesters of ironborn castles are usually from the Iron Islands themselves, given they’d be familiar with their customs and afforded some respect not given to “greenlanders” (that or the Maesters appointed to these castles aren’t well liked, considering how poor/isolated the islands are). This would be particularly important for Balon, considering he had a “greenlands” maester of his stepmother Lady Piper killed for giving his younger brother Urrigon an experimental treatment (seemingly without repercussion, as he had two Maesters after that); basically, if Wendamyr or any maester did something Balon disliked, punishing them wouldn’t be OOC. I think Qalen, Wendamyr’s predecessor, was ironborn, given he seemingly didn’t protest the first rebellion, his name is similar to traditionally ironborn names (Qarl, and has -en suffix like in Harren), and Helya describes him as sleeping in the sea (so a peaceful death, and ironborn are usually sent out to sea when they die). Wendamyr is described as Balon’s “healer and counselor”, he’s been keeping the ravens for years, and he lived to send Harlaw a letter about his death; it’s clear that he also didn’t protest the new rebellion despite advanced notice, which definitely points to him being ironborn himself. Even though he doesn’t have a traditionally ironborn name, there are characters from the Isles who don’t have them: obvious examples would be Uller, Tymor, Urzen, or Endehar, and that none of these men have surnames imply they aren’t nobles, maybe the descendants of thralls from places the ironborn reave but whose parents still had connections to that culture (seemingly the Stepstones, the Basilisk Isles, maybe Dorne if “Uller” is anything). If you consider that his name can be divided into 2 parts “Wend-” and “-myr”, there’s only one region that has people with names that contain both in that order (“myr-” is a decently common prefix in Westeros and Essos, but as a suffix is only shared by Varamyr Sixskins), and that’s the North, which the ironborn have raided throughout history; another region might be Essos specifically Braavos, as they use the “Wend” prefix (Wendeyne) and “myr” as a prefix (Myrmelo). Furthermore, Helya not calling Wendamyr by his title of Maester may indicate some familiarity, so maybe he’s of similar common born status. So if I had to guess, Wendamyr is an ironborn with recent “Greenlander” (possibly northern, possibly Essosi) lineage and not of noble origins.

[ao3feed-tywin]

Gendry's Son | Male Reader X Harem

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/cgpi4zK

by Hollunk

After a 30 year reign, Y/n Baratheon has fallen on the field of battle. Facing the final Blackfyre Rebellion. Taking the final Blackfyre down with him. But he refuses to give in to death, and is reborn in the body of the supposed second son of Robert Baratheon, Orys Baratheon.

Words: 3623, Chapters: 1/3, Language: English

Fandoms: Game of Thrones (TV), A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage

Categories: F/M

Characters: Sansa Stark, Arianne Martell, Elia Sand, Daenerys Targaryen, Margaery Tyrell, Myrcella Baratheon, Original Female Character(s), Reader, Ashara Dayne, Jeyne Westerling Stark, Cersei Lannister, Robert Baratheon, Joffrey Baratheon, Tommen Baratheon, Ned Stark, Tywin Lannister, Catelyn Tully Stark, Brandon Stark, Bran Stark, Robb Stark, Jon Snow, Gendry (A Song of Ice and Fire), Arya Stark, Benjen Stark, Jon Arryn, Varys (A Song of Ice and Fire), Petyr Baelish, Tyrion Lannister, Jaime Lannister, Olenna Tyrell, Bronn (A Song of Ice and Fire), Sandor Clegane, Brienne of Tarth, Thoros of Myr (A Song of Ice and Fire)

Relationships: Sansa Stark/Original Male Character(s), Arianne Martell/Original Male Character(s), Elia Sand/Original Male Character(s), Daenerys Targaryen/Original Male Character(s), Margaery Tyrell/Original Male Character(s), Myrcella Baratheon/Original Male Character(s), Original Female Character(s)/Original Male Character(s), Ashara Dayne/Original Male Character(s), Jeyne Westerling/Original Male Character(s), Catelyn Tully Stark/Original Male Character(s), Cersei Lannister/Original Male Character(s)

