#sHE LOOKS UP TO COLD DRAGON YOUNG

[pitchdarkhook]

❛ you got guts, i’ll give you that. ❜ [ from dan heng! ]

damaged. | accepting.

✩ . — Hook had challenged some automatons to a brawl within the ring of the Fight Club. Despite being a mere child, she wielded a mighty fist that shredded through metal easily. The little girl trained almost daily with Diggertron, it was something that she had drove herself to do, strength was needed to lead the moles after all.

The visitors watched her as she got ready for the fight, stretching and doing little jumps. Honeyed eyes directed themselves upon Dan Heng, her gaze was rather intense— but it was moreso a ❝ Pay attention to me, Cold Dragon Young! I'm good at fighting too! ❞ look.

❛ you got guts, i’ll give you that. ❜

Yellow hues brightened up upon hearing the man's remark, an expression of satisfaction as her tiny lips widened into a confident grin. She presses a thumb against her chest, posing proudly.

❝ Hmph— ! Of course, Hook can't let Cold Dragon Young have allll the spotlight. ❞ She let out a chuckle, turning around and giving the rest a little wave, ❝ Let's go, Diggertron! We're winning this! ❞

Hook joins the fray, and the crowd goes wild! | @toadmiretoweepover.

[scarlet-star-witch]

The moon and his sun

Aemond Targaryen x Female reader

Summary: People would remember their story. Even decades after they were gone, Septa’s would tell young children about the one-eyed dragon prince and his sweet wife as if they were a part of a fairytale, too good to be true for the harshness real life possessed.

Aemond meets a young girl who quickly becomes his most cherished friend and changes the course of history.

Word count: 11.5 K

Warnings: Fluffy, Aemond finally makes a friend, characters will be aged up next chapter, reader is from a made-up house

AN: This is my first time writing for HOTD and I'm excited and terrified to share this story with you. I've had this idea in my head for so long and decided to finally get it out. Hope you enjoy xx

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Epilogue

~~

He was used to playing for second best.

In his short life he became used to disinterested gazes, murmurs of his supposed cold heart and fits of rage, avoidant steps when he passed, the curse he possessed as the scarred second son. 

But never from her.

She looked at him as though he put the stars in the sky. She looked at him as if he was the reason the sky bloomed with breathtaking colors in the early morning.

He felt himself unworthy of her attention and affection, something she was aware of, and she would hold him and tell him all the love she gave him was very much deserved.

It was a sentiment he always had trouble not disputing instantly. 

She made his miserable heart full. 

Aemond couldn’t believe his luck himself for the sun that entered his world and brightened his life. 

He never believed he was worthy of her love. 

And she spent her entire life trying to prove him wrong.

~~

It was a beautiful, sunny, cloudless day.

A day Aemond was dreading. 

It wasn’t often their family made trips away from King’s Landing. His father was King and most visitors made the effort to come to the Capitol and spare them the effort of a visit, but a sudden trip had their entire family uproot their usual routine and he found himself hating every moment of it. 

Being dragonless, he was left to endure the crashing waves of the sea that made his stomach turn. 

“This place is disgusting.” Aegon said the moment they landed on solid ground. 

“Aegon.” His mother admonished with a steady glare. “The Ixtal Islands are a beautiful place and they’re home to one of the most powerful houses in the seven kingdoms. You would do well to show them some respect.”

“Not like they’ll offer me anything of importance.” He muttered bitterly. Rumors had spread of his mother and father’s desire to wed him to his sister Heleana, his future already planned for him.

His mood was immediately soured at the realization that none of the beauties he saw on the Island shore were his intended, but that wouldn’t stop him from having his fun. 

“Why are we even here?” Aegon whined immaturely, making his mother suppress yet another eye roll in response.

“The Lord of Ixtal is an old friend of your father.”

“I still don’t understand why that demands my presence here.” Aegon rolled his eyes.

“Our council is in need of a new Master of Coin and your father is considering his dear friend. We are here for negotiations and our family is nothing if not loyal. Your father, our King, needs us.” Alicent answered shortly. 

Aemond was excited to finally see the Island he had read so much about. He knew their history, their riches and goods they traded with the entirety of the realm. The Ixtal Islands were the most plentiful and prosperous house in the realm and he was in awe to see his readings come to life before him.

It was the socialization he dreaded. 

Nobles would look at Aegon with respect, respect he didn’t deserve even being the first born son of the King. Helaena would be regarded with reverence, a comparison to the Realm’s Delight. 

But he was nothing more than a second son, easily brushed over.

Daeron was still just a babe, too young to understand the slight they possessed not having been born first, but Aemond understood all too well. 

Their family was escorted into a grand throne room and Aemond was in awe of the intricate ornaments that decorated the hall and he briefly wondered why King’s Landing was where the most powerful man in the realm sat when this place existed.

His wide eyes eagerly took in every sight in front of him, admiring how the vast forest behind the castle casted a mystical green glow on the room from the giant window sitting behind the intricate gold throne. 

“Viserys!” A cheerful voice called and for the first time in a long time, Aemond heard his father laugh, a genuinely delighted sound as he embraced his friend.

Aegon shared a brief look with him, his shock at hearing his father's laughter clear in the way he furrowed his brows in bitterness.

“It’s been too long, my friend.” 

“Alicent, always a delight to see you, my dear.” 

Aemond noted the blush on his mother’s cheeks as the charming lord embraced her. He shifted on his feet as his siblings were introduced. He knew what came next, the flippant dismissal was familiar yet it stung each time. 

He looked up as the Lord shook hands with Aegon and gave Helaena a polite nod, her body language giving him the signal she wasn’t comfortable with anything else. 

As he stepped in front of Aemond, he suddenly felt two feet tall under the man’s gaze. Until he smiled. It was a gesture filled with warmth he hadn’t been expecting.

“Aemond, a strong name for a strong lad.” The lord clapped his shoulder and Aemond felt his body straighten, his confidence reappearing the second he realized he wasn’t going to be passed over yet again.

He looked up at the Lord with a smile, feeling more respected by the stranger in front of him than he ever had from his own father.

“You remember my wife,” The Lord gestured to a finely dressed woman who smiled and bowed to them courteously. 

“My son and-” The lord stopped abruptly, suddenly noticing the absence of the person who was supposed to be next in line and looked to his wife who was already wincing, having expected the abrupt drop in conversation due to their eldest daughter’s absence.

“My apologies, my daughter has lived here all her life yet still feels the need to explore.” The Lady of Ixtal explained, the lack of anger in her voice that gave way to begrudging acceptance made it obvious this was a common occurrence.

Viserys laughed and looked at his friend. 

“You could not possibly think your children would give you any trouble, would you?” He chided sarcastically to the Lord who could only laugh in delight at his beloved daughter’s antics. 

Aemond watched the interaction with wide eyes, intrigued by the sense of ease that surrounded everything. 

If they were in King’s Landing and he was late to an event, his mother would have his hyde.

Suddenly, the great doors slammed open and an armored knight was seen running into the room, his hand latched onto someone small who was giggling in delight.

“My Lord, My Lady, I am so sorry, she wanted-”

“It’s quite alright, Ser Jerrod. I know my daughter could not have made it easy for you.” The Lord dismissed the unnecessary apology and smiled down at his daughter who smiled somewhat sheepishly as she passed by to take her place in line. 

She smoothed her hands down the front of her silk dress and stood straighter, putting on the air of the perfect and primed daughter, as if they hadn’t all just seen her enter in a tizzy five minutes late.

Her mother looked down at her and leaned over her brother’s shoulder to pluck a leaf from her disheveled hair. Her eyes widened slightly, fearing retribution for her antics, but her mother only raised a teasing brow, silently admonishing her. 

The girl brushed her messy hair off her shoulder and finally moved her gaze to their guests, a smile coming to her face as she met the eyes of the silver haired boy in front of her.

Aemond was rooted to his spot, his expression one of perplexed confusion. The smile she sent him, the gesture which was so simple - and usually faked by most at court - was blinding. 

He was taken aback by the fact that she hadn’t looked at the powerful presence that was the King or the Queen faithfully at his side. She hadn’t looked at Aegon, Daeron or even Helaena, the only girl close to her age in the room. 

She looked at him first. 

She smiled at him first.

It was a gesture that wouldn’t mean much to anyone else, but to him, it meant everything, it lifted the veil of neglect he was so familiar with from his shoulders, leaving him to feel lighter than before.

He listened as the Lord introduced his daughter and he ran her name over and over in his head, feeling his cheeks heat, a blush easily coming to his face as she greeted everyone, but her stare came back to him, smiling shyly.

~~

“This place is beautiful.” Helaena spoke dreamily as she took in their surroundings. 

They were granted leave to look around while the servants prepared to set up the welcome feast. 

Aemond couldn't take his eyes off the white sand and the crystal blue water. He breathed deeply, relieved to smell nothing but fresh flowers and ocean water and not the filth that permeated King’s Landing.

“Father should take over this place.” Aegon mused, earning looks of disdain from his siblings, which he easily shrugged off. “What? It’s much better than our shithole of a home.” 

Aemond rolled his eyes at his brother’s crass nature and kept walking, praying Aegon would somehow get lost or at least get bored of his company and leave. 

The sound of a loud laugh caught all of their attention and they walked their way through the lavish gardens to find it. Aemond suddenly became nervous as he saw the children of the Lord and Lady of Ixtal. 

The oldest son was playing some sort of ball game with his younger brother. The youngest sibling was reading quietly with her Septa. But the eldest daughter was nowhere to be found. 

As they stepped forward, the youngest son straightened and nudged his brother to stop. Catching sight of the young Targaryen princes and princess they let the ball they were playing with drop to the ground as they bowed respectfully. 

“Hello.” Helaena spoke brightly and the two young boys were helpless against her sweet nature and they both smiled and greeted her warmly.

“Where’s the other one?” Aegon asked rudely, looking around for the pretty girl from earlier who was missing. 

Aemond grit his teeth, praying Aegon wouldn’t drive her away before he even had the chance to speak to her.

“She’s in her tree.”

“Her tree?” 

The oldest brother pointed to the enormous willow tree behind them. 

He called out to his sister, alerting her to the presence of the royal children and just seconds later, Aemond watched with a slowly growing smile as a lithe form began to descend the ancient tree. 

She was slightly out of breath as she jumped the last few feet to the ground, brushing her already tangled hair out of her face as she practically skipped towards them.

As if her Septa’s teachings and her mother’s scolding from that morning had finally caught up to her, the smile on her face fell slightly, remembering she was in the presence of royalty. She slowed her pace and curtsied slightly clumsily as she came before them. 

“It is lovely to see you all again. I hope you are enjoying Ixtal.”

Aemond felt his face heat with a deep blush at the sound of her voice, the slight accent he heard capturing him instantly and he wished nothing more than to take the book from her young sister’s hands and demand she read it to him just so he could continue to hear the beautiful sound of her voice. 

“Your home is lovely. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Helaena spoke, breaking him from his thoughts. She moved towards the girl, the two of them engaging in easy conversation. 

Aegon began speaking with the two brothers, learning the rules to the ball game they were playing, the young boys instantly getting along. Which left Aemond to stand by himself. 

He shifted on his feet anxiously, contemplating if he should leave and find his mother. He’d at least have someone to talk to then. The pit in his stomach that grew as the familiar feeling of loneliness settled over him broke abruptly at the sound of the beautiful voice again.

“Would you like to sit?”

He looked up, his eyes meeting hers and for a moment, he wondered if she had actually been speaking to him. His gaze found Helaena who was now kneeling to talk to the youngest of the children who was mesmerized by her lavish dress.

Which left the oldest daughter alone and her gaze on him. 

He swallowed against the lump in his throat and stepped forward slowly, his heart racing as he took a seat on the bench next to her. 

“What are you writing?” He asked after clearing his throat, wincing to himself at the nerves that lingered in his words. 

“Drawing actually.” She corrected. “And not very well by the looks of it.” She shifted closer to him to show him the sketches in her notebook, the scent of lavender invading every one of his senses as her shoulder brushed against his.

His eyes looked over the shaky drawings of flowers and the willow tree she had been sitting in just moments ago. 

“They’re beautiful.”

She smiled and the sight was enough to leave Aemond thankful that he was sitting. 

“Do you draw?”

“No, nowhere near as well as you.”

“You must be shit then because these are awful.”

Aemond choked on his breath at her words, his wide eyes looking over at her in shock. She had a carelessness to her that he thought he would’ve found arrogant, it was certainly how he felt about the other ladies at court who were so brazen before him. 

But he found he could only feel enamored by the girl beside him. 

A quiet laugh escaped him, his stomach flipping in ways he had never felt before. 

“They’re not so bad.” He spoke quietly, his nerves reverting him to his bashful nature. 

“You’re quite the flatterer, Aemond.”

No words came to him, he was left to stare back at her, completely taken aback by her easy nature and blinding smile. 

She continued to show him her other sketches, the conversation between them flowing easily, something that Aemond had never experienced. 

Later, as their guards escorted them away to prepare for the feast, Aemond’s ears rang with the sound of her laughter, leaving him to hope he would hear it again before he had to leave. 

He spent the night with a smile on his face, behaving more animatedly than he had in all his life. Alicent had looked at her second son with barely contained emotion, delighted to see him so at ease. 

She was so caught up in her emotions, she hadn’t even noticed how his eyes never strayed too far from the eldest daughter of Ixtal. 

~~

The mischievous island girl was known to walk around the halls of the castle at all hours. It had happened so often for so long the guards didn’t bother to stop her anymore and no one batted an eye when they saw her wandering. 

She made her way to her parents chamber hours after she had been put to bed. 

She couldn’t stop the thought in her head and she had to see it through. 

With a smile to the guard at her parent’s door, she strolled in as if it were her own chamber. Her parents looked startled for all of a second before they sighed in resignation. 

“Shouldn’t you be in bed, Darling?”

“I was.” 

Her father huffed out a laugh. “So what brings you here, Troublemaker?”

She let out a breath, her shoulders straightening, as if portraying herself as proper would help her cause. 

“I want to go with you to King’s Landing.”

Her request did not go over as easily as she wished, she spent the next hour arguing with her parents, pleading her case. She may have overstated how much her decision to learn more about court, but her parents did not need to know her desire lay purely with her need to explore what the Capitol could offer. 

Her parents knew she loved to explore and the chance to see a new part of the realm was too tempting to not indulge her in. Her parents loved her more than anything, they loved and doted on all their children in ways that left Lords and Ladies from other houses to scoff and roll their eyes in disdain. 

They couldn’t say no to her. 

By the next morning, she stood at her father’s side as their ship sailed to King’s Landing, her arm linked through his, her head filled with the wonders of what this new place would have to offer. 

A smile grew on her lips as she pictured the shy boy who had complimented her drawings and her excitement began to grow. 

~~

She was more reserved than she had ever been as she sat beside the table of royals. King Viserys had planned an extravagant welcome feast for the Lord of Ixtal, his new Master of Coin and his daughter to welcome them to King’s Landing. 

She had never experienced so many Lords and Ladies approaching her before, giving her their hand to shake and curtsey before them in greeting. It felt as though she had never truly existed until she made it to the Capitol, where the matters of the court actually held weight and prospect.

Her father had regaled many a knight and Lord over the course of the night, leaving her by his side to sit quietly, the overlooked daughter. She knew the power her house held, she knew the reason most Lords gave their good fortune to her father was to ensure their trade routes would continue prosperously. She knew she was nothing more than fodder at her father’s side.

She picked at her food unhappily, contemplating her decision to venture so far from her home, so far from what was comfortable. Her eyes rose from her plate, surveying the large throne room before her, catching sight of her father in talks with a large group of Lords from around the realm. 

With a heavy sigh, knowing she couldn’t interrupt her father, her eyes moved to the head table where the Targaryen family sat. 

The head seat where the King sat was empty, he was busy at her father’s side. She let her eyes roam over the queen, taking in her quiet servitude and demure presence. Her gaze fell to the heir, Princess Rhaenyra sat with her husband Laenor Valaryon, her brows quickly rising at the sight of the brown haired children sat beside the silver-headed wedded pair. 

Her eyes fell to Queen Alicent’s children, a small smile growing as she caught the gaze of Princess Helaena, the quiet girl sparing her a wave to which she eagerly reciprocated. 

She was never one to fade into the background and she eagerly took the Princess’ gesture as a sign of goodwill, standing from her seat to make her way to the head table. 

Helaena beamed at the girl as she approached, oblivious to her elder brother’s lustful intrigue and her younger brother who sat up straighter as the girl approached. 

“Hello, my Lady, I hope King’s Landing is treating you well.” Helaena greeted the girl happily. 

“It is lovely, Princess. I am sincerely grateful to your father for allowing myself and my father to reside in your home.”

“We are delighted to have you.” Helaena assured her. She fidgeted with her hands for a moment, her face turning bashful for a moment. “The ladies of the court will be gathering tomorrow, you should join.”

“I’d love to.” She responded eagerly, relieved to know her newfound solitude would not be long held. 

“You should join us for breakfast as well. I can show you my collection.” Helaena added excitedly. 

“By the Gods, Helaena.” Aegon groaned beside her. 

“Collection?” She asked, staunchly ignoring the prince sitting next to the blushing princess.

“My insects. I’ve collected quite a beautiful group of them. I’d love to show you.”

Helaena had a lovely innocence to her she was powerless against. 

“I’d be delighted to see them.” She told the princess sincerely, hoping she had found a friend in the eccentric girl. “I’ve also heard wonderful things about your library. I’m eager to read the works about Valryian history and the Targaryen dynasty. There are only rumors where I come from.”

Aemond sat forward in his seat, his eagerness to interject himself finally coming to a head.

“I can show you to the library.” Aemond offered, finally making his presence known. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to take you from your duties.”

“You won’t.” He insisted, positive his face was blooming with a pink blush as her attention now lay on him. “There are many books that have not been translated, I would be happy to read them to you.”

He seemed to melt under her gaze that watched him curiously. 

“You would do that?”

“Of course.” He insisted.

“That would be wonderful.” 

He was thankful he was sitting because her smile would have knocked him off his feet. 

By the next morning, as soon as the sun rose, he was sitting in the library, anxiously anticipating her arrival. He didn’t have to wait long until the door creaked open and her eager eyes took in the vast shelves around her. 

She greeted him with happiness as if they were long time friends, causing his stomach to flutter in ways he had never felt before. 

“This is incredible.” She mused, eyeing the many books she had to indulge in.

They spent the afternoon together, her at his side as he read the Valryian texts of their history, stopping every few minutes to answer the many intrigued questions she had. 

Aemond was sure his face was on fire, he had never blushed so hard. No one had ever taken such an interest in him, no one had ever paid so much attention to him, no one had ever bothered to listen to him.

But here she was, this girl at his side, eager to know more, asking question after question, trusting him to give her the answer. As soon as he began to fear he had spoken too much, taken too much of her time she’d drawl out ‘tell me more’ or ‘what happened next’ and he was rooted to his seat, turning to the next page as he explained the history of the Targaryen dynasty to her eager ears. 

He had never felt so important. 

~~

King’s Landing proved to be just as wondrous as she dreamed it. Granted, it didn’t have the luxurious beaches or sprawling forests her home did, but she was just thrilled to be exploring a new corner of the world.

Aemond had quickly become her closest ally. He had taken to showing her every inch of the place he thought she would enjoy, dragging her along to the mazes of gardens, the weirwood tree, the luxurious Sept, but her favorite had to be the library. She had spent many late nights with Aemond at her side, perusing through the many ancient works of Valyrian history. 

It fascinated her, but she couldn’t deny she loved to hear Aemond’s voice as he read to her, enthralled with stories of Aegon the Conqueror and his two sister-wives, stories of ancient dragons and their riders, of wars long passed.

A week into their stay, as she broke her fast with her father, she was practically bouncing in her seat, shoveling her food into her mouth as quickly as she could, eager to get the meal over with so she could meet with Aemond and Helaena, the two of them quickly becoming her closest confidants.  

“Slow down, my love, you’re going to choke.” Her father warned with a chuckle at her enthusiasm. 

“Sorry.” She mumbled through the food in her mouth, causing her father to grimace at her very unlady-like behavior. 

“Your eagerness wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain Targaryen, would it?” He asked slowly, his knowing smile teasing her clear affection for the young boy she was growing closer to each day. 

“Helaena and I are good friends.” She shrugged, effectively dodging her father’s prying. He rolled his eyes and leaned back in his seat, watching her thoughtfully. He had no idea where she had gained such a witty mouth, it certainly wasn’t from him or his sweet, quiet wife. 

She finished the rest of her breakfast at record speed and hopped out of her seat, pressing a quick kiss to her father’s cheek.

“I’ll see you at dinner!” She called out over her shoulder as she skipped to the door. 

“Be safe!” He called out, but she was already racing down the halls. He looked to the guard at the door pointedly who nodded and trailed after the rambunctious girl. 

She slowed her pace once she reached the courtyard, suddenly very aware of the many eyes that would be on her if she was caught sprinting through the halls. She spotted a head of silver hair by the gates and she beamed, throwing all care out the window as she began to jog towards him.

“Aemond!” She called out and watched as the boy turned to her, his own smile growing at the sight of her. 

“Took you long enough.” He jested playfully and reveled in the dramatic scowl she sent him. 

“I’m not late. You are just an insane man that voluntarily wakes with the sun.” 

It was so small, something so miniscule, but it still managed to make his heart race. Knowing she remembered a small detail about him, no matter if it was something that was so inconsequential, was something he couldn’t wrap his head around.

