#v. warden of the north ⋯ others

[bruiisedpetals-a]

         𝔞  𝔱𝔞𝔩𝔢  𝔬𝔣  𝔞  𝔡𝔯𝔞𝔤𝔬𝔫  𝔦𝔫  𝔱𝔥𝔢  𝔫𝔬𝔯𝔱𝔥  ,   @gevidana | @bruiisedpetals

[swordgrace]

𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐄.

༺ cregan stark x fem!northern!reader.

SYNOPSIS: a longtime friend of cregan stark, you seek him out to train you with a longsword. though, a duel in the wolfswood leaves you with more of a desire for other things instead of swordplay.

anonymous request.

༺ FORMAT: one-shot — requested.

༺ WORD COUNT: 9.3K.

༺ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), friends to lovers, sexual tension, mutual possessiveness, size difference / size kink, cregan is much bigger than the reader, dominant cregan, cregan is a big, brooding hunk, sexually-charged dueling, p in v sex (unprotected), multiple positions, all stark men have a breeding kink, neck biting / marking (biting in general), rough sex, cunnilingus / oral sex (fem!receiving), hair pulling, fingering, groping, light bruising, mild manhandling, soft ending & soft aftercare.

༺ AUTHOR’S NOTE: You can tell that I’m inspired because I’m putting out fanfics at the pace of a madman. I absolutely loved this request, huge thanks to the anon who gave me this wonderful idea and allowed me to bring it to life! ❤️ I loved writing for Cregan and I definitely wouldn’t mind doing so again! Thank you to all the love & support, you all mean the world to me! Enjoy!

“𝐈𝐟 𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐰𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝 — 𝐈 𝐰𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐫.”

Lord Cregan Stark’s usual stoicism held a vast amount of protectiveness, the desire to better you in the right way, the Northern way. You had been taught all about swordplay by your father, but through the years, as you grew into your place as Lady of Barrowton, your skills had declined.

Ladies of your station were admonished for possessing any inclination of violence — a woman could not hold a sword, she could only hold an embroidery needle. A woman could not rule, only guide the men that do, and a woman could not become tempestuous, for it meant that she was simply a bad product or undesirable.

Thankfully, Cregan defied all expectations and pledged to teach you, hone your skills again from the ground up, if necessary. You could not be anymore grateful to him for assuming that mantle when he didn’t have to.

Your longstanding relationship with the Warden of the North, Cregan Stark, was the byproduct of many childhood years spent together — it was often you, Cregan, and his late younger brother. A deadly trio, to be sure, running through the Wolfswood and terrorizing Winterfell with typical childish antics.

The joy of youth had begun to run dry — you were nine-and-ten now, Cregan one-and-twenty, ruling over the entirety of the North. Your father was Lord Roderick Dustin, Lord of Barrowton and an infamous fighter, bannerman to House Stark. Of course, his duties were often torn between Barrowton and Winterfell, and so you were left in the care of your uncle.

Learning to fight again as a man would involve many hours and countless sessions held within the Godswood behind the Great Keep. It was only a handful of times each week, provided that Cregan was able to attend despite the rest of his duties.

His closest advisors had beseeched him to abandon teaching you, to let it die and rest with those with more time on their hands. Cregan refused to leave you in the hands of a less capable swordsman — what good was that, letting you learn the wrong way?

A crow’s cry reverberated throughout the Wolfswood, the beat of a flock soaring through the heavily wooded hills. Your sessions inevitably relocated from the Godswood to here, to allow for the cover of privacy and a lack of wandering eyes.

Hardened earth had turned damp and muddy in the presence of a deluge days before, certainly not sturdy ground for true fighting, but it would prove to be a challenge for the both of you. Rain wasn’t common in the North, but it proved to be quite a nuisance whenever it fell — and it fell hard.

He was under great scrutiny for doing this anyway, and Cregan preferred to keep the lectures of old men at-bay for a time, if he could. The young Lord sat beneath the sprawling branches of a massive oak tree, his horse tethered several feet away.

Using a sharpening stone, he turned dull steel into razor-sharp weapons, abandoning the practice swords he often brought with him whenever he met with you. That happened to be another point of contention — meeting with a young maiden, alone in the woods, without any chaperone.

Cregan would never tarnish your honor or sully your dignity — betrothal was inevitable for a man of his station, but he wanted to forget about it. Things were easier when it was just the two of you, sparring in the woods — he did not feel so weighed-down by duty, by leadership.

He felt less like the Warden of the North and simply Cregan Stark.

The mantle of leadership had become heavier with the visit of Jacaerys Velaryon, Prince of Dragonstone, asking that he supply his mother’s armies with Northmen. House Stark was an honorable one — he wasn’t about to break vows of fealty sworn before the late King Viserys to make his daughter heir.

It meant that war was on the horizon, a war that would involve himself and his people, a war that held the potential to rip the realm asunder. Cregan had prepared himself for a time like this, when oaths and honor transcended old traditions. Whatever storm was approaching, he was prepared to face it head-on.

His head lifted from admiring polished steel, gray eyes searching for the dappled coat of your horse as it thundered through the Wolfswood. His heart felt lighter when his gaze found you, guiding your steed toward his own to tether it to a sturdy branch.

Love was a dangerous thing, just as perilous as any war fought by men — both on different fronts. Cregan had lost plenty in his life, and he feared losing you. This friendship you had, it almost seemed to take on a life of its own, abandoning the line of propriety and molding into something else, something affectionate.

Cregan didn’t know what he felt for you, but he knew that it wasn’t anything a friend should feel.

Despite the bitter chill of the North, the day was temperate enough, one where he didn’t feel the desire to wear a heavy cloak or layer himself in furs. The adrenaline of swordplay often got his blood rushing anyway, and he would be hot by the time this was all said and done.

The cheer and excitement you often felt was displayed so openly upon your face, lips curled into a bright smile. Cregan had teased you for being too amiable for a Northerner, but admittedly, he looked forward to seeing your sweet countenance and sparkling eyes. There was a warmth you possessed, a warmth hot enough to keep him comfortable when in your presence.

“Dour, as always,” You hummed, dismounting from your gelding with a look of mild amusement. You abandoned the lengthy silks and pretty dresses of a maiden whenever you came to train, outfitted with leather armor that seemed somewhat ill-fitting on you. “I wish to see you smile, Cregan.”

With a sardonic huff, a twinkle reached Cregan’s stormy-gray eyes as he looked to you, brows furrowing together. “I suppose you caught me on an odd day,” He replied, placing the sharpening stone upon the pillar of flat rock he sat atop. “Duties of the Warden of the North.” He sighed, turning his eyes toward the dismal skies.

You could detect his stress from where you stood, moving closer to him until you reached the smooth rock, taking a seat at his side. “Something is wrong,” You stated. Despite the constant banter you shared, you were still friends — Cregan wore his exhaustion on his sleeve in moments of vulnerability. “What is it?”

His shoulders rolled in a shrug, letting the blade of his longsword turn downward into the dirt, its weight resting against his thigh. “Winter is here,” Cregan murmured, countenance etched with a somber look. “War is brewing in the South. I am torn on two fronts.”

The conflict between Rhaenyra and King Aegon II — you knew of it. The realm was prepared to rip itself apart instead of seeing a woman’s ascension, something that you felt a great deal of sympathy for. “What will you do?” You inquired, able to see the furling of tension within his body, even beneath his sparring leathers.

“Uphold the oath made before King Viserys I, and before the realm,” Cregan replied, his eyes filled with something stern and solemn. He would never break an oath — it wasn’t something Northerners took lightly. “We swore to see the ascension of Rhaenyra Targaryen, and we shall fulfill it. I’ve pledged two-thousand greybeards to send South, when the time comes.”

The admiration you felt for Cregan only grew tenfold — it was the Cregan Stark that you had felt affection for, grown fond of. He was honorable, a gentle yet powerful man who wielded leadership with thoughtfulness and integrity. Your lips curled into a warm smile, as smoldering as a summer’s eve as you reached his arm.

“You’re a good man, Cregan.” It was all that needed to be said. There were plenty more sentiments conveyed in your softening stare alone — many things left unspoken, but some of it boiling beneath the surface.

A soft huff escaped him before he shook his head, dismissing your praise with a shrug of his shoulder. “I do what any honorable man would do,” He murmured, but the both of you knew it wasn’t true. Cregan showed great humility even when he didn’t need to. He moved to his feet, holding a longsword in each hand. “But we didn’t come here to speak of a grim future.”

The noticeable difference in stature was a point of teasing between the both of you, and one that Cregan took full advantage of. You stood across from him, head canting to one side. “The only grim future that I see is your face, my Lord.” You chimed, and he let out a mirthful scoff at your prodding and playful use of his title.

He stepped closer, offering you the glimmering blade of a longsword. Your surprise was noteworthy, and he very nearly made a comment, electing to hold his tongue. Cregan knew how to handle a blade — he was a talented swordsman, seasoned and experienced despite his age.

“These are real,” You stated, feeling the weight of the blade within your hand. You half expected the practice swords, but this was a welcome surprise. “Do you think that this is wise?” Admittedly, there was a pang of fear at the thought of swinging a real sword. What if you accidentally maimed him?

Cregan huffed, visage one of stoicism despite the amusement that crept into his stern, Northern timbre. “You’ll have to learn to leave the play-fighting behind, my Lady,” He murmured, watching as you white-knuckled the hilt. He was surprised that your hand didn’t rip apart. “Don’t hold it too tight.”

With a sharp exhale, you glanced at Cregan, whose gray eyes were akin to the onslaught of a winter storm, dark-chestnut tresses framing his face. He was beginning to grow a bit of scruff on his face, likely a byproduct of the stress of his duties.

He was handsome — Northern perfection made flesh and bone, a gentle mountain of a man. In your youth, you had always fancied Cregan to some degree, but his birthright often prevented you from acting on impulse. Then again, it was best left as a fantasy.

You froze when his hand wrapped around yours, calloused digits forcing your grip to loosen. “Don’t keep your hands together,” Cregan rumbled, repositioning your grip — one toward the top of the hilt, and the other closer to the pommel. “You’re acting as if this is day one.” He challenged, and that got your attention.

“It’s heavier,” You murmured, recoiling away with a disdainful expression. Cregan knew that he was beginning to get a rise out of you, lips twitching into the ghost of a smirk. “It’s not as easy to handle as the swords we used before.”

“Did you expect a longsword to weigh as much as a feather?” Cregan inquired, attempting to smother his amusement when you rolled your eyes at him. He prepared himself, squaring up into an attack formation, handling his ancestral blade with ease.

A scoff escaped you, and you mirrored his stance, holding the blade to the best of your ability. There was a burn in your arms from the newfound weight, but you pretended that it didn’t bother you. “I might throw this feather at you.” You grumbled, and at last, that earned you a brief chuckle from Cregan.

“Ready yourself,” He warned, circling you with steady steps. Cregan knew that he wouldn’t hold back for your sake — you were strong enough to take it. You insisted upon it many times before, even if he was initially reluctant to do so. “Don’t hold back.”

With a soft grunt, you brazenly charged at Cregan, hoping that it would catch him by surprise. He seemed to be expecting this, nimbly dodging your sloppy charge as he stepped to the side. You swiveled around, blades clanging together as they reverberated throughout the Wolfswood.

The silver of steel glinted within the pale rays of sunlight glistening through the canopy above. Cregan maintained a stalwart expression, though it began to crack at the seams as you swung again. He parried the blow, shuffling within the fallen leaves and damp earth.