Additional Tags: Aunt/Nephew Incest, Sibling Incest, Shameless Smut, Older Man/Younger Woman, Older Woman/Younger Man, Westeros (A Song of Ice and Fire), Essos (A Song of Ice and Fire), Greyjoy Rebellion | Balon Greyjoy's Rebellion Against the Iron Throne, Parent/Child Incest

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/cgpi4zK

[drymushroomfics]

Fraye Hill of House Lannister

Previous Next

Chapter Twenty Nine

Fraye takes in a breath, her anxiety worsening by the second. She has no idea where they're talking her and Sandor. She reaches for him, wrapping her hand around his arm for comfort. She feels Sandor's body shift and he leans into her, reciprocating. When the wagon comes to a stop, her and Sandor are pulled out of the wagon and lead inside a deep cave. Fraye can't see anything through the sack on her head but she can see light. The light darkens dramatically when she steps into the unknown destination they've brung them to. Fraye blinks as they lift her hood once more. "What is the place?", Fraye hears the taller boy that stands next to Arya ask. "Somewhere neither the wolves nor lions come prowling.", Thoros tells him.

Fraye looks around realizing her and Sandor are surrounded by dozens of men inside a dark cave. She wonders why they'd bring them to a cave. "You look like a bunch of swineherds.", she hears Sandor spit at them, ropes still wrapped around him. "Some of us were swineherds. And some of us tanners and masons. That was before.", Anguy replies. "You're still swineherds and tanners and masons. You think carrying a crooked spear makes you a soldier?" "No. Fighting in a war makes you a soldier.", an unknown voice says from behind a small cluster of men. They move out of the way to reveal a shorter man, still taller than Fraye, wearing an eye patch on over his left eye. "Beric. Dondarrion? You've seen better days.", Sandor says, surprise in his voice. Fraye watches the man closely, getting a bad feeling. "And I won't see them again.", Beric replies to his comment, walking closer. Sandor looks around, "Stark deserters. Baratheon derserters. You lot aren't fighting in a war. You're running from it." "Last I heard, you were King Joffrey's guard dog. And here you are a thousand miles from home with a pretty Lady on your arm. Which of us is running?" "Untie these ropes and we'll find out. What are you doing leading a mob of peasants?" "Ned Stark ordered me to execute your brother in King Robert's name." Fraye's eyes widen at the mention of Gregor. She hates the sinister feeling that ghosts across her skin at the mention of him. "Ned Stark is dead… King Robert is dead… My cunt brother's alive." Sandor spits at him in disgust, "You're fighting for ghosts." "That's what we are; Ghosts waiting for you in the dark. You can't see us, but we see you. No matter whose cloak you wear- Lannister, Stark, Baratheon- You prey on the weak, The Brotherhood Without Banners will hunt you down." Fraye feels chills run through her. None of them know that her house name was Lannister. "You found god? Is that it?", Sandor asks, irritation growing. "Aye. I've been reborn in the light of the one true god. As we all have. As would any man who's seen the things we've seen.", Beric explains. "If you mean to murder me, the bloody well get on with it. Just let her leave safely." "You'll die soon enough, dog. But it won't be murder, only justice. As for your Lady, I'm sure she'd be relieved to be away from any Clegane.", Thoros says. "Watch your tongue when you speak to him!", Fraye chimes in, anger on her face. "Do you think I'll leave here and let someone harm you?!", Fraye adds, looking at Sandor. "I'm not a selfish cunt! I will always make sure you're safe first." "Do you have any idea what Clegane's do?", Anguy asks Fraye. Fraye takes in a breath, her anger only growing. "You'll get a kinder fate than you deserve, dog. Lions you call yourselves. At the Mummer's Ford, girls of seven years were raped and babes still on the breast were cut in two while theiy mother's watched!" "I wasn't at the Mummer's Ford! Dump your dead children at some other door!", Sandor growls, his anger rising even more than Fraye's. "House Clegane was built upon dead children. I saw them lay Princess Aegon and Princess Rhaenys before the Iron Throne.", Thoros adds in. "Do you take me for my brother? Is being born a Clegane a crime?!", Sandor almost pleads, as he turns around looking at everyone. "Murder is a crime."