He hadn’t expected it to affect him the way it did.

~~~

She found herself with Helaena in the gardens, finding any bugs she could for the enigmatic

princess. Digging a jittery bug out of the dirt, her nose scrunched in distaste as the many legged creature crawled over her hand.

“What is this thing?”

Helaena peered over curiously and a wide smile beamed on her face.

“That’s a beetle.”

“They’re not poisonous, are they?”

The princess laughed in amusement at the widened eyes that met her gaze and she shook her head. “No, you’re safe.”

The girl nodded and, though still on edge, was less stressed as she held the bug in her hands. 

Helaena, preoccupied with her own bugs, stole frequent looks at the girl next to her, noting the unease in her eyes. She smiled lightly and leaned in close to her.

“You don’t have to do this with me. I know not everyone likes the things I like. I can do this by myself.”

The girl looked startled by her words, a frown growing on her usually bright features and she looked down at the bug in her hands again, her eyes shifting from a look of disgust to one of determination, as if she could force herself to not feel grossed out at their existence.

“I like being here with you.” She said softly. “I don’t really have anyone else here.”

Helaena frowned, the thought of her brother immediately coming to mind and the smile that would grace his usually sullen face every time he was with the Island girl. As if she had conjured him herself, she looked over her shoulder, noticing him coming their way.

“Hello, Brother.” She smiled, though it was futile as his attention was locked onto the beauty beside her.

“Hello.” He spoke, though his eyes never left his sister’s friend. “What are you doing?”

“Finding bugs. Would you like to join?”

Helaena, having expected a ‘no’, given it was always Aemond’s answer anytime she asked him for help digging through the gardens, was shocked as he took a seat among them and dug his hands in the dirt before them without question.

The Princess watched with barely contained delight as her brother and friend immediately started conversing as if she weren’t there, the comfortable ease between them thriving. 

Usually she would feel slighted by such an occurrence, but rather than feeling ignored, she was happy to see her brother, who was usually so serious, look completely unburdened. She worried about him, about how tightly wound he was, but since the Lord of Ixtal and his daughter had come to King’s Landing, she had noticed his demeanor change, as if he could finally take a deep breath and release the things that so often held him down.

Aemond looked at the dirt beneath his fingernails and mourned at what his night routine would be subjected to, but he found he didn’t care all that much. The stolen glances to the girl beside him had all sense of propriety out the window. 

“Do you do this every day, Princess?” She asked the Targaryen who shrugged shyly.

“Most days. I find I prefer the company of bugs over people.”

The bark of laughter that left her had both the siblings smiling, her joyful nature contagious. 

Aemond was transfixed, until he heard his name and he was forced out of his daydreams. He looked up at Aegon who was standing before them, judgment painting his features.

“What are you doing here?”

“We’re digging for bugs, Brother.” Helaena answered innocently, her eyes thankfully locked onto the caterpillar on her finger so she didn’t see how her brother rolled his eyes in disdain.

Aemond glowered at his brother, his mood dampened, his protectiveness for his sister rising involuntarily whenever he was around. He hated seeing Helaena’s eyes dim with every one of his hurtful words.

The Island girl looked between the siblings, beginning to understand just how different they were to her and her own siblings. The more time she spent with Aegon, the more she disliked him. She looked back at Aemond and frowned, noticing the dower expression grow on her friend’s face, and she called his name. 

“Hmm?”

“What are these?” She asked, her dirt covered fingers trailing over the petals of the flowers in front of them, diverting his attention from Aegon.

“Marigolds.” He answered quickly, as if he wanted her to be impressed by his knowledge. “You don’t have these in Ixtal?”

“No. It’s a shame, they’re beautiful.”

Aemond bit his lip, his heart racing as she moved back to digging for bugs. He ignored the nerves that coursed through him and reached out to pluck the flower. 

“Here.”

She looked up and her eyes widened, her cheeks burning as he tucked the flower behind her ear, his shy smile mirroring hers, his hesitance clear, but his bravery clearer.

Aegon scoffed, rolling his eyes at the pair. 

The noise caused them both to glare at the older Targaryen, their eyes narrowed in annoyance. 

“You two are pathetic.”

“It’s not our fault your pea sized brain cannot comprehend the idea of caring for someone other than yourself.” She snarked easily, making Aemond’s eyes widen as he nervously looked between her and his brother whose face twisted in anger.

Thankfully, his brother was smart enough to know not to start a fight with her and he stomped away, most likely in search of more wine.

“You shouldn’t do that.” Aemond mumbled, his worried eyes lingering on his brother’s figure as he stormed off.

“Do what?”

“Antagonize him.” 

“Someone needs to knock him off his high horse. Why can’t it be me?” She shrugged, perfectly content to be the antagonist in Aegon Targaryen’s life.

“Because I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“Why would anything happen to me?”

“Because… he’s… it’s Aegon.” He stressed, as if his brother’s existence was enough explanation.

“Yes, and he’s an absolute cock.”

Aemond’s eyes widened, not expecting the vulgar word to leave her lips. Helaena giggled and leaned into the girl at her side. His shoulders slumped and he allowed himself to laugh, amazed yet not surprised at her ability to evade him of his worries. 

~~

A body crashed into her as she turned the corner, almost knocking her off balance, but arms that quickly wrapped around her waist stopped her from falling to the floor. 

She recognized the boy immediately. 

“Aemond.” She greeted breathlessly with a smile. He pulled away from her instantly, taking a step back to create space between them, his head bowed downwards, avoiding her gaze. 

But she saw the tear streaks through the stains of ash on his cheeks. Her smile fell and she stepped towards him, her hands gently lifting his chin, though he vehemently refused and harshly pulled himself away from her. 

“What happened?” She asked, trying to keep the hurt from her voice at his avoidance, something she had never experienced from him.

“Nothing.”

“Aemond.” She admonished gently. She hated when he acted like this, so unlike the kind boy she knew. 

He kept his head down and she sighed heavily, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“I won’t leave you alone until you tell me what happened.” 

Aemond huffed and side stepped around her to continue on his way to lock himself in his chambers and wallow, but she was too quick. She grabbed his hand to stop him and pulled him back towards her. 

He spoke her name, the groaned pronunciation indicating he wasn’t in the mood. 

“I just want to go to my chambers.”

“Fine. We can go together.” She said simply and linked her arm through his as they began to walk.

Aemond let out a long breath, his annoyance flaring for a second, but the moment he looked over at her it faded away into nothing. He brought his arm that was linked with hers closer to his chest, as if needing her touch to soothe his nerves. 

He thought he wanted to be alone. After his mother had brushed off his tears and scolded him yet again for venturing through the dragon pit, he just wanted to wallow by himself, but with her arm in his, her steady presence at his side, he found he wanted nothing but to be with her.

Once they made it to his chambers, he reluctantly let go of her and practically slumped his way to sit on his bed, his head bowed down to his feet, his brother and nephews' latest prank ruminating in his head, causing shame and anger to cascade over every inch of him. 

“Are you going to tell me what happened now or am I going to have to force it out of you?”

Aemond huffed at her words and began to fidget with his fingers, focusing on the sand that lingered on his skin rather than meeting her inquisitive gaze. 

She rolled her eyes and moved to sit next to him on the bed, brushing the sand from his hair. 

“Were you in the dragon pit again?”

He nodded wordlessly and she felt something inside her clench. She would never understand the hole in Aemond’s heart, how his lack of a dragon made him feel so worthless. 

“They said they found a dragon for me.” He mumbled, causing her to look over at him with concern, her stomach sinking at the hurt she heard in his voice, knowing his dreams hadn’t come true that afternoon. 

She knew it could only be a cruel prank at his expense. 

“They gave me a pig.”

Her shoulders slumped, her hand reaching out to grab his, intertwining their fingers with an ease as though she had done it a million times before. She had only held his hand a few times and it made Aemond blush bright red every time, even now as he wallowed. 

“I’m sorry. They shouldn’t be so cruel to you.”

“They’re right. It’s pathetic, a Targaryen without a dragon.”

“Aemond-”

“Maybe I’m not worthy and I’ll never get a dragon, maybe that’s why my egg never hatched. I don’t deserve it.”

“Stop it.” She spoke sternly, gripping onto both his hands in an effort to calm him down from his ranting. “You are every bit as good as any one of them, dragon or no dragon.”

Aemond sighed shakily and moved his gaze back down to his shoes, feeling as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

“What if I never find one?” He asked quietly, as if afraid to speak the possibility out into existence. 

“You will. I know you will.” She assured him, though it did little to release him from his sadness. “There are plenty of Targaryens that didn’t claim dragons until later in life.”

Aemond gave her a plain look, to which she just smirked. Serves him right for teaching her about his family history. 

“Aemond, we’re young, we still have so much life to live. It’s not over because you don’t have a dragon yet. You have so much time to find what you’ve always wanted.”

The breath that escaped his lips left him feeling lighter, his hand finally gripping hers back, sending a bashful smile her way, hoping it was enough to convey how grateful he was for her. 

He didn’t think he could ever find the words to tell her. 

“You’d be with me, won’t you? For my first ride?”

“You would want me there?”

“Of course I would.” 

She smiled and he was powerless but to return his own. “Then I’ll be there.”

~~

Aemond’s glare was steady on his face, his eyes locked onto the Strong bastard that twirled her around. 

How dare he ask her to dance, how dare he touch her, how dare he make her smile.

His disdain for his nephews was clear, they certainly didn’t give him much reason to be cordial, but this was the last straw. Seeing Jacaerys’ hands on her made his blood boil. 

Those damned nephews of his had already stolen her away from his side that afternoon. He could only watch helplessly as she played around with the bastards and spoke politely to his half sister Rhaenyra. 

He almost resented how sweet his friend was. He loved her kind heart, he just hated when it extended to his elder half sister and her sons who he despised. 

He hated when Jacaerys and Lucerys stole her away from his side. It was happening more and more as they became closer. He felt like he was losing her, the more times she spent breaking her fast with his eldest sister and her brood, the more he dreaded every moment away from her. 

She was his only friend, the only one he felt truly understood him, or at least made the effort to. Losing her would mean losing the only shred of happiness he’d managed to find for himself. 

He averted his gaze from Jace and the Ixtal girl, the sight of both their bright smiles becoming too painful.

“They seem to get along well.” His father mused, prompting Aemond to torturously follow his gaze to the pair yet again. 

His heart began to race at the insinuation, at the knowing look in his father’s twinkling eyes. 

“Yes, he seems to be quite taken with her.” Rhaenyra noted with a loving smile. 

“They’d make a fine match.” His mother added. Aemond looked to his mother, betrayal in his gaze. His mother knew how much his friend meant to him, she knew someone so precious shouldn’t be shackled to a bastard. 

He refused to hear another word. His chair screeched loudly against the floor as he abruptly stood and made his way out of the room as if there were no air left for him to breathe. They couldn’t take her away from him, they couldn’t give her to that bastard. 

He raced to his chambers, hoping he was quick enough that no passing guards could see the tears forming in his eyes. 

By the next day, he found himself in the gardens, his eyes locked onto the open book in his lap as he read and re-read the same sentence over and over, his racing mind not allowing him to focus on the words in front of him. 

The dread he had been feeling since the night before had not dissipated in the slightest.

“Aemond!” 

His heart leapt within his chest at the sound of her voice. His hopeful eyes looked around the garden before landing on her and a feeling of lead settled within him, bringing him right back down to his dour mood as he noticed Jace and Lucerys beside her. 

She motioned for him to join but he just shook his head softly and moved his gaze back down to his book. 

He let out a long breath, trying his hardest to ignore the bitterness that grew in his heart, one that was all too familiar from before he met her. He startled slightly as a body slumped next to him. He looked up and his eyes widened slightly at the sight of her looking at him questioningly.

“Why are you sulking?”

“I’m not sulking.”

She breathed deeply, as if disappointed by his obvious lie. “Why didn’t you join us?”

He shrugged, he couldn’t very well tell her the truth about how he despised his nephews and seeing her with them was like a dagger to the heart, how he feared losing her, his greatest friend. 

“I didn’t want to intrude.” He spoke softly. 

Her eyes narrowed at his words, her gaze moving to the two Velaryon boys who were talking quietly amongst each other, their curious eyes occasionally drifting to her and Aemond. 

She knew there was tension among them, the way they seemed to side with Aegon and play along in the cruel pranks he would play on Aemond always made her stomach twist. She suddenly felt guilty that she had never considered how it would make Aemond feel to be forced in their vicinity after how they treated him. 

She turned to her friend and shuffled closer to him. 

“You could never intrude.”

Aemond looked over at her, but quickly averted his gaze, finding it just too much to look in her eyes while she sat so close to him. 

“You don’t have to stay with me. If you want to be with them, I won’t stop you.” He spoke quietly. The last thing he wanted was to make her feel smothered by him. 

“I’d rather be with you.”

Her answer left him using all of his willpower to keep himself from marching directly to his father and demanding a betrothal this instant. 

She chose him. 

No one had ever chosen him.

~~

She was bored out of her mind. With Aemond and Helaena gone to Driftmark for Lady Laena’s funeral, she was left without her closest confidants, leaving her little to do in their absence. She wished she’d been granted leave to attend the funeral with them, but her father had never met Laena and had been tasked with extra duties while the King was gone, leaving her to stew in her loneliness.

She was curled up on the settee by her bed, her sketchbook in her lap as she scrawled out an attempt at drawing Dreamfyre, to horrible failure. 

A soft knock on her door made her lift her head and she sat up straighter when her father entered. The look on his face made her stomach twist, dread falling upon her like a crashing wave. 

She got to her feet quickly, feeling unsteady on her now weak legs.

“Darling, there was an… incident on Driftmark.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat, her heart racing. “What happened?”

“I wasn’t privy to all the details but all I know is that Aemond has been injured.” 

The breath was knocked out of her and at the first sign of her face crumbling into despair, her father crossed the room and held her tightly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as the first sob broke free. 

“Is he alright?”

Her father let out a long breath at her hiccuped words, holding her tightly. He knew his daughter had certain affections for the young boy, but hearing her now made him realize just how deeply she cared for him. 

“The Maesters say he has lost an eye.” 

A shuddering breath escaped her and she suddenly felt faint. She had no idea how, what could have unfolded, who would dare to do something so barbaric to him. 

The next days were spent in agony. She barely left her chambers. Every time her father came to check in on her, he found her sitting by her window, her gaze locked onto the horizon, waiting eagerly for the Targaryen family’s arrival. 

On the third day of her lonely torment, she finally spotted it. Dragons on the horizon. She was on her feet in a second and racing down to the courtyard. She was out of breath and disheveled by the time she made it, but her pace only quickened when she saw Helaena with her mother. 

She called out to her friend and Helaena let out a breath of relief when she saw her, her arms opening for her as she approached. 

Helaena didn’t let many touch her, but she was one of the lucky few she allowed. 

“Are you alright? Where’s Aemond? Will he be ok?” She fired off questions, not even able to get a breath out through her frantic words. 

“It’s alright, my Darling. Aemond will be fine.” Alicent consoled her, placing her arm around the shaking girl’s shoulders.

“Where is he?”

“He’s been taken to the Maester’s solar. He’ll have to spend some time there while he heals.” 

“What happened?” She asked breathlessly.

“What I told him.” Helaena interjected calmly. “He gained a dragon, but he had to close an eye.” 

She looked at Helaena with shock. “He… he claimed a dragon?”

She couldn’t make sense of the despair, relief and joy she had felt all at once. Knowing Aemond and his endless plight to gain a dragon, she knew he would see it a worthy trade, but the thought of him injured, permanently maimed, made her want to crumble to the ground below her. 

After bidding goodbye to Alicent and Helaena, she made her way to the Maester’s wing of the Keep. She was denied entry, but she was determined to not let it stop her. Each day, at the crack of dawn, she’d drag herself out of bed and, before even breaking her fast, would make the trek to the Maester’s wing and ask to see Aemond.

She was refused each and every day, but it did little to deter her. She kept trying. 

It had been weeks since she had seen Aemond. Her heart was aching without the presence of her best friend, without the boy that made her smile like no other could. 

On the fifth day of the third week, as she made the familiar walk to his door, the guard stopped her, as usual, though his words were different.

“The Prince does not wish for any visitors.” 

She frowned. It always used to be the order of the Maesters or Alicent, claiming her son needed his rest, but now it was Aemond himself refusing her. 

She couldn’t pinpoint it exactly, but she knew she had felt her heart crack in a way she had never felt before. 

She walked away from the door with her head bowed in defeat.

The hurt she felt mirrored Aemond’s own. Refusing her made him ache, but the thought of her seeing him as he was and looking at him with disgust was unfathomable and he would delay that inevitable despair as long as he could. 

He sulked in his bed, the dour expression on his face one that had been constant for weeks. 

His mother was by his bedside as she had been for weeks. He couldn’t stand to see her wince or her teary eyes everytime she looked at his ghastly scar. 

She had been trying, in no subtle terms, to get him out of the room, even going as far to bring up his friend, the one he longed to see yet dreaded ever seeing the same look on his mother’s face on hers. 

“It’s been a few weeks. She’s been worrying herself sick.” His mother told him, making his already weak heart more fragile. 

He stayed silent, his frown deepening in despair. 

“Aegon and Helaena will be heading out tomorrow to Ixtal. You should take Vhagar and join them.”

Aemond shifted uncomfortably. He knew his friend was leaving tomorrow, to visit home for her mother’s name day. They had all been invited, but with his father’s fading health and his mother’s refusal to ride on dragonback, it left just Aegon and Helaena to join the festivities. 

“Aemond.” His mother prompted again, the disappointment in her voice clear. 

“I don’t want to go.” He mumbled, one of the few sentences he’d managed over the past few weeks. 

His mother sighed in defeat and didn’t bring it up again for the rest of the night, leaving him to his solitude as he preferred. 

The next morning, Aemond lay in bed, the wound over his eye itching gratingly. He longed to claw at the wicked scar, to scream in anger, to enact his vengeance on that Strong bastard. The fury festered in him like the open wound on his face, red and flaming. 

The soft sound of his door opening and closing made him stir, assuming it was his mother yet again. As he lazily turned his head, dread settled in his stomach, his remaining eye widening in horror at the sight of her, the one he longed for yet resisted. 

She froze in her place at the door, her jaw falling slack, a shaking hand covering her mouth as a hitched breath escaped her at the sight of him. 

Aemond’s face twisted in agony. This was exactly what he wished to avoid. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked angrily, tears forming in his remaining eye. 

“I just wanted- I wanted… we’re leaving soon.” 

It was faint but he heard it. Fear. The stuttering of her words, the quiet, almost docile way she spoke that was so unlike her was like a hatchet to his heart. The look on her face was even worse. She could barely make eye contact with him.

“Get out.” He spoke lowly through gritted teeth.

“Aemond, I-”

“Get out! I don’t want you here!” He screamed at her, tears steadily falling down his cheeks. 

Her own tears began to fall, her face twisting with agony. He hated it. He didn’t want her pity, he didn’t want to see the disgust on her face that everyone would face him with for the rest of his life. 

“Leave me alone! I never want to see you again!” 

She let out a sob and turned on her heel, leaving the room with haste. 

Aemond slumped back in bed, placing his hands over his face, ignoring the way it made his eye ache, and he cried for what he had lost. 

Not just his eye, but his love, his happiness. His everything. 

~~

She stood on the balcony of the banquet hall, breathing in the fresh ocean air. She missed home. She had thought of this moment for weeks, had been eager and excited to finally visit, yet now that she was there, it was bittersweet. 

The sound of the waves weren’t as peaceful as she remembered. The food she ate wasn’t as delicious as she remembered. The music and the dancing wasn’t as exciting as she remembered. 

“Darling?”

She turned to see her mother approaching, concern written across her face as she moved to stand next to her daughter, her arm crossing over her shoulders, bringing her in close to her side. 

“Are you alright? I thought I’d see you dancing all night.”

“I’m fine.”

The Lady of Ixtal looked to her once vibrant daughter worriedly. She was far from the girl that had left all those months ago. From all the letters she had sent, it seemed her daughter was having the time of her life in King’s Landing. The girl she saw now wasn’t the one who had gleaned nothing but happiness.

“Was it not what you expected?”

She stiffened, the need to defend her friends and her new found home rising. “No, it’s- King’s Landing is lovely.”

Her mother sighed. She had gotten a short re-telling of the last few weeks in the Capitol from her husband and she was starting to put the pieces together. 

“I couldn’t help but notice your friend isn’t here.” 

She looked up at her mother, her wide doe-like eyes giving everything away. 

“Aemond?”

She felt her cheeks heat and she turned her attention back to the view before her, focusing on the waves of the ocean, mirroring her breathing with each crashing wave. 

“He’s not my friend anymore.” She spoke quietly through the lump that grew in her throat. 

“From what I’ve heard, it sounds as though he is going through an awful time, something no one, especially someone so young, should ever have to endure. People don’t exactly act rationally when they are hurt. It is easy to speak things that are untrue in that state.”

She stayed silent, taking in her mother’s words thoughtfully. It was easy enough to explain, but it didn’t lessen the hurt she felt. 

“You can stay here if you wish. The Gods know I would love to keep you in my arms, but I don’t think that is truly what you want.”

She let out a shaking breath, her mind a mess as she thought of her life in King’s Landing, of what she’d be leaving behind. But, if Aemond was being truthful and he didn’t want to see her or be her friend anymore, what would her life be like there?

“I don’t know what to do.”

“You’ll figure it out.” Her mother assured her. “Or else we’ll have a dragon landing on our shores demanding you come back.”

The smile on her mother’s face made the hurt inside her melt away slightly. Her conviction that Aemond would forgive her for her intrusion, that he would bring her back into his life and his arms made her hopeful. 

Her mother was never wrong and she prayed she wouldn’t start now. 

~~

She clutched onto Helaena’s waist as they flew on Dreamfyre back to King’s Landing. No matter how thrilling it was to ride a dragon, no matter that she felt as light as a feather, that she could touch the clouds and feel as though she was in a magical, untouchable realm, it felt wrong. 

Her first ride shouldn’t have belonged to Helaena, it shouldn’t have been with Dreamfyre. It wasn’t what she promised. 

As they dismounted, Helaena’s hand held hers and stayed, holding tightly as they made their way from the dragonpit to the Keep, as if knowing her friend needed the comfort. 

As they parted, Helaena promised she’d spend the day with her tomorrow, knowing she needed the distraction from Aemond.

She smiled, though it wasn’t as bright as usual, and with a wave, they parted. She stepped into her chambers and sighed heavily, mourning what her time in King’s Landing would hold. 

She moved to her bed, content to hide under the covers for the rest of the day, but she stopped, noticing a bundle of flowers on her desk. She frowned, she certainly hadn’t put them there before she left. 

She stepped closer, her fingers gently tracing along the soft petals. They were perfectly bloomed and freshly plucked, most likely just placed on her desk mere minutes before she arrived. 

It suddenly struck her. 

They were marigolds. 

She remembered the flower Aemond had tucked behind her ear, the ones he would bring her on occasion simply because he knew she was fond of them. 

Her heart began to race, her stomach flipping at the merest notion that it could’ve been from her best friend. She picked up the bundle, inhaling their fresh scent with a small smile. 

She noticed the slip of parchment below them, the simple words in familiar handwriting brought tears to her eyes. 

I am deeply, truly sorry.

I didn’t mean a word of what I said

Please forgive me

- Your Aemond

Her breath hitched, her chest feeling tight with sorrow. 

The words he had screamed at her that day hurt her deeply, yet the thought of not having Aemond by her side, not having him as her friend, was unfathomable.

She spent the remainder of the day in her chambers, picking sparsely at the food her father had sent to her, knowing she wanted her solitude. By the next morning, having thought of nothing but Aemond all night, she was determined to see the end of their rift.

She dressed quickly and stepped out of her chambers, determined to march her way straight to Aemond, but she was stopped by her guard.

“The Prince has requested your presence in the gardens.” 

The crease in her brow that signaled her determination smoothed out, leaving nothing but hopeful nervousness as she quickly made her way through the halls of the Keep. She ignored the looks of disdain from the ladies of the court as she raced past them, ignoring the whispers of her undignified behavior. 

They were the last things on her mind.

Her heart was racing within her chest as she approached the gardens. She walked the familiar path, one she had taken countless times, to get to their usual meeting spot. Her feet came to an abrupt stop as she turned the last corner and saw him sitting on their bench, the one they always congregated to over the months together. 

Nervous butterflies fluttered within her as she approached him. 

She called out to him softly, cursing herself for how her voice shook in hopeful anticipation. 

Aemond turned to face her and she was shocked to see the eyepatch across his face, covering the angry looking wound she had seen that morning in his chambers. 

Her heart ached at the sight of the red scar that peeked out from the patch. It looked painful and the reminder of what he had gone through, what his own nephew had inflicted on him made her want to cry. 

He spoke her name in greeting, giving her a small, weak smile. He winced slightly, the pull of his cheeks causing his scar to flair with pain. 

Her chest tightened at the sight of him. He seemed smaller, as if he sat hunched over, trying hard not to take up too much space in the world. 

“I’m sorry.” She blurted out before he could speak. He looked up at her incredulously, his stomach twisting at the despair he saw on her face. “I shouldn’t have just barged into your chambers. I knew you wanted privacy and I ignored your wishes and I’m sorry. I never meant-”

Aemond spoke her name breathlessly, stopping her rambling apology. He had never seen her so frantic before, it was unnerving to him, nothing at all like the lively girl he was used to. And it was his fault.

“You don’t have to apologize.” He told her softly. He looked down at his hands that fidgeted in his lap, shame overcoming him as he thought back to that day, when he had yelled at her so callously. He had replayed that moment over and over again in his head for days and it was torturous each time. 

He couldn’t get the sight of her tears out of his head. To know he was the cause was his greatest shame. 

“I’m sorry.” He spoke earnestly, looking her in the eyes intently, hoping she would believe him. “I never should have spoken to you that way. I’m so sorry I made you cry. I never will again, I promise.” 

She let out a long breath, his words stirring something inside her she couldn’t recognize.

He frowned deeply at her lack of reaction, shuffling over and patted the space next to him on the bench, motioning for her to take a seat beside him. 

She moved slowly, hesitantly taking her seat next to him. 

“I’ve never seen you that angry before.” She spoke, her voice barely more than a whisper as she recalled that dreadful day. 

Aemond sighed and bowed his head. 

“I…” He started but soon found he had no words, no excuses for how he had treated her. Nothing would ever make it ok, never to her. “I hated to see you look at me like that.” Was the only thing he could think to say.

“Like what?”

“Like you were horrified of me.”

“I was horrified.” She said and he felt his insides turn to stone, his throat tightening with emotion. “But not of you. Never of you.” She added quickly, causing him to look over at her, his eye wide and shining with unshed tears. 

“But-”

“Aemond, the thought of what happened to you, the thought of you in pain… it hurts me.” 

The vice around his heart lifted instantly. His mind was spinning with the insinuation of her words.

“You… you’re not-”

She reached out, taking his hand in hers, causing words to fail him.

“I could never be afraid of you. I could never feel disgusted by you, I could never think any less of you, or whatever other horrible thing you think I feel for you now. No scar will change how I care for you.”

The weight that had been suffocating him for weeks now seemed to lift just the slightest, allowing him to feel as though he could finally take a breath. 

He let out a shaking breath and tightened his hand in hers. She smiled softly and leaned in closer to his side, letting her head fall to his shoulder, letting him revel in her closeness.

He hated the stares he got from the ladies at court, he hated the winces, the horrified gasps as he passed them. He hated the worried looks he received, as if he was seconds away from collapsing like a weak mannered child. 

But none of it mattered. 

She still cared for him, she was still by his side, her hand in his.

Even the burning fury he held for his nephew seemed dim in the wake of the pure delight he felt in her presence.

“But, if you ever raise your voice to me like that again I will smack you.” 

Her threat, that held no anger in the slightest, made him laugh and duck his head against hers as his body shook with each breath of laughter. 

His first laugh since the incident. 

From then, they were closer than ever. One was seldom seen without the other at their side. 

The Ladies at court through the two of them were just about the most darling thing they had ever seen. Yet, not everyone was rooting for the threads of young love to flourish. 

Alicent watched her son in the training yard with a frown. Her second son, so dutiful and so smart, was becoming distracted. Her eyes never strayed from him as he neglected his own lessons to play around with his friend, watching with a scowl as the two of them laughed together, as if there was no care in the world.

The sight of the young girl in the training yard was enough to leave her appalled, but her son’s willingness to indulge in such unseemly behavior was worrying. 

“We cannot let this go any further.” Her father spoke from beside her. 

“I can’t very well tell him he cannot be her friend. It would devastate him.”

“Let them be friends, but make it clear that is all it will ever be. Aemond can’t get any ideas about marrying this girl.”

Alicent chewed on her lower lip anxiously. The thought of tearing her son away from such happiness turned her stomach, but the thought of him marrying a girl so unpredictable was just as unfortunate. 

“Would it really be so bad? We could gain leverage with her father.”

“Ixtal is a neutral house. They have never taken a stand in any war, that won’t change now. We cannot risk Aemond allying with a house that could not give us leverage for Aegon’s claim.” Otto hissed angrily. 

Alicent wrapped her arms around herself, her eyes falling back to her son, taking in the sight of his smile while she still could. She doubted it would be a common sight once he was forced away from the Island girl. 

But they all had a duty to perform.

~~

Her arm was looped through his as he guided her past the dragon pit. 

“Where are we going?” She asked, looking over her shoulder at the structure that housed the mighty Targaryen dragons they had just passed. 

“Vhagar doesn’t stay there. She doesn’t fit.” Aemond explained, a slightly smug smirk crossing his features as he subtly boasted about his newly claimed dragon.

Her smile twitched slightly, her nerves suddenly overtaking her. She’d been hesitant when Aemond offered to introduce her to his mount, but the reminder of the great beast’s sheer size had the beginnings of fear creeping through her veins. 

Noticing the subtle shift in her expression, Aemond tightened his grip on her arm. 

“I would never put you in danger.” He assured her. “Vhagar is bonded to me, she can feel what I feel for you and she would never hurt you.”

“If I could hear that directly from Vhagar I might be able to breathe properly.” 

Aemond snickered and led her forward excitedly. 

Soon, they arrived at the crest of the hill, Vhagar’s enormous form coming into view. A shuddering breath escaped her when she came face to face with the historic dragon that fought in wars long before her time. 

She could barely comprehend such a beast of her size existed among them, that the sweet boy beside her commanded her or even willingly approached her. 

“Relax.” Aemond told her softly, moving out of her hold so his hand could take hers, intertwining their fingers. 

The pair of them stepped towards the sleeping giant. She watched, mystified, as Aemond spoke a few words of Valaryian, the dragon's eyes sleepily opening, her large head lifting towards them. 

She felt her body freeze, the blood in her veins running cold as the mighty dragon looked past her rider, her curious gaze landing on her. A low rumble shook the ground, Vhagar’s protest to the stranger before her. 

Aemond soothed his dragon, placing an affectionate hand on her snout as he spoke soft commands. 

She doubted a few measly words would suddenly convince Vhagar that she wasn’t a tasty snack, but she could only watch, her eyes widening as the dragon became disinterested by her presence, laying her head back down on the warm grass she had been slumbering on. 

Aemond looked over his shoulder at her prone form several feet back and smiled, motioning her to come closer. 

She shook her head adamantly, her feet frozen in place. 

He spoke her name, holding his hand out to her. 

She looked to his hand and then to his dragon and back again, contemplating the risk to her life. 

“Do you trust me?” Aemond asked and her tense shoulders sagged. She had no reason to doubt her best friend. With one look in his eye, she knew he would never let any harm come to her. 

She took slow steps forward, her fear not allowing her to move any quicker. 

She reached out and took Aemond’s hand in hers as soon as she was close enough, holding on tightly.

“It’s alright.” He assured her. 

He guided her hand toward Vhagar, watching the girl beside him closely, gaging every expression that crossed her face in a matter of seconds. From fear, to doubt, to disbelief and suddenly to awe. 

A shaky laugh left her lips as her hand softly rested on the rough scales of Vhagar’s side. Pure delight was etched across her face as she pet the mighty beast as if she were nothing more than a house cat. Aemond saw how excited she got when one of the many stray cats that roamed Flea Bottom ventured their way into the Keep. 

The excited smile she wore now as she pet his dragon was the same one he saw when she would cradle those strays. 

The thought made him laugh and he leaned in close to her, letting his head rest against hers. 

Seeing her now, fearless by his mount’s side, only confirmed what he already knew. 

She was meant to be with dragons. Meant to be with him. 

~~

I will hopefully have the next chapter out within the next couple of days! And yes, every chapter is going to be long, I have no control. Hope you liked it xx

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

THE HISTORY BOOK ON THE SHELF. ( HOTD x Reader )

AUTHOR NOTE! Thanks for all the love. <3 pairing: King Aegon ii Targaryen x Targaryen! Little Sister! Reader prompt: When the small council plans to marry off once again, you turn to your older brother for help. word count: 1, 000+ words

You were the youngest and third daughter of Alicent and Viserys. A few months younger than Helaena and Aegon's little shadow in your childhood. Your older brother at first hated it, the way you cling onto him and gawk at him with an innocent awe.

It was your ninth name day, your Father had not paid much attention to it, but your Mother had ordered a celebration for it. You had trailed after him, babbling about nonsense as he tried to lose you. It was at dinner that night that everything had boiled over. Instead of receiving gifts, you had taken to giving everyone a gift.

He had not expected anything. He hadn't been the most kind to you. But was surprised when you had gifted him an embroidered cloth with Sunfyre on it. It was not the best and some threads were loose, but you proudly had told him you learned embroidery for him. Seeing those big doe eyes of yours his opinion changed. He adored you. You were the only one in the family that did not care about his worsening reputation. You just...adored your big brother, flaws and all.

It was why it killed him on your eleventh name day you were shipped off to the Reach, married off to a Lord as old as your Grandsire. He was haunted by your wails, of the way you clung onto Helaena and Aemond, the two of them wailing as Ser Cole carried you off to the carriage.

His young sister, the only one in the family who truly cared, was sold off like a piece of cattle. Not even your cold Grandsire was able to protest the marriage as politically it was a good match and good enough reasoning for the small council to approve it. 

As years ticked by, you gave birth to two children, a stillborn daughter and a healthy son. Your husband kept you away in the Reach, so no one in your family had seen you since you were twelve and given birth to your only surviving son.

He remembered the look in your eyes, so void and almost dead. Of how you tried to stay positive. Saying, "Tis' not so bad. He mostly ignores me, except when he wishes to bed me. But even then tis' not so bad, he finishes quickly."

When he became King, he swiftly ordered you to return home, regardless of your husband's wishes. No one would take his baby sister away from him. Not whilst he was still alive and had the crown placed upon his head.

Watching you bounce your son on your lap, he attempts to pay some attention to the small council, but his eyes keep straying back to you. It was odd to think that you were now a Mother and all grown up. Snapping out of his little daze, he glances back at the small council, each member arguing intently. Furrowing his brows in confusion, Ser Criston slides a piece of parchment in front of him, an uncomfortable look on his face. Raising a brow at what he had just returned to, he glances at the parchment, reading the words quickly. 

Your cunt of a husband was dead, finally croaked in his sleep. There was no reason for you to go back to the Reach. You could stay here in King’s Landing once more. Softly smiling at the good news, he goes to speak up when Lord Lannister stands up from his chair, slamming his hands down on the table. His face red from anger, his eyes wild like an untamable beast, and voice booming loud enough that it would make a dragon’s roar put to shame.

“To speak of the Princess in such a manner is dishonorable, I will see to it personally that your tongue is removed, Lord Wydle.” 

“The girl is of age, she has proven she can bear heirs, healthy heirs. To not give her hand to another Lord would be foolish.” 

“We need allies, the common folk are starving and soon the coin will run out. Surely as Master of Coin you can see reason, Lord Lannister.”

“Your grace, please, listen to reason we should⎯”

It takes a moment to realize what they had been discussing so intently. Then it clicks, they were speaking of having you remarry. 

"What?" He whispers, his voice shaky and full of disbelief.

"No, Aegon, please don't make me do this again. Please." You whisper, tears building up in your eyes.

"It would be best to have your sister marry someone⎯"

"Think of the war, your grace⎯"

Seeing the tears building up in your eyes, it reminded him of all those years ago when you were whisked away to the Reach. Struggling to speak up and dismiss their suggestions, you kneel in front of his chair, gripping onto breeches as you beg and plead for clemency to their plans. Your son starts to wail on the other side of his chair, making motions with his hands to be picked up. 

Feeling his heart break a little at the sight, he shifts his gaze from you then your wailing son then back to the small council. Everything is hectic and he doesn’t know who or what to focus his attention on. Does he console you? Does he tend to your wailing son? Does he handle the small council? Struggling to find his voice, he just stays frozen in his chair. 

“Please, please, do not make me do this again, Aegon.” You beg, “I did what was asked of me before. Please do not ask this of me again.”

“We need allies, your grace. The Princess is still desired by many men, men who will look past her past marriage and son. Think of the kingdom⎯”

“Send treaties, then!”

“Please, Aegon. I ask as your sister, not a member of the Court. Please do not make me do this again. I do not wish to marry again. Please do not send me away again.” You beg, your voice cracking. 

Watching as the tears begin to fall from your eyes, he clenches his jaw tightly, anger boiling up at the sight of you. His precious little sister, the one person in all of the Realm that he truly cared for, was crying by his small council's hand. Slamming his hands down hard on the table, the room goes deadly silent, minus the soft sniffles of you and your son. 

“There will be no marrying off my sister! If you wish for such alliances as much as you claim, do offer your daughters instead, for I will not be doing the same to my sister nor my daughter.” 

“Your grace, if you would just⎯”

“I am King, no?” He snaps back, “There will be no questioning of my decision. The matter is settled.”

----

@fragileheartbeats

@danytar

@nightvers

[entitled-fangirl]

Flames in snow.

Cregan Stark x Velaryon!reader

Summary: the reader and Jace go to Winterfell to gain the support of the North. Cregan is not the same little boy they met all those years ago. But his son is quite similar to his father: his hair, his eyes, his love for the reader.

A/n: based on an ask! also... part 2 in the future?

Masterlist

..................................................

"Prince, Princess," Cregan acknowledged as the Valeryon siblings entered the Hall. 

Jace grinned, his sister trailing behind him.

Cregan had not seen the family in what felt like eons, when they were small children. Now, they were adults. 

Though life had been cruel to them, it did not show. 

"Lord Stark," Jace said in a cheery notion. "I thank you for your hospitality. We are most grateful that you have housed our dragons."

Cregan nodded, stepping to them. "The honor is mine. It is not often that the future of the realm steps through Winterfell's threshold."

Cregan didn't miss the way the young woman's brow quirked up at his choice of words.

"We come in the name of Queen Rhaenyra," Jace clarified, not bothering with small talk again. "The rightful heir to the Iron Throne."

Cregan looked confused, and Y/n finally spoke up. 

"Prince Aegon Targaryen II has usurped our mother's throne."

"And you are asking me if I will help fight your war, Princess?" Cregan quirked. 

She nodded.

"Let us not discuss such heavy matters while the dragon riders remain weary. Rest, and we will discuss further on the morrow."

…

The Princess walked the long halls of Winterfell, exploring it herself as the sun began to set. 

She paused her steps when she heard a small cry.

Though she was no mother, instinct kicked in, and she began to locate where it was coming from.

And she found it.

On the floor of the corridor was a young boy, not older than four. He sat and cried, the smallest bit of blood running from his knee.

She moved to him, lowering herself to the ground, "Let me see."

The boy looked up with puffy eyes, letting the woman help. 

A servant rounded the corner, her eyes widening at the sight, "Princess, please… allow me-"

"-That is quite alright. I have it handled." She declined politely. She turned back to the boy, "And what is your name?"

The boy sniffled, "R…Rickon."

Rickon. 

She'd heard that name before.

In her studies from childhood. 

Rickon Stark, the past Lord of Winterfell.

This was Cregan's son.

She let out a breath, "Oh… that's… that's a lovely name. My name is Y/n."

She helped the boy stand and the two walked slowly to the boy's chambers.

"Am I going to lose my leg?" He asked with a sniffle.

"Heavens, no. It takes much worse to best a Stark. Do you believe a mere scrape would take down your father?"

He shook his head, "Papa is strong." He gained a sudden enthusiasm, "One time, he fought a wolf! And… and he took his sword," he mimicked the motion, "and he drove it through its heart!" He looked back up to her. "Have you ever done that?"

She shook her head, "I can't say I have. I don't have a sword."

"Oh, yeah." He said glumly. "You're a girl."

She tilted her head, "Well… I may not have a sword, but I have my own weapon." She paused dramatically, "I have a dragon!"

The boy's eyes lit up, "A dragon?! Papa does not have a dragon."

"Only children with dragon blood get a dragon. You, young Stark, have wolf blood in you. That's something of importance as well."

Finally at his chambers, he slumped in one of the chairs, "But it's not like a dragon."

"No," she countered. "But if everyone had the same blood, what would make each of us special?" She grinned as she kneeled in front of his chair. "You know, dragon blood gets quite cold up here. Do you get cold, Little Lord Stark?"

He frowned and shook his head. 

"Exactly. Wolf blood does not get as chilled."

"Is your dragon here?"

She nodded.

"Can I meet him?"

"Her, sweet boy. Silverwing is a girl."

"Can I meet her?"

She tilted her head, "Maybe before I leave. Until then, let me clean you up and put you to bed."

So caught up in the conversation, he had forgotten his little scrape entirely.

…

"Might I be curious enough to ask why the Princess is roaming the castle at so late of an hour?" Came a voice.

She jumped, turning to see Lord Stark standing with a small grin on his face. "Pardon me. It's not my place to wander."

"It's quite alright. My home is yours for as long as you'll have it."

She nodded, unsure of what to say to the man.

"You've grown," he finally said.

A soft giggle escaped her throat. "We are not children anymore, my lord. I'm afraid we'll never be."

"Aye. But I dare say that is not a bad thing." He tried to hide the way his eyes flit over her frame. His body naturally stepped towards her.

"I… I was quite saddened to hear of the loss of your wife."

Cregan nodded, taking another step. "I know. You wrote me. Remember?"

A warm smile came across her face. "I'm starting to. I do not remember what I said-"

"- 'May there be warmth in the cold, and flames in snow. May you be bundled in comfort anywhere you go. If not, I will ride with my dragon high, to bring it myself when the time is nigh.' "

Her smile faltered a bit, "You remember that so clearly?"

Cregan's felt his heart jolt. "I've always remembered you clearly."

An involuntary breath left her throat. 

The two stared at one another, an obvious tension coming over them. 

"I… I shall return to my chambers," she finally whispered. 

Cregan snapped from his trance and nodded, backing away from her, "Aye. Sleep well, Princess."

"Good night."

…

Things seemed to repeat themselves, because she found Rickon again in that same hall as before. 

"Lord Rickon?"

Rickon's head turned and his face lit up.

Y/n sat next to him, looking at what he had to play with.

It was wooden horses, through beaten from its time in the little boy's hands, they were carefully carved. 

Someone made them with care.

"Might I play with you?" She asked nicely.

A horse was thrusted into her hand.

"Papa does not play with me. He does not want to," Rickon finally said.

"That's not true, boy," she tried to reason. "Your father is just… needed by many people."

"I need him."

She felt a pain in her chest at the boy's honesty.

She understood the feeling very well.

"One day, little lord, you will be just as needed as him, and you will understand. Until then, I'm afraid there's little to help ease the pain."

"You help."

A noise almost escaped her throat. "Yes, but… I am not here forever."

The young boy sighed. 

"I wish you could be."

…

The three stood around a table, trying to come to an agreement on an alliance. 

"I have troubles of the other side of the Wall to consider, my prince. I cannot afford to turn my back to it with winter approaching."

Jace sighed, "What good would guarding the Wall do if there is nothing to protect?"

"Jace," Y/n butted in, "Be reasonable."

Jace turned to her, "Sister, the queen needs an army."

"So does the Warden. He knows his people's needs better than us."

"Thank you, Princess," Cregan offers. His gaze stays on her for a second too long. "I have 2,000 graybeards at your disposal. They've seen far too many winters."

"And you'll not march with them?" Jace asked in frustration.

"I will stay until the time is right," Cregan countered. 

"Stay with Rickon, you mean?" Y/n asked softly. "You're staying behind for him, yes?"

Cregan's eyes mixed with confusion and surprise. "You…"

She flushed. "Perhaps that was too forward of me, my lord. Forgive me."

"No, you…" his eyes softened, as well as his voice. "You are the one he has been discussing so gleefully?"

The confusion shifts to her, "I'm sorry?"

"Rickon, he," Cregan lets out a soft scoff. "He has been completely enamored with someone. I didn't know who it was, I assumed a servant."

Jace turns to her, "What is he speaking of?"

"I have indeed interacted with the boy, but it has not been that life changing for him surely-"

"-My Princess, Rickon speaks of no one but you."

Rickon ran through the doors, going straight to Cregan.

Cregan abandoned the table to catch his son, raising him up in the air, "Good morning, my boy."

Rickon giggled and squirmed in his father's hold.

Cregan let him down and ruffled his hair, "Go on, Rickon. Your papa has business he must discuss."

"You will not play with me?" Rickon pouted.

The tough lord of Winterfell let out a soft breath. "Forgive me, son. Not this morning."

Rickon's eyes flit to her, and they brighten, "Will you play with me?"

"Son, that is the princess you speak to. She has little time for such things."

"No, my lord," she interrupted. "I'd… I'd quite like the change of scenery. This talk to war is getting to my head. Perhaps chats of horses will be better."

Rickon's eyes light up, and he quickly grabs her hand and drags her from the room to play.

Jace is left in bewilderment. "I had no idea."

"Neither did I."

…

A few hours later, Cregan came to collect the two.

He found them in the courtyard. 

"Rickon!" He called out.

The boy's head shot up and he gathered his things and ran to his father. 

Cregan ran a hand through Rickon's hair, noting the way the princess watched the interaction from afar. "Go wash up."

Rickon went to move, then paused. 

"Can princesses live in Winterfell, Papa?"

Cregan froze. "Why do you ask, boy?"

"The princess should live here."

Cregan smiled, "You like to play with her that much?"

"She's my favorite." And with that, Rickon went into the castle.

The princess stood, seeing Rickon leave and Cregan approach. "My lord."

"Please, princess. I would prefer you call me by my name."

"Yes, my lord."

He tilted his head.

"Cregan."

He grinned at her correction, "Much better."

Her gaze moved downwards towards the object in her hand.

Cregan followed and his breath hitched. 

One of Rickon's horses. 

"He ran off before I could return it," she admitted. 

Her fingers ran over the mane of it, and Cregan felt a fire ignite within him, but he pushed it down to speak. "There is time to return it."

"You carved it."

Cregan's head tilted, "What?"

She held it up, "You carved this. Surely you did."

He reached up and took it from her, sucking in a breath with their fingers brushed. He studied the beat up toy, as if recalling a memory. "Aye. I did."

"It's beautiful work," she commented. "You've always… been gifted."

He felt his ears turn a shade of pink. "I thank you, Princess."

When silence fell over the two, Cregan continued. "When I leave Rickon, and I journey to the Wall, I whittle these little things. It gives me something to do, and in turn, gives him a reason to want me home."

"He wants you home regardless."

Something in him broke. 

"I know."

She placed her hand over his. "You're doing the right thing."

"Then why is it so damn difficult?"

She wasn't sure what to say to that.

But she didn't miss the way his fingers shook under hers, and his eyes taking her in as if something had dawned on him.

…

The two had avoided one another after that, only speaking when necessary. 

But it all came to a close on their last day in Winterfell.

"I have a final proposition, Prince Jacaerys."

Jace's head shot up, "Name it."

"I remain Warden, the North keeps its independence as is…"

Jace was on the edge of his seat. "And?"

Cregan smiled. "I have the princess's hand."

Y/n's shoulders stiffened from beside her brother. "W…What?"

"I want your hand, Princess."

Jace was just as confused. "You… You've not stated these intentions before."

"I understand that, but that does not mean they were not there. She would make a beautiful Lady Stark."

"Cregan," she reasoned. "I could not possibly-"

"-These are my conditions." He said it persistently.

"Cregan, this is my sister we speak of, do not-"

"-Jace. Let me speak with Lord Stark."

Jace looked between the two, then excused himself.

When the door was closed, she began to speak. "What are you doing?"

"I am being sincere, my princess. I want you as my wife."

And sincere he was. Hope shone in his eyes as he looked to her. She gave a hinted smile, "And you're sure?"

His eyes shone brightly. "I've never been more sure of something in my life. You bring a light to my boy, and you're a light to me."

"Cregan, this war-"

"-You will fight with your mother, as you wish, and return to me in Winterfell when the time is right."

She studied him for a while, making him sweat despite the constant chill of his home. 

"I'm happy to marry you, Cregan. For our houses. For your son," she paused to take a breath. "For you."

A wide smile spread across his face. "You've done me a great service."

"It is not service to me," she smiled. "It is not a duty or sacrifice. It is what I want."

"Rickon shall be overjoyed."

"I'd rather you be the overjoyed one in this moment."

Cregan grinned again and moved to her, wrapping his arms around her. His voice lowered, "Trust me, I am." He paused, "You've come through on your promise, you know."

She tilted her head to look at him, "And what is that?"

" 'Flames in snow,' " he grinned as his lips brushed against hers, "You've brought me comfort in multitudes."

......................................

A/n: I have some good ideas for part 2

Taglist: @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @8812-342, @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn, @callsignwidow, @a1lexh-blog, @alyssa-dayne, @ethereal-athalia, @ashovertheriver

[wholoveseggs]

Mistress

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Daemon Targaryen X Rhaenyra Targaryen x Reader} It's a stormy night on Dragonstone and you seek solace in your queen's bed, but a certain king consort joins the two of you, making the evening even more interesting...

4.6k words - Warnings: smut, incest, daemyra centric, voyeurism, ffm threesome, tribbing, fingering, oral (male & female receiving) face sitting, riding, Daemon being cheeky, Rhaenyra being a bit nervous& inexperienced in pleasing a woman, lots of kisses, tons of fluff & teensy tiny bit of somnophilia ...

{Daemon Targaryen Tag-List}

@elijahstwink @starshipcookie @absolutemarveltrash @odairtrqsh @darkened-writer @cheneyq @fallout-girl219 @nina6708 @evasmlp @sadmonke @deamonloverrrr

It was well past midnight on Dragonstone, the sound of rain tapping on the stone floor filled the quiet halls of the castle. It was dark and cold but that did not bother the two lovers as they embraced in the sheets, bodies entangled in one another.

Soft moans and heavy breaths filled the room as you straddled your queen, the sheets pooling around your waists as your lips moved against her plump ones, kissing her deeply. Your fingers danced up her arms, her shoulders, and her neck before finding their way into her beautiful silver-gold hair. Her own hands were running down your back and over the curve of your ass before giving it a light squeeze.

A quiet giggle escaped your lips as she squeezed again, and you pulled away from her slightly, pressing your forehead against hers as you both gazed into each other's eyes. You could see the lust and passion as she smiled, moving a hand from your ass and up your side before cupping your cheek and bringing you back to her for another kiss.

Rhaenyra had never felt the touch of another woman before, nor the taste of her lips. Her heart was pounding in her chest, feeling you against her as she deepened the kiss. The feeling of your bare skin against her own was magic. Your warm soft breasts pressing against hers, making her nipples harden against your chest. She could feel the wetness between her thighs, and she knew you could feel it too.

"Your grace," you murmured against her lips, your soft hands caressing the young queen's face, "you are shaking," you told her, feeling her body trembling beneath you.

"I'm just a little cold," Rhaenyra lied, she felt heat flood her cheeks at the way you smiled down at her.

"Then let me warm you," you replied, pulling her closer to you as you moved a hand down her neck and between her breasts, your fingers trailing her soft pale skin. You moved down her stomach, over her navel, and through the neatly trimmed patch of hair on her mound before reaching her soaking wet center.

You watched your queen's face closely, her eyes fluttering shut as you ran a finger along the wetness, making her let out a moan, her lips parting. You smiled at her reaction and brought your finger to her pearl, rubbing the sensitive spot gently, watching as Rhaenyras skin began to flush a beautiful pink, her breathing becoming more ragged.

"Does that feel good, your grace?" you asked her, slowly moving your finger back and forth as you lowered your head and kissed her jaw.

"Yes," she breathed, her hips bucking against your touch as her hands gripped the sheets tightly.

To be intimate with a dragon felt like a dream, feeling the heat radiate off of her body, her skin glistening with sweat. It was an honor to teach her, an honor to touch her, and an honor to watch her as she was pleasured.

You gently pushed her back onto the bed, her silver-gold hair fanned out on the pillow like a halo around her head, the moonlight shining through the window, illuminating her body. You wondered if the Targaryens tasted different than other women, their blood was so close to dragon blood, the magic that was once coursing through their veins, maybe it still did, maybe it still lingered.

Rhaenyra looked up at you with wide eyes as you kissed down the valley between her breasts and over her stomach, your warm lips leaving a trail of kisses and soft bites on her skin. You glanced up at her, making sure she was okay as you kissed her mound. You could smell her sweet scent, like honey and jasmine.

Your eyes stayed locked with hers as you slowly moved down, kissing her inner thigh, your nose tickling her soft flesh. You could hear her breath catch in her throat as you pressed a soft kiss against her swollen pearl, her hips lifting up slightly at the feeling. You smiled and gave it another kiss, flicking your tongue over it before sucking it into your mouth.

You could feel her squirming beneath you, her thighs trying to close around your head. You placed a hand on her stomach, holding her still as you licked, sucked and nipped. Her moans filled the room, her back arching off the bed, her hand flying to the top of your head and pulling on your hair.

Her taste flooded your mouth as she cried out, her body shaking with her climax. You slowly eased your lips off her, moving back and reaching out your hands, pulling her into a sitting position. You kissed her shoulder, her neck, and her jaw, moving your lips up to hers, kissing her gently, letting her taste herself.

"Men, you see, don't know the first thing about a woman's body," you explained, stroking her hair gently as she tried to catch her breath, "they fail to understand just what it takes to please one."

"They can be a bit selfish, can't they?" Rhaenyra whispered, a slow smile spreading across her face as you nodded.

You giggled and wrapped your arms around her waist, pulling her flush against your body, your breasts pressed together.

The candles flickered, light bouncing off your bodies which were now glistening with a soft sheen of sweat. The sound of the heavy rainfall and the cracking of the fire drowned out the laboured breathing as you placed your leg over her hip and brought your core against hers.

Rhaenyra gasped when you made contact, and you began to rock your hips, grinding yourself against her. You held her tightly, her hands gripping your ass, squeezing and guiding you, trying to find the right rhythm.

Soft gasps and moans echoed off the stone walls as the two of you moved together, your lips brushing over hers. Rhaenyra moaned into your mouth, becoming lost in the pleasure, the heat, the wetness, the feeling of you against her.

Daemon had always loved a good storm. The sound of the hammering rain, the crack of the lightning and the rumble of thunder made his blood rush.

He had been away from home for far too long, so much that he had forgotten the tranquility Dragonstone provided. Even on nights such as these, when the weather was unpredictable, he loved the thrill of riding on Caraxes over the hills and valleys, letting the storm rage, letting the wind and rain beat his body, it was exhilarating.

But the thrill he craved the most was that of his wife. He missed his queen, his darling Rhaenyra. He missed the way they clashed together, tearing into each other with claws and teeth and desire. Nothing could tame the fire he had for her.

He landed Caraxes in the courtyard and dismounted, his boots splashing in the puddles as he strides towards the main entrance. He entered the castle and began to make his way through the dimly lit halls, heading towards the royal chambers.

Guards watched as the king consort strolled through the castle, drenched from the rain with his hair wet and braided. He was in his element here, walking the halls of his ancestral home, eyes blazing and the blood in his veins running hot.

He came to the large wooden doors of the royal chambers and opened them, entering the room and closing them behind him. The first thing he noticed was the smell. It was sweet, like honey, and the air was thick with a heady aroma.

His eye was immediately drawn to the vast windows, from which he could see the beautiful night sky and the dark and stormy seas, the rain pelted the windows and the sound echoed throughout the room.

A slither of lightning brightened up the room for a moment. the flash of light allowing Daemon to see two naked figures intertwined in a soft and untroubled sleep.

He stayed still by the door, taking in the sight of the two bodies before him. They lay on their sides facing each other, their legs and arms entwined, their hair splayed out on the pillows and their skin glistening. He could see the soft rise and fall of their chests, and the peaceful look on their faces as they slept.

He knew he deserved this, whatever this affair was. He couldn't blame his wife for seeking out affection when he provided her with none. But he would have never expected it to be her closest handmaiden.

He was intrigued by the pair and found himself approaching the bed. He could see your breasts peeking out from the sheets, the way your skin was flushed, and how your hair was sticking to your face and neck. His wife's skin was the same, her cheeks rosy and her lips parted, soft snores escaping.

This was a gift and he couldn't deny himself a taste.

He pulled off his gloves and cloak, leaving them in a heap on the floor, then he approached his wife. He leaned over her, placing a hand on her hip, feeling her warmth against his palm. He slowly slid his hand up her side and over her shoulder, caressing her cheek. He could hear her soft sigh, and her body began to stir as he gently pushed her hair away from her face.

He leaned down and placed a tender kiss on her cheek, her skin soft and supple beneath his lips. "Rhaenyra," he purred, kissing further down to her neck, sucking on the sensitive skin, "what are you dreaming about?"

She shifted a little, her head lolling to the side as he kissed her shoulder. Her lips parted, and a quiet moan escaped her, and she turned her head towards him.

"Daemon?" she muttered, her voice sleepy.

He hummed, the sound vibrating against her skin, his stubble scratching her, "wake up, love."

Her eyes slowly opened, and the realization that her husband was home washed over her.

"Daemon," she repeated, her eyes widening.

He pulled back and met her gaze, his lips curling into a wicked grin.

"Hello, my love," he said, his voice low, his tone teasing.

Her heart started to race and she looked over at you, her face reddening when she saw your sleeping form.

"She's new," Daemon commented, noticing the way she watched you, "your first, yes?"

Rhaenyra's blush darkened as she nodded.

He smiled and walked over to you, reaching out and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. His eyes scanned over your body, noticing the way the sheets barely covered your naked form.

"You have good taste," he said, his fingers brushing your cheek, his knuckles lightly grazing your lips.

She couldn't help but watch the way his eye raked over your body, how his touch lingered. It stirred something within her, something she had never felt before. She didn't feel jealous, nor did she feel embarrassed, rather she was curious.

Daemon noticed her watching, and he glanced over at her, smirking at the look on his wife's face.

"Did she teach you much?" he asked her, his fingers running down your arm.

"Some," Rhaenyra answered, her eyes following his fingers, her chest rising and falling as her breathing quickened.

"Show me," Daemon said, looking up at her.

