#two men one sand castle

[i-cant-sing]

Time Traveller AU pt3

Part 1 is here. Part 2 is here. Part 4 is here. Find the AU masterlist here! Check out my MASTERLIST here.

"This is so unnecessary" you whispered to the man sitting behind you. "Everyone's staring." Your eyes scanned over the mass of people in town, as your horse passed through.

You thought you would get your own horse, but Baldwin had other plans apparently, as he just picked you up from your armpits and plopped you in front of him on his horse.

You could feel him smiling from ear to ear. "I think they're just in awe of your beauty. I would suggest getting used to the stares, now."

You rolled your eyes. "Dont flatter me. I know how I look, besides- I was referring to us sharing a horse. Its unnecessary and its why everyones looking at us."

"I think its unnecessary to get another horse for you. You dont know how to ride them, and believe me when I tell you- these horses are wild. I dont want you to get hurt when they kick you off." He teased.

You scoffed. Alright, maybe you werent an equestrian, but how hard would it be to ride a horse anyways? Didnt Baldwin learn to ride one when his right arm was paralysed and he had to do with his thighs mostly to control the horse?

"Still, I couldve gotten a carriage. Or better yet walked? Maybe even ride a horse with someone else-" You quieted down as you felt a pair of lips peck behind your ear.

"Dont even think about it. Why would I let anyone touch you, be this close to my princess-" his arm snaked around your waist and pulled you back closer to him. "Wouldnt you prefer your soon-to-be-husband to help you instead?" He whispered as his hand slowly found its way to rest on your belly, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Heat rose to your cheeks as you pulled his hand away and smacked it when it tried to touch your waist again. "Behave, Baldwin." You admonished with a smile as people looked at you. You dont want to create a scene (especially not one where history would report some lady smacking King Baldwin).

You getting flustered and angry only made him chuckle, as he leaned down to give the back of your head a kiss.

Enough with the PDA already. Arent medieval times supposed to be more conservative?

Ugh. Your lips formed into a thin line. Maybe he'll back off when you reach Salauddin and he sees how other Muslims act.

With some entourage accompanying you guys, you travelled away from the kingdom for almost an hour or so until you crossed that one sand dune beyond which Salauddin and his people were camping.

Before reaching the dessert, you had asked Baldwin if he had something that you could cover yourself up with. You want to adhere to the customs and not accidentally piss off one of the greatest Muslim rulers. Sure, you could've worn something more concealing before leaving the castle, but neither of you wanted people to know that you two were going to meet Salauddin.

Baldwin nodded and in one swift motion, he had removed his cloak and wrapped it around you, bringing the hood over you.

"But- what about you?" you looked back at him with wide eyes. People didnt just wear full length clothes back then just because of modesty, but also to protect their skin from sun damage.

He smiled. "I'll be fine, princess." No, you wont. And you're not risking yet another historical change by having the king of Jerusalem getting skin cancer.

Immediately, you tore off the bottom of your tunic and made a keffiyeh (a headdress) which covered both his head and his face. "There, now we can go."

From the keffiyeh, only his eyes were visible, which crinkled up. "Did you cover me up because you dont want women staring at me in awe?"

"What? Of course not. You just recovered from leprosy. Your skin would be sensitive to the harsh sun and heat of the desert-" He cut you off by laughing lightly.

"Whatever you say, princess. Whatever you say."

As you neared the camps, you saw men dressed in battle armour coming out of the tents, and you from the way he walked, the way he dressed, even his mere presence could make you recognise Salauddin from a mile away.

The horse stopped and Baldwin got down first before helping you down. You followed him as he walked towards Salauddin, who was standing there with his arms crossed over his chest. An erie silence settled all around you, the sound of air whooshing being the only thing audible for a few moments. Salauddin stared into Baldwin, while men from both sides glared at each other, one hand on their swords, ready to fight.

"Salam alaikum." Baldwin spoke first.

Peace be upon you.

You heart dropped for a second when Salauddin didnt reply back immediately. With your hood covering your face, you couldnt exactly see his expressions, only resorting to his body language and sounds to anticipate his mood.

Salauddin's lip quirked up. "Walaikum asalaam." He opened his arms and both men embraced each other for a few moments and you could feel the tension around you finally melting away as men from both sides finally started conversing with each other normally now that their kings were talking amicably.

Salauddin patted his back and raised a brow at you. "Who taught you the keffiyeh to cover that sore face of yours?" Baldwin chuckled. "My fiancee- Y/n, princess come here will you?" You walked closer to Baldwin. "This is Y/n, and we're both here today to invite you to our wedding. Darling, say hi, will you?"

You gulped. "Assalamu alaikum".

Salauddin's ears perked up. "Walaikum asalam. That was perfect pronunciation. Have you been taught by Arab scholars?"

"About that..." Baldwin chuckled nervously. "Y/n, why dont you go there with the ladies? They seem pretty eager to meet you." Salauddin nodded his head and a couple of women, all wearing burqas approached you. "This is princess Y/n. Take good care of her." Salauddin told them as they took you to their tent, where only women remained.

Meanwhile, Salauddin let Baldwin in to his tent.

"So, whats the secret?" Salauddin asked as he sat down, beckoning Baldwin to do the same.

He took a deep breath. "Y/n is... a Muslim."

Salauddin blinked at him. "What?"

"She's Muslim." He repeated. "So could you just tell me about the Islamic wedding ceremony? Nikkah, right?"

Salauddin stared at him. "Are you joking?"

"No."

"You cant marry her, Baldwin."

"Why not?"

"Because she's a Muslim and you're Catholic!"

"So? I havent seen it stop Muslims from marrying non muslims."

"No- only muslim men can marry non muslim women. It doesnt work the other way around."

"Salauddin, thats sexist."

"Its not sexist- nevermind, I cant help you understand it. But no, you cant marry a Muslim woman."

"What if... shes not Muslim?" Salauddin gave him a puzzled look. "I... believe Y/n may be using religion as an excuse not to marry me."

"If she doesnt want to marry you, why do you wanna marry her?"

"She does want to marry me, she's just... confused. Look, Salauddin. She cured me- CURED leprosy. This doesnt happend to anyone. She- she has something holy about her. How else do you explain this miracle?"

"So what? You think God and what- Jesus? chose this girl for you? That they gave her healing hands to cure your disease? You think shes of divinity?"

Baldwin smiled softly. "I do." Salauddin rolled his eyes. "Youre infatuated with her, Baldwin. Its temporary. She performed some magic, or tricks and you think she's divine? Do not make a fool of yourself."

"Then explain how I suddenly got well, Salauddin. Youve travelled the world, you sent me your best Arab healers, you believe in sciences- explain to me how I was cured of my incurable disease."

Salauddin gazed at the young king. "Let me guess, she claimed that she's been sent by Almighty God to cure the King and save Jerusalem, and in return, you must marry her or give her your throne to fulfil some prophecy?"

Baldwin chuckled, leaning back against the ottoman a bit. "Actually, she's been denying that she did anything to help me, she keeps on making excuses to marry me, she avoids my affection- and if I'm being honest, attention." Salauddin's eyes furrowed a bit. What game are you playing?

"Maybe... Black magic?" Salauddin is well aware of witchcraft, its been mentioned by his religion too.

Baldwin shrugged. "She's far too angelic to be associated with that. I'm sure there would be prominent signs if she was involved in any sort of magic or witchcraft."

Salauddin was about to reply but just then, his guards came running in.

"Salauddin! There's a sandstorm coming!" Immeadiately both kings sprung up.

"Tie up the animals! Tell everyone to get in and take cover!" Salauddin barked orders at his men.

The women in your tent were immediately informed of the situation and they quickly started taking measures, with the men outside helping to nail down the tent and gathering the baby animals and children, bringing them inside the tent.

You got up to leave and go to Baldwin, but the women pushed you back down, telling you its not safe to leave.

"The storm is here! You can't leave now!" Well, alright then. You plopped back down on your seat, when you heard someone cry out loud and your eyes immeadiately saw the liquid on the floor.

Of course it was the pregnant lady.

The woman had went into labour and everyone rushed to help her. Everyone but you. Nuh uh, youre not meddling in this time, lest anyone else accuses you of having magic healing hands.

Another harrowing scream pierced through the room, with the harsh winds threatening to blow away the tent adding on to the tension.

Maybe I could just stand near them, just to make sure they are using proper hygiene. Or actually just to see how midwifes worked in the past. Yes, its for science.

You stood near the midwifes, out of their work field because you dont want to be an obstacle. Of course, you may have had caught the sight of the poor woman and her... vagina, which youre ashamed to say has made you sick to your stomach because child birth is not a beautiful phenomenon and fuck this shit youre never having babies.

After almost an hour, the baby was finally out. The stench of sweat and blood and the nightmarish sights you'd caught glimpses of had made you want to throw up when suddenly the enviorment turned gloomy. And it hit you.

The baby wasnt crying.

The mother who was previously crying from labour, was now crying due to a different kind of pain.

You felt for her, you truly did. Carrying a child for 9 months, making sure to take every precaution, not to mention the constant prayers for a healthy baby (and for some, specifically a boy) otherwise the mother would be blamed.

The midwife put the dead baby in the bassinet beside you before tending back to the grieving mother, who was still bleeding from down there.

"Poor Fatima." You heard one of the women whisper to her friend. "To wait for 8 years before she finally conceived... only for her child to die before he could even take his first breath."

Your heart broke as you heard them, the woman sobbed inconsolably. You turned your head to look at the baby in the bassinet and subconsciously, you wondered what went wrong.

Doesnt look like he was choked by the umbilical cord... and he doesnt look cyanotic either, so he probably wasnt dead inside the womb. Your eyes widened. Maybe-!

Your hands went to pick up the baby before halting mid air. No. No. I cant interfere- I cant mess with history more than I already have. I cant save a child who was destined to die-

Your head whipped to the woman who let out a shrill, devastating cry, begging God to let her son live.

Fuck it. You picked up the baby. Maybe this baby was destined to live.

Immeadiately you checked for breathing before putting the baby on a table nearby and placed two fingers on the left side of his chest, starting compressions.

"1. 2. 3-" you muttered under your breath, trying to recall what was drilled into your head when you were attending first aid classes. Pinching the baby's nostrils, you breathed into his mouth, eyes watching as his chest rise and drop. You repeated the compression set 2 more times when the baby finally took a huge breath and began crying.

Picking up the baby, you ran towards the bucket of water and started cleaning the baby's head and face off the mix of blood and amniotic fluid, while massaging his back and his feet to encourage him to breathe on his own.

After a few minutes, you turned around to cover the baby with a cloth swaddling him up nicely and thats when you finally looked around you.

Everyone was staring at you in shock, the sound of the baby crying echoing the silence.

Shit. You rocked the baby gently as you handed him to his mother, who also looked at you in shock with tear streaks on her cheeks. I hope... they didnt see me do CPR.

Yes, damage control. Thats what you need to do. You cleared your throat. "Um- yes, Allah has blessed you with a beautiful son. Lets be grateful to Him." And the women slowly began talking again and agreeing, some saying that they'll go give sadaqah (charity to please God) while others were going to go pray.

When you turned around, you saw Baldwin and Salauddin standing at the entrance of the tent, the former having a beaming smile while the latter looked in surprise.

Maybe it was the stench of sweat and blood in the room, maybe it was emotional situation you went through (high key nauseating), or maybe it was the mix of amniotic fluid and blood on your mouth from when you saved the baby, but the next moment, you lost consciousness.

-

When you woke up, you noticed you were in a different, much bigger tent. Rubbing your eyes, you sat up with a groan.

"You're finally awake." You looked up to see Salauddin sitting at his desk in the other corner-

Salauddin? Your hands went to draw your hood over your face but you realised your (or well, Baldwin's) cloak had been replaced with a cotton niqaab that veiled your entire face except for your eyes.

Standing up, you looked in his direction. "Where's Baldwin?"

You heard him chuckle darkly. "He left."

"He left?" You heard him walk over to you, and instinctively you took a step back, narrowing your eyes at his audacity.

He towered over you, face neutral as he looked down at you. His hand gestured to his right, where a chess set was placed on a table.

"Do you play?" He asked, eyes never leaving yours.

Hesitantly, you nodded. He sat down, beckoning you to do the same.

"Ladies first." He let you start the game. "I should tell you though- if you wish to leave out of this place alive, you'll have to win."

What the shit? Is this some sort of psychological game? Or is this actually happening? I mean, people in the medieval times were crazy. Just because he's muslim shouldnt excuse him from insanity.

You picked up the white pawn. "Where is Baldwin?"

"I told you, he's gone." He moved his black pawn. "He sold you to me."

You looked up at him. What? "Focus on the game. You do not wish to know what will your fate be if you were to lose this game." You immediately picked up your bishop and moved it.

Salauddin clicked his tongue as he took your bishop. You moved your pawn again. "Why- why would he sell me? I'm his fiancee." You asked, your eyes never leaving the board. You're playing for your life here.

"Well, when we saw you use black magic to save that baby- oh, I took your other pawn too, mhm-" He smiled as he looked at your furrowed brows. "And then I told him that you cant be a muslim if you were using black magic."

"Black magic? When did I use it?!" you asked exasperatedly as you lost your knight.

"We saw you muttering something when you were "saving" that child." Muttering? When was I muttering? "One of the ladies even said they heard you whisper some repetitive words to a tune too."

Repetitive words-? You wanted to bang your head against concrete when you realised he was referring to you doing compressions to the rhythm of Stayin Alive by the BeeGees. This one is not your fault because the instructor taught you guys that.

"I was not doing black magic. Even so, who are you to decide if I am a Muslim or not?" You moved your other knight.

"I am Salauddin Ayubi-"

"So?" Salauddin looked at you.

So? So? No one has ever dared to ask him questions.

"Your real name is Yusuf. Salauddin is just a laqab, hm?" Your eyes never left the board as you made your move. "Do you think you're above me? Above Baldwin? Above anyone?" You didnt let him answer as you gestured at him to continue the game. "I dont recall you being a prophet. I dont remember you being a caliph even. So, Salauddin tell me what gives you the right to judge if I'm a muslim or not?" You asked as you took his pawn.

Salauddin narrowed his eyes at you, making his bishop take another pawn of yours. You didnt let it deter you as you practically snatched the same bishop of his with your rook. "Just because youre a muslim, you think you have the right to judge me?"

He scoffed at your words, making his move but you took yet another black pawn. "I am a Muslim. I was born in a Muslim family-"

"Exactly." You took more of his black pawns as he took your white ones. The board was mostly empty now. "You were born in a Muslim family. Do you honestly believe your Lord is happy with you because you were born in the right family? Is that the essence of what being a Muslim is?" Salauddin now looked at you but you didnt let your eyes stray away from the chess board. "Are you a Muslim because you were born in a Muslim family? Or were you born in a Muslim family because Allah knew you wouldnt find your way if you werent? If you were born in a catholic family, youd be a catholic? Lets say you are a Muslim, how do you know youre a good enough Muslim who can judge me? How do you know Allah will let you in heaven when youre on Earth declaring so and so is doing magic and isnt a muslim? Only Allah can judge us, not you Salauddin Ayubi." You stated calmly as you made your final move. "Thats checkmate."

You finally looked at him, your eyes holding satisfaction at his distressed face, though he masked it well.

How you wished to reveal to him that he was playing against a grandmaster whose parents made her take chess as a hobby since she was 6 because they believed it would make her smart and get into good colleges (it did. Thanks mom and dad.)

"Salauddin, we can play chess all you want but dont lie to me. You know I wasnt doing magic, and you know that I know that Baldwin wouldnt just leave me behind. So please, tell me, where is Baldwin?" Before he could reply, you continued. "Remember, lying is a sin."

At this, his eyes finally showed amusement. "He's outside, helping the women sew a niqaab for you. He wants to embroidery a flower in or something." You rolled your eyes at that. Of course, leave it to Baldwin to do cute romantic stuff.

Salauddin leaned back in his chair as he studied you. "So, how did you bring the baby back to life?"

"I prayed to Allah." He quirked a brow at you. "I also cleared his nostrils. They were plugged with fluid, so he didnt know or couldnt breathe with his lungs. Then I just warmed up his body a bit and he was crying- the baby was never dead. You know that no one can be saved from Azrael if Allah has written for that person to die."

Angel of death.

He gave you a nod, though his eyes watched you curiously. "How were you so sure that I knew you were a Muslim?"

You shrugged. "I just did." Why wouldnt you know when he was playing chess with you to check your psychology? Not to mention, he allowed you to be covered with a niqaab even when you were unconscious and let you stay in his tent? If he even doubted that you were a non muslim, you more than likely wouldve been treated far badly.

Salauddin chuckled. Of course, youd keep your secrets. "Then you know that as a Muslim woman, you cannot marry anyone of another faith."

"I dont plan on marrying Baldwin." You scoffed. "I already rejected him and have tried to sway his mind, but hes set on his decision. I think he actually believes that Im an angel or something divine."

He quirked a brow at you. "So he's forcing you to marry him?"

"I wouldnt say force- well, actually I would say that. But he doesnt treat me badly or anything. He's very sweet, even when I avoid him."

Salauddin clicked his tongue. "I could help you." You looked at him. "You are a Muslim, a part of the ummah. I could-"

"No. If youre suggesting starting a war, no." "Well, not a war, youre not that important." Damn. He grinned at your offended eyes. "I meant, I could send some people to sneak you out or-"

"No, if Baldwin finds out youre involved in any way in my escape he would-" you cant risk an extra crusade happening because of a damsel in distress, aka you. It would put the fate of Jerusalem at risk as well as the fate of the Ayyubid dynasty.

Wait. Ayyubid dynasty. They ruled over Egypt, Syria, Palestine, Yemen and so on. But Egypt was the learning center of the Islamic world during this time because they focused on arts and education which meant they hosted the world's greatest scholars there.

"Salauddin, can you get me to Egypt?" The king of Egypt, or sultan of Egypt looked at you quizzically. "I can, but why? Do you have family there?"

"What? No, I'm not running away to Egypt. Look, I just-" you cant explain to him about your escape plan that you were going to use the help of scholars to help you make the tools which you can use to fix your broken time machine. So, you lie. "You're someone who enjoys learning, right? I know you like history and sufism, and I would just love to get to know more about it."

With his head resting on his palm, he studied you. You intrigued him, and although he sensed you had ulterior motives, he agreed. "I cant take you there personally because I am busy here, but I could send you there with some trusted men." You smiled under your veil. This is exactly what you want. And almost as if he could sense your glee, he continued. "Your madly-in-love fiance wont send you alone, or at all."

"Let me worry about Baldwin, and he'll agree because I'm not running away. I'll work on my escape another way in which no one has to die." You said, finally standing up and walking out of the tent to find Baldwin who was sitting with the other veiled women, his eyes focused on the needlework.

"Baldwin." You called out with your hands behind your back as you walked upto him.

He looked up and his eyes practically sparkled at the sight of you. "Princess!" He stood up and immediately went to hug you but you stopped him before he could, nodding your head at onlookers. "Oh right, sorry." He smiled sheepishly, scratching the back of his head, ears turning pink as the women giggled.

He then picked up the niqaab he'd been working on, the blue cloth matched the color of his eyes. "Look, I made that flower." There was embroidery done on the sleeves. And of course, amongst the mass of tiny, delicate pink and white flowers, Baldwin made the biggest, slightly wonky flower.

It brought a smile to your lips. Gosh, he's such a-

You shake your head. No. No. You cant.

"Its beautiful, Baldwin. Thank you." He grinned at your praise, nodding his head as he folded it up. Still holding the embroidered niqaab in his hand, he walked over to Salauddin and shook his head. "We should get going now. Thank you for hospitality, Salauddin." The Kurdish nodded. "Of course. You're always welcome. And if you have any more questions about our traditions and rituals, dont hesitate to reach out to me. Although your wife to be seems quite knowledgeable on the subject herself." Your eyes widened every so slightly. Did Salauddin- did he just acknowledge that you're not as dumb as he thought you were.

Baldwin smiled before leading you towards his horse, helping you get on it.

Salauddin watched as your entourage left, and his mouth twitched.

You have piqued my interest, Y/n. He called his right hand man.

"We still have spies in Baldwin's castle, right?" The man confirmed. "Excellent. Have them find out all they can about lady Y/n. And prepare a small entourage ready to go to Egypt."

"Wont we be staying here, sultan?" The man asked, confused as to why Salauddin would be leaving Jerusalem this early.

"We will, but I will make a short trip in between."

Of course, Salauddin cant just let you go to Egypt alone. The sultan will have to make proper arrangements to welcome you there.

And to find out what you're really there for.

He returned to his tent, his eyes landing on the chess board. Walking upto it, he looked at how you had defeated him.

Salauddin smirked, using his finger to knock down the white king.

It'll be fun to make Baldwin jealous.

Part 4 is here!

[annwrites]

a call to arms. part three.

— pairing: jacaerys velaryon x dragonseed!reader

— type: part of a series

— summary: jace takes you on your first flying lesson.

— word count: 5,645

— tagging list: @emilynissangtr @tvangelism @aemondwhoresworld @cecestea @daisyhxsh

He'd already woken up in a sour mood at the prospect of having to waste his day at your side, yet again, while he teaches you how to ride something you've no business having in the first place.

He'd swallowed it down, however, with specific plans in mind for this afternoon.

He would show you first how it's done, soaring through the skies with ease atop Vermax. His dragon would breathe great plumes of fire, which he'd then swoop directly through without an ounce of fear.

Once he landed, you would look at him with awe and reverence, begging him to take you up next.

He'd intended for today to be less of a headache. The two of you would not spend it arguing.

It would, instead, be similar in nature to how you'd ended the night last: calmly, Jacaerys kindly teaching you Valyrian terms he assumes you may have interest in knowing, and with a gentle touch. Or mayhaps a few...

Instead, when he'd sent for you, you'd not been in your chambers.

You'd, apparently, gone out to walk along the beach with your guard, as if this is all some sort of holiday away from home.

His ire had been promptly stoked, and had turned to seething rage as he watched from the castle's walkway as the two of you conversed and touched one another.

You, placing a hand upon the man's chest, and he upon your arm, your lower back, your waist. You merely smiled like an empty-headed idiot all the while.

As if you are unfamiliar with the ways of wanton men.

He should have the knight's hands cut off for such an offense. For touching that which he is not meant to have.

Not that you are spoken for—Jace has had few words with his own betrothed the last few days, always claiming to be otherwise occupied—but your priorities lie elsewhere now. Not in taking long walks on beaches with...rough-handed men.

He shall begin the day by teaching both of you a lesson then.

Jacaerys clenches his jaw, tightening his grip around the pommel of his sword as he comes ever-closer, gritting his teeth at the sound of you laughing contentedly at what he's sure is an ignorant joke the knight has just told you to earn your approval.

And then he does it again: touches your back, sliding his palm along it, keeping you somewhat close to his side.

Too close.

Jacaerys plants his booted feet firmly in damp sand, settles his arms behind his back, and clears his throat.

You jump in surprise.

"Ser Myles," he says, glancing to the knight's arm, before meeting his eyes once more. "Is that any way to treat the young woman you've been tasked with the protection of?"

His hand suddenly falls away, and your brows furrow.

"Forgive me, My Prince, I meant no harm by the gesture."

Jacaerys takes a step forward. "No, I think you meant something entirely different."

Your eyes flit between the two men, while your heart begins to pound in your chest at the boy's insinuation.

Myles remains silent, so Jacaerys shrugs dramatically. "What? Nothing to say for yourself, then? You are given the duty of keeping her safe, and she's here not even a week, and already you are being untoward. How should I see such an action? Hm?"

You step in front of Myles, putting yourself between the two of them. "He was merely keeping me company while I collected shells. He's done nothing wrong."

Jacaerys stares you down. "You will address me properly, and you will hold your tongue. You speak only when spoken to, is that understood?"

You ball your hands into fists before crossing your arms.

Jacaerys settles his gaze upon Myles then, loathing him all the more for his handsome smattering of dark facial hair, his tanned face, his broad form.

As if he'd not already felt insecure enough, day-by-day he wishes more and more to crawl out of his own skin. This one is no different, and he'd so prayed it would be.

Myles speaks. "I assure you, My Prince, no disrespect was intended toward Y/N. We were only—"

Jace raises his brows incredulously.

"You seem on quite comfortable terms with my—" He pauses, but only for the briefest of moments. "One of my mother's dragonseeds."

"How else is he meant to address me?" You ask, interrupting once again.

Jacaerys steps closer to you, forcing you to lean your head back to meet his eyes. "You will be silent."

He looks to Ser Myles, jerking his head toward Dragonstone. "You are dismissed."

The man bows his head, glancing to you for but a moment while you give him a sympathetic look in return, before he steps away.

Your eyes are full of fire when they meet Jacaerys' once more. "That was entirely uncalled for."

He grabs you roughly by the arm, glaring at you.

"My Prince," he hisses.

You yank your arm from his grip, sneering at him—and, as you've finally had it with his insufferable ways; his condescending, haughty attitude, you tell him what you really think.

"Royal arsehole!" You shout, stomping away.

His jaw drops, his mind going blank at your display of sheer disrespect.

"W—What did you just call me?!" He yells shrilly.

He races to catch up to you, repeating himself.

"What did you just call me?!" He shouts, his voice echoing across the water.

You pay him no mind as you throw a lock of hair over your shoulder, holding your head high as you continue swiftly walking away in the other direction.

His patience now at its end, he grabs you by the wrist, and begins pulling you back toward the castle. "You insolent little harlot! You'll pay for that! I could have your tongue for such—"

You try to yank yourself away again, but he holds firm, turning back to you with flared nostrils and a set jaw.

"You want to know what I think?!"

"No! I don't think I particularly do! But what I know—" he says, stalking toward you while you shuffle your feet to get away, desperate for him to release you. "Is that this behavior ceases—today!"

He shoves you into a narrow alcove, putting the two of you out-of-sight.

He pushes you into the side of the cavern, and you dare to push him back—shoving against his chest, once, twice—before finally raising a hand to him, which he quickly catches in his strong grip.

He pins you against a damp stone wall, his face mere inches from your own as his warm breath fans over you—combating the cold of the sea while he holds your hands above your head.

"If you ever raise a hand to me again," he says lowly—quietly—his body now flush against your own. "I will take it. What you just did is treason."

He positions his lips next to your ear. "Go on, then. Try me. See how far I let you get after such a stunt. You think me weak? Easy to strong-arm?"

He squeezes your wrists painfully.

"I doubt it. You've no idea who you're testing. I am your future king," he spits. "And you will obey me, you little bitch."

He pulls back, his brown eyes boring into your own. "You think your comely looks make you special? Think they're all you need, so as to easily fool and take advantage of men? To get your way?"

He leans in closer. "I am not so easily corrupted."

Your lip twitches and he curls his own in response.

"What do you think are laughing at?" He barks.

You glance down, to where his erection is firmly pressed against your stomach, then back into his eyes. "I was going to tell you that I think you jealous."

You glower at him. "And merely a green boy who has no idea what in Seven Hells he's doing."

He looks down then as well, and his face goes starch-white.

He stutters, desperately grasping for words, for explanation, for any feeling that isn't utter mortification, before he looks at you again.

You raise a brow, a bored expression now having overtaken your features as you wait for him to decide what he wants to do with you.

You're sure you already know.

Finally, he growls. slamming your arms against stone one last time before releasing you, adjusting himself, then stalking away, leaving you alone...and trembling.

It's some time before you return to the castle.

You'd wished to cool down first, so you'd waded through the sea for awhile—only up to your ankles in the cool saltwater—as you gathered further shells for your sister. But no pearls, quite expectantly.

You're unsure that you regret what occurred with the prince this morn.

Regret for his sake? Never. For your own? Were you not a dragonrider...you would already be dead by now.

You need be far more careful in the future. Your pride is not worth more than your life. Not when you have others depending upon you to make it home to them. To look after them once you have.

Wish that you could remain out here all evening, but, before long, you catch a chill and begin heading inside so as to get warm again in front of the fire.

What had the royal pain in your arse even wanted in the first place, anyway? Had he really come all the way outside and across the beach just to chastise another man for touching you?

You throw yourself back on your bed, not much caring.

He is a child playing at being a man. Nothing more.

Even if those same...manly parts had stirred something inside of you.

As if he is your usual type.

No. He is insufferable.

Jacaerys rubs feverishly at his throbbing erection, his eyes closed—free hand firmly gripping the wall as he works desperately toward his release.

He imagines you bent over his lap as he wails against your backside until it is lovely shades of blood-red and purple, while you beg either for more, or for his mercy.

My Prince, Gods, My Prince...

His lip twitches, turning into a pleased grin as you beg for him.

I will obey, I swear it by the Seven, you whine.

None else shall touch me, you whisper.

Only you, you moan, making him a solemn vow.

He struggles to picture what the rest of you might look like. Your breasts are not much of a quandary for him—he has seen wet-nurses tending to his younger brothers—but rather between your legs.

He is still yet...unaware.

And you had read him like a book on that, hadn't you? More than once. It is humiliating: for you, a girl, to know more than he. About anything.

He imagines you pinned to that wall again, your dress—one of soft grey and pearlescent white he'd chosen for you—in tatters at your feet as you stroke and please him...with your mouth.

That is certainly one way to earn your silence, he muses.

And he much enjoys it.

"Gods, Y/N," he whispers heatedly, wanting you in here with him instead.

He—fuck—he needs you. Needs you on your back, on your knees, on your belly, in every which way. Wants...wants you to teach him. To pleasure him. To allow him to pleasure you. To—to...

"Oh, Gods, yeeees," he drawls, his hot, thick cum spurting out of the tip of his weeping, purple cock as he fills with relief.

His strokes eventually slow, before ceasing altogether, a long tendril of cum hanging from his erection, which he rubs his thumb over.

His body feels hot all over, his cheeks are flushed, and his heart is hammering away in his chest, but Gods, could he use yet another round.

Apparently three had not been nearly enough...

But he knows the day is still young, and you still need him to teach you how to ride Silverwing.

That is what he needs, he thinks, as he cleans himself up. To ride the skies. It will get him out of his head. Will cool him down. Will distract him.

He knows what he truly wants, however...

Something which he will never admit.

Even if the evidence lies plainly before him on an old rag...

There is a knock at your door, interrupting you from your current task of washing off your sister's shells.

You pad toward the door, then blank when you open it, to find Prince Jacaerys standing on the other side.

He tosses you a bundle of clothes, which you barely manage to catch within your arms.

"Put these on," he commands, shoving past you, shutting the door firmly behind himself.

You turn, watching as he pours himself a glass of water, which he drinks down greedily before pouring another, seating himself at your dining table.

"W—what?"

He looks at you with a bored expression. "Are you deaf?"

You look at the clothes—which are all leather and thick velvet, with light fur—then back to him. "What're these for?"

He shrugs a shoulder lightly. "You'll see."

He nods toward your changing screen. "Now, put them on. I won't ask again. We don't have all day."

You briefly consider telling him that, without his little outburst, perhaps whatever new lessons you're about to be given could've been started sooner, but refrain.

You'll need bite your tongue more often from now own, lest you lose it altogether. And then how will you command Silverwing in battle?

In truth, you'd rather not think on the issue too long.

Every day that passes where you are not forced back into the dragonpit to finally learn how to ride her is a great relief. Even if it leaves you on the edge of your seat, waiting with dread for when you're finally summoned to do so.

You shift on your feet, clutching the clothing to your chest. "I need privacy."

He rolls his eyes, taking a sip of his water. "There is a screen, and I hardly intend to look. Now, do as your prince commands."

Royal prick, you think, walking behind the sheer screen, setting your new garments down.

You know looking is precisely what he means to do. Elsewise, he would not still be in here.

Boys.

Jacaerys, to his credit, tries to look out the window instead, but staring at a pane of glass is not why he'd come. It's like he can't fucking help himself. And he feels shameful for it. Nevertheless, he does it anyway.

He watches.

Watches as a candle casts your form in a soft shadow against the screen.

Watches as you remove your gown, and then your smallclothes, leaving you bare—Jace only having his imagination to picture what is on the other side.

There is the soft swell of your breasts, a tuft of hair above your pelvis, your round backside that he'd pictured in his mind's eye but a few minutes earlier as he spanked it raw. Your supple thighs, the feminine curve of your waist.

He glances nervously to the doorway.

If he were to be caught with you like this... He does not want to imagine the fallout that would ensue between not just he and Baela, but between his mother and her father.

And he knows he's enough of a coward that he would place the blame entirely at your feet.

He wants to convince himself he would do otherwise, but doubt clouds such convictions.

He looks back, watching as you pull on your new riding pants, and he adjusts himself over his own, his cock filling with blood...again.

He shakes his head, standing, stepping across the room to stare outside.

He needs to throw himself into the sea for awhile. A long while.

Finally, you clear your throat, interrupting the silence.

Jacaerys turns back to you, pleased that it all seems to fit. It'd been a measure his mother had ordered from their servants: to have you fit for new garments once you'd claimed Silverwing.

He comes toward you. "How does it feel? Are the boots too snug?"

You walk in a few small circles and his lip twitches at the sight, before you come to a stop, looking at him.

You shake your head. "I think they're fine."

He gently tugs against the hem of your tunic before circling you, looking you over—every inch.

When he's standing before you once more, he gives you a small nod. "Follow me."

Your eyes widen in terror as Jacaerys leads you toward the dragonpit.

"W—where're we—what're we—going—doing?"

Jacaerys keeps on, growing nearer and nearer to that familiar set of large double-doors. "Today, you will learn how to fly your new mount. You needn't worry, I will be on Vermax and—"

You stop in your tracks, fighting back tears. "I—I don't want to."

He barely looks at you as he grabs you by the forearm, dragging you forward, closer to those doors.

Doors you thought you'd never walk out of. Doors that had trapped you and dozens of others inside a dark room while two blood-thirsty beasts feasted upon them.

You can still hear the screams.

Can smell the fire—the thick, black plumes of smoke which had threatened to choke the life from you.

You see their flesh falling from their bones.

Can hear one man crying for his mother.

Another girl crying for her baby.

When those same doors close behind you, you panic.

You wrench your arm away from him and run in the opposite direction. You're not thinking. Or you are, but only of survival.

He yells after you, but you hardly hear it. All you do is the screams. The roars of the dragons. Death rattles.

You hide yourself away in a dark corner, clamping your hands over your ears, rocking back and forth, willing it to be over.

It will all be over soon...

You squeeze your eyes shut, making yourself as small as possible.

You want your father.

Your mother.

Your little girl. You want to hold her one last time. Please, Gods, please.

"Look at me!"

It is only once he has pulled your hands away from your ears that you realize you're screaming.

Jacaerys takes your tear-stricken face between his palms, his eyes searching your own. "You're safe! She won't hurt you, you have my word!"

"Please!" You beg him as you choke on your tears. "P—Please, My Prince, I beg of you! Gods, I'm so sorry! Y—You're right: I'll be obedient! A good little girl—your whore—whatever you wish! I'll obey you, I swear it! Please, please, I have to leave!"

His heart breaks at the sight of your crumpled face—your violently shaking body—the words you offer him. You'd do anything he says in this moment, you're that frightened of what his mother had subjected you to.

And to think that he'd sniggered at the idea of feeding you to Vermax...

How could he have?

"My little girl! I want my little girl!" You cry, trying to push past him, your eyes set on those large doors, until he pulls you against his chest—the two of you collapsing in a tangle of limbs as he holds onto you with all his might.

He shooshes you, smooths your hair with his hand, rocks you gently.

"You're safe, you're safe," he repeats so many times that he quickly loses count of just how many.

"She is your dragon now," he tells you with wide eyes, "She will obey you. She means you no harm. She chose you. Wants you to be her rider, the sole body who commands her. You can trust her, I swear this to you."

You shake your head, not wishing to listen.

"I am here!" He shouts. "I won't allow any harm to befall you, you have my word, Y/N! As long as you are with me, you are safe!"

You break into a fit of sobs, clutching at his chest.

"So sorry, so sorry, so—"

He cradles the back of your head, tears stinging his own eyes.

His mother had stood there and watched. Had watched like it was some marvelous spectacle, instead of dozens of people fighting for their lives after coming to offer her their aid.

And he had been grateful for their deaths. All those people. They'd...they'd had families, too. They'd been unaware of what they were walking into.

He is a monster, he realizes, feeling ill.

After some time, you begin to quiet, your sobs turning into quiet hiccups, your body drained.

"I don't..." You trail off, unsure what you even want to say.

He tightens his arms around you.

"You...you did not say... That you have children."

He is not pleased by it, but also not entirely surprised. So, you've a bastard child with a man who chose to leave you both behind. He is not sure if that says more about you, or he.

Your brows furrow.

"What?" You ask quietly.

"You kept begging...for your little girl."

You slump against him.

"My little sister," you explain.

"My father died when I was young. And after...my mother became a ghost of herself. It became my responsibly to look after us all. No matter that I was still a child myself. There was this night..."

You grow quiet for a moment before continuing.

"I was reading to my sister in bed. She...she called me 'mama'. I didn't...know what to do with that. So, I let it go. Until she did it again. My mother didn't even care. I tried, gently, to explain to her not to refer to me by that term, but she didn't seem to grasp the things I was telling her. Why she shouldn't."

Jace rests his cheek against the crown of your head.

"Somewhere along the way, I began to think of her as my daughter. Maybe she is now. I don't know. I just... I miss her more than I can bear. I feel like a piece of my chest is missing now. I want to be back with her."

Jace swallows down the lump in his throat. "My younger brother, Luke... Aemond killed him. I did not...act as a father to him, necessarily, but I looked after him. Tried to teach him. I miss him every day."

You gingerly take one of his hands in your own.

"I heard about that... Storm's End?"

He nods.

"I'm sorry," you whisper.

He presses a kiss to your hair. "Me as well."

A beat of silence.

"I know you do not wish to, but you have to learn."

You stir in his arms, so he holds you close yet still.

"I will ride with you. On Silverwing. I promise you—I swear to you—that she will bring you no harm. Dragons bond with their riders. You'll feel it before long. It's...difficult to explain. But if the day came when she needed give her life for yours," he says, pulling away, cupping your cheek. "She will. That is what you mean to her now."

Your chin wobbles. "I don't want her."

"She wants you. Has chosen you."

"How...how do we let someone else claim her instead?"

He shakes his head. "That isn't how it works. A dragon may only take a new rider once its previous one has passed. That is the only way the bond is broken."

Your heart sinks. "Oh."

A tear slips from your eye, sliding down your cheek. "I don't want to die."

He frowns.

"I know. None do. But..." What is he supposed to tell you? A dragon was never what you'd come here for. He has no words of comfort for you, and it makes him feel all the worse for it.

"I wonder if Maisily would like her."

You smile slightly.

"I'd like to think she'd be braver than I."

He presses a kiss to your forehead. "After what you endured...you're not a coward. I'm...sorry. That you must live with it now. Truly."

Your eyes meet his again. "Do we truly have to?"

He nods slowly. "I'm afraid so. But, as I said, I will be with you the entire time."

You clutch at the material of his soft tunic. "Were you scared...the first time?"

He tips your chin up with his index finger, grinning. "Terrified."

That makes you feel somewhat better.

Finally, he stands, taking your hand within his own, lacing your fingers together. "Come, I think it is time for a proper introduction."

You practically cling to Jace's side as the two of you stand at the edge of the platform which overlooks the dragonpit.

Your body shakes violently, while tears well in your eyes. You fear you may vomit all over him.

"Call her," he tells you gently.

You stare up at him, your nose red and eyes bloodshot, and shake your head.

He slides his hand down your arm, lacing his fingers between your own for comfort. He squeezes your hand securely.

"Call to her. I'm right here. No harm will come to you, I promise."

Reluctantly, you tear your gaze away from him, looking out at that black, bottomless pit, afraid of what is to be found in the looming darkness.

You hide yourself half-behind his arm.

"Silverwing," you call quietly.

He frowns. "Tell her 'Māzīs, Silverwing'."

You grip his sleeve tightly.

"It means come," he explains.

"M—" You shut your mouth, humming with fear.

"Try again," he encourages.

In truth, he doesn't entirely mind you taking so long to accomplish this one simple task. The more time it takes you, the longer you'll cling to him for safety.

He much likes that you do in the first place.

That you see him as a protector in this way.

"Māzīs, Silverwing," you call, a few octaves louder, to no response.

"With conviction," he explains.

You squeeze his hand so tightly it hurts, but he says nothing of it.

"Māzīs, Silverwing!" You shout.

And then there is a deep rumbling, and something shifting in the dark.

You squeak, stepping behind Jace entirely, fisting the material of his tunic in your hands as you hold yourself against him.

You shut your eyes, burying your face in the middle of his back.

His lip twitches, eventually turning into a full-blown contented smirk at the feel of you so very close to him.

"Tell her to sit."

"You do it," you mumble.

He rolls his eyes. "She is your mount, not mine. She needs answer to you alone. Elsewise, she will grow confused. It would not do well to have her responding to other riders while in battle."

"Then we won't go to battle. We'll stay here. Where it's safe."

He nearly snorts.

"Demās," he whispers. "Sit."

You peak out from behind him, then blanch when you see your dragon already staring at you.

Her blue and silver scales shimmer against the light of the lit braziers which surround you. At least she's pretty to look at... If not also terrifying.

"She's waiting for you," he presses.