"I never touched the Targaryen babes! I never saw them, never smelled them, never heard them bawling! You want to cut my throat, get on with it! But don't call me a murderer and pretend that you're not!" Out of nowhere Arya steps forward, her eyes fixed on Sandor. "You murdered Mycah! The butcher's boy! My friend! He was twelve years old! He was unarmed. And you rode him down! You slung him over your horse like he was some deer!", she yells. Fraye has always known Sandor was never a saint and he enjoys killing but she could never imagine him killing a child in cold blood. "Aye, he was a bleeder.", Sandor says to her. "You don't deny killing this boy?", Beric asks. Fraye looks to Sandor. He doesn't look back, avoiding her gaze. He doesn't want to know what she thinks of what he did. "I was Joffrey's sworn shield. The boy attacked the prince.", Sandor explains. "That's a lie! I hit Joffrey! Mycah just ran away!", Arya yells. "Then I should have killed you! Not my place to question princes." "Sandor!", Fraye yells at him. He looks at Fraye, feeling her anger not only at him but at every person in the room. "You stand accused of murder. But no one here knows the truth of the charge, so it is not for us to judge you. Only the Lord of Light may do that now. I sentence you to trial by combat.", Beric declare, looking at the both of them. Fraye's eyes widen. "You have no authority to declare anything! Just because you're a man of god does not give you any grounds! Sandor only did what he was told as was his duty. At least he's loyal and and trust worthy. I'm sure it is more than I can say for anyone else in this room!", Fraye spats at Beric, wanting to move in front of Sandor. Sandor nudges you behind him with his left leg. "I am sorry My Lady but it is the right way.", Beric replies to her, moving back a little. "So who will it be? Should we find out if your fire god really loves you, priest? Or you, archer? What are you worth with a sword in your hand? Or is the little girl the bravest here?" "Aye. She might be. But it's me you'll fight."

[tryanmybest]

Based solely on their names, list your characters from favorite to somewhat less favorite

MY OCS?? BASED ON THEIR NAMES??? OK OK

i feel like i should mention that only two of my ocs use their real names sooo it's a lot of aliases or nicknames.

1. Songbird

ngl one of my favorite names ive ever come up with. he's called this bc it was what his (dead) boyfriend used to call him and then when he decided to cut out his own eyes due to being haunted by visions of said boyfriend the scars made the rough shape of a bird. he's embraced the name now and uses his shadow-related abilities to make his own shadow that of a songbird. :)

2. Crook

what can i say? he's a silly goblin that commits crimes. of course he goes by crook.

3. Red

it's a basic name, but i love it. he's the first character that ever got a name and it's not his real name (his real name is at the BOTTOM of this list i hate it) and it's literally just based on the color of his blood lmao. i also like it because it's what everyone calls him just out of instinct. he didn't come up with it, it's just who he is.

4. Ruby

red's sister. her name makes them both sound silly no matter which of his names you refer to him as and i think that's neat.

5. Myrmecobius

i made up fake constellations and then named a big scary bounty hunter after one of them. what more could you want? (bonus points bc his bf (red) loves the stars)

6. Alitta/Indri/Coturnix/Fregata

all of these guys are tied. similar to myr, they're all named after fake constellations and i loved making up the constellations and assigning them meanings that match the character personalities

7. Audrey

the other only character that goes by her real name. it's just a cute name and it suits her! :)

8. Honey

this was a filler name for the longest time and it, unfortunately, stuck. i do really like using pet names as proper names though.

9. Cinnamon

same thing. filler name that unfortunately stuck around. but at least she's friends with honey and they can be Baked Goods together

10. Jayd

red's real name. ew. i hate it. but he came with it and i can't change it

that's all!!! if you ever wanna know anything else about these guys and the show im writing for them, feel free to ask!! i love talking about them :)

[ravenofthefandoms]

A Bastard’s Happiness

Word Count: 4274

Pairing: Beric Dondarrion x Jon Snow’s twin!Reader

Characters: Beric Dondarrion, Eddard Stark, Jon Snow, Thoros of Myr, Jory Cassel (mentioned), Jaime Lannister (mentioned), Arya Stark (mentioned), Sansa Stark (mentioned), Septa Mordane (mentioned)

A/N: Requested by @futuristicyouthvoid!! Sorry it took so long for me to finish this, just had a long week at work and I was feeling lazy. I finally finished myself to finish it tonight but I haven’t proofread so it might be a bit shitty compared to my normal stuff. I hope you still enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters mentioned. They belong to George R.R. Martin. I do not own any gifs used. They belong to their original creators. I do not consent to my work being published by other accounts or on other platforms.