“You’re swinging like a drunkard,” Cregan quipped, knowing that you were smarter than this. In one smooth stroke, he shoved you aside, grabbing the bicep of your sword arm. “Don’t fight like one.” He grunted, brows furrowing together as you struggled within his ironclad grasp.

In a brief stroke of genius, you smacked Cregan’s side with the pommel of your longsword, causing him to loosen his hold as you shimmied away. He let out a grunt, watching as you quickly made distance. It was a dirty fighting tactic — he most certainly didn’t teach you that.

The flash of a triumphant smile crept onto your features, but not before the King in the North charged forth, the both of you bringing your swords up. Something blossomed between the both of you, a strange tension fueled by unspoken feelings. Cregan bared his weight down upon you, causing you to maneuver to the side in order to evade him.

There was a fire within his eyes whenever he fought, a spark that turned into a bright flame. Adrenaline made his blood run hot, and the more the two of you brought your swords together, moving about as if it were a dance, the more enticed and invigorated he became.

Cregan found you beautiful, strands of hair sticking to your shimmering temples, framing your creased brow. The concentration written upon your visage was enough to make him pause, admire the intricacies and commit them to memory. Even when you wore men’s garb to spar, you were still enchanting.

You were perfect when fighting, pouring all of your efforts into beating him, if that were a possibility. Cregan didn’t want to doubt you, knowing that you possessed a raging inner fire, a quiet strength that grew with the tenacity of a wolf whenever you were provoked.

Steel ripped against steel, the duel commencing deep within the heart of the Wolfswood. His heart hammered with excitement, breath hot and labored as he parried another one of your quick, flourishing strikes.

He pressed his advance, barreling forward as he began to back you toward the rock underneath a sprawling tree of reddish leaves. Cregan noticed the panicked look in your eyes, the way in which you tried every move he’d taught you to gain distance.

“The wolf descends, my Lady. Think hard,” Cregan rumbled, wanting you to try and get out of this situation. “The enemy will not wait — they will strike, and you will end up here.” You were intelligent, a quick thinker — he wanted you to be smarter than this.

In what you considered to be another dirty tactic, you kicked a mound of damp dirt in his direction, providing enough of a distraction for you to hop the gap. Again, it only seemed to corral you into a corner. You attempted to swing down with an overhead strike, but Cregan very nearly knocked you into the ground.

“Never strike like that again, unless you want a blade through your belly,” He grunted, watching with mild awe as you brought it down to the side instead, forcing him to parry. Both of your blades locked at the side, struggling to maintain your balance. “Good.”

The dance continued, becoming a game of wit — outthinking and outmaneuvering the other, blades clashing again and again. He pressed you back into a corner as he had before, the distance slim. Cregan didn’t want you to yield — he knew that you wouldn’t.

Anticipation grew, and you found yourself weighing the odds. Perhaps you were simply too prideful to surrender to Cregan, even if all of this was a learning moment. Either way, you continued to fend him off with quick slashes of your blade, to no avail.

The rock became dangerously close, nearly brushing against your back as Cregan pressed his advantage. In a stroke of what you deemed as desperate thinking, you lashed out with a mule kick to his sword hand, loosening his grip enough to knock it away.

You shoved him with all of your strength, and much to your own surprise, he fell right into the dirt. Your heart hammered within your chest, and seeing the King of the North strewn across the ground made you feel some sense of victory.

Cregan huffed, brows knitting together as he stared at you from below, quickly recuperating. “I didn’t teach you to fight like a sellsword.” He grunted, but he had to admit, it was good thinking on your end — even if it was dirty and unsportsmanlike.

A smile fluttered across your features as you wiped the sweat from your brow, preparing to assail Cregan with whatever witty blows you could think of. “It wouldn’t hurt you to learn a thing or two.” You mused, canting your head to one side.

With a stoic grunt, Cregan decided to employ a dirty tactic of his own. It was a playful move, acted out without any malice and instead, wanting to hear the end of your teasing. He lashed out with his boot, sweeping your legs right out from underneath you.

Cregan smirked, watching as you buckled and toppled over, though he never intended for you to unceremoniously land right on top of him. You dropped your longsword somewhere along the way, forehead narrowly avoiding smacking into the hard earth. Cregan caught you before that could happen.

With labored breaths, you immediately hit his chest with a light punch, not enough to ever cause any real harm. “What was that for?” You grumbled, realizing how close the both of you were. He was a large man, warm and muscular beneath you.

“I’ve learned a thing or two, my Lady.” Cregan corrected, a twinkle within his stormy-gray eyes. When he fully noticed the compromising position the both of you were in, his breath hitched slightly. There was nothing stopping him from grabbing your hips and kissing you then and there.

Before fantasy could become reality, you hastily rolled off of him, feeling a light sting of arousal growing between your thighs. You wanted to avoid such a disaster — Cregan was your friend, he was the King in the North. To ascend all bonds of propriety and try for something more would be improper.

He stayed on the ground for a moment longer, moving into a sitting position as he shook his head. “Throwing dirt, pommel-striking, and kicking,” Cregan remarked, planting a palm atop his knee. “Have you been training without me?”

“Never,” You wouldn’t dare seek out another swordsman — there were none like Cregan Stark. “I wouldn’t dream of having another teacher,” You hesitated, lips twitching into a bemused smile. “Though, if I am not mistaken, you do sound jealous.”

Cregan happened to stand before you did, outstretching a gloved hand for you to take. You did, murmuring your gratitude as he hauled you up and right into the expanse of his chest, emblazoned with the direwolf of House Stark. There was something indiscernible within his eyes, steely yet softening in sight of you.

The unusual tension had crackled from mere sparks to an open flame, your throat becoming tight as Cregan’s gaze bored into you. His shadow swallowed you whole, wisps of dark, chestnut hair sticking to his face, perspiration glittering across his temples. You still held his hand, watching as his jaw tensed.

“I sound jealous, my Lady?” Cregan rumbled, timbre gentle and thick with his Northern accent. The closer he pressed, the more the reality of the situation dawned upon you, keeping you grounded. You were afraid of resorting to action, afraid that something would happen to tear you both apart.

It was easy to tear down your teasing, playful side to nothing more than a smitten maiden when Cregan huskily addressed you that way. His eyes momentarily flickered across your beautiful features, particularly the soft curve of your mouth, and what little of your neck had been exposed to him.

You swallowed the growing lump within your throat, lips parting as a soft exhale escaped you. “You do,” You whispered, searching his countenance for any sign of discomfort or hesitation. When you found none, you began to lean up, rocking closer than ever before. “Quite jealous.”

Cregan silenced you with a kiss, one that could melt even the hardiest of ice. It was blazing and passionate, yet slow enough to savor the moment. You reciprocated, palms flat atop his chest as he wrapped a thick, bulky arm around your hips, hauling you in until no sliver of space remained.

You kissed him fervently, allowing your many months of smothered affection to boil over. Despite Cregan’s indomitable, intimidating appearance, he was as gentle as they came. He handled you with respect, his other hand coming to seize your waist, kneading into your curves through your sparring leathers.

Tension boiled over, fueling the fire that had been stoked between the both of you for some time. Ravenous was a mere understatement — you wanted Cregan then and there, if he would indulge you. The ground was muddy and certainly no place to bed.

He bit at your lower lip with a grunt, brows furrowed together in concentration. He hunched in on you, bringing you flush against his body, heat replacing the bitter sting of the Northern chill. Cregan was rough, but inherently passionate with how he treated you — no malice, simply a wolf’s hunger.

“Cregan,” You huffed, mouth agape as you attempted to regain your composure. Whatever restraint you had was hanging on by a mere thread, prepared to snap. “I …” Admittedly, you were at a loss for words, still reeling from the shock of having your affections reciprocated.

His mouth pressed against your jaw as he buried his scruffy visage into the crook between your neck and shoulder. “Seems you’re cold, my Lady.” Cregan grunted, feeling the onslaught of gooseflesh that had permeated your skin, continuing to prickle along your spine.

With a brief chuckle, you reached for his chestnut tresses, tugging on his hair in order to bring him closer. “Fortunately, I have the King in the North to keep me warm,” You hummed, gasping when he brazenly groped at your haunch, strong hands kneading into you. “I want you, if you’ll have me.”

“Here?” Cregan uttered, timbre deliciously thick and husky with desire. Even if he wanted to claim you for himself, he would’ve taken you somewhere warmer, somewhere comfortable. “You’re no animal, my Lady. I wouldn’t fuck you into the dirt like one.” He rumbled, able to taste your yearning.

Honorable and gallant — you only wanted him more after that. As much as you desired to rip your armor off and let him have his way with you upon the rock, the mud and grime afterward wouldn’t have been pleasant. “Your chambers, then?” You mumbled, feeling his warm lips clamor from your jaw to your mouth.

“If that’s what you want,” Cregan murmured, a playful smirk toying at either corner of his mouth. It shattered his stoic countenance, melting away all of those dour inclinations he held before. “You might change your mind, and I wouldn’t fault you for it.”

A huff escaped you, brows furrowing together as you shook your head. Cregan thoroughly enjoyed that you spoke bluntly and plainly — he wanted you more than you realized, keeping his composure for the sake of propriety. There was no telling what could happen once you reached Winterfell.

“I will meet you at Winterfell.” Your answer was clear, solidified in stone. You appreciated that Cregan had given you an out, but that was the last thing you wanted. He gave you another kiss, teeth nicking your lower lip before you retrieved your longsword and mounted your horse.

Cregan watched you ride off from the Wolfswood — the new Lady of Winterfell.

A cold dusk cast its looming shadow over Winterfell, and with it, bringing the sting of ice and a light snowfall. Clouds made their presence known, gray and ominous, covering up the stars until none remained. Snowfalls in the North often ranged between fleeting and treacherous, and tonight seemed to be somewhere in the middle.

Following your dance in the Wolfswood with Cregan, the ride back to Winterfell gave you plenty to consider. You found his hesitation to be noble, but you had made your mind up some time ago. The moment where friendship now transcended into something else had come, and you knew what you wanted.

Perhaps you had kept him in suspense on purpose, waiting until the rest of the Great Keep was silenced before you made the tenuous trek to Cregan’s chambers. You had cleaned up perfectly well, clad in thick, furred robes, ones that left little to the imagination. You assumed that you wouldn’t be sleeping much tonight at all, if Cregan were still intending to follow through.

The doors to his chambers were heavy, embossed wood carved from the thick trunks of Wolfswood oak, the handles resembling the heads of wolves. There was no guard posted outside — there never was.

If anyone knew Cregan at all, it was his staunch independence and his desire for privacy. He was one of the greatest fighters in the Seven Kingdoms, and no guard would change such a thing. You stood outside, steeling yourself for what was to come.

Your hand hovered above the wood, palm pressing against it before you knocked thrice, breath hitching slightly at the sound of footsteps from the inside. Nervousness suddenly gripped you — none of this felt real at all, and you were prepared to wake up in some distant dream.

For the longest time, part of you had silently yearned from afar for Cregan, knowing that he would someday take a wife, and it wouldn’t be you. You were just friends, and you were cursed to admire him for all eternity with nothing coming to fruition. You had come to terms with it, but now?

Everything had changed.

He kissed you with a fervor in the Wolfswood, a kiss reserved for lovers — had he felt the same way, as you did? Was it simply the desire to have someone he trusted warm his bed? You were uncertain, and you wanted clarification.

The groan of oak reverberated throughout the stone corridors as Cregan opened the door, standing there, tall and indomitable, a tunic clinging to his chest. You could see so much more of him without the chain-and-leather armor, without the obstruction of a thick hide cloak. His broad shoulders seemed to relax in your presence.