"Demās, Silverwing."

There is a resounding thump, and then a soft clicking coming from her.

"Good, now you may mount her."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

He turns, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. "I will show you how it's done."

You watch nervously as Jacaerys climbs onto your dragon with ease, seating himself comfortably before looking down to you, beckoning you up with his hand.

You shift on your feet, glancing to the doorway, then back to him.

"I will be with you the entire time. Just come. Please."

You take a small step forward, and then another and another, shoving down the urge to run screaming in the other direction all the while as you plant your feet against her side, your hands gripping her slippery scales while you stare up at him.

Jacaerys gives you an encouraging smile. "Good, just like that. Now climb."

You frown, but obey nonetheless, knowing you've no other choice.

You struggle—losing your footing every few steps, but you hold firm, eventually taking Jacaery's outstretched hand, and he pulls you up, and you fall into his chest.

You flush. "Sorry."

He shakes his head, smoothing hair away from your face.

"No harm done. Now," he nods toward the saddle. "Sit, so I can adjust your restraints."

"What...what about you?"

He grins. "I've been at this for some time. I'll be perfectly well."

"You're not...you're not afraid of falling off?"

"Not at all."

You wait patiently—silently—as Jacaerys pulls tight a large leather strap across your waist.

"How does that feel?"

You tug against it, and are pleased to find it doesn't budge. "Good. It feels secure. I think..."

He nods, sliding closer until his chest is flush against your back. He wraps an arm around your waist while his other hand comes to rest atop your thigh.

"Tell her to stand."

You stare ahead dumbly, your mind blank. You don't want her to stand. Don't want her to fly. You want to go back to your room.

"Maybe...maybe tomorrow we could—"

"No, today."

You swallow thickly.

He pulls a lock of hair away from your shoulder, bringing his lips close to your ear. "I won't allow any harm to come to you. Neither will she. She is your protector now."

He pauses. "As am I. For...for today, that is."

Tears fills your eyes.

You want to get down.

You want your little girl.

"Can you hold my hand again?" You whisper.

He smiles, pressing a soft kiss to your hair, twining his fingers between yours once more.

"Now, stand."

You chew your lip. "That's the one you were mean to me over, right? You said..."

You trail off. You can't remember the word now. Only that he called you a simpleton when he told you to say it, and you'd not known what word to supply him with in return.

"Iōrātās."

You nod. "Silverwing, iōrātās!"

She begins to rise and your eyes go wide, your heart jumping into your throat.

"Oh—oh Gods. I don't—"

The two of you rock from side to side before leveling again.

"Tell her to go forward."

A beat of silence.

"Naejot, Silverwing!"

 She begins heading toward a doorway, which begins to slowly open.

Jacaerys had arranged for the dragonkeepers to at least do that much.

He was irritable enough when he went to them to make arrangements for this afternoon. If they'd refused his orders...

It is once Jacaerys can see clearly outside that he speaks again. "Tell her to fly."

"I—I can't do that. We need to get down now, I think."

He cups your cheek, leaning in close to your ear. "All is well, I promise. Trust me. Just this once."

You keep your mouth shut, refusing to give her the order.

"Sōvēs," he tells you.

You remain silent.

He sighs. "Do you think she enjoys being trapped in here all hours of the day? Do you know how long it's been since someone has ridden her? Let her show you the skies. Allow her that privilege."

You fill with guilt then.

You drag your fingertips lightly along her scales.

You've a dragon... What a ridiculous thing for someone like you to possess.

It will not last.

It does not matter if Jacaerys believes otherwise. She chose wrong. And you will prove it to him.

"Silverwing, sōvēs!" You shout with confidence.

And immediately fill with regret, your dragon instead proving you wrong.

She takes off, practically running toward the open doors, flapping her wings, and you shriek in terror, doubling over and hiding your face in your hands.

Jace holds you tightly, encouraging you to look, but you refuse, instead waiting for it to all be over.

You know you are airborne when everything becomes weightless and she steadies beneath you.

"Look, Y/N. Open your eyes!"

You shake your head. "No! We—You should tell her to land. I got her to fly like you said!"

He reaches forward, prying your hands away from your eyes—finding you to be stronger than you look, but you are, nevertheless, no match for him.

You keep your eyelids closed tight, refusing to give him what he wants.

"Open! That is an order from your prince!"

He says it with a grin, and with a playful tone, so as not to frighten you further, but you still whimper in fear.

He gives you another soft kiss upon your silver hair—loose strands of which lash against his face, tickling him.

"I want us to experience this together," he tells you lowly, his hand sliding along your stomach, fingers curling inward.

"You are a dragonrider now, you should see...what sorts of pleasure it may bring you."

Just then, you feel something long and hard pressing into your lower back and your eyes pop open in surprise. You turn back to him, only to find him smirking in contentment. "I see you've finally chosen to properly join me."

You give him a look of disbelief before turning back round.

And then you gasp in amazement—at the large, endless expanse of clear blue sky that surrounds you. It, and a handful of fluffy white clouds are all which remain in all the world from up here.

"I'm—"

He wraps his arms around your upper body, pulling you back against him.

"I'm flying!"

His eyes flutter closed, a smile settling upon his lips to hear you so pleased.

"I'm flying, Jace!"

He beams at you addressing him by a shortened, more familiar version of his name; that you did not so much as hesitate to do so.

"We're flying," he replies as you soar through the skies together.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

To Hunt a Silver Stag (II)

AU MASTERLIST || PART III

PAIRING: Knight!Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Fae Princess!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 5.6k

WARNINGS: Arranged marriage, talks of childbirth, traditional views of women & men in medieval times, talks of war, death, heavy religious imagery/symbolism, blood, gore, sword wounds, stitches, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

The wedding was fast approaching. 

Your nightly conversations had now taken the tone of urgency—a newfound anxiety that perpetuated every inch of the courtyard. Discussion of all manner of flight; boats and horses, magic, and the simple act of dashing away in the small hours. Gaz would not be able to come with you, but he would give you all the time and distraction you would need when the time was right. The best option right now was the horses in the stable—cloak yourself as your knight made a commotion about an intruder on the opposite end of the castle. It was coming together, day after day. Until tonight. 

Until you’d been summoned to have supper with the King and his court. 

You sit now at the very opposite of the table from your betrothed, many eyes darting from the sides of sockets for even a glance at your face. Your crown is still present, along with your belt; your dress is of your collection, and you had seen the looks of disdain when you proudly wore it in—Gaz trailing behind through the main doors of the dining hall.

No one has called in the food yet. Now is the time for talk.

“I imagine you’ve had time to settle in, My Lady?” The King smiles like a snake, and your silver eyes miss nothing as the lines of his face contort; harsh leather and the dunes of sand. “Has my castle become a home to you?” In the corner of your vision, Gaz stands with his hands behind his back at the side of the room along with many other knights. A show of strength? Maybe. 

But you don’t feel nervous about your confidant, though. The time for hesitation between the two of you has passed—it was all or nothing. 

You speak slowly and clearly, face the picture of calm.

“It is a great thing to be able to see the works of mortal hands. It is an achievement, to be sure.” Your lashes move in a slow blink. “Yet, nothing can be a home such as the one I came from.”

“Ah,” Michael takes it in stride, nodding as the men at the sides of the table glance at one another, sneering. As if saying that you were homesick was a sin of some sort. Brown eyes continue to be locked on your measured body—sitting straight and your hands in your lap. “Yes. I understand. Many have heard of the splendor of your homeland.” 

The sconces on the walls flicker. This feels like more of an interrogation than a supper. 

“It is a place very few see,” you speak slowly, thinking what this game might entail. “Those that do are left changed. Such is how it has always been.”

“My children will have equal claim, then?” Michael smiles, and the court’s eyes glint. “To the lands?”

Your body stills, gaze unwavering as your piercing orbs level across the table. The very air shifts in an instant.

“Repeat yourself,” you order slowly. 

The court blinks quickly, some even straighten in their chairs. Gaz’s feet shift near the window—his lips flattening on his face as he takes a low breath down his nose. Your tone made the hairs on his arms raise by themselves, something primal in the way you articulate. 

Yet, the King seems to not know that there’s a line not to be crossed with you. He can’t understand the nearly inextinguishable loyalty to your own—to your people. No rat-like mortal man would ever amount. No kingdom made of stone and iron. 

Your fingers tighten under the table, sharpness breeding in your skin.

Any further insinuation on his part was suddenly very detrimental to his survival rate. Your magic flows through you, and the sparse, and nearly dead, potted plants near the corners of the room quiver. Gaz notices immediately, his jaw subtly clenching. 

Not here, he wants to tell you, his feet shifting with anticipation. Fucking hell, not here, Stag.

But he served a King that he could never love—you served a kingdom that you would give your immortal life for in an instant. 

His Highness tilts his head, eyes glinting as your silver hue sparks up like a candle’s flames. 

“It’s an honest question, is it not?” Michael huffs, moving one of his hands to call the servants to bring in supper. Your senses go into overdrive as the large doors open, blinking quickly at the humming in the air that only increases as the staff moves closer. 

Your mouth opens and closes for a moment, eyes lightly flinching as a headache begins to form. You can’t even answer the King, and your magic halts itself immediately as your head snaps to the side in horror. 

Iron. 

You can’t see the King’s slow smirk as the iron platters are carried in, placed on the table in great heaps of glorious spoils. Large pigs and birds stuffed with vegetables—on the very material that makes your hands begin to shake as the tops are taken off with great showmanship. As if this was an achievement. 

A platter is dropped ahead of you with a clink of metal to wood, but your eyes only stare at the dead ones that smugly look right back as your heart constricts. 

Gaz’s wide expression is frozen on his face, body immobile at the cruel display so openly perpetuated by the court. His hands tighten into fists, eyes darting back and forth from you to the iron and the death on the table. He can see the way your muscles tense, the way your fingers twitch and flinch. 

“So,” the King motions again. “I ask, will my Heir have a claim to the Fae thrown?”

“Not in a million years,” you say slowly at first, your mind addled and skin beginning to sweat. The King stills—just like everyone else in the room. A shiver of rage filters behind those rat eyes as you continue. “Not in the seasons of the Mothers, not in an hour of contemplation, a day of rage, or even the seconds it would take for a Basilisk to devour your wretched corpse.”

It was a wonder you kept your composure as your hands rose from under the table—heart palpitating as a low growl raised from the table. Yet, everyone is shocked at what you do next. 

Your hands grasp the ironware and Gaz has already set a firm step forward in a mute panic of wide eyes and a sucked-in breath—but he’s too late.

You ignore the burn; the agony that rips through your hands and your bones, killing your soul and making your skin itch like it was on fire. Maybe it was. The iron is heavy in your hands as you glare at the King with every ounce of hate a creature as old as you can hold. 

You stab at a piece of food, hold the fork aloft, and hiss on a tight, strained breath. 

“Not even if the cold iron in my palm turns to pure gold will I see any child of yours growing in my womb.” Your hand moves forward, and with a slow bite, you take down a piece of the greasy and roasted corpse; holding back a gag as your skin boils and blisters under the iron’s hold. 

The food slams into your stomach as if a rock.

It’s a curse you level with no magic besides your hatred, and that in and of itself is far more potent. 

The King’s shocked nature turns to confusion, and then to a swift and all-consuming rage.

“Chain her,” he whispers at first, a quiet murmur above the horror of the faces of the court. Then he screams and stands up, slamming his hands to the table with actions half his age. A petulant child. A greedy little boy. “Chain her!”

A hand grasps yours and rips the fork from your grasp, hurling it halfway up the table by the time you can register above your blackening gaze that Gaz is forcing a ripped strip of his cape into the weeping flesh. 

“Christ,” he gasps, quickly glancing at your face as your crown dips and moves as your head does. Everything is buzzing—even being close to this much iron leaves you weak. 

You suck down large breaths, but there’s no time for this.

“Chain her!” King Michael screeches. “I want her in the dungeons!”

Your arm is taken up, your feet sliding over the floor as Gaz drags you up, shoving you behind him. The sound of a sword being drawn is enough to momentarily snap you out of your agony, your hand shaking violently as you breathe hard and bend your spine forward slightly. 

You blink wildly, gasping at the scene ahead of you.

Your knight stands firm ahead of you, his back wide and shielding you from the risen court and the King. The other knights in the room watch with wide eyes, hands on their weapons in utter confusion. 

“I’d stay back if you knew what was best for you,” Gaz eases out, casual in his delivery but you can hear the rapid pound of his heart. He’s nervous. Incredibly so—adrenaline striking through his veins just as it does yours. 

This wasn’t the plan. This wasn’t right; he wasn’t supposed to be involved. 

“Gaz,” you stutter, so strange to hear yourself in a state of anxiety after so many years of calm and elegance. There’s nothing elegant about you now. “Do not.”

He was throwing away everything he’d worked for. 

“Stay behind me,” the knight mutters, his dark eyes searching the room for anyone to move forward and attack—none do. “Don’t move until I tell you to, yeah?” He had a reputation for being a skilled swordsman; no one here would risk rushing without more weapons at the ready.

Gaz’s sword rests easily in his right hand, the left going to unsheathe his dagger and let it rest at his side, fingers twitching around the hilt as he takes a slow breath, eyes traveling the room.

They land on the King, face contorted into the picture of wrath, wrinkled, and old body shaking. 

“Step aside, boy,” Michael says lowly. “And I’ll let you walk with your head.”

“Wouldn’t be much good to me if I allowed this to happen, would it,” Gaz tilts his skull, a flicker of a smirk on his lips. Seriousness slips back in on the backs of knife edges. “Cut your losses. Let her leave, she doesn’t want this.” 

“I don’t care what this creature wants,” the King shouts, moving out from the table and taking firm steps forward, his knight flanking him as the court goers, back up quickly; panic in their eyes. “It’s going to give me power.” 

A greedy gaze finds yours behind the swell of Gaz’s back—hearing your Knight’s growl at the next words to enter the tense dining hall. 

“Whether she agrees to it or not.”

Your face twists, a sliver of fear making your legs back up a step. Magic, you needed your magic. But the iron—there’s so much of it here; it’s infecting your mind like a bug in the back of your brain. Buzzing, buzzing, buzzing. 

You shake your head, uninjured hand coming up to dig your fingers into your temple.

Gaz spits, “Not fucking happening, you old bastard.” His silver sword raises, and with a twirl of his wrist, sending the blade in an arch, the tip is leveled into the air. “You’ll have to get through me first, won’t you?”

“I will not—!” The King stumbles for a moment, body shaking and legs loose. One of his hands snaps to his chest and he blinks to himself, cape dragging across the floor. A ragged cough moves out of his mouth. 

You move forward sluggishly, hand resting itself on the back of Gaz’s armored spine as he startles and looks over his shoulder at you. 

“Stag,” he warns in an accented mutter, but your eyes are not gazing at him. They’re on the King.

On his failing heart and its broken beating. 

The man’s breath is in a gasp, his orbs snapping to and fro like a rabbit as he reaches out a hand, a swift cry from the other men making the knights dash. They grab at him just before he slams to the ground, but one of the court’s men shouts out fearfully, “It’s her—she’s done something!”

“Grab her!”

“Cast her into the irons!”

“She’s killing out King!”

Gaz dashes on his heels, hooking an arm around your waist as you pant, unbelieving as to what is happening. Killing? No, you hadn’t even done anything—this wasn’t your fault!

“Run,” the knight barks, shoving you out of the door and into the hallway. “Damnit, Stag, you need to bloody go. Now!” His browns lock with your silver eyes, stiff until they soften at your blatant shocked fear. A beat of nothingness comes back to the both of you—memories of a courtyard and a cape around your shoulders. You stare, fingers shaking and blood pooling into the makeshift bandage of your palm.

“No, no! What about you?” He shakes his head, and in a swift moment, his gaze goes back to the clamor of commotion—of horrible cries of ‘the King is dead! The King is dead!’

A thin smirk makes your face burn with panic.

“I need to give you an exit, remember?” A tiny wink. “Thank me later, Princess, when you’re safe. Go home.”

He nods pushing on your shoulder delicately. Backing up and twirling his sword again as he licks his lips. You watch, crown more heavy than it had ever been before.  

Gaz looks at you as if you’re the only person to ever exist—just as he had when you’d restored the courtyard to glory he’d never seen it in before. He glances down your face, down your body, in all of the time those few seconds were before the yells from the other knights start up—angry, furious, from behind.

He calls firmly, bluntly, but the words are more layered than even you can know. Gaz whispers, his eyes so light and open it leaves you breathless like all of the air has turned to water. You’re drowning in it. 

“You don’t belong here.”

You try to step forward, desperate in a way you’d never been to grapple for this mortal man, but the door has already shut right in your face with a heavy boom. An iron bolt is locked in place.

—

The trees try to pull their branches aside as you rush through them, but your fast feet are too quick. Sharp wood slaps your cheeks, pulling at the long strands of your dress and the broken straps of your corset. 

You run over rocks, and feel the earth guide you along deep in your soul, not once do you stumble, not once do you falter besides once—to turn and glance. To cast your wide eyes on the fading fire-light of the castle; the sounds of bells ringing out.

Gaz.

He was still back there—fighting. When you had to rip yourself away from the door and rush down the stone corridors, you’d heard the clash of iron and silver against one another; shouts. Like battling wolves, all rabid teeth and a flurry of slitted eyes. Such violence here—such baseless malice. 

A King was going to put you in chains, and by whatever deity is truly out there, his heart had given out just in time. And your knight. Your sacrificial knight was left behind. 

He can take care of himself, you try to ease, bare feet jumping a stream as your injured palm burns with a thousand suns. I have to place my trust in him. I have to.

He had told you to go home—flee. Back to your castle that touches the sky, back to magic and trees older than any man, woman, or child. Sliding along the ground, you halt. 

Atop your head, your crown is crooked, and some of the gems have fallen off, glinting behind you in the upturned earth. Panting, you twist on your feet, moving them like a deer and unable to properly think. This had never happened to you before—this…this pain. Not just the one in your hand but the one that emanates from your heart. 

Gaz. 

In such a short time, day, weeks, he’d grabbed your immortality and made it stop. You had become mortal with him, and a part of you is mortal yet. He’d touched you—he’d grappled into the place between your ribs and made you care about him. His wonder; his awe for no other reason than he was kind. Hand coming up to grasp at your neck, you fight the burn in your eyes, something that had not happened in decades, trying to drag you back into tears. 

You cover your mouth, eyes shut tight. 

No, no.

“This cannot be happening,” you gasp in a whisper that moves the trees; eyes watch from bushes. “No, no this isn’t true, do not speak of it,” you whimper to the branches, to their hidden words that pierce your heaving lungs. “I need to go home, I must see the ages pass with no bias—I can not grow attached to a knight. Not to one that death can touch so easily! Do you not understand?!”

Shouts ring into the trees, and your head snaps up, face tight. 

Why can’t you go any farther? No curse holds you here! No spell, no enchantment! You are a God to them! You make the world grow with only a word, you carry life and death as if it is a suggestion! This is not probable—it isn't logical. 

And then you think about the man who had freely given up everything for you in chains, and your sob echoes over the woods like a brand.

Fleeing once more, you go not in the direction of home, a place so very far away, but in the direction of a large mound of stone—speaking to them through bitter tears and making you lick at the sides of your mouth. Torchlight moves through the trunks of silent sentinels as the rock itself splinters and breaks, your body slipping inside a cage of your own making before you collapse. 

The stone groans and breaks and it is like you were never there as the ground shifts—moving the tracks you’d left behind in newly tilled earth. Countless horses rush past, their knight riders with iron bindings swinging from their fists, oblivious. 

But the stone you panic inside of is no worthy prison. Even you knew: there was no greater cage for a Fae than love.

—

Gaz stumbled through the woods, his right leg dragging behind as he gritted his teeth harder, panting through the drops of blood that slipped over his lips. 

“Fuck,” he grunts, collapsing against one of the tree’s trunks and resting the side of his head against it. “Fuck.”

He’d barely made it out. 

The castle was overrun with knights, guards, the people, and the court—all of them. The King was dead. Dead, and they were blaming it on you.

“Serves him right,” Gaz pushes on, eyes fluttering shut as blood slides over his armor. He doesn’t know where the wounds start and where they end, but he does know that he has to keep walking. There’s a trail to follow, and the earth is showing it to him.

The man can’t stop until he knows you’re alright.

Panting, the gems on the ground are one by one plucked and pocketed, kept safe in the same pouch that once held his sigil ring; an achievement he’d been proud of himself for. 

A knight, he’d told his family—his friends. It was a station of the highest honor.

Look what that had gotten him. Serving a bastard who called himself a God. Who pushed judgments and demanded utter loyalty to them. 

Gaz would rather hang. 

Coughing, blood splatters to the ground, and on the bank of a small river, his dragging feet fail him. Falling forward, the tattered remains of Gaz’s cape fluttered around him as his hands splattered through the water. A chilled breeze rushes through the trees, waking them.

He restrains himself from crying out, eyes clenched shut as his forehead skates the water. The clear liquid goes crimson with every wave, like the remnants of a fresh kill. 

Body too weak to move, Gaz growls in defiance, slamming a fist into the mud and shoving forward.

He had to find you. He had to make sure you were making your way back home safely—he…he had to fix the wrongs that he hadn’t even been a part of. Even by association, the knight was layered with a horrible guilt. Gaz can’t forget your eyes—your silver tint and the way your head moved; the way you spoke. 

A stag. A deer. A hart. A creature that needed to be set free from the confines of stone and iron. He’d do it all over, but that was just his nature. Gaz was just—he was good. Kind. 

Even the trees knew that. 

Raising his head, vision blurry, brown eyes lock onto the tiny body of a white dove. 

Staring, Gaz’s face slackens, blinking through the water and the blood until the image in front of him becomes clearer. 

“L,” he stutters, voice failing before he clears his throat and forces himself further upwards as his arms scream at him. “Lysander?” 

The bird has its head cocked to the side, a black obsidian orb stuck on him. It doesn't coo or flap its wings—it watches. Waits. Without anything, it takes to the air and flutters over to a large stump, body hopping until it rests once more with tapping feet.

Again, it stares.

Gaz gapes at it, moonlight over his armor, making it glint and shine even with the dents and long cuts. A flicker of hope beats in his breast, and with a deep breath and a broken groan of pain, his failing body is once more on its two feet. 

“Take me to her,” he pleads in a breathy exhale.

Gaz may not be able to stalk like a wolf, or even walk like a human now, but if there was a sliver of a chance that a Fae princess was waiting for him, he’d follow even if he had to drag himself there on busted legs.

Lysander’s beak clicks and the bird flies from one landmark to another, following the trail of gems and leading the broken knight behind him. 

On and on Gaz walks, not able to stop for fear he may not be able to get back up again. His pouch becomes heavy, his body likely to give out any second, when Lysander flutters atop a large stone face and finally stops. Collapsing to the ground, the knight coughs up blood to the ground, body a heap on the ground earth as he rests his head and pants like an animal. 

“Christ,” he gasps, eyes fluttering as darkness begins to swallow him; a maw of a dragon right over his form, waiting to chomp down. “Where…” Gaz begins to ask, flesh shivering even through all of the layers of sweat he carries.

Where are you?

Brown eyes move from the bird to the trees, through the gaps between the trunks and the spilling moonlight. You were nowhere—nothing to be seen except the eyes of animals and the wind moving the branches of the silent watchers of this place. The trees here move, trying to tell him something. Ever since he’d met you, everything had taken on new meaning.

Gaz tried to focus on breathing, but it was getting harder and harder to keep conscious. 

Lysander was doing something at the rock face—tapping his beak against the surface in steady intervals, only pausing to look down at him and tilt his head as if to ask, ‘Still alive down there?”

The knight glares at the bird, body losing strength until his chest connects down to the ground, eyes gazing off into the trees as the wind caresses his cheeks.

It was calm here. Gaz’s ears twitched at the sound of rock and stone, but the rapid hands on his cheeks captured his attention more than anything. His body is forced onto his back, a wide, terrified face blurred in front of him. 

But that voice…

“Gaz!”

Oh, he could fall into this abyss happily if the last words he heard were you calling his name.

—

You rip the last of the hem of your dress to use as bandages and see your hands quiver in all of their blood-stained glory. Along the cuts in Gaz’s skin, you had threaded through the gold that had once belonged to your antlered crown—the needle, a fragment of the very same bone you had broken along a rock. You’d raced to the river and asked the water for help, and it had followed swiftly with the help of the wind to clean wounds and aches. 

Now, you were wrapping what was left, the night beginning to slink back into the morning as you kept the break in the cliff face open to the air. The grass was awash with blood. 

You both can’t stay here if you want to live by tomorrow.

Lysander had brought Gaz to you, and now, he lays on the ground with his cape under his head—your hands healing him the best you can. You poured your magic tirelessly, hour after hour, but you had to focus on the worst wounds first. 

The slit on his stomach, namely—from an axe or some larger weapon, you know not, but it had left most of the carnage that needed to be attended to. If you were anything less than Fae, Gaz would be dead.

The thought ravaged your mind like a boar through undergrowth.

“You were not supposed to do that,” you mutter, fingers running the length of his tunic and grasping it, pulling the article down to hide the large scar that now moves up his stomach. Your head is light from the power it took. Plants and animals were so much easier; less to work with than human flesh. “Damn you, Knight. I would damn your name as well if I had the horrific pleasure of knowing it. Damn you.” 

Such words were below you, but you can’t help how they come out.

You stare at his face, the light of morning barely giving it illumination. He breathes softly, and it is your only relief to watch his chest rise and fall—broken armor discarded to the side by your panicked fingers. His heartbeat.

Bump-bump, bump-bump, bump-bump.

Your eyes flutter to it, trying to ease yourself as you take a deep breath and think.

You’re still too close to the castle for your liking. But he’s far too broken to move so soon.

Finger reaching out, your tips trail the raised skin of your glinting stitches, gold stuck between the flesh, peeling it back together along the forearm. All of it will scar. Violently so.

Your chest constricts, and you glare at his face.

“Why would you do that,” you hiss, growling in a tone that is foreign to you even if it still sounds elegant. A Fae’s wrath is one to behold. “Why? You owe me nothing, do you not understand that? You’re supposed to be a beast—a little man who…who…” you trail, teeth snapping as your head raises and whips away, nose to the air.

Yet, your crown had been broken just to save this human’s life. Willingly.

Mortals were supposed to be selfish. They were supposed to be like King Michael—that was what you’d been taught; that was what you knew. 

But everything Gaz did was the opposite of that. 

Love is a cage, you tell yourself again, and keep your face to the side. Unwilling to look down at the body that had been so eager to defend you.

You don’t like the wild feeling it makes breed like rodents in your heart, little claws moving up your throat and scratching at your teeth. 

“...Gonna finish that sentence, Love?” 

Your body startles, head snapping down to meet half-closed browns in an instant—you hiss. “Don’t speak, fool.” 

“Fool?” A weak chuckle wafts out, a hoarse voice as a head tries to shift on numb bone. “That’s not very nice, then.”

“I should make your lungs turn to dirt,” your sentence makes his brow flinch upwards, amused despite it all. “Change the very fabric of your muscle into oak wood.”

“Moody, are you?” 

Your eyes flash, and the grass around you shudders in answer as Lysander cleans his feathers a short distance away. Gaz tries a low smirk, softening his voice as his mind tries to focus above the noise in his head. “Joking.” 

Your face is troubled, jaw clenching. You can’t admit to yourself how much at ease his open eyes put you. You sigh, blinking away the sharp edge of your expression—it shifts back to the perfect calm it always wears. 

Gaz watches, your clothes torn and your palm still hidden away behind his cape’s cloth. He grunts suddenly, and the pain comes back in sharp pins as his face tightens. 

You can only watch, mind trying to come up with a solution that you know you don’t have. Magic can only do so much...but you have to try. He’s earned that much from you, at the very least. Your hand goes and hovers over the man’s cheek, pulling back only once before it captures the swell of it. 

Gaz swallows hard, and his eyes shift back through the haze of his shaking agony.

A kiss is leveled on his forehead, and it’s like the wounds cease to exist. He sags back onto the ground after a moment, skin tingling as magic runs its course through him like a stream of fire. It burns away the bad bits—keeping only the sensation of a princess pushing away his ails with a willing gift of her lips. 

A small noise is made in the back of his throat before Gaz takes a long and steady breath. His eyelids flutter. 

You pull back and place a hand on your head, grunting as the strength drains from you one wisp of magic at a time. Your skull pulses, and you know you’ve reached your limit. There was nothing more you could do. 

A calloused hand runs up to grasp at your wrist, and you let Gaz pull it back, his fingers twitching with healing nerves as he takes the limb and levels it at his lips. He holds it there until you open your eyes and look at him, a line of sweat running your temple. The knight watches it fall, skin hot.

“Thank you,” he whispers into your hand, only letting it move away when he knows you understand his words. Gaz whispers even as his eyes fight sleep. “Are you hurt, My Lady?”

“Right now,” your injured hand still burns—it always will. You restrain a flinch because of it. “You must focus on yourself, Knight. Such concerns are not needed. You almost gave your life for me.”

The last sentence is uttered no more than a squeak of a mouse in an open field. The thought…troubles you. It…it makes you want to run. 

Gaz smiles slowly, body mostly still. 

“Well, I can’t let a beauty like you get hurt now, can I? That would just be bloody wrong of me.” A pause. You don’t seem to find his jokes very funny. Gaz’s heart skips beats when you look at him like that. He softens, and your hand once more runs the length of his bandages, making him shiver. It was addicting: touching him. Feeling the heat of his flesh. 

“I’d do it again,” Gaz mutters. “I took an oath.”

“An oath to a King that was worth less than a rock on the bottom of the ocean,” you whisper. “It means nothing now.”

“It was never nothing to me.” Gaz’s eyes don’t leave yours. “Fighting for you will never be nothing.” 

You shake slightly, face heating up. All of this is wrong to you—foreign. But why does it make you feel like everything will be okay?

“I didn’t ask for your protection, Gaz,” you try once more. One final attempt to keep your slipping self-control. Weak fingers skate your chin, usually such a high and mighty thing, now stooped low and bent just to gaze upon the feeble body of a broken mortal man.

A man who will die in a blink. A man that should never have made a dent in your unbreakable mind; your knowledge of lives innumerable. A man that you can’t look away from as he smiles at you like that. Softy. Openly. 

Kindly.

Love is a cage.

“You never had to ask me, Stag…I would give my name to you, even if it was the last thing I had left of me.” 

Your eyes widen; your breath hitches as if you’d been stabbed in the heart. You nearly reel back, horror and something more trapped in every vein in your body. Ludicrous. That…that was absurd. Laughable!

His name? No, no never. That was a lie; a trick. Something so powerful, just to be uttered away like that by a bloodless mind. No. 

But not a single part of him is lying. Your jaw is slack in pure wonder. Struck dumb.

He wasn’t lying.

A low breeze goes through the trees—it slips past tattered clothes and the crimson grass. Whispering; talking in tongues you can’t understand at the moment above the noise from Gaz’s eyes. He’s still smiling at you, a knowing glint in his orbs as his fingers squeeze your chin. You catch his hand before it falls, grasping it without looking away. His pulse sings, and his throat releases a hum.

If love is a cage, you’d never wanted to be a prisoner more.

TAGS:

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[kamotecue]

from strangers to friends—friends into lovers (and now we’re strangers again) ✬ m. leon

pairing: mapi leon x reader

summary: you were the center-back’s first love, yet you couldn’t really act upon it. how could you, a royal and a commoner?

you felt someone wrap their tiny hand around the pinky of your finger, it was astrid—you’re only daughter the heiress to the swedish throne. a soft smile was worn upon your face, as you heard her hum to one of your favorite songs.

you looked beside her only to see her twin brother, andres who followed suit—carrying a small bag, his sister’s to be exact. she had always been a fan of sweets, something she had gotten from you. her brother however, preferred something sour—but was never one to deny a treat from his sister.

“du gillade aldrig riktigt att ta pauser, mamma. [you never really liked taking breaks, mom.]” andres commented, as you chuckled. they were right—ever since the tragedy that happened to the swedish monarch, you were held up in the office.

but you always managed to have time for the mischievous duo. they’d love to play pranks on you, you would never get mad but instead have a laugh about it.

“jag kanske inte gillar att ta pauser, men om det är med er två—skulle jag ta en paus när som helst. [i may not like taking breaks, but if it’s with the two of you—i’d take a break anytime.]” you chuckled as andres gave you a small hum, clearly satisfied with your answer.

“kan jag spela på stranden, mamma? [can i play on the beach, mom?]” you heard andres asked, as you gave him a soft look before nodding.

he cheered brightly before rushing, the assigned bodyguard followed suit—ensuring his safety as you snickered.

“var försiktig! [be careful!]” he looked back before giving you a nod. you looked down to see astrid looking at her brother with a soft look—the best duo you’ve ever known.

“mamma, kan vi få glass? [mom, can we have ice cream?]” you gave her a hum, clearly thinking about it before giving her a small yes.

you gave a small nod to a bodyguard, as he returned it, heading to the beach to catch up to your son. you were in disbelief of what was yet to come, memories that you desperately tried so hard to hide.

meanwhile, on the beach a small child was walking around—finding the perfect place to build a sand castle. the two bodyguards were always five steps behind, but it was enough to catch attention from people they passed by.

but a soft oof was heard as andres had accidentally bumped into someone, sending him to the sand. isak, his personal guard’s eyes widens as he rushed forward kneeling on the sand—as he analyzed the young heir.

“är du okej, din höghet? [are you okay, your highness?]” isak’s soft voice was heard, as andres gave him a small nod. he helped the prince up, carefully dusting off the sand that resided in his hair.

“tack, isak. [thank you, isak.]” a lopsided grin was shown on the prince’s face, but a thankful expression was noticeable.

andres looked up to see a woman with a concerned look, but he had noticed the tattoo that was written on her neck—looks can be deceiving.

“are you alright?” she asked, her voice was soft yet filled with concern. but the young prince looked a bit gobsmacked.

“it’s you—you’re the one my mother talks about.” the swedish prince spoke in english, as isak hummed at the prince’s words. mapi looked at him in confusion, slightly tilting her head.

but with a slight pat on the back from her club teammate, frido gave him a formal bow—recognizing him from afar.

“ers höghet, jag ber om ursäkt för min vän. vi spelade fotboll och hon gick för att hämta bollen. [your highness, i apologize for my friend. we were playing football and she went to grab the ball.]” mapi who looked confused, yet flabbergasted at the swedish words clearly not understanding a thing.

the prince just hummed before giving frido a soft smile.

“det är okej, det var ingen skada. [it’s alright, there’s no harm.] however, it’s nice to finally meet you—maria leon.” the prince gave the spanish center back a soft smile, as frido hummed in confusion.

“how do you know me?” mapi asked, slowly pointing to herself as her attention was quickly brought somewhere else.

“broder, vad har du gjort nu? [brother, what have you done now?]” astrid slowly approached the scene followed by a pair of body guards as well. her pink dress stood out as the bodyguards wore suits, yet it fitted the future queen.

frido’s eyes widened a bit, as she gave the crown princess a formal bow—also pulling mapi in a bowing gesture. the barca players had watched from afar, not knowing if they should join or simply watch from afar in amusement.

“i would hear stories about you from my mother, y/n l/n. además, es imposible no conocer al central del barça. [furthermore, it’s impossible not to know the barça center back.]” mapi’s eyes widened at the mention of her first love—while frido looked absolutely stunned at the prince’s fluent spanish.

“jag tror inte att mamma skulle vara nöjd med det. [i don’t think mom would be happy with that.]” astrid said, as andres hummed at her sister’s words.

“pido disculpas por mi hermano gemelo, soy astrid l/n, es cierto que nuestra madre ha hablado de ti. [i apologize for my twin brother, i’m astrid l/n—but it’s true that our mother has talked about you.]” astrid said, holding her hand out—mapi softly shook it, still stunned by the fact that she met the children of her first love.

it was a sudden goodbye after all, you and mapi were childhood friends—almost turned into lovers. the reasons that she has yet to know.

“vi måste gå små, jag fick ett viktigt samtal. [we have to go little ones, i had an important call.]” your voice rang from afar, as you had gazed to where your children were. mapi’s eyes had interlocked with yours, as yours widened with realization.

frido had done a formal bow, it was her queen after all. yet you were shell shocked at the whole thing. little did you know, this wasn’t the last time that you’ll meet again.

[sqvishii]

I just reread book 2 so consider: Silver vs Leona love triangle. I think everybody always pays more attention to Malleus v Leona, but these two have my heart. Maybe Silver is impressed with the Prefect's calm under pressure, charisma, and strategic abilities when they rally Savanaclaw's students against their leader and defeat him long-range with magic from the stands (like having Ace try to blow away the sand with his wind to give other mages clear shots, and using standard fire shots to burn up the oily blot). (Sorry, I just like to play with the Leona OB fight in my head.) And when he wakes up, maybe Leona starts to respect the Prefect's gumption and smarts more, when they still put up a fight in the Spelldrive match and fulfill Azul's contract.

Yuu swears, all they did was defeat a couple of overblotting mages, and suddenly got a loyal, caring friend and a leonine prince hanging around them all the time. And now both are trying to invite them to their home for the winter holidays, glaring at each other all the while? What's a Prefect to do?

there would be three endings:

silver:

you'd be in briar valley, uhh- kind of dangerous place for someone without magical powers, but you can manage. lots of cliffs and mountains, you'd be in a.. cottage (I FORGOT,, BASTA ITS WHERE SILVER WAS RAISED), small and cozy.. or the castle (or something..), but no matter- silver is always there for you if anything happens.

during the winter holidays, you two would sometimes house a bunch of animals that bursted in one day and warm them up with magic.. or make flower crowns-

acorn bracelets.

leona:

wowzers, sunset savannah.

respect, especially if ur one of leona's.. "friends", you'd get along with some of his relatives and if you like kids (NO. NOT THAT WAY 🙏), you can always play with cheka! a ball of sunshine, you like him- leona doesn't.

during winter holidays, he just.. sleeps. what's the point of having you come over to his homeland, then? have you as distraction so that he can sleep and cheka doesn't bother him?

just kidding (kinda),, leona would drag himself to go with you if you ever go somewhere to watch over/protect you, even if it's a woman and he's kind of intimidated (because they are much physically stronger and more strong-willed than the men), he'll try his best to prove his worth.

EITHER.

GO AND HIDE IN RAMSHACKLE !!

you'd want nothing more but to spend the cold winter inside your dorm, raccoon in your arms whiel you do a certain activity and the ghosts that haunted you since the first day just.. roaming around.

but seriously, stay at the dorm, DO NOT go to the kitchen and get roped into another overblot.

[novaursa]

The Last Fire

- Summary: You survived the fall in the desert, and now it's up to you again to decide where your story leads or ends.

- Paring: sister!reader/Aegon I Targaryen

- Note: This part contains two new possible endings that were requested. Pick your poison. These events happen after The Last Flight, and these two short stories are part of The Broken Crown series. For all parts in one place, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (just to be safe)

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @fiction-fanfic-reader @fireandblood-mharmie @poisonedsultana

Ending where Y/N survives the fall, but still dies.

The last thing you remember is the unbearable pain, the world spinning out of control as you and Tesaerix plummeted toward the unforgiving sands below. Her agonized roar still echoes in your mind, a terrible sound of agony and desperation. The impact had been a blur of fire, darkness, and then nothing at all.

When you wake, it is to the sensation of a dull, throbbing pain that pulses through every inch of your body. The air is thick with the scent of herbs and smoke, and your mouth is dry, lips cracked. Your eyes flutter open, struggling to adjust to the dim, unfamiliar light. Stone walls loom around you, cold and unwelcoming. A Dornish castle. Your heart sinks.

Your first instinct is to move, to fight, to escape, but your body betrays you. Sharp pain lances through your side as you shift, and a low, involuntary groan escapes your lips. Everything hurts. Every breath is a struggle, every thought fogged with the weight of what has happened. You reach for your belly, your hand trembling as it finds the emptiness where there should be life. The child is gone. A sob rips through your throat, raw and jagged. The loss is a hollow ache, a void that you cannot fill, no matter how hard you try to pull the shattered pieces of yourself together.

A guard standing at the door turns at the sound, his expression a mix of surprise and something darker—satisfaction, perhaps. His armor gleams in the dim light, the crest of House Martell emblazoned on his chest. He watches you struggle with an impassive gaze, offering no words of comfort or aid.

“How long?” you manage to rasp, your voice barely more than a whisper, rough from disuse.

“Eight days,” the guard replies, his voice flat. “You’ve been unconscious for eight days.”

Eight days. The weight of it settles over you like a shroud. Aegon must think you are dead. The thought of him mourning you, believing you lost, brings a fresh wave of pain. You try to imagine what he must be feeling—the grief, the rage. It’s almost too much to bear.

You attempt to sit up, but your body refuses to cooperate. Every movement sends sharp stabs of agony radiating through your limbs. The guard takes a step forward, a warning in his eyes.

“Stay down,” he commands, his tone brooking no argument. “You’re under orders not to leave this chamber.”

“Orders?” you ask, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and anger. “From whom?”

“Princess Meria Martell,” he replies. “You are to be held here until he decides your fate.”

Your fate. The words chill you to the core. You are a prisoner, a trophy to the Dornish princess, held captive in the land that has stolen so much from you. Your dragon, your child. The realization hits you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, the hopelessness is overwhelming. You close your eyes, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill.