Being a bastard was never easy. However, being a bastard of Ned Stark and the twin sister of Jon Snow made it significantly easier. Though you were detested by the Lady Catelyn Stark, no one went out of their way to make your life difficult. Your upbringing was fairly peaceful. Jon protected you and your half-siblings were kind. Robb would tease and joke with you, but was never anything less than a gentleman. Sansa was always friendly, bonding over your needlework with her. She was far better than you were, her mother being her teacher, but yours was not shabby by any means. Despite your friendship with Sansa, Arya was also quite fond of you, though not nearly as much as she was with Jon. When she was a bit younger, the two of you would play sword with longer branches you could find in the Godswood.

The Godswood was your favorite place in the entirety of Winterfell. It was quiet and always peaceful. Which is why you had sought it that particular evening. Dusk began to grow, but you could only sob under the watchful eyes of the heart trees’ faces. The godswood, typically a place of peace and sanctuary, was the only comfort you could think of after your brother told you of his plans to leave for the Night’s Watch when your father left for King’s Landing. 

You had been aware of this trip as soon as the wheels began to turn for it. You had resigned yourself to the fact that your father was leaving and taking your sisters with him. As long as you had Jon, you could face down Balerion himself. But the Night’s Watch? That wasn’t just someplace you could follow him to. You couldn’t and you wouldn’t. There was nothing at that frozen castle for a woman, let alone a bastard woman. A shiver ran down your spine at the thought of being surrounded by the criminals you knew lurked there. Even Jon couldn’t fight the entirety of the Night’s Watch for you.

A particularly strong wind blew through the trees, making you look up. A large frame was walking towards you, forcing your back ramrod straight. Another anxious beat of your heart resonated in your chest before you recognized the shape. “Lord father, I did not realize it was you.” You relaxed as Lord Stark’s stoic face appeared clearly from the shadows.

“I did not mean to startle you, (Y/N).” He settled down on a log next to you. “I was told that I may find you out here. Jon has told you of his plans.” You nodded in affirmation, teeth finding your lip as you nibbled it anxiously. 

“My dear, I do not wish to see you unhappy. But I cannot allow you to go with your brother. I am sorry.” His tone was sincere as he placed a warm hand on your knee. Looking up at him with teary eyes, you nodded. You had no desire to go to the Wall anyways, but this command from Lord Stark only solidified it.

The two of you sat in silence for a short time before you spoke. “Father, may I ask you for something?” He chuckled softly and gave you a curt nod. “Would it be at all possible for me to go with you to King’s Landing? I know that I should not ask since I have asked so much already, but I do not wish to stay in Winterfell without Jon. I think I’d like to explore, see more of Westeros. If you would permit it, of course. I-I-... I can protect myself. Gods know I’ve knocked Robb on his arse plenty. And I wouldn’t need much! I would never ask anything to be a burden on you.” You were rambling, you realized, and cut yourself off from continuing with a shaky breath.

Ned gave you a soft smile before wrapping his arm around your shoulders. You leaned into him and closed your eyes, taking in the feeling. His strong arm was warm and cradled you gently. He smelled of the Godswood and the hall in the keep. Burning this moment into your brain rooted you back to reality and you looked up at him with a smile. “I would not deny you this, daughter. You are a Stark, even if you do not have the name. If it is your wish to accompany us, then it shall be so.” Your face lit up with a grin as you wrapped your arms around him tightly. The action caught Ned offguard, but he returned it nonetheless. “Now, come. You are missing dinner.”

                                                          —

The Red Keep was not at all what you had imagined it to be. It loomed over you as the Stark party finished the final leg of its journey. King’s Landing, however, was exactly what you imagined. The stench and crowds as described your lord father had not been exaggerated, making you hate both upon arrival. 