Gods, you looked beautiful — Cregan had seen you dressed up on a handful of occasions, but they all paled in comparison to how you looked now, clad in the pelts of wolves, visage free of dirt. His grip tightened along the edge of the door, an effort to restrain himself from devouring you then and there.

“May I?” You asked, wringing your hands together in order to alleviate some of the tension. Cregan stepped aside, stormy-gray hues transfixed upon you as you crossed the threshold into his chambers. Your heart hammered within your chest as he shut the door, crossing the room to tend to the fire.

“I must know what this is, before we go any further.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, strained and desperate for an answer. “What have years of friendship come to, in your mind?” The question was direct, demanding that he state his intentions.

Cregan appeared perplexed, stepping toward you with a hooded expression. “Was that kiss in the Wolfswood not clear enough, my Lady?” He rumbled, hooking an arm around your hips. “I am a man of honor, and I wouldn’t dare tarnish your own. I am still your friend,” Cregan uttered, reaching up to cup your face, “And I am your lover.”

“If I wanted you to tarnish my honor?” You murmured, watching his countenance contort into a look of desire, as if you were invoking a challenge. Heat radiated from him in waves, sinking into your bones, making residence there. He was comfortable, a mountain of a man who held you so gently.

A brief huff escaped him, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, yet it did not come to fruition. “I would do as my lady commands.” He grunted, pressing a kiss against your jaw. You tasted perfect, if that were even an accurate description.

His honeyed, husky words excited you — his commitment to you was laid bare before you, and you felt a familiar surge of arousal deep within your bones. “No one else?” Possessiveness swelled within you — you wanted Cregan for yourself. If this were to become something serious, you would make it clear.

“I am yours,” Cregan murmured, chestnut brows furrowing together as he made his pledge to you. “And you are mine. I would not have it any other way.” He assured you, calloused hand kneading into the swell of your hip through the thick layer of fur that concealed your body. He wished to see it all for himself.

Your foreheads touched for a moment, and despite the charged, tenuous element of sexuality floating about, you quite enjoyed the tenderness of it. “I am yours, and you are mine.” The pledge was soft-spoken through you lips, prompting Cregan to press a kiss against the top of your head.

Without hesitation, your fingers curled into the coarse fabric of his tunic, gripping tightly as you pulled yourself up for a kiss, but Cregan met you halfway in a frenzy. His kiss was ravenous, filled with a rapturous hunger that did not appear subtle at all.

Gone was the chill of winter, replaced by the burning fire that smoldered between the both of you. He kissed you hard, teeth raking across your lower lip as he hauled you close, until there was no sliver of space left between. There was no shortage of desire or passion either, as Cregan’s hand pushed against the leather ties of your robe, wanting to feel your soft skin underneath.

“Cregan.” You exhaled, shivering when you heard that growl reverberate within his throat. Your hands joined him in their lascivious crusade, untethering the rough leather strings of your gown, loosening it up until it sagged upon your body. You nodded to him, a subtle signal that he could have whatever he wanted.

He pushed the thick material aside, watching as it fell around your feet, softly thudding against the stone. You wore nothing at all underneath, supple and beautiful, skin as soft as silk, all belonging to him. “Expecting something from me, were you?” Cregan murmured, pushing your tresses aside, exposing the expanse of your pretty neck to him.

A soft groan tore past your parted lips, belly filling with a fire that demanded to be extinguished. He pressed a hot trail of kisses along your face, starting there as he began to move downward. “Perhaps.” You huffed, listening to his chest vibrate with a brief bout of laughter. The sound was like music to your ears.

“You’re so beautiful.” He mumbled his praises into your flesh like a prayer. His roughened palm moved to clasp against the nape of your neck, digits reaching for your hair as he brought his mouth to your jaw, teeth and lips working in-tandem.

Cregan shivered when your colder fingertips hitched beneath his tunic, feeling the thick, corded muscle of his torso, the few scars here and there. Your digits toyed with the leather waist of his trousers, skimming upward to flatten your palm against his abdomen.

You moaned when he bit into your neck, hard enough to leave a mark, but delicate enough not to break through your skin. He felt along the soft dips and bends of your curves, traveling wherever he pleased until he sank his hands sank your haunches, unable to keep from touching you.

Everything about you invited him in, intentionally or unintentionally. The scent of various herbs and perfumes clung to you, intertwined with that of leather. Each embrace of his mouth was purposeful, burying into the hollow between your shoulder and throat, seeking to make his mark, imprint himself upon you.

He moved enough for you to remove his tunic, assisting in maneuvering the garment off and away from his body. You let it drop to the floor, kicking aside your robes to form a growing pile of garments.

Cregan was perfect — a true Northman, with a hardened body to prove it. He was all thick muscle and strength, sturdy and broad-shouldered. It was refreshing to see a man that didn’t lack in fortitude, and you reached forward, caressing your fingers over the plane of his musculature. He shuddered at your embrace, lips parting slightly.

He kissed you again, devouring your mouth with an unrestrained desire. Even if lust had taken hold, Cregan preferred displays of rough passion instead, wanting to show you just how much you meant to him, the things you did.

A growl stirred within his chest, hands grabbing your hips as he steered you toward the furs in front of the hearth. You reached for his head, tugging on his chestnut tresses as you reciprocated each kiss with one of your own, one that echoed his own fervor.

“Lay down.” He rumbled, gaze simmering with ardor as he watched you descend onto the furs, pelts of direwolves that enveloped you perfectly. Cregan towered over you, lowering himself onto his knees as he pushed your legs aside, bullying himself between them.

You shivered when he kissed your collarbone, roughened palm kneading into the pliant flesh of your thigh. He wanted to savor all of you first, taste you upon his tongue, let your scent linger. Cregan’s mouth was domineering and rough, biting wherever he could, listening to your satisfied whimpers.

“I want to taste you.” Cregan murmured, his voice a husky timbre that sent shockwaves throughout your body, striking at the pit of your stomach. It filled you with a sense of desire, goosebumps cascading along your spine. His inquiry was masked as a statement, but he awaited your approval.

Swallowing the growing lump within your throat, you nodded, feeling a lick of excitement trail down until it settled between your thighs. “Please.” It was all you really needed to say, your incendiary gaze alone inciting a rapturous hunger inside of him.

His descent was slow, ensuring that you felt every nip of his teeth, every kiss emblazoning itself upon your flesh. You sighed with passion, meeting his tempestuous, gray-eyed stare, one that smoldered with desire. You reached for his face, fingers sweeping around his jaw, and you watched as he kissed your palm.

The gesture was brief yet sweet, a break in the swelling tide of carnality and wanton need. Cregan pressed a kiss against your collarbone before he continued his downward venture, lips drifting over both of your breasts, hungrily making his mark against your sensitive skin.

A low grunt escaped him when your digits threaded themselves into his tresses instead, finding their purchase at the base of his skull. The warmth of his mouth drifted over your stomach, feeling Cregan bite at your hips, inhaling a gust of your saccharine scent. It drove him wild, the desire to claim you seeping into his bones.

Cregan wasn’t much of a talker during acts of sensuality — he preferred to show you through action, instead. When he made it to the apex of your thighs, he settled against the furs, orange firelight dancing across the taut, thick muscle of his shoulders. He pushed your legs apart, letting them rest across his back, rough hands kneading along your legs.

Your breath hitched within your throat, stomach churning with excitable butterflies and arousal. The slick warmth that had coagulated between your thighs was a welcome sight to Cregan, who felt a twinge of smugness knowing that you’d gotten wet already.

He listened to the tremor within your exhale, the squirming of your body atop the furs, the subtle twitch of your thigh when he bit into the sensitive flesh. You were endlessly soft — velveteen beneath his fingertips. The contrast between his rough palms and your smoothness was a perfect duality.

The gray intensity of his stare left you breathless, and he did not break eye contact as he kissed your slit, prompting you to shiver. His tongue raked hot embers across your aching cunt, deliberate and intentional, driving you to an agonizing madness.

Cregan pulled you closer, a growl ringing within the depths of his throat as he sought your cunt, greedily lapping over your slit. He split past your folds, ravenous for whatever you would give him. It made you moan, hand gripping his hair, hips absentmindedly jolting into the vigor of his mouth.

He seemed so herculean, even now as he rested between your legs, broad shoulders etched with a slight tension. His brow was creased in concentration, a low hum escaping him as he devoured your cunt. Cregan did not have any qualms about staying there, head buried between your thighs.

That taut heat within your stomach had been wound so tight, like a coil threatening to snap in two. His mouth was voracious, lapping and kissing wherever he pleased, with the enthusiasm of a man starved. He was passionate and somewhat rough, occasionally turning to bite into the pliant flesh of your thighs.

“Cregan,” You moaned, writhing beneath him, feeling his strong hands clamp down upon your legs, locking you into place. It was pure bliss and agony all rolled into one, your other hand fisting the thick furs beneath you. “Don’t stop,” A whine tore past your mouth, with the wolf more than willing to oblige. “Don’t stop.”

A huff escaped him, one that filled his belly with a raging fire. His cock throbbed within his leather breeches, aching with want for you. He wasn’t about to let you buck and move at your leisure — he wanted you all to himself. His tongue continued to lap at your cunt with heavy strokes, stoking the flame of your arousal.

You tasted sweet upon his tongue, honey-thick and a feast to sate his appetite. If he would choose his fate, it would be in between your legs, listening to the myriad of moans and throaty whimpers leave you. It was satisfying to know how much you enjoyed this; derived pleasure from it.

A tremor gripped your legs, little spasms of delight making their way throughout your body. Cregan’s mouth forged a blazing path from the hood of your cunt to your entrance, tongue greedy and hot, before he went back up again.

The sound of your soft, pleading voice calling his name made him grunt, digits digging into your thighs, hard enough to leave faint bruises. You enjoyed the display of strength, his desire to mark you, claim you for his own. The wolf festered within him, and you were prepared to submit to him.

Cregan was stoic and dominant, yet those storm-colored hues softened whenever they flickered toward your visage, the image of grace and beauty. You had always been pretty, yet your perfection reared its head fully when you opened yourself up to him. He was enthralled, reduced to a mere pup in your presence.

His mouth pursed around the pearl of your cunt, stimulating that sensitive clutch of nerves. You gasped, the sensation sudden yet blissful, causing your thighs to squeeze his head slightly. Cregan grunted, forcing you apart again, nose grazing your folds.

The growing shadow of his coarse beard scratched against your thighs, providing you with a brief sting — a delicious sting, at that. You had often teased Cregan for being baby-faced, but he had elected to grow out a bit of scruff, and for that, you were grateful.

He wanted to stay there, rooted between your legs, mouth consuming your cunt as if it were his last meal. Cregan favored it, thoroughly reveling in the way your body reacted to him, visceral and ecstatic. He gingerly suckled on your clit, feeling your fingers tighten within his chestnut locks, grip him tight.

The warmth from the hearth danced across your body, illuminating your soft curves and silky skin. Inklings of perspiration began to shimmer against your chest, the fire’s intensity combined with Cregan’s constant body heat. He ran hot, hot-blooded like any Northerner.

His mouth didn’t relent, continuing to suck and kiss at your clit, tongue flicking against your slick entrance. He let one hand drop from your thigh, yet the other still kept you pinned into place. The first stroke of his thick digits against your core made your head spin in a delirium of desire.