But you cannot afford to break. Not now. You have to survive. You have to find a way out, a way to let Aegon know that you are alive, that you are still fighting.

The days pass in a haze of pain and frustration. You are too weak to move, too broken to plan an escape. The guards change shifts, faceless men who bring you food and water, who watch you with the wary eyes of those who know they are in the presence of something dangerous, something they do not fully understand.

One evening, as the sun sets below the horizon, you hear it—a low, distant rumble. Your heart skips a beat. It is a sound you know well, a sound that has haunted your dreams since the day you fell. Dragonfire.

You push yourself up, the pain almost unbearable, but you force yourself to ignore it. You stumble to the small, barred window, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The sky is a dark canvas painted with flames, the unmistakable black silhouette of Balerion the Black Dread soaring above, his jaws spewing torrents of fire that rain down upon the castle below.

“Aegon,” you whisper, your voice breaking. He has come. He has come to avenge you, to burn this place to the ground in his wrath. But he does not know—you are still here. Panic surges through you, cold and sharp. You pound on the door, shouting with what little strength you have left.

“Help! Someone, please!” But no one comes. No one hears. The guards have fled, the castle descending into chaos as Balerion’s fury turns stone to ash and sand to glass.

The flames grow closer, the heat becoming unbearable. The walls of your chamber begin to crack, smoke seeping in through the seams. You cough, your lungs burning as you struggle to breathe, to think.

You have to escape. You have to find a way out. But there is no time. The fire is everywhere now, the heat scorching, the air thick with the acrid scent of burning flesh and wood. You stagger back, your legs giving out beneath you as the ceiling above begins to splinter, molten rock falling like rain.

In your mind, you see Aegon’s face—his eyes dark with grief, his jaw set in that way that you know means he is barely holding himself together. You want to reach out to him, to tell him that you are still here, still alive. But the words stick in your throat, lost in the choking smoke and searing pain.

The door to your chamber bursts open, flames licking at the edges, and you know this is the end. There is no escape, no hope. You close your eyes, a single tear slipping down your cheek as you surrender to the inevitable.

“I’m sorry, Aegon,” you whisper, the words barely audible over the roar of the fire. “I’m so sorry.”

The flames engulf you then, and the world fades to black.

The great hall of Aegonfort was cloaked in an uneasy silence. Servants moved quietly, casting nervous glances at the somber figure of the King. Aegon Targaryen sat on his throne, a shadow of the man he had been. His face was pale, eyes haunted, the lines of grief etched deeply into his features. Each breath felt like a burden, each moment a struggle to maintain the stoic facade he had been forced to wear since that day.

He had returned from Dorne victorious, or so it seemed to others. But victory felt like ash in his mouth. The fury that had driven him to lay waste to Sunspear had given way to a hollow emptiness. The cries of the dying, the smell of burning flesh—all of it haunted him, because none of it could bring you back.

It was then that a servant approached, holding out a small, sealed scroll with trembling hands. “A message from Princess Meria of Dorne, Your Grace.”

Aegon took the letter, his fingers almost numb as he broke the seal. His eyes scanned the parchment, and as he read, his blood turned to ice. The words blurred, but their meaning was unmistakable. You had been alive. Captured, held prisoner. And he had—without knowing—burned you alive in his wrath.

He staggered back, the letter slipping from his grasp and fluttering to the ground like a dying leaf. The world spun around him, his knees buckling as the weight of the revelation crashed over him. His vision dimmed, and he would have collapsed, had Visenya not been there, her strong arms wrapping around him, steadying him.

“Aegon!” Her voice was sharp, full of concern, cutting through the fog that clouded his mind. Rhaenys was there too, her face stricken, rushing to his side.

“Aegon, what’s happened?” Rhaenys asked, her voice trembling. She reached for him, her hands gentle but insistent, trying to draw his gaze to hers. “Please, tell us.”

He could barely speak. The words lodged in his throat, a jagged knot of guilt and horror. His body trembled uncontrollably, a tremor that started in his hands and spread through him like a plague. His eyes, wide and filled with unspeakable anguish, locked onto the faces of his sisters, searching for something he could not name.

“I—I killed her,” he choked out, his voice breaking on the last word. “I burned her alive.”

The silence that followed was absolute, the kind of silence that is born from disbelief, from horror too deep to comprehend. Visenya’s grip on him tightened, her face ashen, her eyes reflecting a grief that mirrored his own.

“No, Aegon,” Rhaenys whispered, shaking her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. “That can’t be true. You wouldn’t—”

“She was there,” he whispered, his voice hollow. “In the castle. Alive. And I... I didn’t know.” His words faltered, breaking under the weight of his confession. “I thought she was gone, and I...” He buried his face in his hands, a raw, strangled sob tearing from his throat. “Gods, I killed her. I killed them both.”

Rhaenys’ hands flew to her mouth, a sob escaping her lips as she stumbled back, her legs giving way as she sank to the floor. Visenya’s face hardened, though her eyes shone with unshed tears. Her grip on him remained firm, as if trying to hold him together when everything else had shattered.

“Aegon,” she said, her voice breaking through the haze of his despair. “You didn’t know. You couldn’t have known.”

But her words felt meaningless, empty. There was no solace to be found in them, no absolution for what he had done. He had let his rage blind him, had let his need for vengeance consume him, and now the price was beyond bearing. The child—your child—gone forever, as he believes it was taken by his own hand. And you... you, whom he had loved more fiercely than life itself, gone because he had failed you in the worst way imaginable.

His body shook with the force of his grief, tears he could no longer hold back streaming down his face. “I killed her, Visenya,” he whispered, his voice a broken thing. “I killed her and our child. I... I’ve destroyed everything.”

Rhaenys reached for him then, her arms wrapping around him, pulling him close as though she could somehow hold the pieces of him together. “Aegon, no,” she wept, her voice a soft, desperate plea. “It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known.”

But the truth of it was a knife twisting in his gut. He had believed you dead, and in his fury, his pain, he had become the very thing he had sworn to destroy. He had let his grief turn him into a monster, and in doing so, he had taken everything that mattered.

Visenya knelt beside him, her hand resting on his shoulder, her touch a steadying force amidst the chaos. “We will get through this,” she murmured, though her voice shook. “Somehow, we will.”

But Aegon knew there was no coming back from this. No battle to fight, no enemy to conquer. The enemy was within him, a darkness he could never escape. The flames of Balerion’s wrath had claimed more than just stone and flesh—they had taken the very heart of him, leaving nothing but ashes and ruin.

And so he wept, there on the cold stone floor of Aegonfort, his sisters by his side, but no comfort to be found. The King of the Seven Kingdoms, broken by his own hand, mourning the woman he had loved—and lost—twice over.

Ending where Y/N survives the fall with her dragon near Sunspear.

The air was filled with the acrid scent of smoke and blood, the heat of battle suffocating even in the high sky. Tesaerix’s wings beat heavily, each movement strained, her breaths coming in labored, ragged bursts. You could feel her pain through the bond you shared, a deep, searing ache that tore through your side as if it were your own. She had been struck, the harpoon lodged deep in her flank, just beneath her wing. Her roar of agony still echoed in your ears, a sound that would haunt you forever.

“Hold on, girl,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you leaned forward, your hand pressing against the warm, slick scales near the wound. Blood, dark and thick, oozed from the gash, and your heart clenched with fear. “Just a little longer.”

Tesaerix let out a low, rumbling growl, her muscles tensing beneath you as she angled downward. The ground rushed up to meet you both, but her descent was controlled, her movements careful despite the pain wracking her body. You clung to her neck, every jolt sending fresh waves of agony through you both, but you held on, murmuring soft words of encouragement.

The landing was rough, her massive form crashing down onto the rocky terrain outside of Sunspear with a jarring thud. The impact jarred you from the saddle, sending you sprawling onto the ground. Pain flared through your side, and you gasped, your hands instinctively moving to your swollen belly. The baby. The fear that gripped your heart was cold and sharp. You forced yourself to take a breath, wincing as you struggled to your feet, pain lancing through your body.

“Tesaerix…” You turned to her, your heart breaking at the sight. She lay on her side, the harpoon still embedded in her scales, her eyes half-closed, her breaths shallow. You stumbled toward her, your hands trembling as you reached out to touch her snout, your fingers brushing over her warm, familiar scales.

“We made it,” you whispered, tears blurring your vision. “We’re safe now.”

But even as you said the words, you knew they were a lie. The sound of approaching footsteps and the clatter of weapons made your heart sink. You turned, your body tense, as a group of Dornish soldiers surrounded you, their spears raised, their faces hard and unyielding. Behind them, riding in a litter shaded by silks, was Princess Meria Martell, her gaze sharp and calculating as it swept over the scene.

“You are far from home, Targaryen,” she said, her voice carrying over the tense silence. “And in no position to bargain.”

You straightened, ignoring the pain that shot through your side, your hand still resting protectively over your belly. “I am Queen Y/N Targaryen, wife of King Aegon. I demand safe passage for myself and my dragon.”

Meria’s lips curled into a cold smile. “Demands, is it? You are in no position to demand anything, child. You and your dragon are prisoners of Dorne.”

You glanced at Tesaerix, her body still and trembling with pain, her deep red eyes flickering weakly. Chains were already being brought forward, heavy iron links that were meant to bind her, to keep her grounded and helpless. The thought of her, proud and fierce, being chained once more like a common beast made your blood boil.

“Please,” you said, your voice breaking despite yourself. “She’s wounded. Let her be treated, and I will come with you peacefully.”

Meria studied you for a long moment, her eyes narrowing. Then she gave a curt nod. “The dragon will be tended to, but she will remain under guard. And you will come with us, now.”

The soldiers stepped forward, and you forced yourself to stand tall, even as fear and pain threatened to overwhelm you. Tesaerix let out a low, pained growl, her eyes locked on you as the soldiers approached, her body tensing as if she would rise and fight, despite her injuries.

“No,” you whispered, your voice firm as you placed a hand on her snout. “Stay, Tesaerix. Stay.” She let out a soft rumble, her massive head lowering to the ground, her eyes closing as if to conserve her strength. You turned back to the soldiers, your heart aching, but you forced yourself to move forward.

They escorted you into Sunspear, through winding streets that echoed with the murmurs of the people, curious and wary as they watched the procession pass. You kept your head high, your gaze fixed forward, refusing to show any sign of weakness or fear.

They led you to a chamber in the castle, its stone walls cool and unyielding. The door closed behind you with a heavy thud, the sound of the lock sliding into place echoing through the room. You were alone now, a prisoner in an enemy’s stronghold.

The days blurred together, each one filled with a growing dread. Your thoughts were consumed with worry for Tesaerix, chained and wounded outside the city. You paced the confines of your chamber, your mind racing with thoughts of Aegon, of what he must be feeling, believing you lost. You could only hope he would find out the truth before it was too late.

On the fifth day, Meria visited you. She stood in the doorway, her expression inscrutable, her eyes lingering on your belly before meeting your gaze. “Your dragon will survive, though her wing may never fully heal,” she said, as if discussing the weather.

Relief washed over you, though it was quickly followed by a fresh wave of anger. “And what of me? What do you intend to do with me?”

Meria tilted her head, considering. “You are valuable, Targaryen. As long as you remain with child, your life is safe. But know this—I will use you to ensure Aegon’s compliance. The war has cost too much already.”

You clenched your fists, fighting to keep your voice steady. “And if I lose the child?”

“Then your fate will depend on my whim,” she said simply, her eyes hard. “Do not try to escape, Y/N. Your dragon may be chained, but even a wounded beast is dangerous. And if she dies trying to save you…” She let the implication hang in the air, the threat clear.

Rage and fear battled within you, but you forced yourself to remain calm. “I will not try to escape,” you said, the words bitter on your tongue. “But if you harm her, there will be no place in this world you can hide from my husband’s wrath.”

Meria’s smile was thin, humorless. “We shall see, my lady.”

As she left, you sank onto the hard bed, your body trembling with exhaustion and despair. The days that followed were a blur of pain and uncertainty, your thoughts constantly turning to Aegon, to Tesaerix, to the fragile life within you. You had to survive, for their sake. You had to find a way to endure.

Outside, you knew the chains that bound Tesaerix were a constant reminder of your captivity, her pain mirroring your own. But you were both still alive, still fighting, even if only by clinging to the hope that Aegon would come, that he would find you before it was too late.

And when he did, you swore to yourself, you would make them all pay for what they had done. For every wound, every chain, every day of fear and suffering. You would see Dorne burn for this. You would see them all kneel before the fury of the Targaryen fire.

Princess Meria Martell sat in her chambers, the heavy stone walls of Sunspear pressing in around her like the weight of a great, immovable burden. She drummed her fingers on the polished wood of her desk, her eyes scanning the letter she had penned days ago. She had offered the King a simple exchange: your life and freedom in return for Dorne’s autonomy. It was a calculated risk, a gamble meant to end the bloodshed that had ravaged her lands and threatened her people.

But the answer she received was not what she had expected.

The messenger had barely finished delivering the news when a sudden, deafening roar echoed across Sunspear, shaking the very foundations of the castle. Meria’s heart froze. She shot to her feet, her blood turning to ice as a servant burst into the room, his face ashen with terror.

“Dragons, Your Grace! They’re here!”

Panic seized her. She swept past the servant, her silks rustling as she hurried down the corridors, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. The stone walls seemed to close in around her, her mind racing with fear and confusion. Aegon wasn’t supposed to come, not yet. Not like this.

Reaching the balcony that overlooked the city, she pushed open the doors and stepped out into the blazing sunlight. The sight that greeted her was one she would never forget. Balerion the Black Dread hovered above the city, his massive wings blotting out the sun, casting a dark shadow over Sunspear. Below him, Vhagar and Meraxes circled, their screeching cries filling the air as if announcing the coming storm.

And there, on the edge of the city, near the main gates, was Tesaerix. Her golden scales glinted in the harsh light, her massive form still and tense, the iron chains that held her stretched taut. But Balerion was descending toward her, the great beast’s eyes glowing with a dark, dangerous intent. With a mighty roar, he landed beside her, his immense claws tearing through the chains as if they were no more than threads.

Tesaerix let out a guttural snarl, her wings unfolding cautiously as the last of her bindings fell away. The sight of the great dragon, wounded yet still fierce, stretching her wings and shaking off the restraints, sent a shiver down Meria’s spine. She knew then, with a clarity that burned like ice, that she had underestimated Aegon Targaryen. This was not a king who would bargain or yield. This was a man who would see the world burn before he let anything be taken from him.

Meria turned, heart pounding, as she saw the three figures approaching the castle. Aegon, Visenya, and Rhaenys dismounted just outside the gates, the air around them shimmering with the heat of their dragons’ breath. The ground trembled beneath their feet, the power of their presence undeniable, terrifying.

She forced herself to move, to descend the stairs and meet them at the entrance. Her guards flanked her, their faces pale, their hands gripping their spears as if holding on to the last shred of their courage. She stepped forward, lifting her chin, though her heart raced like a caged bird.

Aegon’s eyes met hers, and the fury she saw there was like a living, breathing thing, coiled tight and ready to strike. His face was a mask of barely contained rage, the lines of his jaw clenched so tightly she thought it might shatter.

“Princess Meria,” he said, his voice low and cold, as if he were spitting the words through gritted teeth. “You dare to hold my wife captive and then try to negotiate with me?”

Meria swallowed, trying to keep her voice steady. “I offered you peace, Your Grace. An end to this war. Dorne in exchange for—”

“For my queen? For my child?” he snarled, stepping forward, the raw power radiating from him like heat from a forge. “You think you can trade lives with me, like some merchant haggling over goods? I am no man to be bargained with.”

Visenya’s eyes were like chips of ice, her hand resting on the hilt of Dark Sister, the sword gleaming wickedly in the sun. “You will release her, and our unborn nephew or niece, now,” she said, her voice a quiet, deadly promise. “Or Sunspear will burn until it is nothing but a memory.”

Rhaenys’ usually warm, vibrant presence was overshadowed by a seething anger. “Do not mistake our patience for weakness, Princess,” she said, her voice taut with restrained fury. “You have made a grievous error.”

Meria raised her hands, trying to project calm. “I do not wish for more bloodshed. I swear to you, Y/N is unharmed. She and the child are safe.”

“Safe?” Aegon’s voice was a roar, his eyes blazing. “Chained like a beast, held in your dungeons, with her dragon bound outside like a common animal—that is your idea of safety?”

Meria took a breath, forcing herself to hold his gaze. “I needed to ensure that Dorne would not be crushed under your might. I needed leverage.”

“And now you have none,” Visenya cut in, her tone sharp as a blade. “Release her. Or I swear by the gods, your city will burn until there is nothing left.”

Meria hesitated, her mind racing. She had known this moment was dangerous, but she had thought she would have time, that she could control the situation. Now, looking at the three Targaryens before her, their dragons looming like harbingers of death, she realized just how badly she had miscalculated.

She nodded, slowly, her voice quiet. “She will be brought to you. Unharmed.”

Aegon stepped forward, his face inches from hers, and she could feel the barely restrained fury radiating off him like a physical force. “If I find one scratch on her, one sign that she or my child has been harmed…” He let the threat hang, his eyes burning into hers with a promise of utter destruction. “I will reduce this city to ash and bone.”

Meria shuddered but nodded again, turning to give the order. As she did, she glanced back at the dragons, at Balerion, who stood protectively near Tesaerix, the massive beast’s eyes glowing with a deadly intelligence.

She knew then that there would be no mercy, no second chances. If she failed to deliver, if she tried to deceive them even slightly, Sunspear—and all of Dorne—would be lost to the wrath of the dragons.

And so she prayed, silently, that her people would not suffer for her misjudgment, and that you would be returned to your king unscathed. Because if not, there would be no place in this world that could hide her from Aegon’s vengeance.

[biteofcherry]

Wetnessday anon here 💦

Your story about how you met king Curtis is awesome! I'd love to meet him like this!

I'm curious how the story would have went if she ended up in king Ari's kingdom though.

(you don't have to write anything of course)

xoxo Wetnessday anon 💦

One of the crew members finds you hiding on the ship, but since they don't know who you really are and you try to sell your story of dream life on golden shores and fishing, they simply tell you that there's no free ride, so you have to do some work on the ship

You mend some clothes and sails, as well get roped into helping with cooking for the crew

Not once do you meet king Ari, you just briefly see him from afar

Once you reach his kingdom the sailor who discovered you, gives you directions to the small fishing village not far from the docks and tells you there are a few fishermen who may look to hire a help

You fall a little in love with the kingdom as you walk down the shore, feeling the warm, golden sand beneath your feet and watching the shades of blue and turquoise of the sea, and the greenery of forests on the other side of the beach

Some of the fishermen shoo you away, but there's one grumpy older man who judges you head to toe, commenting how you don't look much hardworking, but he still agrees to take you under his wing

Duncan lives alone in a house the farthest from any other, but his boat looks really well taken care of.

You're surprised to find out there's a small, lush garden next to his home; but he shrugs and says that his wife used to take care of it, he just lets it grow.

He often sighs and grumbles "What has possessed me to teach stubborn youth again in my old days", especially when you show impatience with some tasks.

What you don't know is that Duncan is a former navy captain who used to be young Prince Ari's teacher and guardian, who retired early to take care of his sick wife who unfortunately passed away a few years ago.

You're also unaware that fond of his old friend, King Ari often visits Duncan.

It's a complete surprise to you when one day you're sitting in front of the house with Duncan, both of you working on the mending the nets and him telling you hilarious story of how he met his wife (it involved being smacked over the head with a paddle), and King Ari arrives unannounced.

The problem is that Ari recognizes you.

He saw you at the feasts when he visited your kingdom, he was introduced to you. So the plainer dress and lack of shiny jewelry don't fool him.

When he reveals the truth to Duncan, the older man just snorts: "She did a better job blending in than you when you tried to join merchants at thirteen springs."

Ari takes you back to his castle and it's non-negotiable.

No matter how much sympathy he feels for you over your story, you are a crown Princess of another kingdom and you're in his lands. If something were to happen to you while here, his kingdom could face a war.

At least he doesn't immediately sail you back to your kingdom, claiming he has to think it all through.

You're given beautiful chambers, even more beautiful gowns and you share dinners with Ari every evening. He likes talking to you and you find him to be a charming, funny companion.

One morning you wake up much earlier than usual and you take the opportunity to roam the castle grounds and nooks while everything is still sleepy and quiet. You don't expect to stumble upon Ari and two of his men returning from who knows what activities - all laughing, shoving each other and being very much wet

You stare at Ari, your eyes unable to stay on his face while his torso is shiny with water.

When you drag your gaze up and meet his blue eyes, there's a hungry spark in them. Also amusement that curves his lips and makes you realize he caught you staring.

You flee with a squeak, running back to your chambers to hide in embarrassment. You almost refuse to meet Ari for dinner later that evening, still mortified.

But it's that very evening that Ari makes you a proposal - he can't keep you here as a guest forever, since at some point someone will report to your brother where you are and it might stir a lot of drama.

He could send you back home, or send an emissary with official request for your hand in marriage; which would also include a false story of how Ari found you were abducted and saved you (a lie to save your reputation as well).

"It may not be your dream life," Ari says when you nervously play with your cup of wine, "but as heirs and rulers we have to also take responsibility. Even if we'd very much prefer to be fishermen and merchants," he winks at you.

"We like each other's company and I'm quite certain the attraction is undeniable." He gives you that hungry look again and your thighs clench involuntarily.

He lists a few more compelling arguments. When you finally say yes, knowing that it's still the best of your options, considering the repercussions if you were to be brought to your brother, Ari stands up and rounds the table to where you're seated.

He kisses you for the first time that evening

his hand moving from sweet, respectful caress on your cheek to gripping the back of your head as he slips his tongue between your lips

you've never been kissed like that and when Ari pulls back you nearly chases his lips with a whine.

[sugawhaaa]

SEONGHWA X READER

{Chapter 2}

Treasure

Warnings::I think guns are mentioned like once/Sexually and mentally abusive relationship!!!!

Pairing::pirate!seonghwa x princess!reader

Genre:: pirate AU

A/N::I literally started writing this RIGHT after I finished the first chapter bc I'm so addicted to this story 😭 I'm sorry this chapter is kinda boring but I promise it's important to the story and we'll get to the juicy stuff soon

Taglist:: @hi-kariii @deltamoon666

Reminder‼️this isn't 100% historically accurate and should be taken with a grain of salt. This story is also set in the late 1800s to early 1900s specifically in Europe but if you want you can imagine it wherever else you'd like, it is a fictional story after all 💗 this story also takes some inspiration from pirates of the Caribbean, specifically the first movie.

Part 1:

You wake up bright and early feeling refreshed and recharged. You sit up and stretch your necklace moving up with the movement of your shoulders. You look down at your necklace and remember what happened with Seonghwa yesterday. You pick up the accessory off your neck to look at the bottom of it. An hourglass with blue sand on the inside. You flip the charm upside down and watch the sand fall. 

You look over at the clock by your dresser. The clock reads 6:39 am. You stretch and put a robe over your nightgown. You fetch your maid and she helps you put on a simple and slender dress. You need a simpler dress to wear to the children's school because a big dress is too much of a hassle. You finish putting on your dress and open the door to see your Fiance in the hallway. You look back at your maid confused but she's busy cleaning your clothes. 

"Prince Herrington?" You call out in a confused tone. Herrington turns to look at you and smiles. You approach him and he kisses your hand elegantly. "What are you doing here?" You ask as you notice maids and merchants bringing in luggage into one of the guest rooms.

"Well since I traveled halfway across the country to ask for your hand in marriage I see no reason to go back to my kingdom just yet," he explains as he holds your hands. You watch as the merchants bring in more luggage. "I'm going to be staying here with you until we get married," he states as he lets your hands go. 

"I see," you hummed and forced yourself to smile. 

"Aren't you delighted my princess?" He asks as with his arms behind his back and his chin up high, looking down on you again. 

"Yes, we will have much more time to talk to one another this way," you look at him with a smile.

"No, no, dear," he cuts you off. "I'll be doing work. You will be doing whatever women do," he nods before laughing loudly. His laugh echoed throughout the castle. You swallow your anger and force out a soft laugh. 

"I shall be going now," you nod, leaving the scene quickly to go to the children's school. 

"Oh, by the way, I've assigned soldiers at the door to accompany you when you leave the castle. That filthy pirate will never come near you again, any pirate that is," he grunted before continuing his business. You went downstairs to the main hall and there they were. Two soldiers by the doorway. You approached them carefully as they held their guns to their chest. 

"Must you accompany me to the school?" You ask nervously.

"Yes, princess. We were ordered to accompany you anytime you step out of this castle," one of the soldiers speaks without even looking at you before opening the door and letting you step out. 

The walk to the school was quiet and boring. The tension between the two men ruined your aura anytime you waved to a citizen. Instead of them smiling and waving back they'd bow as you walked by. As you walk down the street you see the merchant from yesterday, painting as he awaits customers. You look between the fruit table and the painting table. That's where Seonghwa had his body pressed against yours, his wrist in his hand, his eyes down your dress. The soldiers kept marching you towards the school as you relive the memories.

Eventually, you arrived at the school and got to see all of the lovely children. At first, they were intimidated by the soldiers but once you told them they were there to protect everyone they got comfortable. You then followed through with your usual schedule, telling stories, dancing, and painting with the children. 

After you had finished dancing the children asked you to sing. You were taken aback by their request. "You want me to sing?" You asked in a childish tone. "I don't know," you sighed dramatically. The kids only got more riled up. "Alright, alright, what do you wish for me to sing?" You asked as birds flew by the field. 

"Come into the garden!" One of the kids called out excitedly and you obliged. 

"Come into the garden, you're lucky I know that one," you say as you stand up off the blanket on the grass. You clear your throat and begin to sing. The kids surprisingly listen well and some sing along. By the end of the song, it was time for the kids to eat. You say bye to each of the children giving them pats on the head or a kiss to their forehead before they leave to the dining area. You sigh and fix your hat. You turn to the soldiers with a blank expression. "I would like to stop by a few merchants on the way back to the castle please," you say as you adjust the bottom of your dress. The soldiers nod and lead you out of the school field. You wave to the teacher before leaving back to the streets. 

You stop by a few shops as you walk back, taking your time to appreciate each stand. You stop at a bread bakery and buy two loads of bread and request a basket to carry them in along with the next few things you'll buy. 

"Of course princess," the baker says as she hands you the basket. You thank her before leaving with the bread, the soldiers following close by. You continue to shop around and end up buying more than you had entailed. After arriving home you put away the goods in a safe place. You now had to decide whether to paint or go outside again for the rest of the day. Until lunch at least. 

[Time skip]

You sat straight in front of your dinner. Your fiance sitting next to you as everyone prayed. You then were finally allowed to eat your long awaited dinner. It was full course and stocked with lots of delicious flavors. The meat was cooked perfectly to your liking and the temperature was just right. Herrington on the other hand couldn't disagree more. 

"The meat is way too overcooked and there's hardly any flavor in any of this," he complained with food in his mouth. You took a deep breath and swallowed your food before cutting some more of the meat. "And it's practically frozen, why is it so damn cold?" He looked up at the maid and she apologized with a bow. You look down at your plate as the rest of the table is silent. 

You looked up at the maid with a consoling look. Despite Herrington whining he was still eating his food, and rather loud. Did this man have any manners? You took a deep breath but your corset restricted your ability to breathe. It also hugged your stomach tightly to the point any food you ate nearly came right back out. 

You set down your knife and wiped your lips with a napkin. Your mother looked up at you concerned. "Is everything alright Y/N?" She asked with dark eyes.

"I'm feeling unwell," you say as you hold your head. The maid instantly comes to your side offering assistance. She helps you up to your room and you ask her to help you undress. She finally takes off your corset and you let out a relieved sigh. She chuckles and hands you your nightgown.

"I cleaned it today," she said as she let you change in private. "I will take care of your dishes," she said before leaving your room. As she went down the stairs you heard her stop and talk with herrington. Soon after you heard a knock on your door and the door opened slowly. Herrington stepped in and closed the door. All he could see is your silhouette behind the curtain. 

"Y/N," he calls out in a calm voice as he walks closer to you.

"Yes," you reply as you finally finish putting your gown on. You close the curtain and he smiles at you. 

"If you didn't like the food you can just say that? There is no need to act sick to run away from the food," he smiles caringly as he strokes your bare arm. You nod and he smirks. "I was thinking, you looked beautiful in the dress tonight," he says as he raises his hand to your cheek, petting your skin softly and your eyes are glued to the floor. "Look at me princess," he says as he lifts your chin. You look at Herrington with tired eyes. "I thought maybe tonight we could mix things up," he said as his hand moved to your lips. Slowly caressing them with his thumb. He kisses you and all you can do is comply. 

"How so?" You look up at him and he smiles. 

"You know what I mean princess. I can take you places you've never been, pleasure beyond your imagination," he explains as he strokes your hair. 

"I'm not really feeling it tonight," you attempt to explain as you look up at him. He instantly frowns. 

"Come on princess," he sighs. "Just me and you, and pleasure," he looks at you with gentle eyes and you shake your head. 

"Not tonight," you retort and he drops his hand. 

"Are you saying no?" He asks angrily.

"That's not what I'm saying, I'm saying not tonight. Tomorrow okay? Tomorrow for as long as you want," you assure him and he sighs.

"Fine," he hissed before storming out of your room. You sigh and sit on the bed. You lay back before curling into a ball, tears streaming down your face as you feel hopeless. You find yourself falling asleep, soon greeted by darkness as you fall asleep. 

A few hours later you wake up and realize how dark it is out. You light a candle and stand up out of your bed. You notice a figure sitting on your stool by the canvas you had painted yesterday. 

"Herrington?" You call out as you rub your eyes but as you approach the figure you realize it isn't your fiance, but a pirate. The man turns to look at you and it's just who you thought. Seonghwa. You gasp and stumble backward. Seonghwa chuckles as you stumble. "W-What-how? When?" You stutter as you come to. Seonghwa stands up and approaches you. He puts a finger over your lips with a gentle "shhh" escaping his lips. 

He takes your free hand and holds it comfortingly. "Your fiance is sleeping next door right?" He asks in a low voice. You nod your head slowly. Seonghwa sighs and blows out your candle. He takes the candle and puts it on the nightstand. "Well, we can't have him hearing our conversation no?" He says as he walks over to your balcony. You follow him curiously and he leans over the edge of the balcony. He pulls a rope off of his waist and ties it around one of the bars on the balcony. He tugs it to make sure it's secure before hopping over the side, holding his body up with his leg. "I'll go down first and you'll follow after okay? If anything happens I'll catch you," he assures you, and your mind races with thoughts.

"You can't be serious," you say in disbelief. 

"I'm serious baby," he says before sliding down. You look over the side of the balcony to see him standing with a smile. "C'mon," he calls out, and your heart races. 

"No way, I can't do that!" You whisper yell to him. 

"Yes you can, I'll catch you," he extends his arms out and you take a deep breath. This is insane, insane, insane. You grab the rope and pull yourself over the side you inch your way down before slipping. You let go of the rope and scream before falling into Seonghwas arms. Your heart racing a mile a minute. You cling to him as you pant. You slowly calm down and look up at him. He looks down at you with a soft smile and endearing eyes. You cleared your throat and jumped out of his arms. You dusted yourself off and looked up at him. 

"Well, what did you want to talk about?" You cross your arms but he just takes your wrist in his hand. 

"We're still too close. Cmon I know a good spot," he takes your hand before leading you to a beach not far behind the castle. He sits down on the sand and you look down at him. He leaned back with his arms holding him up, the wind blowing through his hair. "That feeling. The wind in my hair, the clarity of the air, the smell of the ocean. That's what I live for," Seonghwa smiles before inhaling deeply. You sit down next to him as he basks in the moonlight. 

"Is that what you wanted to tell me?" You ask sarcastically and Seonghwa chuckles. 

"No, no. I just wanted to see you," he smiles at you and you scoff.

"All of this? To see me," you roll your eyes and look up at the stars.

"Do you know how to swim?" He asks abruptly.

"No. Women don't swim," you say as you look at the reflection of the moon on the water. 

"The women on my crew do," he smirks at you before standing up, suddenly undressing. 

"Oh god," you cover your eyes as you hear him take off his belt and vest.

"So dramatic," he rolls his eyes as he puts his hand on his hip. "You think I'm going to strip in front of you?" He chuckles before taking off his boots.

"Strip?" You ask confused by his choice of words.

"It means get naked," he scoffs before extending his hand out to you. You blush before taking his hand. He pulls you up and he looks you up and down. He then takes you to the shore. Your feet in the shallow water.

"It's cold!" You jumped and Seonghwa laughed. "Why are you doing this?!" You say as you pull your hand out of his.

"Because it's fun and you deserve to have fun," he says before pushing you into deeper water. 

"Wait! I can't swim!" You try to stop him from pushing you. 

"I'll hold you, don't worry," he says as he pulls you into his embrace. The water creeps up to your thighs as the waves gently push up against you. You put your hand down into the water and feel the cold wager tingle against your fingertips. "See. It's okay," he says as he holds you close. He treads a bit deeper into the water and you go with him, the water creeping up to your waist. "Now lift up your legs," he says with a smile.

"Why?" You ask confused.

"Just lift them and don't try to hold them up, like you're laying down. I'll hold you," he says as he holds your upper body. You lift up your legs and relax the muscles in your legs and you float a little. Your eyes widen. 

"What? This is crazy," you laugh as you watch your legs sway in the movement of the water. He then lets your body go and you stand up in the water again. You look up at him surprised as the water raises up to your chest, he holds your arms securing you from the waves. He looks up at the moon and your eyes follow. He pulls you close to his chest and you hear his heart racing. 

"Every night on my ship, when I look up I see this treasure," Seonghwa raises his hand up to the moon. His eyes flutter back down before noticing a glow coming from your chest. He looks down to see your necklace glowing as it moves with the waves. 

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

Place your gilded crown upon my head (and carve your home into my chest)

Day 6 of Thank You, Haikyuu - event masterlist here

pairing: iwaizumi hajime x reader (gn) x oikawa tooru

length: 8.3k

genre: medieval royalty au !! fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings: arranged marriage but they fall in looove, some vague talk of war, also some very vague talk of prostitution, guys this is as close as I'll get to writing smut ever so soak it up

a/n: tell me you can't tell how in love I am with hanamaki and how badly I wanted to make this abt him

tags: @love-and-lore

Tooru thinks, at first, that he must have misunderstood the words directed at him, that there's no crisis he could come across that would cause Hajime to cast him aside like this. But when he blinks and stares, his eyes boring into the knight until he repeats himself, Tooru knows it to be true.

The betrayal that coils in his gut when he realizes that is painful in a way that Hajime had always protected him from. He'd forgotten what he was capable of, really, having seldom been on the receiving end of Hajime's sharp tongue. But it is there, nonetheless.

He supposes, though, that Hajime was always capable of it, and he can see it when he really considers the man in front of him. The two of them had grown up together, afternoons as children spent with wooden toy swords and sand castles morphing into long nights pouring over treaties and battle strategies, a shining sword strapped to Hajime's hip and a gilded crown perched atop Tooru's head.

There is a reason he chose to keep Hajime by his side, a reason he relies on his sharp wit and firm resolve. He just hadn't thought that he would ever have to pay the price… not like this, at least.

"We both knew this day would come, Your Highness," Hajime's voice rings through Tooru as he watches the prince lean, keeling over a bit to brace himself on the table between them, staring at the map of his nation. "Arranged marriages like this are… unavoidable."

"But not yet," Tooru snaps, his hands gripping the stone edge of the table. "We have… we had time. We still have time. This doesn't have to happen yet."

"You Highness," Hajime says it kindly, with a love that feels like a knife twisting in Tooru's ribs. "This is the best decision. A civil war in a neighbouring nation is dangerous. An allegiance like this will bring us the promise of peace no matter the outcome of the war on our borders."

"There's another way," Tooru says stubbornly, but his eyes flit over the maps in front of him desperately. "We don't need to do this. You - you don't need to ask this of me. We'll find another way." Hajime's sigh is almost imperceivable as he steps towards the Prince. 

"Tooru," he says gently. "This is the decision that must be made. Go to your father. Tell him what's been decided."

"My father is ill and bedridden," Tooru snaps. "And he doesn't - he doesn't know what's best for me or this country anymore. He will say yes no matter what I ask of him."

"I know, Your Highness," Hajime says firmly. "Which is why I will only ever present him with what is necessary… and right." Tooru's eyes, when he finally looks up at Hajime, are big and glassy, plush bottom lip quivering.

"This is not right," he chokes out. One of the knights by the entryway shifts on his feet, restless as he pretends not to look on.

"It is," Hajime insists,

"There is another way."

"Your Highness, this is-"

"You will find another way." There's a desperate tilt to Tooru's voice, a hysteria that threatens to break through that has Hajime turning his gaze sharply to the men on either side of the door.

"Matsukawa," he barks. The knight turns and stares. "Watch outside. No one is to enter." Matsukawa salutes to his captain as he leaves, slipping out and leaving just one other to look on as the scene unfolds, as Tooru crosses his arms and glares.

"Do you understand how much I love you?" Hajime says simply. Tooru straightens. 

"You have told me."

"Then please, my love, remember that it is true. Everything that I do here… I do for you. I must ask this of you… I would be a coward not to." Tooru scoffs at his words and looks away, blinking the tears back from his eyes.

"You could never be a coward," he says weakly. 

"I would be if I didn't guide you towards this decision. If I let my love for you cloud my devotion to you… there is no greater sin to me. I will not abandon my prince in his moment of need." Hajime's words are final, and when Tooru stares at him, he can't help but feel a bit of guilt swirling in his gut. How could he think that Hajime was ever doing this to cast him aside, to forsake this forbidden love that they share? Iwaizumi Hajime loves through loyalty, and it is not so often that Tooru forgets this. In this moment, Hajime bending to kneel before him, his head bowed, Tooru wonders how he ever thought his lover would abandon him.

"Please," says the knight, like a blade bowing before its master. "Let me love you in the only way that I know how. Let me keep you safe." And Tooru… well, he is often powerless in the face of his love, he finds. And this is no different.

"It will be done, then," he says simply. And in that moment, his fate is sealed.

"What if I am unwanted?" Tooru muses, a servant brushing through his hair as another smooths the silks that he wears. He watches Hajime through the reflection in his vanity mirror, the knight standing dutifully by the door of his chambers.

"Have the people not told you enough, Your Highness? You are beloved by all - there is no one who could not want you," he says honestly, but a glance towards the servants has Hajime clearing his throat and breaking eye contact with the prince, choosing to stare straight ahead, instead.

"What do you think?" Tooru asks the servant in front of him, the one who's just stepped back to admire their work. He blinks when he's spoken to, a nervousness hazing the air around him.

"Me, Your Highness? Well… it is true, of course. Your strength and beauty are known by all," the servant says politely. Tooru hums thoughtfully.

"And my fiance?" He asks bitterly, a sour look passing over his face. Hajime doesn't look at him this time, though, too aware of the watchful eyes of those attending to his beloved.

"It is as discussed, Your Highness. Your betrothed will be here shortly - a portion of your guard has been sent to… retrieve them and ensure safe travels. You will meet your fiance soon."

"Well," Tooru sighs with all the weight of a boy being adorned in a golden crown. "I suppose we'd better get on with this, then."

But as he stands and straightens his shoulders and walks past Hajime out into the long corridors of a place he once called home, Tooru can't help but feel the shackles of this life tightening around his wrists and ankles every step of the way. Hajime is dutiful as always, three paces behind him and never straying further, but with every moment Tooru feels the gap between them growing. He bears the weight of the crown on his head and wonders, in a sharp, stabbing sort of way, if Hajime feels the weight of the shield on his back and the sword on his hip, as well.

More likely, Tooru thinks bitterly as they approach the castle entrance, Hajime bears this weight better than Tooru ever could. As the commotion of a series of carriages pulling up outside clouds his thoughts, he thinks that perhaps Hajime has just always been a bit better at all of this than him.

But Hajime wonders, just for a moment, if this really was the right decision when you step out of the carriage in front of them and come face-to-face with your future husband. Your bow is… minimal, the action of someone who's grown up close enough to the throne to think it to be theirs. And as you're introduced by one of the attendees you've brought with you, Hajime takes note of you - of the way you speak, sharp and quick and clever.

Your eyes, most of all, are what startles him as they sweep across the people in front of you, settling on him for just a moment before returning to the Prince. There's a sort of hunger in them, a lust for power that he's often seen in royals. As Tooru glances towards him, Hajime knows that they're both wondering the same thing. Why would you willingly give up the war for the throne in your home nation, stepping down and allowing your siblings to continue the struggle without you, when you are so clearly hungry for that power?

"This is Iwaizumi," Tooru's voice pulls Hajime out of whatever trance he was in as he turns and bows to you while he's introduced. "He's the captain of my royal guard. He will… be yours now, as well. Your safety is in his hands. " Tooru stumbles a bit as he speaks, the reality of it all slamming into him a bit too harshly. Hajime is… no longer his alone. You are to be his spouse, his partner. His guard will be shared, his secrets will be… well, he tries not to think about it. Not yet, at least.