Her eyes met his and her heart skipped a beat. She wanted to, she desperately wanted to. The idea of sharing you with him, showing him what you had taught her, ignited a fire in her, one that burned hotter than the one that burned between the two of them.

She nodded, moving towards you, her eyes locked on his.

He smiled, walking over to the nearby table and pouring himself a glass of wine. He leaned back against the table and took a sip as he watched his wife slowly wake you.

You felt a gentle touch on your cheek, a thumb brushing over your lips. Your eyes slowly fluttered open, and your gaze was met by beautiful purple ones, a loving smile gracing the lips of the young queen.

Her kiss was tender and sweet, her hand caressing your cheek as she deepened the kiss. A quiet moan escaped you, and you returned the kiss, reaching out to cup her face, pulling her closer.

The kiss quickly became heated, both of you desperate to taste and feel each other. Your hands wandered, touching and groping, and you let out a soft moan against her lips.

That's when you heard a low, raspy laugh. Your eyes shot open and you looked over Rhaenyra's shoulder and saw Daemon standing by the table, a wine goblet in his hand, his eyes fixed on you.

He smirked, raising his drink in your direction.

Your cheeks burned, realizing the king consort was watching. You quickly sat up, pulling the sheets over your body as Rhaenyra's gaze flicked between you and him.

"No, please, continue, I was enjoying the show," Daemon chuckled, taking a long swig of his wine.

You felt your cheeks heat up under his gaze and your body tensed as his eyes drifted down your naked body, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. You could tell by the growing bulge in his trousers that he was indeed turned on by what he was seeing.

His smile grew, clearly enjoying how flustered you were, how his presence had caught you off guard.

Daemon turned and walked across the room, locking the door, making a point to look at the two of you as he did so. Rhaenyra looked at you and then back at him, swallowing hard as he slowly began walking towards the bed, his footsteps echoing on the stone floor.

He pulled his tunic over his head and tossed it aside, standing before you and Rhaenyra bare-chested. His body was covered in scars from past battles, the damaged skin shining slightly in the moonlight. His eyes were burning with a fire that made the pit of your stomach flutter.

Panic flooded your mind, clouding your reasoning. You quickly scrambled out of bed, holding the sheet to your body. You bowed, your legs trembling slightly as you lowered yourself in front of him.

"M-my king conso-, f-forgive me. I-I...I'm so sorry." You stuttered, your voice shaking, feeling your heart race.

You didn't dare look up at him. You kept your head down and your eyes focused on his feet.

He chuckled, looking at his wife then back at you, taking in the sight of you kneeling before him, your body quivering and the blanket barely covering your breasts. He could see the panic in your eyes, and the way you trembled, like a small bird that had just been caught by a predator.

Daemon grabbed you by the wrist, his grip strong but gentle, pulling you to your feet and back towards the bed, pushing you down next to his wife. You gasped as your back hit the soft mattress and you looked up at him, fear and confusion in your eyes.

"Relax," he whispered, his voice low, his hand reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his thumb tracing the outline of your lips.

Your gaze flicked between him and Rhaenyra. They had an intense gaze, and it was clear they had a connection, an energy, a bond. Their eyes locked onto each other, and Daemon smiled, bringing his free hand up to cup her cheek.

"She's a lovely creature, isn't she?" He mused, his eyes still on his wife.

"Yes," Rhaenyra whispered, her cheeks burning and her heart pounding.

"You enjoyed her?"

"Very much."

He hummed, his hand moving up and grasping her chin, pulling her close and kissing her.

You watched in awe as his lips moved against hers, his tongue sliding into her mouth. Rhaenyra's hands rested on his shoulders, clinging tightly to him. You could see her nipples were hard, her breasts pressing against his chest.

"I can taste her on your lips." He said, his voice low, his gaze flicking to you.

Your face turned red, and you couldn't stop staring. They were so beautiful together, their passion seemed to radiate off of them.

Rhaenyra turned to you and smiled, her cheeks flushed and her eyes full of lust.

Daemon smirked, pulling back and moving to lean against the headboard, his eye raking over your body, his cock straining against his trousers.

"Well, don't let me stop you," he said, taking another swig of his wine.

Rhaenyra's eyes sparkled with mischief as she turned back to you. She pressed her lips to yours, kissing you deeply, her hands roaming your body.

Daemon watched with a grin, his hand moving to his crotch, squeezing his erection as she kissed down your jaw, moving to your neck and over the swell of your breasts. Her lips leaving a trail of warm, wet kisses on your skin.

Daemon's eyes were fixed on the two of you as Rhaenyra's kisses traveled further down your body, stopping between your legs. You felt her warm breath on your thighs, and you couldn't help but moan softly, feeling her mouth move closer to your aching core.

"Look at me," Daemon commanded.

You turned your head, meeting his gaze, his eyes burning into you as Rhaenyra pressed a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh. Her lips traveled up and over your mound, her inexperience was evident, but the young queen was determined to prove herself.

You let out a soft whimper, your hips lifting off the bed, feeling her warm tongue slowly drag up the length of your pussy. She moved her tongue between your lips, tasting the wetness that had pooled there.

Daemon watched with amusement, his eyes darkening as Rhaenyra began to lap and suck. Her mouth was warm and wet, her tongue moving in slow circles. She was doing well, making you squirm with need.

You couldn't stop the moans from escaping your lips, your hands gripping the sheets. Daemon untied his breeches, freeing his erect cock.

It was a beautiful sight, seeing him slowly stroke himself, his gaze never leaving the two of you. To be in the presence of two dragons was an honour, but to be fucked by the two of them was something else entirely.

Daemon moved closer to the two of you, his hand reaching out, caressing the curve of your cheek. He cupped your chin and tilted your head, turning your attention away from his wife and onto him.

He leaned down and kissed you deeply, his tongue darting into your mouth. His fingers brushed over your nipples, making them harden, his teeth tugging at your lower lip.

Rhaenyra paused, looking up at the two of you kissing, watching as her husband claimed your mouth, his fingers pinching and teasing your breasts. She enjoyed the way you reacted to him, your body quivering beneath them, your hips bucking up towards her.

Daemon slowly pulled away, looking at his wife, and then back at you. His strong hands trailed down your body, his fingers dancing along the curves of your breasts, the swell of your stomach, and the dip of your navel.

Rhaenyra watched his fingers dip inside you, his thumb brushing against your swollen pearl. Your back arched, and you moaned, his touch sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

Daemon smiled and began rubbing you, his fingers moving in slow circles. Then he pulled his fingers out and pushed them past Rhaenyras lips. She sucked them clean, her cheeks flushed as she looked up at him.

"Do you like the way she tastes?" Daemon asked, pulling his fingers from her mouth.

"Yes," she replied, a smile tugging at her lips.

He let out an approving little hum, sitting up and looking down at his wife, his cock still in his hand.

"Continue," he told her.

Rhaenyra nodded and returned to her task, her tongue slow and deliberate, licking and sucking, savoring every drop of you. You felt the heat rising inside of you, the warmth spreading through your body.

You reached out and began to stroke Daemon's cock, his head falling back and his eyes closing.

"Good girl," he said, his voice low.

You pumped his cock, feeling the hard, silky flesh between your fingers, precum leaking from the tip. He moved closer and you licked the head, swirling your tongue around the tip. You could taste the saltiness as you slowly took him into your mouth, feeling the weight of him on your tongue.

You bobbed your head up and down, taking him as deep as you could, your eyes never leaving his. His eyes were dark, filled with lust, his pupils blown wide. He moaned and grabbed a handful of your hair, guiding your head up and down, fucking your mouth.

The sound of his grunts and moans filled the air, along with the soft, wet sounds of Rhaenyras mouth. She had begun to suck harder, her fingers joining her tongue, pumping in and out of you.

You moaned around his cock, the vibrations sending a wave of pleasure through his body, his hips thrusting forward.

"That's it, sweet girl," Daemon murmured, his grip tightening, pulling your hair and forcing you to look up at him. He looked beautiful, his silver hair hanging down, framing his face.

Rhaenyra was moving faster, her tongue and fingers working in tandem, the heat between her thighs intensifying. She pushed you over the edge, your thighs shaking as you came, a muffled moan escaping your lips.

Daemon pulled his cock out of your mouth, smirking as he tapped the tip against your tongue. Then his eyes drifted to his wife, her lips swollen and shining, her cheeks flushed.

He pulled her up and kissed her deeply, tasting the sweetness of your arousal on her lips. He grabbed her hips and pulled her closer, his cock pressing against her stomach.

You watched the two dragons kiss, their tongues sliding against each other, their bodies pressed together. It was a beautiful sight, their silver hair looked as though it was entwined, the moonlight making their skin shine.

Daemon broke the kiss and moved his lips to his wife's neck, sucking and biting, marking her pale skin. She gasped and moaned, her hands pressing into his chest.

You were lying there, your body still trembling from your climax, watching as the queen and king got lost in each other.

You could hear the sounds of their kissing, the soft moans and grunts, the rustling of the sheets. Rhaenyra pushed him back onto the soft bed, trailing kisses over his chest and stomach. Her fingers grazed the scars that covered his chest, the ones she knew all too well.

Daemon watched as his wife took his cock in her mouth, slowly sliding her lips up and down, taking him as deep as she could. He groaned and reached out for you, pulling you closer, his fingers tangling in your hair as he kissed you.

Rhaenyra's eyes met yours, her lips curled around her husband's cock. She looked so beautiful, her eyes wide and filled with lust, her mouth stretched and her cheeks flushed.

She slowly pulled her mouth away from him, moving up to straddle him. He gripped her hips, his eyes filled with desire, his lips parted.

He could feel her wetness against his cock, sliding up and down his length, her breasts bouncing slightly as she moved.

"Kneel for you king," he whispered against your lips, gently biting down on your bottom lip.

You pulled back, slightly confused by his request, until he gestured to his face. You blushed furiously as you realized what he wanted. You moved closer, his hands guiding you, helping you straddle his face, facing Rhaenyra.

She smirked, her eyes locked with yours as you both lowered yourselves. The two of you leaned in and shared a messy kiss, tongues slipping past swollen lips.

Daemon's hummed against you, his stubble scratching your thighs and his hands tight on your hips. He always wanted to die a dragon rider's death... But this? This was a glorious way to go.

Rhaenyra's eyes closed, her head resting on your shoulder as she began to move, her hips rocking, his cock hitting that spot deep inside her. Daemon had never felt such pure bliss, the taste of you on his tongue and the feeling of his wife riding him, the sounds of soft moans like a chorus.

The three of you were lost in the heat and the pleasure, the taste and the touch. You could hear the bed creaking, the headboard hitting the wall, the sheets rustling, the sound of lips and skin crashing against one another.

You watched the way your queen rode her husband, her body moving like water, her hips rolling and grinding against his. You reached down to where they were connected, touching her, feeling the wetness of her arousal mixed with the thickness of her husband's cock.

Daemon groaned and held you tighter, his grip on your hips almost bruising, his mouth devouring you.

Rhaenyra leaned in and kissed you, her hands cradling your face, lips crashing together. You could feel your legs beginning to tremble, the pressure of your release building.

"Cum with me," Rhaenyra purred, her forehead pressed to yours.

You nodded, with half lidded eyes, watching Rhaenyra grind her hips faster, her nails scraping down your arms as she held onto you. The pressure inside you became too much and your climax hit you hard. Rhaenyra's moans were loud and breathy, her head thrown back, her pale skin glistening with sweat, her silver hair cascading down her back and the candlelight danced across her skin.

The two of you rode out your highs, gasping and panting. Your fingers intertwined with hers, the smell of sex heavy in the air. Daemon followed soon after, a guttural moan escaping his lips, his cock twitching, his release spilling into his wife.

You slowly climbed off Daemon and collapsed on the bed, the three of you tumbling into a tangle of limbs and sheets.

Rhaenyra snuggled up next to her husband, his arms wrapping around her and pulling her close. You watched the two of them, a small smile on your lips, the love they had for each other was plain to see. Daemon looked over at you, reaching his arm out and beckoning you to him.

You scooted closer, cuddling up to him, his arm wrapping around your waist.

"This is my favorite one so far," he said softly, kissing your forehead.

Rhaenyra giggled, leaning over him to kiss you, her lips soft and warm. You felt safe and content, lying there with the two dragons, their fingers tracing lazy circles on your skin.

"Shall we keep her?" Rhaenyra asked, looking up at her husband, a lazy smile curling at her lips.

"Indeed, we shall," Daemon replied, his hand moving up and down her arm.

The three of you stayed there for a while, enjoying the closeness, the warmth and comfort of each other's bodies. You could feel your eyes beginning to close, the exhaustion creeping in, the heat from them made you feel sleepy and comfortable.

To be in the presence of not just one dragon, but two, was a great honor. But to be their mistress? Their shared lover? That was the rarest of privileges, one that you would savor for the rest of your days.

[delulujuls]

the other one | jacaerys velaryon

hi, here comes the 2.7k of i don't know what, really. its for sure intense, so fasten up your saddle and enjoy the ride. i enjoyed making aegon such a cutiepie in my two last shots, but this man is designed to be a menace to humanity so yeah, i believe im gonna lose it in the next shots. prepare for chaos.

summary: heart want what it wants, and y/n's heart belong to young prince from dragonstone, not to the future cruel king of westeros.

warnings: targaryen brothers being mean to velaryon boys AGAIN, aegon is such a meanie oh god, fighting, arguing, threatening with a sword, last scene is smelling a bit like a rap3, so feel free to skip it. your comfort is the most important

pairing: sister!targaryen reader x jacaerys velaryon (ft. jealous, possesive and dark!aegon targaryen)

Two young princes stood at the gates of the castle, awaiting guests. For several minutes they kept glancing at the sky, looking out for dragons. However, only the sound of wind and waves crashing against the rocks could be heard, with no indication that any winged beasts would soon appear before their eyes.

“Do you think they’ll come at all?” Lucerys asked his older brother, glancing at him. The cold wind chilled him to the bone, and the youngest of the Velaryons longed to return inside and sit by the fireplace.

Jacaerys did not get a chance to answer because shortly after, a muffled roar reached their ears, and something flickered in the low-hanging storm clouds. The heavy sky was pierced by the massive body of Vhagar, who was the first to emerge from the clouds and flew towards the beach. Close behind were Vermithor and Sunfyre, who looked dainty in comparison to those two giant dragons. Aemond, Y/N, and Aegon had arrived at Dragonstone.

Soon after, all four appeared at the castle gates. Helaena was flying with her older sister on Vermithor, choosing not to sail by ship with their mother, father, and grandfather. The youngest of the siblings still couldn't bring herself to travel alone on the back of her Dreamfyre, but felt confident with Y/N, now walking hand-in-hand with her sister towards the castle.

Lucerys took a step back, seeing Aemond and Aegon confidently striding towards them. The youngest Velaryon swallowed hard.

“I hope they don’t sit close to us,” he whispered, prompting his brother to discreetly nudge his arm.

Jacaerys smiled at the sight of the siblings. “Welcome, it’s good to see you here,” he said.

Aemond, leading the way, wore his characteristic grimace, nothing like the smile the young prince offered him. The last thing he felt like doing was feigning politeness. In silence, he merely glanced at them, bypassing them and pushing the heavy gate doors.

“My favorite, strong nephews,” Aegon said sarcastically, with a mocking smile. Passing by, he nudged Lucerys in the shoulder, who was about to turn and say something when his aunt’s voice reached his ears. Y/N smiled joyfully at the sight of Rhaenyra’s sons.

“Luke, Jace,” she extended her arms, hugging them both at once. Hearing the girl's joyful voice, Aegon glanced over his shoulder and rolled his eyes. He thought his sisters were too lenient with those bastards.

“It’s good to see you, Y/N,” Jacaerys smiled, embracing her and catching the smell of her lavender-scented hair. While he sincerely disliked Aemond and Aegon, he was very fond of their sisters. Helaena was shy and harmless, often speaking little and nodding more. Y/N, on the other hand, often reminded him of his mother, unafraid to speak up or defend her position. She was also wise and very pretty, and he was genuinely pleased to spend a few days in her presence.

“Are you coming, or are we going to freeze out here like a bunch of idiots?” Aegon asked sharply, seeing Y/N hold onto older Velaryon a bit too long. The young princess gave him an amused look, tousled Lucerys’ hair, and linked arms with Helaena. The four of them briskly walked towards the castle.

Rhaenyra was celebrating her thirty-second name day, so the entire family from King’s Landing had come to Dragonstone. Viserys wanted his daughter to celebrate her birthday in the capital, but she wished to spend the day her way. The ailing king, still battling illness, had no intention of arguing with his daughter, lacking the strength and health to do so. Even to the Targaryen seat, he chose to sail by ship rather than ride on the back of one of the dragons. After Balerion’s death, he had given up flying and now didn’t think about it at all.

During the evening feast, the dining hall filled with people. Despite it being Rhaenyra’s day, Viserys sat at the head of the table. To his left was his eldest daughter, beside her Daemon, Joffrey, Lucerys, Jacaerys, Rhaena, and Baela. On the king’s right sat his wife, next to her the Hand of the King, then Aemond, Aegon, Y/N, Helaena, and Rhaenys Targaryen, next to whom, at the other end of the table, sat Corlys Velaryon.

The feast went on in a calm and surprisingly pleasant atmosphere. Previous feasts often ended in arguments before they even really began. The main instigators of all disputes, Aemond and Aegon, sat quietly, not speaking much. Many might have thought someone stuffed hay into the dragons’ bellies to prevent them from breathing fire.

Aegon, however, increasingly clenched his hand around the wine goblet from time to time, hearing Y/N happily talking with Jacaerys across the table. His blood boiled hearing her so delighted with the conversation with him. He felt like slapping that fucking son of a bitch.

Helaena was also having a good time, shedding her shyness piece by piece with each sip of wine. She chatted lively with Rhaena and Baela, who were already slightly tipsy themselves. Rhaenys sent an amused look to her husband, who tightened his grip on the wine jug and pulled it closer. The Sea Snake had to be vigilant to prevent his granddaughters and the young Targaryen from getting too drunk. Helaena, however, had more to celebrate than just her half-sister’s birthday.

Since Viserys and Alicent’s daughters reached reproductive age, the Hand of the King and the Queen Mother began looking for potential suitors for them. While there was no trouble finding suitors for Y/N, who, besides her wealth and possessions, had a strong character and good disposition, finding a husband for Helaena was problematic.

From birth, the princess showed signs of abnormal development. Though she grew as a girl should, her mind seemed not to keep up, still trapping her in a world of childish dreams. Helaena was quiet, read a lot, and spent all her time in the garden, not burdened with unnecessary duties.

The Hand decided that when the time came, that is, when Aegon was to take the throne from the ailing king, he would marry Helaena, and Y/N would marry Forrest Frey. The plans were made at a Small Council meeting, which neither Helaena nor Y/N attended. Probably neither would have known about the plans to marry them off if Y/N hadn’t accidentally overheard their conversation when one of the doors unguarded by sentries was ajar.

“I don’t agree!” she said firmly, pushing the heavy doors and entering.

“Y/N, you can’t be here-,” Alicent stood up, wanting to calm her daughter, but she sharply pointed her finger upwards. “And you can’t do this to Helaena! I don’t agree!”

Aegon, who was one of the people at the table, also didn’t support the Council’s idea. However, he was too drunk to make any objections. Only his sister’s intrusion somewhat sobered him up. If he had to choose, he could marry Y/N since she wanted to fight so hard for Helaena’s better fate. Frankly, he didn’t care either way.

The guards first wanted to remove the young princess, but she began presenting her arguments. The Council didn’t think an eighteen-year-old’s arguments could make any sense, but many underestimated Y/N’s negotiation skills. In the castle, by Aegon’s side, she could be more useful than in the Riverlands beside Forrest Frey.

The Council decided that Helaena would marry Frey when the time came, and Y/N would marry Aegon. The young princess didn’t want Helaena to spend her life in the castle, locked in chambers and bearing children. She wanted her to break free from King’s Landing and experience a life different from the one she had lived so far. Y/N knew that unlike her sister, she could handle an incestuous marriage and an unwanted husband, who Aegon was to become in the future. Helaena might have been driven to suicide.

But for now, these were just tomorrow's problems, or who knows, maybe even further. Helaena, in a sudden burst of joy, stood up and climbed onto a chair, much to Alicent’s horror.

“To my beloved sister Y/N,” she said, swaying. Rhaenys held the chair to prevent her from falling. “And to my sister Rhaenyra, who celebrates her birthday today. I love you!”

Alicent, Otto, Aemond, and Aegon looked at her indulgently, raising their goblets. All the other guests eagerly toasted, applauding the young princess’s words. Rhaenyra stood up from the table and hugged her sister; Y/N also rose to do the same.

“Helaena needs rest,” Alicent whispered, gripping her daughter’s shoulder before she stood up. “Escort her to bed.”

Y/N shook off her hand and got up, embracing her sisters. However, when she felt Helaena’s heavy body in her arms, she held her close around the waist.

As soon as the sisters left the dining hall, Jacaerys, sent by his mother, joined them. Young prince apologized to Y/N and with a single, confident motion, picked up Helaena, who laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck. She kissed his cheek, admitting that she would let such a handsome man whisk her away without hesitation.

Jacaerys only let go of Helaena when he placed her on the bed in her bedroom.

"Will you stay with her until morning?" he asked as Y/N began removing the rings from her sister's fingers.

"Helaena usually sleeps like a mouse under a haystack, but after wine, she sleeps like a rock," Y/N replied, smiling slightly at the sight of her sister's flushed face. "Wait outside, I'll change her for bed and join you."

The young prince nodded obediently and left the chamber. He stood outside the door, straight as a string, feeling like a guard. Shortly after, the princess joined him, quietly closing the door behind her.

"She'll sleep like a baby until morning," she assured, laughing softly.

"It's nice to see her with a smile on her face," Jacerys admitted as they slowly began walking down the corridor. He quietly offered his arm to Y/N, which she gladly accepted.

"I've noticed she smiles much more when she's here. I feel like the capital is suffocating her."

Jacaerys lowered his gaze. He had recently learned about the marriage plans for the young sisters.

"I heard she'll leave King's Landing sooner or later," he said, glancing at her. He didn't know how delicate ground he was entering.

The young princess sighed and nodded. She spent the whole way telling Jacaerys about everything that had happened in the past weeks. In the company of the boy, Y/N didn't feel like his aunt, as their relationship would suggest, but like a friend. After all, they were only a year apart in age. They had always had a good relationship and, unlike her hostile brothers, Y/N really liked Jacaerys. She cherished every opportunity she could spend with him. This was one of those moments.

The pair didn't return to the feast; instead, they went to one of the terraces. They sat on one of the benches, and Y/N involuntarily rested her head on the boy's shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her waist, hugging her close.

"You deserve more, Y/N," he said quietly. "Both you and Helaena deserve more."

"I know I'll manage, I'm strong," she said, watching the remnants of the day dance on the horizon. "But I'm so scared for Helaena. She deserves the whole world, not what's waiting for her in King's Landing."

The young princess wasn't sad; at this moment, she could even say she felt a lightness in her heart. Jacaerys' body warmed her pleasantly, and the cool, salty air chased away the heat caused by the wine from her cheeks.

"You're the bravest dragon I've ever known," he said with a smile, looking at her face. The girl smiled at his words. "I don't know stronger people than Targaryen women."

"Do you really think so?" she asked quietly, looking into his eyes. She didn't know if his cheeks were flushed from the wine or the cold wind. Nevertheless, his dark eyes looked at her so gently that the young princess never wanted to look into any other eyes again.

Jacaerys smiled and nodded. He cautiously lifted his hand and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. He touched her cheek and gently stroked it with his thumb.

"I would take better care of you than they would, you know?" he said after a moment, his whisper lost in the whistle of the wind. Y/N heard his words clearly, just as she clearly heard the snort of disdain that came from somewhere to the side.

"I don't know which of you is more pathetic," Aegon said, looking at them with drunken eyes. He could barely stand, but his fists were clenched. Aemond remained silent, standing in the entrance and blocking it with his body. Unlike his brother, he didn't look drunk.

"What is your problem?" Y/N asked angrily, standing up. Unintentionally, she shielded Jacaerys with her body, who also rose from the bench.

"That you act like a complete whore," he spat through his teeth, causing Jacaerys to step around the girl to stand in her defense. She grabbed his hand and pulled him back when Aemond drew a dagger and stepped forward, defending his brother.

"Watch your words," Jacaerys said angrily. He didn't care that he was addressing the future king. In his eyes, Aegon wasn't worth anything, and he certainly didn't deserve to be Y/N's husband.

"Or what, bastard?" Aemond asked calmly, looking at him intently.

"We haven't done anything wrong," the young princess said sharply, though her voice trembled. She knew that her brothers were unlikely to hurt her, but she wasn't capable of protecting Jacaerys from both of them. She had only her hands, feet, and teeth at her disposal. "Get out of the way."

"Oh, really?" Aegon smiled. His drunken eyes were shiny from alcohol and dark-circled, his skin ashen. Even despite the fire of hatred burning in him, he didn't have a bit of a blush on his face. "I see a fucking dog clinging to my future wife."

"You wish she were your wife," Jacaerys said without thinking much about the words that left his mouth. Aegon lunged at him with his fists, to which the young Velaryon responded in kind. Aemond sheathed his dagger and grabbed Jacaerys by the shoulders, holding him and exposing him to Aegon's blows. In the commotion, the young princess managed to draw her brother's dagger and without hesitation, grabbed Aegon by the hair, pulling him back. With tears on her cheeks, she pressed the sword to his neck.

The four of them froze in place.

Aemond still held Jacaerys tightly, blood was trickling from his lip. Aegon's heart was pounding, not from fear but from adrenaline and, at that moment, also from excitement. His sister's small hand was firmly gripping his hair, forcing him to tilt his head back. Blood flowed from his broken nose, running down to his grinning lips.

"She's a dragon, see?" Aegon said, addressing Jacaerys. "You couldn't handle her, fool."

Y/N pushed her brother to the ground, releasing the dagger from her hands as well. She grabbed Jacaerys' hand and pulled him from Aemond's grasp, who would have lied if he said his sister's behavior didn't leave him speechless. In shock, he wasn't even able to oppose her.

"I'm so sorry," she began tearfully, pulling him away as far as possible from that place. "I should have killed them when I had the sword in my hand."

Jacaerys pulled her by the hand, causing her to turn around suddenly and fall into his arms. Without a word, he kissed her, feeling her salty tears mix with the blood from his split lip. Y/N returned the kiss but looked at him in shock. Jacaerys smiled warmly at her.

"Don't apologize to me," he whispered, cupping her cheeks in his hands. "You are a dragon, so be a dragon."

The pair didn't return to the feast. Instead, Y/N went with the young prince to his chambers. Jacaerys initially protested when she said she would help dress his wounds. Eventually, he agreed to her proposal, lying on the bed in just his trousers. The girl carefully cleaned his cuts, placing a cold compress on his abdomen. She sat beside him, looking at him tenderly.

"I'm so sorry, Jace," she whispered, squeezing his hand. The boy, however, seemed to be in a good mood.

"If every fight with them means I get to spend time with you, I'm ready to fight them every day."

The young princess smiled and shook her head at his words. She felt her heart swell when she was with him.

Their eager lips exchanged a few more kisses before Y/N quietly left his chamber, returning to her own. Helaena was still sleeping soundly, snoring softly. She lay on her side on her half of the bed, not even stirring when her sister began preparing for sleep. Dressed in a nightgown, she let her hair down and carefully combed it. She put the brush away and blew out the nearby candles, lying down on the bed.

As soon as she covered herself with the quilt, she felt someone sit on her, pressing her into the mattress, and a cold hand covered her mouth. The girl wanted to scream but felt a blade against her neck. The attacker leaned over her, his hair tickling her face. The young princess smelled alcohol.

"Every time you raise your hand against me," Aegon whispered, tightening his grip on the dagger's hilt, "I'll have one of your fingers cut off, understood?"

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut and nodded. For the first time in her life, Aegon truly frightened her. She felt her heart leap into her throat.

"And that fucking Velaryon dog," he moved his hand from her mouth to her hair, gripping it tightly. "I never want to see him near you again."

"Aegon-" she whispered with difficulty, clutching his wrist to push him away. She felt herself running out of breath, and the cold blade pressed deeper into her skin.

"Is that clear?" he growled, pressing her harder into the pillows.

"Yes," she said tearfully.

A moment later, she felt her brother's alcohol-tainted lips forcefully and brutally kissing hers. Aegon stood up shortly after and left the sisters' chamber, closing the door behind him. In the darkness, the young princess found her sister's body and hugged her from behind, trying to suppress her tears. She was terrified.

How much she wished she could hide in Jacaerys's arms at that moment.

[divinesolas]

The lady of Volantis | 1k celebration

Summary: Based on a request; You have been betrothed to Jacaerys for years now and you two have never exactly been close. He does not expect to see you anytime soon after your first couple meetings, but when Lucerys trial is happening you are suddenly in the keep. What are you doing there? Are you to be trusted?

w.c: 22.3k (i know... crazy right)

c.w: i will not include any bc they would include major spoilers for this fic,, all ill say is this includes things about Volantis culture, an alternative timeline, inaccurate westerios history, COLD READER and smut (a fair share of it). nothing too dark bc that's just not my style but be warned.

Jacaerys has been betrothed for years now. He has only seen the mysterious lady of volantis a couple times now. When her father answered lord corlys call for help with the stepstones with the terms that corlys offer them something in return. They knew they had nothing that could be even close in value to the mighty powers of volantis but in a desperate effort they offer him, Prince Jacaerys velaryon, heir to the heir. They expect volantis to say no, what good would having good relations with Westeros do, they have control of the largest trades and market in the world.

After no response for a good while they expect them to just have disregarded the letter and have given up. But when one day over 20 sea ships show up the flags of volantis on them and a young girl trails behind her father who introduces himself as the man they were writing to they were over the moon. They had only really got to meet the girl one time before she went off to join the effort in stepstones though she did pop by a few times they were few and far between. Her father had warned them his daughter was a bit cold. He gave no reason as to why she was the way she was other than that was just how she was raised to be.

Jacaerys attempted to play nice with his betrothed but due to her cold, off putting personality nothing truly came from it. Instead all she would do was stand and watch him, barely saying more than a few words to him. Every time was the same routine, she would come and leave, leaving jacaerys to worry for the future. He is well aware most marriages don’t contain any love, but he had atleast hoped the two of them could be friends but it seemed like the lady of Volantis wanted nothing to do with him. He had not expected to see her for many years in the future, For their marriage arrangement is not meant to take place until after rhaenyra ascends the throne.

“it is an honor to see you.” The girl nods, still an ever blank look on her face as she grips a square wooden box in her hand. The queen glances at rhaenyra and daemon who manage to hide their shock at seeing the girl in the keep. “It is a nice surprise to see you again y/n.” Another acknowledging nod is the only thing the younger women does before thrusting her hands that were holding the wooden box towards the queen. Alicent looks at it in shock and hesitantly reaches her hands out and grabs in from her. “A gift.”

Shaky hands slide open the box and a light gasp follows suit. A completely custom cyvasse set sets inside the box, alicents hand reach inside and pick up one of the pieces, the dragon, and brings it closer to her face to admire it. “Hand carved and painted.” She looks back towards the younger girl. Her heart warmed at the gesture. Nobody had gotten her a gift so nice, ever. “This is so lovely.” “I had heard you enjoyed to play.” A small real smile graces alicents face as she lightly nods, “Do you enjoy to play?” “You are asking if a citizen of Volantis enjoys playing cyvasse.”

It was not a question, as volantis was the origin place of cyvasse it should be no question she a member of one of the royal families of volantis would play. Embarrassment fills alicent and she places the piece back in the box swiftly, closing it up and turning away placing it on a table. “Of course my apologizes i have no clue what i was thinking.” She maybe expects some sly comment from the girl or maybe no response at all, maybe her scoffing or tsking but instead when she looks back over she sees the girl bring her head towards the ground and twist her foot as if she was squishing a bug. “I was jesting…”

A simple ahh is all that can escape alicents mouth as she looks away bashfully. She hadn't expected her to be so, kind? maybe that was not the right word and it certainly did not fit the look of the warrior that stood in front of her. Laced in black leather covering even up to her neck down to the soles of her feet. The only color added from the silver chains wrapped around her legs attached to the belt loops on her waist, a sword at her hip so close to her hands she could whip it out in mere seconds, her boots look so heavy like she could squish someone’s skull should she want to.

"ziry iksos unexpected naejot ūndegon ao.” (it is unexpected to see you) A voice cuts through the rooms now awkward air and Alicent just watched as the girls head rises and she's back to standing sharply and coldly as she was mere moments ago. "Skoros issi ao doing kesīr hāedar?” (what are you doing here girl?)

“Iksos ziry pirta hen issa naejot māzigon.” (is it wrong of me to come.) Alicent, though she had no clue what they we’re saying, had never seen someone speak and look at the rouge prince so bravely. If any man we’re in her place they certainly would not even be looking him in the eyes but you do not look at him with fear, if anything you just look at him with annoyance straightening your shoulders and you fold your hands behind you back.

“Skorkydoso gōntan ao gīmigon naejot māzigon?” (how did you know to come?) rhaenyra by his side pinches his torso and tries to shoot him a look but his gaze is locked onto you. All the girl does is shrug and turns her attention back to alicent. Daemon is not dumb. He knows this is all timed too well, arriving to the keep the exact day they arrived here. She must have begun her trip way before they had even received word of the trial. He stares daggers into her but she does not look back towards him, rolling her her neck as alicent attempted to come up with something to say.

“I believe i should attend to some things.” With a bow of her head and a goodbye she grabs the box from the table and before she opens the door she turns back to the younger girl, “We should play.” She does not expect a response from the girl, so when you nods a delighted look graces her face before she turns and leaves. Right as the door closes her face falls as she's greeted by a squire who was sent by her father to grab her, most likely interested in speaking about the volantene girl.

The three stand in silence for a bit. Daemons gaze has no let up and rhaenyra readjusts awkwardly. Despite the fact that she does not wish for him to question her so she has her own curiosities. “I hope you faired well on your trip, you must have been traveling for a long time.” The implications of her words are clear, if the volantene girl is annoyed she does not show it on her face instead she merely blinks a nods. “It was well.” “We have not heard from you since last year, we are merely surprised to see you now of all times.” “i was on my way to visit dragonstone, heard talks of you all traveling here. i came here instead.” You say nothing that is not necessary, no sweet talk no sugar coating just exactly what you are asking no more. Its a believable story if it is to be true, but daemon is still clearly restless. “And what would bring you to dragonstone?”

“I was planned to return back to the fight but i heard what happened to lord corlys, wanted to make a stop at dragonstone before driftmark.” Despite your young age you were more than useful to the effort. You and corlys had even formed a bond, you grew to care for the man and when you left the field for personal affairs you were horrified to hear of his condition. “Have you spoken to rhaenys?” “i am yet to see her.”

Suddenly a guard comes into the room and looks at daemon and rhaenyra. “the king is ready to see you.” The two stand and say their goodbyes to you before they leave. Out in the hallway they discuss to themselves. “Gaomagon ao pendagon issa…?” (Do you think she is..?) Daemon does not look to rhaenyra instead keeping his gaze forward, eyes glazed in though as he clenches his jaw. “daor.” (no) She would not come for no reason. The girl he knew would immediately return back to the battlefield after hearing of corlys absence. It is rather strange for her to instead make the trip here instead.

In another room sits alicent, otto and Vaemond discussing tomorrows trial. “It does not matter if the next heir to driftmark is indebted to us. Not when Rhaenyra's first born son is about to marry into the most powerful family in all of Essos.” Ottos voice cuts Vaemond off quickly. “There is something that can be done.” The two of them look at alicent, “She holds a distain for them i can see it, there is no question. Maybe she can be convinced to,” she trails off looking away, “depart from the betrothal?” “If there was a greater thing she could be offer, im more than sure she would agree.”

“It is a bad idea.” Otto cuts, “If your theory is wrong then you could put all of us at risk.” He shakes his head, “I do not approve.” “I believe it is worth a shot.” Vaemond adds looking to alicent, “She is a tigress, she is easily swayed. They are all the same they wish for war, it is the reason why she is out on the field with my brother. She has no conquest anymore in Volantis.” Vaemond leans forward on the table and looks alicent directly in the eyes, “If there is to be a war. You will not win it with her on their side.”

The sun had finally begun to set but there was no rest for the dark haired prince who stood in the keep library, a maester on the other side of the table watching the young prince struggle to recite the valyrian. “Rūsīr māzigon kustikāne se…” (with hardships come strength and…) He bites his thumb and taps his foot as he thinks. He is sure he remembers the phrase, jacaerys mentally berates himself for being so stupid. He is to be the future king, the heir of the heir, how can he let himself be so careless with his studies. “kivio.” (promise)

The voice behind him causes him to turn around in shock.“syt konīr iksis daor drēje mijegon.” (for there is no true struggle without triumph) Soon enough you are standing in front of him and he gulps. He cannot believe you are here, not expecting to see you for many years from now. He puts a smile on his face all be it a weak one as you just stare at him. “gaomagon ao lo mazeman toliot?” (do you mind if i take over) You address the maester behind him who looks between the two of you nervously before nodding and leaving the room.

The two of you just stare at one another in silence for a bit. He takes this time to admire you, you have not changed much since the last time he saw you. It had been at least a year now since you've visited dragonstone and when he got to see you. Even when you did meet you certainly never met this close anyways he takes this time to admire you fully.

The blemishes on your face, if he looks towards your covered neck he can even see a scar the fades under the fabric, he's curious about it, how did you get it? Did it hurt? When did you get it? He wishes he could ask, too fearful of your reply. He cannot mess this arrangement up. It matters too much to not only his family, but to the safety of the realm and the safety of his mothers claim to the throne. No one would dare mess with the power of volantis and the free cities, he would never be able to forgive himself if he messed up what his family worked so hard to get. Especially since it seemed like you did not care for him much.

“You are still a toddler.” You are the one to break the silent are between them. He flushes with embarrassment and takes a step back, hitting the table lightly. “You’ve merely caught me at a bad moment.” You raise your eyebrows at him, a challenging look. He knows you do not believe him, “You lie to me.” He scratches the back of his neck, You're right. “I would never, my betrothed.” He is embarrassed and he hopes by playing the engagement card you will leave, as you seemingly have no interest in it, so he can wallow in his own humiliation alone. She just stares at him while he cracks a smile at her. He wants them to be civil, for her to atleast like him, he fears that won’t be the case. He sees how happy his mother and daemon are and he feels a pit of dread in his stomach, he wants a life like that. He knows it is rare for marriages in his life to be happy ones but he wants it.

Instead of leaving you simply stare at him for a moment longer, he notices a change in your eyes if it was for a split second before you round the table and eye the book on the table. “it is because you are trying to learn from that stupid book.” “It is a book of the Targaryen history.” She picks up the book and sharply closes it before he can stop stop her, his hand lift hanging in the air as she tosses the book away. “Exactly. Stupid book.” He opens and closes his mouth in an attempt to come up with a retort but he can’t say anything before you speak once more. “lets roleplay.”

If anyone saw you right now they would feel as though they were seeing a stranger. If he were to ask anyone else they would say they’ve never heard you speak as much as you were or even the look on your face, though it does not look too different from your normal one, was an unfamiliar one. He raises his eyebrows at you, “what?” “the best way to learn anything is to practice.” “which is why i was reading from the book.” “The book is nonsense. you will learn nothing from it.” “It is how my mother was taught and my ancestors before me.” “Then they are stupid.” He groans in frustration and looks at her with a blank face. “You do not learn swordsmanship from reading you do not learn how to stitch from reading you learn from real experience.” He cannot say you are wrong.

As he says nothing you continue, “Lets say i am a jewelry shop keeper, and you are a traveler visiting my shop interested in buying something.” she presses her hands against the table and tilts her head at him. “sȳz?” (good?) a chill runs down his spine as she stares at him and a warm feeling fills his stomach. He is so screwed, but he just nods.

“rytsas skorkydoso glaesā tubī?” (hello welcome how are you today?)

“Iksan sȳrī kirimvose” (I am well thank you)

“iksis konīr mirros iksā jurnegēre syt?” (is there something you are looking for?)

You watch him struggle for a moment, unsure if he is trying to decipher your words or if he is trying to figure out what to say. He is shocked you are so patient, simply staring and watching him, not pushing him to answer.

“iā rudhy syt ñuha aderī naejot sagon ābrazȳrys.” (a present for my soon to be wife)

He watches your face change for a split second to one of shock then back down to neutral. With his confidence he takes a moment to admire your gloved hands, covered with rings over the leather. He imagines them running down his chest, running through his hair, maybe gripping on it as he pleasures you in ways hes only ever read about, maybe even wrapped around his-

You snap in his face and his head lifts back to look at you alarmed but your just looking at him blankly. “umbagon lēda nyke.” (stay with me) He would. He will. For as long as you asked him too. You sigh and roll your neck he watches the scar as it shows more of itself before disappearing once more. He shakes his head, he needs to snap out of it, he was being foolish getting lost in his thoughts, and especially since his thoughts were so,,, deplorable. He is thankful you cannot read minds as you would surely slap him across the face and never speak to him again if you knew he was thinking so terribly.

“gaomagon emā mirros qantre jaelā?” (do you have something specific you want?)

you.

“Nyke jaelagon nyke gōntan yn eman daor skoros ziry would hae.” (i wish i did but i have no clue what she would like)

She pauses for a moment and stares at him with narrow eyes. When he says nothing other than shrug she rolls her eyes, turning her head away.

“ābrar hae mirros” (women like anything)

“jaelan naejot jiōragon mirros ziry jorrāelagon” (i want to get something she would love)

“ivestragon nyke nūmāzma zirȳla pār.” (tell me about her then)

“gaoman daor gīmigon olvie yn nyke gīmigon issa kostōba se pazavor, se rovaja run naejot nyke iksis bona issa biare.” (i do not know much but i know she is strong and loyal, the biggest thing to me is that she is happy)

The air between them gets hot and he cant decipher the look in her eyes as she stares at him. He fears he’s upset her. The way her eyes and face remain unmoving or maybe he said the words wrong and she’s misinterpreting what he meant. His eyes stay locked on hers as she trails around the table to be standing right next to him once more. he opens his mouth to apologize but she begins to speak before he can say a word. “gaomagon daor tepagon qrīdrughagon aōha dōna udra sīr easily syt naejot qūvy ilagon se qēlossās se se jēdar syt ao”

His eyes crinkle and she has a content look on her face, seemingly happy he has no clue what she is saying to him. “what did you say?” Its eating at him. unlike when he hears his parents speak he does not mind much when he doesn’t know what they're talking about. even when lucerys is doing better in practice than him he does not mind it much though he grows annoyed at himself. But with you, he needs to know what you’re saying. He is latched onto your every word your every move. It makes himself sick to think about the fact he’s missed something you’ve said with the limited words you ever say. He’s shocked you’ve even talked to him this much today.

She just shakes her head and takes a few steps back. Her stoic nature has returned and she's back to not even looking at him. “It is getting late. You should have dinner.” He looks out the window and is shocked to see the had set and it had begun to rain outside. When did the sun even set? We’re they truly here for so long? He turned back to question her but she was already gone and the book placed back in front of him. The only reason he knows she was ever even here is the faint smell of her perfume in the air. Like a ghost she had up and left. Maybe she was a ghost, or merely a figment of his imagination to toy with him. He takes a couple deep breaths until the lingering smell of her is gone before he picks back up the book and leaves.

He clutches the book tightly to his chest to suppress the pounding of his heart and the ache that begins to bleed through his skin. He tries to mumble what she said to himself to try and figure out what you meant. Hes able to catch a few words, stars and the sky but he cant make sense of it all. he clenches his jaw in frustration as he returns to his chambers, placing the book down on his table and gripping the sides of it with his hands. This must be a challenge from her. She’s clearly toying with him. Maybe she did truly dislike him. But then why would she help him today? or can you even call it help? she didn’t exactly teach him anything. he grows irritated at the thought that his afternoon was wasted but then he realizes something. He had no clue he himself could even say or understand any of those words until she proved to him that he could.

Before he can even dwell on it he’s being called for dinner. On his way there he wonders if you’ll join them. His hopes are crushed when he walks in the room and you aren’t there. Greeting his parents quickly before greeting baela for the first time, the two share a friendly hug before sitting. “Did you know lady y/n is here jacaerys?” He almost gets whiplash from the way his head whips up to look at daemon. “yes i got the chance to see her earlier.” He hopes he does not seem too quick with his response. He takes a sip of his wine as daemon taps his fingers on the table in thought. He can never tell what daemon is thinking, though he doubts even his mother can tell what he’s thinking. “i am yet to meet her i am looking forward to it.” Baela turns to jacaerys, “Do you like her?”

Now this question really makes him pause. He has no clue. He is sure he does, in some way, but he barely knows her. Maybe that does not matter, especially in their political situation. It is purely a political marriage he does not need to like her. But he does, maybe it stems from him not wanting to disappoint his mother but he likes her, he wants things to work with her. but a man who is simply doing this just to keep his mother happy would not write her letters while she was out fighting even when he would not receive a response, he would not be overthinking what gifts to give her because sure he could go out and get her the most expensive gem in the world or the most finest silk but she is not the type of lady to like that type of stuff and this man would be imagining her underneath him withering with pleasure. Well, maybe they are but not a man like him.

“She is pleasant.”

The raging storm outside leads most of the hallways empty as people try to remain dry. but solely in one hallway sits a girl sitting with her thighs clenched tightly to keep the torch she has lit ablaze steady as her hands cup in a prayer. Its dead quiet expect for the storm outside and the quiet mutters leaving her lips, until footsteps walk down the hall and the spot next to her grows warm with a body sitting there.

“Lord of Light, shine your face upon us.” the person next to you says nothing as you continue in your prayer. “Light your flame among us, R'hllor. Show us the truth or falseness of this man. Strike him down if he is guilty, and give strength to his sword if he is true. Lord of Light, give us wisdom.” “For the night is dark and full of terrors” the person next to you finishes. A long looming silence hangs in the air as you do not dare move your position. “Are you going to say anything?”

“I thought you were praying.” You finally look up at the women besides you who gives you a curious look. “Is it impolite that i i finished it for you?” “No it is preferred, lady rhaenys.” “have you always been a follower of the lord of light?” “I have been visiting the temple of the lord of light before i could even walk, it would be strange if i were not.” She hums and simply stares at the storm. “it is rather cold, do you not fear of getting sick?”

“i have been through worse weather at stepstones.” There are a few more beats of silence, it is so quiet you are even convinced for a moment she will not say anything else but she begins to speak after awhile. “What would my husband think of all this?” You turn to rhaenys and tilt your head. Rhaenys laughs and shakes her head, “You are the first person i am speaking to that has had a close direct contact with my husband for the last couple years, i wish to know what you think he would say.” You do not say anything for a long moment, your gaze being stuck on the flames still sat in your lap. “I think he would say you are all absurd for thinking he is going to die from this.” Rhaenys snorts but says nothing as she waits for your next words. “But he would not want his brother to succeed him.” It is not as though she is shocked to hear the answer. Especially when it was something she already knew herself.

“why do you think so?” She wants to know why, no she needs to. Just to clear her head maybe, give her some justice in her choice, rhaenyra's offer about marrying rhaena to lucerys still looming over her head. “because his brother is a fool.” She has no clue whether they are his words or hers but it does matter much as in a funny way she seems content with the answer. or maybe she was already content with her choice and needed the extra push.

She watches as the girl stares into the flames aimlessly. “can you see things in them?” “that is the priestess job not mine. Though i can see flashes. i am no were near skilled enough to make anything of it.” “it is a shocker to hear you admit you are not skilled enough at something.” “I am honest.” she nods though you don’t look in her direction. “What do you see?” “Myself mostly. sometimes he is with me.” “who?” There is no answer from the girl which causses rhaenys to sit up straight. “Jacaerys?” A light hum is the only answer she is given but it is all she needs before she lets out a surprised scoff. “i thought you hated the man.” You rip your gaze away form the flames and look at her with a confused look. “i hate him?” “that’s what everyone says dear.” rhaenys looks at her.

“Do you not hate him?” she looks away and stares back into the flames, her face now solemn and she watches the flame slowly wither away to nothing. No more words are said between the two of them but they don’t need to be as rhaenys gets up. “i bid you goodnight.” Even if you wanted to reply you are not given the opportunity to as she quickly turns away from you and leaves. You are once again left alone but this time you cannot distract yourself with prayers. You lean your head back against the cold wall behind you, hoping to let your mind be flooded with mindless water like the grounds are outside.

You cannot fail this. For there is far too much at risk. The words of the priestesses ring in your ears. This is too important. the gnawing feeling in your chest grows as you think of him. Failure is not an option. As much as you wish you could sit and wallow here for the night in your thoughts there are still things you must get done. Still people you must talk to. Maybe you should go to sleep earlier for tomorrow will make or break everything. But you know thats not an option. You get up for the first time in two hours and head towards the opposite direction of your room, for there is something you must do first.

Dinner has finally ended and jacaerys is more then eager to go to his room and take a nice hot bath before he goes to bed but he is instead walking lucerys to his room who looks like he’s gonna throw up. “I am nervous.” Jacaerys sighs and grabs his shoulders making lucerys look straight at him. “It shall be fine brother. Mother will take care of it.” Lucerys looks at the floor, “So i am making it difficult for her.” “No. family is about taking care of one another. It may be tough but it is worth it. because we are family.” Lucerys take a deep breath and opens his mouth as though he wishes to say something but he simply shakes his head before whispering a goodnight and closing his door.

Jacaerys lets out a shudder and closes his eyes for a moment. He feels bad he cannot do more for lucerys. He cannot truly reassure him everything will be alright because in his mind and how his parents talk of the hightowers he is convinced tomorrow will not work on in their favor. He stands in his spot for far too long, His mind far away from his body, He does not know what will happen and that scares him. What does happen if driftmark is taken from lucerys? What happens to his mothers claim? He feels as though this is his fault though the more rational side of him tells him this was something completely out of his hands.

He knows what he is. it is no secret. He knew. But there is nothing he can do about it. He must live with it. It does not matter what anyone else thinks. He runs his now sweaty hands down the front of his tunic before turning and walking away from lucerys room. He cannot stress about this now or else he will not be able to sleep. He is not paying attention in front of him so when hands press on his chest to prevent him from moving he gasps and takes a step back. “My lady.” He feels like he’s imagining you. Maybe he thought about you a bit too much he’s starting to see things. You just blankly stare at with your eyebrow raised. His stress must be showing on his face. he sighs and runs his hands down his face. “I apologize i was lost in thought.”

He had thought you were waiting around for him to apologize to you. “you should not be upset. what is it now.” He grows irradiated. His face turns anger and his blood begins to boil. You were mocking him. it is the way you say it, the monotone voice you hold makes his skin itch. The cherry on top is the fact that you roll your eyes. His jaw clenches and begins to speak through his teeth. “i am sorry i am not allowed to be upset my lady. I know you hold your own anguishes against me but please save it for another day. Goodnight.”

He swiftly moves around you and does not look back as he storms off to his room. He cannot believe himself. Deluding himself into thinking the two of you could even be civil. You don’t like him. That much is clear to him now. He does not notice the fact that you have not moved a single step. There is no noise in the hallway it is as if you are not even breathing. For the first time all day you truly let you face fall. Fingers twitching at you side as if you wished to reach your hand out and grab him but he is already to far away. You have messed it up. of course.

You don’t know how long you’re standing there until a hand touches your shoulder and you turn your head. “Are you alright?” You immediately straighten back up and no one would have even known you we’re frowning before now that your face has been set back to neutral. “I am alright my queen.” “Are you lost?” No. “Yes. I seemingly have lost my way.” She offers to walk you and you finally fully get a good look at her. She is in her nightdress and you eye the box you had given her earlier in her hands. She notices your gaze and perks up. “ah in truth i had actually head to your room to look for you. It is late but, are you up for a game?”

Jacaerys attempts to contain his anger as he asks for the coldest bath he can have that night. They do not question him as they see him furiously unbutton and tear at his clothes. He does not even hiss as he enters the tub. His blood still boiling hot and the cold bath does nothing to soothe him. “You are dismissed.” “But my prince-” “I am capable of cleaning myself.” The servant bows before stating he will leave his night clothes on his bed before he swiftly leaves. For the first time today he is alone with his thoughts for the first time today. he leans down and submerges himself low enough in the water until his nose is just barely above the water.

He is sure the water is warming up quickly because of how hot his skin is right now. He does not even know why he is so annoyed. He does not know you. You do not know him. Maybe he is annoyed at himself for attempting to put in an effort that is not going anyway, maybe it is due to the fact that he is going to be stuck with you for the rest of his life. He doesn’t know. Maybe he is annoyed that he is so enthralled by you. Were you always so inconsiderate? He should have known, gods you never even answered his letters or even so much as tried to speak to him before today.

The stress of lucerys trial and his annoyance with you all builds and all he can feel is a pure ache. Throbbing and aching and throbbing. Fuck when did he get hard? He stares down at his errection with furrowed brows. His hot blood boiled until it all spilled down to his cock he guessed. He throws his head back in anger. Maybe he should just ignore it. He should call a servant in and ask him to throw as much ice as he can possibly take into the tub.

Or maybe he just needs a good stress relief. He is a man and tomorrow will certain be a tough day and he will be overthinking. Maybe he just need to get it out now? He sits all the way up and eyes his throbbing dick angerly. He rarely does this. His sex drive is not high enough where he gets hard everyday but every once and awhile a guy has to relieve himself. He leans his head back to lay against the edge of the tub and closes his eyes. hands sliding down his chest before they settle on his balls. He lets out a sigh of relief as he fondles them lightly in his hands, his thumb rubbing circles on the sensitive skin.

Suddenly the smell of a familiar perfume fills the air. His movements do not halt but his pleasure is increased when it begins to feel like a second set of hands lay over his, adding harder pleasure to his thumbs. He lets out a couple puffs of air and its almost as if he can feel the another hot breath drifting onto his face. His eyes flutter open slowly and he sees you. Staring at him how you were in the library and he whines, “please… y/n.” As if he is high on your smell he feels as though his hands are being guided by yours, they slide from the base of his dick to the tip causing him to curse and clench his jaw as his thumbs are instead pressed against his tip, rubbing in small circles.

He presses his lips together tightly to stop himself from letting out a loud moan. He wants to bring one of his hands up to his mouth to silence himself but it feels like their stuck where they are. Your hands holding his down tightly. “Jacaerys.” He can hear you, smell you, feel you. Its as if your hands have switched and he can feel the harsh leather your hands are covered with. “Please y/n i cant take it please.” Finally sliding down from his tip and down back to the base, it slides back up slowly, her pointer finger is tracing along one of the veins, this continues like a slow painful torture until each and every single vein has been drawn and pressed against the skin, Jacaerys does not know how loud he is, with every groan, hiccup, mumble and moan he can’t even be worried he’s getting louder and is instead completely and utterly consumed by you.

“y/n do not tease me please, please.” The hands suddenly begin to move faster and he throws his head so far back its basically outside the tub. His cock so painfully sensitive from the teasing he feels like he might burst any moment. But he needs something else, something more. Suddenly it's like he can feel your ghost lips kissing along his jaw, slowly working towards his ear, giving it a long lick and he shudders, “Jace.” He cannot take it, his balls begin to ache and he can feel an overwhelming pressure build in his stomach. “I need you y/n” Suddenly a long lick on his collarbone is what has him shaking and moaning out your name while white webs flood into the now very very very dirty bath water.

The only sounds that can be heard now are the light swaying of water and his deep heaving breaths. After many moments he finally lifts his head and slowly opens his eyes, blinking slowly he sees no one in front of him. Of course it was not real. he lifts up his hands and feels how his arms and hands ache from how long he was working himself and there is no smell of you in the room. For a moment he is disappointed until clarity hits him and he's suddenly very quickly standing up, well as best as he can his legs begin to rapidly shake and he hisses as his dick is met with the cold air of the room severely overstimulated.

What had he done? It was a one time thing. It was merely his mind running amok. Yes that's it. He dries himself quickly and attempts to suppress down any thoughts he has. All of them. all he wants to do is slip into bed and fall asleep, acting like today never happened. If he was lucky she wouldn’t be at the trial. Maybe she would head to stepstones tomorrow and they would go back to being strangers until they must marry. Maybe she would die in the war, he ignores how much his chest aches at that, and they would never see each other ever again. He just wants to rid of himself of all his thoughts. He tosses and turns in bed, sleep alludes him, or maybe its his own fears that once he falls asleep he’ll dream of you.

The library you reside in is cold, devoid of all light other than the two candles lighting up the board in front of you and the occasional light from lightning striking outside. “It is rare i meet someone who is good competition.” Alicent is enjoying herself. a small smile on her face as she places down another piece. Aemond is always far too busy to play, Aegon obviously won’t play with her and helaena has no clue how to play. She watches you closely but you face is unmoving, leaning far back into your seat with you arms crossed in your lap all you do is dart your eyes around to look at the board.

When you say nothing in return she is not surprised and says nothing more until you move a piece on the board. “I’d like to ask you about something.” she twists one of the pieces in her hands, eyes flying back between the board and to you. You make no noise or even so much as look up at her like she takes this as her queue to continue. “What are your thoughts on your betrothal?” Though it only happens for a split second she catches it, You tense.

She believes she is right. You are unhappy with your betrothal. She watches as you stare at your dragon on the board, lifting on of your hands to twist it to face you. “It is a fine match.” She hums and nods, “agreed.” Though for the first time you look at her and raise your eyebrows at her. you know there's something more to this. She feels a chill run down her spine as you don’t take your eyes off her while she's moving another one of her pieces on the board. “I hope this does not offend you, however i am truly just curious, is there anything keeping you in this engagement?”