Your hips lurched forward, attempting to gain any shred of friction, despite Cregan keeping you locked into place. You felt as if you were going to explode, seeing stars within your vision as his teeth grazed your clit. The sudden sensation made you shiver, hand fisting into his hair.

Cregan teased your entrance, searching your face for any signs of discomfort as his digits worked their way inside of you. You were tight, slick and warm around him as he sluggishly pumped them in and out of you. “That’s it,” He rumbled, grunting when you pulled on his tresses again. “Easy, my lady.” His tone held a playful remnant to it.

A brief huff escaped you, one of mild amusement. The sweetness that ebbed between the both of you soon dissipated into an air of seriousness once again, with Cregan tormenting you, mouth on your clit. He drew each sound out of you with a vengeance, feeling your legs tremble on either side of him.

A comfortable silence filled the gap between you, intermingled with the sounds of your pleasured cries and Cregan’s sonorous grunts. That heated coil within your stomach began to unfurl, bringing an onslaught of arousal with it as you bucked into his mouth.

“Cregan,” You moaned, grabbing his hair so tightly that you feared you might rip it from his scalp. The roughness of it only spurred him on, enjoying your ironclad grasp as he assailed your cunt with careful laps and thrusts of his fingers. “Gods, I’m close!” You huffed, back arching off of the furs.

He wanted to do it to you again — again and again, make your body submit to him. Lust and passion swelled within him, blossoming through his chest, coupled with the possessiveness he felt over you. You belonged to him, now — his Lady of Winterfell, his.

Cregan didn’t intensify his pace or slow down, and instead, continued his ministrations with a sense of fervor and duty. His fingers and mouth worked in a blissful tandem, nose occasionally bumping into the hood of your clit, tongue dancing across your slit. He felt you shudder beneath him.

A flood of sheer ecstasy consumed you, flesh prickling with an overwhelming warmth as you shivered, reaching your climax in a white-hot crescendo. Your back arched completely, head tossed back against the furs, hands wrangling with Cregan’s tresses.

The buzz you felt afterwards was a pleasant feeling, and as you rode out your peak, you sank back into the mounds of wolf’s fur beneath you. Your grip began to slack on Cregan, enough for him to lift his head, gaze hooded and affectionate.

He pressed a series of sweet kisses along the inside of your thigh, reaching up to the bend of your knee. Perspiration glittered along his temples, but he was far from over — his hunger still prevailed. “You’ve got a grip like steel.” He grunted, moving forward to rest his head against your stomach.

A brazen, lascivious thought passed through him — your belly swollen with his child, an heir to Winterfell, a child of House Stark. It was reckless and wild to think of something so bold, but he couldn’t get it out of his head.

“Sorry,” You mumbled, somewhat flustered at your capability to nearly rip Cregan’s tresses right from their roots. He shook his head, his steely-eyed gaze flickering toward you. “I was quite consumed by the moment.” You confessed.

Cregan crawled forward, pressing a kiss against your mouth. You could taste yourself upon his tongue, evoking a whimper from between your lips. “Never apologize.” He rumbled, briefly nudging his forehead against yours. You observed him in silence, gaze swimming with affection as he rolled off of you.

He immediately stooped down to scoop you right off of the furs, hooking his bulky arms underneath you. You laughed, palms flat against the warm expanse of his chest, foreheads pressed together yet again. You didn’t need to say anything — you knew what came next.

Cregan gently deposited you onto his bed, his shadow eclipsing the glow of the firelight. He seemed massive at this angle, but his gentleness was notable with how he handled you. He unlaced the leather ties of his breeches, stepping out of them.

You happened to swallow at the sight of him — a mountain of a man, truly. A pang of nervousness struck at your gut, afraid that he wouldn’t fully fit inside of you, but it was fleeting. You knew that he would make sure that you were comfortable above all else.

His countenance, often laced with an unapproachable stoicism, softened at the sight of you — it wasn’t something commonplace. You had certainly eased the tension, his shoulders no longer weighted with stress or the burden of leadership.

A brief ghost of a smile tugged at his mouth — if you blinked, you might’ve missed it. “Are you smiling?” You whispered, doe-eyed and enamored with your Northman. Your hands trailed across the honed muscle of his shoulders, nails tracing across his back, and then to his chest.

Admittedly, it was difficult to keep a stony face around you, especially now, with your vibrant, exuberant smile and smitten gaze. Though, in the spirit of playfulness, he let out a rumbling hum, joining you atop his bed. The frame beneath groaned slightly in protest. “Perhaps.” He murmured.

He covered you with his burly physique, chestnut tresses framing his face, gray eyes drinking you in with a hint of tenderness. For as rough and rugged as he could be, Cregan became gentler for you — it wasn’t something he was used to.

Chest to chest, you craned forward, lips seeking his own as you kissed him. It was sickly-sweet, as gentle as a maiden, and Cregan found himself wanting you all over again. A low grunt of approval emerged from his throat, brows furrowing together as he reciprocated.

You reached for his bicep, palm unable to grip around the bulk of his muscle. It made you realize how much smaller you really were than him, in all senses of the word — stature and muscle mass. He had all the advantages on you, but you quite enjoyed the amusing contrast of sizes.

To Cregan, it thoroughly aroused him, seeing your silky digits attempt to wrap around his arm, only to fail miserably. He treated you like a prized jewel, afraid to harm you, afraid to drop you — it made his cock twitch against your thigh, and he heard the hitch within your throat.

“I’ll be gentle.” Cregan assured you, calloused palm gliding along the length of your thigh in an attempt to ease your worrying. You feared that he would split you in half with his cock — not that it was a terrible way to go, but you did want to walk on the morrow.

He lowered his head to your chest, peppering kisses all along your breasts and collarbone, the ridge of his nose brushing over your sternum. The tip of his hardened length slid across your slick entrance, prompting you to shiver with anticipation.

With a shove of his hips, the head of his cock pushed into your cunt, his girth and size something you needed to adjust to. A strangled whine left you, lips agape and slack, hands clawing at his biceps as he gingerly made his way inside of you, inch by agonizing inch.

The discomforting pang of being stretched made your body crawl, attempting to get comfortable beneath him. Cregan noticed the twinge of pain that fluttered across your countenance, and he soothed you with a kiss against your brow, palm still caressing your thigh.

It felt incredible — certainly an adjustment, but pleasurable nonetheless. The girth of his cock filled you completely in ways you hadn’t felt before, and you knew that he would be the only one you would ever want. Discomfort inevitably dissipated into bliss as Cregan gave you time to grow used to him.

“Need you to move,” You whimpered, noticing the fire burning within his eyes, like smoldering embers come to life. Those stormy-gray hues drank you in with the hunger of a starving wolf, and he moved your back up enough to place a feather pillow beneath your hips. “Cregan.”

The newfound angle made you reel from ecstasy, feeling the way in which his cock hit that spot of pleasure for you. He shuddered when you moaned his name, and it activated something salacious inside of him. He thought of you, the Lady of Winterfell, Lady Stark, full and round with his child, his heir.

He moved, then.

His hips snapped forward as he attempted to restrain himself from fucking you into a stupor, executing a great amount of gentleness, fueled with an amorous intensity. Cregan was passionate, cock rutting into you, hitting new depths as he began to show you just how much he wanted you.

A grunt left him when your knees bumped into his hips, occasionally squeezing him like a vice, but the bulk of his musculature kept you properly spread apart. Your mouth clamored for his, lips meeting in a tangle of tongue and teeth. Your nails dug into the thick muscle of his bicep, other hand reaching for the nape of his neck.

You felt him reach for your hand, roughened digits intertwining with yours as he placed it beside your head, pounding into you with a gentle fervor. Cregan was tempered and measured about his movements, sheathing his cock inside of you fully with each thrust.

A myriad of needy moans and whimpers left you, and you did little to conceal the height of their volume. You groaned into Cregan’s mouth when he snapped forward again, and you felt as if he might break you in half — in the best way possible, of course.

His cock was akin to the force of a battering ram in slow motion, ensuring that every thrust drove you to madness, your walls tight around him. The friction between your bodies only contributed to the tension, your chest snug against his, lips tangled together, his roughened digits groping at your thigh.

Your nails raked faint trails of red across the thick muscle of his bicep, prompting him to growl into your mouth, kissing you as if it would be his very last time. There was a subtle desperation to Cregan, coupled with that innate instinct to breed, fill you with his seed and let you carry his child.

The Northern winds began to howl outside, bringing with it an onslaught of snow, and yet you had never been warmer, happily trapped beneath the herculean mass of Cregan Stark. Your foreheads touched on occasion, each kiss building with want until it had exploded into something hot and messy.

Perspiration lingered upon both of your bodies, as his chambers became increasingly hot, like that of a fever pitch. Cregan used some of his body as leverage, pushing himself inside of you again, cock sheathed within you completely until he pulled back, and thrust again. The action became increasingly intense, yet he kept himself in-check.

Your body was perfect, a sight for him alone, made by the Old Gods — he couldn’t thank them enough. Cregan gave you another blistering kiss, letting you linger upon his tongue before he withdrew, mouth lowering towards your chest once more. He was hellbent on pleasing you while chasing after his own release.

As he took one of your breasts into his maw, he felt the sly return of your digits tangling within his hair, and he couldn’t help but briefly smirk into your flesh. He reveled in the way you manhandled him so brazenly, gripping him tightly as your leg hitched around his hips.

Cregan didn’t relent, cock driving into you with a needy force, aching and throbbing inside of you. Your thighs twitched and trembled, and he continued to trace his hand across it before grabbing at your haunch, pliant flesh filling his palm.

Grunts and low rumbles escaped him, colliding with your own symphony of moans and whimpers, desperate for him to come undone. You rolled your hips forward whenever you could, friction creating another delicious wave of heat between the both of you.

He gently bit at your chest, face nestled there as his pace became a touch quicker, cock battering into you, kissing your slick cunt over and over again. Those tantalizing fantasties of filling you with his seed tormented him, driving him into a frenzy.

He hit that spot between your legs that seemed to make you writhe, grabbing at his chestnut tresses, back arching slightly as he turned your senses into mush. Cregan groaned, the sound heavy and husky in your ear as he came, spilling himself deep inside of you. He continued to thrust into you afterwards, the motions considerably softer and less invigorated.

A huff escaped him, a quick breath to regain his composure. His stamina was rather impressive, and if you asked it of him, he would’ve continued on well into the night, but your countenance seemed etched with mild exhaustion.

You whimpered when he stayed inside of you, head bowing towards yours as he pressed a kiss against your forehead, and then to your lips. The gesture was inherently tender despite his rough demeanor, enough for you to loosely drape your arms around his shoulders.

Cregan rolled over to lay next to you, his large form taking up a sizable portion of his bed. He coaxed you close, thick arm snaking around you as he tugged you into the warm expanse of his chest, propped up against the pillows.

The silence was a comforting one, a blissful aftermath of affectionate sentiments and declarations of adoration. He made sure that you were comfortable, shrouding you in the blanket of wolf pelts, showering you in gentle kisses. His grasp was inherently protective, as if he were shielding you from some invisible force.

“Are you alright, my Lady?” Cregan uttered, checking to see if you were unwell. He sometimes got carried away in the moment, and you weren’t exactly tall and stocky like himself. He needed to accommodate you, and that sometimes included being gentler.

With a smitten smile, you nodded, peering up at him through your lashes. Your thighs continued to scream with a dull ache, cunt throbbing and sticky with his seed and your arousal. “Very much so.” You replied, head resting atop his chest as you traced patterns against his abdomen. “If I weren’t so spent, I would ask you to do it again.”