It was fairly easy to trudge through the rest of the day, seeking the comfort of a comfortable bed after many months on the road. After all formalities had been seen to, you were shown to your rooms. Here, you had a servant prepare a bath for you as well as bring you food. The woman curstied and scurried away when you thanked her. As soon as she left, you worked on stripping yourself, hands working on their own as your mind strayed to the ride in. It was there, that you saw a familiar yet almost unrecognized face. Ser Beric Dondarrion. A few years your elder, he was someone you had met at a tourney in honor of the betrothal of one of the Tully cousins to one of his own cousins. You were both younger then, you only turning two and ten while Beric had recently celebrated his 17th nameday. 

He had gone to the abandoned training grounds that were on the other side of the castle from the tourney field. The day had been long and it was only midday. His father pushing him to find a bride was not something he wanted to deal with all day, so he decided to hack at a training dummy all day instead.

Here, he found you sparring with Jon, still short and awkward and chubby-faced. Despite the small age gap, the three of you became good friends over the duration of the week-long tourney. When you all bid goodbye for the last time, he swore to send ravens and Jon agreed to do the same. Over the past few years, however, the ravens became sparse and the letters not as detailed as when you were children. Seeing his face again had been a slight shock. He seemed older now, his hair cropped short and close to his head and a certain weariness in his eyes that had not been there before. You know, of course, that he had been named Lord of Blackhaven a few years after that tourney, but you were not prepared to see him like that.

Reaching up, you pulled free the few pins in your hair, shaking your mane out as you did. Your fingers pressed lightly into the slightly aching areas the metal had left behind. Once you were free from your confined clothing, you grabbed a robe from one of your chests that had been delivered to your room. It was slightly too warm for the warm climate of King’s Landing. The thick material still smelled of home, however, and it brought a sense of comfort to you. You wrapped it around yourself, burying your nose into your shoulder. 

A soft knock broke you from your reverie and had your feet following the sound to your door. “Thank the gods,” you muttered to yourself. The ache in your stomach had begun to grow. You were quite surprised, however, to find someone holding a tray of food that was not your maid. “Lord Beric!” The shock must have been evident upon your face because he simply chuckled and nodded.

“Lady (Y/N). A pleasure to see you again after all these years.” Still a gentleman, it seemed, given his use of a title that did not belong to you. “I thought I had seen you this morning in the Great Hall but I was not sure. Forgive the intrusion, but I had to see for myself if it was truly you.” There was an almost childlike expression of excitement on his face as he gazed upon you. A beat of breath held silence between the two of you before he realized he had caught you at a stage of undress.

“I was wondering the same, actually.” You admitted, wrapping yourself a bit tighter in your robe. “Forgive my state, I was expecting my maid.” He nodded, holding up the tray he seemed to have forgotten momentarily.

“Yes, that is where I got this. She went off to fetch bathwater, I believe.” He kept his eyes firmly planted on your face, honor not allowing his eyes to drift. The thought made you smile slightly, glad to know he hadn’t grown out of his knightly habits. “Jon is not with you?” In the short time he knew you both, the dark-headed twins were never far from one another. 

You shook your head gently, opening the door fully and gesturing for him to come in. He set the tray of food down on the table before turning back to you. “I’m afraid not. He’s actually gone to the Wall. My brother plans on taking the black.” A bittersweet smile graced your lips. 

He answered with his own small frown. “I’m sorry to hear that. For you, at least. I know that must not have been easy.” You shrugged slightly but nodded in affirmation.

“I will be alright. It’s about time I got rid of the sack of bones.” You attempted with a lighthearted joke, which he graciously chuckled at. “Truthfully, I am glad he is doing what will make him happy. He deserves it.”

Beric took a few steps closer to you. “And, if I may be so forward, my lady, what do you plan? Hopefully to find your own happiness.”

Your cheeks warmed imperceptibly. “I do hope to find that, yes. I must admit, I have thought quite a bit on what I will do here, but I still do not know.” You chuckled softly, eyes flicking up to his. 