Your gaze does not waver nor do you move to move one of your pieces and she begins to pick at her nails, a pit forming in her stomach. “I do not understand.” “It is simply curiosity. and if you would stay, if there was no longer any political benefit?” Your gaze does not stray as you pick up a piece and place it on the board. “No more political benefit?” You trail off for a moment, she expects you to say there would be no point then or maybe something along those lines. “What political benefit is there for me now?” Alicent freezes and looks at you confused, “What?” You shrug and fiddle around with some of your pieces on the board. “Am i supposed to be getting something out of it?”

All alicent can do this blink. What did you mean? Were you trying to mock her? What did you mean what benefit were you getting? “Your future husband is to be king one day….” She watches as you scratch your jaw and move one of your pieces. “Ahh,,,,, I guess you’re right.” She looks down at the board, she sees the clear path in front of her and tries to suppress her smile, maybe you were not as good at this as she had though, purposefully taking longer to continue to speak to you.

“It would be better if a marriage had benefits i suppose, so no?” Alicent picks up one of her pieces and places it down. Maybe this is her opportunity, there is a small voice in the back of her head telling her this was a bad idea, it was her fathers voice, but she must try no matter what he says. She could be in danger or even worse children could be in danger.

She knows how dangerous and cruel the people of Volantis are. If there truly is to be a war if she does not gain her as an ally they are doomed. and worse they would be fighting against her family, so the punishment and pain she would inflict would be far worse. It would be treason.

“So, would you consider another option, should you be presented one?” She sees the look on your face and panics a bit but manages to remain calm, “Purely hypothetical of course.” “Like what?” “Say if i told you my son aemond remains unmarried.” “A second son compared to a future king? A ridiculous proposition.” For someone who just seemed to have no interest in the political side of things your attitude sure has changed.

“but what if he was not just a second son, but the prince regent to the king” You just blink. you would be blind to not get what she was referring. she fears you will confront her, ask her what she means by her implications, but she is good to remember you are not that type of person. “a prince regent is still not a king.”

“but what if your first daughter would be promised to the next king, your line on the throne after you.” more blinking. She doesn't know what you’re thinking, your face as blank as it always it. “simply just something to think about of course. If tomorrows trial goes well, maybe there could be something.” She begins to sweat under your blank stare. Maybe her father was right, this was a bad idea. You are going to declare war on her and her family for treason. But you say nothing at all for a good while. She decided against opening her mouth again in fear of ruining it more than she already has.

But you make do not open your mouth to speak, instead you just push yourself to stand up and her heart drops but you just place one of your pieces before snatching her dragon and placing it on her side of the board. “I shall think about it. Goodnight.” She simply watches as you leave the room before looking at the board in shock.

you had won.

He’s kissing you. All over your hot skin. Occasionally leaving a trail of his own saliva when he stays in one sport too long. He makes sure to keep his ear right next to your mouth to hear every little whimper and moan you let out. His hands running up and down your sides, you were wearing a red silk dress, a night gown if he had to guess. but he has no room in his mind to think about it as he slides his hands under your dress kneading your ass with his hands and uses his knees to push open your legs to slot himself between you, lifting up your dress to expose you, you weren’t wearing anything underneath it. His lips are surely going to be sore with the force he’s kissing you.

The two of your hips thrusting each others with fever even through his clothed pants he can feel your wetness soak his trousers and onto his hard cock. His lips leave yours and they begin to suck down your jaw to your neck. His hands sliding up to your breasts, his thumbs brushing against your nipples, feeling as they harden against his skin.

“my prince.” He ignores this at first. continuing his assault on your skin and the rhythm of your hips getting faster. “my prince.” but the voice gets louder and louder and louder until-

“my prince!”

Jacaerys eyes open and he shoots up. He is breathing heavy as if he just ran all the way from the north to dorne. He runs his hands down his face and he looks at his hands with disgust as he feels the amount of sweat.

fuck.

“my prince.”

“What is it?” He is basically snarling. He is furious he was woken up. He can feel his cock throbbing under the blanket as if he was on the brink of climax. The servant shakes at the dragon princes hard glare. “It is morning my prince, we must get you ready for morning fast.” His head whips to look at the window. The sky bright blue contrasting the stormy weather it had been last night. as if the storm had to happen last night for the sky to be blue. He runs his hands down his face and apologizes, “I'm so sorry, i had a bad dream.” the servant merrily nods with a grateful smile on his face before he begins to help jacaerys get ready for the day.

Jacaerys cock throbs under the cold water. “my prince if you need a few moments alone-” “I do not.” he spits out. He certainly cannot do what he did last night. As much as his hands itch to touch himself he knows he would only be greeted with images of you. He cannot allow that. The servant says nothing more for the rest of the morning, his hardness dies down a little through out his routine but he knows once he is alone his mind will begin to race once more.

So he is more than thankful you are not there when he joins his family. Though his mother mentions she had tried to invite you but apparently you were no where to be seen. Seemingly not having gone back to your room last night. He wishes he was relieved, that he were happy you were gone from him and he could not have to see you for a while. but he is not. He must be so annoyed about it even Joffrey asked him why he had such a sour face.

They all assume you have gone to stepstones, not believing you would be interested in staying for the trial. He says nothing in return. A thought pops up into his head. Maybe he had upset you, he had lost his temper with you last night, maybe that is why you had left. He tries not to dwell on it but a pit grows in his stomach, he does not wish to think about you any longer.

He does not expect you to be there. He had thought you left just like the rest of his family. But as his family was being led into the room he sees you already leaning against the wall near where his family was standing. He could see the way the people were looking and whispering about you. This must be the first time for many people in this room seeing her before, even seeing someone from Essos before. You do not seem to care as he expected. He can’t take his eyes off you. Instead of your black leather outfit you were wearing a completely grey leather outfit still paired with your large boots and silver chains. You have a dagger in your hands fiddling around with it not taking your eyes off of it.

He does not like you he is certain of it but then why can he not remove his gaze from you? why does he wish to go over to you and compliment you though he knows your response will be something like a nod? Has he ever even complimented you? He can’t remember. Maybe he wrote something in one of his letters. But why does it matter why should he complement you if you do not even care. Maybe he should do the right thing and go greet you despite his grievances.

Your gaze suddenly lifts and you're looking in his direction so he swiftly turns away to glance at lucerys who look's more nervous than ever. He wishes he could offer lucerys any sort of comfort but he has no clue what to say. It is certainly not because he is using all his willpower to not look at you. He can feel your stare, your burning gaze staring into the side of his face. He does not allow himself to look. he only does when he sees otto sit down on the throne and it is almost as if you were not just looking at him. backing to fiddling with you dagger, was it really your gaze he felt on him? He has no time to truly dwell on it, not when Vaemond begins to speak.

The trial begins without a hitch. Jacaerys find himself growing more and more irritated as the trial goes on. Vaemond’s voice and the backhanded insults Vaemond is insinuating about his mother anger him beyond belief. Daemon places his hand on jacaerys back to attempt to keep the young boy at bay. Daemon looks over at you and sees you spaced out, as if you were not even listening to the trial at hand., neither really was he if he was being truthful, he knew this trial would work on in his favor, whether he would have to pull out drastic measures or not.

“Why don’t we get the lady Maegyr’s opinion?” Daemon chuckles as he watches your head raise and look to Vaemond with your blank stare. “You are sure to know better than anyone else about my brothers wishes.” Every head in the room is turned to look at you now.

Alicent feels herself praying in her mind. You must take their side, they can’t risk you having aligned yourself with the blacks. She glances at otto who looks to her for a beat, she does not miss the awaiting look on his face. She knows he will be furious with her should you not side with them, she looks at you hopeful, praying to the seven, praying to the father the mother anyone who would listen to her.

Jacaerys watches as you push yourself off the wall and walk towards where Vaemond is standing, stopping for a moment to glance at jacaerys. He does not turn away this time, allowing himself to look at you. He is desperate, he worries as he knows your distain for him he fears that will transfer over to your feelings on this whole affair. He has a look of desperation as your gaze does not leave him, please he finds himself begging in his mind. You must defend them, his mother, his brother. Him. His fists clench at his sides and your gaze drops to look at them before you look back up one more time and walk away.

Standing in front of the throne the room is dead quiet, every person in the room eager to here what you have to say, anticipating it.

“I think this whole ordeal is ridiculous.” You stop to glance at alicent who looks at you with wide eyes, you can see her picking at the skin on her nails. You look back at Vaemond and sigh. “worst of all i think you are nothing than a power hunger pig who cares not of his brother nor his family but only of himself.” There's a couple gasps around the room and Vaemond opens his mouth to speak but you are quicker. Daemon feels rhaenyra let out a sigh of relief and places a hand over her chest.

“Dare i ask why you do not campaign for Baela to take driftmark? by westerios succession rules she would be next in line after him if you do truly disregard corlys’ true blooded named heir Lucerys Velaryon. For you are nothing but an old rotting man no kids, no wife yet you believe you are best choice for driftmark? yet not baela who has spent the last couple years of her life on driftmark under her grandmothers wing who, as of right now, is the proper ruler of driftmark and is more suited than you, a lone man who is closer to his own death day than he is to ever sitting on the driftmark seat.”

Vaemond's face turns to anger, his eye twitches at your words and he takes a step closer to you, his voice louder than before, “You dare speak to me like this?” “You say that as if you are someone to be reconned with. I am supposed to fear a second son you dare insult me, maybe that is the reason you remain unwed, for no one wishes to lay with a second son.” Alicent feels her heart drop to her stomach. It does not help that she feels Aegon chuckling at her words next to him. She does not dare look at her father, for she fears his reaction more than anything.

“How dare you?” “How dare i? how dare you? you dare put into question the legitimacy of the princess and even worse the legitimacy of her children. Ser laenor claimed those children as his who are we to question such an act. You? A weak old man who is so bitter and resentful he must campaign in a room full of more ignorant fools who believe this should even be a question in the first place. You should be hung for treason.”

Vaemond finds his body shaking with anger at the girls in front of him with her ever so calm demeaner, her words cold and calculated like she knew exactly what she was going to say before he had even called on her. He cannot control himself. “You are a lying deceitful monster who believes she is so righteous and strong. Yet i find it hard to believe there is a fate worse than marrying someone of his blood-” “You will hold your tongue!” The room which had begun to be filled with whispers and small chatter ceases completely at the girls outburst. Her face having a look that no one has ever seen from her. Anger. Vaemond takes a step back as if her voice had thrown him back. Everyone else in the room finds themself frozen in fear.

“You dare forget yourself i am first lady Y/n Maegyr of House Maegyr, one of the three triarchs of Volantis i am not someone who is below you, i am not some family member of yours, you will not dare speak another nasty word about him or i shall watch your blood pool on the ground by my blade.” Without another words you swiftly turn your back to him and make your way back to the pillar you were once leaning against, not sparing anyone else a glance and sliding down it to be sitting on the floor with a bored look. You do not pull out your dagger nor do you look to speak with anyone else, simply all you do is stare out into space.

Before anyone else can say a single word the king is announced and he is shockingly walking in. Jacaerys can't find himself to care much however. You are the only thing on his mind. You defended not only his mother but him. You did not get angry when Vaemond insulted your own honor but his. He attempts to will away his blood that begins to pump down south. Maybe you had just done it to keep up appearances, it would be wrong if you did not defend your betrothed.

Suddenly he is rushed with guilt. He had been so cruel to you last night, maybe it had been deserved but he should not have spoken to you like that. He will have to make it up to you somehow. An idea pops up in his head. He is so distracted he does not even flinch when daemon slices off Vaemond’s head, instead turning his head in your direction to see how you react. You don’t, as expected and you do not move even as the trial is called to an end. He finds himself moving without thinking.

You look up once you notice a shadow close around your vision and see him staring down at you, offering you his hand. You eye it for a moment before grabbing onto it and he helps you up. He watches as you use your free hand to dust off your pants briefly before looking back at him. “Thank you.” He wasn’t expecting you to say anything and merely nods, he feels as though the roles are reversed, he should be the one speaking not the one silent. You make no move to let go of his hand and he does not let go either. He does not want to let go. “Are you free this afternoon?”

He watches as you look at him wide eyed, he gives you a small smile, maybe he could use this as a way to apologize. But he watches as you look down at the floor and let go of his hand. “I find myself,,,,,” You trail off with an unsure look on your face, “preoccupied with other things this afternoon until the dinner tonight.” He takes this as a clear rejection and takes a step back. Maybe you truly did what you had done for your own benefit and he finds himself annoyed at himself. You probably were not even busy, you were probably just not interested in seeing him. “of course you are. Good day then.”

You are once again forced to watch him simply just walk away from you as you have once again messed things up and merrily sigh as you watch him walk off. As much as you would like to spend the afternoon with him you have other things you must do. Things you cannot afford to miss. He will understand. But as you walk around out you begin to think about the words he had said to you last night. ‘I know you hold your own anguishes against me’ or even when rhaenys had asked you if you hated him, has you crinkling your eyes. What had they meant by that? You let out a sigh and continue walking through the streets with your hood up, You have things to do, people to meet, you will dwell on this later.

Dinner time has finally arrived and everyone had gotten into their seats, even viserys had been escorted into the room but one chair remained empty. Your chair. “The lady is no where to be found my queen.” Alicent sighs in defeat, had you left? It did not make sense. Maybe you are heading home to plan an attack on her and her family. No. She should not think so irrationally now. “If she shows up escort her here.” The guard nods before moving to leave the room. “Should we pray?”

“She cannot stand your presence so much she is missing dinner.” Aegon whispers in jacaerys direction before being shushed by his mother who begins to pray. Jacaerys has never been religious so he has no reason to pray. Are you truly missing dinner because of him? He begins to feel sick. Jacaerys had definitely not spend his whole afternoon thinking of you even when he was walking in the garden with baela or when he had found out lucerys was to be married to rhaena. It got him thinking of his own engagement. He has been trying his best to figure out what he was going to say the next time you spoke, maybe he should stop trying completely. Today was a slip up in his judgement, he should have listened to his head and not thought with his cock like Aegon.

He will not speak to you unless necessary.

That entire plan lasted all of five seconds because as soon as alicent was done with her prayer the doors to the room opened and his jaw fell to the floor. You stood in a floor length sleeved in the color of house velaryon. It had a long slit down your front down to your waist where it connected to another slit down your leg. the dress covered in detailed designs of flowers. Your hair was done, full of pins and topped with a golden clip which made it look like the sun was shining behind you. he could see the scar that was was usually hidden behind your very covered up look clearly now. it ran completely down your chest and stopped around your stomach where there was a bigger scar.

You were gorgeous. No gorgeous is not enough. you looked radiant, glorious, his vocabulary is not large enough to describe the goddess standing in front of him. He may not be religious but he believes you to be the closest thing to the maiden. A goddess that has flown down from the heavens to grace this earth.

You awkwardly readjust your dress as everyone in the room gawks at you. “I apologize for being late. This dinner clashed with my prayers.” There is a couple beats of silence before anyone says anything. “It is my fault, i should have taken your faith into account when i set this dinner up.” Otto is the first and only one to break the silence and is given a nod before you make your way towards the table.

Jacaerys quick to stand, you look at him in shock as you sit he pushes in your chair for you before sitting back down himself.

Shortly after all the food is being brought out and the chatter at the table begins. “you look beautiful. That dress is stunning, where ever did you get it?” rhaenyra is the first to speak to you, he watches as you reach your hands and readjust the slit on your dress. You are not wearing your gloves. “I had it made in a tailor shop in the city last night, i had gone to go pick it up this afternoon.” He cannot take his eyes off your hands, still covered in rings. He can see black marks peaking through your wrists but mostly hidden under your sleeves. He wants to see them. He wants to see you.

“A dress like that made so quickly? That is quite impressive.” “It is easy to have stuff done quickly when you are presented with enough coin.” more mindless chatter flows around you all. There is an awkward energy in the air but no one dares acknowledge it. Jacaerys feels terrible. You had been busy this afternoon. And he had been so rude about it. His terrible temper and sensitive feelings continue to sway him in the wrong direction.

He wants to speak to you. But he feels as though he will just screw it up once more.

“Lady Maegyr, you had mentioned you are a triarchs of Volantis, is it normal for two members of the same family to rule at the same time?” You pick at the food on your plate, “My father was not re-elected lord hand.” “That must have not gone over well with him.”

You glance up for a moment at daemon before you look down at your plate. “He was furious. So furious in fact he demanded a recount, then another recount. When that didn't work he attempted to bribe them. When that didn't work he tried to kill me. Both the other triarchs were re-elected, He had thought it was ridiculous i was elected. i had not spent a single second or coin to campaign” “but you traveled out there recently no? was that not to campaign?” “it had been to help my father campaign. Seems like it did not matter. The people wanted me to sit on the throne.”

“Do you know why?” It takes you a moment to answer but it is clear to daemon who chuckles to himself. “You are to be a Targaryen.” You hum, taking a large gulp out of your wine glass. “Every single old blood dreams of being even close to the great legacy of house Targaryen. They simply are trying to flatter me.”

There is no room to acknowledge the tension in the room. The adults more interested in learning about you, throwing questions at you left and right. Its a good thing, there's no room for in fighting between the family and you serve as the perfect distraction. “What happened to your father then?” “He had fallen off a cliff. Such a tragedy.” You do not mean that, you seem far too pleased for it to be merely an accident. “That is horrible.” You simply nod, and watch as a maid fills up your wine glass for the fourth time.

“Is your mother around?” “My mother died soon after giving birth to my brother.” Alicent places her hand on her chest, “I am so sorry.” You shrug, continuing to sip on your drink. “I was born with my twin brother, they had not expected her to live anyways.” “Twins are tough.” It is helaenas first time speaking that night, a depressed look on her face. “Birthing is not easy even with one, i cannot even imagine two. Isn't it not common to survive?”

“Yes well, my mother had not died while giving birth. She had actually looked like she was going to live which shocked the midwives in the room.” The room sits in silence and some in pure confusion, “Imagine the look on their face after my father picked up a blade and slit it across her throat.”

Rhaenyra chokes on her drink while alicent gasps and covers her mouth. “No…” “ ‘an heir and a spare’ they say. when i was pushed out first he had expected he would keep her around until she gave him another son but soon after me my brother came out and he had no more use for her i suppose.” “That's horrible.”

You simply shrug and finish off your cup requesting some more. “it is in the past. My father shall pay for what he’s done, the lord of light shall do what he sees fit to punish him. Even so he has already paid for his crimes in a sense.” It is a shock to hear you talk so much. Maybe it is the wine that is loosing you up. But there must be a deeper reason as to why you seem to be acting differently tonight.

“It is nice to see someone can keep up with me in the drinks. Maybe we should see if you can keep up with me in other places.” Aegon whispers the last part in your ear. You keep your gaze forward continuing to drink, had you even taken a bite out of your meal.

“Hold your tongue when speaking to my betrothed.” It is now jacaerys who whispers from your right. He has a venom in his voice as he glares in his direction. You look at neither man, simply blind to the stare down they are having behind you.

“My lady i truly feel bad for you. I'm sure his cock is so flaccid he has no clue what to do with it. If you ever need some real experience feel free to come visit me.”

What really gets jacaerys anger is Aegon placing his hand on your bare back that had been exposed. He swears his eye is twitching as he fights the urge to pick up his steak knife and stab it into his hand to get it off your skin. He had never even touched your skin before.

You suddenly reach behind your back and rip his hand off, twisting it lightly causing him to hiss. “Touch me or even so much as speak to me again and i shall do worse to you.” You do not even spare him a glance as you finish down yet another cup and wave down the servant to refill your cup.

Jacaerys however is too anger to say anything else just angrily shoving some of his chicken in his mouth. His other hand rests on the table clenched in the fist. He should not be so angry. He is embarrassed. Embarrassed that Aegon is most likely right. He was obviously not good at much, he could barely speak Valyrian, could barely control his temper-

A hand gets placed on his clenched fist and any thought in his mind ceases to exist. He looks over at you and he notices that they have just brought you a jug of win seemingly tired of having to walk over and refill your cup. You keep your gaze forward but he notices your clenched jaw and rapid blinking.

He has no clue if he’s right but due to your excessive talking and drinking as well as even your posture he could tell, you were stressed. Your mind was clearly not here, Which is why you were answering any questions throw at you. Why you seemed to not even mind the way the men were eyeing you down at the table. He had no clue why you were, he wishes he did. Wishes he could make it go away, he does not wish to see you so stressed.

He unclenches his fist, twists it around and hesitates before lacing his fingers with yours. He expects you to turn him away, or even glare at him but you don’t. Instead you allow yourself to grip his hand tight and your shoulders drop as you relax and let out a deep sigh.

His skin burns, like the two of your hands together rub together to create electricity which sends shockwaves through his soul. He is surprised your hands are so soft, he had expected them to be a lot rougher due to your excessive sword training but you must wear gloves almost all the time as they look like there are barely any scratches and marks on them, as if you have never even lifted your hands to do anything before. His thumb starts to rub against the back of your hand. He knows its not good to question you. Not that you will give him any answers anyways. but he hopes that you do not have to stress for long.

The tension in the room is much more palpable now. They had stopped grilling you about yourself. You almost want to leave but it would be in bad taste, you know they would fight and rhaenyra would want to leave the keep, you must prevent that from happening. “Do you mind if i ask her to dance?” You snap out of your thoughts and lightly turn in his direction. Haleana had just given a speak and looked rather down. Of course he would want to atleast try to cheer her up. but you know that is not a good idea. So you stand, letting go of his hand and his looks up at you in confusion as you walk over to the small group of people playing music.

You stand awkwardly as a cheerful jig started playing and everyone looks over at you. “Lets,,, dance?” Its a group jig. Everyone looks back and forth at one another. You reach your hand out in helaenas direction and she smiles as she stands up to grab it and jacaerys stands to join you soon after, rhaena baela and lucerys follow. Aegon shakes his head as his mother urges him to get him, she has to give a pointed look at the king before he rolls his eyes and stands, walking over to aemond who shakes his head at him causing Aegon to smile and grip his shirt to drag him with him.

Alicent and rhaenyra watch you all with a smile, even otto and daemon have a pleased look as they watch you all. Jacaerys is shocked you even know this tune, he had thought it was a westerosi tune but he guessed you have been in westeros longer than you have been in essos. The song ends and you all laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. You simply stand and watch all of them with a pleased look. Jacaerys looks at you with a smile and grips your hand tightly. He looked so happy. You wish you felt the same but you felt too much stress to share the same sentiment.

“This makes me so happy. To see you all get along. This is all I've ever wanted.” They all stand around and stare at one another as viserys speaks. Alicent stands and looks to viserys. “Isn’t this a great way to end the night.” Viserys eagerly agrees seemingly exhausted and everyone gives each other hushed goodnights as they walk out the room. You nod at rhaenyra and daemon who grabs your hand and thanks you before leaving. You can feel a gaze on you and turn to see otto staring at you. All you do is give him a dramatic bow your gaze never leaving his face as you walk off to join jacaerys who was waiting for you by the door.

“Allow me to walk you-” “No. I will walk you to your room. I don’t plan on sleeping just yet.” You grab his hand and drag him towards the direction of his room. He says nothing as he watches the back of your head, attempting to keep up with your long fast steps. Soon enough they are standing in front of his room and you do not turn back to look at him, instead breathing deeply and gripping his hand tightly. He turns you around to face him, “Please you must tell me what is wrong? Are you alright?” You shake your head and let go over him reaching down into the potted plant near his room and his eyes widen as he sees the long metal chains in your hands. “My lady..?”

“You will listen to me very closely. You are to tie these around your door, your windows and there is a shelf in the back of your room that you must secure this around as well,” He blinks at you as you shove them in his hands, “I do not understand-” “You must do this i beg of you,” “My lady-” “You will not leave your room. You will not open the door should you hear knocking you will not even answer if you hear one of your own families voice. unless it is my own. No matter what you do or see you will not you must promise me.”

You cannot falter to his puppy eyes. The clock is ticking until things start to explode and you are too worried too stressed, you cannot allow anything happen to him. You cup his cheeks and pull him closer to you, his breath hits your face and his eyes dart around your face. “Y/n…..” “Please jacaerys.”

He gulps. His past dreams and thoughts float their way up to his mind. He wants to kiss you, he is staring at your lips so intensely he is not even answering you. You notice this and sigh, shaking your head. “It is not a good time.” “If the situation is as dire as you make it seem maybe it is the best time.”

“I will kiss you later should you agree.”. Though his heart begins to race at the idea and he almost opens his mouth to eagerly agree he cannot stop the anxiety brewing in his stomach. “But what if you are in danger-” “No. You must stay. Agree to do it.” Your face turns to one of irritation at his continuous refusal. “What if i do not?” You press your face closer to him and he instinctively closes his eyes. “I guess i will just have to drag you to your bed and chain you there. Keep you there all night.” He lets out a shaky breath as you step back. That's all he wants. All he’s been thinking about.

“That doesn’t sound so bad. Would you join me?” You shake your head and look at him desperately. “please jacaerys. you must.” “Will you even tell me what this is for.” With you blank look he knows he wont get an answer so he sighs. “I will. as long as you promise to stay safe.”

You freeze. as he looks at you expectantly. He watches you look off to the side and think. He may not know what is going but he can tell you plan on doing something crazy. “I promise.” “do you mean it or are you just saying that.” You give him a flat look and roll your eyes. “I mean it. Kostan daor jikagon, mirri mēre kostagon gūrogon ao hen nyke.” He blinks and tilts his head. “Will you teach me what the things you say mean?”

You look at him once more before you begin to walk backwards, “Goodnight. jacaerys.” “Will you try to get some rest?” You say nothing and just turn your back to him walking off. He watches you until you are far out of his view and attempts to calm his pounding heart as he enters his room. His tub already ready for a bath, he does what you say after waving off a couple maids saying he has no need for them tonight and he wants to go to bed early. He is bad at tying it, he is sure you would be anger if you saw the terrible job he did.

He is unsure as to why you need him to lock up the cabinet in his room but he does it anyways with the most confusion. He strips himself and settles into his bath, its hot. Very hot actually. But it is a nice change from the cold bath he had taken yesterday. You are the only thing he can think about. He wonders what you are doing what is going on. But in a weird way he finds himself trusting you. He has no reason to. You have not shown yourself to be trust worthy. maybe it is the childish part of him or his own selfish desires but he believes you and will do anything you say.

His mind slowly drifts to your dress tonight. The way it flowed as you walked away, the exposed skin where he could see scares all over your legs and back but you still never showed your arms. Was there a reason for that? He wants to know everything about you. He dunks his head under the water as he begins to wonder what you are doing right now.

You stand in your room, back into your black leather outfit as you heart pounds. Looking at the variety of weapons on your table in front of you you hesitate before strapping them onto different spots on your outfit before you stand Infront of your door and freeze. wiping you hands in front of your armor you gulp. This is it. You cannot mess this up, what this has all been leading to. You stand and wait. and wait, and wait and wait and wait for your queue. When you hear the rushing of footsteps outside your door you open it. looking around the hallway before stepping out and swiftly making your way through the corridors with your hood now tossed up.

You were called to the temple about a month ago. it was the highest request from the high priestess herself. Only a few days after you had been elected.

‘There is something you must know. the flames have told me something of great danger.’

You sit in your chair held up above the ground with a bored look on your face. “What could be more important than ruling Essos?” You watch the priestess pace back and forth and sigh.

“The king is going to die soon.”

“That is a shock to no one.”

“no no you must understand they plan to kill the heir.”

This has you sitting up completely with wide eyes. “Whatever are you speaking of?”

“They plan to kill her, her and her children.”

You freeze, blinking slowly. “… her children.”

Jacaerys.

“They plan to gather in the keep. Should they leave war will begin, should they stay they will all die. You must go.”

You play with your dagger that you had tucked into your pocket and look at the priestess with a confident face. “What must i do?”

“They will not do it by their own hands. You must kill them.”

Viserys will be dead in minutes alicent knows this. She watches viserys mutter to himself. She feels sick, sicker than she’s ever felt when he would take her at night, sicker than he had announced to the council he will marry her. She does not want this to happen. She fears what will happen afterwards. The door of the room opens and she stands in shock looking at women who had just entered. “Rhaenyra?” Rhaenyra walks swiftly over to her father ignoring alicent completely and kneels down next to him. “Father?”

Otto walks in the room swiftly after and looks between them all alarmed and walks closer to alicent. “You will be a beautiful queen. I just, wish i could have seen it.” Otto eyes alicent who looks at him. Otto cannot allow this to happen. He already has the means to get rid of them set up, he had not accounted for rhaenyra showing up in this room right now. He can see a danger on the table and grabs it. Alicents eyes widen and she begins to steps towards her father. She does not want rhaenyra to die. That is the last thing she has ever wanted. So she is more than relieved when the door opens to the room once again and otto drops the dagger quickly.

Daemon, unlike rhaenyra who had seemingly ran in here straight from bed still in her night gown, daemon was completely dressed in his leather armor suit with his sword attached to his side quickly making his way over towards rhaenyra to comfort her as she had begun to cry as viserys retold the story of Aegon the conquer once more. Otto internally curses as he knows he cannot act with daemon around. The only real question he has is how did they know to come here? They were meant to be dead asleep in their rooms so the people he hired could come in and deal with them, but what were they doing outside of their room how had they even known to come in here?

Otto gives alicent a look before leaving the room. Alicent begins to worry what otto is going to do. She has no clue but based on what he was about to do she has her worries. But she cannot dwell on that right now she approaches closer to the other two and simply can only watch as viserys passes.

Jacaerys was unable to sleep. His thoughts filled with you, and with worry. What did you seem to be so concerned with? His eyes closed he continues to toss and turn in bed until he hears a thump against the cabinet you had him lock up. He sits up alarmed his eyes widening and heart racing. It continues to thrash until he can hear the sound of gurgling and he can hear what sounds like a body hitting the floor. He wants to get up and check it out but your words ring in his head. He can’t. He is choosing to trust you. he hopes he does not grow to regret this

Alicent is left in a room for the first time since viserys had passed. Daemon and rhaenyra had walked back to their room to mourn maybe an hour ago? She had no clue how much time had truly passed. She finally allows herself to cry. To cry about everything. She swears this is the first time she's cried in years, everything suddenly crashing into her in a sudden wave of anguish. Maybe she had a distain for the man and his blind ignorance of everything but she never truly wanted him to pass.

“Pick up your tears girl there are things we must do.” She looks up towards her father who walks in the room with a satisfied look on his face. “What did you do?” Otto simply shrugged, “What i had to do. There is nothing you can do now it is already done.” Alicent looks angry now, the tear streaks still left on her face as she glares at her father. “The king never would have wanted this!” “The king is dead. Now it is time we move. Come, let us discuss this more privately.”

Otto is horrified to walk into his room to a pile of bodies stacked in the middle of his room the one of the topic having the his back exposed with a familiar skull carved into it. The volantis currency coin honors skull. “That cunt.”

“‘That cunt’ is right.” The two of them jump and like you appeared out of thin air you approach from a far corner of the room. “You.” Otto glares at you and he notices all the blood splotches on your face and he sees the dagger you are holding in your hands, covered in blood.

“Yes, me.” “You have no reason to get involved in this. These are family affairs.” You tilt your head and alicent sees a crazy in your blank eyes she only sees in daemon. It is not clear to her. You do not have a distain for him. You are on the same grounds as him, you probably respect him more than anyone else. She has severely misunderstood you. and now she will pay the consequences for it.

“I have no reason to get involved? They are to be my family. I am to be married to him.” You walk past him and stand directly in front of alicent who looks down. “Here is what is going to happen. You two are going to stop this mindless nonsense. Rhaenyra is going to ascend the throne, daemon will take the position as hand, otto will return to oldtown, Me and jacaerys will take our place in dragonstone, baela and rhaenys will return to driftmark, and you, your children, rhaena and lucerys and the rest of her spawn will stay here.”

“The realm will never accept a women on the throne.” You do not turn back to otto as you address him. your gaze staying strong onto alicent. “They did not seem to have any complaints. Not until you and your Hightower cunts started to spread around that ridiculous rumor about her.”

“You must know it is true,” Alicent hands begin to shake as she speaks, “You cannot truly look at him and think he is of pure blood-” “You will not open your mouth to speak about him again. I let your foolish game go on for too long, it ends today.” Otto stares at the back of your head and scoffs. “You do not truly love the boy do you? You are incapable of love you are nothing but a monster-” “QUIET!” He flinches as you are louder than you've ever been, even during today's trial you had not been so loud.

“You will never speak or even so much as think about him again or else.” His eye twitches as you do not even turn in his direction and keep your gaze on alicent. “You don’t want things to get ugly do you? It would be a shame if something happened to your dear son in oldtown, hmmm what is his name?” You put your hand on your chin in a fake ponder as alicents eyes widen in horror, “Daeron..” “Daeron yes! thats it! it would be terrible should anything happen to him no?” “What have you done?” You open your mouth in a mock horror as your face remains blank, “Why i would never? what a horrible accusation? I just happen to know a few people in oldtown who happen to be willing to do whatever i say.” You get closer to alicents face and stare her down, “It would also be oh so horrible should anyone find out what happened to dear poor Dyane.” “How do you know that?” She whispers to you, she feels like her world is closing in, she feels dizzy and the only thing in her vision is you.

“You may have tried to pay her off but it is best to remember this, i have more. More of everything. More men, more money, more power. You will never win in a fight against me. I am the threat, your worst outcome. You do not wish to toy with me. For i will not kill you, that would be too good of a fate for you. I shall lock you in a room and each day present you with a piece of your children all chopped up day by day night by night until there is nothing left of them and of you because you will be nothing more than an empty shell of yourself.”

She falls to her knees in front of you and when she looks up she sees the closest thing to the stranger. Maybe this is the gods way of punishing her, for trying to change history, for deluding herself in her own self righteousness, It was not all undeserving but she is certainly no saint. She watches as you tilt your head at her and raise your eyebrows. “You will do what i say.” “You did all this for him?” It is the only thing she can find herself to say as you crouch down to be eye level with her. She sees a dark look in your eyes as you lean forward.

“I would do anything for him.”

Knocking at his door came. He does not speak, simply holding his tongue and waiting. “It is me.” He lets out a sigh of relief and quickly rushes towards the door to unlock it and hurriedly lets you in. “My lady, Are you hurt? What has happened?” “You should head to the main hall, The king has passed.” “Grandsire?” He looks over you wide eyed and he grips your arms tightly as he notices the blood. “You are hurt.” You shake your head and for the first time ever he sees you smile. “It is not my blood.” You are so beautiful. He hopes you are forever this happy as you appear to be in this moment.

He is shocked when you grab his face and give him a peck on the cheek. “I told you i would reward you.” “I was thinking of a different kiss my lady.” You raise your brows at him, “I had no clue you were so scandalous my prince. Your grandsire just died.” He smiles and leans himself in to kiss you-

“Jace!” He groans as you step away from him and turn towards the door right as soon as Lucerys stepped into view, out of breathe. “Oh Lady Maegyr.” He bows and you nod your head at him before he looks up at you with wide eyes as he sees the blood on you and looks to jacaerys who is glaring at his brother behind your back. “mother is calling to gather all of us.” “I will meet you in a moment.” He says with intention on finishing what you started. “No he will accompany you there. I must go back to my room but i will meet you all there, if the queen asks for me tell her to start without me.” He glares as you give him a nod swiftly avoid his hand reaching out to grab you.

Lucerys looks at jacaerys who groans and walks out the room with a grumble. He does not even bother to check if his brother is following him. He is more than ready to get whatever needs to be done over with so he can see you again. His mother rushes over and pulls him into a deep hug upon seeing him. “I am so glad you are alright.” he smiles at his mother reassuringly, “i am alright mother, i swear.” After greeting lucerys he walks to stand by daemon who gives him a sly smile. He does not say anything to jacaerys but by the look on his face jacaerys knows he wishes to say something to him.

“Where is Lady Maegyr?” “She had said something about returning to her room. She said to tell you to start without her.” Lucerys answers her quickly. Rhaenyra glances over at jacaerys before simply nodding. She begins to speak about how today will play out, She will be crowned within the next couple hours but before then a personal family only funeral will be held for viserys which is currently being set up. He wishes he could say he is sad to see viserys go but in truth he barely knew the man besides the few times he would speak to him as a young boy.

“My queen.” You walk into the room having changed into a simply black dress, it had been a hand-me-down dress rhaenyra left in your room for you only hours prior and she smiles as she sees you, rushing over to you. “is,,, everything alright?” You know the implications of her question, her worries about the Hightower's and her half siblings and you nod. “It has been taken care of completely do not worry yourself.” She looks at you bewildered at the tone behind your words, “You are not implying what i believe you are…” Her words trail off as alicent walks in somberly dressed in complete black while Aegon trails in behind her looking like the happiest man in the world, a big smile on his face as he stands and bows to rhaenyra, “My queen.” Rhaenyra raises her bows and blinks in shock at his overjoyed appearance and simply nods to him.

Everyone in the room is looking at alicent who does not lift her head or say anything for a few moments before bowing. “My queen.” “There is not need for you to call me that, alicent.” Alicent looks at her hesitantly, the look on her equivalent to that of a kicked puppy before she nods and looks back down. Rhaenyra turns back to everyone else in the room and sighs, “You are all dismissed. You will get ready for the funeral and will be retrieved later.” Everyone floods out back to their rooms to get ready the only one who does not have a somber face is Aegon who practically skips back to his room.

You linger behind for a moment with jacaerys as you look at rhaenyra, “Do you need me?” She simply shakes her head and places her hands on your shoulders. “You have done more for my family than i can even say, please, is there anything i can do for you?” You blink for a moment, unsure of what to do with the sudden praise and simply shake your head. “No my queen. for i already have what i want.” You glance over at jacaerys who blushes at your look and turns away with a cough attempting to push down his smile. He turns around as to not have to face his mother and is instead met by daemon knowing grin and he shakes his head at the young boy.

“Then i can only as you to accept my thanks. and you stand by my family today during the ceremonies.” You nod and bow at her. “It would be an honor my queen.” “You are to be family my dear of course you shall stand with us,” she wraps you in a hug. You stand frozen for a moment, unsure you can recall the last time someone had even hugged you. You hesitantly bring your arms up and wrap them around her. “Maybe later we can discuss you and jacaerys staying at driftmark.” She pulls away after whispering in your ear and nods to dismiss you.

You bow once more before turning to leave, not turning back to look at anyone else and as soon as you step out the door you feel waves of relief crash over you. You had succeeded, they were all alive and well, rhaenyra would be crowned and there would not be any issues from the Hightower’s. You must write to the high priestesses and inform them of your successes but you are suddenly stopped by a frantic rhaenys sprinting towards you with a letter in hand. “Corlys is awake!”

Rhaenyra walks over to jacaerys and places her hands on his cheeks, “My boy. Today is a big day for not just me you know.” He nods and stands up straight. The past couple years of work he’s done to prepare and the years he knows he will have to prepare even more. “Of course my queen.” She presses her lips against his forehead, “Go get dressed.” He nods and exits swiftly leaving alicent, rhaenyra and daemon to discuss god knows what and makes his way to his room attempting to ignore his growing anxiety.

The funeral is a somber service. You stand by jacaerys and grip onto his hand tightly as viserys corpse burns he hears you muttering prayers to yourself with your eyes closed as the fire grows bigger. He does not know much about the lord of light and its religion, he’ll have to do some research once he has the free time but he knows the importance of fire to you and he pulls you closer to him. You open your eyes and stare at the flames in front of you and lean your head against jacaerys’ shoulder and let the flames take over your light of vision, the lords comfort warming you as you feel like this is a sign from R'hllor himself as the flames get bigger and bigger he is content with your work.

Unlike the funeral the crowning is a much more joyful affair, everyone changing out of their mourning outfits and putting on more regal attire as everyone stands around and watches rhaenyra be crowned. Jacaerys send a weak smile his mothers way as he watches her. Him being named her heir is inevitable at this point. He has begun to shake out of nerves. He is not good enough to do this. He cannot do this. He feels you grab his hand this time expect it is absent of your glove and he sighs at the feeling of your warm skin against his. The feeling of your cold metal rings and your comforting touch manages to calm him down until the end of the ceremony where he lets out a sigh of relief as people begin to flood away.

“You must accept my apologies my queen for i must leave.” It was the grand feast afterward rhaenyra looks over to you in shock, you had just given her your congratulations and she places down cup she had been sipping from. “Is something the matter?” “Lord corlys has awoke your grace, the situation at stepstones is too dire for me to ignore any longer.” Jacaerys walks over to from leaving his place by lucerys to stand by you, “You are leaving?” You stare at him with a sadden look before you look down at the floor. “I must.” He attempts to ignore the gnawing feeling in his stomach at the thought of you having to return to war. The two of you have not even gotten to discuss the rapid change in your relationship, if he can even call it one.

“I do not wish for you to go.” He grabs your hands in his and whispers to you. You look at him with a conflicted look and shake your head. “I will return to you. Wait for me?” He nods. He will, he will wait until the end of time for you to come back. So only a few minutes later he watches with a bitter heart as you get on a horse and give him one last final look before you ride off, it takes everything in him not to chase after you. Daemon places his hand on his shoulder and turns him so they can walk back inside together. “Will she be alright?” Daemon is quiet for a moment, “That is a ridiculous question. She is a warrior, she will live.”

It has been over a month since he’s last seen you. Since he’s been struggling with his thoughts and feelings about you. His mother had sent him to dragonstone to take up his place in the ancestorial seat. It was tough to be so far away from his brothers and parents but he did his duty day by day. He wrote to you once but as always did not receive a response. You confused him, You seemed to content with him but you continue to ignore him. He does not understand you.

So his confusion only grows as some of your footmen arrive in dragonstone one day with boxes full of items. “It is the triarchs things Lord Velaryon.” “You bring them here?” “The triach has requested it.” He simply nods and allows them to bring the things in, He is shocked to see how many boxes their truly was. He had never assumed you were the type to care about material goods. “A lot of them are dresses my prince.” A servant tells him as he sees Jacaerys eyeing the boxes, “It is much colder here than it is in Essos so the lady had to have many new clothes made for her to wear here.” Jacaerys lets out an ah as he roams around the boxes, of course, he head heard how hot it is in Essos, apparently Volantis is the hottest out of them all. He shakes his head as it begins to be filled with him trying to imagine what you typically wear back at home. You must not be as covered up as you are here. You probably wear anything at all.

“Do you two plan to share a chamber or do you have a separate room for the lady?” This snaps jacaerys out of his thoughts and he begins to think it over. It would be inappropriate for you two to share a chamber before you are married, but the selfish part of him wishes for when you return back to him for you to stay with him, it makes him sick a the idea of you staying in a separate room from him. But he knows he must do the appropriate thing, tell him he will have a separate room prepared for him. “We will share the main chamber.” Yet he cannot. The servants nod and begin to move the boxes towards the main chamber.

The hour turns late and the sun has since set until your people finally leave with a bow and all your stuff has been placed all over what was once just his chambers. He is at first overwhelms by the smell of you but he soon smiles to himself as he walks around the room. He did not have much stuff, he was never one for material goods but you however had many little trinkets and decorations placed all over the room. He notices a large vase in the room filled with beautiful red roses, he sees a tapestry of the symbol of the lord of light hanging near the bed, he notices the closet the once looked bare now completely filled with a variety of custom made dresses. He walks around the room with a smile on his face as he admire all the little signs of you all ober the room.

What does catch his attention however is a box places on the bedside table. It is a plain wooden box with no clear sighs of what would be in it. He should not open it. He should walk away and leave your personal stuff alone but he cannot stop himself from opening it. He is greeted by a sight he did not expect. Anything he had ever given you, from the letters, the flowers his mother forced him to pick and give to you, even his handkerchief he had lent you one time, everything laid neatly and organized inside the box. he picks up the letters and swipes through them. He is shocked that you had even opened them so much as kept them, he has sworn to himself you had thrown them away. But if you kept them why did you never respond? You continue to confuse his mind and his heart.

“And i thought it was improper to look through someone else's things.” He freezes as he hears the voice he’s been waiting to hear for over a month now. Whipping his head around he sees you, standing clad in your armor shaking your head at him with a soft smile on your face. “And imagine my surprise when the maids told me my stuff was placed in your chambers at the princes request. I never knew you were so scandalous my prince.” He quickly stands and to get a good look at you. You looked like not even a day had passed, just as beautiful as the last time he saw you. He hesitantly smiles. as you walk over to him and take the letters out of his hands and gently place them back in the box like they were your most prized possession.

“You kept them?” You nod as you close up the box and pick it up. “of course i did.” “But you never responded.” This has you looking down and turning away from him. “I did not think you wanted me too.” This has him laughing awkwardly as he watches you closely. “Whatever do you mean?” You place the box on the windowsill and turn back towards him, fiddling around with your armor. “I, am not very good at,” You put your hands back and forth between the two of you, “This. all i would do is mess it up.” He walks closer to you and he can feel his heart pounding, he wants you to mean what he thinks you mean. “Why do you think so?” “My father was a very strict man, he taught me that being friendly will get me nowhere, men don’t like talkative women. So when all you seemed to do was want to talk to me. I was scared.”

He feels his heartbreak. He thinks back onto your brief interactions that month ago and he begins to feel guilty. You just had no clue how to talk to him no matter how much you wished to. and whenever you would try he would say something rude to you. He feels like shit. “I am so sorry. What can i do to make it up to you?” You tilt your head at him in confusion, “Whatever did you do?” “I had been so rude to you-” “It is of no ones fault other than my own.” “That is certainly not true, you have been so so kind to me. to my family. and i have been nothing but a piece of shit.” You giggle at his foul language and shake your head. “Then we are both at fault.”

The two of you laugh. He is so happy. He had been feeling lonely this last month it is so nice to finally be with someone else, especially since it is you. “How is stepstones?” “The war is done. for now atleast, who knows when they could come crawling back up.” “So do you plan on returning to Essos?” “I will be staying here.” “Aren't you one of the rulers of Essos?” “They will be just fine without me, should anything dire come up you should come with me.” “truly?” “You ever been?” “no. but i have always wanted to see it.” You squeeze his hands as you stare at him, “Then i will take you. I will take you anywhere you wish to go.”

His eyes drop to your lips. He is dying to kiss you. He must. He will not live a second longer if he does not. “May i kiss you my lady?” You grip his cheeks and pull him to you. The second your lips tough he feels like he has been lit on fire. Everything else in the world fades as the only thing he can see and think about is you. Your lips move together like the perfect song, working in perfect sync in harmony to create something glorious. He does not want to pull away not even when his lungs begin to hurt from the lack of air he continues to kiss you. He never wants this moment to end. But it does when the two of you separate, breathing heavily. You look at him and he can see the wanting glaze over your eyes, it is unbelievable he is able to control himself.

He tried to pull you back into him once more but you put your hand between your lips. “If this is truly going where i believe it is going can you allow me to bath first? I do not wish to smell like fish and blood and shit.” He shakes his head as he tried to pull you back in, too greedy to even let you slip from his grasp for a second. “I do not mind.” “But i do. Please.” He groans and lets you go as much as he does not wish to. “Fine.” “Do you wish to wash me?” His eyes widen at the idea and his mouth might have even begun to water. “I do not know my lady. Is that a good idea?” “If the prince was not so scandalous it might not be but maybe i was wrong to suggest it.” “I will do as you ask.” “You are a fool.” “Your fool.” He watches as you flush at his words and he calls for the maids to draw you a bath.

He can not help but stare at you as you take off your amour. The leather pieces pilling up on the table as you relieve more and more of yourself to him. It could be poetic, but jacaerys can’t think about anything else like that right now. Not when you stand in front of him, he turns away when you begin to slide off your under clothes. “You do not wish to look at me?” “I am nervous to what i will do when i do my lady.” You say nothing in return but he hears a couple more items drop to the floor and your footsteps on the ground walking towards the bathroom. “Are you going to bath me or not?”

He quickly stands and his hands shake as he makes his way towards the bathroom. He is surprised his knees do not buckle under him as he sees you. Sitting in the tub, steam hitting you oh so perfectly and your bare arms rests against the sides of the tub and he finally sees you fully. “Pick your jaw off the floor my prince.” He can not. He wishes to get on his knees and worship you, he swears he has never seen anything as beautiful as the sight of you. he had thought the most gorgeous you could look is when he saw you in that dress but you look so much better here.

He hesitantly walks over to the bath and kneels right next to you. He grabs the soap and grabs your arm as you carefully watch him. He lightly turns your arm so he can get a full few of the tattoos on your arm. It is a beautifully intricate dragon, it almost completely covers your whole forearm and he can see you have a matching one on your other arm. “What are they for?” “In Volantis when you are of old blood it is customary for you to get dragon tattoos on your arm to symbol your relation to Valyria.” He traces the design with his fingers, admiring the art and the act of you showing this part of you to him. He places a kiss on the dragons head before he begins to lather your arm in soap.

No more words are spoken between the two of you as he washes your back, then your other arm before he moves onto grabbing your hair products and running his fingers through your hair and scratches his nails into your scalp. He hears you hum, your eyes closed in delight and he gulps as he begins to throb against his pants. He watches as you dunk your head under the water to get the product out and you sit back up, looking at him as you run your hands down your face to push away the water. “Why don’t you join me? It would be easier for you to clean me if you were also in here.” He hesitates, nerves build up in his stomach as he opens his mouth but no words come out. “Are you sure my lady?” You smile and nod at him, leaning your head back against the tub to watch him.

He stands and begins to unbutton his tunic, tossing it into some corner of the room. Unlike him you do not take your eyes off him as his bare chest comes into view or even when he begins to unbutton his pants. “My lady is very shameless.” “Is it so wrong i look at you?” He shakes his head before he hesitantly pulls down his pants and he is suddenly standing bare in front of you. He hisses as he cock jumps up to slap him in the stomach leaving you to laugh before he hurriedly moves to sit across from you. The tub is big enough for the two of you to sit side by side but he does not even dare to come that close to you. “You still have a job to do.”

He picks back up the soap and drags it over your collarbone. He watches as the soap bubbles slide down to lay on your breasts and groans to himself as he continues to scrub your down. Ignoring your breasts he instead focuses on your stomach and sides. It feels so intimate, to rub his hands all over your body especially when you continue to let out your own hums of pleasure.

He runs his finger along the long scar down your chest and stomach. “It was a gift from my father. When i turned of age and he found out i was able to be elected. People had begun to suggest i should be nominated in his place. He made sure i would be bedridden for months. They could not nominate me that year.” He leans his head down and presses a kiss against the top of the scar at your neck. “I am glad he is already gone for i would have to deal with him myself.” You reach your hand on his arm and smile at him, nothing more is said but the look in your eyes says enough.

He tries his best to not look between your legs as he washes your legs one by one, he does not allow himself to linger at your thighs before he swiftly pulls his hands away from you. His hands burning as if he had just touched the sun. The bath was now cold. The two of you simply laid their for awhile before you sat up and grabbed his face. “Thank you my prince.” “Jacaerys, jace, not my prince.” You press your lips against his and he groans. The kiss is full of much more fever and desperation this time. He barely believes this is real. He must be imaging this as he had over a moon ago.

You take your hands away from his face and slide them down his chest as he feels your tongue prodding against his mouth he pulls back suddenly causing you to freeze. “Did i do something wrong?” He shakes his head, out of breath as he speaks, “No no nothing wrong. I have imagined this far too often for it to be anything wrong. it is just, i am very sensitive and if you touch me just once i will not be able to perform again.” He hopes you understand what he means. He hopes you know you are not rejecting him, but he wishes for this to go right, and if he is being selfish he does not wish to watch his seed float around in the water but instead flow out of you.

He watches as you stand up and he cranes his head up to look at you. You are the pure image of beauty. He could die now and be content with how he lived for simply getting to breath and stand in your presence is enough for him. He watches as you step out of the tub and he cant help but stare at your ass as you turn your back and walk out of the room, you turn your neck and look at him. “Are you coming?” He quickly stands and follows after you, neither of you bothering to care about the dripping water all over the bathroom and the bedroom. You have sat down on the bed and hold out your hand to pull him on top of you.

He pulls you into another kiss as the two of your skins press against each other. He feels so hot. He hands press against your face as he opens his mouth and allows the two of your tongues to intertwine with one another. His lips leave yours as they instead they begin to trail down your jaw and down your neck as his hands move to grip your waist and pull you closer to him. The two of you stay like that for awhile, and expected to stay like that the whole time but are more than shocked when he grips your hips tightly and flips you around so you are on top and he is on the bottom, you sitting directly over his abs. When you look down at him in confusion he simply smiles at you.

“It is only right you are above me, for you are a goddess who deserves to be worshipped.” His hands slide up your stomach and begin to fondle your breasts as you throw your head back and moan. “gaomagon daor tepagon qrīdrughagon aōha dōna udra sīr easily syt iksan naejot qūvy ilagon se qēlossās se se jēdar syt ao” he easily recognizes the words. The same ones you had told him in the library that faithful day in the keep. “What does it mean?” You moan as he thumbs begin to flick against your nipples and look down at him. “do not give away your sweet words so easily for i am willing to tear down the stars and the sky for you.”

He can not respond, not when he watches as your hips begin to move along his abs, fuck, he can see you essence leaving a trail on him as you use him for your own pleasure. He would let you, use him all day, any day, if it meant he would get to hear the sounds you are currently making, the way your face twists in pleasure with your eyes closed. “Have you ever touched yourself my lady?” You let out a meek hum as you throw your head back, he's hands move from your breasts to your hips to help guild you. “I have Jace, everyday, i can not help it for i am thinking of you.” He lets out his own string of curses at your admission. He watches as you reach one of your hands to your folds and your moans only get louder.

He wants to do that. He wants to know every inch of you to be able to pleasure you in all ways he can. He wants to be the reason you get louder, he wishes for you to desire him, to have to need him like air like he needs you. “Teach me how to do that.” He is more than happy when you remove your own hand and grab his, moving it to slide under you and he curses as he feels your wetness dripping on him. “Are you supposed to be that wet?” “It is because of you Jace.” He feels you move his fingers to push past your folds and he can feel a hard bulb under this fingertips. “That. touch that Issa jorrāelagon (my love),” You moan as you feel his rougher fingers begin to press against it. “In circles, ugh yes like that, you can press harder.”

The roughness of his fingertips feel much better than your own fingers and you can’t help but move your hips faster against him. His fingers move faster against your clit and you can feel the burning in your stomach grow larger. “Issa jorrāelagon, im gonna make a mess.” He groans at your words and uses one hand to move your faster and the other hand to continue to play with your clit. “Please do, fuck, I want to see it, fuck.” Can a man cum untouched? He has no clue but the way his cock is throbbing he swears he is about to burst at simply watching your pleasure. He feels the rush of liquid begin to pool and cover his hand. He moves his fingers and moves them towards your opening as he can not get over the way it feels, the hot liquid pooling over his fingers.