A brief huff of amusement left Cregan, who held you close, reaching for your hand as he cradled it within his own, his other hand firmly situated atop the swell of your hip. “I cannot promise that I would not ravage you the second the opportunity arose.” He murmured, pressing a kiss against the top of your head.

“If that’s what I wanted?” You challenged, noticing the way his expression contorted into a look of desire, but above all, pure devotion. Cregan enjoyed your flirtatious remarks and subtle challenges, chest vibrating with a hum of approval.

“Then you are in for a long night, Lady Stark.”

copyright @ swordgrace ; please do not copy/steal or translate my works onto other platforms or claim it as your own.

[fairysluna]

little wolf.

Cregan's little sister is the only one who can change his mind, which is why Aemond decides to use his charms and convince her to support the Green using some peculiar methods.

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Stark!Reader

Tags/TW: smut (p in v, loss of virginity, f!oral sex, praise, breeding, kinda innocent!kink), teasing, a bit of mean!aemond, slight dubcon, cregan being an overprotective brother, cursing. if something is missing let me know!!

Author's Note: mimor @tvrgvryen sent me this request a few days ago and I had to do it bc i loved it so much. So here it is!

Word Count: 4.9k

Aemond has always been a good observer. He has always noticed the small details, the reason why people acted as they did, the way people treated others. That's why it wasn't hard for him to realize how important you were for your beloved brother Cregan. 

The day he first stepped into Winterfell after Vhagar gracefully landed on the snow, he saw how brave Cregan was for stepping between you and the enormous beast. However, that mere gesture exposed the big affection he had for you; his only sister, and with that, Aemond knew what was Lord Stark's greatest weakness… you. 

He went to the North with a mission, a task to fulfill, and he was not a man that was known to give up on things. Aemond was resilient, determined. He would not accept a negative answer from the Warden of the North, and even though he knew about the oath and how Starks are famously known for being loyal to their words; he was eager to find his way to gain the North's support. 

And his opportunity came up with you; the sweet, kind Lady Stark. Beloved by all, you were also known as the Heart of Winterfell, for it was said that even the small folk held dear for you. Everything that Aemond heard about you were nothing but good words, showing how much people appreciated you, which only impulsed Aemond's bad intentions. 

It is true, a Stark never forgets an oath, but the North gathers when the wolf howls… and even though your brother was the visible face of your House, everyone knew that it was you the one that had true power over the masses; your gentleness made you the Queen of the North, and that information was enough for Aemond to start his devious schemes. 

It all started at the training yard. The snow had fallen earlier in the morning, covering the ground with a thick layer of snow. He was staring at you as you struggled with a bow and arrow, not being able to hit the bullseye. This would only make you groan with impatience, despair even. Aemond pressed his lips and looked down at his shoes, trying to show himself amused by you wrestling. 

"You're too tense, my lady," he said as he slowly walked towards you. 

His black fur coat covering his slim shape, his white hair perfectly still despite the crazy wind, his hands at the back of his body. He looked so effortlessly elegant, it almost made you blush. 

"My prince," you greeted him, bowing swiftly, "I'm sorry you have to watch this terrible attempt."

"I didn't know women were allowed to train here in the North," he spoke, politely as he stretched his arm to touch the fine wood of the bow you were holding. 

"We're not," you replied, "but my brother insists I should be prepared to defend myself, so he forces me to train either way."

"Mhm…" he nodded, "your brother is a clever man. A beauty like yours is the target of many deprived men, he's doing well by letting you learn how to protect yourself."

"But he barely has time to teach me," you complained, placing your arms in position to shoot again, "now he's in a meeting with the Mormonts, and I am here," you let the arrow go, but it didn't even hit the target. "...failing miserably."

Aemond chuckled, and you inevitably blushed at the low sound that came out of him. You stared at him from your peripheral view, analyzing his undeniable beauty and flirtatious smirk which made your heart beat a little too fast. 

"You're too tense," he repeated, as he shifted his position until he was behind you. 

His hands went to your shoulders, and he squeezed them softly giving you a soft and short massage that made you close your eyes. Soon, one of his hands reached yours, the one that was holding the bow's grip. He wrapped it around yours, and you immediately felt his warmth on your cold skin. It made you gasp silently. 

"You see, I'm not so good at using a bow, I think my weapon of choice is the sword," he whispered, getting closer to your ear, his breath smacking against your shivering skin, "but I know things… and I can teach you if you please, my lady."

His nose rubbed against your hair, and your delicious smell almost made him groan. Soon, the prince helped you to fix your position as your breathing was getting heavier and an unknown feeling was installed in your lower belly. You feel the heat even though it was freezing cold, you felt his body pressing against yours leaving a sensation of distress, as if your body was begging you for something. 

You feared of someone seeing you; the position was quite compromising, and you were certain your reputation would be stained if someone witnessed such a scandalous scene. It felt too intimate for you, perhaps not so proper for a maiden like you. You would have tried to push him away, but there was something within him that did not allow you to do so; it was as if he had bewitched you with his charms, and you were under a spell from which you were not able to wake up. 

"It's simple, my lady," he explained, "you must relax, you must let go," his voice so deep and low against your ear, "come on, no one's watching, you're under no pressure…" 

His touch, so delicate and gentle, mixed with his words, which you quickly misinterpreted; 'no one's watching', it sounded more like an invitation rather than words of comfort. You couldn't help but to sigh, a gesture that brought a slight smirk upon Aemond's face. 

"Let yourself go, Lady Stark," his voice turned more breathy, rapier. "That's it, so good… now, eyes on the target, don't take your eyes off of it, okay?" 

You simply nodded, wildly blushing at his praise. There was a subtle shiver that went to your trembling hands, you cleared your throat trying to play it down. 

"Take deep breaths, don't close your eyes," his hands left yours, now going to your abdomen, his nose brushing against your ear as he kept whispering, "good, good girl."

Your teeth captured your lower lip as you held back a whimper. Squirming in your place, you felt weak on the knees as his hands left a squeeze on your hips. 

"Now… shoot."

You listened, and your hand let go of the string. Your eyes widened with surprise as the arrow hit close to the bullseye, which was certainly not perfect, but it was an improvement. A smile appeared in your face as you tilted your head to appreciate your achievement, and soon a giggle escaped you. 

"Oh, Gods…" you sighed, "I did it."

"You did it," Aemond said, "you did so well."

His words made your face turn to face him, and his lips were just a few inches away from yours. Your breath hitched, as your heart pounded with so much strength that you thought he would be able to hear it… even feel it. His hand traveled upwards your body until it reached the nape of your neck. 

For a moment you thought he would kiss you, that his soft-looking lips would dare to touch yours. But suddenly, he pulled away. Few seconds later, footsteps were heard dragging the snow beneath their feet, and soon you found out the reason behind his abrupt reaction. 

"Sister!" you heard. The deep and roaring voice of your brother woke you up from your trance, and you turned around to face him. 

You saw a frown upon his face as his eyes narrowed. For a moment you thought he saw how close you were with Aemond, but soon his own words proved you wrong. 

"Septa has been waiting for you for an hour!" he scolded you, "why are you still here?" 

It took you a while to speak, you knew your voice would come out weak and thin if you dared to utter a word in that moment, which not only would make Cregan be suspicious of what happened, but also would embarrass you in front of the charming prince. 

Luckily for you, Aemond decided to step in. 

"I was helping her train, my lord, I'm sorry for the disruption I might have caused," you looked down at the steps Aemond had left in the snow, right beside yours. 

You were quick and subtle once you purposely stepped on them to erase them. Aemond noticed and he couldn't help but smirk. 

"Well, stop your training and go," he demanded, "you might continue tomorrow."

You had no choice but to obey. One last glance was given to Aemond as you bowed to him, saying goodbye. Cregan followed your frame as you entered the castle, and then he turned to look at the prince. Aemond was no fool, he knew Cregan was not ignorant of his intention… he was a man after all, he could see through his facade with no big effort. 

However, he did not say anything about it. He just nodded, and then he left leaving Aemond standing alone with the burning desire running down his body. 

At first, he planned on just seducing you… but now? Now he will have you. He needed to have you. 

That same day, quite late at night, you were found in your chambers, laying on your belly on top of the fur carpet right in front of the warmth of the fireplace. A book was between your hands as your eyes followed the traces of the poetic words that were written in it. The sound of the fire crackling and burning the wood was the only thing you were able to hear until three soft knocks interrupted the quiet calmness of the night. 

You barely looked up as you muttered a soft 'come in', turning the page to continue with your reading. The door was opened in a subtle movement that you barely noticed, and soon you heard steps getting close to you. 

It wasn't until you were able to see the shoes of that person that you decided to look up, only to find Aemond's grin staring back at you. You immediately sat up, crossing your legs and trying to cover your breasts with the book; the fabric of your nightgown was thin, and you knew that your skin could usually be seen through it if he dared to squint to take a look. 

Your body hasn't forgotten about his touch and closeness, and in a certain way it was actually craving for more of that. But you knew it was not proper, you've heard whispers around the castle claiming that he was actually betrothed to one of Lord Baratheon's daughters, meaning he already belonged to someone else. 

And yet, you couldn't help but to feel the eagerness to touch him. 

"My Prince," you said, the shock of seeing him there, sitting on the carpet right beside you was shown in your voice, "what- what are you doing here?" 

"I found myself alone and bored in my chambers, so I decided to wander around the castle and the path brought me here… to you," he smiled kindly as he said those last two words. Words that made your heart beat faster and your cheeks turn red, "were you reading?" He asked, pointing at the book that was covering your pebbled nipples.

"Uh… yes," you nodded, shyly, "it's a book about poetry."

"Poetry?" He asked, raising his eyebrows, "Mind if I have a look, little wolf?" 

You couldn't help but to wildly blush with the pet name, feeling butterflies inside your belly as you pulled the book out of your chest and left it in his hands. Aemond's eyes inevitably went to see your soft breasts covered by a thin white layer of silky fabric, breathing deep and harsh as he felt his cock twitch inside his pants once he managed to see your nipples through it. 

He remained calm, even when the only thing he wanted was to rip that gown out of your body and take you right there. Instead, he just sighed as his fingers elegantly turned the pages, reading some extract of the love poems in the book. 

"I see you're a romantic person, my Lady," he commented, without taking his eyes off of the pages, "do you consider yourself a fan of the genre?" 

"It's something that I enjoy reading, yes," you nodded. 

"I had the impression," he confessed, closing the book and leaving it aside, "have you ever been in love?" 

You shook your head, "I don't- I don't think so."

"Mhm…" he sighed, "that’s odd, you're a gorgeous lady, one might have thought you had a lot of suitors waiting for you."

"You're too kind," you said, looking retrained for a few seconds. 

"I'm just stating the facts, little wolf," he spoke softly, "It seems like your brother likes to scare them away."

"Them?" You asked confused. 

"Your suitors," he clarified, "that's the only reasonable explanation of why you are not married yet."

"He just wants the best for me," you defended him. 

"And what would that be?"

"A husband who not only sees me as a womb with legs, but also as something precious, something worthy of love and care," your dreamy voice made Aemond smirk, the naiveness in you amused him in so many ways.

"You're asking for too much in a society like this, don't you think?" 

You shrugged, "a girl can only dream."

The prince nodded, "and a man can only fulfill those dreams, am I right?" You remained silent, avoiding his heavy and penetrative stare at all cost, "have you ever been this close to a man before?" 