“Perhaps we would be able to know each other better while you are here. If you can make the time for me, of course.” His tone was teasing and the glint in his eyes was full of mirth. The soft scuttle of shoes on the stone behind you drew your attention from the knight in front of you. Your maid had returned with two others to fill your bath. “For now, my lady, I will leave you.” 

“I think I will be able to make time to see you, my lord. A very thoughtful offer that I would gladly take. A good night to you, Lord Beric.” He now stood right in front of you, bowing to take your hand. His lips brushed your knuckles, light as a feather. Your eyes never left each others, so you curtseyed, the only thing you could think to do.

“Sleep well, my lady.” With that, he was gone and your maid was informing you that your bath was ready. When you sank into the warm water, you blamed the red heat across your face on the steam.

                                                          —

Days turned into weeks that turned into months of your time in King’s Landing. Three months, to be exact. You managed to fill your days despite your earlier doubts. You spent your time either exploring the Red Keep with Arya, working your needlepoint with Sansa, or spending time with Beric. Often times, the two of you would spar with one another, There were days, however, when you spent your time with him walking through the gardens or walking the markets of King’s Landing. 

“My lady, I hope I have not kept you waiting.” His voice behind you made you startle, but you turned to look up at him with a warm smile.

“Not at all, my lord.” You took the arm he offered to you before your short trek to the palace gardens. “I hope your morning was kind to you.” He had told you before that he prefers to do any and all business that he must as Lord of Blackhaven.

“It was nothing too difficult, my lady. Mostly, I spent my time waiting for a delivery from the marketplace.” Your brow quirked at him but you kept your face forward.

A small smile graced your lips when you felt his eyes on your face. “I hope your purchase was worth your wait and coin, my lord.” He nodded in agreement.

“I suppose you will have to tell me.” The two of you came to a halt as he removed his arm from your hand to reach into his coat. From an interior pocket, he produced a box, just longer than his hand that it sat upon.

Your eyes lit up in surprise as you gazed up at him. “Is it…?” Gifts were not something you were entirely unused to, but they were very unused to handsome young men, even if it was just friendly.

“For you, my lady. I hope you will find it as beautiful as I find you.” His words were spoken gently, though they still brought what you were sure was a pink dusting to your cheeks.

Opening the box, you found the most beautiful dagger that you had ever seen. The hilt had carvings of direwolves on one side, while a small purple jewel, one of his house’s colors, sat in the middle of the engravings on the other side. Your eyes, suddenly watery, turned up to him.”My lord, it’s…” Words failed to come to you. “I don’t know that I can accept this.” He smiled and shook his head, clasping the hand that held the knife gently.

“You can and you will. I insist.” You couldn’t help the grin that grew on your cheeks. The moment your eyes met, however, you swore a spark hit your chest. His gaze drew you in, leaving you nearly breathless. No words were spoken, the heat of his hand on yours suddenly very intense.

“Lady (Y/N), your father sends for you.” The voice of one of your father’s men snapped the pair of you from whatever moment you had just been caught in. A guilty blush engulfed your cheeks as you nodded. 

“Thank you. I will be along in just a moment.” You returned your gaze to Beric. “Only because you insist, my lord, I will thank you for this incredibly generous gift.” You dipped into a curtsey before placing the lid atop the box again. He bid you a soft goodbye, which you returned, before you followed your father’s man.

Arriving in your father’s chambers, a bolt of panic struck any floating feelings you held of your moment with Lord Beric into the dirt. “Father!” You cried as you rushed to his bedside, kneeling by your lord father’s head. Sansa stood to your right while Arya, on the other side of the bed, looked almost wrathful. “What has happened?” A gleam of sweat covered your father’s pale face and his leg was propped up under blanket. “There was a… situation with Ser Jaime.” Ned did not wish to delve into the details with your younger sisters around, so he motioned to Septa Mordane, who herded the younger two Stark girls from the room. “He attacked us in the streets. Jory is dead.” His hand found your free one, gripping it gently as a sob racked through your chest. Jory had been the first of your father’s men to train you willingly, acting as another older brother. You held a great amount of love for the man. Gently, your father tugged on your hand and motioned for you to sit on the bed next to him. You obliged, Beric’s gift resting in your lap. “Daughter, I worry. For your safety, especially. You do not have the Stark name to protect you.”