You jump when he pushes two of his fingers inside of you, hissing as he shoves your own cum back inside of you as he touches your gummy walls. “Jace,,,” You moan out as your head drops forward to stare at his wrist. He says nothing but moans as he begins to thrust his fingers in out, barely pulling them out before he shoves them right in. He is fueled by your moans, the way your hands claw at his chest as he is simply amazed by you. You do not know if your walls are covered with your own essence or your own cum as he adds another finger and presses them against your walls.

He wishes to memorize you, to keep this locked tight in his memory for him to look back on. He can barely believe what he is doing and hopes he is doing it right. But when you begin to move against his fingers he knows he must be doing something right. The only words you speak are his name, over and over again as he fingers begin to move faster and faster inside you. The pit in your stomach grows once again and your begin to drag your nails down his chest in pleasure. “I am about to cum jace.” He says nothing this time only moving his free hand to play with your clit which sends you over the edge. He does not remove his fingers are stop his movements simply enjoying the withering pleasure you are feeling

“Please Jace i wish to feel your cock.” This has him removing his hands and you hiss at the sudden emptiness. You watch as he places each of his fingers in his mouth, closing his eyes and throwing his head back, like your own taste is his own personal pleasure. His eyes are cloudy in a haze as he watches you sit up with shaky knees and adjust grab his dick in your hands. He moans as you rub your thumb over his tip, spreading around his precum and pressing down against it. “Do not tease me y/n please.”

He watches as you sit right above him, you sink down low enough that just his tip is rubbing against your folds. You use his tip to push your folds aside and slowly you begin to sink down onto his cock. If he was told this is how it felt after he died he would have believed it. He has never felt a greater pleasure than he has right now. He understands why people consider this act sinful, for everyone would be doing it everyday if it were not. He watches his cock slowly disappear and he lets out a whimper as you sit all the way down.

He can see the dent in your stomach and reaches his hand to touch it. This was unbelievable. He stares at you, the way you look down at his hand and cover it with your own, pressing down causing him to groan and you to moan. Unconsciously you readjust yourself, lifting yourself on him just so slightly just to slide back down and he curses.

That felt so good, he wants you to do that again. “Can i move?” You are clearly as desperate as he is and he hears it in your voice. “fuck please my lady please.” Your hips lift and you come crashing back down onto him. The bed underneath you rocking with the action as you do it over and over and over again. Slowly at first but you begin to create a rhythm as his hands grab your tits to squeeze them.

The room is filled with the sounds of your slamming against him, the wet sounds of him pushing into you and your combined moans. If this made him a sinner so what? He was not religious and he would refuse any god that said this was not the most holy and pleasurable thing to do on earth. He begins to move his hips up to meet yours and he watches your face contort. “We must do this, ugh, everyday.” You nods feverishly as both of his hands moving to your hips to help you bounce faster as his hips begin to harsh slam up into you. “Yes, everyday, every night, ughh, everywhere,” You let out an especially high pitched whimper as he begins to toy with your clit. “All over the castle.”

Yes he would like that, so much. He can see it now, the way he would allow you to sit on the throne as he pounded into you. The way you would sit under the table during meetings and suck him dry while he attempts to maintain his composure, fuck he’ll do this everyday of his life for as long as he lives. He can feel that familiar feeling brewing ever so close in his stomach, “are you close my lady?”

You let out a rush of hushed yes’s as you begin to move faster. “Cum with me my lady, cum please.” You let out more yes’s as he feels you throbbing around his cock causing him to burst. You cry out at the feeling of his hot seed spilling webs inside you as he suddenly flips you around and continues to pound into you as your back hits the bed. “Cum my lady, fuck.” The change of angles hits you so well along with the sounds of wetness splashing below you as he cock pushes his cum deeper inside you and all around your walls.

You suddenly splash over him with a cry and your back arches off the bed. He can feel you hit his upper stomach, all over his thighs and even his chest. You looked so beautiful, the way your eyes shut closed so tight there were crinkles around your eyes and the way your teeth and jaw clenched as he feels you continue to pulse against him, liquid trickling around his cock and out to drip on the bed.

He leans his forehead against yours and the two of you just lay there for awhile. attempting to catch your breathes. He brings one of his hands to caress your cheek and you open your eyes to look at him. “Jace.” “I love you.” You smile, a wide grin fills you face as you chuckle. “I have loved you for a long time Jacaerys.” He kisses you lightly and the two of you simply lay like that until you fall asleep. sharing pecks and tiny whispers of admiration. He can barely believe he got so lucky end up with a woman like you. Someone who loved him so much they would do to the ends of the known world for him even if he had said some cruel things to you. He loved you he loved you he loved you and he was so happy you loved him too.

a.n: This is genuinely the most crazy project of my whole writing career LMAO if you've made it this far i really want to say thank you. It's because of the endless support I've gotten on my recent stuff that really gave me the confidence to write something like this. I WOULD LOVE TO HEAR YOUR THOUGHTS i love you all so much <3

perm jacaerys taglist: <3

@tyronesien @itsbookworm987 @cruelworldlana @smurfelle @ireneispunk @hxtd @venmondiese @urmomsgirlfriend1 @aegonswife

[novaursa]

Love love LOVE reading your most recent requests! Especially the cregan ones

If you’re still taking requests, could I get one from cregan pov where velaryon/targ reader must wed cregan to honor the pact made by Jace. I’d Iove to get cregans first impressions of seeing her, almost in awe because it’s his first time seeing a targ/velaryon with old Valyrian features and how he feels about the betrothal. Bonus points if you add her dragon too 👀💖

Valyrian Bride

Requests are closed!

- Summary: When your older brother, Jacaerys, promised you to Cregan to be his bride, the Lord Stark did not expect what he got - a trueborn dragon.

- Paring: velaryon!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: I hope this is what you had in mind. 🙂

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Next part: 2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @daeryna @melsunshine @21-princess

Cregan Stark stood tall upon the frost-crusted battlements of Winterfell, his grey eyes fixed on the southern horizon. The wind howled around him, cold and biting, but he barely noticed. The men beside him, his bannermen and closest retainers, stood in hushed anticipation. They were a hardy lot, men of the North, but today there was a tension in the air that not even their steadfast presence could dispel. The daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Dragon Princess promised to him, was on her way. And she was bringing her dragon.

Cregan was a man of duty, honor-bound by his word. When Jacaerys Velaryon had come to the North, securing his father’s oath to Rhaenyra, Cregan had listened to the young prince’s proposal with a calculating mind. He had known what the South was asking—his allegiance in a civil war that would tear the Seven Kingdoms apart. The North had no taste for southern squabbles, but for an alliance that could secure his people’s future, Cregan had agreed. A marriage bond, a union with the blood of kings and dragons.

But he hadn’t expected this.

The sky darkened. A shadow passed over the pale light of the day, and a roar echoed across the windswept land. His heart quickened. The unmistakable sound of wings filled the air, as if the heavens themselves were being torn apart. Men murmured in awe, some with fear. Cregan’s grip on the pommel of his sword tightened as he peered into the sky. And then, she appeared.

The dragon came first—Vaetrix, her crimson scales gleaming like molten fire against the pale snow. Larger than anything Cregan had seen before, the great beast descended from the clouds with a grace that defied her monstrous size. Her wings flared, casting a shadow over the courtyard, and the air was filled with the smell of sulfur and smoke.

But it wasn’t the dragon that took Cregan’s breath away.

Atop Vaetrix, astride the monstrous creature as if born to it, was the princess. Her silver-gold hair streamed behind her like a banner, long and flowing, catching the sunlight as she descended. Her features were sharp, unmistakably Valyrian—the high cheekbones, the proud set of her jaw, the violet eyes that seemed to pierce through everything they beheld. She was a vision of Old Valyria, like the stories his father had told him as a boy. She bore little resemblance to her half-brothers, with their softer features. No, this was the blood of the dragon in full force.

His bannermen whispered around him.

"She looks like a goddess," one muttered, his voice thick with awe.

"Old Valyria reborn," another added, his voice trembling.

Cregan said nothing. He could only stare, his heart thudding heavily in his chest. He had expected a girl, a lady to wed and secure an alliance, but this… this was something else entirely. There was power in her, in the way she moved, in the way she carried herself atop that dragon. She was not just a girl of noble birth—she was a force of nature, a storm in human form.

Vaetrix landed with a deafening thud, snow and dirt kicking up around her as she folded her massive wings. The ground trembled beneath her weight, but Cregan stood firm. He watched as the princess dismounted with a fluid grace, her hand brushing along Vaetrix's scaled neck before she strode forward. Her boots crunched in the snow, the chill of the North seemingly unfelt by her as if the dragon's fire warmed her from within.

When her eyes met his, Cregan felt a jolt run through him. Those violet eyes… they were ancient, wise beyond her years, and yet held a fire that could burn a man alive if he dared to challenge her. His mouth felt dry, his usual steady words faltering in his throat.

She approached, and as she drew nearer, Cregan noticed more—her height, the proud way she held her head, the confidence in her steps. She did not walk like someone being delivered to a husband. No, she walked like a queen in her own right, a woman who expected the world to bend to her will.

When she stopped before him, she inclined her head ever so slightly, a gesture of acknowledgment rather than submission. “Lord Stark,” she said, her voice smooth and strong, carrying the faintest hint of the Valyrian accent that lingered in her family’s tongue. “I have come as promised.”

Cregan blinked, forcing himself to regain his composure. “Princess,” he replied, his voice rougher than usual, betraying the whirlwind of thoughts racing through his mind. “Winterfell welcomes you.”

Her lips curled into the faintest of smiles, though it was hard to tell whether it was one of amusement or mere politeness. “I am honored to be here, to fulfill the promise made between my house and yours.”

He nodded, his gaze locked on hers. “I did not expect—” His words caught in his throat for a moment, and he shook his head, cursing himself for his loss of composure. “I did not expect such… splendor.”

The smile deepened, and there was a flicker of something in her eyes—perhaps amusement, or perhaps something more dangerous. “I am not what you expected then, my lord?”

Cregan met her gaze evenly. “No, princess. You are far more.”

Behind them, Vaetrix rumbled, a deep sound that reverberated through the stone walls of Winterfell. His men shifted nervously, glancing at the beast with wide eyes, but Cregan paid them no mind. His focus was entirely on her.

The princess tilted her head, studying him with those sharp, knowing eyes. “I have heard much of the North, of its strength, its honor,” she said softly, her voice carrying on the wind. “It is a land of fierce men and harsher winters. I hope that I will find my place here, as your wife.”

There was something in the way she said it, a subtle challenge, as if she were testing him, seeing if he was the man she had been promised. And for the first time, Cregan understood that this marriage was not just a bond of convenience. She was not some southern lady to be tamed or coddled. She was a dragon, and if he were to claim her, he would have to prove himself worthy.

“You will,” he said, his voice steady now, conviction settling in his chest. “You will find your place here, with me.”

Her eyes gleamed with something close to approval, and she nodded once, a gesture as regal as any queen’s. Then, without another word, she turned her gaze back to Vaetrix, who stirred at her silent command, lifting her massive head.

Cregan watched her walk away, feeling a mixture of awe and excitement. The North had never seen a woman like this, and he knew, in that moment, that his life—Winterfell itself—was about to change forever.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

These Tender Hearts Beat as One

Aemond x widowed!female character

Summary: Aemond reunites with his childhood friend, a former ward of his mother || Word Count: 7k || Warnings: too much fucking backstory lol, p in v sex, breeding kink

Aemond could always tell when his mother was stressed. Out of all her silver-haired children, her second son had seemed the most adept at knowing before she even knew herself. All that remained was for him to discover the root of her worries, and calm her ever-heightening nerves if he could.

When Aemond was stressed, angered or oftentimes merely bored, nothing truly compared to the feeling of riding Vhagar, splitting through the air above King’s Landing to stretch her large, tattered wings. His beloved dragon appreciated the exercise in any case, restless from her days fought in wars, it was some consolation for him that flying was just as therapeutic for her as it was for him.

But when his dear mother was stressed, it was rooted in self-destruction, picking ceaselessly at her fingernails ‘til they were bloody and sore. And though he bit his tongue, not wishing to replicate the behaviour of his grandfather, sometimes it felt near impossible not to say anything, not to ask what was on her mind. So that whatever was swirling around her head with panic, could instead be shared out, and therefore less weight for her to carry.

Had Aegon done something perhaps?

Was there more trouble with Rhaenyra?

Or perhaps his father had said something to upset her, which seemed the most likely. Even in his sickly state, he was still capable of unknowing cruelty.

Even at five and ten, Aemond understood this.

His mother remained quiet, and it was not ‘til he sought out the company of his dear friend, that the truth became clear.

She had been his mother’s ward for little more than three years, and already Aemond had witnessed her enter the Keep as a clumsy, loud child and blossom into what many would consider a young woman already grown, though she was little older than Helaena. 

Her age in comparison to him had never once strained their friendship. In fact, at first, when Aemond was still freshly scarred emotionally by the trauma of losing his eye, he had remembered clapping his lone eye on her and scowling, thinking of her little more than a quarrelsome child. 

And, as Aegon had put it, ‘aggressively annoying’.

Which, at the time, was true enough. And yet it did not deter her from trying, Aemond would allow her the compliment of that.

She was much like him, a child created and born as a sort of secondary plan in case the first did not come to pass. A mere second daughter, and not only that, but bumped even further down the chain by her three older brothers, the eldest already wed with several children of his own. It was made abundantly clear by her own parents that she was merely another nuisance and therefore when placed into the care of the Targaryen royal family, the look of relief on their faces somewhat angered him, coupled by the manner in which they left with a goodbye that rivalled his own father’s attitude towards his children.

His empathy for her situation had drawn him to her, despite his stubbornness in wanting to pretend he did not crave friendship, especially from a girl. And her own stubbornness surprised him when he discovered she did not blindly seek the acceptance of any similar-aged child, she set her sights on Aemond alone and did not relent until eventually, he came to her instead.

He found a camaraderie with her that he had yet to find with his other siblings, feeling very much like friendship with her was more natural and spontaneous, where the ones with his family were calculated, planned and rooted in a cold necessity to keep up appearances. 

Not that she cared much for appearances. 

Her Septa berated her for what seemed like every other day for turning up to her needlepoint lessons with dirtied skirts and stray petals in her tangled hair, all from chasing one another through the bushes of the Keep to find some entertainment. Yet, even in the face of punishment, her smile never faltered, and insisted that it was all a bit of fun.

She somehow managed to inject her bright personality into his otherwise darkened life.

Because of her, there was beauty in everything. There was serenity in sitting in the Godswood and watching the petals settle in the breeze that ran past his neck and made him shiver. There was a startling allure when he introduced her to Vhagar for the first time and her hand ran across her darkened scales, seeing her expression lift in sheer wonder, experiencing her bewilderment as if it were the first time. And there was virtue in the innocence of their relationship, and how his heart began to swell with a childlike sense of belonging in her.

The unconditional power of her friendship he was sure was all he ever needed. In the way she always uttered, dragged away for her lessons in etiquette, but beaming at him.

‘My friendship is always yours,’ she would say, like a mantra.

‘Just as mine shall always be.’

He thought for a long while that he was the most hideous person in this world, not least since Aegon had dragged him to the brothels only a few years before. And yet when he shared a chaste kiss with her under the Weirwood tree. Clumsy and impractical and yet all magical all at once, he thought that when he was older, stronger, he would ask her to be his wife.

Aemond could feel the anxiety seeping off her as soon as he stepped into her chambers. Like she had a lot on her mind but not the courage to open her mouth and say it.

“What is it?”

His heart lurched into his chest when she lifted her head, swallowing her feelings and taking a deep, shaky breath.

“My sister has succumbed to a fever. She is dead.”

Aemond sighed, as if absorbing her grief. But when he took one step forward to comfort his friend, she shook her head, “there is more.”

Her tone of voice alone was enough to set every nerve on edge. Aemond stood as if stuck to the flagstone floor, and realised that the once clumsy, small girl he had once known was acting very much like a young woman now. Worlds apart, despite being stood before her.

“I am to honour the planned betrothal with Lord Lefford, under my father’s orders.”

It was the only moment Aemond remembered wanting to vomit with nausea, he had not felt such churning in his gut even on the day he lost his eye.

She sat, looking at him as if to gauge his reaction to the news, knowing perhaps in her own heart the feelings that were shared between them. And Aemond felt his churning nausea turn to anger, at how easily she had allowed her will to be broken by a command from her father, which in his opinion, she need not obey. She was, after all, a near half a decade younger than her sister, and the man in question older than her own father.

How could she have given up like this so easily.

“You will go through with this?”

He did not mean for his tone of voice to appear accusatory, but when he saw that wide-eyed helpless expression, he knew immediately it had.

“I can hardly argue with my father, Aemond.”

He felt his fists clench hard in his hand, fingernails creating crescent shaped indents in his flesh that reddened, his reply is stiff, “you simply act as if you have no choice in the matter.”

“Not all of us get one.”

“You cannot leave.”

“I must,” she insists, her voice breaking somewhat at the look of disappointment and betrayal on his face, “please do not make this more difficult than it already is, Aemond.”

“I am not the one making this difficult,” he replies flatly, his head throbbing with an incoming migraine, “If you are as much my friend as I am yours, you will not leave me.”

She could feel herself stepping towards him, drawn by some invisible force for comfort that he was not yet providing. She knew he could be capable of being cruel, but to be on the receiving end after all they had gone through was heart-breaking.

And though she was a year his senior, standing so small before him, she felt so much a child.

“Aemond, please-” she begged, reaching out for him and wincing when he pulled away, his brows drawn together in disgust.

“Marry him and I shall never speak to you again.”

Her hand dropped to her side as if limp, as if all life had drained from her body as well as the colour from her face. Her lip quivered, “you can't mean that.”

He looked in her eyes, the raw grief of watching her slip away filling him with an unmistakable bitterness, though for what? Her? Himself? Their friendship? He could not put it into words.

“I mean every word.”

That is the last memory he has of her, looking every bit as broken as he'd intended her to feel. In the days that followed, as her family arrived once more to steal her away, Aemond felt the gnawing grip of regret when he chose not to see her off at the courtyard, watching from his window as she scanned the space around for her good friend's presence and didn't find it.

It was then Aemond began to hate himself for every bit of cruelty enacted against her from him. Her carriage disappeared into the distance until it was nothing, leaving a pit of pain in his heart.

Not a day passed that Aemond did not at least think of her and wait for any correspondence to arrive, with his name etched into the paper in her curved, feminine handwriting.

But as he'd feared, she had taken his words to heart, and no letter ever arrived, and eventually, it felt no use counting the days and moons since he'd last seen her.

The guilt would eat away at him for years, the memory of her pained expression etched into his vision. Even as he grew into a man, it would never fully fade, though he was quick to tell himself that he shouldn’t care, that she was no longer the same girl he had loved so much, not since she chose her own fate.

In an attempt to fill the hole she'd left behind, he busied himself with the sword, intent with some level of obsession at becoming the most skilled swordsman in Westeros. 

Aemond would train for hours at a time, the dull ache deep within him pushed away by the strain of sparring drills and intense workouts with the sword. Though even in the midst of training, his thoughts would always be in the back of his mind, taunting him with the guilt that he felt, the shame of how he had treated her at the end.

By itself, it was not enough, but even burying his nose in books did not blur that heavy ache. But it did not mean he could not at least try.

Which is why he sighed in annoyance as he sat by the fireplace in his chambers, a large tome opened in his lap and two knocks rapped at the door.

“Enter.”

He did not tear his attention away as the maidservant entered with a short and quick curtsy, hands clasped, “Your grace, Queen Alicent has requested your presence.”

That alone was enough to draw his attention away from his reading. His mother did not request him for a small matter.

He had wondered if perhaps Aegon had managed to slip out of the Keep again, for yet another one of his excursions into Flea Bottom, and send him to retrieve his brother.

Perhaps his mother finally thought enough time had passed and he was much of a man to suggest a marriage proposal. For some reason, the thought made him ill.

“Thank you, Ser Criston,” he heard his mother say in a muffled tone once he was announced.

Aemond raised his gaze to his mother, relieved to see her calm, and dare he say, happy.

“Aemond,” she greeted softly, her smile gentle and her touch on his arms comforting, “do not look so forlorn.”

“You wished to see me.”

“I did,” Alicent beamed, clasping her hands at her front, “Come.��

He could not help but give a puzzled expression as he walked beside his mother through the winding halls of the Keep, wondering perhaps why her behaviour was so different than usual. A sort of anxiety fed through her, but not the self-destructive kind. 

“We are to receive some guests today. I would like you to greet them.”

Aemond quirked a brow, confused and somewhat annoyed in equal measure, “I am not accustomed to greeting-”

“They have travelled a long way, so remember to be courteous,” Alicent added, flashing one of her tight-lipped smiles, which only served to confuse Aemond further. His mother led him to the top of the staircase of the empty, echoing foyer and instructed quickly, “do be a gracious host, Aemond.”

He did not have a mere moment to question her, before he was watching the back of his mother disappear down the very same hallway they had just walked together. All he managed was a baffled shake of his head, as if by some miracle this was all some mad dream he had conjured. He questioned why on earth his mother would allow him to greet these esteemed guests alone, out of all her antisocial children.

But ever dutiful, he descended the stairs, hearing the low voice of Ser Westerling greeting whomever was arriving in a warm, formal tone, with their silhouettes casting blurred shadows onto the flagstone floor. Aemond’s feet were planted firmly on the step without even realising it.

This esteemed guest was no stranger to him.

Though the years had matured her gracefully, Aemond is sure he would recognise her anywhere, as she looked every bit the same as that day he regretted seeing her carriage leave King’s Landing. She stood tall, her cape fastened at her front with her house crest nestled in the middle, her dark skirts framing her womanly figure as her eyes trailed the details of the Keep that had changed since she had last been there.

Aemond stared wordlessly, the emotions so long buried resurfacing as if they had never left. His breath felt hot, his mind struggling to accept what his lone eye beheld before him. That she was here after so many years separated, in the very flesh, and yet he was unable to utter a single word.

She wandered about the space, commenting to the young woman beside her, who carried a child no older than three in her arms, how it had all looked so much larger in her youth. So he took this moment where she had not yet noticed him to look upon her with wonder, frozen entirely in place with the unexpectedness of her return. His mind raced with the thoughts of what this meeting could mean, for him, for her, and for their future; and he could not deny the strong tug of guilt in his chest for how he had treated her all those years ago, and how her renewed presence only made them more real.

Clearing his throat as he approached, the lady beside her noticed him first, “Prince Aemond,” she greeted with a curtsy, prompting her also to lay her eyes on him once more.

“Your grace,” she smiled warmly with a quick curtsy, with such a formality that made his heart ache.

He craned his head to bow lightly at her, “My Lady,” he replied with some stiffness, before gazing once more into her friendly, soft eyes and allowing his shoulders to relax, “I wondered perhaps if you would recognise me.”

Her laugh made his stomach flip, “I do not think I could ever forget you. Though I must confess, I wondered the same for myself.”

Her smile could not be described as anything less than perfect and a feeling that he harboured for her so long ago began to creep back in before he could stop it, “my Lady, I must apologise right away.”

But she shook her head, looking down at her hands, “it was a long time ago.”

He did not wish to upset her further by mentioning such an incident that had harmed his pride since, but knew that her memories of it were just as vivid as his own, “And I have not forgotten. You did what was expected for a lady in your position, and yet I was too selfish to understand that at the time. Please forgive me.”

He could not take the desperation out his tone, no matter how hard he tried. And still, she smiled sadly at his words.

“You must know that I did not wish to leave you.”

“I do,” he replied quickly, the memories of his guilt burning a hole in his throat, trying to hide the bitterness he felt towards himself, “I must confess - I have missed you greatly.”

Her hands clasped at her front, she blinked slowly and swallowed thickly, “I have missed you too.”

The silence stretched between them. Years of separation and longing had left them both yearning, but lacking the courage of knowing what to say. Aemond cleared his throat, his hands behind his back with anxiety, seeing that her ‘favoured’ husband was still not yet present.

“Are we to receive your husband as well?” he asked with some stiffness, or perhaps bitterness.

She cocked her head ever so slightly, eyebrows pulled together in confusion, until a small smile of realisation graced her features, “I regret to inform you I am recently widowed.”

In any other situation, Aemond would have been mortified at her reply. But with her smile came a rush of realisation himself, and hope swelled in his heart, and he shifted his weight from foot to foot, hoping to all the gods that she could not see the way his thought ran wild in his head, and made his breeches tighten, “Widowed-” 

“Indeed. I am sorry to disappoint you, my Prince. In truth, I have just come out of mourning,” she nodded, biting back another coy smile, showing in her mannerisms that it was no great loss to her.

“I am sorry for your loss, my Lady.”

She shook her head softly, “my husband left a suitable will, so that my child and I live comfortably and so there is no need for me to pursue future marriages should I not wish to.”

Her careful wording was not lost on him, and Aemond could not help the sense of glee at this new and recent change in her life, the bitter anger at having lost her to some decrepit old man years previous seemingly dissipating. And yet despite this, he attempted to keep it hidden, not wishing to seem disrespectful to her late husband.

“Might I present you my daughter,” she added, taking the child from the woman beside her into her own and resting the shy young girl on her hip. The child’s wide-eyed innocent expression unapologetically took all of Aemond in, as children often do, and he was reminded very much of his dear friend when she was small.

She was the image of her mother, save for the slightly lighter hair, with every feature of her etched into her daughter’s youthful face. And the reality of such similarities made him feel both joy and sorrow all at once.

“She is beautiful.” His voice was quiet, seeing the child in her arms was shy and reserved, unlike her mother, but thankful somewhat that her little one was not in the slightest alike to the man she had been forced to marry. Looking into the eyes of her child felt much like staring at the girl he once knew, and with that, a rush of affection.

Aemond thought, that in different circumstances, this child could have been theirs, a shared expression of their affections for one another. That all those years ago, had her father not coerced her into honouring her late sister’s betrothal, that she and Aemond would have their own children by now.

Before he could think too long, the small girl whined in her arms and she put her down immediately, the little patter of childish feet nearly had Aemond break into a grin, watching her run off with the nursemaid chasing behind.

“I am afraid she is a curious little thing. Like mother like daughter I suppose”, she smiled brightly.

Aemond nodded, the rush of memories bringing a wistful smile to his face, “Like mother like daughter,” was all he managed to reply, watching the mischievousness unfold. Yet, once the child and the nursemaid had left them alone, she chuckled softly, feeling his heartbeat slow in pace with hers.

“May I confess something to you, without fear of judgement?” Aemond asked, his heart thudding as she nodded in return, “You may think me foolish, but I must confess that my mind still lingers on the memories of our time together, and I have found no way to erase the feelings they carry with them - your return to King’s Landing has only reinforced them,” he confessed, looking into her warm gaze, “for now, when I look at you, I cannot help but feel just as I did then.”

He watched her swallow thickly, and take a deep, meaningful breath, like what she was going to say would be heavy, “and, what feelings are those, might I ask?”

His heart felt as it was beating so fast it was cracking his ribs, throat closing with anxiety. The feelings he had tried so hard to hide with a mask of bitterness now overflowing with terrifying intensity. Yet, to say such feelings out loud to her, someone he had trusted so much in his youth, made it feel all the more real. And as he stared into her eyes, he wanted nothing more than for her to share them, despite their years of absence from one another.

“That I love you - and have from the moment I met you.”

The words came out quickly, and as soon as he uttered them he felt his cheeks grow hot, knowing her response was either one way or the other and that he, a man so long disconnected from his own feelings, hiding them with his pride for so many years, was now opening up his vulnerability. 

He wanted her to love him. So desperately.

She sighed quietly in relief, “I have loved you as well. And I was saddened to have left you - and will forever be vehemently sorry for that.”

Though his relief was palpable, but he shook his head first, “You were right then, and always have been, that you had no choice or opinion in the matter. Therefore, I will accept no apologies.”

Her eyes glistened with emotion at his words, and when Aemond stepped forward and took her cheek in his palm, her breath hitched in such a way he was sure they would spill forth in tears. But the strong person she had always been, she held them back.

“I feared - you would not desire me,” she confessed quietly. 

Aemond smirked, “It may take more than a few years of separation to extinguish what was once there. I have loved you since that day beneath the Weirwood Tree, and I will love you until this life ends and the next one begins.”

She gave a watery smile at his sweet words, “though I have been wed once already with a child?”

He was silent for a moment as he considered her question, and not a bit of him even wondered whether it were possible, “my love is no fickle thing,” he smiled, “in time I hope I may become as close as a father to her as I may become a husband to you.”

He watched as her unshed tears formed a constellation on her eyelashes, but a relieved smile graced her delicate features. Aemond could not remember the last time he had been this close to her, able to detect the delicate scents brushed through her hair and the way her cheeks warmed at the close proximity between them, and undeniable tension.

The thought of kissing her, having her to himself, made something arousing tighten in his breeches, to his embarrassment.

He drew in a breath, leaning forward to capture her lips, but both drew back a pace suddenly.

“My Lady! Would you care to join us for supper this evening,” Alicent smiled brightly, as if knowing some great secret seeing them both stood straight and blushing. And she had to take a moment to think and stammer out her reply,

“Oh - yes, I would be delighted-”

“Wonderful! I shall see you to your chambers,” the Queen beamed, giving Aemond a sideways glance as the two women he most respected in life walked alongside one another.

He felt as if the entire evening was a true test of his will and determination. Aemond is certain Alicent meant no ill will by inviting the woman he unequivocally loved to supper with his family; but as he sat beside her, remembering how close he had been just a few hours before, it was almost as if everyone around him was aware and simply dangling the situation in front of his face.

And he cursed any god that existed that Aegon was not drowned in his cups that night, as he usually was. On this night, he was frustratingly lucid and hyper-aware.

Helaena, at first, was impartial to the sudden get-together, but as soon as she and Helaena saw one another, it was as if no time at all had passed. They were, of course, the same age when she had been his mother's ward, and as well as with Aemond, had formed a close friendship.

The princess was of course eager to catch up, and even invited her up to dance, to which she happily obliged as Aemond watched from his spot at the table. It was nice to see Helaena happy for a change.

A sorrowful thought had occurred to Aemond that both his friend and Helaena were pressured into marriages and motherhood far too young. And seeing them very much acting like young girls with one another, only exacerbated this feeling.

They talked quickly with excitement, planning to have their children meet up with one another and play in the gardens. And while they were engrossed in conversation, Aegon slid next to his brother, with a knowing smirk on his face.

“She is just as animated as I remember,” the young prince smirked, raising his eyebrows at Aemond over the rim of his cup.

“I will hear none of your depravity about her.”

Aegon threw him a faux-offended expression, “I had not even got there yet. Do you have such a low opinion of me?”

Aemond ignored him and sipped his own Dornish Red.

“You wish to marry her.”

“And you are perceptive.”

“Gods, I love it when you compliment me.”

“And insufferable.”

“What makes you think grandfather will allow you to marry her anyway? He's a dry old cunt, he will not care if you love her or not. He would have you wed to some plain-faced twat from who-knows-where.”

For one infuriatingly brief moment, Aemond had to concede that Aegon was probably right. And with one restless finger tapping against the table, he glanced over at his mother and grandfather suspiciously squished together on one end of the table, leaning towards each other and whispering in low voices, with Otto Hightower looking at his beloved friend from beneath his brow.

They were talking about her. Discussing her. And by the expression on his grandfather, analysing her.

Aemond felt his heart beat faster at the prospect that they were speaking so secretively about her without her knowledge. It seemed a stark contrast to the way the two women on the other side of the table were laughing and smiling brightly, something so rarely seen on Helaena’s face nowadays.

“She is no maiden, that is for certain. Though if you are lucky, perhaps only the first three inches of her have been tainted by Lefford’s withered old cock.”

Aemond wrinkled his nose at Aegon’s depraved quip, despite his somewhat polite request for him not too. Perhaps he’d expected too much courtesy from his elder brother. Or perhaps, more likely, with the exciting renewed presence of Lord Lefford’s widow, Aegon felt the need to perform, and exaggerate his usual unfortunate traits of his personality.

“‘Tis almost as worse as our dear sister being wed to me.”

“I am certain there is nothing worse than that,” Aemond replied quickly, behind the rim of his cup, failing to keep his gaze from forever drifting to the figure of her from across the candles and ornaments.

Aemond found himself captivated by the way she moved, the subtle grace in her gestures that spoke volumes of the woman she had become. Gone was the innocence of youth, replaced by a quiet strength and resilience that only seemed to enhance her beauty. He couldn't help but notice the way her laughter rang out like music, filling the room with warmth and light. It was a sound he had missed more than he cared to admit, a reminder of simpler times when they were just children with the world at their feet.

But now, as he watched her twirl across the dance floor with Helaena, there was something undeniably magnetic about her presence. It was as if she had blossomed into a flower, her petals unfurling to reveal a depth and complexity that left him breathless.

He attempted not to move too quickly once the festivities were over, afraid of showing her in his actions his desperation to be close to her as he offered his arm, “might I see you to your chambers, my Lady?”

She gave a shy smile that morphed into one of amusement, and Aemond is sure he felt something akin to that stomach-flipping sensation when he was flying out on Vhagar when her hand rested on the inside of his forearm, “Very well.”

Aemond chose to ignore the low snicker of his elder brother, showing him his back instead, with the woman he loved on his arm.

“You are aware I know this Keep better than I do my own home, and am perfectly capable of finding my chambers myself?” she said with a teasing lilt.

Aemond couldn't help but chuckle softly, the sound echoing in the empty corridor. "Forgive me, my Lady. It seems my chivalry gets the better of me in your presence."

Her laughter rang out, filling the silence with warmth. "Chivalry or a desire to prolong our conversation, Prince Aemond?"

He felt a surge of joy at the playful banter, grateful for the opportunity to spend even a few moments alone with her. "Perhaps a bit of both, my Lady. Though I must admit, the thought of your company is a temptation I find hard to resist."

She looked at her feet, as if to hide the rising warmth to her face, “I must confess, it is nice to once again be somewhere familiar, with the company I admire most. When my husband was alive it could often get rather lonely.”

Aemond fell quiet for a moment, swallowing thickly, trying to navigate his feelings in the midst of a difficult situation, “I hope that he was kind to you.”

She glanced up at him, her eyes revealing a depth of gratitude that stirred something within him. "He had his moments," she admitted with a small smile, "but kindness was not his strongest suit. Still, I suppose I cannot fault him entirely. He provided for me in his own way."

Aemond could sense the underlying weight in her words, the unspoken struggles she had endured beneath the facade of mere cordiality. He didn't need to ask to know that her late husband had been less than supportive.

"You deserve far more than just provision, my Lady," he said earnestly, his gaze unwavering as he spoke.

Aemond could almost feel his heart sink as he had realised they were stood before her chamber doors, her hand slipping from his arm, and yet a fire stoking fierce then at the thought of an invitation inside.

She clasped her hands delicately, her warm eyes meeting his with a gentle intensity. "I couldn't help but notice Queen Alicent and the Lord Hand engaged in such ceaseless conversation," she remarked, her voice soft and thoughtful. "I do not wish to presume—"

Aemond, catching the subtle implication in her words, swiftly interjected, "I cannot claim to know their exact sentiments." His gaze met hers, offering reassurance without a hint of desperation. "But I refuse to allow something as trivial as their approval to deter me. I've already endured the pain of losing you once."

There was a quiet determination in his voice, a resolve that mirrored the fire in her own eyes. In that moment, they shared an unspoken understanding, a mutual agreement to pursue their feelings despite the potential obstacles that lay ahead.

She nodded, a faint smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Your courage is admirable, Prince Aemond. But we must proceed cautiously. The court is a web of intricate politics, and our actions could have far-reaching consequences."

Her words were crafted in such a way that reminded him of her personality in their youth, understanding of the repercussions and yet boldly standing tall in the face of them. And with her small, mischievous smile, he knew all the same that whatever she uttered was only done so to extend her cordiality.

"I understand," he replied, his tone tinged with determination. "But I cannot ignore what my heart tells me."

"Nor can I," she admitted softly, her gaze meeting his with a mixture of vulnerability and resolve.

Silence settled between them for a moment, the weight of their unspoken desires hanging in the air. Then, with a subtle shift in her demeanour, she turned towards her chamber door. Without a word, she reached out and gently pushed it open, leaving it ajar. A silent invitation hung in the air, enticing Aemond to step inside.

Aemond's heart skipped a beat as he watched her gesture, his pulse quickening with anticipation. Without hesitation, he took a step forward, drawn irresistibly towards the open door and the promise of privacy within.

With a shared glance filled with unspoken understanding, Aemond turned towards her chamber doors, crossing the threshold into the privacy of her chambers, where their hearts could speak freely without the constraints of the outside world.

She spoke quietly, her face illuminated warmly by the soft flicker of candlelight. "I hope you do not think less of me for this," she murmured, her voice tinged with vulnerability. "You can imagine, for me there is no great ceremony in it."

Aemond's heart swelled with tenderness at her words, his gaze filled with an understanding that transcended mere words. "I could never think less of you," he replied softly, his voice brimming with sincerity.

Aemond slowly closed the distance between them, their expressions never wavering, his steps deliberate yet gentle. He reached out, his hand cupping her face tenderly, as he gazed into her eyes with an intensity that spoke of his deep affection. In that moment, the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them suspended in a timeless embrace. The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows across their intertwined figures, bearing witness to the union of two souls bound together by love and longing.

Her lips parted to whisper, “I do not wish for you to do all of this out of guilt-”

She caught herself when his thumb traced her cheek, waiting for him to answer, “I do not make this bid out of remorse. I wish to be with you, and I wish to make you mine.”

Aside from the crackling heat of the fire within the hearth, her breath was all that was audible between them, coming heavier from between her lips as his thumb feathered down her cheek and to her bottom lip, caressing the skin there. After that, he felt her eyelashes against his cheek flutter when he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers with a tenderness usually unbecoming of his personality.

Years of longing had each of them pressing closer to each other, lost in the sound of their soft kisses, and Aemond felt his clothing below his waist become tight with need once he caressed her tongue with his and pried her lips apart like the petal of a flower and tasting the sweet nectar within.

Her hands that had found his shoulders slid over the sleek leather to his front, tenderly and gingerly pulling the buckles apart to loosen his doublet. Her actions, instead of spurring embarrassment, renewed a deep-rooted vigour beneath, and Aemond’s new task was to pull at the laces of her dress behind her, and pull the fabric that had hidden her body from him.

He felt her shiver, pulling the heavy dress from her shoulder to pool at her waist, pushing them as fervently off her as he was able, “was he at least good to you,” Aemond asked in a whisper, his breath hot at her neck while she pulled at the laces of his breeches. 

“I do not wish to speak of him,” she answered with determination and confidence, but a breathless, wanton whisper herself, wanting nothing more than to consummate years of harboured affections masked by friendship, “I only want you.”

Her words had his heart stutter in his chest, pulling her now almost bare form atop him as he sat back onto the bed, with her hair loosened like this and her shoulders blossoming with gooseflesh, he found that he was incapable of keeping his hands at his sides and explored the shape of her feminine body beneath the shift she wore. 

Even the sheer motion of her brushing against his hardened member and her breasts filling his palms could have been enough for Aemond, but there was no returning at this point. She sighed against his lips as his fingers dipped beneath the hem of her shift to ruck the thin fabric up around her hips, squeezing the flesh of her thighs to pull her closer onto his lap.

Warmth bloomed at her cheeks, but it did not deter her as she reached between them and smiled at Aemond’s loud moan, stroking his rapidly hardening length in her palm, focussing her attention towards the velvety tip. 

She lifted herself in his lap, fingers threaded at the hair at his nape as if to anchor herself to him, and both sighed with the utmost relief of their union once he pressed himself into her, and she sank her warmth onto him, enveloping him with her body. Her lips parted at the stretch, somewhat prepared and yet the intrusion still stealing the air from her lungs.

Foreheads pressed together, Aemond's hands gripped her at her waist, pushing his hips up into her as hard as he could to sink deeper inside her, “I have dreamt of this - for so long - being with you like this -” 

A faint sheen glimmered on her collarbones as she slowly moved her hips on him, Aemond's legs parted somewhat, widening hers and opening her up more so he could rock up into her with her rhythm. The closeness of their position had the blunt head of his cock massage that sensitive patch within, her eyebrows knitted together in sweet pleasure.

“That's it -” he cooed quietly, almost watching the way she moved with admiration and curiosity, her tight, silky walls squeezing his length with every thrust of herself down. He felt her arousal coat the base of him, and the sound of their ever-quickening coupling filled the otherwise quiet chambers.

She held onto his shoulders, the amber glow of the fireplace picturing her expression in the most arousing way Aemond had ever imagined. Pulling her shift down her chest, he groaned lowly at the sight of her breasts and took one in his palm and mouthed at the other, taking her stiffened nipple between his lips in a way that made a shuddering moan slip past her lips.

“Gods - I would adore to watch you swell with my child - would you like that -”

All she could do was nod feebly, words unable to occupy her mouth where soft, sweet sounds of pleasure were pouring out. Aemond smirked, grazing his teeth over her bud.

“yes, you would like to serve your husband - give him children, wouldn't you - fuck-” his voice strained at the effort it took to hold himself back, his hands sliding down the column of her back to her plump backside, palms gripping tight and guiding her rhythm onto him, over and over.

She moaned loudly, the motion of being pulled back and forth and yet still impaling herself on him driving the fat head of his cock into the deepest and most forbidden parts of her.

“Aemond -”

“And once you have one - I'll fuck yet another one into you - keep you fat with child” his breathing grew ragged and shaky, “- take it - like a good little wife should-”

“Yes - yes-” she breathed quickly, the words slipping out without realising what they were for, her blind acceptance of being his wife, or the rising waves of pleasure coursing white, hot through her body.

He felt her squeezing him and hastened both of her rhythms, dragging her back into his lap and pushing up into her wet heat ceaselessly. Both the numbing ache of her peak and her bud rolling against his body in quick succession had her hands gripping around him, burying her face in the crook of his neck as her limbs flooded with warmth.

“That's it, ābrazyrys -”

“Gods, Aemond-” she squeaked, completely overcome and possessed by the heights of pleasure rolling through her, the endless rhythm of him fucking up into her only prolonging it.

Her tight walls squeezed him so deliciously that Aemond's heart leapt into his throat, completely surprised as he pulsed thickly and spilled within her, his lone eye tightly shut. His own fulfilment had his hips twitching, shallowly pushing his seed into her, and hoping that it took.

Even once he was completely spent and exhausted, softening inside her, neither moved, and he simply felt her tender fingertips at his shoulders in light soft circles, massaging him. And thought, that this is how it always should have been, had he fought for her.

Her breath fluttered against his skin, herself tired in exertion from their shared pleasure.

“I was a fool - for allowing you to slip from my grasp.”

She sat up, to look down at him, her face flushed, hair in messy waves, looking every bit as beautiful as the day he'd lost her.

But she smiled, her finger tracing the pattern impressed on the leather of his eye patch, “you may have been a fool,” she started.

Her finger hooked beneath it, and lifted it away, her expression unchanged as her thumb stroked the indent of the scar at his cheek. Aemond felt his heart soar in a way that almost felt terrifying.

“I never slipped from your grasp,” she uttered gently, “my heart was always yours.”

Aemond brushed her hair from her features, her words sending waves of ecstasy thrumming in his veins.

“Just as mine shall always be.”

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[scarlet-star-witch]

The moon and his sun (Part II)

Aemond Targaryen x Female Reader

Summary: People would remember their story. Even decades after they were gone, Septa’s would tell young children about the one-eyed dragon prince and his sweet wife as if they were a part of a fairytale, too good to be true for the harshness real life possessed.

Aemond meets a young girl who quickly becomes his most cherished friend and changes the course of history.

Word count: 8.2 K

Warnings: Aegon takes minors to a brothel (but nothing sexual happens), characters get aged up, male masturbation, mutual pining, smut

AN: I am so blown away by the love you all showed for the first chapter, thank you all so much! Hope you enjoy xx

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4

~~

Her cheeks hurt from smiling so wide. 

Aemond had been twirling her around the room practically the entire night. She knew he didn’t particularly enjoy dancing, but when she had asked him, he loathed to deny her. 

“Are you having a good name day?” 

“It’s my best one yet.” He smiled. He had woken that morning to her barging into his chambers, demanding her gift be the first one he received that day. Nothing could ruin such an incredible start to the day. 

He raised her hand over their heads and twirled her under his arm again, his own grin beaming at the sound of her delighted laughter. 

She tilted her head back as she spun and Aemond was struck by how happy she looked. She was happy with him, she was carefree with him. 

Despite how his feet began to hurt, or that he knew many pairs of eyes were staring at him, the desire to let go and sit back down was nowhere to be found. He wanted to stay with her. He wanted to continue to make her smile all night long

As she twirled again, her eyes found the head table, smiling to Helaena who was watching the dancers wistfully while her betrothed sat next to her downing another cup of wine. 

She flinched suddenly as she met the hard stare of the Hand of the King. Otto Hightower’s stare was enough to make her feel as though she was burning under such a disdainful look. 

Her shoulders tensed slightly before she found herself being spun again, back into Aemond’s arms. His smile faltered when he noticed her own smile dimmed. 

“Are you alright?”

She forced a mask upon her face, not quite understanding the contempt coming her way from his grandsire, and brought a smile back to her face. 

“I’m fine, just getting a little tired.” 

“Come on, we’ll take a break.” He took her hand in his and guided her back to the table.

Her father smiled at the two of them as they approached. 

“You two look like you’ve been having fun.” 

“We are.” She smiled, taking her seat next to him. Aemond moved to take the empty seat next to her when his mother called out to him. She beckoned him forward with a pointed look and he sighed, promising to find her later as he left her side to make his way back to the head table.

She watched him go with sorrowful eyes, her gaze moving over to Otto and suppressing a shiver at the cold look she received. 

She seemed to shrink in her seat, catching her father’s attention. He followed her gaze, his face hardening, his posture becoming rigid as he noticed the cold glare the Hand of the King was sending his daughter. 

He had never liked Hightower, he didn’t trust the man. He somehow always seemed to take control of the council meetings, proclaiming he knew what the King’s best interests were. He was a snake of a man and he would not let him drag his daughter into his games. 

He placed his arm over her shoulder, portraying a united front, a warning to anyone that would seek to bring her harm that he would deal with them swiftly. He may be the Lord of a peaceful house but that did not mean he did not know how to fight or that he wouldn’t commit whatever violence was needed to protect his family.

She stayed by her father’s side for the rest of the night, sharing looks of mourning with Aemond as he was sequestered to his mother’s side, unable to escape the politicking unfolding at the head table of Royals. 

As the celebration was winding down, most taking their leave for the night, she bid her father goodnight and sulked out of the large hall. 

She knew whatever reservations Aemond’s grandsire had of her would keep him from her, that there was no use in hoping for another moment with him. 

She shouldn’t have been so upset, she had practically the entire day with him and all her previous days, but that somehow didn’t stop the twisting of her insides as the thought of his own family disliking her, of there being some kind of plot to keep her away from him. 

The sound of her name being called made her raise her head, a smile growing instantly at the sight of Aemond waving her over. 

“Where are you going?”

“I was headed to my chambers. I thought the celebration was over.”

Aemond took her hand and pulled her along with him.  “Not yet.”

She smiled along with him, happily following him. As he guided her out of the Keep, her smile began to falter slightly in confusion.

“Where are we going?”

“Aegon said he had a surprise.”

An uneasy feeling began to fester within her. She didn’t particularly like any time she had spent with his older brother. She didn’t trust a single thing about him. Thoughts of the pink dread came to mind and she quickly held back the bitterness that grew. She didn’t want to doubt Aemond, but she had little hope this surprise would be a showing of brotherly love. 

As the two of them snuck passed the gates, a hooded figure waited for them. 

Aegon’s smirk dropped the moment he spotted the two of them hand in hand. 

“What the bloody hell is she doing here?”

“Aegon.” Aemond admonished. 

“I didn’t invite her, I invited you.”

“She’s my friend. She has every right to join us.”

The disdain on his face faltered slightly and soon morphed into a devious smirk, a laugh leaving his curled lips, one that made her stiffen.

“I do hope you enjoy the surprise, My Lady.” He drawled, the sickly sweet tone of his voice making her want to squirm and head back to the safety of her chambers. 

But Aemond’s hand in hers kept her in place, her stride matching his as they followed Aegon. 

The further they ventured from the familiarity of the Red Keep, the tighter Aemond’s grip on her hand became, his suspicions rising as they continued their trek deeper into the streets of Flea Bottom. 

He pulled her into his side as they passed a tavern, the rowdy sounds inside and the groups of drunken men they passed making his body stiffen. 

“Aegon, what are we doing down here?” He called to his older brother. 

No response was given and Aemond grit his teeth in annoyance. He should’ve known better than to trust his brother. 

They came to a nondescript door and Aegon turned to face them, that smug smirk still on his face that made her hand twitch, longing to smack it right off his face. 

“Well, brother, you’re almost a man grown. I think it’s time you get it wet.”

Aemond’s eyes narrowed, confusion twisting his features as a pit of dread began to grow within him. Aegon opened the door and motioned them inside. 

When the two of them stood still in their spot, Aegon rolled his eyes and gripped onto the front of Aemond’s shirt, yanking him forward, his hand still clasped tightly in hers pulling her along with him, the two of them stumbling through the door ungracefully. 

The scantily clad women that filled the room made Aemond’s lone eye widen. He turned to his brother, his face red with both shame and anger. 

“Aegon, why are we here?”

“Don’t be so uptight, Aemond.” His brother waved him off, brushing past them to be welcomed into the arms of a whore he frequented. 

He was quickly guided off to a room, leaving the two of them to remain standing at the door stiffly, their shocked eyes taking in the room before them.

A group of women soon surrounded them, pulling Aemond away from her. 

He tensed as hands ran down his arms and he shook them off, his head craning to catch a glimpse of his friend. He called out her name, but if she gave any response it was drowned out by the tittering laughter of the women in front of him.

“Is she your betrothed?”

“We can help you, teach you how to please her.”

“We’ll make you a God, My Prince.”

Aemond’s face twisted in disgust at the filth they began to spout, shrugging off their wandering hands, flinching as a hand landed on his thigh, slowly beginning to creep upwards.

“Don’t touch me.” He snapped, his heart beginning to race as a dreadful feeling overcame him. 

He remembered it well, what it was like to not be in control. He remembered what happened the last time he had felt this helpless, wanting to scream but knowing no one was listening, no one caring about his discomfort. His scar flared with pain at the memory and he winced, pushing the woman who was trying to crawl into his lap away from him.

He called out her name again, panic seeping through his tone. 

He stumbled over his own feet in his haste to escape the gaggle of whores that tried to tempt him. He pushed them out of his way, one goal in his mind, one face he desperately needed to see. 

Across the room, he spotted her, his chest tightening as he saw the discomfort on her face as many pairs of hands tangled through her hair and pulled at her dress. 

“You’re a pretty little thing.”

“Just imagine when your tits come in, you’ll put all of us out of work. The men will be lining up to take a turn with you.”

“Don’t worry, Honey. We can prepare you so it won’t hurt too much when your old husband beds you.”

The whores’ words made her stomach clench and she squirmed under their hands that attempted to get her out of her clothes. 

The feeling of lips caressing her neck made her flinch, a small squeak of surprise escaping her before she could even fully realize what was happening. 

“Get off her.” A stern voice spoke.

She let out a stunted breath as she realized it was Aemond. She reached out and within a second, he hauled her up and wrapped her under his arm as he pushed their way out of the brothel. 

A ragged breath left him as the stench of perfume finally lifted, the debauched sounds of the pleasure house muffled and distant as the door closed behind them. He looked down at the girl under his arm and a bolt of worry shot through him at the sight of her blank stare.

A low hum rang in her ears, her body trembling slightly as it tried to make sense of what had just happened, of what could have happened. 

“Hey, look at me, please.” His pleading voice came through and she slowly raised her head, her gaze meeting his worried eye. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I didn’t know what he was planning. I never should have trusted him.” He rambled, his own voice wavering slightly, his trembling hands moving to cup her cheeks. “I swear to you, I never would have come if I had known.”

“It’s ok.” She breathed out quietly. 

He sighed, the fear on her face still evident. 

“Are you alright?”

She nodded wordlessly and he winced, the gesture so unconvincing he quickly wrapped her in a tight hug. 

“I’ll take you back to the Keep.” 

She looked down the darkened alley fearfully, the thought of making her way through the streets of Flea Bottom so late had dread settling in her stomach. 

“It’s ok.” Aemond assured her, taking her hand in his, noting the unease in her eyes. “I’ll keep you safe. I promise.” 

They began to walk, the silence between them stifling, something so unfamiliar to the inseparable pair. 

“I’m sorry.” She began quietly. “You don’t need to- you can stay if you wish. I don’t want to ruin your night.” 

Aemond stopped in his tracks, his lone eye wide with horror as he looked at her in complete shock.

“I don’t- no! I didn’t want- this wasn’t-” He was at a loss for words. He blew out a long breath, cursing Aegon profusely in his head. “I don’t want to… do what Aegon does.” He explained vaguely, unable to bring himself to speak of his brother’s depravity in front of her. 

The insinuation of him acting like Aegon, of sullying himself with the same debauchery that brought his family shame made his stomach twist. He never wanted her to see him like that, he never wanted her to think he would ever act like his brother.

Aemond ran a hand through his hair. “Fucking twat.” He mumbled under his breath. He wanted to throttle Aegon 

A small giggle met his ears and he looked at her, slightly bewildered by the small upturning of her lips he saw, so unlike the fear he had seen etched in her eyes just seconds before. 

“I’ve never heard you swear.”

He let out a small noise of surprise, unsure if she was truly smiling or if it was a ruse to placate him.

“So unbecoming of a Prince.” She jested and he let himself laugh, her sarcasm, her humor so like the girl he knew that it was enough to ease his worry. 

He liked his arm through hers, holding her closely to his side as they began to walk again. 

“Did this ruin your name day?” She asked after a few moments of silence.

He looked over at her thoughtfully. His day began with her, her excited smile beaming as she demanded he open her present, her at his side loyally all day. No one had ever been so attentive to him, not even on past name days. 

“No.” He answered honestly. Nothing could ruin the content she gave him, the feeling of being wanted and needed that surrounded him when she was around was stronger than any blow of shame Aegon could deliver.

Neither of them spoke of that night, the both of them too embarrassed by what they had seen and heard to say anything about it. 

Though the seeds of lust were planted. 

As the years passed and they grew older, their childhood innocence dissipating into adult desires and longing, it became harder to deny what was between them. The looks that passed between them were no longer the shared smiles of childhood friends, they were the looks of longing that stirred the shared hunger that grew steadily with each passing day.

After that night, she loathed to think of her friend, her Aemond, venturing back there with Aegon, indulging those whores, laying with them, letting them touch him, his own hands greedily touching every inch of their bodies. The thought of him laying with another was like a lance to the heart. 

The same dread plagued Aemond. 

He made himself sick thinking of his friend, the girl he always simply considered to be his, indulging one of the many suitors that ogled her.

Aemond thought of what those whores had told her, that she would have to lay with a husband leagues older than her and endure the lackluster and, most likely violent, attempts to produce an heir. 

The thought had his insides twisting. The thought of any man with their hands on her sent fury racing through him. 

As they grew, he couldn’t help but find his thoughts of her drifting to ones that would be considered less than innocent, not thoughts one should be having of a dear friend. 

He couldn’t help but admire her curves, the dip of her cleavage she had no trouble showing in the low cut gowns she wore around the Keep. It drove him crazy. 

It was becoming more and more common that he would wake, his thoughts racing of images of her lingering from his dreams. He would roll over, imagining she was laying next to him in his bed, tangled within his sheets, her sweet smile his first sight of the day. 

He had no time to feel guilty as his hand ventured below his sheets, as he found his hard length that was more often than not standing at attention to the thought of her. 

He would let his eye close, imagining her hand taking his place, of her sweet mouth taking him in, of the praises she would give him as he took her over and over, the sound of her delectable moans and pleas for him. 

His mouth would part with panting breaths as he thought of the pleasure he could give her, of the pleasure he longed to give her and the pleasure she would bestow upon him. 