But his worries follow him into the evening, trailing after him as they curl into the long shadows cast by the torches on the stone walls. When he speaks to Hajime in hushed tones in his chambers after everyone's settled, you secluded to your pre-marital suite in a separate part of the castle, these worries of his seem to only grow.

"This was a bad idea," Tooru hisses. "We're going to get caught. It's - they don't seem like someone you can get a secret past, do they?"

"This is good," Hajime argues back patiently, settling Tooru with a calmness that the prince wishes he could share. "You chose well. Remember, we needed this to secure an alliance with whoever siezes the throne in their nation. They're quick and sharp, yes - but that's good. That's helpful to us, my love." 

"But what if we're discovered?" Tooru says desperately, a cracking pain heard in his voice that has Hajime moving towards him where he sits on his bed. He kneels before the prince, reaching to gently unfurl Tooru's clenched fists and release the silk bedding from his grip so that he can hold onto his hands instead, pressing kisses across his knuckles. 

"We will not be," Hajime says firmly. "I promise, my love. I will not let anything happen to you."

Promises such as that, however, are often difficult to keep - secrets becoming harder to bury under the weight of watchful eyes. As the days pass, you remain much the same as you were when you first arrived, quick and observant and upright, but… silent. Proper and polite with that razor-sharp edge of yours. It's when you and Tooru are in one of his many sitting rooms, a myriad of people having come and gone throughout the morning to speak to you about wedding preparations, that it begins to wear on the prince a bit too much. 

You're… quiet, throughout the whole thing, always looking to your fiance to answer, always letting his preferences take precedence. Tooru, for what it's worth, is trying desperately to figure out why - to try to decipher the intent behind your sharp gaze and politely folded hands. It unsettles him, eventually prompting him to huff and slouch in his chair and wave everyone away until it's just the two of you, Hajime standing where he always does by the door, always watchful, always present.

"Is something troubling you, Your Highness?" You ask as the last servant scurries out of the room and the door is shut once more. Tooru doesn't really try to hide his scowl at your words, but a sharp look from Hajime over your shoulder has him catching himself as he remembers the knight's words - as he remembers his lover begging on his knees to find some way to make this work.

"You have to at least try," he'd said. "This is your future spouse. Perhaps they are not so awful as they seem." Tooru sighs at the memory, at the way Hajime had kissed him and held him and coaxed him into agreeing. So, the prince tries.

"We'll have everything moved during the ceremony and wedding festivities," he says instead of answering your question. "So that the process doesn't disturb you."

"Moved, Your Highness?"

"Into my chambers," Tooru explains, his brows furrowing as he wonders how you're confused. "Your things will be moved into my suite when we're married because… you'll be moved in then." You look at him for a long moment then before you roll your shoulders back just a fraction, a split second of your perfect facade cracking. It's a moment of understanding, almost, as he sees the instant you show how heavily this weighs on your shoulders, as well. But it's gone as soon as it happens and Tooru's left with his lips downturned as he watches you again.

"May I speak candidly?" You ask. Tooru's frown deepens.

"We are to be married. I'm not sure why you wouldn't."

"Well," you begin carefully. "I'm not sure why we would alter our current arrangement. This is a diplomatic marriage - nothing more. There's no need for us to pretend that it's anything other than that." Tooru gapes at you as you speak, shock crossing over his face before anger burns through him. Hajime, where he stands behind you, turns and lets his gaze fall on you. You, who's come into his nation, inserted yourself into his life and his love, you cannot stand him enough to even live with him.

"We will be married," he repeats, his words a bit more venomous than perhaps is warranted, something he's reminded of when Hajime frowns pointedly at him over your head. "We could at least pretend to be able to stand one another."  You straighten back up at that, any moment of softness that had seeped into you slipping away at Tooru's outburst. 

"Your Highness," you say firmly. "I have no plans to chain you to me in any way that you do not wish. I am saying this for your benefit. I see no reason for you to cease living the way you please just because I'm here." Tooru sort of freezes at that, his gaze flitting to Hajime as the knight stands still, holding his breath at your words.

"What… do you mean?" Tooru curses himself for the way his voice wavers. But, in response, you almost smile, a quick upturn of your lips.

"The working girls employed by the royal families are famed across our nations' lines. I am not so ignorant as to be unaware of them," you say simply. Tooru almost chokes at that.

"I - I beg your pardon?" He splutters.

"What I'm saying, Your Highness," you sigh, apparently tired of him feigning ignorance. "Is that I understand how difficult it would become to continue having these visitors to your chambers, as I'm sure you do now, if I were to be here with you. I'd rather not be sent away in the evenings to bide my time elsewhere. I'd rather… well, my moving into your chambers is not a necessary part of this agreement."

You're quiet after you speak, turning your gaze to the window, to the summer sun that shines in and the sheer white curtains that blow in the breeze. You look… trapped, helpless and longing in a way that you hadn't before. Or perhaps, Tooru thinks rather painfully, he'd just never noticed.

You, with your endless pride and self-respect, who holds your head so high and your spine so straight - Tooru can't understand how you think so lowly of yourself that you expected him to keep you away from him, in a separate part of the castle alone, so that he could have affairs and live a life of his choosing so far from you.

When he reaches for your hand, tangling his fingers with yours despite your shock, Tooru feels like he's looking at you for the first time. Your hands, soft and gentle and trembling ever so slightly. Your eyes, soft and hurt in a way that only comes from fleeing a civil war. Tooru finds himself wishing he could apologize, wishing he could take back his cold, sullen gaze as you look at him. 

"I would not do that to you," is what he says instead. "I hold too much respect for you to treat you in such a way."

"You needn't have any respect for me, Your Highness," you say simply. "That was not part of this agreement." Tooru squeezes your hand gently.

"I am to be your husband. That is reason enough for me." Tooru says it like it's simple, like it's a fact written in the stars that you should already know. You stare at him unwaveringly, though, when he speaks, an uncertainty twisting in you.

"I'm not sure," he goes on. "Why you would think anything other than that. You hold onto your righteousness so tightly, I wouldn't think you'd be so willing to sacrifice your marriage like this." Tooru looks down at your hands as he speaks, at the way he twists his fingers with yours and the way that you so easily let him.

"It is all I have," you say quietly.

"Hm?"

"My righteousness. It is all I have. I have lost my nation to the war of my brothers. I have lost my home and been sent somewhere with customs different from mine, with food and weather and clothes that I barely know… all to marry a man who will barely speak to me. I have nothing left, Your Highness."

If Tooru hadn't been so shocked by your words, if a guilt and a selfishness had not burned through him, perhaps you wouldn't have been able to slip your hands from his grip so easily and stand before him. He looks up at you, all the same, his face twisted with regret. You take no notice.

"If you'll excuse me now, Your Highness, I'd like to retire to my chambers." You bow then, a proper and humble thing that has Tooru standing and putting his hands on your shoulders as you rise. You, royalty in your own right, stand before him and wait for his permission to leave.

"Why are you treating me as if I am crowned and you are not?" Tooru asks and his hands tighten on your shoulders. He wants to shake you, just a bit, just enough to rattle his panic out of himself.

"I am not anymore," you say, and you're not sure who flinches more at the waver in your voice, the flutter of your eyelids over glossy, tear-filled eyes. "I am marrying you. Your titles, your throne, your life will be mine." Tooru takes his hands off of you at that, stepping back to bow to you, ignoring the sharp, little inhale of your breath at the action.

When he rises, he glances at Hajime, and the knight straightens at the attention.  

"Iwaizumi will accompany you," he explains firmly.

"It's simply a walk to the other side of the castle."

"And your safety is my utmost priority. I've put my life in his hands many times. There is no one better to watch over you."

"He is your guard. You already gave me Hanamaki," you point out stubbornly, but Tooru just shakes his head.

"He is as much yours now as he is mine… all of this is," he says earnestly. You wonder, as you sweep out of the room with Hajime following dutifully behind, how truthful Tooru was being - how willing he will be to follow through with his promises.

Hajime, for what it's worth, is also reeling from the interaction, following swiftly behind you as you walk through the corridors as if they're your own. Although, if Tooru is to be believed, they really will be your own soon enough. He assumes, then, that you know your way around well enough to know that you are not, in fact, heading back to your rooms at all. Instead, you veer left, away from the stone walls and arched ceilings and out towards the castle gardens. 

"Your Highness," Hajime says gently. You stop slowly, a resigned sort of look passing over your face as you turn to him, like you knew this moment was coming.

"Am I to go back to my rooms?" You ask. Hajime blanches at the insinuation that he could order you to go anywhere at all. Hanamaki, where he's been trailing after the two of you, snorts at the look on his captain's face.

"No, Your Highness," Hajime says patiently, reeling himself in from the shock. "You are to go wherever you please. I merely wish to make sure you are confident in your direction." You tilt your head at that, eyeing him up and down for a moment before turning on your heel and continuing on your way.

"I am often confident, Iwaizumi," you call over your shoulder. "It is a small comfort amidst all of this." Needless to say, neither Hajime nor Hanamaki questions you beyond that as they follow you out to the gardens, dutifully walking three paces behind you as you wander endlessly through paths of flowers and around fountains and under great statues, the sun pouring and endless, golden glow onto the three of you. 

Hajime is impressed, he finds, at how long you walk and wonder and move before you finally give in to rest. The bench that you've found is shrouded by the shade of a weeping willow, a dozen or so of them scattered across this section of the garden and holding the sky's great light at bay. Hajime takes the time to look around while you sit - and pretends not to notice the way you slip your feet out of your shoes for just a moment to ease the ache that he's sure has set in. You're deep enough into the gardens that he has difficulty even remembering this place.

Hanamaki, to Hajime's firm approval, takes up residence a few feet from your bench, standing at attention solidly despite the heat and the sun shining down on his armour. As you sit, you tip your head back to look up at the tree, at the way the breeze slowly sways the branches and bathes you in shadow. The endlessness of the sprawling, open gardens and the distant horizon beyond, you learn, cannot find you here, and there is a peace to be found in this small solitude.

"I didn't know there were trees like this here," you say softly, keeping your head tipped back.

"They are not native to this area. The climate makes it difficult for them to grow here - it's only thanks to the dedication and skill of the groundskeepers that they are able to survive. But this is not their home." Hajime regrets adding that as soon as the words have left his mouth, pointedly looking away as Hanamaki tilts his head to scowl at him when he sees you clench your fists in your lap and bite your bottom lip to keep it from trembling.

"They grow everywhere back home," you say quietly, in a voice that's so soft it's almost missed by the two of them. But then, you begin to weep, shuttering sobs leaving you as you sit quietly, trying desperately to keep the outburst at bay. "I would like to be alone for a while," you say, keeping your eyes trained down to the ground.

"I am sorry, Your Highness." And Hajime does mean it. "You have been left in my care and I cannot leave you unattended here. However… privacy is something I can always offer you." With that, Hajime turns sharply to Hanamkai, who's already watching him, waiting for a command that he knows will come.

"The bridge we passed under that marks the entryway to this section - remain there. No one is to enter until you hear from me. Understood?" Hanamaki's response to his captain's command is firm, his departure from the two of you swift. Hajime, in turn, moves to stand just in front of the bench that you're seated on, off to the side so as to not obstruct your view of the surrounding gardens. He keeps his gaze trained forward, away from you and unable to look on without you noticing. 

When you weep then, there is a part of you that cries for the kindness of it all, for the steady, reliable solidness that is Hajime as he stands dutifully. The loyalty that he shows - it feels a bit too much like love, and that's something that you've found yourself desperate for since coming here.

Hajime stands for hours as you sob and sniffle and then breathe deeply to calm yourself. Through it all, he does not move, does not waver, does not look. When you clear your throat and stand, smoothing down your hair and patting your face, he does not move. 

It's not until you stand in front of him and speak that he looks at you.

"I would like to go back now… to my chambers, please," you say quietly, the solidness that he's learned to be so familiar with finding its way back into your voice.

"As you wish, Your Highness," is his response as he dips his head to bow. He does not mention the flush of your face, the redness of your eyes and nose and the way you quietly sniffle during the walk back. He offers his arm silently when you sigh, your feet aching as you begin the long trek. He does not complain when you lean a bit too much weight on him. Hajime loves through loyalty, through a constraint steadiness, and you find yourself understanding quickly why Tooru values him so much. 

That value, you learn over time, is something more than the loyalty of a knight to a prince. The pre-marital chambers that you'd been given are lavish, tall ceilings and velvet couches, the bed piled with silk sheets and cushions and woven blankets. Despite that, however, sleep evades you on the night before your wedding. 

As you roll over again, having tossed and turned the whole night, you wonder if you could make it to the ground floor from your window, if you could tie your sheets together and fling them out as some sort of line to climb down, a way out of this life and this love.

But there is nothing out there for you, just as there is nothing here. And Hanamaki stands guard just outside your door, tall and sturdy and… caring, if you're honest, trailing after you throughout your days and looking on. You can only begin to imagine his captain's punishment for him if he learned that the Crown Prince's betrothed flung themself out a window in the night.

So, instead, you rise, the sun just barely brushing over the vast horizon and giving you enough light to slip on layers of robes, the fabric laying heavily on your shoulders as you leave your chambers.

"Your Highness?" Comes Hanamaki's questioning voice as he dutifully falls into step behind you. You pause long enough to turn and look at him, at his wide, concerned eyes.

"Does sleep ever come on nights like these, do you think?" You ask. Something in him softens.

"I'm sure I wouldn't know, Your Highness, but there's not much the willow trees can't fix," he says kindly. You smile a bit, then, something that feels far off and foreign to you these days, and begin to make your way out towards the castle gardens.

As you pass the prince's chambers, however, your footsteps come to a stuttering halt. Matsukawa stands on guard outside the doors, stoically staring ahead so as not to intervene in the scene unfolding before him. Hajime stands in the doorway, having just slipped out from Tooru's rooms. He's dishevelled, his shirt untucked and his hair tousled. He looks like he's been caught, and there's a static in the air as you straighten, confirmation of the lingering theory that had been taking root in your heart making itself known.

"Iwaizumi," you say sternly. He straightens and bows.

"Your Highness," he says it quickly, but he does not move, does not rise. 

"Take a walk with me… clean yourself up first. I trust you'll be able to catch up." With that, you sweep past him, robes billowing as he remains still, waiting until you're out of sight to chastise Matsukawa for not warning him while the knight helps Hajime sort himself back into his armour.

Sure enough, you're merely entering the gardens when Hajime falls into step beside you, his shoulders heaving as he tries to catch his breath. You say nothing, merely continuing your stroll until the summer sun rises, the light peaking over the trees and illuminating the two of you, shining into the endless, open sky above.

"Tooru is kinder than he lets on when I'm near," you say honestly, continuing to stare ahead as you walk. Hajime, dutiful as always, follows your lead, walking and looking forward, beyond the flowerbeds and towards the endless, golden horizon. "And he is good - as a ruler, that is. I'm not sure our feelings for one another matter much beyond that."

Hajime bites his tongue at your words, at his urge to tell you that you're wrong, that Tooru spends his evenings speaking of you, of the wild lavender in your perfume and the sharp fire in your eyes. But Hajime knows that sometimes love is silent, and he lets this moment be whatever it is that you need. If you need to punish him for this, then so be it.

"It is a lonely life that he and I lead," you continue. "If someone were to find some kind of… companionship, something genuine and private, I…" You trail off then, just for a moment, staring out at the way the sun bathes the gardens, the way the light shines through the branches of the willow trees. "I would not take that from him - from anyone. Tooru deserves a love that is honest and real. I will not be what stands in the way of that. You have nothing to worry about."

Hajime, in a rare moment of emotion, turns to stare at you, struck by your words as he looks on at the way you blink to fight back the dampness pooling in your eyes. Something painful lurches in his heart at the sight.

"Your Highness -" he begins. 

"That is all," you say firmly, your voice wavering. "You may go back to him now. You are his… more than either of you could ever be mine." All that Hajime can do in that moment, then, is bow deeply before making a hasty exit, away from the shining light that floats around you like a halo and back through the tangled maze of castle corridors, the stone dark and cool and arching overhead.

Matsukawa is still standing guard outside of Tooru's chambers, and he stares at Hajime as he approaches, eyes searching his captain's face for any sign of pain, of the suffering that he's sure would follow a confrontation from you.

But Hajime is quiet, sullen in a way that isn't like him as he nods in acknowledgement and slips back in through the doors. Tooru, when he enters, sits up with a frown. It's not often that Hajime will come back like this after a night in his bed and Tooru knows that something must be wrong.

"Your fiance is kinder than we could've known," Hajime says softly, sitting on the edge of Tooru's great bed to stroke a hand through his hair slowly.

"What are you talking about?" Tooru's voice is breathy, his words rushed in his anxiety. Hajime just smiles, a sad, remorseful sort of thing.

"We've been caught," he says simply. When Tooru tenses, preparing to rip himself from bed in his panic, Hajime latches his arms around him to pull the prince against his chest and shush him softly. "It's alright, my love. Let me explain. And then… and then let me have their belongings moved in here with yours. Let your future have this."

"My future?" Tooru says quietly, slowly letting himself relax against Hajime's chest as the knight relays his conversation with you to him.

"Your future," he finishes with. "Perhaps it is time we stop fighting fate and let this life of ours take its course." Tooru tilts his head up at Hajime's words to look at him softly, reaching up to card a hand through his unruly hair. 

"As long as it is our life, still," he says quietly. Hajime presses a kiss to his forehead.

"It always will be, my Prince."

The wedding ceremony is, naturally, the biggest event in the nation, the spectacle of it all overwhelming even to the two of you, something that you realize as you stand at the alter looking up into Tooru's eyes, his hands gripping yours firmly as they tremble slightly. You're not sure if it's your nerves or his that are ricocheting around, but either way, the moment that your vows are spoken, it all seems to… calm, just a bit. 

When the two of you lean forward to press your lips together gently, you wonder if this was ever really so bad. The way that Tooru tangles a hand in your hair confirms that he's thinking the same thing. The polite ahem of the bishop and the joyous cheering of the crowd, however, has the two of you breaking apart, and as you stare up at him, you wonder if the nation has ever seen their future king flushed to his ears like this. You wonder if you'll ever have the privilege of seeing it again.

That, of course, brings you back down to earth - the thought of your cold, quiet chambers secluded away from him and the endless nights that you'll spend there begin to loom in front of you. As the two of you walk through the crowds of people, accepting well wishes and blessings and having flowers thrown at your feet, Tooru squeezes your hand in concern as your arm is slotted through his. He looks down at you with furrowed brows, but you smile in return, a painted-on sort of thing crafted for the masses of people in front of you.

"Smile, Your Highness," you say lowly to him, the display of him bending so that you can whisper something private in his ear an endearing one to the spectators. "Make them believe it, or this will all be for nothing." Tooru wishes desperately to tell you how wrong you are, but the facade continues through the exiting of the ceremony and all the way through to the feast that night, the hall of the castle filled with noise and cheer and festivities. 

There are fireworks somewhere outside, and you turn in your chair at the head table, as if somehow you'll be able to catch them through the window, but you catch Hajime's eye, instead, and turn back abruptly.

"We can have more," Tooru says easily.

"Your Highness?" You prompt questioningly.

"My name is still Tooru. We can have more fireworks if you wish to see them. Every evening for a fortnight in celebration." You click your tongue disapprovingly at his words.

"The people will think us too lavish," you say as you look out towards the crowds of people.

"The people will thank us for any reason to celebrate," Tooru says easily as he shrugs. But then he looks at you and it has you straightening, the way his eyes bore into you, big and honest and empathetic.

"There is no war here, my love," he says gently. "There is no reason not to live the way we do." You clear your throat and turn to sip your wine, anything to break his stare, to rid your mind of the words that roll off his tongue. My love.

"Perhaps," is all you say in response.

"Speaking of," he continues, reaching for your hand to tangle his fingers with yours. "Everything should be moved into my chambers by the time we're ready to retire tonight."

"Your Highness?" You question again.

"Tooru," he corrects gently. "Your belongings. They're being moved into my chambers."

"I thought we agreed that we wouldn't be doing that, Your Highness," you say pointedly, your voice a hushed whisper.

"It's Tooru," he repeats. "You suggested that, yes, but I disagreed." When Tooru looks at you then, you find yourself unable to look away. His eyes, boring into yours, are filled with something akin to passion, something gentle and loving and hungry swirling in them as he looks to you. "I would be a fool," he continues softly. "To keep someone like you away from me."

"Your Highness," you say desperately, shaking your head slightly as if to rid the heat from your cheeks. Tooru takes your intertwined hands to his mouth so that he can press kisses across your knuckles. Somewhere in the distance, onlookers cheer at the display, but you can't hear them past the blood pumping in your veins.

"It's Tooru," he says patiently. "And there is no part of me that wants you cast aside… tonight or any other night. If you are to be mine, then you shall be mine. And I shall be yours, in return."

"Tooru," you say firmly, your eyes wide at his sudden display. But he merely grins at his name finally passing your lips and pulls you to him gently, a hand on the back of your head as he kisses you.

This time, there is no bishop commanding it, no nation relying on it, no war held at bay by it. This time, Tooru kisses you just to kiss you, and you cannot help but let him. You cannot help but feel loved through it. 

But it is when the two of you break away that you fianlly look at him with concern. He pouts in response, a "what's wrong, my love," leaving his lips softly as you turn from him to look behind you. Hajime, standing dutifully in his place just out of reach of the two of you, looks on subtly. You expect, of course, to see some kind of sorrow in him, some sort of jealousy or loneliness painting his face. 

When he looks at you, though, his pupils blown and shoulders tense, the concealed lust in his eyes has you turning back in shock, leaning towards Tooru as he laughs and presses a kiss to your temple.

"Forgive me, my love, but you've been discussed," he says honestly.

"Clearly," you respond weakly, but you can't help but look back one more time, catching Hajime's gaze for just a moment.

"Well," you say quietly, Tooru tilting his head so that you can whisper in his ear once more. "It's a good thing the Crown Prince has such a large bed." At that, Tooru really laughs, a loud, honest sort of sound ringing through the hall as you smile at him, swirling the wine in your cup and hoping that everyone blames that for the flush of your cheeks and your husband's giddy smile.

When that laughter continues on throughout the night, into the privacy of Tooru's chambers and then his bed, you're sure that it's not the wine that's done it. You're sure that it has something more to do with the way you tug Hajime into the room after the two of you, his palm warm and calloused against yours. 

"What about Matsukawa?" You whisper as Tooru huffs somewhere behind you, the layers of your wedding robes thick and intricate against his wandering hands. Hajime stands before you, pressing kisses first to your intertwined hands and then up your arm, pausing after he places a final kiss on your shoulder, now bare thanks to Tooru's quick fingers.

"Matsukawa's loyal as a dog. He has protected Tooru and I from being found out for many years. He will protect you, as well," Hajime says softly, lips brushing against the skin of your shoulder and up your neck.

"And Hanamaki?" You ask, the breathiness of your voice peaking Tooru's attention as he smiles against your neck where he skims his lips across your skin.

"He is your private guard now, my love," Tooru reminds you gently. "Your fate is his own - your successes, your downfalls… he will not turn his back on you. Not for something like this."

"He and Matsukawa will entertain themselves in the hall. I wouldn't worry about it," Hajime says dryly. You laugh at that, an honest, real sound ringing through the room, and the two men on either side of you soften, arms reaching out to tug you closer and into bed. 

You wonder, somewhere distant in the back of your mind, how you ever sat in the darkness of your chambers, separate from the light and love that shines through Tooru's rooms. You wonder, throughout the night, why you'd spent those evenings like that, why you'd wept and longed for home when home is right here with you, in bed next to you. 

But loneliness is a stubborn, fickle thing, and it has you rolling over some hours later, poking Hajime's side gently and being met with a responding grunt.

"Is this really alright with you?" You ask him suddenly. On the other side of you, Tooru laughs, pulling the blankets further up your naked shoulder and pressing a kiss to your arm while Hajime grabs your other hand - the one that's smoothed itself over his abs and exposed stomach. He kisses across your knuckles as he watches you, your kiss-bruised lips and hair splayed across your pillow.

"I have no envy for this life of yours," he says honestly. Tooru's hand trails up and down your side under the blanket and you shudder at the touch, at the way his fingers brush over your exposed skin. "This tightrope that the two of you walk, filled with politics and customs and endless ceremony. I am content to stand right here by your side, keeping the two of you safe while you navigate this life."

Your eyes, wide and solemn at Hajime's words, grow damp as you blink up at him.

"Hajime…" you say softly as you reach for him. He lets you, of course, lets you wrap your arms around him and press your lips desperately to his for a moment before you bury your face in his neck. Tooru laughs from somewhere behind you, leaning over you to lay a series of kisses across Hajime's face.

"I know," he coos. "Hajime's always like that. I'm afraid there's no getting used to it." Hajime, for what it's worth, looks thoroughly embarrassed by the whole ordeal, a dusting of pink covering his cheeks up to his ears as he murmurs something about how it's just the truth. When you laugh and poke his cheek gently in mocking sympathy, he snaps at it playfully with his teeth before rolling you onto your back and making both you and Tooru forget whatever it was that you were laughing at in the first place.

It's early morning, then, when you're woken up, the faintest bit of sun peeking over the hills and through the windows, bathing Tooru in a halo of gold as he sleeps next to you. The source of your waking moves on the other side of you, Hajime leaning to press twin kisses to your foreheads - one to yours and one to Tooru's.

You watch as he clambers out of bed and begins picking up his clothes, donning layers of fabric and then armour, building himself back into the knight that he's known to be - building himself into a shield blocking the door to the outside world. You fold your arms over Tooru's chest and lean on your hands, eyeing the way Hajime moves as Tooru wakes slowly, bringing a hand up to clumsily brush through your hair.

Hajime spares just one glance back as he slips out of the room, one shining look of love and contentment shown to the two of you before he disappears.

"Go back to sleep, my love," Tooru says gently, his eyes already closed again as he settles. "It is still early. We have time." But try as you might, the world of sleep evades you and leaves you rolling over yet again, staring at the gilded patterns of the ceiling above you.

"What's bothering you?" Tooru's voice is gentle, thick with remnants of sleep as he brings a hand up to cup your cheek, turning your head gently to face him. "What are you thinking of?"

"Home," you respond easily. Sorrow flashes across his face, a touch of guilt clouding it. 

"I am so sorry, my love, for the way things turned out," he says softly.

"Are you?"

"I am sorry you had to stray so far from your home."

"But that's just my point," you say quietly, turning further to tuck yourself into Tooru's embrace. He welcomes it, of course, letting your legs tangle together under the sheets and you press your face to his chest, listening to the steady thumps of his heart. "There is a home for me here. I have strayed just far enough to build myself something new."

"Ah," Tooru says in acknowledgement, his arms tightening around you as he buries his face in your hair. "Well, don't let Hajime hear you say that. He doesn't like crying in front of his knights." You laugh at that, at the thickness in Tooru's voice and the way his words warble.

"I'm sure he'd make an exception for me," you say easily. When Tooru smiles down at you, the sunlight finally breaks properly over the horizon, shining beams of gold into the room and across your skin.

"We both would, my love," he says softly. "Time and time again."

It's over breakfast many months later that word finally comes from your family. Peace has come at last - although it is a delicate, precarious thing, you tell Tooru as you pour over the letter. One of your brothers has seized the throne and is attempting to restore the kingdom, reaching an olive branch towards you and your husband, willing to rebuild the alliance that once stood between nations.

"I'm glad it was him," you say as you fold the letter, handing it across the table for Tooru to read through - much to his pleasure. The letter had not been addressed to him. It was marked very clearly as a private letter for you alone and feels, through the weight of the paper, the heaviness of this trust that you've begun to build. "If it couldn't… since it wasn't me. I'm glad it was him. He'll do right by our people," you continue. Tooru eyes you over the letter.

"May I ask…?" he begins. You look at him pointedly. "Why didn't you stay to fight? You had other siblings who would've fit into an arranged marriage easily, so why offer yourself so willingly when it went so far against what you wished for yourself and your future?"

"Are you saying you wish for a different option, Your Highness?" You quip back. Hanamaki, standing at attention near the door, doesn't quite catch his laugh in time and is pinned by Hajime's chastising look at his obvious entertainment. Matsukawa smiles in that lazy way of his on the other side of the door at the spectacle, but Tooru just blinks, looking at you fondly.

"I would choose you in an endless crowd, my love," he says easily. "But I spend my days chasing after any glimpse I am worthy of getting into that head of yours."

"Flirt," you shoot back, but your cheeks flush all the same. You glance at Hajime, though, at the way he stands in his usual position by the two of you, his gaze fixed on you as you grow sombre. "Not all of us would've been good for the throne. Those who seek power, in fact, often abuse it. The surest way to promise safety to my people was to either take the throne for myself… or make sure that the right person took it in my place." Tooru pauses at your words, looking at you intently.

"You had a hand in your brother seizing the throne?" He asks.

"Of course," you respond easily. "It was the best decision. I also knew that a union with your nation would do a great deal of good for us. Everything I have done both here and in my life before you has been for the sake of my nation - my people. That is all." You say it like it's simple, like throwing yourself onto your sword in an act of love and loyalty is as easy as breathing.

Tooru stares - falls a bit more in love with you moment by moment until it feels as if the ground is disappearing from beneath his feet. Hajime, where is stands at his post by your side, softens so visibly that Matsukawa laughs.

Neither you nor Tooru can hold in your own laughter at Hajime's flustered chastising and Matsukawa's unbothered smile. Nobody really seems to mind. As the sun shines through the stained glass windows, bathing the three of you in colours akin to the fireworks of your wedding night, the patterns dancing in the safety of this sturdy love, you find that you really can't bring yourself to be bothered by it at all.

[lullaebies]

Not sure if you still want Jaehaegon prompts BUT a fic/drabble of the way Aegon III and Jaehaera both grieve specifically their mothers would go insane especially with your writing. Them being both extremely codependent yet unable to talk to the other about this one thing, the suppressed guilt, the waking nightmares Aegon would surely have of Jaehaera’s beloved father having his mother eaten alive right in front of him…plus the books say Rhaenyra was so dependent on having Aegon around 24/7 after she lost all her other children, how would that manifest in him now?

Have a really nice day!!!

a/n: ahhhhh i loved writing this prompt. it had been on my mind since i got it and i finally got time to tap into it (as well as other reqs that i'm slowly chipping into!). i hope you will enjoy this dear, and thank you so much for the compliments too <3 it ended up more about Aegon's experiences but there are touches on Jaehaera's side of things. I do write TG side of things more often though so he def deserves the focus I feel!

“Even while we are in the castle, you are not to leave me. Not for a moment, Aegon,” she says, tugging roughly on his hand. 

“Mother, I—” he replies, frightened at the clutch of her grip. He first tries to escape, pull his arm away, but she holds him tighter while his legs try to match her pace. “Mother, it hurts!”

And her grip suddenly loosens. He nearly trips, on the sands of Dragonstone, the dunes he had once built castles with on this shore, with his brothers. Rhaenyra falls to her knees upon it, clutching him against her in an apologetic embrace. “I am sorry. I am sorry…” she swallows

He feels the very air of the island is awry, not the same, as her feet and dress bury into the sand. He holds her back, trying to keep her afloat, though his own throat is dry at what to say. Ser Alfred Broome and his men watching him made him both shy and chilled.

She runs a hand through his hair. “We shall see to that our home is safe, and stay safe, the two of us, yes?” 

Aegon is scared, feeling dwarved by the world, but his mother’s voice is begging, and his only offer to console her, as always, is to agree.

“...Yes—”

The earth beneath becomes hot, as the sun rises above Dragonstone, turning from yellow to gold. Its rays turn into flare, and the sand turns into glass. He screams for his mother to flee — but glass shatters, puncturing his throat as he screams.

He wakes up in cold sweat, his whole body trembling. He is alone on his side of the bed, and the wind blows harshly from the open window, but not enough to dispel the heat from his bones. As if possessed, he lifts himself up from the bed, eyes taking in the dark room.

“Aegon?” Jaehaera stands up. She had sat by a roaring fireplace, making the woods within it crack as they blacken. And for a moment, it is equal parts anxiety and betrayal, tears against the dam that are his silver lash line. His feet thunder before him, grabbing the golden pitcher of wine on their table, tossing it whole at the fireplace. Droplets from it scatter like tricklets of blood on the carpet. The fire sizzles as Jaehaera gasps, but it is not fully put out.

“It won’t disappear, it won’t disappear!” his low voice trembles. His breaths feel like fire courses up his throat, and he feels sick. On the brink of vomiting from disgust — his own home is not safe, his own body betraying him to become flame — he thinks Jaehaera too is running away from him, but soon enough, she finds a glass of water within their room to douse the remaining flame.

The room then darkens significantly. The moonlight remains, refusing to let him become blind for the end, but he closes his eyes, wanting to refuse to its will too. He is not burnt, but he feels fragile ash, left behind in the wind, falling to the floor.

In the complete silence that dominates the room, in the black escape of his closed eyes, he sees his mother, as though she has never left. He hadn’t been allowed to move an inch from her, until the very moment the beast had devoured her. The one moment he wanted to run to her, make her move. The fire devoured her, as did the dragon, but he remained behind, her shadow.

A shadow of a man remains today, too.

The utter quiet that he regains his mind in remains unbroken until he opens his eyes, doing his best to keep any tears unshed. Jaehaera doesn’t dare to move a step, her fingers curling around the empty glass of water as she watches him. His heart weakens again — he should’ve known not to be so helpless in the presence of women just as helpless as he.

Mother, I’m sorry, he wants to return to the dream, to say that to her instead. He cannot, but his wife is here.

“I…” it’s on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn’t know how to begin. He doesn’t want to apologize, when he still feels his mother’s hold on him. But I shouldn’t have scared her, still, and yet again, if he does apologize, he’d have to explain why, to begin with. 

He and Jaehaera don’t speak of these things. For the better of them both, for the sake of their lost loved kin, for the sake of love not being lost again. She knows what had occurred on Dragonstone, as he knows what has occurred in King’s Landing. The histories will not forget, but they ever attempt to do so, regardless.

‘Tis be duty, for the very realm. He would say that to himself, again and again, until his own guilt creeps up on him. Reminding him so — that this is his sin, the need to cling to the daughter of the scorching sun, the last light.

Jaehaera puts away the cup, and approaches him with ghostly steps. If she had liked, she could thunder through the room. She could give him her known scowl and turn away. She could even leave with less than a whisper. Everything is imaginable, when they have went through all imaginable. As a little girl, he heard her weep more than he can count, even from the other side of Maegor’s Holdfast, but she’s no longer that little girl.

She lowers herself to her knees too, and reaches over to embrace him, guiding his head to occupy the crook of her neck. The stone floor is firm, but he feels himself sinking into her. His breaths grow wavering again.

“I’m sorry,” it finally comes out, those words and the tears, and the honest, brutal truth. “It won’t leave me,” he says. “That memory, my mother—” he stops himself, shutting his eyes hard.

It aches so deeply, and it tears him apart, him of the past and him of the future. In this present, this very moment, he doesn’t even know who he is at all. Doesn’t know how to talk, or explain, or do a thing but freeze in time, so afraid of fire.

Jaehaera holds him tighter. Her fingers move soothingly through the nearby white of his hair, when she finally allows herself to speak. “Do you remember the first time you held me?” she asks him. 

He swallows. He remembers, yes. One would expect it to be their first night, but it wasn’t. His first hold of her had been a full year prior, when she had been reduced to tears at a feast. Nothing of his machinations, but of his regents. Their planning, however, had not taken into account that that day had been the anniversary of his aunt Helaena’s death. Or perhaps they had, and only wished to overwrite the day’s meaning. 

Aegon hadn’t realized. Jaehaera had barely spoken a pip to him back then. But then she broke down in tears in the middle of the feast, and although he had been apt to ignore her from their distant rooms, he couldn’t quite ignore it then when The Queen fled the room, and everyone simply stood and watched.

None of his regents could hold him in his place, for the very principle he refuses to ever be reduced to a spectator by ‘loyal’ men. 

And so he went after her — and they were ever so clear with how she looked down the moat, and mumbled about ‘mum’. He had been there when her mother died; it connected quickly. There were no words he could dare speak. No matter how averse to touch he had been, his only way to answer her had been his arms coming around her, and letting her sob within them.

He assumed it would be a futile effort, as holding the hands of those who slowly passed from Winter Fever had been… but she cried until she fell asleep, until he had already been lulled by the night himself, and they both woke up the morning after to the sun’ touching them with only soft rays.

“I know what plagues you, as you know what plagues me,” Jaehaera tells him. “You held me when I cried for my kin and the past. You needed no explanation or clause to console me. I won’t ask it of you either,” she says. “‘It is enough reason to hold you, knowing you need to be held.”

Aegon gathers her in his arms, some will of strength returning to them. 

He can ask her to never leave his side. He can plead with her, that they have to make this home safe, to remain safe, the two of them. He can leave her with no choice but to agree, even if she is doubtful. He can — but he doesn’t think he has to. She knows, and he has reached a place where his belief in it, his own yes, is not laced with doubt.

Aegon closes his eyes, and lets himself weep until sleep overtakes him. Within his drowsiness, as his last tear falls, he can see his mother at the back of his mind, offering him a soft smile. The morning sun will wake him again, but there will be no scorching no more. His last light’s tight embrace assures it too.

[absurdthirst]

The Dornish Sun {Oberyn Martell x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 18.1k

Warnings: Step Uncle/Niece relationship, slight age gap, fingering, oral sex (female and male receiving), loss of virginity, pregnancy, childbirth, angst, infidelity, heartbreak, war, murder, rape, threesomes, mff relationship, poisoning, revenge

Comments: Of course a love story with Oberyn Martell would be tumultuous. Especially when the Seven Kingdoms is in chaos and the Baratheon rebellion breaks out.

A/N: You know that scene in HOTD where Rhaenyra leaves her birthing bed to take the baby to see the Queen? That completely inspired this.

🚨🚨DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT - this story contains canonical events including murder and rape (Elia Martell)🚨🚨

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Oberyn Martell MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

Doran Martell married your mother and took you as his own daughter when you were eight years old. Carrying you away from the moldering estates you were born on and you had finished growing up in the castle at Sunspear and then later the Water Gardens when your father had grown too ill to stay in the steeply staircased fortress with his wheelchair. 

The day you met Oberyn, his youngest sibling and only brother, you had fallen in love. His chiseled jaw, uncaring demeanor and his delight in allowing you to follow him around had created a painful crush for you, your cheeks heating to near flames when he had picked you up as a towering teenager of fourteen. He was your handsome red viper as you heard others call him and you had decided then and there that one day, you would marry Oberyn and become his princess. 

When you were a woman grown, your crush had not waned. Growing even deeper and embedding in your heart to where no one but Oberyn would do, you argued with your papa that you should be aligned with the second born heir to House Martell, solidifying your place in the family and your own succession if Arianne did not wish to take over when your father passed. It did not help that you could tell Oberyn wanted you, his eyes following you as you went about your duties, the small smirk on his lips far from familial affection. 

“Give me one reason, a good reason why I cannot marry for love?” You ask, your jaw set in stubborn determination as you look over at your father, the subject of husbands ones that you are tired of talking about. You do not want any of the men your father has suggested would make good husbands. “You married mother for love.” 

Doran sighs, rubbing his cheek, “that was different. Your mother…Oberyn is your uncle.” Doran argues and you shake your head. 

“We are not blood. He is my uncle in name only.” You counter. Your own lord father had passed when you were aged six, meaning your mother was eligible to marry Doran and thus you have younger half siblings. 

“It will not look good to our enemies. Allowing my daughter to marry my brother…they will cry out in protest.” Doran argues and you scoff. 

“Like the Lannister rumors aren’t worse?” You argue and Doran shakes his head. 

“I do not care about the Lannisters. You are my daughter and you shall marry to help our alliances. A lord from the North, a Stark, has asked for your hand. You will be marrying him.”

“I do not want to leave Dorne.” You frown, unable to even imagine living in the cold north with those joyless Starks. Duty and winter coming are all they care about, you had not been impressed when you had met them two years ago when Ned Stark and another had traveled to Dorne to speak with your father. “I wish to feel the sun on my skin, the sand under my feet. I belong here.” 

“You belong where I tell you that you belong. You will marry the Stark boy. You will allow our alliances to continue and you will do your duty. Seven hells, I saved you and your mother from a destitute life and you shall repay me for that.” Doran’s tone is final, no longer the loving father you’ve come to adore, no, he’s a prince. A leader.

You hiss in anger, pushing away from the table with a loud screech from your chair and rushing away. Heartbroken and angry that your father would condemn you to a fate that in your mind is worse than death. Running through the halls towards the gardens, your slippers are silent on the stone floors and your floating dress flaps behind you. You will not marry a Stark, you will not. 

Oberyn is walking down the hallway when he sees you running. He reaches out to stop you, his hands on your shoulders. “My sun, why are you running? Surely my brother has not been so cruel as to make you run away from the beautiful gardens?” He coos, cupping your cheeks when you look at him, tears in your eyes.

“Father is sending me to Winterfell.” You close your eyes and the tears slip down your cheek. “I am to be wed to a Stark, to live my days in the snows of the North where the sun freezes.” You swallow and open your eyes again, looking into his dark orbs. “I - I do not want to wed into that house. I wish to stay here, with you - and father.” 