"No…" 

"I could tell," he chuckled, a sound that buzzed into your ears and made your mind go fuzzy, "you were quite nervous when I helped you with your bow this morning."

"I don't feel very comfortable with the proximity of men…" you confessed.

"Of all men, or just of me?" 

That's when you realized where this was going, and the panic quickly installed in your gut as you swallowed hard. It took you some time, but you finally noticed his true intentions. You knew you had to stop him before things went further. 

"My prince, I'm not quite sure what you mean by those words," you started to stand up, tumbling in your knees, "but it's late and it wouldn't be proper for you to be seen in my chambers, so please-" 

Your words were interrupted by the sudden action of Aemond, who pulled you closer until you stranded him, your legs at each side of his body as he forced you to sit on his lap, his hands pressed in your hips firmly, not allowing you to escape from his strong grip. 

"I think you know what I mean, my lady…" he whispered, leaning closer to your ear only to mutter with his seductive and raspy voice, "I think you can feel it."

Your breath hitched in your throat at the same time you tried to speak, "I- I don't know…" 

"Tell me what you felt when I touched you this morning," he commanded, his hands lowering to your thighs, starting to lift the thin fabric of your gown, "was it similar to what you're feeling right now?" 

"I… I don't-" 

"I sensed your nervousness when I said how good of a girl you are," he chuckled, starting to breathe in your neck, smelling your sweet scent, "does that arouse you, little wolf? Being praised?" 

"Prince Aemond, this is not proper, please-" you tried to pull away, but his grip pushed you down once again. Now you were able to feel his hard-on pressing right down your core, which sent you a sensation that caused chills down your spine. 

"That's not what I'm asking you," he spoke sternly, massaging your thighs, squeezing them every now and then, "Mhm… my sweet little wolf, you're shaking. Are you nervous now? You don't have to be, I won't hurt you."

"I told you I do not enjoy this," you breathed out, feeling his hands reaching your hips underneath your gown. 

"So you're telling me that if I dare to touch between your legs… I would not find your cunt drenching for me?" 

His words made you squirm, the blush running to your cheeks as his thumb started to caress your mons pubis. Your body tensed as you widened your eyes, feeling his finger pressing down. 

“I- I don’t- my Prince, please stop-” a small moan interrupted your words as he found your clit between your folds. His thumb rubbing it slowly as you closed your eyes; embarrassed that he was touching such a private part of your body. 

“Have you ever been kissed, my lady?” He asked, trying to hold back a groan as he felt your slick coating his digit, “Has someone been lucky enough to be the first to claim your beautiful lips?”

You shook your head, Aemond hummed with delight.

“Then I guess I’ll be the first…” 

You barely were able to process his words when he pressed his soft lips against yours. Slow movements that were easy for you to follow without much struggle as you held back whimpers of pleasure, for his thumb was still torturing your pearl in a slow and gentle manner. 

Your hand fell on his chest, not with the intention of pushing him away. You grasp his thin blouse, catching the fabric between your trembling hands as you felt the tip of his tongue starting to tease your lips. Hesitantly, your lips parted just a few inches, enough to give him space for him to claim your mouth; swirling his tongue against yours as you tried to keep up with his slow and tempting actions. 

He was able to taste your inexperience, the way you would doubt your movements before actually doing them was enough proof for him to know that you were not lying; he was the first man to kiss, which now made him more eager to also become the first man to fuck you. 

A gasp escaped your swollen lips when, in a sudden movement, he laid your body in the soft carpet, spreading your legs and placing himself between them. Your nightgown was wrinkled around your hips, exposing your glistening folds to him as he kept playing with your now sensitive clit. Soft mewls were heard as he stopped kissing you in order to taste your skin. You felt the wet caresses of his lips in your neck, your jaw, your collarbones, all while your hands were grasping the fur of the carpet beneath you. 

His fingers were soon covered in your juices, your hips trying to move against them in an attempt to feel more, but he pulled them away and you widened your eyes once you saw him licking them and humming after he felt your sweet taste against his tongue. Your breath was caught in your throat as you heard him groan. 

"My lady, you taste as sweet as you are," he spoke slowly, you blinked a couple times still feeling your mind fuzzy, "do you want a taste?" 

You gulped, not entirely sure of what to reply. The words were unable to come out, so all you could was nod. 

A careless smile appeared on his face as he left a soft kiss on your cheek, before you realized your legs were on his shoulders and his face buried in your drenching cunt as you tried to squirm away from the overwhelming pleasure his tongue was providing you. 

His slurping was heard, echoing in the room as you tried to push his head away from your pussy, breathing fast and unsteady as he devoured you. You felt his tongue teasing your needy hole as his nose rubbed against your clit, making you moan a bit too loudly. His hands were grabbing your hips tightly, just to make sure you don't escape from him; his fingertips burying in your soft skin as your body writhe under his skilful mouth. 

You could feel your own slick slipping down your thigh along with his spit. It was messy, far from being as slow and calm as the kiss he gave you before. He was eager to make you cum; licking, sucking, and fucking your cunt until you were nothing but a moaning mess. 

It was over before you even noticed it. With a loud gasp, your eyes rolling and your thighs pressing at each side of Aemond's head, you reached your first orgasm, which finished with you gulping and hiccuping with pleasure. You heard him moaning against your soaking folds, collecting all your slick to then lean over your body. 

He took a look at your face, your lips quivering as your cheeks were burning and tinted with a furious red. His fingers reached your chin, and made you open your mouth, which you did without hesitation. His spit fell in your tongue before your glistening eyes closed as you whimpered. You were able to taste yourself in it, the sweetness of your release coating your tongue. 

"Swallow it," he commanded, and you quickly obeyed him, "good girl…" he let out a chuckle, and you couldn’t help but to feel an unknown heat running down your body. "See? I told you you were sweet, doesn't it taste good?"

You nodded, sighing. 

"So good, so delicious…" he leaned to kiss you again as his hands pulled down your gown, freeing your breasts, "I swear it, my lady, I will not rest until your cunt is mine forever."

His big hands left a soft squeeze on your tits before they went to his pants, untying the lace and pulling them down. His leaking cock was now on your sight, hard and reddish. You barely noticed he took off his shirt as you were too hypnotized seeing that specific part of his body. Aemond immediately noticed your curious eyes, and he teasingly grabbed his cock in his hand only to stroke it a few times before letting it on top of your clit. 

"Do you want it, my lady?" He whispered, starting to rub himself on you.

You whined, looking down at the obscene scene of his cock parting your puffy lips. 

"Do you want my cock to make you feel good?" He groaned, feeling your slick coating his shaft, "I will give it to you if you ask me… Tell me what you want."

You gulped, trying to pronounce pleas. 

"Aemond… I- I want…" 

"Tell me, my beautiful lady," he muttered, "tell me what you desire."

"I want you… please… it's hurting, I-" 

The head of his cock reached your hole and he slowly started to sink in you. Your eyes widened as a soft cry escaped your throat. Your legs closed as you brought them against your chest, and Aemond groaned in disapproval. 

"Come on, darling… keep your legs open for me," he cooed, "I want to see your pretty pussy taking my cock."

He held the back of your knees, keeping your legs folded but spread. His cock was buried in your tight cunt as tears of pain started to fall down your cheeks. A loud cry was heard, louder than all of the others, and Aemond was quick to put his hand on top of your mouth. 

"Sh, sh…" he whispered, "It's okay, it'll pass. Just relax, my lady, it will feel so good."

He spreaded you open with one push, your back arched as you struggled to take him. He stayed still for a few seconds before his own lust decided that he could not wait any longer. Your walls were squeezing him deliciously as he started to pound against you, groaning and moaning as the pleasure was taking the best of him. 

Grasping on the fur beneath you, you started to sob. Aemond saw the signs of pain in your face and he quickly leaned over you in order to take one of your pebbled nipples into his mouth. The feeling that brought you was indescribable, and soon the pain became bearable as his thrusts remained slow but became harder. 

Aemond would choke his moans against your tit as his tongue skilfully swirling around it, licking and sucking as he kept fucking you, each thrust going deeper and deeper. 

"Fuck…" he sighed, "your pussy is so fucking tight. Made by the Gods just for me."

His words made you drool as the warmth of the fireplace was starting to affect you, making you sweat. His hand left your mouth, now going to play with your swollen and needy clit. 

"This little cunt belongs to me now, doesn't it?" he purred against your ear. 

"A-Aemond..."

He hummed, "how sweet you sound when you moan my name like that."

"P-please…" 

"What is it, my lady?" he teased you, "do you want to cum? Do you want to make a mess on my cock?" 

"Y-yes…" you managed to say, choking with your words as he thrusted harder, "Oh, Gods! Yes…"

"That's it, sweet girl…" he praised you, "taking me so well, so good. I'm gonna fill you up, leave you leaking with my cum. Is that what you want?" 

"G-Gods… yes, p-please!" you whined. 

"Then I guess I have no other choice but to give you what you want…" 

A soft chuckle left him as his thrusts became faster. His hips smacking against yours as he gripped your arsecheeks to gain stability. The sound of your slick drenching around his cock echoed in the room as you started to cry out, sobbing with pleasure and begging for more. 

Aemond looked at your cunt, and a soft and subtle whine was heard as he saw the way his cock disappeared between your folds. Your pleas would only make him desperate, eager to reach his climax and seeing your abused hole leaking his pearly seed. The image alone was enough to make his cock twitch inside you. 

"Fuck, so good… so fucking good," he lifted your hips, pounding restlessly against you as he leaned his head back, closing his eyes as his breathing turned unsteady, "such a perfect pussy, squeezing me so fucking good." 

You clenched around him, and that was what sent him over the edge, spilling his big loads of cum inside of you at the same time that your release exploded. Your cries were heard even in the hallway, as the intensity of your orgasm took over your shaky body. The feeling of him stuffing you with his seed sent you a shiver down your spine that made you twitch your hips. 

Aemond leaned over you to kiss you, pounding lazily as he was coming down from his orgasm. You receive the sloppy kiss as your eyes were closing by themselves, too worn out to keep them open. 

But then, Aemond decided to speak. 

"Look at you, sweet girl…" he said with an odd tone that you haven't heard from him until now, "what would your big brother say if he saw you now, huh? Filled with my seed, a mess under my touch."

Your breathing stopped for a second and only then you realized what you did. You opened your eyes only to find a smirk on his face, and your heart dropped. 

"You probably will be swollen with my bastard in a few months… then what would the people think of you? The Heart of the North carrying the Prince's bastard child…" 

"N-no…" you muttered, starting to softly push his chest. 

"Mhm, yes…" he scoffed, "unless I take you as my bride, of course."

A shaky breath came out of your nose as tears of despair fell down your cheeks, your bottom lip quivered as your gleaming eyes looked at his. 

"W-would you… would you take me as your wife?" 

Aemond smirked, starting to pull out of you. He hummed delighted with the view as he saw the pearly drops leaking out of you. He sighed, putting his pants on and fixing his clothes. 

"If your brother decides to join his forces with ours, I will take you as my bride and no one will know this happened before our marriage…" he said, standing up and looking down at you. "But, if he decides to join my sister's army…" 

He doesn't even need to finish the sentence for you to know the consequences of that. The panic ran down your body as you sat in the carp carpet, covering your nudity with your nightgown and crying. 

"How- how am I supposed to-?" 

"Cregan Stark will do anything his little sister commands," he interrupts you, taking a few steps towards you to gently grab your jaw in his hand, forcing you to look at him, "so you better choose the right option, my lady."

He left a caress in your cheek with a smug smile on his face. He abandoned your chambers, letting you there feeling helpless and a bit scared. 