“I can protect myself, father. I can protect Sansa and Arya, too.” Your voice was pleading as you looked at him, scared of his next words. His smile was sad as he looked up at you. “I know, my child, I know. But I would rather you protect yourself somewhere else. King’s Landing is too dangerous. (Y/N), I want you to leave tonight. Ride for Riverrun. Though Cat is not your mother, the Tullys will still protect you. You are family. Hoster and Edmure have always been kind to you and your brother.” He readjusted his position on the bed gently, trying to keep the pain from flaring. “Tonight, you will pack a bag and take some money and food and ride.” His voice left no room for discussion. Though you knew he wanted only to protect you, fat tears still dropped onto your cheeks.

He reached up to pet your hair softly before looking at the box in your lap. “A gift? From who?” His attempts to distract you from tears made you smile softly. You lifted the lid from the box and presented the blade to him. “Lord Beric. He has just graced me with it before I came to you.” Ned’s eyes looked over you with a small, knowing smile.

“I’m sorry I am making you do this thing, but it must be done.” You nodded your agreement before standing. “And, for your safety, I beg that you do not tell anyone that you are leaving. I will explain it to Sansa and Arya.”

 You nodded again. “I suppose I shall go prepare then. I shall see you tonight, Lord Father.”

That night, you found yourself pressing a kiss goodbye to your father’s cheek before one of his men whisked you away to the stables. An extra simple gown, a bag of gold, and a few days rations of food weighed your saddle pack while your sword and gifted dagger swayed on your belt.

                                                          —

“Lord Beric Dondarrion. You shall have the command. Assemble one hundred men and ride to Ser Gregor’s keep.” The young lord agreed and, after Lord Eddard sentenced Ser Gregor, was ready to leave so he may prepare. “A moment, Lord Beric.” The younger man nodded and approached the Hand as everyone else left the Great Hall. Though the pair received an inquiring look from Littlefinger, they were soon alone. Ned’s voice was soft as he spoke, not wanting to be overheard. “As well as bringing Ser Gregor to justice, I would like to ask something else of you.”

Beric nodded. “Anything, Lord Hand.” Eddard’s gaze flicked to the doors and then to the hall leading to the Small Council room.

“My daughter, (Y/N). I have sent her to the Riverlands for her safety, after I was attacked. I told her to ride for Riverrun, but I fear she shall not go to my good father’s home. I ask that you search for her while in the Riverlands. Protect her, make sure she makes it to the Wall if you can. I imagine that is where she will want to go.” Beric’s heart skipped a beat at the Hand’s request. When you had disappeared a week ago, no note and no goodbye, he feared that he overstepped his boundaries. “I will find her, Lord Hand, and give my life for hers if I must.”

                                                          —

Months had passed since you had fled King’s Landing. Eddard’s suspicions were correct. He was taken prisoner and beheaded not long after. The rest of your household was killed with him, the only ones spared being Sansa and, presumably, Arya. When you had heard the news, you were staying at an inn in the Riverlands. Riverrun was nearby, but you had not yet decided if you wished to continue as your lord father had wished or if you wanted to find your brother.

Sitting at a table by yourself, you mulled over your thoughts with a tank of ale in your hands and the leftover remnants of your warm dinner in front of you. So lost in thought, you almost didn’t notice the man who decided to sit across from you. He was pock-faced and stank immensely of piss and ale. Immediately, he tried to get you to lay with him, his words slurred together. His attempt was shortlived, thankfully, as a lithe man with a bun pulling the hair from his face stepped in. The new man boxed the other around the ears, which had the drunk man grumbling before stumbling away.

“I apologize for my man. He’s drunk. My name is Thoros, my lady.” Thoros sat in the now vacant seat across from you. 

“I thank you, Ser Thoros. I was worried his smell would bring my dinner back onto my plate.” He chuckled at your sharp tongue. “I am (Y/N) Sn-... Stone.” After recent events, you had to remind yourself that being a Northerner outside of the North was far less safe than being a bastard of anywhere else. Thoros eyes narrowed at you slightly before he smiled politely.