His hand would speed as he neared his end, his body writhing among his silken sheets, his head fallen back against his pillow as he pictured her face, what it would look like as he brought her to climax.

The thought, as always, was his undoing. 

His lips parted with a long groan, the raspy call of her name becoming familiar to the walls around him. He panted as he expelled the last spurts of spend on his stomach, his limbs feeling weak as he let his fantasy dissipate. 

He didn’t know how much longer he could continue without having her in his arms. He didn’t know how he could endure meeting her gaze with such filthy thoughts of her in his mind. 

Later that day, as he caught her eye as she sat with the ladies of the court, he felt his face flush, the images of her he conjured in the privacy of his chambers rushing back to him. 

The warm smile and small wave she sent him only incensed him further, leaving him to contemplate for a few long moments whether he should neglect his training with Ser Criston to return to his chambers and deal with the heat she had unknowingly spread throughout his body that was undoubtedly weak for her. 

He was doomed to her.

The longer he repressed his growing feelings for his best friend, the more he couldn’t get her off his mind. 

He woke early one morning to avoid passing her by, knowing with one mere look at her he would be a distracted, bumbling mess for the rest of the day. He was determined to get through at least one training session without his thoughts drifting to her. 

He had been successful for a short time, managing to best Ser Criston time and time again, his focus purely on the weapon he wielded with precision. 

Until he heard that familiar laugh, a sound so purely wonderful, it almost knocked him off his feet. 

His gaze wandered around the training yard before they found her, as he always would, her arm linked through Helaena’s their smiles wide as they watched the training commence.

As if sensing his gaze on her, she turned her head, her eyes meeting his. She smiled, the sight blindingly beautiful. He sent her a wave, hoping the blush on his cheeks wasn’t as severe as it felt. 

The sound of a throat clearing beside him broke him out of his daze and he turned sharply to meet the knowing smirk of Ser Criston.

“Shall we continue or are you done for the day?”

The knight’s tone implied he knew exactly what thoughts had been running through the Prince’s mind the moment he saw his dear friend. Anyone with eyes and half a working brain could see the affection the Prince and the Ixtal girl held for each other. 

Aemond grit his teeth, sending a glare the knight’s way as he spun his sword effortlessly, a flagrant display of his prowess with his beloved blade. 

“I am more than ready to continue, but if you require a break I will gladly find another opponent to knock into the dirt.” 

Criston snorted and raised his sword, giving the young Prince he had valiantly trained a pointed look. 

With one last gaze up to the woman on the balcony, the sly wink she sent him giving him all the drive needed, he raised his sword and struck a deadly swing towards his mentor who scrambled to block it. 

His heart raced with adrenaline. The wink she had sent him igniting the fire in his blood, only incenting him to display his power to her, determined to win, determined to show her his strength. 

He wasn’t a boastful man, he left those frivolities to his older brother, but when it came to her he suddenly didn’t recognize the feelings within him, the desires that had taken root that seemed to unravel him to his most basic senses. 

Up on the balcony she repressed a shiver as she watched Aemond fight with an ease that made her body heat and caused her mind to conjure things her Septa would’ve slapped her for ever thinking as an unmarried woman.

“He’s very good.” Helaena commented, not noticing the desire now lingering in her friend’s eyes. 

“Yes, he is.” She murmured, attempting to shake herself from thoughts of him handling her in the delicate yet deliberate way he did his sword.  

Later that night, as she and her father joined the Targaryen family for dinner, she couldn’t get her mind off of what she had seen in the training yard. She couldn’t help the nervous flutters that erupted within her as she took her seat in between Helaena and Aemond.

It was her usual seat, she had spent too many dinners to count by his side, but for reasons she couldn’t quite understand - or refused to - she suddenly felt bashful in her friend’s presence. 

The smile he sent her in greeting made her stomach flip.  

She could barely concentrate on anything besides his presence beside her. She was sure she was about to crumble into a puddle as his fingers brushed against hers as he passed her the jug of wine. 

She took greedy swallows of the drink, hoping it would dull her sense enough to withstand the looks he sent her every now and again, his smile warm, his gentle affection subtle but enough to undo her completely. 

As Helaena engaged her in conversation, telling her one of the many stories of her beloved twins, she let her thoughts of Aemond dissipate, smiling softly to her dear friend who glowed with her love of her children. 

She listened intently, allowing her nerves to retreat to the shadows of her mind. 

As conversations around the table continued, she let her eyes wander curiously. She turned her head, catching Aemond’s gaze already on hers. He straightened and abruptly tore his eye back to the plate in front of him, though the blush that grew on his cheeks was undeniable. 

A shock of excitement rushed through her at his reaction, suddenly realizing she wasn’t as hopeless as she had thought. She thought back to all the times she had caught Aemond looking at her, all the times he sought her out before anyone else, all the times he had abandoned whatever it was he was doing just to see her and spend a mere moment together. 

She suddenly wondered if it meant as much to him as it did to her. 

She wondered if her dear friend was caught in the same haze of longing she found herself drowning in. 

~~

The slamming of the door made her flinch, the book she was reading slipping from her hands. She sat up straighter when she noticed Aemond standing rigid, his chest heaving with heavy breaths as he tried to rein in his anger.

“What happened?”

“My fucking grandsire.” He seethed. 

She remained seated and silent, allowing Aemond to vent out his anger. 

“They want to betrothe me to some Baratheon girl.” He explained as he began to pace erratically. “They’re bringing her to court for the Summer Feast. They expect me to do my duty with that plain-” He stopped himself abruptly before any insults could pass his lips. 

She frowned, setting her book aside. 

“Tell them you don’t wish to marry her.”

Aemond hummed, the sound more bitter than she had ever heard it. “My grandsire isn’t as agreeable as your father.” 

He knew the Lord of Ixtal had vetoed a number of requests for his daughter’s hand at her request. He didn’t want his daughter shackled to a man she did not desire. 

He wished his family was as caring to his needs as hers was. 

“Well, I guess you need to find the love of your life before the Baratheon girl arrives.”

Aemond looked over at her plainly, clearly not in the joking mood. 

“This is not funny.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t see what the issue is. Tell your family this isn’t what you want.”

“They don’t care about what any of us want. If they did, Helaena wouldn’t be forced at Aegon’s side.” 

She frowned at the mention of her dear friend and what she had to endure with her drunken leech of a husband. 

“I’m running out of time.” Aemond sighed, running a hand over his face. “I’ve been able to keep them at bay the past few years, but they’re becoming more incessant, I can’t stall any longer.”

The thought of being forced to marry some girl he didn’t know, a girl who would never compare to the woman in front of him, the woman he longed for, desired before he even knew what it meant to desire a woman, left him feeling hollow. 

“I’m sorry. I wish I could solve this for you, but I don’t think your mother would take too kindly to my meddling.”

Aemond huffed out a laugh at the thought. He looked at his friend curiously, noting how cavalier she found the idea of marriage.

“Isn’t your father putting pressure on you to marry?”

“Not exactly. He’s hinting at the time coming for me to go back home, but no plans have been made just yet.”

Her words made his stomach twist. The thought of her leaving King’s Landing, of not seeing her everyday, was unfathomable. 

“They don’t have a courtship lined up for you?”

“No. Who I marry is my decision.”

“Is it that easy?”

She breathed out a small laugh at his disbelieving tone.

“Ixtal isn’t as conservative as King’s Landing. We don’t force people to be together, we don’t expect women to wait to find pleasure until marriage. We don’t expect a fruitful marriage to come from sexual disappointment.”

Aemond blushed at her words, his eyes darting to the wall behind her, unable to keep her gaze as she spoke of things his mother would’ve slapped their wrists for.

“My mother said marriage is for the sake of duty. To unite strong houses.”

She scoffed, sending her friend a pointed look of disappointment.

“You’re forced to marry for every reason other than your own happiness. It’s barbaric.”

“It is duty.”

“So you just accept it? Being tied to someone you don’t love for the rest of your life?”

“Some grow to love each other.” He said quietly, though he couldn’t deny how undesirable the customs, one he had known his entire life, sounded to his own ears.

“So if you’re betrothed to a Baratheon daughter, you’ll accept it?”

“No, of course not.” He answered immediately, his tone sharper than he intended. 

“Why? You’ll have to marry someday. Soon I’ll need to go home and find myself a nice man to settle with.”

The reminder of his time with her coming to an end made it feel as though his heart was turning to stone. Her previous words about Ixtal’s customs suddenly came screaming back to him and his hands tightened into fists, fury rising within him at the thought of men touching her, kissing her, making love to her.

“Aemond.” 

The sound of that beautiful voice saying his name made him look up, the anger inside him washing away at the knowing look on her face. She stood from her seat and took slow steps towards him until she was only inches away, making his throat tighten at the closeness he was constantly longing for. 

The unspoken things between them bubbled to the surface, reaching a boiling point as they looked at each other in the dim light, the topic of conversation causing tensions to run high, threatening to reveal true emotions that were kept hidden for so long.

“Eventually, you’ll have to marry, and so will I. We’ll have to do our duty, as you say.”

He swallowed thickly, his eyes unable to hold her gaze any longer, falling onto his hands that clenched and unclenched as waves of anxiety passed through him.

She sighed heavily and stepped past him, moving towards the door. She loved so many things about Aemond, but his refusal to feel anything but anger, his stubborn nature to speak his true thoughts, angered her.

“I don’t want you to go back to Ixtal.” He admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. But she heard him. She would always hear him. 

“Why?”

“Because you belong here.” He told her, his gaze rising to pierce into hers, his tone becoming sharp once more. “Because the thought of you going home, marrying some man that doesn’t deserve you, makes me furious. The thought of you-” He stopped abruptly, looking away from her, his hands clenched tightly.

“Would you be jealous knowing another man has touched me?”

Aemond’s jaw clenched as he turned on his heel and moved towards her so they were now chest to chest. He had to fight hard to keep his composure, to not close his eyes in bliss at the feeling of her body against his.

“I would kill every man that dared to touch you.”

A devious smirk grew on her lips, one he wanted to kiss away desperately. 

“Would you feel jealous if-”

“Yes.” She answered immediately, shamelessly. She smirked at the way his breath hitched, as the hunger in his eye grew tenfold. “I don’t share.”

Aemond almost choked on his breath at her insinuation. 

Her arms slithered over his shoulders, pulling him in closer to her, close enough they could feel the other’s heart racing wildly. 

“You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.” She whispered and Aemond could’ve sworn he would melt into the floor into a puddle of nothing. 

Her lips crashed onto his and he was powerless against her touch. He kissed her back with a furious desperation, revealing every ounce of desire he held for her. He needed her like the air he breathed and it was never more evident in the way his lips molded against hers, in the way his tongue tangled with hers, how his hands held to her hips tightly, ensuring she couldn’t part from his side. 

Her nails scratched against the leather of his doublet as she kissed him fiercely, hoping he would understand, hoping the hunger in her kiss and touch was enough to make him realize she didn’t want anyone but him. 

His mind was blank save for thoughts of her. 

The duty he had adhered to his entire life, the duty that had been instilled in him since his birth, didn’t exist. His duty to his mother, to his grandfather, didn’t exist as he kissed her. 

He knew then and there that he was going to marry her, his only friend, the beautiful girl that had his young heart racing, or he wouldn’t marry at all. 

They pulled away from the kiss, the both of them breathing heavily, neither parting too far from the other. Aemond smiled softly and let his forehead rest against hers. 

“I won’t marry her.” He breathed out in promise, his chest tightening pleasurably as he saw the smile that grew on her kiss swollen lips. 

“Iksā ñuhon, issa prūmia.” He whispered and placed a soft, slow kiss to her lips once more. 

Her mind was racing. She knew few Valyrian words but none sounded familiar. 

“What does that mean?” 

Aemond just smiled and kissed her again, content to stay in that moment for the rest of his life. 

The gravity of their actions, the realization that anyone could have walked into the library and saw them, could have told his mother or his grandfather, didn’t catch up to him until he had parted from her side and settled into bed for the night. 

He lay rigid, his mind racing, his heart heavy with guilt. 

If anyone had seen them it would have ruined her reputation. She’d be painted as a whore. The court would speculate what other Lord she’d kissed or opened her legs to. 

Aemond couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t ruin her. 

The next morning, every ounce of bliss he had felt with her lips against his was tainted with worry. He found her in the gardens, his cold stare softening as he spotted her sitting with Helaena and the twins. 

The sight of her with little Jaeheara in her arms made his heart stop for a moment. He swallowed thickly, desperately moving past the emotions, the longing, the sight stirred within him. 

“Good morning, brother.” Helaena greeted him brightly. 

He just nodded briefly in greeting, his posture stiff as his gaze landed on her. 

“Can we talk?”

Her smile faltered slightly and she placed the babe in her arms back to her mother before taking his offered arm, Aemond guiding them away from prying ears. 

“Is everything alright?”

“What happened yesterday-”

“Do you regret it?” She asked stiffly, her worry evident as her grip on his arm became lax, as if she suddenly wanted to be anywhere but by his side. 

“No! Never.” He responded frantically, his eyes leaving hers to take in their surroundings, making sure no one would hear them. “Yesterday was… it was long overdue.” 

“Then why are you so tense?” 

“No one can know.” 

She sighed heavily, her shoulders sagging. 

“The rumors that would spread if people saw us together would ruin you.”

“I think you’re giving the court too much credit.” She responded flippantly, her annoyance growing at Aemond’s worry. “Are you going to let me have a say in this or are we going to let the court decide our future for us?”

He spoke her name softly in exasperation, sparking her anger. She wrenched her arm out of his and walked a few paces to gain distance from him. She couldn’t think clearly so close to him. 

“If you weren’t being truthful yesterday then tell me. Spare me the lies and tell me how you truly feel.” 

“I wasn’t lying.” He assured her, his heart beginning to race in fear for where this conversation was headed. He loathed to hear the doubt in her voice. “I refuse to marry the Baratheon girl, I only want you.” He told her, his voice much quieter than before. 

The fire in her eyes dissipated, her fears subsiding and she stayed still in her spot as he stepped towards her, closing the distance between them. 

“We must keep this between us for now, at least until my father is more lucid and I can take our betrothal to him. I cannot let my grandfather know of this. He will only find a way to speed up a wedding to the Baratheon girl or any other Lady in the Keep.” 

She looked up at him with a smirk, her heart jumping at his words. 

“Betrothal?”

Aemond flushed and cleared his throat, as if the words were tightening his throat.

“Well, yes… is that not what-”

“I wouldn’t be opposed.” She spoke in an overly saturated tone, interrupting his nervous words. He looked at her fiercely, his lone eye betraying every ounce of lust, longing, and annoyance he held for her games.

“You will never stop vexing me, will you?”

“I am certain you love it.” She teased, his swiftly pink turning cheeks all the answer she needed from him. She straightened, clearing her throat, as she moved back to the matter at hand. “So we must sneak around?” 

He looked regretful, his hands gently taking hers. 

“I know it’s not ideal.”

She shrugged. “If that is the only way I can have you now, then I can live with it.”

Aemond smiled, a breath of relief leaving his lips, the heavy weight on his chest dissipating quickly. 

A smirk grew on her lips, one he knew signaled mischief. 

“So, that means we’d have to remain as friends in public.” She surmised, stepping closer to him, much too close, as their chests brushed against each other. “But behind closed doors…”

Aemond swallowed, his eyes fluttering closed as she leaned in, his lips brushing against his ear as she spoke. 

“...I can do what I want with you.” 

Aemond cleared his throat, desperately trying to keep a hold of what little control he had left. 

“When we are behind closed doors, which we are not.” He reminded her, sounding exasperated, making her laugh softly. 

She loved the effect she had on him.

“Meet me in my chambers tonight.” She whispered and placed a soft, barely there, kiss to his cheek, before leaving his side and making her way back to Helaena, leaving him with pink cheeks and a racing heart.

Night couldn’t have come fast enough. He spent the day training vigorously, Ser Criston taking the brunt of his pent up anticipation with round after round of sparring. His knee bounced impatiently throughout dinner, paying no mind to his mother’s attempts to bring him into the conversations he couldn’t bother to focus on. 

He waited, long, torturous hours, until the sun had finally set and night descended on the Keep, the halls clearing as Lords, Ladies and their servants alike settled in for the night. 

He paced in his room for longer than he would ever admit, his nerves bubbling low in his stomach, his hands twitching as he longed to reach for a goblet of wine to ease his worries. 

He knew if his mother were to ever discover he had entered a lady’s chambers in the dead of night, let alone a Lady he was undeniably close to, she would slap him until he found his sense once again. 

Though no amount of worry, no guilt over his allegiance to his duty could ever be enough to overtake what he felt for her, what he had unknowingly felt for so long. 

With only his desire to see her, he purposefully strode across his room and pushed at the stone wall, silently thanking his brother for drunkenly revealing to him the secret passageways years ago.

 It only took a few minutes until he found her door. With a deep breath, he stepped in slowly, his eyes immediately finding her as she sat at her vanity, brushing her hair. His breath caught in his throat when he noticed the sheer slip she wore as she readied herself for bed. 

He cleared his throat, feeling a blush quickly and involuntarily growing on his cheeks as her eyes rose to meet his. 

“You came.” She smiled. 

“Of course I did.”

She got to her feet, taking slow steps towards him, as if he were a wild animal that would spook if she got too close too quickly. She knew he had a strong sense of duty, of what behavior was becoming of a princely man, it had been instilled in him by his family since he was born.

She knew he was breaking every single one of those lessons by being in her room so late at night. 

“You know we do not have to sneak around. You can wait to court me as is proper.” She reminded him, hoping to ease his discomfort.

“I can’t take that risk.” He spoke smoothly, as if it didn’t even require a second thought. “I can’t take the chance that we will be denied. I can’t lose you before I’ve even had you.”

She smiled, her heart jumping in anticipation.

“So take me while you can.”

Barely a second later Aemond had crossed the room, his hands cradling her face gently as he crashed his lips to her, kissing her passionately, revealing every ounce of his desire for her. 

She moaned happily against his lips, the noise forcing his body to tighten, every shred of control he thought he possessed gone in an instant. 

They kissed as if they had been lovers for years, as if he had been gone for so long and they couldn’t wait to reunite as only lovers could. 

His hands greedily roamed the curves he had admired for years. Her hands wove into his silken hair she had braided many times as children. The innocence was gone between them, no childlike wonderment left, leaving only their loving, lustful desires. 

They pulled away after a few minutes, the both of them breathing heavily, their swollen lips turning upwards into a shared smile as their eyes met, the pure bliss in his lone eye matching hers. 

He moved in again, desperate to get her lips back on his, but her hands on his chest stopped him. His brows furrowed, a strike of worry lashing him as he gazed at her in concern. 

“I want to see all of you.” Her quiet voice spoke, her delicate touch framing his face, her fingers slowly canting upwards to trace the edge of his scar. 

He flinched instinctively, having never felt the touch of another there, but almost instantly calmed as he stared into her eyes that reflected nothing but love and trust. 

She had been there for him through everything, she had been the only one to see him for more than his title, to respect him as he was, simply a boy trying to find his place in the world. 

He let out a shuddering breath, allowing his forehead to rest against hers as he built up the courage he needed to reveal his eye to her.

“Every part of you is beautiful, Aemond. I have known that for years and I certainly won’t think differently tomorrow.” She reassured him, her velvet voice melting the hardened resentment within him. 

He swallowed against the tightness in his throat and reached up slowly, willing his hands not to tremble as he grasped the patch over his eye. Slowly, he pulled it off, revealing the sparkling sapphire in place of his eye. 

A small laugh left her, scaring him momentarily until he saw the delight in her gaze rather than mocking cruelty as he had suddenly feared. 

“I can’t believe you really listened to me.” 

He smiled bashfully, remembering a conversation years ago, when she had suggested he put a ruby in place of his eye to resemble that of a dragon eye. He never told her when he took her suggestion, feeling too silly to divulge such a thing. 

“Well, I’m sorry it’s not a ruby.”

She shook her head, her smile never faltering. “Why did you pick a sapphire?”

“It reminded me of the sea.” He stated simply, watching with bashful satisfaction as her smile smoothed out, her expression one of touched devotion.

He always told her she reminded him of the calming and luxurious blue waves that crashed on the shores of Ixtal, the waves he had become mesmerized by the day he met her. 

“It’s beautiful.” She breathed out, feeling unable to take her eyes off the shining gem that made the man in front of her look even more ethereal than he already did. 

Her eyes found the gem between every breathless and fiery kiss, somehow lingering as he pulled his clothes off, remaining, as if for comfort, as she bared herself to him for the first time. 

It was a beacon to her, the guiding light in the ferocity of a storm, calming every one of her nerves as she was reminded he was hers just as she was his, as they always had been. 

She felt as though there were sparks igniting under her skin as he touched her. She felt herself melt under his delicate fingers that curiously roamed her body. She felt beautiful under his awed gaze as he eagerly took in every inch of her, as if she were a divine entity he would soon bow to. 

The second a gasp escaped her as his fingers found the wetness between her thighs, Aemond’s eye snapped to hers. He watched with wonderment as she vocalized her pleasure, pleasure that was because of him. 

She smiled against his lips as he suddenly kissed her with a might she had never felt before. She was powerless against his hungry lips. 

He let out a stunted breath at the sound of the whine that fell past her lips as he curled his finger, seeking out her pleasure, eager for it as if it were his own

The two of them never let their eyes wander too far from each other. He watched with a wide, amazed gaze as he brought her to her peak with his fingers, delighting in the pain he felt as her nails dug into his shoulder as her hips grinded against his hand. 

The sounds of her soft moans echoed in his ears, alighting his body with furious desire. 

As he settled between her legs, he looked down at her, his eyes posing his silent question, the devotion she saw from the beauty of his lone eye, that she felt from the gentle touch of the tips of his fingers that traced lines up and down her thighs, was enough to have her nodding immediately, fiery want washing over her. 

He never dared to look away from the depth of her eyes as he delved inside her for the first time. 

He watched her carefully, whispering apologies as she gasped, the foreign feeling making her tense slightly. His gentle caresses, his soft kisses down the length of her neck, the words of praise he gave her, were enough to soothe her, her body relaxing, the pain fading.

He began to thrust slowly, the pleasure soon becoming too much and his eye fell closed as he shuddered from the delirious pleasure of being inside of her, but he forced himself to bring his gaze back to her, taking in the starry eyed look in her own. 

Their hands never left each other, Aemond gripped her hips as if he feared she would soon be forced away from him, her hands gripping onto his shoulders to ground herself in the wake of the unexpected pleasure he brought her. 

His nose brushed against hers as he kissed her softly, his hips finding a rhythm that made them both sigh in delight. He felt his limbs tremble, his resolve slipping the longer he stayed inside her, quickly realizing nothing in his entire existence would ever compare to this, to being with her, the woman he loved more than life itself. 

“Aemond.” She breathed out, pleading for him, pleading for this never to end, to never lose each other. 

He squeezed his eye shut briefly, his movements becoming more controlled as he let his body adjust to the ecstasy he was feeling. 

“You’re mine.” He panted, his hand moving to cup her cheek, his thumb caressing her soft skin affectionately. “You will always be mine.” 

She nodded frantically, a moan falling past her lips as he found the spot inside her that made stars explode before her. 

The noise had Aemond gritting his teeth, a desperate growl sounding and he knew this would be ending soon. 

He quickened his movements, his hips rolling rapidly against hers. He choked out a surprised sounding moan as her legs wove around his waist, pulling him in deeper. 

“Oh, Gods, I can’t-”

“Give it to me, Aemond. I want it. I want all of you.” She replied frantically, the growl in his voice causing goosebumps to rise on her skin. 

She watched, entirely raptured by the sight before her as Aemond’s jaw dropped, his eye widening before slamming shut, his body trembling as a loud, desperate sounding groan fell from his lips. His hips became erratic, his movements becoming sloppy as he came hard, untethered from his control.

She gasped at the feeling, the tingling in her spine spreading until it burst, a cry of his name sounding in the room as she fell off the edge just a moment behind him. 

Aemond slumped against her, his chest heaving alongside her own, his shuddering breaths cooling the skin at her shoulder where his head rested. 

She ran her hands over his muscled shoulders and found their way into his hair and she began to run her fingers through his mussed strands gently as she found her way back to her body.

After a moment of quiet as their breathing relaxed, Aemond raised his head, his eye finding hers, her gaze locking onto the gem once more, their shared smiles bashful. 

A soft giggle sounded from her and Aemond wanted to melt into her all over again. He rested his head against hers, placing a soft kiss to her lips. 

“I love you.” He whispered in the quiet room. 

“I love you.” She told him with just as much honesty and devotion as had sounded in his voice. 

~~

ENJOY! XX

[fatesundress]

⭑ for the love that used to be here. tom riddle x reader

summary. you and tom are the only muggle-borns in slytherin, until one day he isn’t.

tags. angst, afab reader who is referred to as a witch a few times and rooms with girls but i don't think i ever use she/her pronouns or say the word girl/woman, biggest warning is that this is SO long (idk what compelled me to write a year 1 – post-hogwarts fic but here we are twenty thousand damn words later), blood purity and bigotry, dumbledore is greatly offended by the bonding of two orphans until he can capitalise on it, frequent wwii mentions (specifically the blitz), book clerk tom, MURDERER TOM… ministry reader, kissing, smut once they’re 21/22 May all the minors in the room exit at once, more angst, sad ending kinda, me spreading a very personal and very nefarious tom riddle agenda that is canon to ME but probably only like two other people

note. i need a shower and an exorcism after writing this shit. i'm exhausted. i don't even remember half of it. but i'm also SO stoked, this is my little (very large, frankly) 100 followers celebration! i've only been on here for about a month and the love has been so crazy so thank you mwah mwah mwah ♡

word count. 21.8k (i know... i KNOW)

You learn quickly that your shade of green is not the same as theirs. The rest of them are emeralds, even at that age — they glitter with their parent’s polish. You are flotsam, sea-sick, envy green; the putrid boiling stuff that brews in your cauldron when you look away for a second too long, and, really, it’s more of a stain than a colour at all. There is a fraction of a second where you find something powerful in that. You are not an easy thing to remove. And then it’s gone, because they want to so badly.

You learn, with a bit less tact, that you doesn’t actually mean just you; that it’s you and him whether you like it or not.

He evidently does not.

“It has to be completely fine,” Tom says to you in Potions, his voice small then but just as practised.

You narrow your eyes. “‘Scuse me?”

“I said the powder has to be completely fine.”

“I heard you completely fine. I know how to read.”

He stares blankly at you before returning to his own station, and that’s that.

It isn’t unheard of for muggle-borns to be sorted into Slytherin, so you’ve been told, but one glance around your common room and you can see it’s pretty damn rare.

There’s Tom Riddle, there’s you, and there’s a seventh-year girl whose knuckles are always white like she’s spent so long with her hands balled into fists that they don’t know how to do anything else. Tom Riddle is a prat, the girl is too old and unapproachable even if she wasn’t, and you are very good at being alone.

That decides it. Flotsam still floats.

Everything is — fine. It’s fine for months; you have no one and need no one and sometimes you catch a jinx in the back of Charms that zips your mouth shut or bends a foot the wrong way (a cruel reminder of how much more these people know than you) and your broom occasionally pivots so sharply the Flying professor has to stop you from careening into a wall and breaking enough bones for a week’s worth of Skele-Gro, but it’s fine. 

…It’s just that he’s insufferable.

The boy is eleven years old and he speaks like he’s stealing glances at an invisible lexicon between every word, more refined than any of the orphans you grew up with which makes you wonder which sort he’s surrounded by, and you take it upon yourself to theorise in passing if you could ever scare him badly enough his real voice would slip and he might just appear human for once.

Only it becomes clear when you’re stirring awake in the Hospital Wing after a mysterious bout of dragon pox (conveniently, all the pureblood children developed an immunity after catching it young) has rendered you bed-ridden and pockmarked, that you don’t think anything can scare Tom Riddle. He’s suffering just as well in the bed beside yours to keep the contagion to the two of you, and he’s all cold, eddied rage under sallow skin and beetling bones. 

“They’re going to kill you,” he says after three days of silence, when the room is dusted in moonlight so thin it’s like squinting through cinema noise or mohair fluff to try to see him.

You blink at the vague shape of him. “What?”

“If you don’t hurt them back, eventually, they’ll just kill you.”

In hindsight, it’s an assumption so hastily bleak only a scared child could make it.

I want to hurt them, you try to say, but for what follows you cannot: I want to hurt them but I’m not good enough to do it.

You roll over and pretend to sleep, and in the morning, you hurt them anyway.

It’s Avery who’s unlucky enough to be the first to test you when you’re three assignments behind in Transfiguration, still a bit groggy from your last dose of Gorsemoor Elixir, and actually, physically green. He tugs your hair and stings your cheek with the promise of “bringing a bit of colour back to your face” and it’s sort of funny how banal it is compared to the other transgressions you’ve been dealt — that this is the thing that makes you bare your teeth, grip your wand in a hand that still can’t hold half of it, and send Avery flying across the room with a Knockback Jinx.

Tom sits with you in the Great Hall for dinner that night, and he never really stops.

You practise spells by the Black Lake between classes and he’s anything but kind about the ordeal, but you teach each other. You end your days with singe prints and sore wrists and you often take more damage than he does, but sometimes, as spring settles in with warm tones (apple and jade and moss — all the greens you’d never imagined), you leave with less bruises than he does. It hardly feels like friendship. It feels much more like purpose.

When summer comes you don’t write to him, and you don’t expect he will either. You don’t suppose you’ve actually written a letter in your life. Instead you try new wand movements under your quilt every night and wait for August’s departure on a big red train.

You sit together when the day does come. He asks you if you’ve been practising. You frown and tell him you’re not allowed to use magic outside of school.

Second year is nothing but monotonous, antiquated theoretics. Most everyone complains. You don’t see why they should — they’re already aeons ahead of you — but that means you finally have a chance to catch up in your less-than-school-sanctioned meetings with Tom while the rest remain practically stationary. 

Deputy Headmaster and Transfiguration professor Albus Dumbledore is imperceptibly less soft with you than he was last year when you make the apparently poor decision to sit beside Tom on the first day, and you file the subtle shift in demeanour into some mental cabinet to review later.

You find workarounds with the librarian, Madam Palles, inclined to sympathy for the poor, orphaned muggle-borns to grant relatively unfettered daytime access to the Restricted Section so long as you keep it tidy and none of the books leave the library. That’s where things get a bit more interesting.

For a month you remain innocuous as can be. You browse through rare historical tombs and foreign biographies that would charge more galleons than you can conceptualise, and you never leave so much as a tea stain on the parchment. You smile at the Madam when you return the key each night, and walk back to the dungeons with your hands behind your back. It is, of course, totally unrelated that a month is what it takes for Tom to master the third-year curriculum’s Doubling Charm. An entirely separate affair when you meet him in the most secluded alcove of the library, slip him the key, and stifle your grin as he duplicates it perfectly. 

You discover Christmas break is your favourite time of the year. Nearly all the purebloods go home. The Slytherin dormitories are effectively halved.

It’s two weeks of earnest, uninterrupted work and sleep without fear of waking up with jelly legs or whiskers.

Madam Palles, most nights, makes a slight, drowsy effort of searching the library for leftover students before she casts the lights out and closes the door. Then, it belongs to you and Tom.

You’re splayed rather ridiculously over one of the big reading chairs on Christmas Eve, Lore of Godelot in hand, enthralled by a chapter detailing his controlled use of Fiendfyre through the power of the Elder Wand.

Tom is cross-legged and sat straight, his brows furrowed in concentration.

“What’ve you got?” you ask, leaning over to answer your own question.

Tom as good as rolls his eyes, holding up the book to give you an easier look.

“Magick Moste Evile?” You scrunch your nose. “Bit much, don’t you think?”

“It’s the stuff they’ll never teach us.”

“I wonder why.”

He steals a glance at your own book and smiles in that smug way that makes you want to slap him.

“What, Tom?”

He shrugs. “You might want to know you’re reading stories about the author.”

You look down. Lore of — Godelot wrote Magick Moste Evile? 

It shouldn’t really be surprising. Three chapters ago your book was recounting his months in Yugoslavia grave-robbing magical burial sites.

“Whatever,” you mumble, “It’s just a biography. Least I’m not reading the words out of his mouth.”

“Well, they’d be out of his quill.”

“Oh my God, Tom, shut up.”

All good things must come to an end. Term resumes and your hackles are back up. 

Abraxas Malfoy, Antonin Dolohov, Walburga Black and the best of the worst of your house have returned, sleek-haired and insatiable and deranged, truly, in such a manner that you don’t think you can be blamed for the instinct you feel every time you pass them to lunge like a wild predator or run like wild prey. All Tom does, though (and so you follow, because he’s standing with you and who has ever done that?) is meet their gazes with equal assuredness. He never seems bothered. He never seems animal. You are still all hammering heart and heavy lungs, and you are learning not to see the world through the eyes of someone who’s only ever had their fists to fight. You have magic, you remember. You’re good at it. You could hurt them, if you really wanted.

Not much is different that summer than the last. The war is hard. The food is hard to chew. You chip a tooth. You’re too afraid to fix it with the Trace on you, but you still smile because you will, and everyone seems put off by that. What is there to smile about? 

You suppose, for them, it’s a question with few answers. 

For you — you’re back on a big red train musing about the functions of muggle warfare with Tom Riddle, chucking a useless card from a chocolate frog out the window and moaning about how you wasted the sickle you found under your seat.

He’s gotten very good at ignoring your theatrics and going right back to whatever it was he was talking about. And you note, unrelatedly, he almost looks like he’s learned how to open the windows at Wool’s. (You dare not suggest he’s doing something so ludicrous as sitting in the sun too, but this is a start.)

Dippet, or the Minister, or whoever it is that’s in charge of the practicality of the curriculum, has become fractionally less stupid in the last three months.

You don’t have to rely on nights in the Restricted Section or weekends at the Black Lake to actually learn something anymore. Of course, without the assistance of those illicit extracurriculars, you wouldn’t be able to match up to your peers the way you are this year, but it’s nice to duel with dummies instead of motioning your wand vaguely over a desk, and you and Tom still climb the notice boards in rapid succession. 

They hate you for it. One of your roommates makes a pointed effort each night to glare at you from her bed like those jelly legs are back on the table, Orion Black (two years younger but just as nasty as his cousin) nearly trips you on your way to Divination, Abraxas Malfoy develops what you think borders on obsession with Tom, and for once it feels almost offhand to not care about any of it.

You’re beginning to think even at its best, Hogwarts is remarkably insufficient. This leads you to books mercifully unrestricted so you can read about a few of the other magical schools for comparison. Beauxbatons is renowned for providing most of the worlds alchemical developments, Uagadou’s early propensity for wandless magic makes it unfathomably more practical than Hogwarts, Durmstrang (though you scoff at their violent anti-muggle sentiment) teaches the Dark Arts as something beneficial rather than unforgivable, and — what do you learn here? Even with the hair’s-breadth of magical leniency you’ve been allowed this year, it’s no surprise so few recognizable names in wizarding history are Hogwarts alumni.

“Let me have a look at that,” you say to Tom one evening, when he’s peering once more over the pages of Magick Moste Evile. He’s a purveyor of knowledge in all forms, but he always seems to come back to Godelot in the end.

He raises a brow, handing it to you like your intrigue doubles his. “No more reservations?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. I’m only curious.”

“Curiosity—”

“Killed the damn cat, I know.” You glare at him through the pages. “I think that’s you, in this case though, since you’re the one in love with the bloody thing.”

He shakes his head as he reclines in the low light of the Restricted Section, muttering something that sounds like “ridiculous,” or “querulous,” or something else unimaginably fucking annoying.

You might be wrong. Retract your last quip and expunge it. If Tom’s in love with any book, it’s the behemoth dictionary he’s been spitting stupid adjectives out of since he was eleven.

But Godelot’s musings on the Dark Arts are fascinating enough that you can understand the appeal. He’s no wordsmith, and you appreciate that in a way you’re sure Tom deems regrettable, but his points are straightforward but thoughtful in such a way you can read in them how he was guided by the Elder Wand through everything he did. There’s a stream-of-consciousness to them. Something doctrinal you’re surprised to enjoy for all the obligatory English creed they washed your mouth with at the orphanage.

“Find what you’re looking for?” Tom asks, combing with little interest through the tomb you’d put down in favour of his.

“I’m not looking for anything. I’m just…” You sigh. It’s almost painful to say. “I think you were right, and — oh, shut up, don’t look at me like that — I don’t think we’re learning anything here. Not really; not as much as they do at other schools.”

“Of course,” he says blankly. “Hence this.”

This — restricted books and furtive duels — should not be necessary. 

“You know that’s not gonna be enough. For the rest of them, maybe, but not us.”

He tenses how he always does at the reminder of his difference. And you get it. Sometimes in moments like these you forget the reason you’re here in the first place. It isn’t just the rebellious divertissement of two academically eager students, it’s… survival. What future do you have as a penniless orphan in wartorn London? What future do you have as a muggle-born Slytherin who’s apt with a wand when there are a thousand more your age, just as skilled and twice as pure? 

It isn’t enough to be as good as them. You have to best them, and you have to do it forever.

The night stumbles into an exhaustive silence because you both know it’s true and it’s a bit too heavy right now. The answer isn’t in this room. Just you. Just him. So you sit in the dark and you stare through that muffled nighttime noise playing tricks on your eyes. The worst of the world can wait until morning. 

The worst of the world has impeccable timing.

A fault of both sides of the coin; the muggle world is a travesty and the wizarding world is just a bit fucking late, really.

So there’s the newspaper. It’s October first and the date reads September tenth. School owls are a joke and you can’t afford anything better.

And it’s a dirty, ashen grey. It smudges your green if you ever had it at all. You were born to this and you will return to it always.

BOMB’S HAVOC IN CROWDED PUBLIC SHELTER

MOTHERS AND CHILDREN AMONG THE CASUALTIES

DAMAGE CONSIDERABLE, BUT SPIRITS UNBROKEN

All you can hope to do is pass the paper to Tom and wonder without words what you’ll go home to.

The answer is very little when the summer clouds your vision with dust and you stand dumbly with your suitcase in front of nothing at all. You’d tried your best until your departure to keep up with muggle news, but it had remained, routinely, a month behind with the owls. By the time June arrived you were still holding your breath through May. Tom had attempted to reason with Dippet for summer lodgings at the school but you were both denied in light of the exquisite mercy — the bombs have stopped! The Blitz has ended! Go back to the aftermath and make do with the craters.

It’s a bit ironic that Tom’s orphanage survived and yours didn’t. At least you can finally see what all the fuss is about.

In truth, it’s more strange than anything. You feel unreasonably like you’re impeding on a part of him that has never belonged to you (if any of him does); that place where you intersect but never draw attention to. You remind yourself you had no choice in the matter. The system puts you where it wants to, and these days the options are slim. But it’s — the walls are amber-black tile and plaster, lined with sanitary-smelling hospital beds and a cupboard per room. Per room, you think; you’ve got one of those now, and with only one girl to share it with. 

You figure the reason for the extra space is probably not one you want to know.

Anyway, you don’t actually see Tom for two days. The caretakers bring you a tray of dinner that’s vaguely warm and a bit too salty and you sleep off the debris you think you breathed in that morning, half-sated and sun-tired.

But then you do see him, and he’s in these funny uniform shorts and a thick blazer and your greeting is an offhand joke about the scandal of his knees that he doesn’t seem to appreciate. He eyes your muggle clothes while you wait for your own set and you know you really don’t have any room to judge. 

He doesn’t, or at least doesn’t say he minds your relocation.

You spend half the summer waking up in the middle of the night to acquaint yourselves with the London tube stations, and the other half in whatever crevices of the orphanage you aren’t harangued by Mrs Cole every five seconds, which are far and few between. She seems to have decided fourteen is old enough an age to worry about your intentions unchaperoned, like it’s the bloody 1800’s, and admonishes you and Tom relentlessly despite only ever finding you quietly buried in useless books. 

You begin to miss Madam Palles and her invaluable pity. Everyone’s an orphan here. No one’s sorry.

“What’s his deal?” you ask one stuffy afternoon, reclining in your creaking seat to prop your legs on the desk.

Tom knocks them off (he’s so well-mannered that you sometimes push these little gestures of impropriety just to bother him) and glances at the target of your question. Some broad, blond boy who skitters down the corridor a shade paler than he arrived. You’ve yet to properly introduce yourself to anyone you don’t have to, so names are muddy when you try to apply them to faces.

He shrugs, but there’s a flash of something in his expression you’re fascinated to realise is unfamiliar. “He’s an imbecile.”

“...Riiiiight, but that isn’t a proper answer.”

You smile. Legs return to table. Timeworn Oxfords muddy the surface. Tom scowls. 

“There was an altercation last year,” he says tersely, “he’s rather fixated on the matter.”

“An altercation.”

“Very good, that is what I said.”

You narrow your eyes and he sweeps your legs off the desk again, gaze catching the unmistakable ribbon of an old bullied scar on your shin. 

“And I suppose you’re above such incidents,” he muses.

You cross your arms and huff. He always wins games like these.

You’re grateful when you return to Hogwarts in one piece after your final night of summer is spent underground, and the certainty of knowing where you’ll rest your head for the next ten months cannot be understated. 

But the worst thing has happened, and you blame it on the flicker of a moment where you missed Madam Palles like it was some jubilant, accidental curse to ever miss anyone. A foreign thing you remind yourself never to do again. 

She’s only gone and jinxed the locks to the Restricted Section so they cry like newborn Mandrakes when Tom’s replica key clicks in place.

For a second you both stand there looking stupidly at each other. Getting caught was a fear two years ago; you’d almost forgotten it was still possible.

Tom is quicker to collect himself. He grabs you by the arm and casts a Disillusionment Charm, and you don’t burst running out of the library like two blurry suncatchers reflecting the candlelight as your instinct heeds; you cling to the shelves and you slither silently to the door. (You’ll make a joke about it when you can breathe.)

Madam Palles the Traitor comes heaving into the library in her nightgown, a blinding blue light baubled at the end of her wand, and it’s really just theatrical at this point to use Lumos bloody Maxima when the basic spell would do the job just fine.

“Has she suspected us the whole time?” you say on gasp once you’ve made it to the dungeons.

“Perhaps someone else has,” Tom suggests.

“What? Malfoy?”

You think it’s a good first guess. It could have been any of the Slytherins, upon consideration, but Malfoy seemed most fixated on Tom last year and it wouldn’t surprise you to learn he’d been observant enough to follow you to the library and notice you don’t leave with the other students.

But Tom quashes the idea. “I’m doubtful. Malfoy is attentive, but Madam Palles is hardly partial to him.” (He had, in second year, set one of her books on fire while studying offensive spells.) “I suspect it was someone with more influence.”

Only no one has more influence than Abraxas Malfoy. The rest of the Slytherins follow him like lost pups. But then Tom might mean —

“A professor?”

“It may be.” He says it like he’s already decided his suspect.

He is, as always, and ever-infuriatingly, correct.

It’s that file you tucked away for later, reoccurring when you return to Transfiguration in the morning like a second epiphany: Dumbledore.

He assigns the term’s seating arrangements, which he’s never done before, and there’s something in his tone when he pairs you with Rosier that feels intentionally like not pairing you with Tom. You don’t think it’s paranoia clouding your better judgement, and by the way Tom’s gaze hardens as he takes his seat beside Malfoy, neither does he.

Dumbledore is suspicious for a number of reasons. He disappears for weeks at a time. The Prophet writes articles on his sightings in Austria and France like he’s an endling beast. He’s being sighted in Austria and France — two notable countries in Grindelwald’s ongoing war. Perhaps ancillary, you’ve decided the charmed glass repositories he uses to hold his old artefacts are the same ones encasing the least permissible books in the Restricted Section. And if that isn’t paranoia (which, you’re willing to admit, it may be) then you assume he has them so proudly on display because he wants you to know.

You consider it a warning.

Tom does not.

“Just give it up,” you hiss over a game of wizard’s chess, “I bet we’ve read every book in there twice already anyway.”

His jaw ticks as the sole indicator of his annoyance, and he takes your rook. You scowl.

“Tom, that man thinks you’re devil-spawn. You know he’s just waiting for an opportunity to catch you doing something wrong.”

“So?”

It sounds so petulant you think he’s been possessed by his eleven-year-old self. Then you think he was a lot wiser at eleven.

“So?” You make an aggressive move with your knight. “So don’t give him one!”

He stares at the board and his breath is just a trace sharper and you hate that you know him like this and no one else. You wonder if he knows you like that too, but resolve with ease that he does not. You’re hard frowns and lewd jokes and trousers torn at the knee to bare scars with stories you wish you could forget. There’s no mystery there. Tom is nothing but — gordian knots and fixed expressions and little patterns to learn like the rules of this stupid game between you. You must know Tom Riddle by every atom or not at all. And that isn’t a choice, really. You’ve never known anyone else.

“Are you stupid, Tom?”

You glance at the board. He’s got Check. A terrible, true answer.

“No,” you finish. “Then don’t act like it.”

Your king glances at you and you nod. He falls. The game is resigned.

Tom acts stupid.

Dumbledore knows.

It all happens very fast.

You strike Tom harder in the arm with Confringo than is likely necessary that night, and he returns the favour with a Knockback Jinx that thrusts you into the shallows of the Black Lake.

You gasp. The cold water feels like it’s swallowing you whole when it strikes, an envelope sealed around you and licked shut for good measure. Everything holds to you, and it’s fucking November. Your senses are so overwhelmed that you forget to murder Tom the instant you sink in. You forget to do much of anything.

You wade trembling out of the lake when sense returns and Tom huffs, peeling off his robe to treat the burn on his arm.

“You—idi—iot,” you mutter, trying to find the incantation for a warming charm but the words get stuck between your chattering teeth. “You stole a re… stricted book.”

Tom glares daggers at you between his poor healing job and you scowl, mincing through the grass and grabbing his arm. “Fucking imbec-cile…”

You’ve done enough damage that if he were anyone else you’d be proud of yourself, and somehow, simultaneously, if he were anyone else you’d be able to manage a pinch of guilt. But he’s Tom, and you know him by every atom, so you cannot be proud, and he’s Tom — he retaliated by tossing you in freezing water and now your clothes are clinging sodden and heavy to every inch of you, so you certainly can’t be guilty either.

“I borrowed it,” he says tightly. As if that means anything at all. And then he takes his robe and drapes it spiritlessly over your shoulders. “You could attempt communication before curses.”

“I could attempt communication,” you scoff, uttering a charm to partially close the gash on Tom’s arm, “Fucking h-hypocrite. I did communicate. You lied.”

“I —”

“Omitted information? Withheld the truth? Watch your mouth or I’ll steal your fucking dictionary, Riddle.”

You swear a great deal when you’re cold and mad, apparently.

“I won’t be caught.” His calm is infuriating. “It would hardly earn expulsion regardless.”

“It doesn’t matter! He knows it’s you! He was staring at you all class!”

“So nothing novel then.”

“D’you want me to blast you again?”

His lips form a flat line. No. That’s what you thought.

You sigh, clutching his robes in your fists to quell your trembling. “What’d you take, anyway? We never touch the encased stuff.”

That is, you assume, why Dumbledore was vexed enough about the whole thing to mention it in class today. A highly valuable book has gone missing, from a repository you dare conclude belongs to him, and he has to pretend all the while not to know it’s Tom who took it. You are out of the question. Theirs is some delicate vendetta you can’t begin to unfurl.

“Nothing anyone should miss,” Tom says, a complete non-answer as he stops to murmur a warming charm you could probably manage yourself by now.

“Tom.”

“It was an encyclopaedia. It’s entirely in Runes. I suspect it will take months for me to decipher.”

“God’s sake,” you groan. He really is exhausting. “I think Dumbledore’l take his chances and loot your dorm before that happens.”

Tom wipes a stray droplet of water from your cheek. His fingers are soft. “We should return. You look half-drowned.”

“I am half-drowned, dickhead.”

And you accost him in hushed tones the whole walk back. Runes, Tom, really? Threw me in the damn lake over a Runic Encyclopaedia? He accosts you just the same; You burned me first.

It does, in fact, take Tom months to decipher the Runes, and he’s quite secretive about it. He won’t let you see the book, won’t tell you what it’s about, won’t indulge your queries on how far he’s gotten or if it’s worth the way Dumbledore bores his eyes into the pair of you in the Great Hall with nothing but the glass of his spectacles to soften his censure. You consider — well — you consider taking your chances and looting his dormitory.

The day everything changes starts the same as any. 

You muse over breakfast about muggle news and how the way Tom holds his wand when he casts defensive spells is too sharp when it should be circular. He argues. You soften the criticism by telling him his offensive magic is stellar but you’ll always beat him in defence if he doesn’t swallow his damn pride and listen to you for once. (So, really, you soften it very little.) He doesn’t take Divination so you don’t see him until Herbology that afternoon and he’s silent enough during the hour you share with your wormwood plant that you know he’s done it sometime between breakfast and now. 

Tom has cracked the book.

It’s late spring and the night takes longer to settle than it did in the winter. Errant sunbeams still sparkle on the water when you meet him by the lake, and it’s warm enough to forgo a coat.

“Are you going to tell me what it’s about now?” you ask without preamble, arms crossed over your chest as he approaches.

He hands you the book like it’s worth something to you without his explanation, but you’re intelligent enough to gather something from the illustrations of two twined snakes embroidering the cover.

“I should have suspected it sooner,” Tom says before you can comment. “By the way Dumbledore acted when I told him… I should have known he would have wanted to keep it from me.”

“Tom, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“It’s an Encyclopaedia on Parseltongue and its known speakers.”

You flip through the pages and none of it means anything. “Parseltongue?”

“The language of serpents,” Tom supplies, and the two of you walk along the edge of the forest. “It’s almost exclusively hereditary.”

“Okay, so, what — you’re trying to learn it anyway?”

“I have no need.”

You frown. “You… you already know it.”

“I always have,” he says, and there’s something almost unrestrained in his voice. He’s proud in a new light, and it takes you a moment to understand and you’re not sure why exactly it makes your heart sink, but —

“You’re not muggle-born.”

“No, I’m not. And Dumbledore knows.”

“So, he —” You try not to sound crushed because why should you be? Why should it matter that he isn’t some exact reflection of you? He’s at your side, he’s still there, he’ll always be there — “How does he know?”

“When he came to Wool’s to inform me I'd been accepted at Hogwarts. I hadn’t known anything, certainly not that speaking to snakes is emphatically rare, so I asked him. He said it was ‘not a peculiar gift.’ Perhaps to keep my interest at a minimum.”

“Why would he lie?”

“Because it isn’t just that I’m of magical blood. I’m a descendant of Salazar Slytherin.”

You can’t be faulted for laughing. It’s not often Tom makes jokes, let alone funny ones.

“That’s good, Tom. Morgana used to have tea with my great-great-hundredth-great-grandmother, so that works out nice.”

He sighs, taking your hand and leading you further into the woods.

“Are you trying to murder me?”

“I might.”

“You’d be the first suspect.”

“No, I wouldn’t. You’ve far too many enemies.”

Not by choice, you start to scold, and then he stops, not so far into the Forbidden Forest that you’re afraid, but far enough you understand this is not something he’d chance showing you in the open.

He closes his eyes and whispers, and it’s — decidedly not English. And you know the sound of a few other languages, at least; this doesn’t sound like words at all. His consonants are pointed, his S’s stretched, the syllables repetitive but separated by a difference in cadence someone less perceptive might not notice. 

It shouldn’t be surprising; it’s exactly what he told you, but it startles you how much it reminds you of a snake.

“Tom?” you murmur, unsure at the prospect of speaking some ancient, unknown language into the air of the Forbidden Forest, and, underneath that, still reeling with the knowledge that this is real at all.  You’ve pinched yourself a few times to make sure.

There’s a low susurration in the grass, wet with dew that catches the moonlight, and you gasp, clinging to Tom’s arm when you see the blades part in helices for the space of an adder.

“It’s all right,” Tom says softly, almost elsewhere, his eyes zeroed in on the snake. “It won’t hurt you.”

You’re still by the balance of his arm and some petrifying awe as he extends a hand to the grass and the adder coils around it, weaving upward to his shoulder.

“Oh my God. Oh my God, Tom.”

The adder points its beady gaze at you, and Tom whispers something else in that strange language before it retreats in agreement or compliance or whatever could come close to expression on the face of a fucking snake, and maybe you’re dreaming this despite your pinching. Maybe you’ve lost your mind.

“Hope you didn’t just tell it to bite me,” you try, and it comes out half-choked.

He smiles. It’s partly for you and partly for this venomous little thing on his shoulder, and that’s a bit startling. Tom Riddle smiles for adders and you and not much else. 

“Should I?”

And all you manage, for whatever reason, is, “Don’t be like them now that you’re not like me.”

It’s out before you can stop it, welling from a small, scared place that embarrasses you to return to. A hospital bed when you were eleven. The walls of a bedroom ravaged by bombs.

Tom’s smile fades. “We’re nothing like them.”

The thing is, neither of you know that’s the day that changes everything.

You celebrate your fifteenth birthday in the Deathday ballroom with Tom, a stolen dinner pastry, a green candle, and a few sad ghosts. You try to learn how to dance. Tom thinks it’s silly. You tell him that’s only because he’s upset he keeps stepping on your toes.

Summer blisters when it comes.

Some of the children take jobs as mail-sorters and steelworkers and you clasp for whatever you’re (one) allowed and (two) capable of, which isn’t much. You’re both old enough at the end of the day to explore London on your own, opting to spend as much time away from the orphanage as Mrs Cole allots, but you only have knuts and pennies and you warn Tom it would be unwise to swindle muggles and risk a letter from the Ministry. So you work where you’re needed and you eat the rationed nonsense you always do and you miss Hogwarts terribly. It’s much the same: you’re together, you’re hungry, and you’re nothing like them. 

And then it’s different: Tom makes Slytherin Prefect, is suddenly tall, and you wonder in fleeting moments if his face has always suited him this well.

A stupid remark. You fervently ignore it.

Fifth year begins and you have almost the same number of electives as you do core classes, Tom has duties in his new role that take much of his spare time, and despite popular belief, you and him are not a mitotic entity, so this splits you up more often than it had in previous years. Which is fine. You still have plenty of things to talk about during meals and between duels, and you reckon you’ll share DADA until you graduate.

But in his absence, your attentions are forced elsewhere, and you should be grateful they land on something potentially promising.

It’s like Transfiguration just clicks for you this year. You’ve never been the greatest at Transformation (importantly though, you’ve also remained far from the worst), but fifth year launches you into Vanishment and something about that feels like a perfect equation. There are no complicated half-numerals and objects stuck between inanimacy and being — just unmaking the made. Nothing or not. You’re fucking excellent at it. You glean the theoretics fast and then the practise comes like breathing. Even the purebloods struggle as you Vanish Dumbledore’s Conjured garden snakes in brilliant tendrils of light. You exult unabashedly when you brush past them on the way out of class — who was it that didn’t belong in Slytherin?

You say the same to Tom and he rolls his eyes, but the amusement is there.

“Think you can talk to my snakes for me?” you tease, nudging him on the path to Hogsmeade.

“If they’re yours, I doubt they have anything worth discussing.”

And Dumbledore is… a hue nearer to the man you remember from first year. He praises your improvement and smiles when you can’t hide your giddiness as if equally impressed.

He doesn’t shelve people the way Slughorn does (you’re dismayed to find Tom has been invited to join the Slug Club and you have not) but you think if he did you’d be rapidly climbing your way to the top. Maybe get put in one of those neat little repositories he keeps all his best treasures in.

Dumbledore does, however, offer additional assignments for those who are interested, and tasks you with a few if you’re up to the challenge.

You always are.

The Tom-Dumbledore-Encyclopaedia debacle is apparently either resolved, or your part in it forgotten. 

Tom humours you when you’re both singed at the fingers from duelling, yours dipped in the lake while he buries his in the cold moss, about how Abraxas takes the seat beside him at every Slug Club dinner. He tells you he pretends to be very interested in the Malfoy’s business affairs and their stock in the Bulgarian Quidditch team’s win this coming spring. He tells you he finds it amusing to let Abraxas think he can make Tom his pet. Tom says he considers searching for Salazar Slytherin’s fabled Chamber of Secrets and showing Abraxas what a real pet looks like. You smack him in the arm.

He’s had an ego forever. He just has a few too many reasons for it now.

And maybe that’s why you push harder in Transfiguration, dedicate the majority of your studies to it, spend your Saturday nights scrutinising advanced techniques while Tom makes nice with Potions experts and politics with people who don’t even know what he is but like him anyway. It’s patronising, of course — borderline fetishistic; not a real like — but it scares you. Tom Riddle would not allow himself to be anyone’s pretty mudblood show pony if he didn’t have an ulterior motive.

Everything changes but the observable truth that he is still insufferable.

You’re lucky to see him twice a week if it isn’t in class, and the way it starts is so slow you don’t even fully understand what’s happening until Christmas break when Abraxas stays a few extra days and leaves by Dippet’s Floo instead of the train.

You don’t dare ask where Tom has vanished to in that time or why the hell Abraxas Malfoy would willingly subject himself to unnecessarily extended time at school with all his lackeys gone, and it isn’t because you don’t want to. It’s because he won’t tell you himself. It’s because you’re terrified the answer will feel like a broken promise, and you’ve come to realise (it’s been there for so long; such an obvious, tiny thing that you’ve never stopped to really dissect it) that it’s quite difficult to know someone at every atom and not love them a little bit.

You’re suddenly aware of the risk of it: you love him like an inextricable piece of yourself, and, well, you’ve seen war. You know what amputation looks like. You’ve seen the remains of structures designed to stand forever, and you’re strong like them — casts and gauze in all the weak spots because you remember the pain of breaking them — but those were blows dealt without the complication of loving the bombs behind them.

Tom is the green on your robes, the dragon pox tinge you sometimes think never truly faded when you look in the mirror too long, and all the shades you never imagined. Apple, jade, moss. The beginnings of emerald. (No, he couldn’t be that.) 

You wonder what the world would look like if he stole those colours back, and it’s much worse than some brutal decimation; it would leave you with too much. You would just be you without him.

So you love him into June like you always do, and you pluck his Prefect badge off on the last day of school and tell him it makes you jealous like a joke when it’s half-true. 

It’s raining when you walk to the train together, miserable for what should be summer but not at all remarkable in Scotland. Tom wipes it from your cheek. Your wrists are sore from vanishing bits and bobbles all night while you still can, never truly prepared for three months without magic, and you curl into your seat as soon as you’re in it. Tom wakes you up when you arrive back in London, startling you to find that you fell asleep at all.