It wasn't a big surprise for him when a few days later Lord Stark gave him the good news… and Aemond fulfilled his words, marrying you a month after the North joined the war and helped King Aegon II win the final battle against Rhaenyra. 

What was a surprise, was the birth of your first child, a month earlier than what the Maesters expected.

[kckt88]

Take My Breath Away XII.

Summary:

Vaeryna and Aemond seek to reconcile with one another.

Warning(s): Kissing, Smut - Fingering, Rough P in V Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Daddy Kink, Breeding Kink, Awkwardness.

Word Count: 3366

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

GREENS WIN - ENEMIES TO LOVERS.

Tag List - @ammo23, @immyowndefender,

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

“Seems like a life ago since we had any time alone” said Cregan.

“I know” replied Vaeryna.

“Is everything ok with your husband, things between you seem a little strained?”

“Because they are” muttered Vaeryna sadly as she walked arm in arm around the gardens with the Warden of the North.

“The business with Aegon?” asked Cregan.

“Aemond didn’t take the news very well” said Vaeryna quietly.

“He hasn’t hurt you, has he?” demanded Cregan.

“No, we’ve taken to avoiding one another-“

“-You’re upset by this” replied Cregan softly.

“Yes” mumbled Vaeryna her lips wobbling slightly.

“Look, I might not like the man, but surely the best thing for the two of you is to talk and sort this out. You have children; you cannot avoid one another forever”.

“There was me thinking you would want me to avoid Aemond” replied Vaeryna.

“Once upon a time, I may have welcomed the discord in your marriage and mayhaps I would have tried my hand, but I see the way he looks at you and I see it in your eyes now. You love him very much, stop being stubborn and go talk to him” said Cregan.

“I will once we’ve finished our walk”.

Cregan let out a heavy sigh but continued on his walk with Vaeryna, they chatted about Aegon and his time in the North and Cregan expressed a desire to keep in contact with the boy he’d essentially raised as his son for almost seventeen years.

Whilst Cregan was saddened at the thought of not seeing Aegon every day, he was also happy that Aegon was finally back home where he belonged.

They also chatted about Vaeryna’s children and in quiet reflection they talked about Jacaerys.

Remembering the good times, and Vaeryna smiled as Cregan told her of Jace’s time at Winterfell.

“Wherever he is; do you think he’s ok with the choices I’ve made?” asked Vaeryna.

“Knowing Jace, I think he would probably sulk for a bit, then he would understand”.

“I think your right” replied Vaeryna smiling sadly as she spotted her brother sitting under the weirwood tree with Daenerys as they talked, under the watchful gaze of Ser Colton and another member of the Kings Guard.

“The past has seen a lot of loss, let us look to the future and see it grow” said Cregan as he pressed a gentle kiss to Vaeryna’s head.

It was a few hours until the feast and Vaeryna was pacing outside Aemond’s chamber’s.

She knew they needed to talk and sort things out, but they’d left things festering for a month and Vaeryna didn’t even know if Aemond wanted to sort things out with her.

“Don’t be a coward” whispered Vaeryna as she reached up and knocked on the door.

After a few minutes the door swung open and Aemond stood there with a surprised look on his face as he caught sight of his wife, fiddling nervously with a stray thread on her skirts.

“Vaeryna” said Aemond.

“M-May I come in?” asked Vaeryna quietly.

“Hm” muttered Aemond as he stepped to the side and allowed Vaeryna to enter.

As she door shut with a soft click, Vaeryna stood awkwardly in front of Aemond, each of them waiting for the other to speak first.

“I want to apologize for lying” said Vaeryna quietly.

“Hm”

“I’m sorry for being dishonest, but I won’t apologize for protecting my brother. I was desperate and I just wanted to keep him safe” exclaimed Vaeryna.

“-And that makes it ok, does it?” asked Aemond.

“What would you do, if it was Helaena, Aegon or even Daeron? You would do everything in your power to see them safe, so don’t look down your nose at me”.

“You call this an apology?” quipped Aemond cocking his head to the side.

“Oh, do you know what stuff it where the sun doesn’t shine, I knew I shouldn’t have listened to Cregan” snapped Vaeryna.

“What does the Warden have to do with any of this?”.

“He told me to stop being stubborn, and that we should try talk things through, but obviously you don’t care and now I feel like a total idiot” said Vaeryna as she turned on her heel and walked back towards the door.

“Vaeryna. Wait” said Aemond desperately.

“Why should I?” asked Vaeryna as she turned back to face Aemond.

“I cannot accept your apology”.

“S-So that’s it then? You won’t even try to figure this out” said Vaeryna as the tears began to roll down her cheeks.

“Vaeryna”.

“It’s ok, I understand. This is my fault. I shall not trouble you again. Please just know that I love you and-“ stuttered Vaeryna as Aemond suddenly lunged forward and pressed his lips to hers.

Vaeryna ripped herself away from Aemond. Staring at him as she put a hand to her mouth.

The uncertainty and upset swirling in the pit of her stomach was now morphing into something else. The dormant fire of their relationship was roaring to life once more. Coursing through her body.

One kiss, that was all it took. She needed more. She needed him.

Suddenly Vaeryna wrapped her arms around Aemond's neck and drew him in back in.

Their kiss was rough and vicious. Consisting of teeth and tongue.

It had been so long since they’d shared any form of intimacy.

Aemond backed Vaeryna towards the bed, his hands tearing off her dress until it was a ragged mess on the floor.

It was an eruption of frustration and passion. Hands everywhere, grabbing, scratching, and pulling at one another.

Aemond took a brief minute to yank off his tunic and shirt before he shoved Vaeryna on the bed, her back colliding with the mattress with a soft thump.

His body covered hers as he sucked and licked the delicate skin of her neck, leaving red marks in his wake.

Vaeryna moved her head to the side and moaned loudly as she felt Aemond’s teeth nipping at her skin.

Aemond pulled away to unfasten his breeches and push them down, his hard cock slapped upwards against his abdomen.

Vaeryna lay back on the bed, her heart thumping wildly in her chest.

Aemond ran his hand up and down the length of himself, eyeing his wife with an animalistic hunger, a smirk on his lips as she instinctively parted her legs for him.

As Aemond guided himself to her entrance, Vaeryna barely had a moment to adjust before he pressed his cock forcefully inside and stretched her brutally, causing her to cry out.

“FUCKING TAKE IT!” moans Aemond, wrapping a hand around her throat while the other digs into her hip, pulling her aggressively against him to meet each one of his hard thrusts.

Vaeryna can’t think of anything but the intense pounding thrusts that greet her, causing her to wail and moan, tears form in her eyes, before running down her cheeks.

Aemond sets a brutal pace, his hips relentlessly crashing into hers.

“YES! YES! AEMOND!” screamed Vaeryna.

“FUCK!” shouts Aemond.

As Aemond’s hips begins to falter in their movements, he snakes a hand between their joined bodies, his long fingers expertly circling her pearl, causing heat to bloom in her stomach.

Aemond presses down more firmly, making faster movements against her bud making her shudder, as a sudden warmth crashes over her in waves making her cry out, her cunny tightening around him.

“AEMOND!!” screams Vaeryna as her hands claw at his back.

“Fuck!! baby, that’s it come all over my cock!” growls Aemond as he moves to grab the headboard, bracing himself as he continues to pound his hips against hers.

“A-Aemond” gasped Vaeryna.

“I’m never going without your sweet cunny again” groaned Aemond, his fingers digging into the wood of the headboard.

The sound of their coupling was so loud, that no doubt everyone in the Red Keep could hear them as they brought each other pleasure.

“P-Please Aemond. Fill me up. I want it. I want you” whined Vaeryna.

With a loud animalistic groan, Aemond stills, leaning over his wife, his cock pulsating as he spills his seed deep inside her.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” asked Aemond quietly as he observed the reddened marks that littered his wife’s pale skin.

“No” whispered Vaeryna, the tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Y-Your crying” muttered Aemond.

“I-I’m not crying because I’m hurt. I-I’m sorry for not being honest with you and for letting things get so bad between us that we spent a month apart” whispered Vaeryna as she pressed her face into Aemond’s side.

“When I said that I couldn’t accept your apology, it was because you don’t owe me one-well for lying yes but not for protecting your brother” replied Aemond.

“I’m sorry Issa zaldrīzes” whispered Vaeryna (My dragon).

“Avy jorrāelan ābrazȳrys” replied Aemond as he began pressing kisses onto Vaeryna’s neck (I love you wife).

“I don’t want to fight anymore”.

“Me either, no secrets though and no more lies” urged Aemond.

“I have no more secrets anyway-oh except one but I’m not sure you want to hear about that”.

“Tell me” retorted Aemond.

“Well, it’s about your brother-are you sure you want me too tell you”.

“Yes tell me. What about him?” asked Aemond.

“H-He once told me that he’s curious about you”.

“Curious?” muttered Aemond furrowing his brow.

“You do know that he’s had sexual encounters with men before”.

“I do not listen to the sordid details of my brothers past indulgences-wait when you say he’s curious about me, you don’t mean-“

“-Yes, I do believe that he had a curiosity over you bedding him” said Vaeryna trying to stifle a smile at the look on Aemond’s face.

“Your right, I should not have heard that” exclaimed Aemond.

“Oh, come on, aren’t you a little intrigued. I mean it could be fun” suggested Vaeryna.

“No, not in a million years would I, he’s my brother-“

“-And I’m your niece, Targaryen customs and all that” said Vaeryna.

“Don’t tell me you’ve thought about it”.

“Might have done, once or twice but it was a long time ago” said Vaeryna softly.

“Am I not enough to satisfy my wife that she would like to have my brother as well?” asked Aemond as he ran his tongue over one of Vaeryna’s rosy nipples.

“N-No. I want you. Only you” moaned Vaeryna as Aemond reached down and ran his fingers through her slick wet folds.

Vaeryna pushed herself against Aemond’s hand as he swirled a digit around her swollen bud, reigniting the spark of pleasure inside her.

“Look at your needy little cunny. Do you need daddy to help you?” asked Aemond.

Vaeryna nodded as she thrust her hips against his hand as he added another finger, beginning to move them inside of her.

“Use your words ābrazȳrys” muttered Aemond (Wife).

“Please valzȳrys” moaned Vaeryna (Husband).

“Please what, Issa prūmia” said Aemond smirking (My Heart).

Vaeryna whined, shutting her eyes as the heat flooded her face.

“Come on. Use your words or you won’t get what you want” teased Aemond.

“Please, daddy. I need you. P-please fuck me” gasped Vaeryna.

Aemond smiled triumphantly, as he kissed the lingering tear that was running down her cheek.

Vaeryna whined when Aemond removed his fingers.

“Shh. Daddy’s going to give you just what you need, I’m going to fuck you so good that you won’t ever think of anyone else but me again” whispered Aemond.

Aemond slipped into Vaeryna immediately, given how wet she was. He sighed into the crook of Vaeryna’s neck, as her legs immediately wrapped around him as he began to fuck into her.

Vaeryna moaned and cried beneath Aemond, his pelvis rubbing against her swollen bud with each deep and rough thrust he gave.

“You going to peak already? I can feel you clenching around me” huffed Aemond, watching his length disappear into his wife’s wet folds.

“Please” wailed Vaeryna, her hands gripping the sheets.

Aemond took pity and slid a hand down to Vaeryna’s pearl, rolling it in time with his thrusts,

“Come on then. I want to feel you cum on my cock”

It took five deep thrusts before Vaeryna screwed her eyes shut, as she peaked with an earth-shattering moan.