The look in Oberyn's eyes is harsh, soft gaze turns to steel as he imagines you in Winterfell, belonging to another man. No, he won't allow it. Despite his brother's urges that he should find a bride, Oberyn has been unable to move on from you. You - you are his niece by name but not by blood yet the guilt of wanting you, of loving you, has never waned. However, to imagine you with another...it's more than Oberyn can take. "Come with me to my rooms, we shall drink some wine and discuss what can be done to change my brother's mind." He cups your cheek before taking your hand, eager to guide you to his chambers.

You follow him willingly and will follow him anywhere. His exile several years ago had been hard to deal with and you had often come to his chambers to sleep while he was gone, the servants finding you asleep in his bed. Now, you spend less time with him since you are a lady, your father wanting you to appear more mature for your station and years. Despite the lax nature of Dorne compared to the rest of the Seven Kingdoms, you are still under scrutiny. 

“Oberyn.” He squeezes your hand and you fall silent, entering the large bedchamber and watching as he lets go of your hand to walk over to the pitcher of wine that is ever present on a table along with his favored berries.

Oberyn pours you a glass, handing you the goblet before repeating the action for himself. “Sit.” He orders, pointing to the loveseat and he brings you the wine and sits down beside you. “Tell me why you do not wish to marry a Stark.” He wants to hear you say what he suspects but he won’t show his hand just yet.

Looking away, you take a sip of your wine. It would be better if you were a man and could be expected to speak plainly about such things. Even here you were not supposed to acknowledge the ache you have for a man, not while still being innocent. “Ned Stark is boring.” You whisper. “Too self righteous and I-“ you pause, glancing at your handsome uncle by marriage before you look down at your cup. “I love another.”

Oberyn isn’t dumb. He’s seen the way you look at him and he knows he should say no, that it’s foolish for you to want him…but he can’t. Not when he feels the same. He was exiled, returned home to no one but you. You talked to him, you listened to his stories and he fell in love with his niece by marriage. “Marriage is not always about love, my sun. Marriages are for alliances. Political purposes. Do you wish to put your father at a disadvantage for love? Is this love too great to ignore in favor of your duty?” He asks, having asked himself that same question many times when Doran tried to marry him off but he is far too stubborn.

“What about my duty to my own heart?” You shake your head, dismayed because you thought of all people - Oberyn would understand. “I would not be a good wife to a man I could not endure. How would I lay in his bed, under his rutting body and bear his children?” You bite your lip, sighing and lifting your cup to your lips again. “My father has other alliances, other deals he can make. My heart shouldn’t be a bartering tool.” 

Oberyn’s cock twitches at the thought of you beneath him and the jealousy he feels at the thought of someone else touching you, having you. It makes his jaw clench. “You would rather have passion? A husband who wants to make you shake with pleasure? A man who will suck on your nipples until you are dripping wet, his fingers finding your bundle of nerves, making you moan until he buries his tongue deep into your cunt, working your tight heat until you nearly drown him. A man who will slide his cock into you with the aim to make you cum, make you clench around his length until your thighs are shaking, instead of purely to get you pregnant. Is that what you want, my sun?” He leans closer, his breath washing over your face.

You whimper pitifully at the vivid imagery he creates with his words. Breath hitching and you inhale the sweet scent of wine and berries from his too close mouth. Your eyes flit down, tracing the angel’s kiss on his lower lip and your tongue slides out to wet your own, having wanted to trace his lips so often that you swear you have done it before. You can barely look back up into his own dark eyes and you swear you see lust in their depths. “Yes.” You whisper, nodding and pressing your thighs together to quell the ache there. “I want y- that.”

Oberyn leans even closer, reaching for the goblet so he can set them both down on the table nearby. You exhale shakily as he moves away from you, heart pounding and you are upset he doesn’t want you, tears stinging in your eyes. Oberyn takes a moment, knowing this will change everything but he can’t hold back anymore. He wants you. He turns back, seeing the way your eyes avoid his and he tuts, surging forward to press his lips to yours but before he says “I want you, my sun.”

Melting into him, you moan into the kiss, allowing him to take over completely. Clinging to the edges of his robe, your entire body lights up with the glorious knowledge that Oberyn wants you. “Have me.” You beg when he kisses along your jaw. “I am yours.” You know you shouldn’t, that you should pull away but you don’t think about that. Too caught up in your dream coming true to act rationally. 

Oberyn should pull back, he definitely shouldn't go any further than this but fuck, he has been keeping away for so long, it feels physically painful to pull back from you in this moment. His tongue slides into your mouth and he reaches for you to pull you into his lap, his breath mingling with yours as he methodically tugs on the strings that keep your robes in place.

You aren’t completely innocent. You know the reputation Oberyn has started to cultivate. It was one of the reasons why he was exiled for that dark time when you were younger. He has had lovers and yet you do not hesitate when you feel the warm air from the open windows on your skin. Your nipples are hard from need and you let him unlace your dress and strip you down with an eagerness that can’t be contained as you run your hands along his broad shoulders and slip them under the light linen brocade to touch his heated skin. 

Your touch ignites something in him and he grabs your thighs, lifting you up as he stands and he throws you onto his bed. Shrugging off his robe to expose his chest and upper arms before he strides over to hover over you. “You have no idea, my sun, how many times I imagined seeing these tits.” He groans, leaning down to take a nipple into his mouth. 

Gasping out his name, your eyes close in pleasure. Fingers digging into the silk sheets on his bed and twisting them in your hands while he sucks at your breast. The wet heat of his mouth is deliriously good and yet you want more, your dress pooled at your hips and you want to be bare underneath him. “P-please.” You beg, arching your back to offer yourself to him. 

Oberyn isn’t in a rush, especially since he knows you are innocent. “Patience.” He tuts as he lifts up to switch to your other breast, leaning down to take it into his mouth, his dark eyes focusing on you while his hands caress your waist, one coming up to squeeze the breast he just abandoned.

You whimper, biting your lip and trying to just let yourself experience his touch. To not beg for more than he is wanting to give you right now. Your legs shift, thighs pressing together and you take advantage of him without his shirt. You had spent so much of your day drooling over his practices in the courtyards while shirtless and you touch his broad shoulders and back with a happy moan while he bites down on your nipple. 

Oberyn tuts, reaching for your thighs to push them apart so he can press his body against yours, his cock hardening under his robes. He kisses your clavicle, up your neck until his body covers yours. “So eager, aren’t you? You want more?” He teases, pressing feather-like kisses to your jaw while his fingers slide under your gown, caressing your thigh.

“Yes. Please, more.” You whine, enjoying the way that his chest drags against your wet breasts. Your cunt clenches at the hardness that he is slowly grinding against you. “Oberyn.” You are in heaven right now, this is what you have always imagined and your nails drag down his back and you grab his ass in the leather breeches he is wearing, suddenly bolder than an innocent virgin should be. There is no fear, only want and need right now. 

Oberyn chuckles at your eagerness, his fingers sliding higher until he finds your wet cunt, covered by the curls. “Mmm. So wet.” He groans softly, sliding his fingers through your folds a couple of times until he rubs your clit. “You’re so beautiful, my sun. Always - always imagined this.” He admits, knowing he’s tugged on his cock far too many times thinking about you recently. Or had another around him while he imagined it was you.

“I love you.” Your confession slips out unprompted, but you do. It has always been Oberyn since you have laid eyes on him. It will always be him. Your eyes close again and you let out a low moan while he rubs your clit as if he had done it a thousand times before. It was not like you hadn’t touched yourself before but it was so much more pleasurable with his fingers. 

Your confession makes his heart thump in his chest and he knows you didn’t say it for him to say it back, you said it because it’s true. His fingers continue working your clit and he presses his lips back to yours, sliding his hand lower so he can push a finger into your tight cunt.

Gasping in delight and pleasure, your walls stretch around him, the thick finger curling up into your cunt. Grinding down on his hand wantonly, you know that this will be perfect. He is skilled and you love him, your walls clamping down around his finger while you turn your head to nip his jaw with your teeth like you have imagined doing a thousand times. You want to mark him, claim him as your own. 

Oberyn groans softly at your nip, “my little sun has fire.” He chuckles, adding another finger as he pushes the digits inside of you. He wants you to feel only pleasure so he wants you dripping down his wrist. His thumb presses against your clit while his lips find yours again.

Whimpering against his neck, your arm tightens around him while he curls his fingers up. Taken beyond what you had ever been able to do yourself, you feel your legs start to shake while that tension builds up in your core. Hips meeting the thrust of his fingers on their own, your moans are uninhibited and you don’t care who would hear you beyond his doors. 

Oberyn groans when your walls clamp down on his fingers when he presses his thumb against your clit a little harder, sending you over the edge. “So good, my sun. Can’t wait to be inside of you.” He murmurs, working you through it and he is determined to taste you too before he takes your innocence.

You cry out, back arching and colors burst behind your eyelids as pleasure courses through your body. “O-Oberyn!” You cling to him, shuddering and shaking underneath his touch. He keeps curling his fingers as he works you through it until you are panting out, completely wrung out. 

Oberyn groans your name, loving the way you shake and the way you are already so spent. He chuckles, kissing your jaw and he shifts to kneel between your thighs, working on removing the rest of your gown so he can see all of you. “I want to see you, my sun. I want you bare. Mind, body, and soul.”

Lifting your hips, you have no shame as Oberyn strips you down to your skin. Laying in his bed as the evening rays of light shine through the slates covering his windows, you feel like this is where you are supposed to be. Watching as he rocks back onto his knees and looks down at your nude, virginal body. “I am yours.” You whisper, meaning every word. 

Oberyn offers you a soft smile, nodding in understanding, and he caresses your calf before he shifts off of the bed to push his breeches down, releasing his aching cock from its confines. He desperately wants to slide into you but he can’t, he wants to taste you first.

You had not expected his mouth. When you had seen his cock, your leg had spread in anticipation of him climbing between them. Of feeling him deep inside you. Instead you gasp when his shoulders push your legs wider, his chuckle filthy when he winks at you and lowers his mouth to your dripping cunt to lick a long stripe through your folds. “Gods!” You cry out, head tilting back and fingers tangling into the silk sheets again. 

Oberyn’s tongue is eager, sliding deeper inside of you and his nose presses against your clit. His fingers dig into your thighs, pushing them back towards your stomach so his tongue can slide deeper into your cunt. “You taste so good.” He smacks his lips as he pulls back for a moment before he dives back in.

If his fingers were magical, his tongue is even more so. Curling deep inside you to make you squirm before he is pulling out and flicking it against your clit, pulling another gasp out of you. Lewdly learning your body in a way that you had heard of but never imagined would be as good as it is. Quickly feeling your stomach clenching as he lashes your clit again and again with his tongue and pushing you towards another orgasm. 

Your thighs start to shake and press against his head and he knows you are close. He wants you to cum so he continues lashing your clit, sucking and licking until his jaw hurts and when you cry out, he buries his tongue into your walls, wanting to feel them flutter.

It was even better than your first orgasm. The rush of heat flooding your cunt makes him moan and you whimper at the way that he is eager to taste all of you, his tongue dipping back inside you. Your thighs try to close around his head but they can’t at his mercy until you are crying out again and shoving weakly at his shoulder to move him away. 

Oberyn doesn’t move away right away, he smacks his lips, kissing your clit and chuckling at the way you whine so he backs off, kneeling between your legs and wrapping his fingers around his aching cock. “My sun, are you certain that this is what you want?” He asks, wanting to make sure you want him to take your innocence.

“I have loved you since I was a child, Oberyn.” Your eyes greedily stare at him, drinking in how perfect he looks hard and wanting you. You are not scared of his length or size, knowing that he was going to fit perfectly inside you as he slowly strokes himself. “I am sure that I want nothing more than for you to take my innocence.” 

Oberyn nods, certain that he wants you, he has wanted you since your eight and ten name day, knowing you were a woman had shone a new light on you and he has wanted you ever since. “Tell me if it hurts. It will hurt to begin with but we will go slow.” He promises, shifting closer until he can notch his cock at your entrance, slowly pushing into you.

Your soft cry is mixed with tears as he fills you, but they are ones of joy. Lashes fluttering as you feel the weight of him starting to settle over your body and his cock butting up against the thin barrier of your innocence. His lips press against yours before he pushes through the thin barrier of your innocence and hums at the way your body locks up around him.

Oberyn leans closer to kiss away your tears, his heart pounding in his chest as he looks at your beautiful face. “Are you okay, my sun?” He asks, not moving while you adjust to his cock inside of you. You’re so hot, so tight, so wet, it’s hard to maintain control but he will.

“Perfect.” It’s a struggle to keep your eyes open but you want to see him. Reaching up and caressing his sharp cheek while he holds still over you. Wanting to commit this to memory since it is the perfect moment. “Move, my prince.” You beg him softly. “I want to feel every inch of you.” 

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He starts to move, his dark eyes focused on you in case there’s any pain but all he sees is love in your eyes. It makes his heart twist. He shifts, resting his weight on his elbows so he can bury his face in your neck, kissing along it and breathing you in.

Every push of his hips makes you moan, your arms winding around his neck and your legs coming up to rest on his hips. He feels amazing and you don’t have any of the discomfort that you had secretly worried about with a husband. Oberyn is perfect and the love you have makes it even better. “Oh Gods, Obeyrn.” You whimper. “It’s so- so good.” 

Your whimper spurs him on to make you cum. His arms sliding under you to pull you closer and his hips rock into you, hitting the back of your thighs. “So beautiful. So perfect.” His voice is raspy and he is desperate for you to cum for him one more time.

It is everything that you want, loving how he is starting to move steadily. Closing your eyes and moaning as he fills you again and again with the heavy stroke of his cock. Pushing you towards exquisite pleasure every time he touches deep inside you. “Oberyn.” You whimper softly. 

“That’s it, my love. Cum for me. Please. Cum for me.” He grunts, pushing into you and dropping his hips so the coarse hair at the base of his cock brushes against your clit. You cry out and he knows he got the right angle. “Cum for me. Soak my cock, my sun.” He orders, kissing your neck as his breath is heavy in your ear.

When you go over the edge, your cry fills his ear. Giving into his order and your body shakes underneath him while you go exactly what he orders you to do. Soaking his cock in a hot rush of cum that sounds loud when he pushes through the resistance of your fluttering walls. 

“Fuck.” Oberyn curses at how you soak him, gripping his cock in a vice but he can’t stop himself. He should pull out but the thought of filling you up, putting his seed inside of you and potentially his child has him falling over the edge within a half dozen thrusts. “Fuck!” He growls, pushing his cock deep as he cums, groaning your name while he paints your walls.

You whimper in delight at the warmth of his seed inside you. You know it is risky but you don’t care, moaning softly and stroking his back lightly while he continues to rock his hips as he rides out his high. Relaxing back into the bed when he is done and you can’t help but give a slight giggle, completely worn out by your new lover. “Wow.” 

Oberyn chuckles at your reaction, glad you enjoyed it. He certainly did. “I love you, my sun.” He murmurs, lifting his head to look into your eyes. It’s true, he adores you, always has, and he has loved you since you blossomed into a woman. He kisses you, slow and deeply, his tongue sliding against yours.

You lean into the kiss, enjoying the intimacy of it while he licks into your mouth. Your fingers tangle into the hair at the nap of his neck and you sigh happily, knowing that you have gotten your wish and you will cherish it forever. When he pulls back you smile up at him. “Thank you, Oberyn. I love you.” 

Oberyn caresses your cheek. “Let’s move you over and you can get some rest. You must be exhausted, my love.” He brushes his thumb over your cheekbone, “I love you too. Sleep. When you awaken, we will feast on fruits and cheese, I’ll send for some more wine.” He tells you, brushing your hair back.

Having sex for the first time is surprisingly exhausting. Turning over and curling up against the pillow that Oberyn sleeps on has your eyes fluttering closed within minutes. It doesn’t hurt that he is stroking your hair and shoulder, relaxing you more than you thought it would as you drift off to sleep with a smile on your face. 

Oberyn caresses you until you are asleep, then he carefully, so carefully, tugs on the sheet beneath you, easing it out from under you before he redresses. Striding down the hall, he has the sheet folded up when he enters his brother’s chambers. “Oberyn? What are you doing here?” Doran asks, a weary smile on his face for his younger brother. He loves him but he is exhausting. 

“Let me marry her.” He says, chin pointed in defiance as he awaits his brother’s response.

Doran sighs and runs his hand down his face, looking over to the door as if he expects you to peek around the corner like you had when you were a child. Obviously you had run to Oberyn but he was surprised that his younger brother was entertaining your notion of love. “She will wed Ned Stark.” He tells his brother. “You will choose a wife now? After all this time?” Oberyn had always scoffed at the idea of marriage, unless he was ordered to by his brother and Doran loved him enough that he hadn’t had the heart. 

Oberyn nods his head, “I will choose a wife. I choose her.” He declares.

Doran sighs, “you are going to send me to an early grave, dear brother. She is promised to Ned Stark.” 

Oberyn chuckles, shaking his head. “A man as noble as Ned Stark would surely want his lady wife to be pure. To not provide him with a Dornish man’s bastard.” 

Doran narrows his eyes, growing suspicious. “Oberyn…what did you do?” He hisses and Oberyn takes the sheet from behind his back, opening it to display the blood on the sheets. 

“Your darling daughter’s innocence…displayed on my sheets.”

“Gods be cursed!” There is a book in Doran’s lap that is quickly hurled at Oberyn, who merely ducks it. If his mobility has not seriously deteriorated over the last year, he would challenge the boy who had been the baby of the family. “You ruined her! For what? Your pride? Another conquest? You could have all the whores in the Seven Kingdom and you chose to make my daughter - your niece - your next whore?” Doran shouts, apoplectic with rage. Oberyn is not a liar, if he said he took your innocence, then that is what is staining his sheet. “Did you fill her?” 

Oberyn nods, “I did. You do not wish for Ned Stark to be saddled with my bastard, do you? It will not shine well on Dorne. Dear brother, she loves me. She wants to be mine.” 

Doran shakes his head, “she doesn’t know what she wants! She is a child!” Doran growls. 

“She is a woman. You have to accept that. She knows her own mind, her own heart. She loves me. I - I love her. Marry her to me. No one need know of her predicament. We can protect her. A royal wedding will please the people. Brother, she is ruined if you send her north. We are ruined.”

Doran shakes his head, dismayed and yet there is truth to his words. “You will hurt her.” He predicts sadly, sighing. “Your selfishness has ruined my daughter and our chance to align with the Starks.” He turns his head and stares out the window for a moment before his shoulders slump in defeat. What’s done is done. “You will marry her before your bastard is showing in her belly.” He decides finally in a tired voice.

****

“You may now kiss your bride.” The priest tells Oberyn who grins, surging forward to kiss you while you are covered by the Martell cloak. His fingers caress your cheeks and you smile against his lips, unable to believe he is your husband. The crowd erupts in applause, the wedding pulled together quickly to account for the babe in your belly. One time was all it took to get you pregnant…perhaps. Oberyn has indulged in his betrothed many times before today. Still, you are with child. His child. So it was best to have a swift wedding. “I love you.” He murmurs when he pulls back.

“I love you, husband.” You are beaming with pride as the two of you turn to face the people gathered. Your father’s eyes are less than pleased but he plasters a smile on his face for the sake of the occasion. “Now we have nothing to worry about.” You murmur softly, aware that the raven had been sent to Winterfell concerning your engagement to Oberyn. Rumor had it that Ned Stark had already secured another bride. Catelyn Tully would be a good match for him.

Oberyn grins, pleased at his new bride, and he guides you through the crowd to the private room reserved for you both during the celebrations. “My sun, you look gorgeous. Edible. A gift from the gods.” He leans forward to press his lips to yours, pushing the cloak off of your shoulders so he can grab your ass through your beautiful sun embroidered gown.

“Husband.” You moan, delighted at being able to use that title with Oberyn now. Since that night he had taken you to bed, you’ve discovered how much you enjoy touching him, fucking him. Learning how he likes to have his cock sucked and how he delights in having you act like the sexual creature you are and not hide your lust for him. “I need you inside me.” You whimper, reaching between you to cup his hardening cock beneath his robe. “Since there is no bedding ceremony, I want to dance with you dripping your seed.”

Oberyn hisses in delight at your words. So naughty and he knows he will want to lick it out of you later. Guiding you back towards the wall, he presses you against it and slides his hand under your gown, fingers quickly finding your clit. “Did getting married make you this wet, my sun? Did it turn you on becoming my wife?” He teases and kisses along your neck.

“Yes.” You pant, closing your eyes and moaning as he slides two fingers inside your wet cunt. “I am yours.” Those words were never more true than right now, reaching into his breeches and wrapping your fingers around to him slowly start pumping him just like he taught you. “Tonight- after other are asleep, I want to suck your cock while you are seated in the grand hall.” The wedding had been performed at Sunspear, the seat of power and Oberyn often acted in your father’s stead. You want to suck his cock while he sits on the Lord’s cushion and pleasure him.

“Naughty girl.” He teases and his cock twitches in your grip, “wanting to desecrate your father’s throne because you are so hungry for cock. I love it. I love you.” Oberyn growls, leaning closer to press his lips against yours. “Wanting to please your husband. It’s beautiful. I want to please you too but right now, I want to fuck you.” He withdraws his fingers, pulling your hand from his breeches and he pulls his cock out. Pressing you up against the wall even more, he gathers your gown and lifts your leg to notch on his hip. “Gonna make my bride cum.” He promises, pushing his cock into you with a low groan.”

Your head bumps back against the wall and you moan out his name. Your condition makes you eager and sensitive. “Oh fuck, Oberyn.” You whimper, looping your arms around his neck and grinding your pelvis down as he starts to move. “Fuck your wife,” you beg, loving how that sounds. “Please make me scream your name for all the guests to hear.”

The smirk on Oberyn’s face is wicked as he attempts to follow through on that challenge. “Yeah? My beautiful bride wants to cum so hard, she lets everyone out there know she’s no longer innocent? They will know tonight you’ve experienced a cock buried deep inside of you. They will know that I’ve spilled inside of you. Our babe shall be born early according to them but we will always know that my naughty wife wanted my cock before it was deemed appropriate.” He chuckles, kissing along your neck as his hips slam against yours.

You cry out, loving how wickedly he looks at things. It’s perfect, he’s perfect. Clinging to him while he drives into you over and over again. His mouth devours yours before he kisses along your throat and nips to make you gasp and clench around him. You know about the bastards he has, both girls. You can’t help but know about them since they live here. You love them as if they were your own. “Your next babe. Maybe a son.” You whimper when his cock pushes up against that sweet little spot inside you.

“My beautiful wife is going to provide me an heir? Fulfill her duty?” He hums. You know he hates the societal standards imposed but he is playful and you know he doesn’t care about a boy or a girl. He wants a healthy child. His fingers dig into your thigh, “a beautiful son. My beautiful wife gives me a son.” He muses with panting breaths. “I want my wife to cum. Squeal so loud they all know I am inside of you.”

It’s not hard to do, Oberyn is an amazing lover and you know you are lucky to have a man be concerned with your pleasure. “Obe-Oberyn!” You cry out as he cock continues to hammer against that spot over and over again until your toes are curling and you are squealing just like he ordered you to, your cum soaking his length and dripping down his thighs.

You squeezing his cunt has him groaning, kissing along your neck, and he thrusts a few more times before he buries his cock deep. Knowing you are his, his wife, the mother of his third child, has him cumming quickly. “Fuck.” He growls, painting your walls with his seed as he presses you further into the wall.

A few moments and lazy kisses later, Oberyn is pulling back, your leg lowering to the floor and your dress falling back into place. “Always so good.” You pant quietly, giving a small giggle of happiness as you catch sight of the beautiful gold ring he had put on your finger. The chain around your neck carries the symbol of the house Martell and declares you a princess. Which you had already been before, but now it is as a wife rather than an adoptive daughter.

****

“Push, princess!” The maester orders while your hand maids wipe your sweaty brow. The baby is coming, one more push and your baby is born. Yet Oberyn is nowhere to be found. No one has been able to alert him of the birth and the labors were quick despite this being your first. You scream as you bear down, feeling like you will pass out from the pressure and the pain but a cry fills the room and you chuckle in relief. The maester quickly inspects the babe. “You have a boy, princess.”

The women set about to help you deliver the afterbirth, the maester tying off the baby’s umbilical cord and cutting it before wrapping him in a soft cloth to hand him to you. “Is there any word of my husband?” You demand, looking down and immediately falling in love with his smooshed face and crown of dark hair. 

“No, my princess.” The young servant who will look after the babe as a wet nurse if you wish it, shakes her head, looking down. “None knows where he is.” 

You grunt, whimpering when the afterbirth passes and the women are still cleaning you as you start to move towards the edge of your birthing bed. “Dress me.” You demand, completely naked for the birth. “I will find him.”

“Princess. I- I wouldn’t recommend - you need to rest. Spend time with your baby.” Your hand maid tells you and you shake your head. 

“I have performed my duty. I wish to show my prince.” You grunt defiantly and the handmaids reluctantly dress you, trying to clean off the blood as you stand on shaking legs. 

“Princess. I do not recommend-” The maester tells you but you ignore him, sliding on your shoes as you shuffle down the hall.

It hurts, your stomach still cramping with the birth and every step feels like agony, your cunt swollen and sore from pushing out the Prince’s son. Blood runs down your legs but you ignore it. Your baby is in your arms and he squeaks and settles back down when you open your loose gown and offer him your breast. Having to stop in the middle of the hall to let him root around hungrily before he latches on. Your old rooms is your destination, having an idea that he might be there since you had been in the chamber you shared with your husband.

Oberyn groans as the man takes his cock into his mouth, the woman kissing along his chest and playfully nipping on his nipple. You’ve been distant lately, not wanting him due to your discomfort of carrying the baby inside of you and he has respected that, seeking his pleasure elsewhere. He’s been in this room for gods know how long, enjoying the man and woman he paid for. You are due any day so he is seeking his pleasures before he is a father for the third time. “Fuck.” Oberyn groans, head tilting back as the man takes him down his throat and the door is swung open.

Fury boils in your eyes when you see the man and woman naked in the bed with your husband. The man quickly pulls off Oberyn’s hard cock with a wet pop and the woman gasps at your appearance. Angry that he has not spoken to you about pleasure and needs, that he just decided to do this so selfishly, your heart breaks when you realize your husband missed the birth of his son, his heir, because of his cock. 

You straighten your spine, bringing you to your full height and shoot all three of them a withering glare. “My su-“ You cut Oberyn off. 

“You have a son, my Prince.” You manage with as much grace as you can possibly manage, sweat still rolling down your cheeks from where you left your birthing bed. “Congratulations.”  With your announcement made, you turn to start shuffling back to the rooms you have been living in with your husband.

Oberyn’s eyes widen and he scrambles to get off of the bed, reaching for his robes to dress and the man and woman watch him in confusion. “Coins are on the side.” He points at the chest of drawers and rushes down the hall, catching up with you when you are still stumbling down the hallway. “You shouldn’t be walking. My sun, you should be resting in bed.” He tuts, looking down at the babe who is suckling at your breast.

“I should be resting in bed, but I had to track my husband down.” You hiss, furious with Oberyn and he reaches for you. You jerk your arm away from him, unwilling to let him touch you with the stink of sex on him. “The servants could not find you when my time had come but they should have just followed the smell of whores.”

“You- you said you were fine with my extramarital activities.” He huffs, walking alongside you. 

“Yes but not when our son was being born.” You hiss and he shakes his head. 

“No one came to find me. I would have been there, my love, you know I would have. I didn’t - I didn’t know.” He argues and you shake your head. 

“No one could find you because you were in the whorehouses until you brought them back here. I know you know how to not be found. You should’ve checked in first.” You argue, hissing at the way your body aches. 

“Please, forgive me. I - we have a son.” He coos, looking at the baby.

“I have a son.” You are angry, disappointed and for the first time since you have been married, tears slide down your cheeks. “Go back to your pleasure, Oberyn.” You tell him hollowly. “There is none to be found here.”

Oberyn stops walking, watching as you waddle back to your chambers, and his heart breaks. He knows you need to have time to process this and he will give it to you. He knows you need to be alone and despite his desire to see his son, he walks back to your old room, deciding to write to Doran and announce the birth of his son and heir.

****

“Daughter, you need to give yourself time-“

You shake your head, your baby sleeping in your arms as you look down at the sleeping child. It has been a week since you have given birth and you have not seen Oberyn once in that time. “I have decided.” You murmur quietly, unwilling to see the disapproval in your father’s eyes. “I wish to go be with Elia. I- I need time away.” You blink back tears and shake your head. “You were right, father. He has broken my heart and I - I need to leave. Please, please send me to my aunt.” She was technically your sister in law as well, but you are begging him as his daughter and not as Oberyn’s wife.

Doran sighs, hating to see the hurt in your eyes and he wishes he could take it away but you created this. He knew his brother would break you eventually, he’d warned you, and you paid him no mind. “Very well. Go. I shall arrange for your transport. Do you wish to bid your husband goodbye before you leave?” Doran asks, wanting you to remain here in Dorne and not allow you in the grasp of the Lannisters.

You shake your head, having already packed your trunks before you ever left Sunspear because you would have hired a ship yourself if your father had not approved. “There is no need.” You straighten your spine despite your heartbreak and try to give your father an unconcerned smile. “No doubt Oberyn has not missed my presence and will have no need for drawn out goodbyes.” You feel slightly guilty for not allowing Oberyn to be around your son, but he had chosen to spend time with others rather than you, and your son was too small to be apart from you.

**** 

Oberyn growls as he opens another door, unable to find you or his son. When an unsuspecting servant walks past, Oberyn grabs them. “Where the fuck are my wife and son?” He demands to know and the servant shakes at the fury in his eyes. 

“They - they are gone, my prince.” He answers and Oberyn narrows his eyes. 

“Where the fuck have they gone?” He demands to know. 

“To - to King's Landing.” He answers and Oberyn slings him across the hall, making his way to Doran’s quarters. 

“You let my wife and son go into that fucking lion’s den?” He growls as he enters, no announcement other than the door slamming against the wall.

Doran looks up from the book he has been reading and sighs as he closes it. “I allowed my daughter, the princess, to go and assist her aunt with her children.” He tells his brother flatly. “To let her heal from the heartbreak of your actions.” He frowns in disapproval, knowing that Oberyn had left you to give birth alone and he was not happy with his younger brother.

“Heartbreak? She hasn’t - she hasn’t allowed me to properly meet my son. She has locked me out because I did what she knew I did. It’s not fair, brother, and now you have let her run away and to be in that cesspool with the Lannisters. It’s bad enough that you let Elia go there. Now I have to worry about my wife and son. Fuck.” Oberyn slams his fist against the wall, furious at himself for allowing this to happen, at Doran for allowing this to happen.

“Your wife suffered her birthing pains alone while you were fucking!” Doran roars, the book in his hand aimed at his brother’s head as he launches it at him. “What if she had died? Alone and calling for you? By all the gods old and new, you should think of something other than your cock!” Doran shakes his head, angry that the bastard had ducked the book. “You will not follow her.” He orders the headstrong brother. “Elia will soothe her heart and send her back when she is ready to forgive the hurt you have done.”

Oberyn glares at Doran, knowing that the order will be enforced if he tries to leave plus he knows you need time. He will write you a letter and have it sent to King's Landing, hoping you will soften and return home sooner rather than later. He hates not having you here where he knows you are safe. He loves you, he truly does, and he knows he has needs, you know this, but he shouldn't have let them interfere with his duty to you. With a sigh, Oberyn nods and makes his way back to his quarters to write his letter.

****

Tears burn your eyes and your throat is thick with emotion, eyes skimming across the ornate scrawl that Oberyn produces when he puts quill to paper. “My sun, my heart is heavy without you in Dorne, the sun in the sky does not shy as brightly as it does with your presence by my side.” You close your eyes and shake your head slightly, not wishing to say something out of bitterness as Elia rocks your son in her arms, listening as you read your husband’s letter aloud. “I was foolish, irresponsibly so and I regret that it caused you the pain and heartache you suffer. I wish to make amends. To have your smile brighten the halls of Sunspear and your laughter to ring out through the Water Gardens again.” You sigh, and lift the paper back up with a trembling hand. “Come home, my Princess. You told me that you wished to be in Dorne and she misses you. I miss you, my love.” You look over at Elia in exasperation. “Am I wrong? Should I have stayed?” You ask, knowing that she and Oberyn had been the closest out of all of them and needing her guidance. She has been a Godsend since your arrival in King’s Landing, even with the current turmoil that echoes in the palace halls.

Elia sighs, looking down at your son who has the same features as his father. “You did what you thought was right for you at the time. If I am honest, I think you should return home. You are needed there and I am certain you wish for this one to be raised in Dorne and not this…this hell.” Elia has confided that she loathes the Red Keep. It’s like a prison and she longs for the warmth of the Dornish sun. “You need to go home, my darling, but selfishly? I wish for you to stay. I barely speak to anyone here. My husband is away…the king loses more of himself every day and I long to keep our children safe…even from him. I wish you could stay but my brother needs you.” Elia smiles sadly.

“Come with me.” You reach out and take her hand, squeezing gently. “Dorne will love to have their princess back for a visit. It will do you good to visit with your brothers.” 

Elia shakes her head, “I have a duty to the people as their future queen. I cannot abandon them now. My darling, stay until the end of the week and then I shall arrange travel home for you. Besides, I still have to spoil my nephew rotten.” Elia grins, cooing down at the baby in her arms. “Write to Oberyn. Tell him you shall return home soon and give him hope. Absence makes the heart grow fonder so I am certain I shall have another nephew or niece to dote on by the time I visit Dorne once more.”

**** 

Screams awaken you in the middle of the night, jolting you from your sleep as you immediately reach for your son in his cradle. The sounds of clashing steel and fighting can be heard in the Bailey below your window and you panicked, throwing on your robe and bundling your son against your chest as you rush out the doors of your chamber to seek Elia. The news of the Baretheon rebellion has grown steadily dire and your ship is set to sail when the sun rises.

Servants scramble in the halls, pushing past you in their haste to flee the danger. Dread pools in your belly, hearing the screams grow louder as you race towards the chambers. They are here, the rebellion has reached the keep and they are coming for all who are in line for the iron throne.

Elia screams, her children clinging to her robes when you come into her chambers. “It’s only me. What’s happening?” You ask, terrified and the baby begins to cry in your arms. “Shhhh.” You coo, rocking him. 

“It’s the rebellion. They have breached the Red Keep. My - my - the King will be killed. I have to protect the children. Get into the armoire. With the children.” She orders you and her children. 

“Mama!” Her daughter cries but Elia cups her cheeks once you are all inside of the closet. 

“It will be alright, my love. Let’s be quiet. We need to be quiet.” She tells her children, looking over at you now that you have gotten your son to settle against your breast. Your heart pounds and you pray to the gods that you will be spared, that Elia and her children will be spared.

You know the chances of Elia and the children being spared if they kill the king are low, that you need to flee in the chaos. “Elia, we need to run. We can make it to the ship. Have them sail now.” You plead with her, knowing it will kill Oberyn and your father if something happens to their beloved sister or her children. “There is a passage.” You know of the secret tunnels. “Let us leave now!” 

“I cannot. They will find us in the halls. We are safer here. My darlings, it will be okay. Just let me - let me step out if anyone should come. I may be able to reason with-” The doors are slammed open to her chambers and you squeal, shaking as you wonder who has come in. Foe or friend. The armoire doors are swung open after several moments and you shriek when a mountain of a man grabs Elia by her arm, dragging her out of the wardrobe.

“Leave her alone!” You shout as you scramble out of the wardrobe and stand in front of Elia’s kids where they are huddled in the corner, clutching your son to your chest. “She is the crowned princess!” You are terrified, certain that all of you are going to die right here in these rooms. “Leave now!” You shout. “GUARDS!”

The Mountain shuts the doors and chuckles darkly, withdrawing his sword and you back your aunt and the children towards the window. “Get the fuck out of my way.” He growls, grabbing your arm and throwing you across the room. You grunt, curling your arms around your son, scared that he’s hurt and during that moment to assure yourself that your son is okay, the Mountain grabs Elia. You place your son in the armoire, safe as you rush back towards Elia, trying to protect her but the Mountain flings you across the room once more. “Please! Spare her! They haven’t done anything!” You plead and Elia screams for the guards once more.

You turn from your crumpled position on the ground to watch as Rhaenys, precious little Rhaenys, rushes towards the giant in armor, screaming and beating on his side. Too young to cause any harm to the man, but that doesn’t stop him from grabbing the little girl and lifting the toddler up high before flinging her against the wall. Making Elia scream and clutch Aegon to her chest. “No!” You scream, crawling towards the crumpled body of your niece, unmoving on the stone floor with her neck twisted at an off angle.

Elia cries out in anguish when you try to get Rhaenys to wake up but she’s gone, eyes open and glassy. The young boy - the future king - is clinging to Elia but the mountain grabs him, lifting him up by the neck and with a squeeze of his giant hand, he breaks the boy’s neck, making Elia scream in agony when the man flings the boy down beside his sister. You are shrieking, tears streaming down your cheeks as you look at the children and that’s when horror truly makes your blood run cold. 

The Mountain grabs Elia and what happens next makes you vomit. He violates her, raping her while he chokes her, strangling her until she is still and you are frozen. When he is done, he grabs his sword and you retch in horror when he slices her open, her glassy eyes turned towards you. You are shaking, certain that you are next when the mountain wipes his sword on the bed sheets. “I- please. Please.” You choke, begging for your own life and the Mountain walks right past you. 

“Return to Dorne, tell those fuckers what happened here. The Lannisters send their regards.”

The Red Keep has descended into complete chaos, screaming and steel clanging all around you. You bundle your son to your chest, hurrying as fast as you can. Bare feet slipping on the bloodied steps of the palace until you finally manage to escape from one of the side doors. Rushing towards the waterfront, towards the boat Elia had arranged for you to return to your husband. Your hands are bloody, the necklace she has been wearing in your hand and you are blinded by the tears as you sob in relief, seeing the swaying masts of the ship that will bear you back to Dorne.

****

The horse’s hooves attract the attention of the palace, the servants immediately approaching the messenger who swings off of his horse and rushes into the palace. When the doors open, Doran and Oberyn look up, both of them in the middle of discussing the harvest festival celebrations when the messenger approaches and hands the letter to Doran. 

Oberyn impatiently awaits his brother’s rendition of the letter but the prince pales. “Doran? What is it?” Oberyn frowns and Doran hands him the letter with a shaky hand. Oberyn frowns, taking the letter and his body goes cold when he reads the news that his sister, niece and nephew have been murdered by order of the Lannisters. Robert Baratheon is now king. “She - she’s - oh gods.” Oberyn wants to be sick and his blood boils at the murder of his family. “What about my wife? And my son? Did - there’s no news of them. Is she - is he -? Doran.” He stumbles as he stands up, “I need - I need to go to King's Landing. I need to find them.”

Doran feels sick, his heart breaking at the loss of his sister and her two babies. He knows their deaths had to have been cruel. Otherwise, why would they have put a two year old and one year old to death? “No.” 

Oberyn’s head snaps towards Doran and he grits his teeth furiously. “No?” He hisses. “My sister - her children are dead! My wife and son are there.” 

Doran shakes his head, knowing that if his brother goes to King’s Landing, he will start another war. “We will wait until there is more news.” He tells his brother. “We will have our maester send a raven to the citadel.”

“I cannot. I will not fucking sit here while my sun…she’s your daughter. Are you not worried? I cannot - I cannot just fucking sit here. If the Lannisters wish for war, I shall single handedly bring it to them. They will pay!” Oberyn roars, anger masking his pain.

“Now is the time for cooler heads.” Oberyn’s temperament has always been one to rush into battle when he is feeling provoked but now is not the time. “We must not make a mistake. For Dorne. I love my daughter and wish she were here safe and sound, but she is not.” He does not mention that it is because of Oberyn that you are not where you belong. “Elia’s body along with the children are being shipped back to Dorne.” He swallows thickly. “Now is the time we mourn.”

“You don’t want revenge? They killed Elia. Her children. We should be sending the fucking Dornish army to their door now. The Lannisters have concocted this scheme. We must retaliate. Now. Brother, please. Do not let them get away with it.” Oberyn pleads, needing the anger to distract him from the pain of not knowing your status.

“We would be sending our army to their deaths without proof.” Doran rationalizes. “I am angry. I am sad.” He swallows harshly and shakes his head. “Still, it is my duty to do what is best for Dorne, not just the Martells.”

“Fuck your duty. Fuck Dorne. This is our family and you, as usual, don’t do anything to avenge us. Doran, you - you disappoint me once again. I shall have my own revenge.” Oberyn promises and growls as he makes his way through the halls, staff avoiding him as he shoves open the doors to your chambers, burying his face in your pillow as he allows himself to cry, to mourn, and to pray that you and his son are safe.

****

“My Princess, we will be docking at Sunspear within the hour.” The nervous deck hand waits for you to turn your head, to give some clue that you have heard him, but you just stare at the city as it grows closer every second that ticks by. 

It has been a long week. One that you can recall every second of and none at all. A shadow of yourself as you cling to your son and try to banish the images of Elia and her children’s deaths from your mind. Still wearing your nightgown that you had been wearing when you fled the Red Keep, no women’s clothes on board and what little clothing they could spare was used for your son’s nappies. 