“Well, (Y/N), it is a pity that you’re not a Snow. My men and I have been instructed by our lord to look out for a (Y/N) Snow. My lord is not looking for any Stones, though, so I suppose I shall leave you to your drink.” He stood from the table and started to make his way back to sit with his men.

“Wait!” You turned to stand after him. “Who is your lord?”

                                                          —

“Thoros is returning, my lord.” Beric nodded at the soldier before standing from his seat. Resheathing his sword, he walked towards the approaching party. He counted an extra horse, however, and greeted Thoros with a confused look. 

“My friend, may I present to you, (Y/N) Snow. Or so she says.” Thoros grinned at his friend teasingly, who gazed up at you with surprise in his eye. You dismounted your horse before approaching him timidly. It was not lost on you that you had disappeared from him, not saying anything about where you were going, and you were worried he would be upset with you, though it would be rightfully.

“Lord Beric,” you murmured before dropping into a curtsey. The man said nothing. Fear crept into your gut as you kept your eyes fixed on the ground in front of you. You were more than surprised, however, when Beric approached you quickly and pulled you into his arms. A small gasp fell from your lips before your own arms wrapped around his neck, face buried in his strong shoulder.

“(Y/N)... I was so worried,” he admitted when he pulled away from you, his hands holding onto your arms gently. Eye flicking around you, he noticed that many of his men were watching the pair of you. “Come. Let us find some privacy.” You nodded in agreement as he lead you to a secluded area of their hideout.

“I’m sorry,” you said as soon as you were alone. “My father was attacked and he wanted me to be safe so I ran. I wanted to say goodbye, truly, but he forbade it and I’m so sorry. Especially after you gave me such a thoughtful gift, I felt most horrible to leave you as I did.” You knew you were rambling but struggled to shut the floodgates as words tumbled from your lips.

Beric did not mind. Instead of letting you continue your rambling, his warm, calloused hand cupped your face before dropping his lips to meet your own. Your eyes shot open in surprise before fluttering closed, returning his soft yet desperate kiss. He was the first to pull away, resting his forehead against yours. “I thought I had scared you away. But your lord father sent me here and he told me everything. He asked me to find you.” Tears welled in your eyes at his words. “I am so sorry for your loss, (Y/N).” His voice was soft as he spoke.

Tears spilled over but his thumbs were quick to wipe them from your cheeks. “I was supposed to go to Riverrun but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.” Your voice was watery and trembling as you spoke.

“The Lord of Light. He knew we would find you.” You giggled softly, more in surprise than anything. “My lady, I ask that you forgive my boldness again, but I must admit. You have my heart, (Y/N). When you left, I knew I had to find you again. Now you are here. I beg that you stay with me. Let me protect you. Let me love you.”

Your own hand came up to caress his cheek, his head leaning into your palm. “The old gods and the new would have to drag me away from you, Beric.” He smiled at you, sunshine from his grin warming you through. Pulling away from him slightly, you allowed yourself to take in his appearance. His beard had grown out much more, a patch covered his right eye, and a new weariness made him look older than his 21 years. “What’s happened to you?” Your fingers drifted over the patch.

His shoulders shook with a soft chuckle. “I will tell you everything later, my love. But it was all worth it. I have you back, so it was worth it.”

[purplemanapaperweight]

If you're a fan of the rich storytelling of Magic: the Gathering, or just a fan of character driven fantasy, I'll be sharing my Magic stories here!

These stories will focus on characters normally relegated to the backgrounds of card art. They won't be about plane-hopping epics, (except maybe when they sometimes are), but will act as little windows into planes we're familiar with, & characters we're not!

They will all be short stories in the vein of Magic's Uncharted Realms. Most of the stories will be stand-alones, duologies, or trilogies. There will be tales of Myr knights & scraplings. And boggarts with soggy socks. Tales of families found & lost in time on Tarkir. An Aetherborn planeswalker with one day left to live, an exploration of a dragon's one true desire, & so so many more

So welcome Planeswalkers & lore lovers! I truly hope you enjoy reading these stories as much as I've been enjoying writing them! I've loved Magic's story & community for 20 years, & I love being a part of it! Starting the week of November 5th I'll be posting stories weekly! So I invite you to my ever growing library of original tales. I hope you enjoy!