It rains a lot that summer. There’s nothing much to see in the city and you can’t get anywhere else (you note: the Trace cares little about broomsticks but you can’t afford one of your own and flying might be the only thing Tom is bad at) so you’re stuck to the library again with a noseful of old paper and a certain prose that magical literature cannot replicate. You theorise a lifetime of reckoning with the mundane forces one to be more creative.

Perhaps it’s the cold that makes you sick. Perhaps it’s the state of your meals. Either way, your final weeks before sixth year are hell. Biblical, blazing hell.

The nurses aren’t sure what it is — another influenza epidemic you’re the first in the orphanage to catch — but they isolate you immediately and there’s not much care they can offer. 

You hear Tom arguing with one of them outside your door but can’t make out the words. Everything is dizzy, sweaty, halfway to unconsciousness but without its relief. You’d take dragon pox over this.

Some days later (though you can’t be sure because it feels like bloody centuries), he’s at your bedside, and you think even if you were lucid enough to ask what horrible thing he’d done to change the nurses’ minds, you wouldn’t. 

But you know he’s not beyond breaking wizarding law, because he’s muttering healing spells with a hand to your damp forehead, and you hazily find yourself reaching for him, trying to shake your head no.

“Not allowed,” you mumble. Your throat is sore and your nose is stuffy. You sound terrible and you probably look worse.

Tom is slightly blurry but you think he’s staring at you. You know if he is it’s with the utmost incredulity.

“Not allowed,” he repeats slowly. It’s very easy to picture him clenching his jaw. “I wonder, if the Trace is so exact that it can detect all forms of magic, it can’t also detect malady. You’re burning — and I’m to consider whether saving your life might be illegal?”

He’s angry. He’s angrier than you’ve seen in a long time; and you can actually see it now. His magic courses through you and your vision clears, bit by bit, until your depth perception steadies and you realise he’s closer than you thought. His jaw is, in fact, clenched.

You move to catch his wrist and manage it this time. “Tom.”

“Don’t argue,” he says thinly.

“You’ll get sick.”

His face is far too neutral for the way his fingers stroke your damp cheek. “Hm. Then it’s a good thing you’d break the law for me too.”

Of course he’s right — you love him. Which makes it a good thing he doesn’t get sick.

Some of the younger children do. The fever comes overnight for a girl who wasn’t in the orphanage last year, and it takes her by the next.

When you get back on the train to Hogwarts, the virus is circulating Britain and you’re livid. 

What Tom said is true; you consider the Trace’s precision and the details of the laws on underage magic — how one of the technicalities is that a young witch or wizard may be absolved of the consequences if the circumstances are life-threatening. You think about how it supposedly doesn’t care about broom-riding or Portkeys or Floo travel, and if the Trace is that complex, surely it understands sickness.

You only wonder if the Ministry would understand it. There haven’t been any epidemics in the wizarding world since Gorsemoor cured dragon pox in the sixteenth century, and when there isn’t healing magic there are antidotes and Pepper-Ups and herbs that muggles simply don’t have. The fatality of a fever of all things is not something you imagine could be comprehended by the sort of people who sent you and Tom back to London in the wake of the Blitz.

Of course, the Ministry hasn't written to you, you haven’t been forced in front of a representative from the Improper Use office, and you have no real reason to be upset.

You are regardless. 

It shouldn’t even be a thought: you immolating into oblivion protesting rescue because one of you might get in trouble for it.

A world you’ve never much cared for is blanketed in ash and its people are dying and you can’t help them. A girl is dead. You’ll return next summer and there will certainly be more.

Life is for the magical, you find. The muggles can burn.

It’s what makes you start to panic this year, knowing you’ve only got one more after it. You have no idea what you’re going to do after school, and it doesn’t help that Tom doesn’t appear to share the sentiment. He’s got Head Boy in the bag and when he isn’t with you he’s with Abraxas, who can surely provide him connections if whatever game Tom is playing at works (and you have no doubt it will), but it’s like you said in third year: that isn’t enough for you.

You remember with a small ache that you no longer means you and him.

And then — it makes sense. You feel incredibly stupid.

“You told him, didn’t you?” you ask Tom the first opportunity you can get him alone, in the glum blue light of the Deathday ballroom on your way back from supper.

He sighs like it’s a conversation he’d hoped to put off for longer. “You’re referring to Abraxas, I presume?”

“You’re referring to — yes, you prick, I’m referring to Abraxas. Of course I’m referring to Abraxas, or are there others? Dolohov and Nott seem unusually enthralled by you, now that I think about it.”

“And for a reason I’m supposed to be aware of, this is an error on my part. Should I be apologising?”

“Why did you tell him, Tom?!”

“Why?” he deadpans.

You throw your hands up. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“Shall I provide you with my itinerary as well? Would you accompany me as I tour the third-years around Hogsmeade? Or can you do me the favour of trusting me to make my own decisions with the nature of my ancestry?”

“You’re keeping something from me and there’s a reason,” you say, stepping closer to him, “and forgive me if I want to know what it is when you were willing to tell me you’re the Heir of Slytherin and you can talk to snakes. What — what could possibly be bigger than that?”

Tom returns your approach with one of his own. His eyes are steady, dark, thick with lashes and you can’t reminisce on the details of the rest of him because that would be strange for a friend to do. Stranger to do it now, when you’re angry with him and there’s two sleeping ghosts in the corner and he’s framed by deep indigoes like the ripples in the Black Lake and — you’re doing it anyway.

To be short, he’s close, he’s very beautiful, and sometimes you despise him.

“Trust me,” he says again, without the derision of the last time. “This will change things for us.”

You frown, but it’s a weak upset in contrast to the explosion you came in here willing to make. There were at least twenty questions you meant to ask and you only managed one.

You are not his keeper. You know that. 

“Change them for the better, Tom,” you say on a sigh.

He blinks, and you think he’ll respond with a nod or a slightly offended ‘of course’ but he does not. He blinks and he just keeps looking at you. It’s disarming. It probably resembles the way you often look at him. There’s a rationale somewhere; you never see each other anymore, life is so incredibly busy, maybe he’s forgotten what you look like.

And he does nod, finally, but he does it with his thumb brushing the corner of your lip.

What? Sorry. What’s going on?

He pulls it away like he’s heard you. “You had something.”

You’re almost positive you did not.

Transfiguration this year brings Conjuration, which is an advanced and welcome distraction, and even more exciting when you consider no longer having to Vanish things you have no idea how to bring back. Dumbledore’s is one of three N.E.W.T classes you’re taking — Defence Against the Dark Arts and Alchemy besides. It’s easily your favourite.

You share it with eleven other Slytherins and twelve Ravenclaws. Four of them are muggle-born, and it’s hard to describe the ease you feel among them because you don’t think you’ve ever had anything resembling ease with anyone but Tom.

Your schedule is more crammed than it’s ever been, but it’s good. Two of the Ravenclaw girls invite you to Hogsmeade every other weekend, you share butterbeers when you can afford one, you study until you collapse, you take Dumbledore’s extra assignments and consider trying out for Chaser on one of your more restless evenings before waking up in the morning and resolving there is such as thing as too much of a good thing. Best not to get ahead of yourself.

Your contentment is remedied quickly.

Someone is found unresponsive in the dungeons. Dippet makes an announcement at breakfast that the boy isn’t dead, rather, petrified. No one is quite sure the cause, but the Headmaster warns a few minor precautions, suggests a buddy system, and says that after dinner studying should remain in everyone’s respective common rooms rather than the courtyards or library.

You know next to nothing about petrification, but the victim is muggle-born, and you suspect it was the result of a poorly performed statue curse by one of the many blood zealots in your house. The whole thing makes you hold onto your wand a smidge tighter, but you’re adamant not to let it drive you to paranoia like it would have a few years ago.

Tom nods at your theory when you manage to escape to the Black Lake together in November.

“That isn’t unreasonable,” he says. High praise.

You sink into the moss, sighing. “Do you think there’ll be more?”

He looks out onto the lake, the lapping waves, the crystalline beads that furrow them, midnight algae and flotsam you don’t think you belong to anymore.

You peer up at his silhouette in the dark. “Do you think whoever did it will do it again, I mean?”

“I don’t know,” he says finally, and after another pause: “but I don’t think it would be you.”

“How’s that?”

“No one would be senseless enough to try.”

And he sinks beside you with that, breath shaping the cold in steady, rhythmic clouds while yours are scattered. His robes brush yours and you take his arm with a sleepy hum, tracing patterns in the stars until your eyes feel heavy and he insists on taking you back to your dormitories.

One of the Ravenclaw girls, Marigold Wright, distracts you with a spare blue scarf and an invitation to her next Quidditch match. You watch from the stands and cheer as she catches the snitch to beat Gryffindor.

It’s a bit strange — having a distraction — having a friend. Mari is kind, smart, a good study partner who’s as keen on stepping into the advanced theoretics of Human Transfiguration a year early as you are. She’s funny in a vulgar way, introduces you to all her friends, shows you the best way to sneak into the kitchens, and you sometimes wonder if she was sorted wrong, but — her methods are creative, and she’s definitely intelligent. She’s also definitely not Tom.

You see less and less of him and more of her, Dumbledore, the Ravenclaw common room and the pages of progressive Transfiguration methodologies. He sees less of you and more of Abraxas, Dolohov and Nott and all the other purebloods, Slughorn’s soirées and Prefect meetings that cut into meals.

It happens again.

Second floor lavatory. A girl called Myrtle Warren. She isn’t petrified.

There’s a vigil the following week and her parents are there, two muggles whose sobs wrack the Great Hall even as the students clear out. Flowers descend from the charmed ceiling, little bluebells and white chrysanthemums.

You cry that night. You can’t remember the last time you cried.

This time, you don’t have to seek Tom out. He catches you on your way back from Alchemy and brings you to the Deathday ballroom with a melancholy glance in your direction that you don't hesitate to follow. You realise it’s an odd place to continue to end up in, but no one else goes there and you suppose that makes it yours.

You’ve seen Tom skinny and sickly and olive green, but today his eyes are circled with veined violets and the lack of summer sun this year has whittled him grey once more. He’s still beautiful. He’ll always be beautiful. But he’s tired and — sad — and for the six years you’ve known him you aren’t quite sure what to do with that.

You don’t spend too long pondering it. You just hug him with the dawning newness of a thing like that; a thing you’ve never done, and never really thought to do. (You ask yourself in bewilderment how you’ve never thought to do it before.)

He’s warm. He’s uncertain. He doesn’t reciprocate immediately. 

And then he does, and you understand without caveats or concerns that you stopped having a choice in your destruction the moment you chose him. He’s home, and that’s going to ruin you one day.

Your arms tighten around him and his around you, the rhythm of his breath holding you to earth when you begin to float away. Nothing makes sense in this moment but the mercy that in all the death you’ve seen, you swear to God you’ll never see his. As long as you’re alive, he must be too.

And there’s something to be said about the innate self-slaughter of loving a person (of loving Tom Riddle, especially): that it’ll cleave you in two, that you’ll say feeble things in his embrace that you should be above saying, like ‘I’m scared’, that his hand will find the back of your head and he'll tell you he knows, that that should not feel like enough but it will be. You’ll clasp your hands under black robes and hold this singular embrace together by the faulty adhesive of your fingers. Maybe you’ll cry again, like your body can suddenly comprehend its capacity for it and is making up for lost time.

The first sign that something is wrong, more than the obvious grievance of the death itself, is the Ministry’s happy acceptance of Rubeus Hagrid as the culprit.

The boy is maybe fourteen years old, half-blood — half human, mind — and no one has a bad word to say about him other than he likes to keep eccentric pets. Which leads you to wonder what pet he possessed with the ability to petrify one student and kill another and what cause he’d have for it in the first place besides two terrible, miraculous accidents.

That question draws an even stranger path. Mari says over butterbeers (on her, bless her soul) that she read somewhere years ago that Gorgons can induce petrification, but that she doesn’t remember much else.

One of the boys in DADA says that his father’s an auror, and heard from him that Hagrid’s pet was some sort of arachnid. Tom deducts five points from his house after class with a scowl on his pale face, muttering about conspiracy.

The second sign that something is wrong is that only one of those things would need to be true for the entire case on Hagrid to be called into question. If Mari’s memory serves right, how the hell did Hagrid come into ownership of a Gorgon? (Could Gorgons even be owned?) If the auror’s son is worth your credence, then what species of arachnid is capable of petrification?

You take to the library.

Unsure of where to begin and hesitant to draw attention, your research lingers into Christmas break and stalls some of your extracurriculars in Transfiguration. Tom is busy enough not to notice the new step in your routine, and you’re grateful not to have him breathing down your back, telling you you’re looking in the wrong places or you shouldn’t be looking at all.

The third sign is the end. 

You wish to retract it all. There are time-turners and memory charms and potions that could dizzy you enough to manipulate the truth; there is anything but this. You’d suffer the consequences for the bliss of loving him with one more day before the ruin — you’d write it down to remember through the fog: look at him, duel him without wanting to hurt him, kiss him to know that you did it at least once, have him, be had. You never will again.

He’d shown you the adder. He’d joked about the Chamber of Secrets. He’d spent months disappearing with Abraxas, earning the trust of the sons of the Sacred Twenty Eight. 

And he’d killed Myrtle Warren.

So it’s statue curses and Gorgons and Tom — speaking to serpents when no one else can, buttressed by pureblood boys who want people like you dead.

Don’t become like them now that you’re not like me.

He’s something else entirely.

What do you do in a moment like this? Panting into an empty library at a revelation you wish you could unknow, fingers digging into the hickory of your desk — another memory carved among the initials and hearts; how do you stand from your chair and leave like the world outside this room is the same as it was when you entered? There’s nothing to orbit. You are cosmic debris, tea dregs in a barren cup, flotsam.

You stand; and you tell no one. Not even Tom.

His presence in your life is so infrequent that you don’t even have to come up with excuses for your distance until three weeks after your discovery when you’re paired together in DADA to practise stretching jinxes. 

You almost laugh. He’s standing beside you, tall (lanky like he was when he was a boy if you look long enough) and serious, and you love him without knowing who he is anymore. You’ve skirted corners to avoid him and sat with Mari during lunch and breakfast like he’s some scorned lover to escape confrontation from and not someone who held you through a grief inflicted by his hand. 

“You look tired,” he says, inspecting the daisy you’d been tasked to elongate.

You glance at him. You are tired. It’s exhaustive, bone-deep, aching like nothing you’ve ever known, and maybe that’s why you can look at him and smile sadly instead of thrashing against his chest screaming for what he did. You suppose it happens enough in your head to satisfy. When you can sleep, you sleep to the thought of it. The waking moments are just blank.

“Mhm,” you hum, transfiguring the daisy stem back to its regular length.

Tom observes it with curious eyes. “You’re getting good at that.”

“I’ve been good at it.”

His lips turn, a small frown before he puts it away. You make the observation that he’s tired too; there are still bags under his eyes and his hands tremble ever-so-slightly with his wand when he loosens his grip on it.

His own doing and still you flicker with some relentless hope that he's drowning in regret.

“Sorry,” you say. A ridiculous thing. Do you intend to slowly push him from your life with weak disinterest and diverging academic avenues? As if he were something extricable. He’d never let you.

You’ll have to confront him, and that’s a revelation that holds its weight on your chest until you think you'll suffocate under it.

You’re in the blue light of the Deathday ballroom with a face you've never worn before when it happens, deep into spring, and you know then that you were wrong all those years ago.

He sees all of you.

Takes you in in the flash of a second and maybe it’s your quivering jaw that reveals you or the flint of betrayal in your eyes waiting to be struck and lit. Yes, you were wrong — Tom Riddle knows you at every atom too.

“Are you going to let me explain?" he asks before any hello. His jaw is tight but there’s nothing else to go on to judge his disposition. He's settling into impassivity like an animal drawing its shell. You will not be allowed in if you're going to make it hurt, and you might be the only one who can.

“Explain," you copy with a hard exhale, “Just tell me it wasn’t you. That’s all there is to say."

He stares at you. There’s nothing there.

“Tell me, Tom.”

Your breath catches on an automatic please but you don’t want to offer him that.

“I cannot.”

Then make me forget, you want to scream. Let it be summer. Let us work for pennies and breadcrumbs and be no one together.

It’s late winter and it’s too cold.

“You killed her,” you say quietly.

“If I told you I did not wish for it, would you even believe me?”

“What are you… so it was an accident?”

“There was — an opportunity presented itself that may never have come again; that does not mean I don’t find the nature of it regrettable.”

“Regrettable.” You’re laughing or crying or both, and you must look unwell. Halfway out of your mind.

He’s so composed in the face of it that it only makes you more incensed.

“You told me to change things —”

“You killed someone! Can you understand that?”

“You nearly died,” he hisses, “and if I am to apologise for recognizing it only as the first of many times, I will not. If I am to apologise for doing whatever is necessary to prevent it, I will not. The hand we were dealt will not be the hand we die to — so yes, I understand it. And one day so will you.”

“Don't," you spit, and your anger must look pathetic under your welling tears. “Don't you dare tell me that this was for me.”

“Do you want me to lie?”

“What could her death possibly bring me, Tom?”

“Her death is the first step to —”

“God, stop dancing around the fucking question!” Both hands have wound their way to your head, clutching at your skull like the brain matter might spill through one of the cracks he’s wearing down. “Just… tell me.”

“You recall Godelot's work," he says stiffly. The question of it takes you by surprise, peels the moment back like the rim of a fruit and you're left uncertain.

All you can do is nod, arms falling to cross over your chest.

“There was one form of magic he refused quite concisely to impart. I searched the Restricted Section for days, and under Dumbledore's watch that was not an easy thing to do."

You stole from him, you're urged to remind him, but it's something you'd say with a nudge of annoyance and a roll of your eyes. Such admonishment is small and far away.

“I found it at last in one of the repositories," he goes on, “Secrets of the Darkest Art."

“...What?"

“It's called a Horcrux,” he says. “Murder, by nature, splits the soul. The Horcrux simply makes use of the act; puts the soul fragment into something imperishable so that it is protected, rather than abandoned. In turn, your life cannot be taken. By malady, by magic, by sword — the vessel is destroyed but the soul lives on.”

You blink, feeling dizzy. “Myrtle was the sacrifice.”

“Myrtle was there,” Tom remedies.

“How lucky for you.”

“The circumstances could be ameliorated if one were to be made for you. I would have preferred it be someone who deserves it.”

“For — you’d do it again? Again, Tom?”

His brows crease, and even his upset seems contrived. There’s this barricade he’s placed that you, in all your infallible knowing of him, cannot puncture. It’s agony to begin to question what he could possibly be keeping from you in a confession like this.

“You killed someone, Tom. You — I would never ask you to do that. I would never live at the cost of someone else."

“No, you would not,” he agrees, though he shakes his head like it’s incredulous of you. “Do you think, even if I knew it were certain,  a summons from the Ministry would have stopped me from saving you this summer? Do you suppose the threat of punishment would cause me to waver at that moment? I know it would not hinder you. So, you have your lines and I have mine — you never needed to ask.”

And now it hurts. The emptiness clears and you can't stand yourself for crying, but you do. It comes out in ragged, breathless sobs, clasped behind your palm as you turn away from him. 

You've loved him since you were eleven. It's always been you two — it was always supposed to be you two. What is there to say to him? He's blurring in your periphery like in the midst of your sickness, and there's nothing he can do to heal you this time. Your vision will clear and Myrtle Warren will still be dead. He'll still be a stranger in the face of the boy you love. 

“Why," you whine, a wet, hollow stain in your voice you've never cried enough to hear before. “Myrtle was — wasn't — uh —" You swallow, hysterics severing your words. You can't really think right now. Your body wobbles and your head feels puffy and hot. This might be shock. 

Tom scowls like it irritates him to watch you push yourself, like this is just the unfortunate effect of you depleting your energy in a duel, not eating correctly, treating yourself carelessly. 

Of course you can't stand or talk or think. You're you, contemplating a life without him.

“Sit," he says in frustration. You smack his hand away when he reaches for you, but the world has turned a shade darker and you're slipping into it. 

He tugs a chair towards you with a silent charge and a reprimand, and your body doesn’t possess the wherewithal not to collapse into it the second it’s under you.

After a moment you can speak again, shaking hands steadied by your knees. “Did you… did you think I wouldn't find out? You know, the only thing that can petrify someone besides a serpent is a Gorgon. And — where would Rubeus Hagrid have found one of those?"

“I thought I would have time.”

“To come up with a good lie? Something I’d sympathise with?”

He bites his cheek. “Evidently the particulars matter little to you.”

Fuck him. “Fuck you.”

“Very cogent.”

“No, fuck you, Tom. We could have — we only had a year left and then we could — we could've done anything we wanted." You're crying again. You don't have the energy to be embarrassed. “And you chose this."

He’s indignant as he steps closer. “With what money? For what life? We are better than all of them and it’s never mattered. It never will; you know that. You told me that. You’re angry now, but you must know the truth of it. I would not forsake you. I would not lose you.”

You blink up at him, mouth stuck with some cottony feeling and cheeks stiff from crying.

“You have lost me, Tom."

He stills as if suspended. Some maceration must follow but it doesn’t.

You stand on weak legs to look him in the eyes. You wonder if he can see the love in yours. You wonder if he knows you will walk away despite it. (Of course he does. You’ve never lied to him.) 

You think about how his fingers seem to always find their way to your cheek and you put yours to his. The bone there is sharp, but the skin is soft. Boyish. 

There isn't a word for a goodbye like this. It shouldn't exist and so it doesn't. You just leave.

You fail your N.E.W.T courses. Quite spectacularly.

Mari sits beside you on the train with a soothing hand on your shoulder, and doesn’t ask what’s rendered you into a comatose husk since March. There’s no crying. You chew numbly on soft caramels from the trolley and stare out the window onto the hills.

That summer is spent in your bedroom unless you’re forced elsewhere. A new girl with skin so white it’s nearly translucent sleeps in the bed beside yours, taking meals on trays like you did in your first days here, tracing the cracks in the tiles, humming to herself in the dark. She makes you feel less pathetic for doing much the same. 

You’d been right in your assumption that there would be more dead upon your return, and wrong that there would be more empty rooms. There are always more orphans being made.

And then you receive a letter. It isn’t delivered by owl (only for secrecy, you assume, because there are no muggles who’d be writing to you) but it’s stamped with a vaguely familiar crest. Not Hogwarts’ waxen seal, but something undoubtedly magical. A cockroach and a cup, you think, squinting. Transfiguration.

You tear the envelope open and pull the letter out.

It’s from Dumbledore. Some of it melds together, but the key words stand out.

Spoken to Dippet… Exceptional promise… N.E.W.Ts… May be reconsidered… Upon dispensation… Be well.

Be well.

You are not. You are something half-drowned and half-burned, never enough of one to quell the effects of the other. Sunlight is sparse through your side of the orphanage. On the radio, they warn a pattern of one bomb every second hour. The only other warning is the sound when they fly overhead, and if you can’t run fast enough —

You write your answer in a crowded tube station with a spotty ballpoint pen. Tom is there, looking between you, the dust, and your shaking hands as if to say: tell me I was wrong.

Some of your letter melds together but the key words stand out.

Thank you, Sir. Whatever you need.

It’s a shock that you live to seventh year. It’s a shock that you do it without him — though he watches, and in his gaze you feel regressed. You’re alive, yes, but there’s something there… his dead weight, death-grip; his haunting. They always speak of the dead as something heavy. Something that holds onto you even after it’s gone.

You find that to be true.

Dippet’s condition that you remain in Dumbledore’s N.E.W.T class is that you achieve more than the standard requirement. Essentially, your final exam will be much harder than everyone else's: Human Transfiguration, mastery of petty Transformation (through the means of Wizard’s Chess pieces), Conjuration and Vanishment of various delicate objects — all done nonverbally.

Even Dumbledore seems sceptical, but it translates to more rigorous practise rather than resignation, assignments he doesn’t even task to Mari, though she’s just as good, and you can’t begin to understand why he cares so much. 

“I’ll entrust you with these while I’m away,” he says before Christmas break, sliding a sheet of parchment your way with a flick of his wand.

You frown, unfolding it. His instructions are always short now — you’ve learned to decode his meaning well enough without much exposition. 

Teacup to gerbil — to cat, and inverse.

Inanimatus Conjurus spell (cockroach and cup, as instructed) to be Vanished when perfected.

Study Antar’s Doctrine. Miss Wright will act as your partner.

Due February.

It’s far too much to be done in that time. “Sir?”

Dumbledore lugs a messenger bag over his shoulder that appears small, but he carries it in such a way you suspect it’s magically extended. He smiles wistfully, pushing his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. “You know, I often regret how much this war asks of me. A consequence of my own doing.”

Right — Grindelwald. Sometimes you forget between awaiting the next muggle paper. War is everywhere.

You nod. “I hope… Good luck, Sir.”

Another half-smile as he twists open a jar of Floo Powder, and then he shakes his head with something you almost decipher as amusement. A brittle sort. Tired. “Good luck to you.”

And then he’s gone, in a swath of green flames that do nothing to inspire any desire for Floo travel in you.

Antar’s Doctrine is simultaneously prosaic and grandiose. They read like excerpts of a journal and you yawn into them over your morning tea, stirring amongst the first-years, who are the only people at the Slytherin table you can stand to sit with. Your blood status is apparently nullified by your age, and the worst they do is look at you funny. You aren’t sure what Abraxas’s — Tom’s (the new hierarchy never fails to stagger you) — lackeys would do if you sat with the other seventh-years instead. A part of you longs to know. They certainly don’t bother you in class the way they used to, you aren’t tripped in the corridors, but you wonder how far Tom’s influence can stretch. He is the Heir of Slytherin, and he’s earned them. But you are nothing.

You’d like it if he would let them hurt you. You think the incentive would be enough to hurt him back. And God — God, you want to. You want to hurt him almost as much as you want him.

You practise through the doctrine with Mari, as Dumbledore directed. When you’re able to sever Antar’s egotism from his abilities, you can see why Dumbledore would recommend his book to you. It feels like slipping through a crack in glass without shattering the whole thing. You weave in and back out, and Mari grins when she returns from the shape of a teapot to her body without you needing to utter a word to do it.

In the back of your mind, you’re aware what you’re doing is nearly unprecedented. It’s spring, you’re months away from eighteen, muggle-born, and mastering nonverbal Human Transfiguration like it’s a Softening Charm. Mari tells you you’re the smartest person she’s ever met. It makes your cheeks go hot to hear such open praise, worse when you snap out of the thought that you believe her.

Grindelwald falls. The school celebrates in whispers until the evidence is in front of them — Dumbledore, returned without a scar, a new wand in his hand — and then they’re cheers. The feast that night is a great one, and he toasts to you from the end of the staff table, a discreet tilt of his cup before he takes a sip and returns to converse with Professor Merrythought.

You take from your own, and your eyes land on Tom, spine of his goblet tight in his hand. He’s looking at you like you’ve affronted him somehow. You could laugh — by choosing Dumbledore. Of course. As if it was a choice at all.

But if it bothers him… if it feels anything at all like the betrayal you felt, then — good.

You drink, and don’t look away.

By the time your N.E.W.T.s arrive you have a renewed confidence that you’ll succeed, even with the obstacle of performing each exam wordlessly.

There are only twelve students who came out of your sixth year class, so to divide resources for the tests is no grand task. You’re given a Wizard’s Chess set, a desk with assorted vases and goblets, an intricate epergne (you had to whisper to Mari to learn its name), and a Ministry worker borrowed like some laboratory mouse. You suppose it makes sense, though — you’re all capable enough of Human Transfiguration not to mutilate anyone, and performing on a classmate could obfuscate the results. It’s far easier to Transfigure someone you know than someone you don’t.

You start with the chess set, Dumbledore and the Ministry worker observing you as you turn pawns to knights and rooks to kings, the minutiae of the pieces drawing sweat to your brow. They change, and change, and change, and you don’t mutter an incantation once. The Ministry worker puts the set away and directs you to the glass. You Switch the vases with the goblets, Vanish them, and Conjure them again. The Ministry worker takes notes. Dumbledore nods affirmatively at you and you can exhale. The epergne is the hardest; so kitschy and elaborate you don’t know where to start when you’re tasked to Transform it into an animal. 

An animal — like that isn’t the vaguest instruction you’ve ever received.

You look at it on the desk, mirrors and glass and gold on protracted arms, and you go for the first thing you think of because the Ministry worker is staring at you like you’re inept and you see it in his eyes — this is the muggle-born one, this one can’t do it. 

You’re better than them. You can do it forever.

The epergne spins at the dip of your wand, and emerges more than an animal. A big glass tank appears in its place, round and gold-rimmed, water lapping at the sides. Inside it is a jellyfish. Emerald green, bobbing, tentacles and oral arms coiling against the glass like the limbs of the epergne had spanned its centre.

The Ministry worker swallows. Dumbledore smiles.

“And — and back?” the worker says, like that will be the thing that stops you.

You point again, mouth tight with irritation, and reverse the Transformation. A droplet of water smacks your face and you’re lucky to be so hot you can disguise it as sweat. You suspect even an error that small would cost you a mark.

You wipe it away. A strange thing happens; you imagine Tom brushing the water from your cheek at the Black Lake. You imagine his fingers in the rain.

The Ministry worker steps closer with a shameless frown. He tells you to turn his hair red. You do. He regards himself in the mirror and scribbles something down. He tells you to turn it back. You do. To grow him a beard, to change his clothes, to make him taller, shorter, this and that — all read from a list he does not appear enthused to recite. You do it all.

He shakes Dumbledore’s hand when it’s done, duplicates his notes for him to keep, and follows the other Ministry workers through the fireplace when everyone’s exams are finished.

You find out you’ve passed with an Outstanding on your birthday.

Mari drags you to the Three Broomsticks to celebrate, butterbeers on her. (They always are.)

“Can’t believe we’re about to graduate,” she says into her cup, froth on her upper lip.

You sigh into your own, partially giddy and mostly nervous.

Mari squeezes your face between her thumb and finger so your frown is puckered. “Chin up, genius. You’ll be excellent.”

You push her hand away but can’t help a small smile. “Outstanding,” you correct.

“Outstanding!” She bursts out laughing. “Bloody ego on you now…”

“Well, I am the smartest person you know.”

“I take that back.”

She pushes out of her chair with a slightly inebriated wobble. “Going to the loo. Don’t touch my chips.”

Your hands raise in surrender, and you steal only one when she’s gone.

You aren’t the only ones here to celebrate. (Your birthday and your mutual achievement, yes, but the Three Broomsticks is filled wall-to-wall with seventh years drinking their final nights at school away.) There’s music charmed to reach every corner, even yours at the little alcove hidden from plain sight. It’s nice to watch from here — the stumbling, the kisses meant for mouths that land drunkenly on cheeks and noses, the barkeeps that roll their eyes as soon as they turn away from all the newly adult customers, not yet learned or careless in their drinking manners.

It is not nice to be occluded from plain sight in such a way that you don’t notice Tom Riddle until he’s inches away from your table. It is not nice that no one else notices either.

On instinct you don’t make any impressive exit. He slides into the booth next to you and your brain short circuits for a moment at the warm familiarity of his presence beside you. Then it occurs that it’s been more than a year since this was remotely commonplace — that you cannot forget the reason why.

There’s not much time to decide whether you want to be vicious or indifferent or to debate on past precedent which would bother him more. You haven’t attacked him despite being concealed enough to do it unnoticed, and you haven’t shoved furiously out of the other side of the booth.

Indifferent it is. 

“Can I help you?”

“You’re causing quite the stir,” he says, taking one of Mari’s chips.

You’re allowed. It’s infuriating when he does it.

“Am I?”

“It’s enough to fail a N.E.W.T level class and be expressly petitioned back, but to have a special criteria set for your exams and manage an O on top of it all…” He inclines his head as if to appreciate your face so close after so long. You should not let him. “You are incomprehensible. It terrifies them.”

“They’re afraid of the wrong mudblood, then, aren’t they?”

Indifference effaced. You’re angry.

He seems to have come prepared, and shrugs your scorn off like a scarf you would have forced him to wear winters ago. “Of course, they have no reason to suspect Dumbledore might have ulterior motives.”

Ulterior — you certainly hope he isn’t suggesting this is based on anything but your merit, but then — you couldn’t begin to understand why Dumbledore cared so much, could you? You’d made brief inspections of his disdain for Tom in second year, his waning shades of kindness and the matter of his stolen encyclopaedia, but you hadn’t… you hadn’t thought at all about how his dedication to your progress only begun after you’d stopped sharing a class with Tom, how it had developed as you began to drift from one another in fifth year and accelerated in sixth after the first petrification and Myrtle’s death. How Tom had worn you down with a weighted glare at Dumbledore’s little toast.

It wasn’t because you had chosen Dumbledore, you realise. It was because Dumbledore had chosen you.

“Why don’t you worry about your pets, Riddle?” you snarl, “I’m sure there are bigger problems with your lot than my exam results.”

Something in his face shifts at the name. You swell with distorted pride.

He mends the reaction by looking you over in more detail, his features schooled into something he must know you can’t deduce. You try not to squirm under the intensity of it.

He reaches almost mindlessly for your collar (there is nothing mindless about it, you’re sure) and smooths the fabric gently with his fingers. “I always liked you in this colour.”

You blink. His thumb just barely brushes against the skin of your neck before retreating, and your mouth falls open.

“Don’t do that,” you say. Truly a sad attempt. Your repulsion is more with yourself than him, and that’s not at all right.

Where is Mari?

“Your friend was at the bar, last I saw her.”

You stare at him with wild eyes. How the hell — ?

“You were always easy to read,” he supplies, and leans in so you can follow his line of sight to the tiniest sliver of the bar visible between two columns, where Mari looks deeply engaged in conversation with Leo Ndiaye, one of the Gryffindor Chasers.

You take a sharp, exasperated breath at her antics. She might be more in love with the competition than the boy himself. They’d never last without Quidditch to bind them, but you can’t fault her for wanting a bit of fun.

“Well then —” 

Right. Tom hasn’t actually moved away. You turn and his face is just there.

His eyes dart forthwith to your mouth, and — no. No, he won’t be doing that and neither will you.

“...I’m off to bed.” Stop talking to him like he’s your friend, you think miserably. Stop looking at him like he’s your —

“That would be wise.”

He’s still looking at your lips.

No one else is looking at you at all.

It could exist in just this moment, you deliberate; separate from everything else.

Except nothing about Tom exists in its own moment. He’s all over you all the time, skin and bone and soul. You hope you still have a place in the broken fragments of his.

“So I’ll be going now,” you say again.

“I haven’t protested.”

But he’s leaning in, and he has to know that’s impedance enough.

“But you will.”

His lips touch yours. “Yes, I will.”

You grab him by his shirt and you’re kissing him. You’re kissing each other like either of you know what the hell it means to kiss anyone, but you’ve learned the rest together, haven’t you? Your noses bump and you don’t care. You just need to kiss him, and — God, you make some noise against his mouth and the hand cupping your face spreads to capture more of you, greedy and wayward — he needs to kiss you too. It’s a horrible thing to know. It leads you to pose too many questions.

The need must have begun as want, and when did the want begin? How long has he looked at you and wondered what you’d feel like to kiss, touch, mark? (He’ll never have the latter. You swear that.)

You’re pulling away in intervals. “You don’t have me, you know.”

“I know,” he responds, lips on the corner of yours.

“You still lost me.”

“I know.”

“I hate you.”

He pauses for a moment. “I know.”

You kiss him again. Long and soft, memorising his cupid’s bow and the tip of his tongue, and when one of his hands moves to your waist you part from him like you’ve been burned.

“I —” You resist the urge to touch a finger to your lips, standing abruptly from the table and adjusting your shirt. Your body feels like an evolutionarily faulty vessel, too easy to please, though you can’t imagine it responding to anyone else this way. Or perhaps your mind is the problem. Not wired well enough to resist an evidently bad thing. “Goodnight, Tom.”

You thought there wasn’t a word for your goodbye, but that’s it. So simple it sinks you. Goodnight, Tom. I’ll dream of a morning where I wake up beside you, but you won’t be there.

He grabs your hand before you can go, licking his lips and it haunts you to think he’s savouring you. It stings a place deep in your chest you’d spent all year trying to heal.

“My door is always open,” he says.

He lets you go.

You graduate with Mari’s hand in yours, and you aren’t afraid.

Dumbledore requests that you stay for the summer to help him prepare for the first year’s curriculum in the fall. It’s a ridiculous opportunity for someone your age — free lodgings and a stellar impression on your resume, and — you can only accept it with an ire you haven’t felt since the spread of influenza in muggle Britain.

If he’s offering you lodgings now, he could have done it all along.

It sends you down a horrible train of thought while you move your things from the Slytherin dormitories to a little chamber a few doors down from the staff room; Tom will be removed from Wool’s this year. Will he stay at Malfoy Manor? But Tom is still publicly muggle-born — Abraxas’s parents would never allow it. Will he find a job, a flat? Will he swindle muggles once he turns eighteen and the Trace is no longer an obstruction?

You think of him often. You think of his offer.

My door is always open.

Plenty of doors are open to you now. Why should you want to go back to his?

Still, the Second World War ends in November and you feel like you can breathe at a depth you never could before. The school doesn’t celebrate like it did with Grindelwald. No one but you seems to care at all.

It’s a tempting door.

The year passes in a blur of graded papers and lessons Dumbledore sometimes involves you in and sometimes does not. Most of the first-years care little for you, but there are two Slytherin muggle-borns who look at you like a new sun to orbit. Everything is worth it for that.

You see Mari when you can, and find she’s training with the Italian Quidditch team, who apparently are smart enough to care more about skill than blood. She says she misses the complexities of Transfiguration, but any career in it was always going to be yours. Smartest person she knows, she reiterates. Biggest ego too.

The next summer Dumbledore informs you of a posting at the Ministry. Something small with a smaller wage. He emphasises the weight of his personal recommendation, but that you won’t be respected unless you claw tooth and nail for it. You don’t take long to consider a chance to make an actual income with an actual career doing something muggle-borns simply don’t do before you’re nodding assuredly and asking him what you need.

Better clothes are first, and all you can afford until further notice. You take to Gladrags with intent to purchase for the first time in your five years of wandering in the shop with eyes bigger than your wallet, and the owner looks at you with distrust when you slide her your sickles.

The Ministry job is truly, infinitesimally, insignificant. 

It’s far down in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. You’re a glorified secretary, and you recall the few times you’d worked as a mail-sorter during the war. It’s some sick irony that you’ve landed yourself in a pile of paper once more.

But the money, though offensively scant to someone with better options (and it’s infuriating the options you deserve), is more than you’ve ever had, and within the next year you’re able to leave the castle and take a cheap room at an inn in Hogsmeade. You’re close enough to Dumbledore to aid him when he needs you, but far enough to feel like your school days are departed, and you need not worry about memories lurching unexpectedly at every corridor. 

A sick part of you still reaches for your mouth sometimes to remember what it felt like to be kissed. That part of you wishes for Tom. You could kiss him into oblivion. You could find a way to make it hurt him back.

My door is always open.

Then you’ll slam it bloody closed.

Mari invites you to her first professional game and you cheer for her in the stands, a green, white, and red scarf around your neck in place of her old blue.

She wins and you get drinks in a muggle pub. You kiss a man at the bar. You go home with him. His hair is dark, but not dark enough. His lips are soft, but the shape is wrong. He makes you feel good, but you wonder if in another life, the dream is true; you roll over in the morning to Tom beside you, and he makes you feel better.

When you can find time between the monotonous demands of your job, you’re in the Transfiguration classroom, staying behind to help the Slytherin muggle-borns with their Switching spells.

It’s one stupid accident the next fall that changes things.

A muggle bank has been robbed, and whatever idiotic, panicked witch or wizard was behind it apparently found themselves incapable of getting the deed done with a simple Imperius Curse (you can’t imagine, based on the scene, that they’re above Unforgivables), and somehow ended up leaving the building half-charred and teeming with at least six bank tellers Transformed into birds, two chirping into the floor tiles with broken wings.

“Renauld’s on it, though,” your coworker says when the news finds your department.

“Renauld?”

He’s a year older than you, a pureblood with parents in high places, and endlessly fucking hopeless.

“Well, yeah —”

You push out from your desk, files fluttering behind you. “Renauld will expose the whole damn wizarding world if he touches that building.”

“But McCormack sent him.”

“Where is it?”

“I… McCormack said that —”

“Where is it, Flack?”

“Um. Um, near King William, I think. Moorgate or, um —”

That’s good enough. You toss the Floo Powder into the fireplace and go.

The place is a mess. You don’t even have to look for it. There’s some ward around the street, bouncing muggles away like an invisible end to a map they don’t even register is there. At least that’s handled right.

But you slip through it and curse under your breath at the muggles trapped inside the wards. They’re like fish prodding at the dome of their bowl, and some run up to you demanding explanations when they see you unaffected by it. You brush them off — Obliviation is not your strong-suit — though you do shout at a pair of DMAC wizards uselessly standing guard outside the bank.

“What the hell are you doing?” you ask on approach. “Renauld’s supposed to handle the inside, yeah? You deal with fixing them.”

You point toward the frantic muggles, and the officials just regard you with vague confusion at your presence. “Renauld said —”

“Oh my God! Fix. The muggles.”

You afford nothing else before pushing past them to enter the bank.

It’s quite impressive, actually; Renauld, the result of generations of foolproof breeding, is waving his wand around like he’s just stepped out of Olivanders for the first time.

“Heal their wings,” you say without greeting.

Renauld jumps. “What? What are you doing here?”

“Heal their damn wings. They’re easier than human limbs and healing magic’s the only thing you aren’t completely shit at.”

“Who authorised you?” he hisses.

“I did.”

In hindsight, it should have gone horrifically wrong. Your wand could have been taken and your life might have been over in all ways that matter, flung back into the muggle world where you’ve always been told you belong.

But Renauld vouches for you. You Transform the walls, you fix the burns, you mend the bank to something presentable. A muggle robbery — dangerous, financially tragic, but believable. And your suggestion to heal the injured bank tellers in their animal forms might be the thing that saved them. When Renauld mends their wings and regenerates their blood, you Untransfigure them, and the other DMAC officials alter their memories with haste.

You were completely out of line and utterly right.

It isn’t something people like you are allotted.

Your probation period is dreadful. You hide in your room at the inn most days, Vanishing little stained panes on your window to feel the warm breeze of air before you Conjure them again. You help grade papers, though Dumbledore is displeased with you and the night is a silent one. He assures you curtly that he’s doing his best with the Ministry to amend this.

And… he does.

With Renauld’s help and the corroboration of the other DMAC officials, you’re back at work by the start of the school year.

It’s a slow process — almost eight months of meaningless paperwork — before the next incident occurs and you’re hectically ushered to the scene like a belated understudy. And then it happens again. And again. And again.

There’s really no choice but to promote you.

Your heroics are torn from a Gryffindor cloth, so says Flack. You urge him never to say such a thing again.

By your twenty-first birthday, you think about Tom almost exclusively in your sleep. You’re much too busy to think about him anywhere else.

The summer is warm and Hogsmeade is lively. You’ve vacated your room at the inn for a little house on the outskirts of the village, decorating it how you like — discovering what you like. You’d never had a chance to find out before.

Mari visits when she can once you have your fireplace connected to the Floo Network (you yourself prefer Apparating) but her name is slowly working its way from the Italian papers to the British ones, and she has so much to tell you there isn’t possibly enough time in her days to tell it. There’s also the matter of Leo Ndiaye, who has, recently, gotten on one knee and proposed to her. If there had been a bet on them ending up together, you would have been out enough galleons to put you in debt.

After especially gruesome days at work, you and a few colleagues make a habit of getting sherries at the Siren’s Tail, complaining that sometimes the nature of your work is akin to an auror’s but without the notoriety and pay.

“Oh, please,” says Emilia Alves, twirling her straw, “have you seen the shit the aurors are up to lately? I’d rather be a blimmin’ Unspeakable.”

“You’d have to be able to keep your mouth shut for that, Alves.”

Emilia punches Renauld in the arm.

“What are the aurors up to?” Flack asks.

“I dunno much. There was a murder all the way in Albania, s’posedly. Reeked of dark magic.”

“Nothing new,” you join, and then frown. “Why’s our Ministry dealing with it though?”

“I dunno. I got word from Hillicker that the Albanians didn’t know what to make of the mess. They’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Hillicker’s not a source,” Renauld scoffs.

“Yeah? Why don’t you ask your daddy for something better?”

“Alves, I’ll have you know —”

You lean in over the counter. “What do you mean they’ve never seen anything like it?”

She grins. “Why? Storming a bank robbery wasn’t exciting enough for you?”

You roll your eyes, taking a drink.

That ought to be the end of it. One extraordinarily lucky incident to push you up the career ladder was rare enough — there is absolutely no way digging around a case that has nothing to do with you or your department could ever end well.

But something about it itches.

You make nice with Hillicker. She’s a year younger than you and far too kind for her own good, and she gushes freely about her husband’s work as an auror (they must be a perfect match for him to gush freely about it with her). It’s a bit manipulative. You have no excellent excuse for it, but… ambition, and all that, you suppose. Flack’s Gryffindor theory is studded with holes.

You are green, through and through.

Emilia’s updates are meaningless when you garner so much information that you’ve already heard everything she has to say over drinks, and at this point her and Hillicker might be a step behind you. Emilia still only knows about Albania; peppery little details of half a story. Hillicker discusses an assortment of murders with no real string between them, and Dumbledore regards you with cool heeding when you bring up the matter with him.

You see him little nowadays but you’ve never been close in any true sense, traces of resentment budding over the years like rainwater collects on glass until the stream finally slips.

You visit Hogwarts mostly for your Slytherins, fourteen or fifteen now, unafraid of the distinction of their blood.

And then there’s one night after you turn twenty-two where drinks take place at yours for a change, Mari and Leo included and happily wed. You have no sherries but your ale is just as well, and it’s only you and Renauld who are sober by the time everyone else is vanishing into the fireplace and going home.

That makes it much worse when you sleep together. 

There’s no excuse of having had a glass too many — so sorry, I’ll be on my way then, and him stumbling over his trousers to get out of your hair. Of course, he does that anyway, scratching the nape of his neck when he reaches your doorway in the morning.

“Thanks for the — well, you have a nice home — I do think I should —”

“Yes.”

“Right.”

“Oh!” He turns around at the last second. “Er — I know you’ve become a tad obsessed with… Hillicker mentioned another, anyway. Hepzibah something. Killed by her own elf, the aurors suspect.”

“Oh,” you echo, sheets pulled up to your shoulders. “Thanks, Renauld.”

“I thought you might like to know. Don’t be daft about it.”

You’re incredibly daft about it.

There’s something reminiscent about Albania in this case that wasn’t there with the others. The tide of dark magic ebbing across the scene, the cherry-picked information released in the Prophet, the claim of an old, dumb House Elf who poisoned her mistress like the Albanian peasant killed in some insoluble accident. 

The itch exacerbates.

You see him in your dreams again. He peers over Runes in a stolen encyclopaedia, he whispers to an adder on his shoulder, he kisses the corner of your mouth and it isn’t enough. He kills you, again and again. You kill him too.

You wake up and he isn’t there.

It’s a new low when you’re invited to the Hillicker’s anniversary dinner and you end up digging through the drawers of their study halfway through the night.

The Albania file offers nearly nothing. There was the charred residue of dark magic imprinted on a hollow tree in the fields of the peasant’s hamlet, but nothing detailing more than a blank imprint of the Killing Curse in his eyes. Still, you tuck the knowledge away for the file of one Hebzibah Smith, whose tea did indeed have traces of poison, but whose den was also ripe with a layer of darkness that didn’t line up with the Ministry’s tale of senile elf.

And then there’s the forgotten matter of her being a purveyor of ancestral artefacts. The file doesn’t recount whether any are missing, since the woman was wise enough not to proclaim all her possessions to the world, but it’s something. A scratch.

You travel to Albania that Christmas. The neighbours in the peasant’s hamlet have skewed memories, so they provide little help, but the man’s house was left almost untouched.

You tear the place apart and Transfigure it back together when you’re done.

All you find, in the end, is a scrap of an old envelope in a suitcase.

R.R

It could be that it’s old. The cursive seems ancient enough. But you swear the letters have the distinct shape of quill ink — too artful for any pen — and maybe that wouldn’t matter if it weren’t for half a wax seal stuck to the torn edge of the envelope. Stained but silver, the barest hint of two ribbons, a crest, and the letter H.

You return to Hogwarts posthaste.

It’s snowing in the courtyards and you waddle with a duotang under one arm to pretend you’re here for something scholarly, an array of excuses prepared in case you run into Dumbledore, but you don’t.

The Grey Lady is as beautiful as she’s rumoured to be. 

You ask her about her mother, and she’s silent, an expression on her face like you’ve struck her.

“Is it found?” she whispers. The snow floats through her.

Your heart hammers as you consider how to approach this. She thinks you know more than you do, which means there’s something to know.

“Yes,” you say. And you dare further with the context you know, “In Albania.”

“Oh,” she hums. “Oh…”

And if she means to say more she doesn’t seem able, washing away through the balusters, then the walls. You think of your house ghost and what he did to her, and you feel sorry for a second.

Madam Palles expels you from the library the moment you find what you’re looking for, and you rush past a throng of staring students to the staff room fireplace. It’s too far a walk to the border of the castle wards to Apparate. You bite back the preemptive sickness, get swallowed by the flames, and go home.

There are blanks to fill in but you do it easily. Rowena Ravenclaw’s diadem. Hepzibah Smith and her assortment of unregistered artefacts. The stain of dark magic. Something so rare not even the aurors recognized it.

But you do, because he told you.

You wonder on your search to find him what object he used when he killed Myrtle Warren. Nothing special, you think — maybe even the closest thing he could find. These murders involved more preparation. He got to mark them however he wanted.

It’s almost disappointing to find him here. In a little flat over Knockturn Alley with a view of charmed coalsmoke and the brick wall of another shop. 

It’s as tidy as his room at Wool’s, the only dirt the irremediable age of the building itself. The whole place looks almost slanted, large enough only for the bare necessities; a kitchen, a toilet, a bedroom that looks more like a closet, and a study/dining room/den you can’t imagine he hosts many gatherings in. You rescind the mere thought. Whatever gatherings Tom Riddle is having these days, you’re sure you can’t begin to imagine at all.

You wait, legs crossed on an old loveseat, fiddling with your wand.

The door clicks open when the snow has turned to hail and there’s no light but the few scattered candles you’d lit on the mantelpiece. 

It strikes you only when he’s standing before you that it’s his birthday.

You’re in Tom Riddle’s flat, on his birthday, adorned by the orange glow of half-melted candles, and you know everything.

He eyes you carefully, a hint of surprise at the sight of you after four years that even he needs a second to recover from. And then he's even, inscrutable Riddle again, and you dare to think, come back.

“I placed wards," he says, hanging his bag on a rack by the wall.

“I thought your door was always open.”

You see his posture change from just his silhouette.

“Wards never work in Knockturn,” you offer additionally, “not really. There's too much conflicting magic; one border cuts into another; leaves a little sliver behind if you’re smart enough to find it. You should know that." 

He turns to you. You take in a moment to acknowledge how he's changed. It's hard to see in the curtained moonlight, and it seems unreasonable to imagine he’s grown, but you think he has. An inch taller, perhaps. Two. Maybe the dress shoes. His arms are bigger under his button-down, but not enough to consider him muscular. His black hair isn't as perfect as you remember, and you suspect a long day of work undoes his curls. You always liked him better that way in school, after a night duel at the Black Lake, his robes askew and his hair a mess. Evidence that you were the only one to dishevel him. Now you were — what? Did he even think of you anymore? Yes. You'd always think of each other.

“Duly noted. What are you here for?” He tries your surname like a foreign language.

You cross your arms, and you're acutely aware that he's observing your changes too. You're not the matchstick witch he once knew. Your emotions are cultured now, taut to mirror his. You wear dull, formal grey, and that glowing green tinge that should be gleaming on you is under a thick carapace. That’s for Mari, Flack, Emilia — even Renauld. Not for Tom.

You wonder if he knows it was Dumbledore who put in the word that got you this uniform. You wonder if he resents you for it.

“There’s been talk at the Ministry," you say finally, “A string of murders. Whispers of something — some dark magic they don’t understand. And you know they're careful about things like that after Grindelwald."

“A string of murders... Hm. That might imply you understand a connective thread. Is there some sort of accusation being made?”

“Oh, I'm sure you'd be flattered by accusations. There’s not enough there, as it stands. Just whispers." You sink more comfortably in the seat and the springs make a concerning sound. “But I know you."

His hard, sharp gaze falters for a moment. You watch the flames dance behind him, the firelight playing against the lines of his shoulders, and feel your heart skip a beat. “Who else is speculating?"

“No one." Your fingers brush over the book spines on the coffee table. “I guess their attention hasn't been drawn to a book clerk yet, even if you have taken residency... here." You say it with no shortage of disapproval. 

Knockturn was never where Tom belonged. You'd once imagined a flat together in muggle London, taking the telephone booth to the Ministry together, changing the world together. It's a wish that's a lifetime away now.

“Is this a warning? I assure you, I don’t need the condescension.”

“I'm not warning you," you scoff, “I — I'm seeing you. God knows I'll probably never get the chance to do that again once you get yourself locked up in Azkaban, which you will." 

You sound exasperated. You sound half-pleading. “What are you doing, Tom? Is this — this is really what you want?"

“Yes."

You shake your head. “I don't believe that." And then some of that fiery spit returns to you, and you feel like a child again, stuck in the London tube stations holding his hand at every plane that flew overhead, scowling that you needed his reassurance. Scowling that you were afraid.

“Well, your conjecture is ever-appreciated. Shall I lend you mine? Shall I congratulate you on your revolutionary position at the Ministry? Or is it Dumbledore I should afford my thanks?”

“I earned this,” you hiss.

“You deserve it,” he amends. “But do not lie to yourself and pretend that’s why you have it.”

“Fuck you.”

He smiles. “There you are.”

“I don’t need your congratulations, Riddle. Dumbledore doesn’t need your damn thanks. But,” you say, biting back the snarl that wants out, “you could thank me. After all, I could turn to the Ministry any minute with the truth of your heritage. I could tell them about Myrtle, the Horcrux — Horcruxes.”

The humour dissolves from his face and you despise the immense glee it brings you.

“Oh, did you think I didn’t know? Didn’t understand the connective thread? You are sentimental under all that… fucking posturing, you know. I’m sure it’s all very romantic to you — making Horcruxes out of Hogwarts artefacts. Shame it’s such an insult to your intelligence.”

“Very good,” he says after a long, terse silence. You’re sure he’s thinking just the opposite.

You hum, meddling with your nails. “So what’s your plan?”

“I’d need a Vow for that.”

You laugh. “I’m not that desperate.”

“You’re also not an auror, are you?” He tilts his head appraisingly. “And yet you’ve found your way here.”

“How many do you plan to make? How many people do you plan to kill?”

“A Vow.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Tea, then? Biscuits?”

“Oh, I shouldn’t. I read in the paper the other day about a poor old woman who had her tea poisoned.”

“Hm. Terrible shame.”

Your fist clenches around your wand. “Is it paying off well, Riddle? It must be a good life if you’re willing to split your soul to hell and back to have more of it.”

He smiles at the barb in your words. “You never were good with subtlety.”

“I wasn’t trying to be subtle. This place is horrific.”

“I was referring to your inability to see more than what’s directly in front of you.”

“Oh, really? And what more should I see than a boy who’s very good at getting weak men to bow and do very little else? I’d try to see the bigger picture, but I reckon it wouldn’t fit in here.”

Tom regards you colourlessly. You are slate, Ministry-grey, impermeable like palace portcullis. 

“I suppose I should have killed you.” He says it with the nonchalance of a forgotten chore. He says it like you’re a stain. 

He doesn’t say it like he feels any terrible urgency to remove you; and you think, this time, you’d feel more powerful if he did. You think it’s far more debilitating to sit here and be looked at like he regrets wanting you alive more than he wants you dead.

“Yes,” you concur, “I suppose you should have.” 

You place your wand down on the table and scoot your chair away for good measure. “It’s never too late to rectify your mistakes.”

Tom, for a moment, looks surprised. That makes you feel powerful. You’d take more of that.

“You have wandless magic,” he tries. A weak recovery.

“Scout’s honour, Riddle.”

He doesn’t move for a moment, then fixes his wand in his hand and rises, doused in the same inscrutable calm that always used to drive you mad. Now something in you gleams with the knowledge that he only ever looks like this when he’s trying not to look like anything at all.

He steps closer and it gleams brighter. It trembles inside you and you know, distantly, that this is insane. You’re weighing your life on a childhood trust that was shattered years ago, and you don’t think you’ve ever been that good at faith, but he’s approaching you and that gleam you feel is reflected in his eyes and you just… know. Your spilled blood once crawled with his. There’s no undoing that. Half of you is made of the other.

“I should have killed you,” he repeats.

It’s a murmur. Stilted. Angry, even. Angry that you made him this and there’s no fucking rectifying it — what a joke that is. What an immensely you thing to suggest.

“Yes,” you agree.

It’s a breath. Low. Proud, even. Proud that you’re his only mistake and he’s going to make it again.

Tom kisses you. It’s a murder of its own kind. You kiss him back, and — you were always going to kill each other like this, weren’t you? It’s you and him whether you like it or not.

There should be no love in it. You know that. Love is far behind the both of you, stifled in a gasp at the back of your throat on your eighteenth birthday and the soft, selfish hands of a seventeen year old boy. This is mutual destruction. Spite and teeth and skin that’s cold under your fingers.

He was your first in everything but this.

You push back at him and feel the hunger, the need in him, like a flame as he kisses you deeper and harder, and you find yourself losing yourself to it all over again, like you're back in the dark alcove of a pub where you told him goodbye, pushing to extend the juncture. And then he lets out a hitched, gravelly sound; not a moan but enough to make you shudder.

You pull him onto the sofa and crawl onto his lap.

“How long?” he asks thickly.

You don’t have to ask what he means. You bite against his neck, nails under his shirt as you struggle to pop the buttons open. There must be a violence in all your want for him because if there isn't it's just loss. It's just another thing you'll give him without taking anything back. 

“Sixth year," you pant, “in the Deathday ballroom when we fought for the first time. You — ah — you put your thumb on my mouth. Since then."

You hear a sharp intake of breath, and his hand moves up your back to pull you impossibly closer. His voice is ragged. “Should I tell you how long I’ve wanted you?"

You shudder a breath. “Since —" And it's a bit hard to talk with the way he's rolling your hips — “Since when?"