The spires of the palace loom in the distance and you wonder if Oberyn will blame you for not saving Elia, or maybe he will blame you for not dying with her.

When the horn sounds that the boat is docking with Elia and the children’s remains, Oberyn makes his way to the dock, wanting to see the caskets and he has been pulling his hair out for a week, trying to find word of your status. Whether you were alive or dead. He has to know. When he sees you stumble down the ramp of the boat, his eyes widen. “My sun!” He shouts, running towards you and he wraps you in his arms, the baby between you as he holds you close.

“Oberyn.” You gasp when you feel his arms around you, wanting to close your eyes and melt into his safe embrace but you cannot. “She’s dead, Oberyn. Elia- the kids, they are dead!” You sob, breaking down for the first time since that horrible night. “I- I could not stop him!”

“It’s okay, my love. It’s okay. You’re safe. You are both safe.” He feels relieved despite the fact that his sister is dead. He has you. He hasn’t lost you. “You’re alive.” He chokes, tears stinging in his eyes and he pulls back so he can cup your cheeks, looking into your eyes. “It’s okay. You couldn’t - there’s nothing you could do. It’s okay. You’re home.”

“I was- the baby- he lifted her and threw her against the wall-“ you babble in a near panic. “She- oh gods Oberyn, her neck- she was gone and then the sweet little one- he-“ your voice cracks. “They were gone and then he raped her! He raped her on the bodies of her children!” You shriek. “I couldn’t stop him! I couldn’t- he- he raped her and then he killed her like she was nothing!”

“Ssshhh.” Oberyn coos, bringing you into his chest, “it’s not your fault. You couldn’t do anything, my love. Let’s calm down and let me take you inside the palace. You need to be in your home.” He murmurs, kissing your hair and he leans back to look down at the baby. “Gods. He has grown.” Oberyn leans down to kiss his son’s head. Fury beats in his chest, but that will not help you heal right now, looking like you are about to expire on your feet. 

You don’t understand why he is not upset, why he is not furious with you. Your sobs give way to hiccups and you let Oberyn lead you away from the ship, the caskets containing the bodies of your family slowly being raised up from the hold to be transported to the castle. You step onto the hot sands of Dorne with your bare feet and you sigh softly, happy to feel it after what has happened.

Oberyn rubs your back as he guides you back into the palace, everyone looking at you since you are still wearing your nightdress. “Obbaron is safe. You are safe, my sun. The gods have answered my prayers.” Oberyn is relieved and he is sad but selfish, happy you are safe and home…finally.

In the palace, you are stripped out of your filthy and ragged nightgown and placed in a large, lovely bath. You refuse to let your son out of your sight, making the servant tut and disappear to tell on you to Oberyn. You can’t let him go right now. 

Oberyn heard of your insistence that Obbaron be in your arms in the bath and he makes his way to your chambers after he asked for some food to be sent to you. “My sun, let me take him while you bathe.” Oberyn says as he walks in, eager to see the son he barely got a chance to hold before you left for Kings Landing.

You hesitate, almost refusing but you know that Obbaron will be safe in his father’s arms. The servants have all disappeared, leaving the bathing room and you nod after a moment, letting Oberyn come and take your son from your arms. “Be careful.” You choke out before you can stop yourself, even though you know it is foolish. Watching the children being struck down in front of you has affected you, making you tear up again as you step into the large pool of water. Your husband has seen you naked before, even if he did not wish to see you that way anymore - you would not hide yourself.

Oberyn watches you get into the bath and he can’t believe how beautiful you are. Even when wrecked with grief, you are still the most gorgeous woman he has even seen. He rocks the baby, looking down at his beautiful son and he leans down to kiss his forehead, thanking the gods that you are both okay.

You groan as you sink into the water, relieved to be able to clean yourself again after a week on ship. It’s selfish, wanting something like this when your poor aunt will never take another breath. Making you close your eyes so you don’t cry again before you pick up the cake of perfumed soap to start scrubbing every inch of your body, needing to feel clean again.

“I’ve missed you.” Oberyn confesses, knowing that now he needs to be completely honest. Life is too short. He needs you. “I love you. So much. I’ve missed you every single day since you’ve been gone.” He admits, “and our beautiful son.” He looks down at Obbaron.

You snort softly, not disbelieving him completely but finding it hard to believe that he had spent the last months pining for you. “I am sure you found comfort somewhere.” You murmur softly, relaxing into the bath. “I cannot believe for a moment that my husband was celibate while I was gone.”

Oberyn snorts, “alas my cock could not get hard for anyone other than you during your absence. Perhaps your departure forced me to reconsider what is important to me and I know now that I cannot live without you. You are - you are my world and I refuse to live in a world where you do not exist. I was - if you were dead…” He trails off, unable to put the thoughts into words. “I love you. It’s always been you and I need you. More than even I thought possible.”

“You fucking other people did not upset me.” You tell him, your voice level and sure. You have had a lot of time to think about why you were so furious and heartbroken when you discovered Oberyn in your old chambers with others.  “If I had not been carrying Obbaron I might have joined in.”

Oberyn frowns, knowing you had discussed sharing your bed prior to your marriage, deciding to wait until after you had given birth. “You were upset that I chose to fuck over being by your side.” He states and you nod, knowing it seems foolish now. Most men do not come to their wife’s bedside during birth. “I do not wish to share a bed unless you are involved.” He tells you, knowing he made that decision as soon as the guilt hit him. He wants to be fully invested in this marriage and your pleasure is his pleasure.

You eye him in surprise, shocked that he would say that, but Oberyn seems sincere. Your heart melts slightly and you give a small nod. “I have missed you.” You confess. “Elia had- I was due to sail for Dorne just that next morning. To return to you.” It seems important that he knows you didn’t come home just because of the rebellion and his sister’s murder. You blink back tears and swallow heavily. “I wish I had been able to return like that. Simply because I wished to.”

Oberyn's heart aches, wishing that had been the case but it's not and his entire body yearns for vengeance. "Me too." He whispers, looking down at his son once more who has fallen asleep against his chest, exposed by the gapping in his robes. "My sun...I - I haven't slept. I haven't eaten. My worry that you -  I didn't know if you were alive or dead. It was destroying me to not know and yet I lived in fear of knowing in case you -" He chokes, unable to speak the words.

You shuffle to the edge, reaching for Oberyn and stroking his arm as he holds your son. “We are here, safe with you, where we belong.” Your eyes slide down to your sleeping son and you give a soft smile. “He is comfortable with you already, he knows his father.”

Oberyn smiles sadly, “you both should’ve been here the entire time. Not just - not just now. He should know his father. I don’t blame you for leaving, my sun, but I want you to know I missed you every single day you were gone. I love you. And him. I don’t wish to lose you again.”

It’s what you want to hear, all you wanted although you don’t wish to hold Oberyn in a cage. “I love you, my prince. I am willing to share you, as long as no one else comes before me.”

"For now, I wish to have my wife. Tonight, I want you. To worship you and show you how much I love you. Tomorrow, we mourn my sister and her children. In time, I will have my revenge but tonight, I want to make love to my wife." He declares, his dark eyes focused on you.

Guilt settling over you, you look away, knowing you need to be honest with your husband. You couldn’t have known that he had decided to be celibate since you had boarded a ship for King’s Landing. “I must confess something to you.” You whisper. “I have had several in my bed while I was at the Red Keep. All women.” You assure him. “I did not want to risk carrying another man’s child while I am married to you, but I found pleasure in others.”

Oberyn’s cock twitches as he thinks of you in bed with other women. He can’t blame you for it. You are doing what he did but you had left, decided to leave him and go to Elia. He cannot be angry with you. “My sun, I do not blame you for seeking pleasure. I wouldn’t have minded watching.” He chuckles before his smile falls, his eyes meeting yours. “Would you have come home? If Elia…would you have come home?”

“I was already coming home to you.” You give him a bittersweet smile. “Elia told me that selfishly she wished me to stay but that her brother needed me more than she did. Her last days were- they were as peaceful as they could be.” You assure him. “We talked of Dorne and she was making plans to come home for a visit.” You bite your lip. “I wish I had convinced her to come with me. To just leave a few days earlier.”

Oberyn swallows harshly, “it wasn’t your fault my love. It was - the Lannisters. They will pay. I vow they will pay. Elia…gods bless her soul…she was stubborn like all Martell’s so I doubt you could’ve done anything to make her leave. Do not blame yourself.”

You relax, happy that Oberyn does not blame you. You look at the babe in his arms and you wish that things are different but they are not. The only thing you can do is move forward. “Lay the baby in the cradle.” You urge him, suddenly in need of your husband. “Join me in the bath. I need to feel you.”

Oberyn nods, shifting to stand up now the baby is asleep and he gently places him in the cradle across the room before he works on removing his robes and breeches. Once he is naked, he strides over to the bathtub and you shift forward to allow him to get in behind you. As soon as he is in, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you back into his chest, groaning at the feel of you in his arms. Finally.

You moan softly, leaning back against his chest and closing your eyes. It’s the first time in over a week that you truly feel safe. Relaxing against him and letting the silence fall between you. There is much more that needs to be said, but right now you just want your husband to hold you. “I love you.” You whisper softly, knowing that it would always be that way. It would always be Oberyn.

Oberyn caresses your arms, kissing your neck and he sighs, “I love you too,” into your skin. He breathes you in, relieved to have you in his arms again and he caresses every inch he can touch, just wanting to feel you and reassure himself that you are here.

You feel his hands start to roam over your body. Caressing and squeezing you, reassuring himself that you are in his arms. Turning your head, your lips graze his jaw, pressing kisses to his thin line of a beard that frames his face. “I want you.” You murmur softly, already feeling the first pangs of arousal.

“Are you sure?” He murmurs, not wanting to push you if you aren’t ready. You’ve experienced horrors that men at war see and he doesn’t want to push you. He has lost so much, he can’t lose you too. He needs you to fucking breathe. “My sun, tell me what you want.”

“I want to feel alive.” You whimper, grabbing his hands and bringing them up to your still nursing breasts. He doesn’t squeeze harshly, but you moan when his thumbs brush over your hard nipples. “I want to banish the images in my mind and replace them with my husband fucking me.”

Oberyn understands what you mean. Some of his whoring ways are the result of the horrific memories of the battlefield. Nights spent with lovers distract from the things he had seen. “Tell me if you want me to stop.” He orders but kisses along your neck, his fingers plucking your nipples and your responsive moan has his cock twitching against your back.

“Yessss.” You moan and tilt your head back so that you are leaning against his shoulder. “Touch me Oberyn.” You beg, eyes slipping closed as you let him play your body like an instrument.

Oberyn caresses your chest, his lips tracing your neck and shoulders until his hands dip lower. Caressing your stomach that carried his child and he secretly wishes to see you round again, do it properly this time. His fingers dip lower, playing with the curls above your cunt until he finally, finally, presses his finger to your clit.

Gasping, your legs thrash in the water as Oberyn starts to rub your clit. Pressing firmly and stroking you just like you need as you groan in his arms. This is what you need, to be surrounded by him, his scent in your nose as you kiss his pulse. Mindless to everything but the way he is making you feel. “Yes, Oberyn, yess.” You pant softly.

He groans, kissing along your neck as his cock hardens against your back, his fingers rubbing your clit and he wants you to cum just like this. “I love you. My sun. My wife. My love.” He coos, “cum for me.” He murmurs, breathing you in after being apart for so long.

It doesn’t take long, just a few more minutes of his magical fingers against your clit and you are crying out. Shuddering against him while he pushes you through pleasure until your chest is heaving and you are breathless. “Inside me.” You push his hand away and turn over, wanting to ride your husband in the bath. “Need you inside me.”

His hands immediately grip your hips, dragging you close so you are hovering over him and his lips immediately around your nipple, biting and sucking while he reaches down to position himself at your entrance. “Ride my cock. I want you to make yourself cum.” He orders, cupping your cheek while he kisses up your chest.

The only thing he is wearing is his chain with the family crest. Wrapping it up on your fist, you sink down onto his cock with a moan. All the fingers in the world will never feel as good as his cock. “Fuck, Oberyn.”

He watches you, dark eyes getting even darker as he watches you sink down onto his cock, your silk walls gripping him like no one else can. You’re gorgeous and his wife. “Fuck, my love. You always feel so good. Such a tight little cunt.” He coos, gripping your chin to make you look at him.

He is the only man you have let in your body and he knows it better than anyone. His cock spearing up into your deliciously and you clench around him at the lust in his eyes. “Your cunt.” You promise, grinding down onto him and swiveling your hips to make you moan. “Fill me up Oberyn.” You plead softly, looking into his dark eyes that are reflective in the child you made together. “I want to feel you for days.”

He growls, suddenly feeling desperate after he could’ve lost you from his own stupidity. His arms wrap around your waist and he pulls you against him, his cock thrusting up into you to make the water spill off the sides of the tub. “Should have never let you go. Should’ve worshiped you so you didn’t leave.” He murmurs against your mouth.

Whimpering, you turn into his kiss, sliding your tongue into his mouth and your hand curls around the back of his neck. Moaning every time he thrusts up into you, it becomes a symphony of mewls and panted breaths as he rocks his hips up frantically.

Your breath mingles with his and his hands are everywhere, sliding down to squeeze your ass, pulling you into him to help you rock on his cock as he thrusts up into you. “Gods, I love you.” He groans, his lips attached to your neck and he sucks to leave a bruise beneath the skin.

“I love you.” You pant, closing your eyes and tangling your fingers into his hair as you rock up and down on his length. Rolling your hips faster as need builds and you know that you’re going to cum soon. “Please- oh fuck, I’m so close.”

Oberyn immediately presses his fingers to your clit, rubbing it harshly while he leans closer to press his lips to yours. “Cum for me, my sun.” He orders against your mouth, his cock twitching inside of you as his own orgasm nears.

It’s so good, blinding pleasure crashes over you as you buck in his arms. Gasping and crying out when your walls clamp down around him as you soak his already wet cock with a torrent of your juices, barely able to rock on him as your thighs shake.

Oberyn’s fingers dig deep into your ass, working you on his cock while he seeks his own climax. Your walls flutter around his cock, gripping him, and he hisses when you lean forward to bite down on his jaw. “Cum.” You plead and it sends him over the edge. His cock buried deep as he thrusts up into you, painting your walls with his hot seed.

You whine at the heat flooding your womb, leaning in and kissing him gently. “I love you so much.” You promise, pressing your lips to his between words. “My prince, my husband.”

“My princess. My world.” He vows, pulling you close and you giggle at the water that splashed onto the floor. “Leave it. It will be dried.” He tells you and kisses your nose then your forehead. “I - I shall thank the gods you have returned to me.”

****

“You are lovely.” You look in the mirror at the beautiful woman that had been assigned to be your handmaid while you are going through your second pregnancy. “What is your name?” Her fingers are still where they are braiding your hair and her dark, kohl lined eyes look up to meet yours. You know her name, but you wish to talk candidly and to ask questions is the obvious choice to begin. To show interest. 

“Ellaria, my princess.” The woman smiles, her expression is soft and you instantly feel attracted to her. 

“A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.” You coo and Ellaria flusters. You take her hand and bring it to your lips, kissing her palm and she inhales sharply. 

“Not as beautiful as you, my princess.” She responds breathlessly.

She is perfect for your bed. You haven’t missed the way that Oberyn’s gaze followed her when she was introduced and you find her most attractive. “Tell me Ellaria,” you turn and look her in the eyes. “How would you feel about joining Oberyn and I in our chambers tonight?” You ask, smirking slightly at the idea of surprising your husband.

Ellaria’s eyes widen but she smirks, after a moment. “I would be honored to join you and the prince, my princess.” She answers, her fingers caressing your neck and shoulders and you shiver in delight. She finishes your hairstyle and leans down to kiss your cheek. “I shall count the moments until I can be in your bed.” She murmurs and you turn your head to press your lips to hers, wanting to kiss her before tonight. You are impatient.

Her lips are soft, sweet as you reach up and cup her cheek. Deepening the kiss and sliding your tongue into Ellaria’s mouth, you push up to your feet so you can stand with her and hold onto her hips as she starts to kiss you back.

Ellaria caresses your back, her tongue sliding against yours when the doors open and Oberyn strides in. His eyebrows raise and he chuckles. “Looks like my princess is being well looked after.” He grins and slides up behind you, kissing your neck. “Have you asked her, my sun?” He murmurs in your ear, his hands gripping your waist.

You pout slightly that your plans have been ruined but you turn and press your lips to his when you break the kiss from Ellaria. “I had hoped to surprise you.” You huff slightly, nodding and turning back to the servant with a smile. “As you can tell, both the prince and I are eager for you to join us.”

Ellaria flusters, a smile on her face as she leans back to look at you and your husband. “Please let me pleasure you both. I want to please my prince and princess.” 

Oberyn smirks, reaching out to cup her cheek, “let us pleasure the princess. She is carrying my child and I am certain that your tongue on her clit would help her relax.”

You moan at the idea and nod, biting your lip. “Why don’t you show Ellaria how wonderful your cock is while she devours my cunt?” You suggest. “I know you have not been able to fuck me as hard as you wish and I think our girl will enjoy screaming your name.”

Oberyn’s cock twitches at the thought. You’ve already discussed him fucking others and you have given your permission for him to cum inside the ones you like. Ellaria was included in that consent. “Strip my beautiful wife out of her robes before you follow suit and show me how beautiful the female form can be. I want to worship at the altar of two gorgeous cunts.” Oberyn coos as he begins to strip off his own clothes.

You give a small, excited giggle as Ellaria moans quietly and you let her guide you toward the large round bed. “He’s got a wonderful cock and his fingers are magical.” You promise her while she pulls at the thin ties of your robes to pull them off your rounded body.

Her hands are deft, quickly undressing you and her hands caress your bump for a moment before she begins to remove her own clothes. When she’s naked, you turn back towards your husband. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she? A true Dornish gem.” You coo, reaching out to cup her breast and Oberyn loves seeing you so free. “She’s perfect for us. Ellaria, lay my princess down and suck on her sore tits while I push my fingers inside of your cunt.”

It takes you a moment to get comfortable but soon you are on your back and Ellaria’s lips are pressed to your skin, kissing up your side before she wraps her lips around your nipple. “Oh!” Your back arches and you cry out in pleasure, your breasts so sensitive since your pregnancy. “Fuck, Oberyn, make her feel-feel good.” You order your husband as he kneels on the bed behind her.

Oberyn groans at the sight of Ellaria bent over as she sucks on your tits and that makes him eager to lean down and slide his tongue through her folds, making her moan out in delight around your breast. You caress her side, eyes closed as you enjoy her hot mouth and you can hear your husband’s tongue diving into her cunt.

The sounds of pleasure fill your chambers, licking and sucking accompanying muffled moans. Your fingers stroke Ellaria’s cheek and through her hair while she sucks in your breasts. “How does she taste?” You ask Oberyn, knowing that she must be delicious, kissing her had been wonderful. “My sun, she is tangy and sweet like your favorite Dornish wine.” Oberyn praises as he lifts his head to wink at you over her shoulder. “When you taste her, you will hate to pull away.”

You grin, “I can’t wait. My handmaid shall be spoiled by us. Her cunt will never be without pleasure.” You promise and Ellaria moans, kissing down your stomach, over your bump until she is between your thighs. Oberyn shifts to accommodate her and he kneels behind Ellaria, knowing she’s wet enough to take him so when her tongue slides through your folds, he pushes into her with a deep groan.

Her moan makes your entire core clench. Vibrating through you wonderfully and your fingers tangle in her hair, your eyes watching your husband’s face as she obviously clenches around him. He looks gorgeously wrecked and you don’t feel jealous, instead you are eager for him to rock into her. Ellaria’s tongue slides through your folds and flicks against your clit.

“How does her tongue feel, my love?” Oberyn asks, his hands gripping Ellaria’s waist as he rocks into her a little harder, sending her tongue deeper into your cunt. “Incredible.” You sigh, shifting to look down at Ellaria as her face is buried in your cunt and you look up to meet the eyes of your husband. “Fuck, you look gorgeous, my sun.”

The three of you work closer to orgasm together. Moaning when Oberyn thrusts into your handmaid and pushes her tongue deeper inside your cunt. You rock your hips up to meet her eager tongue and your hands cup your breasts, toying with your nipples.

Oberyn wants you to cum and Ellaria to cum before he does. Reaching over your handmaid, he presses his thumb to your clit while Ellaria’s tongue dives deep. “Cum for us, my sun.” He orders, his dark eyes meeting yours.

Your eyes slip closed and you cry out, your thighs pressing against Ellaria’s head while you come apart. Heedless to everything but your pleasure as she licks into you.

Ellaria works you through it, her head knocking against Oberyn’s hand until his thumb finds her clit, rubbing it to push her over the edge when his cock twitches inside of her, his orgasm nearing. “Cum for us, sweetness.” He coos, bending over to kiss her shoulder.

You can tell the second she starts to cum. Oberyn gently bites her shoulder and her entire body stiffens. Crying out loudly, it’s the sweetest sound you have heard mixed with Oberyn’s groan. He rocks into her faster, his hips slamming against her ass he fucks her through her high and chases his own. “Cum baby.” You order Oberyn. “Fill her up. I want to see your seed drip from her gorgeous cunt.”

Oberyn clenches his jaw, sweat beading on his brow as he rocks into Ellaria, her cunt dripping from her orgasm and it only takes a few thrusts before he is cumming, painting her walls with his seed. “Fuck.” He pants, eyes closed until he forces himself to look at you, see your expression as his cock pulses inside of your handmaid.

You smirk as you watch the two of them. Reaching out and caressing her cheek where her chin is resting on your hip. “Beautiful.” You coo softly, watching Oberyn as he watches you. “How was your first experience with the Prince?” You ask her curiously.

“Exquisite, my princess.” Ellaria declares breathlessly. 

“Good. I would like you to share our bed. I will require pleasure in the lead up to birth and my husband shall require a beautiful cunt to lose himself in. Would you be interested in being that woman?” Oberyn smirks at your question, pleased to see how you own your pleasure now without embarrassment or hesitancy.

Ellaria’s eyes widen and she twists, looking back and forth between you and Oberyn, who just pulled out of her cunt and moves to settle down beside you and strokes your stomach. He arches an eyebrow at her with a smirk and she flusters. She had been days away from seeking out the brothels to work before she had been brought to the palace to be your handmaid.  Now she was being presented with something beyond her wildest dreams. “I do not know what to say.” She admits quietly and you don’t want to push her, but you want her to say yes. “It is thrilling to know that you would want me that way, but if you should grow bored?” She doesn’t want to be on the streets again, worrying about what food will fill her belly. 

“If that day ever comes, you would still have a place in our household.” You look over at Oberyn who nods seriously.

Ellaria bites her lip, looking at you and the prince, and it’s easy to make her decision. “Very well. I would be honored to be in your bed every night. Whatever you wish of me, it is yours.” Ellaria promises and you shake your head. 

“Only what you wish, too. We will not force you to do something you do not wish to do. We are all about pleasure, aren’t we my love?” You coo at Oberyn, caressing his chest and he nods. 

“Very much so. I only want pleasure. No pain.” He murmurs, his eyes meeting yours and he swears he falls for you again, unable to believe this strong woman is his wife. It’s incredible to watch after knowing you as a shy young woman.

You smile at Oberyn, unable to resist kissing him again before you reach for Ellaria. “Only pleasure. And you will be treated with respect.” You promise her, unwilling to tolerate anything else. “The prince will simply have a princess and a paramour who he can have together without there being any harsh words.”

Ellaria nods, grinning as she cannot believe how lucky she is to be able to share a bed with the prince and princess. Her birth into poverty has not held her back and she is determined to ensure she remains by your side for a long time, pleasuring you and serving you as your handmaid. “Let us wash up and we shall get some food. I want some berries then I want to fuck my wife while she makes her beautiful handmaid cum with her tongue.” Oberyn smirks, eager to fuck again.

****

“You look exquisite, my love.” You coo, reaching up and caressing Ellaria’s cheek before you adjust one of her braids. “Perfectly matched and stunning.” The deep plunging V of her dress is shocking for the women of the North, but it matches the low neckline and high slits in the skirts of your own dress. Both of you dressed to accompany Oberyn to the wedding of Joffrey.

“You are anxious, my love.” Ellaria coos, walking over to Oberyn whose back is tense as he looks out of the window to the streets of Flea Bottom. “I hate being here. With those bastards that killed my darling sister. I yearn for blood.” He growls, tensing when Ellaria’s hand touches his back.

You had refused to stay in the Red Keep, not wanting to return to the very rooms that Elia had been killed in before your eyes. Despite the years that have passed, you feel as strongly as Oberyn. You join the two of them and lean over to kiss your husband's cheek on the other side of him so that both of you flank him. “They will pay. The Lannisters may have dealt us a blow, but we will make sure their house is ground to dust and forgotten.”

Oberyn clenches his jaw, nodding in response and he hisses when he imagines getting his revenge finally. It’s been years since Elia was killed but he’s desperate for vengeance. “The Lannisters…I will kill every last one of them.” He vows and turns his head to press his lips to yours. He grabs Ellaria, dragging her closer so she can press her lips to yours too, the three of you entangled. 

You moan into the kiss, your hand on your lover’s hip. Both of you will need to keep Oberyn calm and keep him from acting rashly. He was hot headed sometimes but with both of you by his side, he can be reasoned with. Together, all three of you will raze the house of golden lions to the ground.

****

The wedding was boring like all royal weddings, lengthy and tedious but when you attend the reception, Oberyn is eager to sip the wine and feast on the berries Ellaria is feeding him. You can feel eyes on you, so many are unused to seeing a prince and princess with a paramour in King's Landing where lovers remain banished to the shadows. “Lover, shall we take a stroll?” You ask Ellaria, wanting Oberyn to have a moment with the young knight who is eying him from across the way. Perhaps tonight, another shall join you in your chambers.

Smirking, you nod and lean over to press your lips to Oberyn’s lips before you stand. Moving over beside Ellaria, you link your arm through hers happily and pick up your goblet to carry with you. You had specially asked for watered down wine discreetly, not wanting Oberyn to worry about your secret for now. “Let us go make scandalous conversation with the noble ladies here.” You tease with a joyous smirk. They would not dare insult you to your face as the princess of Dorne.

Ellaria grins, happy to be beside you and support you during this time of torment, the dreaded capital, and the Lannisters. “I didn’t know the Dornish were so accommodating to their whores.” Cersei approaches and you stiffen your back, staring at the queen. 

“I didn’t know the Lannisters were so accommodating to murderers.” You counter, glancing over at the Mountain who is striding past, watching over the king. 

“My princess. Come, let us walk. You do not need the stress.” Ellaria says, caressing your arm and you glare at the queen before Oberyn joins you, wrapping his arm around your waist, his own jaw clenched. “Cersei. The queen mother as you are now.” He quips, narrowing his eyes when Tywin approaches behind his daughter.

Cersei’s eyes narrow back at Oberyn before she plasters a fake smile on her face. “Tell me,” she hums, turning towards you, “how do you stand the whispers as you walk around merrily with your husband’s whore. She’s birthed four? It’s it four? Bastards?”

Oberyn narrows his eyes before he chuckles, looking up at Tywin. “I suppose four bastards are better than keeping it in the family, isn’t that right, Lord Tywin?” He quips, making Cersei’s smile drop. 

Tywin is cool as he responds, “you should know all about that, marrying your niece after all.” Oberyn’s hand twitches with the urge to stab the older man but your grip on his other arm has him pausing.

You give Tywin a smile that tinges on acidic. “While I might have been the Prince’s niece by marriage, at least we can be sure that there is no common blood.” You tsk and shake your head before you glance at his daughter. “It is a wonder that the King and all the Baratheon children inherited the golden locks of the Lannisters. Almost as if dear Robert’s seed was impotent.”

Cersei hisses through her teeth and the urge to slap you is great but people are watching so she maintains her composure. "Lannisters just have stronger characteristics." She counters, "but my late husband adored the golden locks of our children." She declares expertly and Oberyn scoffs. 

"Perhaps those characteristics are best left in this generation. Your son has chosen a bride with whom he shares no blood relation...a blessing for the kingdoms." Oberyn stabs, making Tywin clench his jaw.

“Indeed.” You smirk as you lift your cup to your lips, nodding at the queen mother as you take a small sip. Grimacing slightly at the bitterness of the wine. “Pity that the king's wedding did not merit casks of good wine to be opened.” You cough, shaking your head slightly.

Ellaria frowns, watching you cough more and Oberyn grows concerned when you start to wheeze. "What - what is happening?" He cries, "my love. Breathe!" He orders, slapping you on the back but you continue to choke, your face contorted. "Maester. Someone get a maester. She - she is with child!" Oberyn shouts, growing more panicked by the second.

Clawing at your throat, you hear the panic and commotion around you, the cruel ring of Joffrey’s laugh as you struggle to breathe. “Dornish bitches cannot handle good wine.” He scoffs, black dots appearing in your vision as you vaguely watch as he swipes his own goblet up and takes a large gulp, as if to prove he is superior.

Oberyn catches you as you collapse, his heart pounding and he tries to tell you to breathe. He begs you to breathe but you rasp and soon enough, you go still. Oberyn shakes you, “please my love. Wake up. Breathe.” He pleads as your glassy eyes stare at him, blood dripping from your mouth and his following roar of anguish can be heard across to Flea Bottom.

Joffrey starts to sputter and choke, drawing attention away from your prone form. Grasping his throat and turning purple as he tries to breathe. Making the smirk on Cersei’s face fall as she screams, rushing from her spot standing over you to where the king has collapsed.

Oberyn doesn't give a fuck that the king is suffering the same fate. His body cradles yours as he wails in agony of losing you. You are the sun in his sky, the air he breathes. He chokes, "please, my sun, come back to me." He begs and Ellaria is kneeling beside him, cupping your cheek as she begs you to wake up too.

**** 

“Please, my love.” Ellaria reaches for Oberyn’s arm, trying to gently coax him away from your body. “The maester needs to close the casket so it can be loaded up onto the ship.” Her red-rimmed eyes speaks of her anguish and heartbreak as she looks down at your still form. “She wants to go home, to be buried in the sands of Dorne.”

Oberyn can’t tear himself away from you. The grief weighs him down every single step he takes. His vengeance threatens to overwhelm him but he knows he cannot risk Ellaria. He has already lost so much. He has to return home and then form a plan for his revenge. Perhaps he can meet the Targaryen he has heard whispers about, assist her with her fight for the Iron Throne. “I love you, my sun.” He whispers, leaning down to kiss your lips before he allows the maester to close the casket. “What shall we do without her, Ellaria? She is - was my entire sun. Now my days are dark.”

“We will go back and hug your babies.” Ellaria whispers softly. She knows that Oberyn loves her, just like you had loved her, but there was a special bond between you and the prince. “And plot our vengeance.”

“The baby.” Oberyn chokes, “she was - she was with child again.” He swallows harshly, barely processing how much he has lost. The love of his life and a child. His other children, twelve in total, are safe in Dorne but he mourns his loss. “I - I am not sure I can live without her. How are you- you appear to be stronger than me.”

Ellaria shakes her head. “No, I am weeping on the inside but I know she would want me to be strong for you.” She murmurs, staring at the casket as the Dornish soldiers had traveled here with you, start to carry your casket to the ship. “She had not announced she was pregnant yet, how did you know?”

Oberyn smiles wistfully, “I know her. Her breasts were sore and she came quicker than normal. She couldn’t hide it from me. I knew she was with child.” He chokes, tears in his eyes as he looks at his lover, your lover. “Let us get on this ship before I do something stupid like rush into the Red Keep and slay every Lannister I see.”

Ellaria wraps her arm around Oberyn’s waist and the two of them lead a mournful procession of Dornish soldiers as they trail behind the cart loaded down with your body.

Once they are on board, the casket is laid in place and Oberyn walks over to run his fingers along the wood. He will ensure you have a proper casket when you return to Dorne. He leans down to press a kiss where your face would be when he hears the pounding. “Gods.” He frowns, “Ellaria. Come here. Do you - can you hear that?” He asks, wondering if it’s his imagination

Sobbing, you beat against the box you are in. This was not supposed to have happened. Waking up in darkness with little room to move, you had cried out until your sore voice had given way. Certain that you are in hell and that the gods are punishing you as you continue to try to get someone’s attention. The noise of the cart and horses, the docks and the men are loud, muffling your cries for help. “I’m alive!” You scream, your voice cracking. “Open it! I’m alive in here!” 

Ellaria’s eyes widen. “She’s awake! My prince, she’s awake!” 

Oberyn’s eyes widen back and he waves over the guards. “Open this fucking casket now! Now!” He demands and the men rush over. They all work to pry open the box and when the lid is removed, Oberyn inhales sharply when he sees your beautiful eyes meeting his, wincing from the light. “Oh my sun. You’re alive.” Oberyn reaches out to grab you, lifting you out of the casket and into his arms, his lips kissing you all over as he sobs in relief that you are alive.

You gasp in the sweet fresh air of the docks, salty and clean. Squinting your eyes against the harsh sunlight, you feel Oberyn’s arms around you and his prayerful kisses in relief. It hadn’t been supposed to happen this way and it chills you to think that you could have been locked in that box until there was no air. You couldn’t warn Oberyn, not if it had to be believable. “It worked.” You hadn’t expected to be out for as long as you were, but you hadn’t died and that was all that mattered. 

“You - you were dead. Poisoned. I- fuck- we thought we had lost you.” Ellaria comes to kneel down, wrapping her arms around you and Oberyn, her own tears wetting your gown. “You’re alive. My princess. We thought -” She chokes and Oberyn kisses your forehead. “We thought you were dead. I’m so sorry, my love. We shouldn’t - the Maester declared that you were dead.”

You reach up and caress Oberyn’s face, turning to kiss Ellaria gently. “It is okay, my loves. You did not know.” You assure them, turning and kissing Oberyn fiercely. “Tell me that it worked.” You can see his brow knit together in confusion. Looking around and lowering your voice, you whisper, “tell me a Lannister is dead. Their cups were poisoned.” 

Oberyn frowns, wondering what you mean until he remembers the death of Joffrey. “My love. Joffrey…he’s dead.” He declares, “he’s dead and he - you - you took the same wine to poison it? What if - it could’ve killed you. I thought it did.” He chokes, pressing his forehead against yours. “Why did you do that?” He demands to know, not wanting to believe that you did something so stupid yet so genius.

“To avenge my dear Elia, to repay them for the anguish that they have brought to our family.” You give a small giggle, pleased that you had taken out the king - the one that would hurt their egos and house the most. “Forgive me for not telling you.” You beg, looking from Oberyn to Ellaria. “I knew you would not let me go through with it if you knew. My plan was to drink only a little and get sick so there were no doubts cast on our house. I have been exposing myself to the poison over the last few weeks to build up a tolerance.” 

Oberyn pulls you even closer, “you silly woman. What - the baby - you aren’t - you aren’t with child?” He asks, confusion on his face as he wonders why you’ve been so off lately. You’ve been a genius, seeking revenge in a way that no one would know but he prays you are okay after the maester inspects you.

You shake your head gently and reach out to cup his cheek. “I would never put your child in danger.” You promise him. “My symptoms were because of the poison and the antidote I was using.” You explain. “I am sorry I worried you. I was hoping more of those bastards would drink. But at least we can know we took her son from her and her daughter prefers living in Dorne.”

Oberyn kisses your forehead, relieved that you are okay. “Do not fret, my love. We will ensure you are with child soon enough.” He chuckles, “I am just relieved you are well. I could not live without my sun. Gods…I adore you.” He vows, cupping your cheeks as he presses his lips to yours, sweet and chaste in a reminder that you are okay.

You smile, reaching out to cup your husband’s cheek and you reach out to take Ellaria’s hand with your free one. “I love you.” You murmur to them both. “They have learned that Lannisters are not the only ones who pay their debts.”

Oberyn kisses your forehead. “No, the Martells get their revenge.” He responds, unable to believe he’s married to such a formidable woman. He could never live without you, ever. You are everything to him. You always have been. You are the light of his life. His sun.

[blackcherryvelvet0909]

Sandcastle King (Leona x GN!Reader)

You admired the many sandcastles as you walked along the beach. They were all constructed uniquely to the tastes of their sculptors - to the dorms they belonged to. Despite the short two hour time frame, they were all so intricately designed, every detail well thought out. The most impressive, in your opinion, was the ones belonging to Diasomnia, Octavinelle, and Savanaclaw. They were around the same size as the others, but the way they were erected was most impressive. Diasomnia’s almost looked as though it were made of stone - Malleus’s craftsmanship, no doubt. Octavinelle’s was a near-exact replica of the dorm itself, special seashells placed on the peak of the towers resembling the spires of Octavinelle. 

Savanaclaw’s sandcastle, however, had been the one to win out. You honestly hadn’t expected much, and neither had the other onlookers. Of course, Jack and Ruggie worked hard, along with some other students, but there were those who really didn’t do anything at all. It was hard to get even half the dorm to participate! You supposed it was because magic was not allowed to be used to construct the castles; apparently some could not last without their magic for more than a couple hours. Leona himself, the leader of them all, had grumbled away about the magicless competition as well. He really didn’t do much in terms of labor…but he showed up in other areas of the contest. 

Never would you have guessed Leona knew so much about architecture, nor how such structures would hold up with sand as their body. Despite the difficulties of crafting with such loose material, Leona had managed everything so well that nary a crisis had occurred during the castle's construction. Truly, Leona’s secret knowledge was the envy of all other contestants - you noticed even Malleus pouted when Savanaclaw won. Never would anyone doubt Leona again. Well, in the construction and design department, at least. Any other kind of task was up for debate. 

You gazed out to the sea, various Savanaclaw students splashing in the crystal waters. Most were still celebrating their victory, even though some hadn’t contributed at all. You glanced over to your right to see Ruggie sitting pretty in a chair close to the shoreline, the throng of corndogs he’d received as his prize nearly gone. He could certainly gobble down food in a hurry. You hoped he was getting enough to eat during the trip. As for Jack, he’d gone with Epel and Deuce to get some ice cream - and Ace some aloe vera. He never listened when people warned him to put on sunscreen…

As you scanned the beach, wondering what to do next, you finally spotted the king of the castle himself: Leona. He was laid back on a large towel, eyes closed as he took in the sun’s rays. He looked like he was sleeping - you weren’t surprised. For someone who napped a lot, you expected him to be tired after the competition. You were honestly surprised he participated at all; at first, he was going to assign Ruggie to lead the pack to victory. It was when Malleus taunted him for turning tail that Leona agreed to the whole thing. You were sure Malleus regretted that teasing now.

Before you realized it, you were standing beside Leona. You watched him sleep for a minute, his bangs brushed aside to keep sweat out of them. His arms were folded behind his head, chest rising and falling steadily. Idia was right that one time he ranked your friends by attractiveness: Leona was, indeed, one of the top three men on campus. You wondered if that was why he and Malleus fought sometimes, to see who could outbest the other in that regard. You would have to ask Malleus to confirm later - you doubted Leona would tell you. 

You were pulled out of your thoughts when Leona’s eyes suddenly opened. He stared up at you, brow furrowed as he nearly snarled. “Oi, I’m sleepin’ here. You’re blockin’ the sun.” 

You couldn’t help but tease. “I thought you liked the shade?”

“Yeah, when I feel like it.” He smacked your leg with the back of his hand. “Move.” 

“You can’t even ask me nicely?” 

“You want me to make you?” 

“Alright, alright,” you stepped out of the way, “you don’t have to be so whiney.” 

He grumbled as he turned to lay on his side, away from you. “I’m not whiney.” 

“Yeah, right!” you laughed. “You’re whinier than Ace half the time!” 

Leona glanced over his shoulder at you, thoroughly unamused. “Are you gonna keep mocking me, or can I finally enjoy the sun in peace?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going.” You began to walk away as you mumbled to yourself. “It’s not like you need it anyway.” 

A small gasp left your lips as a large hand wrapped around your ankle. You looked back to see Leona, glare directed up at you. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“I mean, you’re already tanned,” you replied. “I don’t think you can get anymore baked.” 

“That so?” A sly smile stretched across his face. Oh no. “‘S that why you were oglin’ me?” 

You scoffed. “Ogling? I wasn’t ogling.” 

“Suuure you weren’t.” You stumbled as Leona tugged at your leg, forcing you to come closer. “Tryin’ to get a look at one of the college’s ‘top tier men’, right?” 

If you were beastmen your ears would have perked up in shock at the familiar term. “Where did you…?”

“Ruggie,” Leona said. “He overheard your lil conversation with radish sprout the other night. Thought it was so funny he’d tell me about it.” He smirked as he eyed you mischievously. “And you know what he told me? He said you agree enthusiastically when Idia said I was in the top three.” 

Well, caught red-handed, weren’t you? You could not stop the blush that tore across your cheeks, embarrassment flooding your veins. You wanted to run, and then maybe go dig a sandpit and die. Your eyes glanced over to Ruggie, who happily bit into his last corndog. You’d deal with him later. For now, you had your honor to defend. 

“Y-Yeah, and?” You mentally cursed yourself for stuttering. “I’m not gonna lie and say you’re ugly.”

“So I’m handsome then?” He was practically grinning now. 

“I never said that…” 

“They say the truth will set you free~” 

“Oh, shut up!” 

Leona breathed out a sound of amusement as he shrugged. “Suit yourself.” You thought you were finally free from this humiliation - and then you felt yourself fall. You yelped in surprise, hand flailing to try and grab onto something to catch yourself. Instead, your back hit Leona’s towel. You felt arms circle you and tug you close into a near suffocating hold. Leona’s expression was unreadable now, as his face was now hidden in the crook of your neck, but you could hear the amusement in his voice. 

“Guess I’ll just have to keep you here until you come clean.” 

Though you struggled in his grasp, it was no use - he was too strong for you. There was no escape. You glared daggers into the top of the lion’s head as you spoke. “Leona, I have to go-” 

“Well, you’re not.” 

“I need to see where Grim-” 

“He can take care of himself for a bit.” 

“Leona, get off me!”

Leona’s ears twitched, as though searching for genuine hurt in your voice. When he found none, his hold grew ever tighter. You felt him smile against your neck, “As I said, the truth will set you free.” 

“Bastard,” you hissed. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Leona brushed you off as he relaxed. “Wake me up when you’re ready for a confession.” 

He meant yours, no doubt. You didn’t want to, you wouldn’t! He’d have to get tired of this at some point; once he let you go, loosened his grip just enough, you’d run and never look back! Maybe one of your friends could help you escape…you hoped. For now, you had no choice but to sit - well, lay - tight and get comfy. Hopefully your sunscreen hadn’t washed off earlier, or you’d surely end up just like Ace. You sighed as you stared up at the sky, an incoherent grumble spoken under your breath. 

The purr that reverberated through Leona’s chest was surely at your strife.

[ms0milk]

𝟏𝟏 | 𝐖𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝

ー✧ prince!bakugou x royal guard!reader

"Being safe from sand and ocean winds doesn’t seem worth it to the Alderan prince, not worth enough to miss the sun rising every morning. How could you die in a place like this? How could you possibly be okay with that?"

no cw unless you’re averse to apprehensive touch between enemies. reader and co recover from last night’s attack in their own ways. two fools stand too close in a cold hallway. three fools finally go to the sea and one of them can’t get you out of his head 6.8k

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Bakugou’s first memory of you is doused in blood. His second is somewhat more pleasant. Just two giant, shining eyes peering at him through a crack in the library door. You’re lightfooted now, sure, but back then he could feel you coming through the floorboards from how excitedly you wiggled at your self assigned post. You thought you were hiding. Him pretending not to notice, and you pretending it wasn’t hours after curfew.

Bakugou liked to do magic for you. Sometimes he waited for the sound of your heart or your twiddling thumbs before he blew out the candles around him and lit the first pink spark on his fingertips.

The prince can’t hear well enough anymore to recognize your heartbeat, so he’s been searching for your bedroom since dawn.

Wretched flashes of you play across his ash lashes like a curse. Of you toppling off a cliff like some psalmic tragedy. The pleading in your grasp but something– something else in the blacks of your eyes on the mages back. Relief? Like the first flecks of ease he’s seen since he made warm magic for your audience. If his fists weren’t drawing blood from his palms as he marched he might have reflected on how long he’s been watching you.

All this work just to wring your fucking neck. Takoba is ill-equipped for Bakugou’s Alderan thunderstorm. Castle marble trembles underfoot.

What the fuck were you thinking?

He’d like to throw your door open, demand an answer and then not tolerate a response. It’s been three hours of his tirade. Of startling footmen and growling at maids, before he finally catches the tailend of someone useful.

“Oi, Cheeks!”

Uraraka isn’t thrilled about this and pauses, considering for a moment, before turning around. She chews her lip instead of rolling her eyes.

It’s just short of miserable where the two of them are standing, freezing in this part of the castle and somehow also stuffy. The only windows are at the long ends of hallways. It smells old. Being safe from sand and ocean winds doesn’t seem worth it to the Alderan prince, not worth enough to miss the sun rising every morning. How could you die in a place like this? How could you possibly be okay with that?

“Where is she?”

“Gods, the pair of you–”

“Where?”

Uraraka, in her padded cotton sparing clothes, sags weight to one hip, “Kats, she’s your guard. What do you mean where is she?”

Bakugou hasn’t gotten enough sleep for this. Up until bitter hours with Aizawa and his men recounting the attack and now stalking Takoban hallways. A perfectly comfortable bed beside a steady fire, ruined by the memory of you.

He spits and pushes past the soldier. Fuck her, fuck it. He doesn’t hate you more than he wants to sleep.

“Last blue door,” Uraraka barks behind him, “and she doesn’t want help. I already tried.” She grins nervously as the prince adjusts his gait, hardly hiding his beeline for the room at the end of the hallway. Fuck sleep. And more crucially, fuck you. You, setting great fires in Aldera’s name wherever you step and bursting at your simple seams to be righteous about it.

A blind man might be more prepared than him. Might remember why he avoided you all week– what he was going to say to you in the gardens those few hours ago, before the mage and blue fire.

Your door is already open a crack when Bakugou approaches with a egotistical lack of decorum. Storming and sauntering. Morning sunlight hardly illuminates anything on this side of the castle. He’s just cold enough, just close enough to the edge of irate that the thought of swinging it fully open with a roar fills him to the brim with grim satisfaction.

At a distance, Uraraka thinks about stopping him, but his wind up, his general air and the tense of his shoulders dies before he can cause the scene she knows he wants to.

Inside the crack, Bakugou deflates as you slip into view. You keep your back turned. Dark blush climbs up the parts of your neck neither hair nor nightgown cover and you stop your gentle drifting at the foot of your bed. Steam from a tub under your window fights with the sea draft. You’re trying to reach something– a ribbon? And your fingers tremble as they graze a tie at the back of your dress. Are you in a hospital gown? Bakugou peers inside silently, completely underestimating the shock of seeing you conscious.

You don’t look right without a sword. You don’t look right at all. Turn around. He can’t see– what did Uraraka say? Help with what?

Bakugou touches golden fingertips to the door’s beveled edges at the same time as you slam your fist hard to one of your bed’s four posters. The prince’s fingers twitch instead of startling but it’s too late because your ears work leagues better than his and you’ve spun right around to catch whoever it is that’s watching you. Uraraka drifts carefully around the corner.

“Wh– Highness?”

Your door rushes open and Bakugou can tell you’re nursing your left arm by the way you reach with your right. Though your frustration deflates with a glimpse of him, it doesn’t shift to something comfortable. He’s not what fills you with ease.

He didn’t expect to be so disarmed by the sight of you alone but now that you’re here, solid and in front of him, he can’t stop remembering the state of you in the gardens. Wet and bleeding, bubbling and burnt to a crisp and still, still swinging a spear. You shouldn’t be getting dressed, you should be dead asleep in the hospital. Bakugou hasn’t thought this far and he doesn’t think he can yell anymore.

“Sir?”

What did he come here to say to you?

You look like a proper wild Alderan this morning like he’s hardly ever seen you. Worn eyes and bed hair, battle scars and a bruise that peeks out from under your collar. It took seeing you for him to remember the last conversation you’d had.

You’re mine.

“Your arm,” he musters instead of thinking harder and tips his chin to your left.

“Do you have business with my arm, sir?”

The shallow cut down Bakugou’s chest has started to scab, the one from your sword in the gardens. His only injury from last night and not because of his skill in a fight. You are battle weary, exhaustion holding your eyes in your head and healing magic draining the life from your heart to keep your arm intact. Shame roils.

Great galloping fuck, do you ever stop staring? You look through him under the doorframe with huge dim eyes.

“What help do you refuse?”

Whoever said that has said it much too sweetly Bakugou tisks, and you seem to agree because your otherwise tired face sets itself to stone. He pities the person that would speak to you like honey, his kamikaze captain, until he realizes you are looking only at him in an empty hallway and that syrup has dripped like drool from his lips.

“Is that all?”

He would be more upset with you if you were wrong. If he hadn’t actually run out of things to say and couldn’t only focus on staying upright after a night with no sleep.

He sounds like fucking Kirishima. The same shithead who started to cry after cornering a loose-lipped Deku outside of Aizawa’s interrogation office. He might have blubbered on for hours about your injuries if Bakugou didn’t send him on a chore to collect breakfast.

The hospital you must have escaped from healed your wounds but missed more than a few patches of dark blood crusted up your neck and into your hair, and then Bakugou remembers he didn’t come here to stare. Every day of tutoring and diplomacy, every shouting match, every spar, every fist fight is failing him. What did he come here to say?

“Don’t be stubborn.” Not that.

“Is that an order?”

Takoba has sucked the soul from your eyes, day by day. They should be filled with fire. He distinctly remembers fire, but today you hang in the doorway without a weapon and just wait for him to leave. Speak too quickly for him to think. You can’t even stare at him right anymore and it’s pissing him off.

You look like shit, he considers grunting, you smell worse. You gray my fucking hair, run away home. Go die for someone else. The broad prince shuffles his tongue over his teeth when vitriol doesn’t find its way from his mouth and while the pair of you watch each other too close in this cold hallway something so much worse sneaks out.

“It is.” He wants to spit the second the sounds leave his mouth.

“Yes, sir.”

And immediately the word ripples his skin from his bones, his sinews try to tear from his body every time you utter it and he knows now that you do it on purpose. Before Bakugou can recover and growl and kick his way through this cursed castle out of your stoney company, you turn your back to him and wait without moving, “The knot, sir.”

It’s so much worse without your staring. To stand with you alone and out of his mind with exhaustion and for your eyes to be anywhere other than burning holes through his head.

How dare you. Bakugou vibrates as he watches unmarred knuckles reach forward in time to register that his own hand is going to touch you. Even injured, your posture is still perfect, unsettling, and it’s taken twenty years for the prince to realize that you’re no bigger than a sunflower. You carry yourself like a dragon through his castle but it would take two of your hands to cover one of his. And you thought you could kill the flame mage? You thought he was worth your Alderan life?

In the time between dreading the closeness and pinching the bow at your back in his fingers, Bakugou remembers his fury. All the senseless shit he meant to say in the gardens suffocates in the smoke hate tends.

You, who orders your soldiers like an old general and then refuses to eat with them. You who hunt and kill for the queen but stumble through professionalism when it comes time to look at him. Do you smile alone, in your room or with your master? Or is subservience a full time job?

You’ve pulled the tie free of its bow with your stupid struggling and now Bakugou needs both hands to pick at a knot too small for his fingers because you can’t ask for help. You want to die so badly? Do it out of eyesight.

He focuses for one second too long to keep his magic from spiking with his anger like a teenager and with that second he finally pulls the fucking ribbon loose and– and it’s bad.

It’s ugly. You’re not bleeding, they’ve closed you up, but black bruises reach from your shoulder so far down your back he has to blink away when his eyes follow the trail too quickly. The back of the gown begins to open. Turning bruises purple, a scar like tree sap creeps out from under your sleeve, up your neck and down your spin. The burn. A pink scar like sparks in his twilight library.

Shuzenji can only do so much with bruises but this welt? It looks too angry to touch cloth. She couldn’t put in some goddamned effort? You saved her useless queen for all she knows and she couldn’t spare a fucking second to put you back together again?

Creativity given too much platform by your silence, a much worse thought surfaces. Did you escape, or were you discharged half patched like this to make room for more important patients? Royal patients. Blood in your hair.

Bakugou spent fifteen Julys in this Takoban hellhole, every summer for diplomacy or training or vacation, or whatever the fuck his mom decided to call forced socialization that year. He might as well have spent all fifteen years in the hospital for all the trouble he got into by the sea. Pirates and sparring or krakens, whathave you. There was never a broken bone bad enough, a concussion so blinding that Shuzenji couldn’t fix it.

“I’m no god, Katsuki,” she’d murmur even when he was too dazed to hear properly. Always, always she reminded him. How long had it been? How did he forget? “I can only use what you give me. If I take too much you’ll die.”

Your room reeks of the sea even with the windows closed and blue infects its every inch. Even the steaming tub at the foot of your bed tinges green at its bronze lips.

“Highness.” Your voice is a call on the wind when Bakugou realizes how tight he’s still holding your ribbons. You are a subtle source of warmth kissing his knuckles in a cold corridor and he can’t get away from you fast enough. You turn. Your shoulders drop and your gown drops with them, your big eyes catch the corner of your face and where anyone else might be coy you look through him like a hound.

“Thank you.”

The sounds that comes out makes him feel like a hound. Like a bark, tch, “Fuck back off to the hospital.”

“Is that an order?”

Your beautiful golden prince spits at your feet and turns away down the hall.

You wouldn’t have gone back even under orders. You woke up in the surgery the second Shuzenji put her hands on you. Searing wet pain and a thousand stitches and where her magic used to feel bubbly, this night was just fire. Blue fire, Takoban fire.

You were the only collateral from the attack. It should have filled you with pride that you protected not only your prince, not only a queen, her heirs, her champions, and guards, but her entire castle. Still, alone in the hospital with a rum cloth jaw clenched to keep from screaming– in the seconds or hours it took to hammer you together again– liquor was a welcomed distraction from the taste of mageblood.

Shinsou was there in flashes looking over you on the table and then in a blink holding someone back from the door, red hair like Kirishima, and hatred like molten sugar spilled from your every sweating pore on the operating table. Where was he? Your prince’s champion left him alone in a hostile country with only one guard and the incompetence of Takoba to keep him alive. If wrath could send letters, your Mitsuki would be inundated.

“C’mon miss martyr, head down please.” Uraraka’s smiling more than you’d like as she runs a sponge across your back. The bathwater is a touch too cold for you and still so hot that her arms have gone pink in the space where she’s rolled up her sleeves.

“I can wash myself.”

“Kats didn’t send me in here to watch a pretty girl wash blood out of her own hair,” the pink guard chuckles and you hate to waste this comfort filled with fury.

Before Shuzenji could wrap any part of you in bandages, a knock at the hospital door took her from attention. Shinsou had long disappeared so you slipped from the bed and through a door at the end of the room.

Footmen and maids balked as you whisked through the halls half-dressed and bloody. The guard stationed maddeningly at your bedroom door didn’t hesitate when you burst from the darkness and growled for hot water. You wouldn’t give your prince the satisfaction of sauntering through the castle nearly naked again but you had been stripped of your padding and armor, your weapons, and a generous serving of blood. The prince had to wait.

“I won’t really wash your hair if you don’t want me to,” Uraraka murmurs this time instead of laughing and you are back in safe company.

The smell of the sea makes you sick.

A change of clothes she brought for you from her soldiers' quarters lays nervously across your bed generally afraid to be worn. Rife with silver bits and baubles, limp where your Alderan uniform would be imposing. You’ll look like a doll and suddenly you’re angry all over again.

Uraraka is gentle when she rinses suds off your shoulders but the itch over the new skin there is deep and welcomed. The brush of Bakugou’s knuckles in the hallways left streams of goosebumps that still won’t fall and that you refuse to think about. Not his hands, never again.

“Do you like looking like this?”

Uraraka leans forward so you can see her expression and gestures vaguely to the room with her elbow, “Like what?”

“Like,” you slip your good arm over the edge of the bronze tub and water platters on rugs, “this.” You're both eyeing the Takoban uniform now.

“Do I like looking beautiful?”

“Like decoration.”

“I am decoration.”

Salt carries on a breeze through the room that persists even with the windows closed and your arm drops from the lip as you settle back down in your bath. That’s right. A few weeks away from home and suddenly you’re playing Royal Captain instead of war fodder, too good for a borrowed pair of greaves.

“Alderan uniforms are beautiful too,” the guard offers, but you rest your head a bit too limply in her hands as she brings water up your nape.

Your voice is tired, “Do you like giving orders?”

“Do you?”

“No.”

“I like having a bed and sending money home to my parents.”

“Do you like fighting?”

“I do.”

Your queen is as fiery as her son, but did Jeanist have to tame her first? Or did she have to break him into a shape she liked to look at? Was it an honor? After hardly a month of travel together, Prince Bakugou had pulled up the edges of your identity like a bored child with cheap wallpaper. Fifteen years without so much as three words, then three weeks of torture and still somehow the thought of returning to Aldera where he won’t so much as growl towards your post makes your stomach ache. Where you will never be allowed to raise a weapon against him. Being decoration never bothered you before.

“I like free food and looking pretty,” Uraraka steadies her hand at the base of your neck and holds you tight, “I love my master, I love my friends, I love my city and my people. I miss my mom, I’m afraid to die, I can’t budget, I’ve never been in love,” her fingers pulse warm over your new skin, “I think I’m lucky.”

You think so too. You bring your knees closer in the water, “You look like a chandelier.”

Uraraka tilts your head gently towards the seashell uniform, smiling, “We look like chandeliers.” And then there’s a knock at the door. Your heart beats golden for a second.

“Y/n? Please tell me you’re in here.” Kirishima and his unmitigated gaul. Blood turns red again.

As you sit up properly, your pink guard shouts before you can find a weapon, “She’s in the bath!”

“Come back to the hospital, Y/n. Have you eaten? I brought breakfast, please can I come in?” Doors are made of shit driftwood here so you can hear his ragged breath even through the walls and gods, you start to sweat again.

You’re stiff, not bedridden. Your shoulders can roll again and a scar can’t keep you from raising a weapon, “You’d better arm yourself if you want to speak with me, Champion.”

“Y/n please–”

“Ei, go eat without us!” Uraraka plants her hands on your shoulders when you draw your knees under yourself to keep you from rising fully, “Go on, it’s okay I’m here.”

You don’t like how slowly it sounds like he’s moving. Kirishima rests something on the floor with a click and then clears his throat, “I’ll– I’ll tell the others you’re okay.”

“You do that,” Uraraka chirps for you again. She rinses her hands in the water beside your ribs as awkward footsteps pad away from the room. You settle back down on your hips and long for hot water. “What’s your problem with the champion?”

Your body is a rusted machine and it’s too hard to find words for your anger. Her Takoban champion threw himself off of a cliff to save you. Your champion ate dinner for a few hours too long instead, presumably because he was staring at Lady Mina. An Alderan embarrassment. Another knock.

This one is much too loud and in no way enunciatory. Your door flies open this time with Bakugou attached to the knob.

“Shitty Hair!” He howls over the edge of the door and down the hallway, “Almost wore this breadbowl as a boot, pick up your motherfucking food!”

Uraraka’s hands go limp at your back and she must be staring as blankly as you are because your prince only looks normal– milky and ferocious– until he turns inside to speak. It’s almost endearing how quickly his shoulders and scowl drop into a look entirely foreign on his face as he takes in the scene in front of him.

The first thing you’ll do when you get home is have tea with Master Jeanist under your favorite Saturday tree and laugh over the many expressions of your hellfire prince, for he dearly loves to gossip. He thinks the Bakugous are the most beautiful family in the country, and he’s right, and it’s infuriating in a thousand ways.

The prince clears his throat, hand still tight on the doorknob, “I’m going to the sea.” And he speaks to the bed because something has stopped him from looking at you. The veins in his hands dance. The air might as well be frozen.

With one movement he blinks to the window over both of your heads and steps backwards into the hallway, door closed and absolutely uncharacteristically silent as morning air.

Uraraka’s knuckles crack when her fingers twitch but that’s the only movement or sound either of you are allowed before your door flies open one more time and Bakugou, fuming frowning and bursting with something to say, explodes inside again. This time one slippered foot is deep in a shepherd's pie. Not even your bathwater stirs. Not a single sound comes from his clenched teeth, not even when his lips part to speak.

Six and holding your hands, eleven and soaked in a fruit filled hallway, all grown up and full of hate, always making magic in the library.

“I can ride,” you spare him, and Bakugou manages to look at you for a beat, to stare with jeweled eyes, before closing the door again.

A faint smell of meat and potatoes permeates the fresh air even with a new pair of shoes on. Bakugou huffs in his saddle. Todoroki doesn’t notice. The Takoban prince is too busy tacking your horse while his grooms watch on nervously.

“Just let them do it for her, get on already.”

“Certainly not.”

He knows it’s pointless but he would still rather work himself to fury with feather-brained Todoroki than sit with the image of you. Propped up in the bath with your hair down, a huge handprint scar wrapped around your bicep.

“Almost finished.”

Bakugou agonizes at the pace, but as his airhead companion finally secures the billet strap under the chest of a mottled cream gelding, Uraraka leads you into the stable. She knocks to announce your presence like that would do anything to dull the incessant shock of seeing you on two feet after just last night, wiping mageblood and tears from your cheeks.

You look insane. A black Alderan tunic you must have had tucked away somewhere and bright white Takoban riding pants. Blue strings poke off your hips at odd intervals like you’d ripped some of the baubles off but there are plenty more gems and silver seashells to catch the eye.

“Y/n,” Todoroki is animated when he says your name and Bakugou realizes he’s been staring. The Takoban prince rushes to meet you and your escort and crumples immediately to the ground.

Bakugou groans, head fully back, “Fucking– again? C’mon half n’ half, up.”

“Y/n, please accept my deepest apologies.” Todoroki always sort of sounds like he’s mumbling but this time he’s pressed his hands and face to the ground. You, with the quick wit, look between the prince and Uraraka at a loss for what to say. “You are a guest and to be injured on the grounds is unforgivable. The rogue mage will be caught. Captain Hawks has returned and his men patrol the city at–”

“Y/n!” Another voice, this one less grating, booms through the open air. Kirishima rounds the corner, startling staff, and Bakugou’s no psychic but you don’t seem thrilled. His champion rushes you– idiot– and stops just out of arm’s reach still in his bedclothes. He’s gotten more sleep than both of you combined but looks significantly shittier for it. “A soldier picked this out of rubble, I’m so sorry.” He opens his fist and perched in his soft hand like a pearl is your broach. White dragontooth. “We couldn’t find your halberd.”

There’s a moment of stillness for all involved, Todoroki on the ground, Kirishima and Uraraka beside you, before you turn sharp and stare directly at your prince. You are a painting. You’re always steadying an invisible weapon at your hip even in a nightgown, and where the fire in your eyes has died something hungry and possessive replaced it. Black like the ocean. Infinite. The jewelry in Bakugou’s ears begins to burn.

Todoroki raises his head curiously and muck and hay stick to his forehead. Groomsmen rush to wipe him off as you turn back and offer him a hand. Your bad hand, Bakugou notes from his high horse, and frowns with your next words to him. “Highness, please don’t muss yourself for me.”

One more movement after pulling Todoroki up, smooth like water– and it is so obvious that you are trained to kill– you pluck your broach out of Kirishima’s palm and fasten it to your chest as you spit at his feet.

Takoba is not endearing and Bakugou is on hour thirty-one without sleep. Everyone else might have forgotten but he surely hasn’t, the reason why Alderans are here at all. The observatory, a ball, the Takoban King and diplomatic relations. Bakugou sat through more meetings this month than the sum total of his life, in twinkling cold offices and throne rooms without fireplaces. Hardly time to breathe alone. He wraps his horse’s reins in his fingers in case he falls asleep with its canter over city cobblestones.

“Highness, there are too many blindspots.”

Bakugou opens his eyes with your words as he’s done for the whole afternoon, and frowns when he realizes for the thousandth time that you’re addressing Todoroki. The three of you ride at leisure down the central roads of the Takoban castletown. Every rocky step they take he looks forward to you, expecting this bump to be your last. Expecting you to finally slip sideways off your gelding in exhaustion like he so dearly would like to do. You don’t. You only bark at civilians to keep their distance or direct them away with tilts of your head. You are simply you again, riding tall and alert with no suggestion of the mage-eater you become in blue light. No hints that you have ever shed a tear in your life.

He shakes his head free of the thought. Citizens gawk, but generally don’t stop their errands to do anything more than watch as you all ride past.

“Astute. What do you recommend, Officer?”

Bakugou doesn’t need to open his eyes to know you hate being called an officer. He can hear it in the way you pause before responding, and then he growls through a laugh at the back of the caravan when you find the right words.

“I recommend not touring the town that potentially housed a fugitive.”

Todoroki probably planned this tour for Bakugou weeks ago, excited to show him all the developments to the city in the years he’s been away. He’s not one for change. Shinsou knocked him unconscious to keep him from fighting last night and the first thing the blue prince did upon waking from a terrorist attack was ask Bakugou to confirm today’s agenda.

“Is there a more private area included in this tour, Highness?”

“Yes.”

There’s a beat of silence and Bakugou snorts again.

“Could you please take us there?”

“Of course.”

The Takoban prince seems unaware of his dazzling presence as he guides his horse’s white head at a sharp turn to the west. Bakugou too, in his exhaustion, doesn’t realize how much attention he’s drawn from a city he’s so familiar with. A city so safe, its blue prince doesn’t need a guard.

“Oi,” you hiss on Bakugou’s other side and faster than he’s able to turn, you’re already pulling back on your reins to sidle around him. Your horse doesn’t seem the least bit disgruntled with the maneuver and flashes of consciousness pour between Bakugou’s eyes as he remembers bits of the night you arrived here, bleeding, begging. “Hands to yourself.”

Something pathetic like a dog whimpers below him and your prince peers over his thigh towards the cobblestones where a child is frozen between reaching out to touch his silver stirrup and staring in horror at you, a dark cloud behind them. The child, in modest warm clothes, backs away and flinches when your good arm jerks across your chest with your attention.

On his right, an older kid yelps and falls flat on his ass with two little hands clutching his head. Bakugou considers laughing out loud at this, husky and full of sleep; when he looks back at you, your hand hovers over your saddle’s grain bag and it becomes apparent you’ve walloped a child in the street with horse feed.

Everything feels insignificant when you’ve missed a night of sleep.

He has spent thirty one hours thinking of you. Watching you shoot, skipping lunch to hide, finding the words to speak to you. Being filled with so many things and then twisted excitement against your blade. Dread. Recounting your every step to one hundred officers. Searching for the hospital. Searching for your room.

You have spent those same thirty one hours awake, furious, burnt, bleeding, and then fully dressed on horseback. You are an exceptional guard. You are professional to a fault and it should drive him insane.

“You’re terrible with kids,” Bakugou rumbles as he rips a silver bauble off his vest and tosses it over his shoulder to the twerp flat on cobblestones.

You ride past him to follow Todoroki, “I manage you well enough.”

It doesn’t. Not even when you feign stoicism at the edge of the sea, not for a second. Because when Todoroki’s obnoxiously white horse leads the three of you past castle guards and down a private beaten path– under Bakugou’s favorite marble archway and out onto the beach, something hums in your black eyes.

It is the loveliest stretch of coast in the world, because it is protected by evil. On one side a steep grassy hill that bleeds into the marble castle, on the other, golden sand dotted with black volcanic rocks. The rocks tumble still and algaed into the blue sea, daring ships to beach there. Today the water rolls over itself in tiny frothing peaks as it does before a storm but the color is cold and charming and you have never before been so close to the edge of the world.

As your three horses trot onto soft sand, you turn your head to watch waves making their music and Bakugou can see your face outlined by the late sun. Your wide eyes. It will set soon. You are so much more adept than he is at hiding inside of yourself.

“The observatory,” Todoroki pipes up in the lead and points towards a white spire Bakugou’s never seen before, jutting like a mushroom off the side of the castle above you. In one movement, the blue prince dismounts from his horse and turns back towards his guests with an arm outstretched. “Come.”

Bakugou knows this beach. It’s broken his bones. He watches it every morning from his bedroom window.

Ahead of him the blue prince offers you his arm as you swing a leg over your saddle. Your body doesn’t hint to injury but you nod thankfully at the gesture and salt water rises in Bakugou’s throat.

“You were attacked in the old gardens last night,” Todoroki, standing too close, points up high towards the castle on the cliff, “All the way on the other side. The castle curves around the bend with the beach– although, it’s only cliff on that side.”

You stare as high as the sun will allow, “It’s a huge property.”

“Marble deposits in that cliff helped build the foundation. My family has lived here for hundreds of years.” Todoroki turns from your side and he is always so cluelessly pretty it’s irritating, to call out to Bakugou who’s frowning at the braids in his horse’s hair, “Katsuki did you k–”

But four syllables in and your prince is already waving his hand dismissively, “Fuck all the way off half n half. Give the captain your shit tour guide speech and leave me out of it.”

So you follow Todoroki, who nods, to the edge of the sea.

“Whose garden was it?” You murmur in casual interrogation.

“My mother’s. A long time ago.”

Bakugou knows exactly what question you’re holding back and so does Todoroki, “The king,” he offers. You nod again. You can hide but you’re no liar. Something sours for just a second.

As Bakugou pulls a knapsack off his saddle to use as a pillow while the two of you fuck around, you walk too slowly over the sand beside your tour guide and his first thought is injury until your lips part with timid breath. You move like a soldier, undeterred by uneven footing and fresh wounds, but you stare like a doe.

“Have you touched the sea before?”

You shake your head at the Takoban prince already a length ahead of you and tugging off his boots. The autumn air is warmed by the sun, but getting wet would make a miserably cold ride back.

“You should take off your shoes first,” he smiles. Bakugou spits over his shoulder and unsettles the horses.

You oblige the blue prince like you would any royal but you don’t do it quite so lifelessly as usual. Todoroki gives you his arm again for balance as you tug off one boot then another and bend at the waist to try and pull your pants legs away from the impending surf. You should look like a toddler, your prince should be laughing, but suddenly the sun has started to set and instead he realizes that somehow an entire day got away from him.

Bakugou formed his own opinions of the sea years ago, but he can’t remember the first time he saw it. Stepped foot in it. He reclines on the beach frowning, warm with sleep, and watches quietly.

You are mesmerized. Between black rocks you approach the water and stare. You bite your lip when you’re thinking this hard and the sun’s at just the right angle to reflect dancing shapes onto your chest. The frothing surf twinkles. It reaches for you with limp blue fingers. Two more times before you let it touch you and then your shoulders hitch.

Todoroki smiles, “Cold, isn’t it?”

“It’s alive.”

Do deer freeze in the first drops of a rainstorm? You aren’t made for the sea. You’re meant to hunt and make fires and sit under forest trees and eat plums in warm quarters. You shouldn’t have come.

Bakugou closes his eyes in the golden warmth and midnight pictures of you in the library come before sleep. Six years ago when curfew let up, you started eating alone in the library under the Great Oak and entirely ruining his time at peace to study wild magic. Sometimes you wore your uniform, sometimes a nightgown and cloak, and always he watched from the hallway above. Noting the nights your guard assignments kept you posted elsewhere. The sight of you sores something in him.

“Y/n!”

Bakugou’s eyes fly open when the cool-headed Todoroki actually raises his voice and the first thing he dreads is a half-dead mage rising from the waves you threw him into. He’s already up on an elbow to rise, but the blue prince has raced through the shallow water to where it hits his hip and grabs your arm– your bad arm– again. You’re mid sea-strong stride and many meters farther out than before your prince closed his eyes. Your riding pants are fully gray with wet. What are you doing?

“I saw something.”

Todoroki urges you inland, “What?” But you shake your head.

Your body rocks with the rhythm of strong tides like you’re dancing. Waves roll gently through you from the left and right and even with your back turned to him, Bakugou knows exactly what kind of face you’re making. What did you see? He was right this morning and cocky this afternoon, you should be in the hospital.

“You’re not strong enough for the tides, Y/n,” Todoroki starts, and your prince also knows a lecture from anyone other than your queen is going to whistle right through those fucking ears, “The shallows drop out just past that break, and you’ll exhaust yourself before the rip current releases you.”

Bakugou can see the scene play out like a script. You’ll acquiesce for no more reason than the Takoban prince outranks you, but before you do as you always have, sunset catches the corner of your face and something bright blinks in the blacks of your eyes. Something like candlelight.

“I’m alright, Highness.”

Bakugou twitches.

“You’re injured.”

It’s just a second you take to glance over your shoulder across the horizon and in that second both eyes blaze redhot like they’ve eaten your candles whole, and die black again just as quickly.

Then you nod, “Yes sir,” and accept the guidance of Todoroki’s arm back towards the shore while Bakugou watches propped on a tense bicep, studying his ache. You are a nightmare. A nightmare the sea wants to swallow, because as you’re led to shallow water two waves meet and a new break forms behind your thighs. The strength of the sea kicks yours and the Takoban prince’s feet uneven in the sand and the pair of you are sent backward a step and then forward by the hips into a beaching wave. In the setting sun the sea grows darker.

You resurface in just a second from clam shell surf silent and wide eyed, but Bakugou is already up. He should be laughing, especially as Todoroki rises from the water with a halo of foam blinking just as dumbfounded next to you. Seawater drips from your lips.

“Y/n, we are certainly not swimming now.”

And something entirely new happens. On your knees, soaked through, you stare at the blue prince for a beat and then drop your head back in laughter. Your tunic clings helplessly to the curves of your chest, shaking and expanding with your breath. The sound is starlight. Another wave, smaller, climbs over your shoulder while you sit in the surf and washes over your head. Your hair is made of seashells.

“You’ll get sick!” Snorting on water now, Todoroki tries to help you up but the receding tide sucks sand out from under you both, knocking you gently into one another, giggling together, and doused again. The sunset frames your wide grin. You are no longer in the library, in fact you are nowhere to be found.

“Give me your hand.”

The corners of your eyes are red from salt and crinkled with a smile when you tilt your head up towards Bakugou in the pinking sunset, wet to his knees above you with a strong arm outstretched. You shiver. You without magic. You with nine lives. Him staring at your seashell crown through messy blond hair.

He draws breath through bared teeth. It’s an ill joined feeling, how quickly your new smile drops, how quickly the stars hang themselves back up in the sky at the sight of him. You aren’t a doe, you’re a dragon. Quiet pertinacity bleeds black from you into the sea.

“You’ll ruin your pants, sir.”

And he’s no longer sure he could stop you from anything without killing you first.

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[rosiesthehat]

how much sand can a hand hold?

_ Chapter 2, "Sand"

Pairing: Lady Jessica X Reader

Word Count: 5.4k

Tags: fluff!!,

Summary: Lady Jessica needs to be held. You're the one to do it.

Author’s Note: I just feel so deeply for this woman, I can barely handle it. This is also on my AO3!

The entirety of Castle Caladan could fit into the massive frigate you’re brought on board of, early in the morning before the sun has even risen on your home planet.

You’ve handed off all of your worldly possessions to whichever guard is to be trusted with them, so with nothing in hand, all you hold are images of sandworms and Harkonnen soldiers as you step onto the massive ship.

There’s a lump in your throat, an uneasiness in the pit of your stomach. You’ve never flown before, not even on one of the small No-Ships that the Atreides family so often employed. Your feet have never left the ground of Caladan, and you’ve the nerves to prove it.

You may not be prepared for a journey to Arrakis in the slightest, but least you look the part.

Jessica had kept her promise, as much as you begged her not to, you’ve been supplied with all of the lightweight cottons and shimmering chiffons that you could ever dream of. She’s kept you as her stylistic twin, as she’s always said you look prettier in her clothes than she does. You hate to disagree with your lady, but she has never been so wrong.

Stepping onto the Atreides’ utilitarian frigate, there’s an eerie silence. All of the royal guard have been strapped into their seats, with only a few remaining for you to fill, along with the royal family. You truly believe that this is the scariest day of your life, and you have yet to encounter the army-swallowing worms that inhabit your new home.

You follow behind your royal family obediently, hands lifting Lady Jessica’s long train, so it never dares to touch the ground. The duke takes a seat in the foremost row of the ship, his doting son and ever compliant concubine seating themselves beside him. You quickly take the seat next to your lady, hoping you can pass it off as need to keep an eye on the beautiful dress she’s only just received. You wouldn’t dare to let it get dirty.

The moment that you sit, strapping yourself into the many buckles of the ship’s seat, your leg begins to bounce entirely on its own accord. You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek, trying to keep your mind at bay when the large door of the frigate finally closes, preparing to lift you from the ground. You grip the organza between your fingers so tightly that you fear that it may rip. That’s certainly not the only thing you fear, but it’s better to focus on your lady’s dress than the fact that you’ve now left the only home you’ve ever known.

Your body is working overdrive, heart racing, eyes fighting back tears, eardrums so full of noise that they’ve started to muffle every minute noise within the ship. And it works, except for one voice. Your lady’s.

She’s laid a hand over top of your own, putting enough pressure to calm their frantic squeezing.

“You must not fear.” She whispers from behind a sheer curtain of fabric, and when you turn to face her, all you see is yellow over yellow, jewels sparkling under the harsh white lights of the ship. “Fear is the mind killer.” You’ve heard the Litany so many times in your life, when Jessica has been verbally abused by the duke or during the Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam’s many visits. You’ve heard it enough times to have the entire passage memorized by heart, and yet, it does nothing to soothe your nerves. They are just words, and words do not remove the fact that you will likely never see Caladan again.

Jessica must have noticed that the duke and his son are in bustling conversation, and none of the men on this ship would ever pay mind to the two veiled women that sit amongst them, so she pushes herself even closer to you, giving your hand another firm squeeze.

“I know you are frightened, my love. Hold my hand. It will be over soon.” She whispers only to you, only focused on your feeling, on calming your mind and holding your hand. The way that her voice lightly cracks tells you that she is awfully scared too, and you quickly upturn your hand so that you are interlocking fingers. You swallow the bump in your throat, praying that your time spent on this freight ship will be minimal, and you will be on Arrakis soon enough.

“I’ve heard that Arrakis is beautiful right as the sun sets.” You whisper to her, trying to rattle off whatever information you’ve learned from the many filmbooks that you’d sped through in the days prior to your journey to the desert planet. “The videos were gorgeous. Orange and red and pink... Nothing like anything we’ve ever seen on Caladan.”

“Then we shall watch the sky tonight. Together.” She responds quietly, hand lifting up to tuck a loose curl that had fallen from your intricate braids. A house’s first arrival on its newly claimed planet was truly one of the most important events in a young maid’s life, so you had begged Jessica to help you make your hair as decorative as possible, even if it were to be covered by a veil soon thereafter.

“I would like that very much.” You smile shyly to her, giving her hand a squeeze, a pain shocking through you when you come into contact with the ring that she’d worn all while you’ve known her. Though the duke would never be able to set down his pride and marry the woman that he forces to be subservient to him for the rest of his life, he had caged her with this ring, staking his eternal claim over her.

The ship had started to rattle, loudly booming out of nowhere. It causes you a great deal of strife, shutting your eyes tight to try and find some happier image, but no such image comes.

“It’s only the Heighliner. The larger ship that will carry us to Arrakis. Don’t worry, darling.” It pained you to think that a ship greater in size than your current frigate was even possible. This Heighliner would have to be larger than all of Caladan itself to be able to contain several ships in its hull, and the thought only made you more uneasy.

You try and shake your fear, try to hold on to your lady’s soft grasp, try to find your center. Jessica had taught you the Bene Gesserit calming breath, and as many times as it had worked, it had failed twice as many. You were simply cursed to be eternally hurt, with no remedy but your lady’s kisses, a cure-all that was never readily available to you.

You forced your mind to conjure ideas of your new home. You tried to distract yourself with thoughts of decorations, mentally scanning through your few suitcases to take a list of everything you’ve brought. All of the woven wall-hangings and small paintings that you had accumulated over a few weekends spent perusing Caladan’s markets with Jessica, the small statues of creatures from other lands, the one stuffed toy that you held at night when the thunder crashed too violently. You hoped to bring even a small bit of Caladan with you, and though you were sure that Arrakis would never truly feel like home, you could try to make it at least a little more comfortable for your stay.

Your heart calmer now, your eyes finally fluttered back open, returned to Jessica. Her own eyes closed, body slightly bent forward, and the hand that’s not holding yours is pressed against her temple. Prana-bindu. You’ve rarely seen her do it; there isn’t much that stresses the fair lady so much that she must control each muscle and organ of her body in this manner. You feel a tinge of worry shock through your heart, knowing that if Jessica is fearful enough to practice such a technique, then she must feel completely awful. You have always been entirely empathetic, but only towards your lady. When she has ever hurt, you have taken on twice the amount of pain.

You would do truly whatever it took to make her feel better. It ripped your heart in half that there was nothing you could do for her now.

♱

It’s a light the likes of which you’ve never experienced.

Even the brightest sunrises on Caladan were never true sunrises. They were always hidden behind clouds or mist, a grey-green hue covering the shimmering sun. You had started to lose faith that there even was a sun on your home planet, that maybe it was just a giant, fluorescent glowglobe put in the sky by someone that wished for eternal night.

No, you had never seen this kind of light. But something was telling you that your awe of the colors would be short-lived, and you’d soon grow tired of the total-orange of Arrakis.

Eyes squinting, pupils contracting to save yourself the pain, you look out at hundreds—thousands— of humans standing in the sand. Those to the right wave the Atreides flag, that garish green and black that appears to you only as a blur of color. Those to your left stand still, and as your eyes adjust to the light, you find that they’re only eyes. Eyes and mountains of fabric, robes flapping in the wind, eyes staring straight at your direction. They don’t seem pleased, though they don’t seem particularly angry either. Simply content. As if they have an obligation to be here. Much as you do.

“Shields!” It’s a voice you don’t recognize, don’t care about. A voice of a random lieutenant, who is clearly more important than you, for he is standing much further forward in the freighter than you are.

And then it dawns on you— everyone on this ship dons a shield. Except for you. You and Jessica. The only two women on board, the only two people deemed disposable enough that a stray bullet may hit you on this newly claimed planet and not much strife would come of it. You’re sure it has to do with the duke’s ego, that he feels himself strong enough to protect his lady if a riot were to break out as you step onto Arrakis. At least he would look noble as Jessica sighed her dying breath.