His lips twitch into a mirthless smile, hands spanning your thighs as you start to rock against him. “When you burned me, and I sent you into the lake." 

You swallow, agonised by the slow pace his grip forces you to keep when all you want to do is go faster. 

“Your uniform was terribly wet,” he says, mouth tracing your jaw. “Did I ever apologise for that?"

“N-no.”

He tuts, the hushed sound warm and deadly on your neck. “Bad manners. I must have been distracted."

Oh. Oh, you think. It seems pointless to flush in the position you're in now, but the knowledge that he wanted you then and you hadn't even known is... all the more devastating. 

But you shiver at the question of how he’d wanted you, in what amount of detail, in what precise way. You almost want to ask. See it for yourself. 

You don't think you'd manage the words. He’s hard underneath you and your head wants to lull toward his shoulder but a big hand holds you from one side of your jaw down the length of your neck, his tongue laving up the other. Instead you’re balanced only by his hands and his mouth, rolling against him because it’s all you can do like this.

He’s marking you, you realise with a gasp, and your fingers bury in his hair to remove his mouth from its descending assault on your collar. Not that. You’d sworn against that.

Your fingers return to his buttons and he copies you by finding yours, pulling at the fabric tucked into your trousers until it’s discarded entirely. You press your hands to the planes of his chest and watch him, your mouth agape as his eyes linger on your chest.

His heart is pounding and he must know you’re about to comment on it because his lips are on yours again and he adjusts his position and your fingers dig into his shoulders at the delicious new feeling of him pressing into your thigh. 

You move for his belt. He moves for your zipper. It’s some sort of race, whatever you’re doing, and you’re at an unfair advantage when you’re still fumbling with his buckle when his hand is already carving a slow path to the band of your underwear. You're scalding under the journey of it, little stars pricking you under every new inch he explores.

He dips in and your eyes wrench shut, grasping frantically for his wrist.

“Shh,” he says softly, caressing your cheek with his spare hand, thumb finding your mouth how it did all those years ago and you want to curse him. The fucker knows exactly what he’s doing.

You shake your head, chest rising with heavy breaths as you return to his belt and scrabble to unbuckle it.

“So tense,” he murmurs. The hand at your cheek draws over your lower lip before it falls to your back to hold you closer. “Rest now.”

And his fingers trace you where you want him most, brushing past your clit as he pulls his face back to watch you.

You sink into the feeling, still swaying on his lap, a half-efforted attempt at finding friction in the hardness between his legs that feels fruitless because it won't be enough until he's inside. Your hand just grips onto the fabric of his unzipped trousers and stays there. It’s a pause. An obstacle on your path to him that you need just a moment to recover from before you’ll make him feel just like this. Better. Worse. It’s hard to tell which is which.

He’s stroking at you now, pleased by the way you lurch against him with every touch.

You have to recover, you have to make it even, you have to… you…

A finger presses inside and you moan.

“You came back to me,” he whispers, close enough to be kissing you but there’s just the stutter of his breath. It's a fucking religious thing to say, the way he does it.

“Doesn’t make me yours,” you breathe.

He shakes his head. “I know. You’ll still take it though, won’t you?”

Oh, fuck.

He makes a sound of approval. “Good.”

Good. Fine. Your hands slip from his zipper to the meat of his thighs, pushing yourself forward so the shape of him is firmer against you, and Tom slips another finger in.

You’ll take it, won’t you? Yes. 

Maybe you don’t need to tear him at the seams (though you want to) to make it even. Maybe this is punishment enough. That he can have you like this and it still won’t make you his, that he’ll give you everything and you’ll lap at it with half the greed he possesses.

You ride his hand, clutching his shoulders, rocking your hips. You take all of it, and it builds something delirious inside you, that it’s him doing this, his perfect fingers, the shape of his lips, the soft dark of his hair when you find your hands in it again. The feeling makes you stutter, and he has to move you by the waist himself to keep the momentum when you can't do it yourself.

He’s painfully stiff, pushing up against you with a degree of self-control that feels like it can only end disastrously for the both of you, and you start smattering kisses down his cheek. You tilt his head back and lick a stripe down his neck. Rest now, you'd say if you could.

But he adds a third finger and your head falls, a cry planted in his collar when you come, and you don't think you say anything.

Tom holds your legs steady, guiding you through it like this is just another one of his studies. You are what he knows better than anything else, and still he wants to learn more.

“Look at you,” he mutters, dipping you back to press his lips down your chest, unclasping your bra while you’re still breaking, the sensation swelling again when he takes a nipple into his mouth.

“Tom,” you try to say. Your mouth is the sticky sort of dry that words refuse to come out of.

“Will you give me more?”

Give, not take. You fuss into a stolen kiss, grappling again with his trousers, pulling them down until you can palm him through his boxers.

He hisses, gripping your wrist like he hadn’t just done the same to you, and then he’s pulling you up and off the couch, trousers discarded with what must be magic because you blink and they’re gone. Greedy boy. (You have no room to judge.) Your back is to the wall an instant before his fingers are on you again, pushing your underwear down your thighs until it falls at your feet like they despised to ever part from you.

You arch to feel him press against your stomach, pushing off the wall so that you can meld to him but he just closes in on you to do it himself.

He goads the heat from you when his fingers push in again, still wet, coiling how you like, where you like —

“Want you,” you protest shakily, hand on his abdomen.

That must kill him a little, because he curses under his breath (a thing he never does) and the immediate absence of his touch is cruel when he goes to free himself from his boxers. You reach for him without thinking as he does, and he pins your hand beside you when your fingers so much as graze the length of him.

You sound frail, but you have to ask. “Is this how you wanted me?”

A cruder version of you would go on. Is this how you pictured it? Taking me against a wall? Have you waited for it all this time?

And you don’t belong to him but you’re so incomprehensibly, contradictorily his. You’ll want him forever. He could do anything, and you’d be his. You could haunt him into his lonely eternity, and he’d be yours. Then, you suppose — haunting him makes him yours by principle.

Maybe you already do.

Tom practically growls into your mouth, pressing against you and — God, it’s skin on skin. He's right there. You could push forward and —

He slides in. You cry out at the feel of him inside you, the angle of it like this.

“I wanted you,” he says lowly, your legs wrapped around him, “everywhere.”

You’re gripping him so tight you think he’ll bleed under your nails and somehow you still feel on the brink of collapse when he thrusts deeper.

“I thought mostly of your mouth,” he rasps. “It felt depraved to imagine it wrapped around me, but then I thought of you splayed out before me instead. That maybe you’d like it if it was my mouth on you.”

You whimper.

“Would you like that?” he asks, hands spanning your hips to snap them into his, like you are a piece removed from him he seeks to reattach.

If you wanted to answer you couldn’t. You’re clinging to him and the rising surge inside you, carved between your legs like something sweltering and unfixable. It rushes in and he pulls out of you. He pushes in and you cry for the release of it, the moment the wave lurches over the edge, but he won’t let you have it.

“But,” he says, and your eyes want to roll back at how heavy his restraint is, callous in the tone of his voice, some leash at his neck he must tug himself lest you take it from him — “If I knew how well you’d take me like this, I would have thought of it much more.”

Taking him, again — you don’t feel at all like that’s what’s happening. You feel possessed. You are buoyant in his arms: his and his and his.

“You can — uh — you can — ”

"Hm?" He brushes down the slope of your brow, your cheek, back to the edge of your mouth, wiping a trail of saliva from your chin. “Poor thing.”

And he slams into you again, drawing a mewl from you that slices your unfinished thought.

You clench around him, flames wild and fluttering at every contact of his skin on yours, and there are too many to count. Too many points where they intersect, just some blend of bodies connected at every curve.

“You’re going to give me more,” he says, like it’s an epiphany when you already told him you would.

You remember then. What you meant to say. “You can take me too.”

You feel him twitch inside you, his pace stilling for a moment, and the thumb on your lip slips into your mouth. Your lips close around him and he curses again.

He fucks you with a finger in your mouth and his teeth clamped over your shoulder, soothing the sting with his tongue. His pace is too slow when he drags his free hand between your legs, but you understand its purpose well enough that the mere recognition almost destroys you. 

He’s patient in bringing you to the edge because there's time here. A slow agony that severs you from the rest of the world until it splits you down the middle. And he may not ever have it again.

You have to promise yourself he’ll never have it again.

But the movement of his fingers against the same spot he’s hitting inside you is too much at once, and you won’t last. You drool around his thumb. You let him mark you. You can see on his neck you’ve marked him too. And you hope impossibly there’s a scar. You hope the little death you coax from him claims him as yours for eternity, keeps him even when you're gone. You tighten, lurch for the edge, and make him mortal once more.

Tom holds you there, your cries reverberating as he sinks another finger in your mouth, and then he’s gasping at your neck, peeling back to look you in the eyes when he spills into you. Your eyes screw together and he releases the sounds you make by holding you by the jaw instead.

“Look at me,” he says, and for the strained need in it you do.

You come down to earth and you kiss him, wetness dripping down your thighs as he pins you to this moment. You love him. You’ll always love him.

He’s still inside you when he’s secure enough to bring you to his bed, only removing himself from you when you’re safely in his sheets, legs surrendering their grip on his waist as you pull apart. You pant into the cold linen of his pillow. Everything smells like him. There’s something empty now; the reason you came today; the reason you left four years ago.

You love him and it isn’t enough. Not even to look at him, the sleepy hint of the boy you knew in his eyes, and know that he loves you too.

“Goodnight, Tom,” you say, finding home in the warmth of his chest.

You’ll dream of a morning where you wake up beside him, but you won’t be there.

[girl-in-the-chairs-void]

Kinslayer

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Tyrell!reader (fem pronouns used)

Word count: 2k (she’s a baby)

cw: hurt, comfort, soft aemond, mentions of being naked? ANGST ANGST ANGST, the pov switches between aemond/third person and second person soo if you notice it going into “her” and “you”, it’s on purpose please don’t kill me.

a/n: I really wanted to make the little Drabble into a full fic soo here it is!! Not proofread. Let me know your thoughts!!!

Kinslayer.

That’s what they’ll call him. Rejoicing in celebration after Vhagar mercilessly attacked Arrax and Lucereys Velaryon. His nephew, his kin.

The cold had already seeped through his leather settled in his bones. He felt nothing but the chill of the air as he landed with Vhagar into the dragon pits. The roaring amber of the castle doing nothing to add even an ounce of warmth through him. His eyepatch wet and leaking its colour onto his scar- poorly made for a prince- it seared through him. He took it off immediately, throwing into one of the torches on the wall.

Servants rushed his side, trying to assist him in any way possible but he dismissed them with a stern look before walking towards the small council room. Gods be good, he wanted nothing more than to hide away in his chambers, away from everyone, away from peering eyes of the lords and councilmen, away from Alicent, from Aegon.

But near you. In his chambers where he could be Aemond. Not second son, not ‘The One Eyed Prince’. But only Aemond, your husband. He would take that title to his grave if he could, leaving all his other titles because those titles were given to him on a silver platter, he didn’t ask for them. However, he craved the title of being your husband.

Ever since you were kids. Aemond had taken a liking in sitting in the library with you and talking about history. Sneaking out and taking walks in the Red Keep or the gardens to distract himself from the political side of his life.

You- a simple Tyrell girl who came to Kings Landing when you were only two with your father, Lord Tyrell. Aemond only being three years old had taken a liking to you even when you were only capable of padding on your little feet across the castle. Getting to grow up in Kings landing with the prince and his siblings.

It wasn’t a shock to the realm when King Visereys announced your betrothal to the young prince when you were only eight. Having no idea what the prince held for you in his heart, but you knew he was not one to easily open up. And after what happened at Driftmark, it had taken you quite some time to walk his maze. He’d shut himself out to the rest of the world. Not meeting up in the library or in the courtyard for your usual routine.

So you took it upping yourself to knock on his door every morrow, and supper. Threatening to break in if he didn’t at least take the food into his chambers and eat it.

The first time you saw him after the unfortunate incident, you didn’t flinch. You didn’t scare away in a corner. You smiled at him, slowly approached him and gently ghosted your fingers over his new forming scar. His eye now replaced with a beautiful sapphire- your touch burned, but it burned with a feeling that he wished to experience a thousand times over.

The two children were found sound asleep in Aemond’s bed when the maesters came around to check on the princes health the next morning; wrapped around each other like dragons protecting their kin.

Even years later, he was grateful to have you. He wouldn’t tell it to anyone’s face but his actions always speak for him.

He always seeks you first in large gatherings. Following you like a guard dog wherever he’s in the castle and not away on Prince business across the seven kingdoms.

But today. It was different. You felt it as soon as you heard Vhagars roars through the air, crawling their way through the open window in your and Aemond’s chambers.

You rushed to the dragon pits carefully. The maids trying to assist you but you insisted on going by yourself only to find no one there but the dragons. Your husband nowhere to be seen.

You sighed, an eerie feeling brewing deeply in your gut as you walked back to your chambers and buried yourself in a cloak and settled onto the settee, hoping Aemond would show up.

He didn’t show up, much to your dismay. You had a hunch that he had probably made his way to the small council to report of his business at Storms end.

And so you waited while he spiralled.

…

Aegon looked…proud?

After breaking the news of what happened tonight on Storms End; the small council’s reaction were rather mixed. Alicent shook her head, getting up from her chair abruptly and making her way out of the room. Suddenly finding it suffocating.

His grandsire looked as though he was about to faint right that instant. Holding onto the armrest as he sighed in defeat.

The lords- your father being one of them, looked disappointed as ever. The death of a kin is never a way to settle for peace.

“You did well, brother.” Aegon speaks, the lords and the Hand turning their heads towards him with wide eyes. The death of a child and he did- well?

“I call for a celebration! A feast, tonight!” He declares, arms wide as he gets up from his chair and reached his brother at the end of the table in three long strides. Patting him on the back.

Aemond feels sick, grotesque. He hates this feeling.

He hasn’t uttered a word since his reporting, hasn’t met anyone’s eye and doesn’t want to either. He simply nods, fixing his head up yet not making eye contact and sternly walks away, exiting the room before running to a small corner to empty out his stomach’s content.

He didn’t mean to. He didn’t want to. He was just…

Just what?

There was no simple explanation to why he acted tonight on Storm’s End. He was angry, furious even. But he, a man who is the perfect picture of composure, let his emotions get the worst of him. He was only trying to scare him with Vhagar, a dragon that chose him. He only wanted to show Lucereys how he felt that night on Driftmark when the boy stabbed his eye and left him to whither in his own blood. Vhagar chose him that night on Driftmark, a dragon known for its great size and strength all over the seven kingdoms chose the white haired boy after its rider’s death.

…

He doesn’t return to her, to you. The news of Lucereys must’ve reached you by now, or at least of the feast that Aegon has arranged for tonight.

He should be celebrating, with his brother- the king. But it feel wrong. So, here he is, standing in the corner of the Throne room with a chalice of wine. His mind going a thousand times faster.

Kinslayer.

Kinslayer

Kinslayer.

Kin-

Soft thumbs invaded his hands, plotting a coup and attacking their way into his palms, a finger, then another, weaving through his hand and taking over. His breathing stopped for just a second before he realised it was her, immediately feeling pints of blood shoot to his heart that thrummed erratically through his chest, he could feel the blood seep into his bones, replacing the chill of the rain he had experienced mere hours ago.

You had this effect on him, even after all these years. Of knowing you, through and through. Even the parts of you that are only meant for his eyes, you always managed to quietly make way for yourself in his heart. Not that his heart wasn’t laid out for you in a platter. He’d do it if you asked, rip his heart out and give it to you on a silver platter, it was yours to have ever since his third name day.

He focused back to you, not looking at you but rather feeling the ridges and lines of your palm that was connected to his. The way your thumb traced over his. Your other hand sneaking its way to his arm, up and down, up and down. A steady rhythm that he remembers and tries to match. He took a breath, then another. In and out- up and down. He tensed his feet, held by his leather boots, digging the heel into the concrete ground of the grand hall before your hand squeezed his bicep, once again pulling him back before he could drown in the cold noises of the feast.

He doesn’t say anything, or meet your eyes. Fearing what you might hold in them. Fear? Disappointment? Distaste? Does she see me as a monster now that I’ve hurt one of my own? One of her own?

You don’t. Unknown to him. You don’t know what happened exactly on Storms end, but seeing the way he wanted to be anywhere but here was a clear indication that your husband didn’t mean it. The fear in his eyes was buried deep but you saw it the moment your eyes lay on his tense back and ridged composure.

He never liked Lucereys, but he knows you did. There were only a few people in King’s Landing you truly despised. But oh the Sevens know how much you love those boys. The bastards only have the name Velaryon, yet they don’t carry even an ounce of resemblance to their supposed father. But you didn’t care, you never did.

You loved luceyres like a little brother. Even if you had little time to spend with the Velaryon boy, and Jace and Joeffrey. They were sweet to you. Having looked up to you as an older sister. And you loved them like your own, so when the news of Lucereys passes by you. You don’t think twice before running to find Aemond. He wouldn’t do that to you, right? He knew you love him, and the boys that were like brothers to you.

He never liked them, but he loves you. Gods, he loves you.

They don’t say anything to each other. Not for the rest of night. She keeps a hold of his hand, squeezing it once, pausing, then two and three. A secret language- a code.

I still love you. It dawned on him. Crashed through his chest and broke every bone in its wake.

This fucking war, you curse in your mind. If only Visereys hadn’t died such a death. If only he hadn’t named Aegon as King as his dying wish rather than announcing it at his first name day. If only Rhaenyra wasn’t named heir first.

If only. She knows wishing won’t do her good but the thoughts still linger in her mind like a plague.

She keeps a hold of his hand. Feeling the coldness that he carries, the warmth of her own hand travelling up his arm. Dragons blood in a Tyrell, he’d said once. That’s a rare sight. To which you dismissed as only having warm hands. But your hands had only became warm and dragon like after him. After having to carry his child.

A swollen belly of a princess. You were a sight for sore eyes. But the Gods had blessed you with this child- his child and you nurture them gracefully.

One hand on your belly and the other holding his, you both make your way to your chambers as the feast comes to a close, Aegon, once again, drunkly congratulates his brother for the up tenth time as he exists.

Not a single word has been said between the prince and the princess, yet they both find it more than comforting to not say a word because the heavy tension could be shattered with even a single sound.

As they enter their chamber, Aemond takes a deep- shaky breath. Knees buckling before he composes himself- not wanting to fall on his wife, not wanting to cause further damage.

You notice the way he’s staggering towards the bath. Quickly taking his leather soaked clothes off. He hadn’t changed, you note, it required him to come to the chambers. You walk to his side. Silently, he allows you to undress him, politely gesturing to the servants to bring hot water for his bath. Taking out his night garments for him before standing behind him as he settles into the warm bath.

You’re mothering him, something he’s only experienced with you and not his actual mother.

You quietly ask the servants to leave. Taking the wet rag and washing up the prince yourself. It’s an awkward move sitting on your knees while almost seven moons pregnant, but you don’t mind.

He doesn’t fight it, doesn’t try to meet your eyes. He lets you tear down all his walls and see him naked. Not like you hadn’t seen him naked before. But this- this is a level of vulnerability you haven’t seen in him since Driftmark.

You dress him up, brush his hair and take off his eyepatch and sapphire, noticing that it wasn’t the same one he wore on his way to Storms end.

He kisses her forehead that night, not a single word uttered even then, his lips lingering as he cradles her head. Ever so carefully, like she’s porcelain, breaking at any given moment. He hopes she can’t hear his screaming heart that threatens to burst as he pulls her into his chest.

Feeling the way her breathing becomes more shallow. It pains him to not be able to look at her. To look into her beautiful eyes, look at the bright smile that he wishes she wore. But he knows he can’t.

And you’re the cause of it, his mind screams.

The mother of his child lets her tears escape onto his chest. Silent sobs raking her body and his heart chips and eats him from the inside, not wanting him to see the next sunrise.

But he stays still, he stays because he knows he’s at fault. He stays still when her silent sobs become audible and he closes his eye to let her punch and claw at him- but she doesn’t. Instead she stays too. Her arms like ivy curling around him as he hugs her- squeezes her, once then again.

I’m sorry.

Anddd that is it!! I hope you guys liked it. I am a sucker for soft Aemond and his wife, so what better moment to let him be healthily venerable than this? They’re both a lil fucked up but who isn’t? Let me know what yall think!!

@delusionsofnostalgia ; since you liked the Drabble. This is for u <3

Random tags: @endless-ineffabilities @aemonds-sapphire @firebornfables

[talesofesther]

𝔈𝔠𝔥𝔬𝔢𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔞 𝔉𝔩𝔞𝔪𝔢

↳ 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

Aemond Targaryen x Reader/fem!OC

Series Summary: You made a promise to Aemond once, when you were young and naive, and the only friend he'd ever known; yet you abandoned him before you could fulfill it. Between broken bonds, a betrothal, and flames that still burn deep within you; this is the story of how you fell apart and found each other again.

A/N: My newest series is finally here, and it's one that I am incredibly excited about. I'm not going to say this is fully a reader-insert, because there will be a few minor characterizations for the main girl, I even considered writing this in third person but at the end of the day second person is the style I'm much more used to and comfortable with. However, I believe it is still "vague" enough that it can be considered a reader-insert too. All in all, I sincerely hope you can enjoy this story, I promise it'll be a good one. <3

Word count: 2k

Masterlist

"Tell me again."

From one of the highest points in the Red Keep, you could see the immensity of King's Landing and the waves of Blackwater Bay crashing to shore.

"Tell you what?"

The wind was cold yet gentle, dusk settled on the horizon; painting the skies and clouds in deep golden.

"The story of how you found your dragon."

You smiled, easy and knowing. Aemond has heard this story a dozen times already, yet you never refused to tell him just one more time, whenever he asked. From the glint in the young prince's eyes, you knew that it gave him hope that one day he would find a dragon of his own.

"My father, Laena, my sisters, and I were traveling again, we had stopped by a small town to let the dragons rest. And there, they told us they had spotted a rogue dragon. As wild as a lioness. She'd come out to hunt at night, during heavy rain and lightning storms." You motioned theatrically with your hands, an excited grin on your lips as you recounted the fateful night you'd met your dragon.

Aemond listened closely, as he always did, leaning his elbows on the balcony's balustrade and keeping his gaze attentively on you.

"One night, when we were staying at a house at the edge of town, I walked out while everyone was asleep. Do you know why?" You bit at the inside of your cheek, playing the usual game.

"You heard her," Aemond answered with the same spark of youthful joy.

"I did," you whispered as if it was a well-guarded secret, leaning closer to the boy. "I could hear her outside, the sound of her wings, her heavy steps on the ground. It was raining, and dark, but I felt as if... as if she was calling to me." You placed a hand over your heart.

"I think Caraxes heard when I got out, I think I ended up waking him," both you and Aemond chuckled. "But he kept quiet when he saw it was me. I walked for a while during that night, until..." You paused dramatically, and Aemond grinned. "Until I saw her, feasting on a stolen lamb."

Aemond's eyes were sparkling, he was drinking in every word.

"She was so pretty," you recalled with a soft smile, looking out to the horizon and the darkening sky. "I could see the dark blue of her scales, and then the brighter blue of her wings. Her horns were long and pointy, and she had this patch of fur in between them and on the back of her neck that I'd never seen before."

"She didn't attack you," Aemond mumbled, more a statement than a question; he knew the answer.

You shook your head; "No, she just looked at me with those beautiful eyes, they looked like they were glowing. And then she came closer, baring her teeth, but I asked her to stay calm. Told her I was a friend." You picked at your nails, a fondly nostalgic look in your eyes. "She followed me back home after that. I think she liked that I wasn't afraid of her. Father was furious for what I had done, but I think he was even more curious about my new dragon." You shrugged, with a cheeky grin, "The next morning, I chose to ride her for the first time, and she let me. We don't know if she ever had a rider before me, but we share a deep bond now."

"You are so lucky," Aemond told you, his voice low and eyes downcast; not because of your story, but because the boy wished to have the same luck you did.

Turning your head to try and catch his gaze, you spoke with conviction, "You're going to find your dragon soon, Aemond, I know you will. And when you do, we're going to fly together over all of King's Landing, I promise you."

Despite the solemn look in his eyes, the young Aemond smiled.

You extended a hand to him then, "Come on, your mother will be mad if we're late to supper… again." Wiggling your fingers for him, you held back a grin.

Aemond rolled his eyes halfheartedly, taking your hand anyway.

You walked together through the hallways of the castle, blissfully innocent and unaware of the amused whispers between the maids about how you two would still marry someday.

─── ⋄✧⋄ ───

Two nights later, Aemond did find his dragon. However, it came at a cost.

The day had been one filled with grief. Laena had passed away after trying to give birth to her third child. While she was not your birth mother, you had spent enough years by her side to consider her something similar to it; as she was, after all, the closest thing to a mother that you knew. She had always been kind to you, treating you no different than how she treated your two half-sisters.

You mourned her loss, the salty air of the sea mixing with the salt of your tears as you watched the ceremony unfold.

As soon as she had learned of her third pregnancy, Laena wanted to return home. Your father eventually agreed to halt the travelers life for her sake, and once King Viserys got word of your return he offered all of you a home in King's Landing again. Laena had been happy with the agreement since her brother lived there too.

And so that's how you came to meet Aemond. That was several months ago, yet it sometimes feels like it was just yesterday.

Tonight, you had gone to bed with red and puffy eyes, but it didn't take long for the distant sound of fast-paced steps and arguing to pull you from your sleep. You got up, rubbed your still tired eyes, and tiptoed towards the commotion, bare feet padding over the cold stone floor of Driftmark.

After turning corners and almost getting lost in the infinite hallways, you found your family. Everyone stood around the lit fire of the throne room fireplace while the Maester tended to someone you couldn't yet see as the back of the chair they were sitting on blocked your view.

Alicent was shouting, Rhaenyra and her sons were shouting, everyone was shouting; you heard the sharp words yet couldn't make much sense of them.

You spotted your father leaning against a pillar, a couple of feet away from everyone, and ran up to him, immediately clinging to the fabric of his vest and looking up at him with questioning eyes. He didn't speak, simply lay a hand on your back and then on your head, in the best comforting manner he could muster.

The shouting match continued until Viserys had to raise his own voice, everyone in the spacious room stayed quiet for a moment then. You could hear your shaky breath, feeling it in your bones that something was wrong. You gripped tighter onto your father, leaning your head against him.

Breaking the silence, Viserys demanded answers from Aemond, and your heartbeat sped up at the sound of your friend's name. And then his mother was speaking about the injustice of him being maimed. And when Rhaenyra mercilessly demanded that he be questioned, Aemond finally looked in her direction, and consequently, yours.

You saw it then. Deep red blood glinting in the low light of the fire, painful stitches stretching skin while also holding it together, his eye sewn shut. You couldn't hold back a gasp at the sight of him, the whole left side of his face now forever marked with an angry, deep cut that went from his forehead, over his eye, and down to the middle of his cheek. Seeing your friend like this twisted your stomach in all the wrong ways and made you feel like puking out your dinner, you were almost poking holes in your father's vest with how tight you were gripping it, already feeling your eyes burn with unshed tears.

Aemond met your gaze from afar, he looked almost as stunned and lost as you; but he was also quick to look away and hide behind the back of his chair again.

You didn't hear much of the rest of the fight then, all turning into muffled noise to your ears as your father took hold of your hand to pull you forward with him and into the commotion when Alicent picked up a dagger, dashing towards Rhaenyra. The sight of Aemond's bruised and slashed face forever burnt into the back of your mind.

The only voice you clearly heard again, was his; "Do not mourn me, mother. It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon."

─── ⋄✧⋄ ───

You were only able to meet Aemond again on the next day, minutes before both of you had to leave Driftmark.

You found him in a secluded hallway, he looked out at sea through the large windows, watching as they readied his ship for departure, the left side of his face carefully bandaged to keep the cut clean. Holding onto the sides of your dress so as not to step on it, you ran to him.

He heard you, of course he did, you were hardly the sneakiest of people. Part of him wanted to turn away and leave, deeply ashamed of the fresh scar marking his skin; perhaps even afraid that it might scare you off. But you were his friend. His only friend.

"Aemond..." you spoke softly when you reached him, biting at the inside of your cheek and nervously gripping onto the cotton fabric of your lilac dress. You were only kids; you didn't know what to say to someone who'd just lost a part of himself, and Aemond cowered under your gaze, making himself smaller as shame and timidness filled his gut.

"Does it... hurt?" You chose to ask, voice hesitant.

The young prince took his time, pursing his lips as he looked down at his feet and then out the window again. "Yes," he admitted, "but less than it did last night."

"I'm sorry," you said without a second thought.

Aemond glanced in your direction with the corner of his good eye, refusing to turn toward you completely. "Are you not upset that I claimed your step-mother's dragon?"

The corners of your lips turned up into a small smile, it held sorrow and affection in equal measures. "I'm not." You stepped closer to him and turned to look out the window as well, watching as gentle waves washed to shore. You bumped your shoulder onto his. "I'm glad it's you."

For several moments you stood in silence, simply enjoying the easeness that came with each other's company.

Alicent's voice was the one to eventually break the quiet. "Aemond," she called.

Both you and him turned in the direction of her voice, finding her looking at you with a fond smile on her lips. "It's time to go, my dear." She gestured outside, to where their ship awaited, now ready to set sail. Aemond nodded at her words and she turned around, making her way to the docks.

The prince, however, made no effort to leave, he kept his gaze focused outside, following a flock of birds that overflown the ocean.

You followed it too, the sight bringing an idea to your mind. You had a tentative smile on your lips before you even started speaking; "You should go," despite not looking at you directly, you noticed Aemond's attention shifting to you. "I'll meet you again once we reach King's Landing, and... now that you have a dragon, perhaps we'll soon be able to fly over it together, right?" Your voice held a hopeful tone as you spoke.

For the first time since he had lost his eye, Aemond smiled; a real smile that stretched the fresh stitches on his cheek and gave a prickling feeling to the sensitive skin around them, but he didn't mind. He finally turned to look at you fully, all hopeful excitement and pink cheeks.

"We will," he affirmed without losing his grin. He held your gaze for a moment longer, lips parting as if he wanted to say something more, but didn't.

From the same window, you watched, now alone, as Aemond's ship sailed away; the colossal figure of Vhagar flying close to it, as if to protect her new rider.

Later this same day, your father married Rhaenyra, taking both you and your sisters to live in Dragonstone without ceremony.

You never said goodbye to Aemond. You would have, if you knew you would not be seeing him again for many years to come.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Next chapter

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[thebadboyfanclub]

One Can Only Hope (Cregan x Reader)

First of, I don’t know why this particular song was stuck in my head while I was writing but I think it fits the aesthetic of how the couple works together, also I don’t care that they didn’t pick this actor for me THAT is what Cregan stark looks like, and also sorry for not adding the last detail it just naturally went with a different approach

'may I present my second-born child and my precious only daughter, (y/n) Targaryen, the heiress of driftmark"

(y/n) bowed lightly before the stoic man that it deserves to be noted how thick his fur was which engulfed him, the man nodded as a sign of acknowledgment to the princess and the young heiress (y/n) could swear that she detected a faint smile forming on his lips, to be quite fair no one could tell since the lords' lips were faintly visible due to his distinguished beard, once (y/n)s deep blue eyes met his there was an instant influence on her that cause her to slightly shiver, mostly from anxiety and somewhat fear of the unknown.

(Y/n) could only describe the sensation similar to placing yourself at the very sharp edge of a tall cliff, as one would gaze down at the water the little voice would whisper to take a plunge, release yourself from the shackles of overthinking, whilst your mind begged you to take a step back and forget about all of this.

Unfortunately (y/n) was well aware of the reason why she had to take this long of a flight on dragon back and introduce herself to the new lord of the North, her mother had put a tremendous amount of effort into making this a trip that could be enjoyable too (y/n) but to no avail, she did not blame her mother, ever since she was a toddler (y/n) would catch whispers of numerous people around her castle that would venture on whom she would marry, as the moons passed and (y/n) became a lady the pressure became tighter than her corset.

"judging by the tremble and pink nose you are not accustomed to such a cold environment"

"I'm afraid not, I am willing to try though, if need be"

She suggested as her voice usually would be colourful and loud- something that princess rhaenyra adored- was now barely audible, Rhaenyra dreaded asking this of her only daughter, seven hells the reason she even had (y/n) was because of her failed match that was created under ambition and desperation for allegiance, now she had to bare the curse of the prey becoming the hunter as she set her daughter up in hopes this could bring peace and safety not only to the realm but to their family.

“It is an honor to have the Targaryen family as our guest, I believe last time it was with Queen Alyssane, was it not?”

“Indeed, my lord, though I cannot recall if we have ever United our house bloodline”

“That is correct, such a pity don’t you think Princess Rhaenyra? We must correct that mistake as fast as we can, before all that let me escort you to your chambers, you must rest after such travel”

Cregan's humor was a breath of fresh air for mother and daughter, both of them felt more comfortable through his commentary and light-hearted chatter.

Rhaenyra was extremely thankful that her daughter understood why this must be done if she had to be completely honest with herself partially the reason she chose Cregan as her daughter's match was how the whispers of his strength and his handsome nature made it to the red keep, another thing was a desperate attempt on keeping her daughter guarded, mayhaps if she found refuge in the north of the vicious Hightowers pushed Rhaenyra to war (y/n) would be tucked away and protected by the Lord.

As they walked through the castle Cregan started blabbering about all kinds of things his brain could master, he was certainly nervous when he got the letter from Rhaenyra herself asking for her daughter to be betrothed to him, Targaryen and Starks had, of course, rumors of laying together but never being United in the eyes of the Gods, and to add the fact that the lady is in line for the throne, the wedlock and children would bring such different aspect to his house.

"the lady of the north has to endure the stinging sensation of the icy air, but I believe having a humungous dragon that spews fire on command should help"

Rhaenyra smiled at the slight declaration of interest and almost a very subtle way of claiming their betrothal to be a fact, it was (y/n) 's turn to nod excitedly and let out a small giggle, Cregan was not a man that went unnoticed, young, tall, strong, beautiful, any woman of her status would thank the gods for such a match and a part of her was curious.

Due to the small sign of hope (y/n) careless tucked a strand behind her ear, revealing a part of her to the Lord that he had never seen before.

“Your ear”

He said almost in a question, subconsciously his head tilted in order to get a better view, hastily (y/n) let her hair fall back again, concealing her left ear, flustered and internally cursing herself.

“I don’t believe I have seen something like it before”

“I apologize, I-it is-“

“Unique, I know that Targaryens usually have violet eyes as your mother has, however, I can only guess you found that boring and chose something entirely different, you have quite the taste”

(Y/n)s eyes slightly widen at the kind-hearted nature of Cregan's comment, (y/n) was born with pointy ears, her mother would always jest that it was because the fairies brought (y/n) to her as a gift, others would say that the Targaryens started to blend more with their dragons and that Rhaenyra indulged in blood magic to have the daughter she always wanted.

Gossip and fairytales aside, (y/n) tried her best to conceal that little thing like a well-kept secret that she now had pulled the covers from. Cregan only smiled, (y/n) seemed like a peach on a summer day, full of sweetness, and the nectar could bring back the dead, her smile could make your teeth hurt like how they used to when he ate pie, the pointy ears in his eyes only gave her a boost in her ethereal presence.

Despite that (y/n) had to acknowledge that the man was nothing but a stranger, she had witnessed countless loveless marriages and men that sucked the life out of their wives,  besides all of that she pushed those types of thoughts to the side and masked her dark thoughts for the future with a brave face.

-

"Mother!"

(Y/n) exclaimed as she skipped over to Rhaenyra who rushed to her daughter's side, it had been months since (y/n) had seen her mother, and as content as she was with her new life no one could replace the place Rhaenyra had in her daughter's heart.

"oh my dearest, how lovely it is to see you, take a turn for me let me look at you"

(y/n) let out a snicker at her mother's request even though she complied almost immediately making Rhaenyra nod in approval, to no one’s surprise (y/n) had grown to be a proper lady, her red cape with the thick lining and fur, her hair down and disheveld from riding her dragon, plump red cheeks from eating well, and how could one forget her smile, shining through the realm and blessing her mother with a sigh of relief, Rhaenyra was relieved to say the slightest that her only daughter was taken care of.

"Princess, thank you for inviting us"

"nonsense, I would take any chance to see my baby"

"Mother" (y/n) whispered in embarrassment

"hush now young lady, to me, you will always remain the small babe that curled in my arms, you will know what I'm talking about sooner than late"

"about that, Mother, it might be sooner than you anticipate"

Rhaenyra froze in her spot, her eyes doubling their original size as an audible inhale of breath was heard, (y/n) 's eyes watered and her arms seemed to have a slight tremble whilst she took off her cape to reveal the cutest swollen belly. Rhaenyra stood still for only a second before she wrapped her arms as tight as she possibly could around (y/n) who did the same.

"no, my baby, why didn't you write me about this?"

"I-"

"We wanted to wait this time, I believe you understand, (y/n) wanted to tell you as soon as possible, I advised her not to, forgive me, princess"

Rhaenyra might not have birthed Cregan though she had given birth to (y/n) and that meant that she knew when her daughter was hiding, like now.

(Y/n) wanted to be cautious, after they suffered an early loss of their first baby before her belly could even swell, inevitable fear overtook her, she had refused to ride her dragon for the first three moons and she did her best to remain abed as much as possible.

Thankfully, Cregan shook her out of it, asking her to take a walk as often as his duties allowed him to, he would also attempt to ever so casually bring up how her dragon kept all of the town awake from roaring and complaining, even for this visit  (y/n) only agreed after Cregan offered to get up on the dragon with her so she can feel safe.

"it doesn't matter, all that I care about is that my baby is happy and healthy"

"Don't worry Mother, the north has been extremely good to me"

“For that I am certain, well then, let us celebrate, my little babe is having a little babe”

-

"It is good to see you back and we’ll, my lord"

"it is good to be back, especially with such a catch might I add, tell the cook to prepare the Stagg for supper, give the wild pig for you and the others"

"you are utmost gracious my lord, the princess is waiting for you in your chambers"

"wonderful, do not let anyone disturb us, I wish to stay by her side until supper is served"

Cregan skipped the way into his chambers, he was too caught up in the rush of the hunt and the excitement of reconnecting with his lady wife to notice the nods and stiff giggles of the servants and guards.

He didn't bother to knock, even if he was indecent there was nothing he hadn't seen, secretly he hoped to see her swollen belly bare, as it grew bigger Cregan had adored to kiss on her belly and rub it as he felt the kicks and moves of their child, together they would make plans for the future, like making sure the babe receives an egg for their cradle or getting a wolf cub as a pet.

"my de-"

"shush, you'll wake her"

medusa had cast her spell over Cregan as his eyes focused on the most extraordinary sight, his lady wife holding their babe while she sat up in their bed. (y/n) had never looked more beautiful in his eyes, her hair falling past her shoulders as her arms wrapped around the child and her big eyes sparkling with joy.

The baby was wrapped in a white blanket and (y/n) slightly rocked it, it almost could fool someone that (y/n) had already given birth to numerous children by the graciousness in her moves, Cregan could pull a chair and watch this for the rest of his days, alas his curiosity and excitement rushed him to her side, sitting right next to his lady wife in awe.

"bless me, when did this happen?"

"last morrow, the labors started hours after you left"

"my strong dragon, you did this without me, I must admit I am slightly wounded"

"I did not want to send someone until I delivered her, make sure she is fine and all"

if it was humanly possible Cregan would swear he could hear her trembling heart, as her pleading eyes uncovered the insufferable pain she went through that held hands tightly with distress and a splash of grief.

(Y/n) ached for the babe she had lost, wondering if it had been a boy to a girl, if it would have their father's eyes, or if they would prefer music over hunting, Cregan felt helpless, watching his love suffer as he also grieved in silence, though now it did not matter, the gods took mercy on them.

At just the perfect queue, the small babe cooed pulling both of them out of their trance, simultaneously the pair looked down at the fruit of their ever-growing bond with humungous smiles and cloudy eyes.

"she is gorgeous, once you fully heal we will throw a feast, I'll send some of my best men for a hunt, you should write to your mother, and ask her if she can find Dornish wine-"

"my lord, let us enjoy her before we present her to the realm, she is barely a morrow old"

"she is a princess, our princess"

"Precisely, our princess, come lay with us"

as much as (y/n) comprehends the weight of duty and the strict order of customs that came with such wonderful news, she had grown up with a mother who had wrapped her and her siblings with a cloak to protect their childhood years, allowing them to be kids amid chaos and now it was her time to step up and build a fort that kept her happy and safe.

Cregan puffed out a breath of defeat before he complied and climbed as carefully as a man of his statue could

“Let me see, oh perfect”

“She will grow out of it”

“She better not, maybe the next one can have slit eyes as well”

“My love, I do not believe I can give birth to a full dragon”

“One can only hope”

Cregan jested as (y/n) laughed, the young babe had inherited her mother's ears, Cregan would often brush (y/n) 's hair away from her face to take a look at her ears, or brush his fingers over them as she laid her head on his chest at night, sometimes (y/n) would slap away his hand while he roared with laughter, others she would just bask in his admiration, thanking whoever took favor in her and gave her the man that loved her, pointy ears and all.

Requests are open!

[delulujuls]

so cold | house of the dragon

hi, if you haven't watched s02e02 of hotd yet and you don't want spoilers, then please don't scroll below. but feel free to hit a heart button if you wanna came back later and check on this one.

all rights to ideas used here belongs to george r.r. martin, hbo and warner bros, i just added a bit to them from myself. title is inspired by so cold by ben coaks. also, in this one reader is viserys' fifth child, older than helaena but younger than aemond, aegon and rhaenyra.

summary: targaryens started falling into madness forgetting that they are family and a strong family needs love, not war

warnings: death of a child, murder, explaining of a killing

pairing: sister!reader x rhaenyra targaryen x aegon targaryen (ft. daemon the troublemaker)

Young mother cradled child in her arms, rocking her gently to sleep. She lovingly pressed her daughter to her chest, softly humming under her breath. The girl slept, nestled against her mother, who couldn't bear to let her go. She feared that if her daughter left her embrace, something terrible might happen to her.

Someone will hurt her like they hurt her beloved boy.

"Your grace, you should rest," one of the maids whispered, preparing the queen's chamber for the night.

At one point, the young woman didn't hear her words, staring into the candle flame and lightly rocking her daughter in her arms. After a moment, she looked up at the servant and, realizing she had momentarily lost touch with reality, only sniffed and nodded. She carefully laid the girl in bed, covering her with a blanket. She gently sat next to her, hastily wiping herself her tear-streaked cheeks. Young queen placed a hand on her daughter's head, tenderly stroking it.

"Your grace," the maid began again, trying to encourage her to rest, but the she didn't let her finish "Stay with her until I return, alright?"

She asked, but it sounded more like a command. Y/N lifted her gaze to the maid, who nodded quickly. The young queen glanced at her daughter one last time, leaning down to give her a gentle kiss on the forehead. She adjusted the blanket on her one last time and then stood up. The maid immediately took her place. She didn't look at the sleeping girl, but at her mother, who quickly put on a cloak and hood over her nightgown.

"Where are you going, my lady?" the maid asked softly, nervously clutching her apron. She knew there were two guards outside the queen's chamber, and no other entrance to it. Yet, she was terrified of the responsibility the woman was placing on her, leaving her child in her care, after everything that happened not so long ago.

"I need some fresh air," she replied, wiping her wet cheeks again. Despite her whisper, her voice was firm. "I'll be back shortly. You're safe here."

The maid nodded and watched the young queen leave. She disappeared behind heavy doors guarded by two knights of the Royal Guard, who straightened up as soon as they saw her.

"Your grace," one greeted her, about to ask where she was going, noticing her attire suggested an outing. However, she cut him off. "I need some fresh air before sleep. Until I return, there's a maid inside with Jaehaera. Let no one inside, and if anyone asks, I'm asleep."

She announced, scanning their faces to ensure they understood her words. The knights nodded and bowed, because who were they to deny the queen leaving the castle, especially in her current state? Each of the three people Y/N informed of her departure assumed the young queen would take a short stroll around the castle or stop in one of the gardens to clean her mind before going to bed. However, Y/N was heading to the Dragonpit, not even thinking about going to sleep any time soon.

When she arrived, the dragons immediately sensed her presence. Feeling her sadness and grief, they murmured softly, with their gaze following her steps toward Vermithor. The old dragon knew where he would have to fly before she even appeared inside. He would fly to Dragonstone.

The cold, night wind swept tears from the young queen's cheeks as she sat on the back of the Bronze Fury. She realized she didn't actually know what to say when she will arrive to the castle. Would the guards even let her in? Would Rhaenyra want to talk? Maybe Daemon was nearby on Caraxes, wanting to attack her?

However, no one attacked her from the air, and when she landed, no one awaited her with an army. As she reached the castle gates, she removed her hood, letting her white hair fell over her shoulders.

"Your grace," the guards bowed, but they would have lied if they claimed her appearance didn't shock them.

"I want to talk to Rhaenyra," she announced, looking at their faces. Seeing her swollen eyes and wet cheeks, they didn't even dare ask if she was armed. Before them was a grieving mother who didn't want war. She wanted explanations.

When Rhaenyra was awakened and informed of her sister's visit, she quickly went to the main hall, barefoot and in her nightgown. She felt like she was still dreaming and her mind was playing tricks on her, but when she saw her sister accompanied by two guards, she realized the reality. Sisters looked at each other in silence, unsure of what to say and how to begin. Rhaenyra felt a lump in her throat when she saw in what state Y/N was. She felt like she was looking at her reflection from a few weeks ago when she herself mourned her son's death. Y/N's eyes welled with tears again. She hadn't seen Rhaenyra for so long.

"Nyra-," she began, but her voice broke. The older woman started towards her, but a guard stopped her with a hand gesture.

"Your grace, we don't know-," "She's my sister," she said firmly, glaring at him. She passed the young knight and approached the girl, whom she immediately hugged. As soon as she closed her in her arms, Y/N began to sob. Rhaenyra held her tightly, feeling her own tears burning beneath her eyelids.

"They killed my boy," she cried, clenching her fists on Rhaenyra's robe. "They killed my angel, who did nothing wrong. Why? Why did they kill one of the two most innocent people in this cursed castle?"

Rhaenyra had no answer to any of her questions. Even if she wanted to say something, she couldn't, being completely out of words. She hugged her sister, who trembled in her arms. Despite her heavy cloak and cape, she felt her body shaking.

Still embracing young queen, Rhaenyra led her to one of the couches where they sat together. She held her hands tightly as she tried to sort out what she wanted to say. Y/N had no idea what to say either, she just wanted to rid herself of all the pain no one in the castle cared about. No one wanted to listen to her, no one even wanted to hug and comfort her; everyone needed to be heard and comforted as well. Of all the people, Y/N could only come to Rhaenyra, who was now an enemy to all of King's Landing. However, for the young queen, she was not an enemy but a sister and a mother who had recently mourned the death of her child, too. No one could understand her better.

"They cut off his little head as if he were a worthless pig," she said bitterly, staring into the flame dancing in the fireplace. Rhaenyra saw that Y/N still had her dead son's body before her eyes, and she knew that the sight would stay with her for a long time. She would give anything to relieve her pain.

"I've never seen such a small coffin. And it was still too big for him," Rhaenyra quickly wiped her wet cheeks herself, but it didn't gave much help.

"Instead of treating his funeral properly and with respect," Y/N began, but her voice broke. "Otto ordered a procession. They dragged him through the entire city along paths he was not even able to walk in his lifetime."

Despite the sadness, grief, and sympathy, Rhaenyra began to feel anger. The Hightowers turned the death of a child into a spectacle to portray them as victims and her as a murderer. It wasn't even about deciding to condemn her even more; it was the fact that they used the tragic death of an innocent child for it.

"He said Alicent and I should take part in the procession so that people would sympathize more. She…she-," young queen began to sob, to which Rhaenyra hugged her tightly. "When I said I didn't want to, she declared it was my duty. It wasn't my duty, was it?"

"Of course not," she answered, stroking her head. Rhaenyra's tears soaked her sister's hair as she hugged her. "You didn't deserve this, Y/N. I'm so sorry."

The young queen cried in her arms, and Rhaenyra continued to hug her tightly. All she could do at the moment was provide her with a little comfort, which she was so eager for. Y/N herself had not been a child so long ago and now she had to deal with such suffering.

After a while, when the wave of despair passed, Y/N moved away from her sister and looked at her face, desperately seeking explanations.

"What actually happened, Nyra?"

"There was a mistake," a voice came from the corner before Rhaenyra was even able to open her mouth to speak. When Daemon came out of the shadows, Rhaenyra hugged her sister tighter and gave him a fierce look.

"You have no right to be here," she said sharply, but her voice trembled on the last spoken word.

"I have the right to explanations," he replied calmly, looking at her and then at his niece. The young queen looked at him in silence, finally wanting to know the truth. The pain could be devastating, but she knew that moving forward would require it.

"Why-," she began, biting her lip painfully. She didn't want to cry in front of him. "Why did they kill my little boy?"

"Aemond was supposed to die," he said, approaching. "Son for son."

Y/N shook her head in disbelief, snuggling into her sister. She couldn't look at her uncle.

"They didn't find Aemond, but they found you and your children-" "That's enough," Rhaenyra interrupted sharply. "Leave, now."

However, Daemon approached even closer, still looking at his niece. He knelt in front of her.

"There are no words to describe how sorry I am," he said quietly but firmly. "I'm so sorry Y/N, that you got caught up in this conflict. You and your children shouldn't be involved at all."

The young queen sniffled and looked at him tearfully. She felt a cold hand tighten around her throat, struggling to breathe because of what she heard.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," he repeated, this time looking her in the eye.

"How many more family members will I have to mourn for this madness to end?"

Rhaenyra kissed her temple and hugged her tightly. The three of them remained silent for an indefinite time. At one point, Y/N stood up, breaking free from her sister's embrace. She wiped her wet cheeks and took a deep breath.

"Aegon is angry and wants war," she began, looking around them. "But more than anger, it's grief that consumes him. He lost a child."

"We don't want war either," Rhaenyra assured, holding her hand. "The last thing I want is more death."

"I'll try to talk to him and appeal to his reason," she said, squeezing her sister's hand one last time. "I don't want any more death, too. This has to end."

She was about to leave, but Rhaenyra stood up and hugged her tightly one last time.

"I love you, bird," she whispered, holding her tightly. "I love you and I'm so sorry for all of this."

"I'm not your enemy," Y/N said softly, closing her eyes. "I'm your sister. And I too love you."

After a difficult farewell, the young queen returned to the castle. As she walked through the empty, silent corridors, she tried to be quieter than a mouse. However, as she passed Aegon's chambers, she heard sobbing. Her brother must have sent the guards away because there was no one at the entrance. The girl fought herself for a moment, but after a while she quietly entered the room. Aegon sat by the fireplace, leaning his elbows on his knees. He nervously rubbed his hands and his hair covered his face, but she could hear him crying.

Y/N still had her hand on the doorknob, unsure what to do or say. Since the news of their son's death, they has not spoken a word with each other.

"Aegon..." she began uncertainly, but he didn't react to her words at all. The girl left the door ajar and walked slowly to him, afraid of what she might expect from him.

"I just wanted to-" she didn't have the opportunity to finish, because he caught her around the waist and pulled her towards him, hugging her tightly. The young queen put one hand on his shoulder, the other stroking his head. She herself felt tears under her eyelids again.

"Why does this keep happening to us?" he asked, raising his head and looking at her from below. Aegon also desperately needed explanations that could help him digest the pain, but no one wanted to provide them to him. The girl touched his tear-stained cheek and wiped it off, shaking her head helplessly. She also didn't have an answer to the question that would haunt them for the next few weeks, months, maybe even years.

"I just wanted to be happy and have a loving family," he said, his voice breaking. "What did i do wrong?"

Y/N burst into tears again and sat on his lap, hugging him tightly. Aegon hugged her even tighter, ignoring her cloak and the smell of the night she brought with her into his chambers. At that moment, all he desperately needed was a little comfort and a silent assurance that everything would somehow work out.

She needed it, too.

Targaryens needed each other.

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Lord Husband (Chapter 1)

Cregan x reader

A/N: this is just gonna be a miniseries methinks

word count: 1,171

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“You look like an angel, my love.” Rhaenyra says as the handmaidens pin back your hair but you don’t feel like an angel; you feel like a pawn.

You have been meeting with suitors for nearly four moons and none have seemed to be good enough for you. Lannisters are too proud, Tullys bore you, and you can’t stand a single person with the name Baratheon. Your mother said that she was showing you a great kindness in allowing you to choose, a kindness that she didn’t appreciate enough when the young queen had the chance. You don’t care. You know you are just like she was when she was younger. You often wear that with pride but you know what it means in this scenario. You’re ‘too stubborn to appreciate what has been given to you’. Rhaenyra gave you the opportunity but she was no longer patient. A husband had to be chosen.

“Winterfell is very far.” Is all you say in response.

“Lord Stark is a good man. I would not have chosen him for you if I wasn’t sure of it.” She presses a kiss to the side of your head. “Just walk through the gardens with him. Get to know the man who will be your husband.” She pets your hair in a loving manner. You can’t seem to understand that she would only have the best for you, her only daughter.

You have yet to meet Cregan Stark but you already hate him, your betrothed, the man who will whisk you away from your family to the cold North. You resent the freedoms he is taking from you. You resent being separated from your family. You resent everything about him.

“He will treat you well, sweet girl. I know it.” You stand up now, wrapped in a silk gown and decorated with jewellery like a lovely little present for him. When you get to the gardens, he is already waiting for you with a blinding smile on his face. You have to admit that he is incredibly handsome. He is tall and his physique looks strong from years of training with the sword. A real Northern man.

“Princess, it is my pleasure to meet you. Our engagement brings great honour to my house.” He walks over to stand in front of you and you let him take your hand up for a kiss, fighting the urge to roll your eyes.

“Lord Stark.” Your voice is cold which seems to surprise him ever so slightly. You don’t give him a chance to say much else as you begin to walk through the gardens, leaving him in your dust. He looks at you in a bit of a stupor before quickly following after his pretty betrothed. 

“Would you like to take my arm, princess?” He politely offers his right arm to you. How proper.

“No.” You say simply as he speeds up a bit to stay in step with you.

“No?” He looks a little confused but chalks it up to teenage girls being a little strange. You give him no other response so he makes another attempt at conversation. “Have you ever visited Winterfell?”

“No.” He awaits to hear a sentiment of your excitement to see it soon but is disappointed when none comes.

“I am sure you will love it. It’s beautiful when there's a fresh dusting of snow on the ground. I’d say it’s the greatest place in all of Westeros but I suppose i’m biased.” He grins, mostly to himself, and then looks at you, hopeful for more of a response.

“Hmm.”  Is all you offer as a reply. Cregan finds himself dejected at his future wife’s lack of interest and he tries his best to shake it off.

“It does get cold of course but you’ll be more than warm enough in the castle. Most actually find it very cozy.” He gives you another smile that likely has most women melting in a puddle at his feet. For some reason it just irritates you more.

“Dragons don’t do well in the cold.” Your curt reply makes him cringe. He can’t understand what has given you such a sense of distaste towards him. Things are silent for a moment. He has no idea how to respond directly to your comment.

“Do you have any hobbies?” Another attempt it seems. The question makes you sigh. What a boring change of subject. 

“We don’t really need to speak.” You shock him with your words, with your bratty attitude. He’d expected you to be entitled but he didn’t expect you to be outright rude. He is a lord after all, the Warden of the North. He deserves some sense of courtesy from you.

“That is going to be difficult seeing as how we are to be wed.” He scoffs and you begin to fiddle with the rings that decorate your fingers.

“The only thing you need from me in this marriage is to fill my belly with your heirs.” You say. You know it’s harsh but it isn’t necessarily untrue. He seems to be taken aback slightly by your words.

“You don’t wish to get to know the man you’re going to marry?” He asks in disbelief. He seems like a romantic. You didn’t think people of nobility were allowed to be romantics. Though, simply knowing your husband better is a sad definition of romanticism.

“You ask many questions.” You roll your eyes and he does his best to hold his tongue and not say something stupid.

“And you answer practically none, princess.” There was a bit of bite in his words. He clearly believes that you’re acting like a spoilt child. 

Awkward silence fills the space between you both. You wonder if he may apologise to you and he earns a bit more of your respect because he doesn’t. It’s quiet for quite some time and you try to walk faster so that you may get to the end of the gardens before he tries to make conversation again. He never does and it isn’t long before the promenade comes to an untimely finish.

“Good day to you, my lord.” Poor Lord Stark looks like he’s rethinking all of his life choices when you say the words to him. What an ill fate for the man, marrying a cold Targaryen princess.

“To you as well, princess.” You don’t lift your hand up for him to kiss again and based on the fact that he looks like a kicked puppy, you know that he wanted to.

You leave quickly. You did your duty… technically. Your mother asked you to walk through the gardens with him and you did. Mayhaps you simply forgot about the getting to know him part. You wonder if he will retract his proposal, but who would ever retract a proposal to a princess? Maybe you’re delaying the inevitable, maybe you’re just full of old fashioned Targaryen spite but you have no wish to create a relationship with the man you’re meant to marry.

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