You suddenly feel even more unsafe than you had while hurtling through space.

You feel truly scared, especially as you watch as Jessica is one of the first bodies to step off the ship onto the sand.

Your fear is quickly overtaken by anger when a large, gloved hand grabs onto Jessica’s, squeezing it tightly, though it lets go, moves with the quick stride of the duke before the heads of the household step off of the ship. You feel furious, watching Leto’s confident stride towards the dunes, leaving his concubine to step off the ship alone. How can he even call himself a man and not offer a hand to a terrified woman stepping onto a new planet for the first time— especially while wearing the platformed shoes and tight dress that Jessica has chosen? It was surely no way to treat a lady.

You quickened your own pace, stepping onto the sand hastily and extending an arm to Jessica, scanning her face just as she had once taught you to. Though it was covered by veil, you could still see the worry carved into her forehead, the shine lost from her eyes. It would be cruel to say that she appeared lifeless, but her demeanor now was one of a statue. The Prana-bindu technique had worked.

You continued to follow the house silently, assisting your lady with her dress against the whipping wind of the dessert, eyes frantically searching the crowd with a newfound fervor. The knowledge that you were completely on your own in the middle of the dessert, hordes of people who had spent the last few decades under Harkonnen rule staring you down, had your body on high alert. You were prime targets for a projectile, and any number of these Fremen could be concealing a weapon beneath their robe.

Your awareness so high, you were the first to notice the yelling in the crowd. Trough filmbooks you had only picked up a few words in Chakobsa; zahra, meaning flower, malak, an angel, and habun for love.

Clearly, you were only focused on words you could use on Jessica.

The words flung at you by the crowd were entirely unknown to you, though you noted a sense of reverence in them. If you followed the pointed fingers of the crowd, you would see the led towards Paul. Perhaps they saw in him what the Bene Gesserit did not.

♱

“My men have swept the city twice over, and each wing of the residency more times than I can count.” You were barely listening as the old Mentat spoke, your mind too occupied by the architecture of the grand space you’ve just entered. The Arrakeen Governor’s Palace is probably twice the size of Castle Caladan, with ceilings higher than, you’d bet, even a suspensor system could reach. The windows are just as tall, shining that beautiful orange hue across the rock-cut walls, across Lady Jessica’s freckled face.

You have to force your mouth closed, as you’re sure it had been hanging open since you first stepped foot in the palace.

“You’ll find that the duke and his heir have each chosen rooms in the western wing of the residency, close to many of the council’s strategy and training rooms. The past ladies of the house have taken their stay in the east wing. It’s further from the entrance of the house, and many of the rooms are conjoined for maids to move as they need.” Hawat spoke calmly, though he carried an air about him as if he were desperate to get out of this conversation, to go and talk with the rest of the Atreides guard instead of the two women that would soon be forgotten all together in their own wing of the house.

“Thank you, Thufir.” Jessica said, voice more monotone than usual. It seemed that some of the life had returned to her cheeks, yet clearly, she was still trying to keep herself as far from emotion as possible.

As Hawat walked off, you quickly made your way to your lady’s side, grasping her cold hand in your own. How the slender fingers still managed to be freezing on a planet so warm, you weren’t sure. She had probably forced her heart to stop pumping as much, leaving her extremities with less-than-optimal blood flow.

“It’s beautiful.” You smile up at her, and her eyes only flash over yours for a second before they once again stare into nothingness, as though she’s looking down a long hallway in which only a Harkonnen army stands at the end of.

You begin walking, nearly dragging your frozen companion down the long, silent corridor, until you’re out of sight of any other human in the building.

“My lady.” You hum, flipping up her veil, unclasping some of the jewels that weighed heavy against her face. “You can let go now. We are safe.” You give her a smile of weak encouragement, though your upturned eyebrows betray the fact that you are just as scared as she is. You both know that your words aren’t true, that you’ll never truly be safe on Arrakis. You both feel the tense air around you, but it’s better to focus on each other than it is the potential jihad looming over your heads.

Jessica softens a bit under your gentle grasp, her stiff control over her own muscles beginning to weaken. Her eyes regain their glimmer and her head droops to lean into your fingers, which have slid down to lightly rub at the back of her neck.

“This planet…” She begins, leaning forward until her forehead connects to your own. Her breath tickles against your nose, her hands finding their favorite resting place on your hips. Her voice dies out, as though she’s unable to articulate the multitudes of feelings in her heart towards the planet on which you stand. She must be impossibly tired, and it shows around her eyes, but she still holds herself strong against the test of her fatigue.  

“My lady, we should find a room. You ought to lady down for a while.” You purr, pressing a light kiss to her cheek. You’ve found yourself suddenly cautious of the moisture of all things—from the wetness of your lips to the water-plump flesh of Jessica’s cheek— you’re acutely aware of it now.

It’s safe to say that your worried nature about all things is not going to do well on a planet on which you need to worry about your minute-to-minute survival.

Jessica begrudgingly pulls her head away from your own, looping her arm through your elbow, leaning most of her weight against your shoulder. You lead her down the hallway, the taps of your shoes echoing all around you as you peek into each door. You find a few empty closets, restrooms, and a large room that you assume was once used for an indoor sport of some kind, but your main concern is finding a bed for Jessica. You can feel exhaustion radiating off of her, and you’re not quite sure that she’ll remain awake much longer. You soon find a room, the one that must have belonged to the past lady of the house, for its grand ballroom style and large canopy-covered bed seemed only befitting of the lady of a Great House.

Leading Jessica to sit atop the bed, unsure who had left it covered in satin sheets but quite happy for their presence, you begin stripping her of layers of translucent fabric, creating a small pile on the floor of her yellow veils and jewels. You swiftly remove her shoes and add them to the pile, not caring much for the wellbeing of the clothing when the wellbeing of your lady is at hand.

“Please, try and rest.” You hum, laying Jessica back against the soft pillows of the bed, pleased enough with the air circulation within the palace to lay a blanket over her lap. You press a kiss against the woman’s forehead, and it’s not too long before she’s asleep.

As your lady slumbers, you decide to make a quick check of the room and all of its doors. The closets are bare, and you are quite thrilled to fill them with Jessica’s gowns; you know she has enough to fill every closet you passed on your way down the corridor. You open the largest door on the far side of the bedroom, swinging its heaviness to open upon a wrapping balcony.

A gasp escapes your lips as you step onto the orange stone, looking out across the tan buildings and colorful fabric tents of the city. The sun sits low enough in the sky that you can just make out the dual moons, better the one that, if you remember correctly, the Fremen call Krellin, the Hand of God. If you squint hard enough, you are able to make out the claw-marked pattern on its side.

You stand in the wind of Arrakis, eyes closed against the sand particles that lightly nip at your face. You kick off your own shoes, leaning against the banister of the patio, fingertips running over the soft rock there. Though it will never compare to the rain of Caladan, the quiet of this balcony may someday bring you a similar peacefulness.

♱

You’ve lost track of time, standing with your bare feet against grainy rock, ears listening intently to the village commotion less than a mile from you in one of the more heavily populated streets of Arrakeen. You’ve nearly met your meditative state when a pair of arms wraps around you, a nose nuzzled into the braids at the nape of your neck.

“You slept well?” You muse, hands trailing down your body to wrap over the frail ones that rest at your stomach. You notice they’ve regained their warmth, are no longer icicles attached to your lady’s palms.

“Yes. Thank you.” She whispers softly against the shell of your ear before pressing a kiss there, then a few to your jaw. She is back to herself, with that soft voice and wandering hands, though she still grapples against the tiredness.

“I’m pleased.” You return, pulling her arms even tighter around you as you open your eyes, playing with one of the many bracelets around her wrist. “This room must have belonged to the Countess Richese. It seems it’s not been used in many years; it has a feminine touch that I very much doubt came from Baron Harkonnen.” You giggle lightly, dropping your head to hide your eyes from the now setting sun. You’re sure it’s been dangerous for you to spend this much time out in the sun’s heat, but after so long in a state hidden from the sun entirely, you figure your body will much welcome it.

“It’s also connected to that room.” You point to your left, down to the end of the balcony where lies another entrance door. You smile at the thought of being a mere knock’s distance from your lady, that you may even spend most nights in her bed instead of your own.

“Well then, I do believe it’s perfect.” She purrs against your skin, arms squeezing hard enough against you that you fear she might strangle you if she adds any more pressure. As was Jessica’s way; she always clung to you as if her life truly depended on it, as if someone were trying to tug you away. The strength behind her grasp was always welcomed by you, even when you felt she was going to take the air from your lungs.

Though, Lady Jessica was capable of taking the air from your lungs with only a look. You’ve grown quiet used to lack of breath in her presence.

You are simply entranced by the peach color of the sky around you, the bustling street only becoming louder as the sun tucks itself beneath the horizon. It made perfect sense that Arrakis would be a planet of primarily nocturnal individuals; you could feel the air drop ten degrees when the sun disappeared entirely.

“Don’t you fear someone may see us?” You question, the thought of being caught curled up in your lady’s arms completely enticing, yet when you truly weigh the consequences, it creates a small knot in the pit of your stomach.

“Let them.” Jessica says in her oh-so very serious tone, without an ounce of humor, so you know she’s serious. Her voice vibrates against your skin as she presses her nose to the crook of your neck.

You blush, eyebrows peaking in shock when a small run of lights against the bottom of the balcony suddenly illuminates, seemingly in tune with the sun’s cycle. It seems that every aspect of this land works in tandem with its ruling sun, something that you’ll soon do as well.

You lean back, letting Jessica carry most of your weight, but more careful than normal because of the fatigued state you know she’s in. You play with her fingers, staring up at the moon, trying your hardest to remember the filmbook narrated by a Liet... something…  you couldn’t remember the name, but you knew them as the planetologist. Really you had only spent so many hours retaining this information so that you could impress Jessica with all of your knowledge.

Here's hoping you can remember your fun facts when they’re actually necessary.

“I do hate the thing.” You hum into the warm air, fingers toying at the ring looped around Jessica’s finger. You’re a bit shocked that you’ve made the statement, that you’ve aired one of the many grievances you hold against the duke. You do hope it’s not an overstep.

“What’s that, my love?” Jessica lifts her head from its spot against your shoulder, and you can feel her large green eyes boring into you. Though you won’t turn your head to meet the gaze, you can feel its intensity.

“Oh… it’s nothing, my lady.” You hope your false disinterest in the subject is fooling her, your eyes stuck to the large hand in the moon, admiring how it casts its great glow.

You should be smart enough to never wish foolishness from your lady.

Jessica plants a kiss to your cheek. “I think we’re well past honorifics.” She says, and you can feel her smile against your flesh. “What is it that you so hate, rouhii?”

You have to take a moment, several moments, for your mind to catch up. Not only has the woman you so dearly loved practically just announced that she cares for you enough to forgo the years of formality built up in your relationship, but she’s also spoken in a language that makes your knees go weak. You’ve now leaned into her entirely, but Jessica’s arms are strong enough that she’s holding you up. She won’t let you go anywhere, not until she’s learned of whatever little secret you’re hiding from her.

“I…” You mutter, eyes shutting for a moment for you to find your footing in the conversation again. Your fingers twitch against her jewelry, and you remember what it was that you were talking about. “Your ring.” You finally manage, standing up a bit when you feel your knees aren’t about to give way at any possible second. “I despise it, really.” You know you’re being bold, but you know that’s what Jessica wants. She’s kept in the dark about so many things, that it must be a breath of fresh air for her to hear someone’s true feelings without having to put in the work to hear them.

“Why is that? It’s a gorgeous color, don’t you think?” There’s a satirical tone to her voice as she picks up her hand, fake admiring the ring in the light cast by moons.

“I’ve always disliked green.” Your cheeks are blushed as you turn around in the woman’s arms, looking into her eyes, the green-blue that meets you making you immediately retract your statement. “It’s just that… I hate what it means. That the duke possesses you, yet he will never give you a true ring. I just… You deserve more.” You’re rambling, and you know it, and you lose your ability to maintain eye contact with the woman, so you drop your head.

There’s a smirk on her lips now, but it’s only there to conceal a more genuine expression. It’s hiding the fact that she wants to cry, that she does agree with you, that she wants to rid herself of the duke altogether.

“You think you should be the one that possesses me, then?” She hums, her voice still sly, but now with a tinge of the seriousness that you know to be so purely Jessica.

“No, my lady. Of course not. That’s not at all what I—” You’re cut off when Jessica pulls the ring off her finger and tosses it over the balcony as if it’s no more than a stray leaf that had landed in her hair. Your mouth hangs open, quite shocked that she would take your words so seriously, that she would discard something simply because you conveyed a disliking of it. It’s Jessica’s thin fingers that cup your jaw and force your mouth closed.

“I’ve hated it since the moment that man forced it on my finger.” She hums against your lips before planting a kiss to them, pressing you against the balcony’s railing. “I am yours, and you are mine.” The declaration makes your heart begin drumming a million beats a second, a sudden wave of desperate love for the woman crushes against you. You kiss your lady back feverishly, hands bunching up the remaining fabric at the small of her back, tugging her so that her chest is flush with your own.

“I am yours.” You whisper back in the millisecond you have to breathe between heavy kisses, back arching into the strong, yet so very delicate grasp of your Jessica.

Her tongue swipes against your lower lip, pressing for entrance, which you greedily accept, and you wonder how the Fremen in the deep desert would feel about your current exchange of moisture. The thought doesn’t last long, though, as Jessica’s tongue presently dances with your own, and she’s pressing against you so hard that you’re nearly bent backwards over the railing.

It’s just as her thigh slips eagerly between your own, that there’s a shuffling behind you, a knock on the door. You gasp against her lips before pulling away, licking at the saliva that’s accumulated on your swollen lower lip. You sense Jessica swallowing hard, flushed face whipping towards the door of the bedroom. When no one enters, she turns back to face you.

“Go.” She demands, and her voice is pitched so that there’s a hint of the voice in it, like she’s been caught so off guard that her forcefulness slips out. You immediately obey, and whether it’s on your own volition or if Jessica has truly forced you to, you can’t tell. You race towards the door to enter your own bedroom, praying you haven’t slammed the door behind you too hard.

When your bated breathing has calmed as best as it can, you sit with your ear to the wall shared with Jessica’s room, listening in with hopes of hearing the intruder on the other side. Much to your distaste, you immediately pick the voice out as belonging to the duke.

“Why have you chosen a room so far from my own?” The muffled voice more commands than asks. “You’re lucky you’ve yet to unpack. You’ll select another.”

“I’ll do no such thing.” You can hear the frantic nature of her voice, there’s a light shake that betrays her, but the tone conveys enough of the lady’s confidence that you believe the duke will argue this no further.

Your ears are straining as best as they can, but you’re unable to make out the rest of their conversation. Duke Leto always had a way of lowering his voice when he spoke to Jessica, so that none may hear the distrust that filled each of them when they spoke.

Giving up on your panicked listening, you decide to turn to face the width of your new room. It’s much bigger than the room you’d inhabited on Caladan, if you could even call the thing a room. Your bed was much bigger too. Though you weren’t sure you would be spending much time in it.

It would certainly make do.

You find yourself quite lucky to have your own vanity for the first time in your entire life, and a twinge shoots through your heart when you pull out the wicker chair and sit in front of the mirror. Your cheeks are deeply blushed like it were the middle of winter, lips puffy and small red marks along your jaw from Jessica’s nipping kisses. You never want them to leave. They were a sign of who you belonged to, and you’d have them permanently tattooed to your skin, if the idea didn’t sound so painful. You’ll simply have to have Jessica re-mark you each night, you suppose.

Though it pains you to remove the intricate work your lady had done so thoughtfully this morning, since you still haven’t been brought your bags to change out of your arrival attire, the only thing you can do now is begin to unpin your hair, which is sure to come undone in a mess of curls that you’ll need to tame.

In a while you’ll go to check on your lady, you’re sure you’ll need to mend her spirits and make her a meal with whatever Arrakeen spices you can find in a kitchen, and it pains you to know that she currently stands in a hushed argument with the head of the house, but all you can do now is run your fingers through your hair, thinking about that little green ring that sits in the bottom of a bush in the garden below you.

[cletimz]

|Glimpses of Reality |

Stilgar Ben Fifrawi x OC Fem

WC: 1153

The sound of children’s laughter filled the Atreides Castle, the future heir and the young apprentice of his mother were playing together as the elders discussed the next and most favorable moves for House Atreides.

“Did you find it?” Paul asked as she was looking around for the butterfly they had been chasing. Mileena shook her head “I believe it left to the gardens. We can try to search in there” Paul nodded and the two of them got back to their initial task of catching the butterfly.

Jessica Atreides was looking at them playing from the balcony of the Duke’s office. She was doubting between ending their game as the girl needed to keep her Bene Gesserit training or let them play as her son looked happy at the moment. She chose the second one, she would always choose Paul’s happiness.

“Is it not time for Paul to train his sword skills and Mileena to continue training with you?” The Duke asked as he joined his partner outside of his office. Jessica stumbled a little bit “I thought you were still inside discussing whatever matters those old men bring to you” Leto laughed at her response. “We finished early as expected. I was hoping to attend Paul’s training but I think he’s quite busy right now” The Duke nodded his head to point at the two kids that were jumping in order to catch the butterfly that was flying above their heads.

Jessica laughed and continued observing the two children. When she accepted to train Mileena Almad, she merely did it as the Reverend Mother asked her to do it, and a Bene Gesserit would never deny any petition from her. However, it seems that this was the right choice as the girl immediately connected with her son. She was his first friend from his age; she would not remind him of the duties he has as the Duke’s son like most people do, she was a breath of fresh air to the pressure her son felt.

“Are you still against the arrangement between Mileena and Paul?” He asked as he could not find a reason to explain the negativity from Jessica to this arrangement. “They get along together. When they are older, they will make a happy marriage” Jessica denied with her head “That’s where you are wrong. They will fall in love but not with each other. They will never see each other as their lover” The Duke frowned when he heard that “How would you know that? They live together and will continue this way for more years. It is highly possible that they eventually will look at each other with more than friendship intentions”

She sighed and moved inside to the door of the office to get Mileena to continue her training “I can not speak about Paul as he does not talk to me about certain matters. However, Mileena is always talking to me about the dreams she has. There is a man in her future and it is not Paul” She answered as she closed the door of the office and headed to the garden to get Mileena and Paul to do their duties.

Even if she would show support for this arrangement, she knew the Reverent Mother would not approve it. They held another plan for Mileena and Paul. Jessica Atreides can only rescue one of them from the hands of the Bene Gesserit, and once again, she would choose her son’s happiness above anything.

————————————————————

Time skip (Time period of Dune 1)

————————————————————

There she was, back to this place which has become familiar as she always found herself at it in her dreams.

The hot temperatures and the infinity sand could make any foreigner get on their knees and cry for help to get back home. However, this was not her case. This place was her home, she could feel how her body got along with the sand and became one rhythm. Mileena could not be happier. She finally found peace.

Someone approached her from behind. She already knew who it was by feeling his hands over hers and hugging her body. “You need to get back to sleep, we will leave in a few hours” She rolled her eyes slightly and let out a small laugh at the typical protective behavior from him. “I know and I also know that I can not miss this magnificent view of the sunrise” He kissed her cheek and caressed her growing belly “He might not think the same. I am pretty sure he would prefer his mother to be sleeping right now” Mileena laughed at his response “He likes the sunrises just like his mother” He smiled as he imagined the three of them together. They stayed in that posture for a few minutes until he talked again “Let’s get back inside to rest until everyone wakes up” She nodded supporting his suggestion and when she was about to turn around and look at the man who would always caress her in every dream, she woke up.

She let out a whine of frustration as once again, she could not see the face of the man who was always with her. Mileena tried to get back to rest but it was impossible. She needs an answer to who this man is, the man whom she has always been dreaming about. She decided to get out of her bed as her thoughts filled her mind and she needed a glass of water.

The last person Mileena would like to face on her way to the kitchens in the middle of the night was Jessica Atreides “You are not supposed to be wandering the hallways at this hour. It is dangerous” Mileena stopped in her tracks and turned around to look at her “Castle Atreides has great security. Besides, any fool would dare to attack me taking into account who was my master” The older Bene Gesserit let out a small laugh and nodded at her response “That is correct, it stills intrigued what are you doing awake at this hour? Another dream perhaps?” Mileena denied it with her head “I was reading some books Paul got me yesterday about Arrakis and the Fremen. I lost track of time and I decided to get a glass of water before going to bed”

Jessica knew she was lying. She knew the girl did not want to talk about her dreams anymore, this started when Mileena got older and realized the context in which she is. She needed answers to her questions and nobody would give them to her. She wished to know who her mother was, and why she is always dreaming about that place and that man. The Bene Gesserit preferred to keep these answers away from her as they could be a trouble to the plans they have for her. “I supposed I would not interfere in your way. It is good you are learning about the Fremen and Arrakis. We will be there in a few days and we need to be prepared. You know you can tell me anything, Mileena. I am here for you” The girl thanked her and continued on her way.

She hoped she could believe her as she did when she was younger, things would be easier for her.

Omg this is the first fic I’ever written and it's not even on my first language😭I hope you like it and if you don’t bye bye 🤫🧏🏽‍♀️

[harwinsgirl]

The White Sheep - Harwin Strong X Reader

You are the second born daughter of King Viserys, often referred to as the White Sheep, as you are too pure to be reminiscent of the black and red colors of your family. You fall in love with your personal guard, Harwin Strong. But when he rejects you, you seek to mend your broken heart in the streets of Kings Landing.

(This is the first fic I’m posting on tumblr! Apologies if the formatting is wacky because I’m on mobile! Hope you like it! Angst with a happy ending because I’m a sucker for it, also slight violence/creepy assholes are mentioned)

The evening had been a long one. A feast, followed by rounds of drinking and dancing, welcomed esteemed guests to Kings Landing. Many of them had hoped to grab either yours or your older sister Rhaenyra’s attention. After all, being one of the daughters of the ailing king who had no sons to offer his realm, it became apparent that one of you would rule the Seven Kingdoms one day, at least for a time. Men salivated at the thought of the wealth and prosperity that would be promised by your hand in marriage. All who tried to win your hearts failed miserably, each attempt fizzling out quicker than the one before it as the two of you grew weary of the men vying for your time. You gave up long before your sister and you tried not to note the look of disappointment on your father’s face when you asked for your personal guard, Ser Harwin, to escort you to your chambers. He certainly did not believe the lie you fed him about having caught a chill from the night air, but after several goblets of wine, the king could not have argued if he wanted to. At least not articulately.

Usually you and your knight would discuss the suitors (and all of their shortcomings) in much detail on the walk back into the castle. There would be laughter and giggles and you would fall into a similar stride before you bid each other goodnight. Sometimes he would even sneak in for a nightcap, enjoying a drink or two and spending time conversing with you until the early hours of the morning. However, this time was different.

This event felt more serious to you. There were men that spoke to you with a tone that was entirely too comfortable, as if they expected that you would accept a proposal if it were offered. They knew certain things that you liked, or didn’t. It was clear that someone was feeding them information in an attempt to make you feel more at ease in their presence. Your father wanted you married, and you couldn’t deny him much longer. But deep down you knew that you didn’t want to marry any of the lords on display tonight. The brazen ones, the old lords with aging hair or the young ones full of bravado and unchecked confidence, the ones who couldn’t hide their interest in the jewels you wore, and even the ones who seemed perfectly nice and proper.

You wanted to marry your knight.

Ser Harwin.

Your feelings for him were strong and they always had been. The day you two became introduced was seared into your memory. Curly brown hair that fell above his shoulders, deep cerulean eyes, a voice as gentle as honey but at the same time rough like the sand. You were transfixed. But if he were simply just handsome, your feelings might have been fleeting, chased away by thoughts of your respective duties. But Harwin was so much more than his looks. He was charming and he had a quick wit about him. Aside from your sister, you rarely had the pleasure of interacting with someone who wasn’t afraid of showing you their true personality, and Harwin was always his authentic self. He was courteous and kind but also lively, full of quips and quiet barbs that never failed to make you laugh. Your personal guard soon became your dearest friend and confidant, and your love only grew deeper from there.

You had been described as the white sheep of your family. Typically one would say black, but you were always described as pure and chaste, the traditional black and red colors of your family not matching your nature. Even your fury had a quietness to it. Having a fiery firstborn sister like Rhaenyra meant that you were hardly noticed or mentioned as an afterthought. Which hardly bothered you, as the freedom your sister so badly craved was almost second nature to you. Although still bound by duty and shackled by royalty, you were afforded much more privacy, whether you chose to hide in the expanse of a library or the greens of the gardens. There was a comfort in aloneness, but there were times where it was too much to bear, where it started to creep into the territory of being forgotten. But Harwin chased away any feelings of loneliness simply by being in the room with you. He made you feel seen, appreciated, even loved.

“We have arrived, princess.” Harwin said quietly, breaking you from your thoughts. Something was off about him too. He hadn’t said a word the whole way back to your room. You didn’t know if you should take comfort in that or not.

“So we have.” You felt a sudden rush of adrenaline course through you, like a flash of fire in your belly. He had to know how you felt. And if not now, then when? Time to talk of these matters was beginning to dwindle, and you knew it. “Would you join me for a moment, Ser Harwin?”

He hesitated. There was a playfulness between you two that he had to come to expect. If things were still truly lighthearted in nature, you wouldn’t have had to ask. You would’ve grabbed him by the arm and dragged him inside already. The first time you had done so he was rightfully alarmed, squabbling about the indecency of it all, but it became such a regular occurrence that he began to just shake his head and take his place in one of the tufted arm chairs that adorned your room.

“The hour has grown late. You should retire soon, princess.” He said gently.

“Please ser,” your voice was heavy and thick with emotion, “I must talk with you.”

Harwin sighed and made a motion for you to enter first. He closed the door behind the two of you and stood in front of it.

The fire inside you started to die, washed away with waves of dread. You didn’t know how to broach the subject, and so you stood there awkwardly, wringing your hands until you mustered the courage to speak. “My father wishes for me to marry.”

Harwin nodded in agreement. “Every man wishes to see his daughter contented with marriage. You knew this day would come. Your father has more at stake compared to others in this same situation. Of course he’s going to try and introduce you to suitors, princess.”

“I do not wish to marry them. I do not love them.”

“My lady-“

“I love you, Ser Harwin.”

Harwin’s expression was unreadable. He had never looked so serious, at least in your presence. You watched him swallow and clear his throat, shifting uncomfortably against the door. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before flashing you a small smile. “You flatter me, princess.”

It wasn’t the reaction you were hoping for, but you were undeterred. “I do not intend flatter you ser. I only speak the truth. I love you, Harwin Strong. I want to be your wife.” You approached him and took one of his gloved hands, placing it against your cheek as you looked up at him. He let out a heavy sigh, closing his eyes again as he stroked your cheek softly. You leaned into his touch and took another step closer, only to be met with him pulling his hand back to place it gingerly on your shoulder, holding you in place.

“My princess, I’m afraid you may be confusing love with infatuation.” Harwin spoke barley above a whisper. His expression was pained, which did nothing to ease the sensation of your heart breaking. “You are so young. There are men who are more suited to be your partner than me. You’ll come to understand this.”

“Very well ser. I thank you for your time and honesty,” you said politely, a fake smile plastered over your face. Of course he didn’t love you. Why hadn’t you seen it before? You were too young, too inexperienced for a man like him. He thought nothing more of you than a silly girl with a crush. Worse, he probably only thought of you as a job, a chore, a burden. All of those memories of his company that once brought you great happiness were tainted with the thought of him counting down the minutes until he could leave. You would not waste his time any longer, you decided.

“The hour has grown late, as you said. I shall bid you goodnight.” You turned and faced the fireplace, hot tears streaming down your face. You bit down on your lip to swallow a sharp cry that threatened to spill forth. Despite your best efforts, Harwin knew immediately how upset you were. He took a step closer to you and began to speak again.

“Princess-“

“Goodnight, Ser Harwin.” You said coldly, not turning to look at him.

You heard the sound of Harwin’s armor clinking softly as he bowed. The creak of the door signaled his exit. Only then did you collapse onto the floor and let out a sob that wracked your whole body. Tears continued to spill until no more could come forth. Your eyes felt heavy, and soon sleep overcame you.

You refused to be seen by your handmaidens the next morning. You also refused breakfast. The only good thing about this affliction of the heart was that it gave credence to your “chill of the night” excuse that you gave your father the evening before.

You did not leave your room the entire day.

When the day had waned and night was beginning to fall, someone knocked on the door and inquired about dinner. Your stomach rumbled at the thought but your appetite immediately soured at the thought of Harwin being outside the door. You declined dinner as well.

Your sister insisted on a maester being sent in to examine you but you managed to charm your way out of that as well. You just wanted to be alone.

You walked over to your window at one point and took in a view of the kingdom as it lit up the dark.

Harwin had practically implied that you were too inexperienced to be his woman. That you were a spoiled, privileged princess that did not know anything of the real world.

That was going to change, tonight.

You sent word for one of your handmaidens to see you at once. You gnawed at your fingernails as the moments passed until finally you heard a small timid knock at your door. You practically pulled her inside by her arm, closing the door quickly in case your knight was waiting outside.

“My lady, we have been worried about you today.” The handmaiden spoke softly. “Are you ill? Can I send for anything for you?”

“I just need your clothes.” You said quickly, trying to ease the confused look on her face with a dismissive wave. “I promise I will take good care of them. I will give you one of my jeweled necklaces as a thank you. This means a lot to me.”

Excited by the promise of your jewelry, the young girl nodded furiously and started to disrobe. You gave her one of your nightdresses to change into and told her to wait several moments before returning to her quarters. After she left, you took great care into tucking your hair into the white cap that she had left you. It amazed you that once you had hidden your signature Targaryen locks and changed your dress that you went from Princess of Dragonstone to handmaiden, all except for the hint of lilac in your eyes.

Your sister had taught you how to escape from the Red Keep before, and even though it had been years, you weaved through the damp tunnels expertly. Once you were outside the main gates, you paused. This was the farthest you had ever gotten before. Rhaenyra was much more adventurous than you, and after she failed to persuade you to join her, she would take off anyway. You admired her fearlessness as you watched her disappear down the road until she was out of sight. You would always wait for her to return, curled up in a cloak as the night air nipped at you. She never chided you for not coming. If anything, when she would come back she would reward you with some little trinket, joking that you were the better of the two and you deserved something for it.

Your sister would have an entire evening of freedom and exhilaration, and you would choose the comfort of the steps of your home, every time.

Not this time.

You hurriedly rushed down the same road your sister took all those years ago, your fears and doubts biting at your insides until you reached the outskirts of Kings Landing. The darkness of night ebbed away with torches and lanterns that were lit in the city streets. You were amazed at how many people were up at the late hour. Men and women drinking, laughing, crowding the roads as they made their way towards taverns and street shows. Vendors offering cooked meats and shoddy jewelry. Drunkards spitting and coughing up their wine, couples intertwined and dancing as bards filled the night air with love songs. It was all too much, too fast, but you were determined to drink it up. Hesitant, you were light on your feet as you took in all of the sights as fast as you could, maneuvering through different alleys as you continued your journey. The farther away you were from home, the better you began to feel. A caged princess, finally experiencing life. Gone were the thoughts of a dutiful, handsome knight who wanted nothing to do with you, banished by the adrenaline of new sights and sounds. You rounded a corner and found yourself in an alleyway that seemed far less lit than the others you came from.

“A handmaiden? A bit surprising to see one of you out and about, aren’t you supposed to stay inside the Red Keep at all times?” You froze, turning to find the owner of the low, ominous voice. A man, who couldn’t be that much older than you, was leaning against a back wall, most of his form still shrouded in darkness.

“Excuse me sir?” You said, internally wincing at how meek you sounded.

“You’re a servant. You’re supposed to stay put, in case you need to serve.” He pushed himself off of the wall and made his way over to you. The first thing you noticed about him was his smell, his breath reeked of ale. Still, the way he approached you was similar to a wolf stalking it’s prey, and you began to feel fear pooling in the pit of your stomach. You hadn’t thought to bring a weapon.

“I’ve seen a few of you out before during the day, fetching things for your ladies. But what could you be doing out in the city during an hour so late? You must’ve snuck out, haven’t you?” He snaked one hand around your waist, drumming his fingers against the velvet skirt of your gown.

“Leave me alone, ser. I have places to be.” You said firmly.

“Insolent. I pity you though, such a pretty little thing without anyone to protect her. I’ll make sure you get home safe, in exchange for your company for the rest of the night.” He smirked, tightening his grip on you. Frantically, you turned your head to look for any passerby to scream for. Immediately sensing your distress, his hand gripped your neck tightly in attempt to silence you before you could try.

“Brat. I’ll remind you what it means to serve.” He snarled.

A quick flash of silver appeared before your eyes before you heard the soft squelch of flesh. Scarlet blood splattered against the white cream fabric of your corset. The man’s hand had been sliced clean off with a sword. He let out the loudest howl you had ever heard as he collapsed back onto the dirt. Quickly, you turned to face the man who attacked him and your blood ran cold. Harwin Strong was wiping his sword clean with a cloth, glaring down at the sniveling man with the burning hatred of a thousand suns. You had never seen this blind fury from him before. You stood rooted to the spot, partly in fear from what would happen next.

“I would say unhand the lady, but I took the liberty of doing that for you.” Harwin spat at him, taking your arm forcefully. “You are lucky no more will come from this, rapist. If the lady wasn’t present, you would have a lot more to lose.”

Harwin’s grip on you was painful but you were too scared to do anything more than follow him as he weaved his way through the crowds, signaling his approach with a grunt to warn others to move out of his way. You earned a couple of a looks from different folk, some of them murmuring about what trouble you must be in for a white cloak to have apprehended you. You tried your best to hide under your bonnet and keep your eyes focused on the road ahead of you. Your night of freedom had nearly cost you your virtue and you were in a significant amount of trouble, should Harwin choose to rat you out to your father.

The sounds of the city began to dwindle as the two of you started to get closer to the castle walls. Harwin had yet to acknowledge you, save the vice grip he continued to have on your arm. Timidly, you began to test the waters. You tapped on his shoulder and waited for him to turn around, to no avail.

You cleared your throat. “Harwin?”

“We are not speaking.” Was his reply.

“What?”

“I said no speaking. I am so angry with you that I do not trust my words.” He said plainly, almost indifferently. Anger started to bubble inside you.

Why the hell was he angry with you? He made it abundantly clear that he did not return your affections. You had spent the entire day pouring over your time together, and each memory led to the realization that you were the instigator. You asked him to be your guard. You asked for his company. You pulled him into your chambers for more time with him, and he used to object to it before giving in to your whims. You were blind to it before, but it was evident that you had essentially held the man hostage in your life. And you wanted no more of it.

“Angry with me? Why? What I do in my own time is no business of yours-“

“Except that it is!” He roared. I am your knight, your sworn protector, and you left the safety of the Keep! How the hell is that not my business?”

Your eyes widened.

You had forgotten to send your letter.

“I am so sorry ser,” you said timidly. Your eyes were cast down, so you didn’t notice the way he flinched at your formality and the softness of your voice. “It slipped my mind this day, I genuinely was not feeling well. I had written a letter to my father, asking for you to be absolved of this role.”

Stunned, Harwin could only watch as your wrought your hands together with nervousness. “Please do not be angry. I did not write anything that would implicate that you did not perform your duties well. In fact, I asked if you could be promoted to the Commander of the City Watch. You would be an excellent commander, even now I can see how well you can handle the brutishness of the city. It would mean a higher wage and nicer quarters as well.” You stopped and looked at him in the eyes. “I only want good things for you, Ser Harwin. Many thanks for taking such good care of me these years. Gods know that you are due for a promotion after all this time in a position you never asked for, nor wanted. I should’ve vouched for you a lot sooner, and spared you from my company.”

“I decline.” He said, firmly.

“I must insist,” you said, smiling sadly. “Again, I am sorry I did not realize sooner.”

“Realize what, may I ask, princess?” Harwin said with an exasperated sigh.

“That you detest me.” You said, cocking your head to the side with confusion. Then you righted yourself, as you had another epiphany. “I know why you are upset.”

“Wha-“

“You are slighted because I am a woman and I am deciding your future, is that not correct? If you do not need my letter-“

“No more talking.” Harwin said bristly. He took your arm and took you off the path towards the Red Keep, which you could see looming in the distance. He led you through a dense thicket, pushing at branches as he made his way to a small creek that bubbled past calmly. It seemed like he knew this area and had been here before. To your surprise, he placed both hands on your shoulder to keep you steady before dropping to his knees in front of you.

“First, my lady, please do not ever insinuate again that I would ever take offense at a woman acting in my interest. A woman brought me into this world. I have nothing but respect for your kind, and I would’ve hoped that you knew that of my character.”

Before you could speak, he took both of your hands in his and squeezed gently, a silent plea for you to let him finish. “I know that what I said last night has planted seeds of doubt in your mind. And for that, I am sorry. What I said was not a rejection, or a dismissal, despite what you may have felt. In good conscience, when I thought about the differences of our statuses, and what I could offer you, I deemed it was best to gently remove myself from your consideration. I could not imagine that being the heir to Harrenhal was enough to persuade your father into taking me as a son-in-law. I wanted to save both of us the anguish of being told we could not love each other.”

He looked down momentarily, only to meet with your eyes again, tears starting to form as he spoke with thick emotion. “But by the gods, was I wrong. I hate myself for implying that your love for me could be fleeting. The sounds of your crying pricked at my heart and I wanted nothing more than to hold you in my arms. Knowing that I had done that to you, it still wounds me, even now.”

He sniffled and shook his head slightly, casting aside the tears that fell. You were still absolutely bewildered by this encounter. Harwin had shared many sides of himself that you were certain many were not as fortunate to see, but you had never seen him so emotional. You had surely never seen him cry.

He cleared his throat and continued again once he regained composure. “When I first came to the estate, I knew I wanted purpose, in whatever form that it came in. But in my short time in Kings Landing, I had already begun to detest it. The nobles were stuffy and the townsfolk deplorable, in a general sense. I was surrounded by so much filth. I found small pockets to escape in, such as this one, and I found beauty in them, but I was not tasked with defending a creek. But I knew I could do my job well enough, no matter the circumstances.”

“And then I met you. The tamest Targaryen. The quiet beauty. Very obviously overlooked, and I could tell in a sense that you enjoyed that. But the way your eyes met mine, that first day we met, it was like you were asking me to know you, and instantly it felt like I had. I don’t think you know this, but I asked to be your guard before you requested it.”

The look on your face confirmed that for him, and he continued. “I knew instantly I had found my purpose. To guard the rarest gem. To keep you safe, to love you in all the ways I could. Listening to you recite poetry and bringing you small plates when you grew hungry. Guiding you to your chambers after long nights. You were absolutely divine and I swore to defend you no matter what.”

“Do you think me a child, Ser Harwin?” You asked quietly. His words were as sweet as cherry wine, but you also worried that perhaps his love was not romantic, but more born from duty and respect. You were after all, the white sheep, and it would make sense for a man as honorable as Harwin to be drawn to you, only to become devoted to your protection.

Harwin smiled and brought one of your hands to kiss it. “Not in the slightest my lady. There’s a difference between being demure and innocent and being naive. You are no child, you are no fool. I only refused your offer because I thought you deserved better. Never because I doubted your conviction. In my attempt to be gentle, I made you feel so low about yourself. Again, I am sorry.”

“What do we do now?” You said softly, staring back into his deep blue eyes. “You do not want to join the city watch, but you do not want my hand-“

“My dearest love, I have rambled on for far too long, because the reason I am on my knees is to ask for your hand.” Harwin said plainly. You let out a small gasp as Harwin produced a small ring, embedded with a white gem in the center.

“Targaryen red never suited you my love, I hope a diamond will suffice.” He said with a grin.

“You are asking me to be your wife?” You said, a hint of incredulousness in your voice.

“Yes my dear lady. Exactly as you said. I am asking you. Your opinion matters most. I will deal with our fathers after the fact, but this is and should be your decision. It may take convincing but ultimately I do believe your father loves you enough to ensure your happiness. I just may need to bring you along to sing my praises.” Harwin held up the ring to you again. “Please, my greatest love. Honor me by allowing me to be your husband. Forgive me for being a fool and denying you. I swear to be yours and only yours for as long as I live.”

You nodded and extended your hand for him, allowing him to slide the ring onto your finger. When you let out a small, happy giggle, a huge grin washed over his face as he stood up and lifted you in his arms, spinning you around as he held you close. His lips were upon yours in an instant, flooding you with a feeling of warmth as he pressed kiss after kiss to your lips, leaving them red and tender.

“I have the most beautiful lady wife in the seven kingdoms!” He practically howled.

When he put you down, his smile faded into a tight line. “Who is also in a world of trouble, sneaking off into the city. That is the first and only time you pull a stunt like that. You will never cause me such grief again.”

“I am sorry, lord husband.” You said wrapping your arms around him and resting against his chest.

“You mustn’t look at me with those big beautiful eyes. I forget my anger when you look at me like that.” He said quietly, his fingers cradling your face.

“You’ve told me your weakness, Harwin. Now that is your mistake.” You said with a grin. He peered down at you and pressed his forehead to yours.

“I’m beginning to suspect you are not as pure as you present yourself, dear lady of mine.”

“I never was.”