Aemond carried on fucking her through it, until Vaeryna was a sobbing mess beneath him.

“Give me another. I want another” grunted Aemond, pressing his fingers against his wife again harder.

Vaeryna tried to move away but it was no use as Aemond ripped yet another peak from her.

“Fuck” groaned Aemond through his teeth, hand releasing his wife’s bud out of mercy as he gripped her hips tightly in both hands, fucking into her harder and faster than before, her body moving up the bed by the sheer force of his thrusts.

“Going fill your sweet cunny” moaned Aemond.

Vaeryna nodded weakly as Aemond continued to thrust his length into her.

“You want me to fill up this pretty cunny with my seed? You want me to put another child in you?”

Vaeryna nodded her head again, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes as Aemond continued to rut into her.

“Going to fill up my wife. Fuck. I can’t wait to see you round with my child again”.

Vaeryna’s brain went blank as ecstasy shot through it, scrambling any thought that she had.

Vaeryna heard Aemond’s loud groan as he came deep within her, his warmth filling her.

Then nothing as darkness embraced her.

It took a while for Vaeryna come back to herself, snuggled in Aemond’s arms.

Vaeryna shifted to look up at her husband, watching as his eye opened to look down at her.

“So good you blacked out?” asked Aemond softly, watching as his wife smiled at him, nuzzling into his bare chest.

“I don’t think I can move” gasped Vaeryna.

“Lucky for you we’ve got a few hours until the feast, so rest my sweet wife and once you awaken, I shall have you again” replied Aemond.

To say the feast was a little awkward was an understatement.

Vaeryna and Aemonds very amorous reconciliation was indeed heard by a number of maids and servants and soon the Red Keep was a buzz with the gossip about Prince Aemond’s virility and his prowess in bed.

Aegon of course raised his cup in celebration and the children didn’t know where to look.

Cregan had attempted to remain blissfully unaware but that backfired when some serving maids began giggling as they set eyes on Aemond, who had slumped so for down in his seat that he was practically on the floor.

“So, brother, did you enjoy your tour of the Red Keep earlier?” asked Vaeryna.

“Yes, I did although we had to cut the tour short due to-never mind” replied Aegon as Aemond glared at him.

“Honestly you lot, I really don’t see the issue” exclaimed Vaeryna as she took a sip of wine.

“I don’t wish to hear the maids gossiping about you and my father-“ muttered Rhaegar.

“-What? Engaging in the activities of man and wife?” asked Vaeryna.

“It is unseemly” said Rhaegar furrowing his brow.

“I’ll remember that next time I walk in on you and Jaehaera” replied Vaeryna.

“But that’s not the same thing-mother stop smiling” whined Rhaegar.

“Oh, my love” whispered Jaehaera as she patted her husband gently on the shoulder.

“What can I say your father made me very happy today”.

“Gods, Vaeryna are you trying to kill me off” laughed Aegon as he spat his drink all over the table.

“Uncle that’s gross” said Jaehaeryn.

“Mother why is father blushing?” asked Vharla.

“N-No reason” urged Aemond.

“So, it has been a pleasure meeting your children, they truly are a credit to you both” said Cregan politely.

“Certainly, was a pleasure making them” whispered Aegon.

“You are the King; you are supposed to maintain etiquette and decorum” said Aemond.

“Since when have I ever done that” laughed Aegon.

“Lord Stark” said Aerys.

“Yes, My Prince?”

“Does Winterfell have direwolves?” asked Aerys curiously.

“Unfortunately, not My Prince they have not been seen sighted south of the wall in many years, although the men of the nights watch can hear them beyond the wall in the land of always winter” replied Cregan.

“I read a book in the library that says they can grow larger than ponies,” said Aerys.

“I’ve heard that too”.

“I wish I could see one, I have a dragon, his name is Karnax, but mother says dragons cannot fly beyond the wall, good Queen Alysanne tried and Silverwing refused her” said Aerys.

“I’m not to knowledgeable about the dragons My Prince, but if a dragon will not pass beyond the wall the mayhaps there is a reason for that” suggested Cregan.

“My dragons called Swiftwind because she’s the fastest dragon in the sky” said Saeryna.

“I think you’ll find that Terrax is the fastest” said Jaehaeryn.

“Nah uh-it’s Sapphyre” argued Vharla.

“What of Dreamfyre, Silverwing or even Morghul?” asked Daenerys.

“No, not fast enough”

“What cheek” muttered Rhaegar as Jaehaera frowned.

“Aurora” said Caelee in a sing song voice.

“Stupid name for a dragon” muttered Jaehaeryn.

“Your face is stupid, don’t say that about our sister’s dragon” snapped Aerys.

“Mother, Aerys said I was stupid” whined Jaehaeryn.

“Come on children that’s enough, we have company” replied Vaeryna.

“Well tell him then, he said I was stupid-“ retorted Jaehaeryn.

“-No, I said your face was stupid, there’s a difference” quipped Aerys.

“All of you cease this infernal arguing” ordered Aemond banging his fist on the table.

Immediately all conversation at the table ceased, as Aemond’s anger radiated round the room, all the children bowed their heads respectfully.

“Now, I will have no more talk of who’s dragon is the fastest, because its Vhagar-“

“-That mouldy old rock couldn’t catch a cold“ said Jaehaeryn.

“You dare insult the last living remnant of Aegon’s conquest?” asked Aemond.

“Well, I just meant that she’s old and she can’t fly as fast as she used too-sorry father I didn’t mean to insult Vhagar” mumbled Jaehaeryn grimacing under the glare of his father.

“Hm” said Aemond.

“As if you dared to insult Vhagar, bad move brother” whispered Daenerys.

“Do you have a dragon Uncle Egg?” asked Saeryna.

“I well-I used to he was called Stormcloud” replied Aegon quietly as he pushed the remainder of his food round his plate.

“What happened to him?”.

“H-He died saving my life” said Aegon sadly.

“Oh, I’m sorry uncle, he was very brave to do that” whispered Saeryna as she gently placed her hand over Aegon’s.

“Yes, he was brave”,

“Can you not just claim another dragon?” asked Jaehaeryn.

“I wasn’t aware there were any dragons left to claim” said Aegon.

“There’s Vermithor and Grey Ghost” said Vaeryna.

“I’m not so sure that I would like to claim another dragon”.

“Why not? You’re a Targaryen it is your birth right” said Jaehaeryn.

“I already had my dragon and I lost him, I just don’t know if I deserve another“.

“You will fly again nephew, when the time is right” said Jaehaera smiling.

“I’m not sure that I-“ muttered Aegon.

“-Your dragon will seek you out, the two of you will heal one another’s broken hearts”.

“My wife is very perceptive; you should listen to her” said Rhaegar as he took Jaehaera’s hand and kissed it.

“Oh gross, not you two as well, it’s bad enough that father is all lovestruck over mother”.

“Boy, if you carry on with that mouth of yours, I swear on the seven that you will confined to your chambers and banned from the library for a week” said Aemond firmly.

“Not fair” mumbled Jaehaeryn.

“Excuse me, do you want to repeat that?” challenged Aemond.

“No father” whispered Jaehaeryn.

Aemond conceded and then looked over at his brother who smirked.

“Don’t look at me, you decided to have all these children” said Aegon as he took a very large gulp of wine.

“If I didn’t know any better, I would suggest that he was your son”.

“I can’t sire anymore children brother, nice try though-that boy is your son through and through even down to the scowl” replied Aegon.

“I do not scowl” argued Aemond folding his arms across his chest.

“Yes, you do, you’re doing it now” said Aegon smirking.

[dipperscavern]

hi gf🕯️im here to consult your fortune telling & to formally congratulate you on 1K!! ur amazing and deserve it & all the happiness ever soooo🤎🦇ily

n e ways you know me but here’s some other stuff: im 5’3, v pale blonde (goodbye), enfp-a, confession im not actually an overly romantic person - but im def loyal and rly value integrity&honesty. i work with lobbying and legislation, & studied history / polisci / intl affairs! idk what else tbh im confrontational but not extremely hot headed… usually lol & im unfortunately a big flirt irl but it’s mostly bc i don’t stop talking. & i think it’s fun. so 🫵🏻

hi baby 🕯️ thank u so much!!! i love u!!! (yes, it is true, we are comrades, but i am an unbiased unit when it comes to fortune telling)

eldrith, first & only of her name, omen of the winds and poet of the gods, come forth and kneel before my ball of crys’, and we shall see which stark of three stands beside you in your midst 🔮

i see…. snow, winter… oh, that fellows always clipping doorways. hm— oh, yes, the man in my vision is stark, indeed, warden of the north, cregan, shall be your only need. anyways!! cregan alike values integrity and honesty, and i think you not being overly romantic would sit well with cregan. obviously, you love each other, but don’t rely on grand displays of affection to show your devotion to one another. cregan learns you inside and out, and learns the subtle ways you show your love/affection (he appreciates every one). i think the way you show affection to each other is more subtle and silent, like physical touch and acts of service, yk? and you would make a fabulous lady stark — the most politically skilled one they say ever had. u and cregan would be a political dream team!! and confrontational but not extremely hot headed, yeah brother, that’s cregan to the MAX. cregan loves someone who stands up for themself n doesn’t take any shit. plus, he would adore the oddities you collect, and always point out stuff he’d think you like (bones) <3

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

What We Sow

Pairing: Theon Greyjoy x Greyjoy!Reader

Warnings: game of thrones canonical siblingxsibling, sister-wife, violence, dark!reader?, euron being an asshat, voyeurism?, mention of torture, book!theon, oral (male receiving), p in v

Words: 6425

The rugged coastline of Pyke was the greatest thing to Theon's eyes. It meant his return home after a long journey that was filled with trading with not only the rest of Westeros but also smaller islands off the coast of Essos. Water churned with a restless energy, reflecting the overcast sky above. The Iron Islands had always been a place of harsh beauty, where the relentless sea and the unforgiving elements shaped both the land and its people. To an outsider's eye, the Iron Islands might appear as an eyesore, a desolate and forbidding place where life was a constant battle against the elements. Craggy cliffs, salt-stained rocks, and windswept trees clinging stubbornly to life. The sky, today, was an uninviting gray, as if the heavens themselves were reluctant to welcome Theon back. All of it was so endearing to him though. Theon couldn't help but feel a surge of happiness welling up inside him. Very soon he'd be able to hold his beloved in his arms.

This was his home, a place where the salt of the sea and the cries of seagulls were a constant presence and where you were. Waiting so patiently as always. His queen, his sister, his wife. He'd been dreaming of the moment when he'd be reunited with you after so long.

As the ship glided into the sheltered harbor, Theon could see the familiar faces of his subjects lining the shore, their weathered features breaking into smiles as they recognized their king. Faces that would have sneered at him previously since he'd been a ward of the Warden of the North for a number of years. Who would have thought that the salt people were actually capable of expressing joy.

King. Funny how the title his father had longed for was now Theon's. Smugness swells his chest when he thinks back to the salty old bastard that was Balon Greyjoy. He wished that Balon had a physical grave where Theon and you could dance upon it. No love lost for the death of their father. In fact it was the start of something wonderful for the Iron Isles. Not since the time of Lord Harren Greyjoy had the islands experienced such a flush of opportunity and growth. And of course he had you to thank as well. You were his anchor. The only person who could talk reason into him and quell his anger.

He would not be the king he was without you. Loving you had never been easy. While the faith of the Drowned God did not have any discrimination against incest, many in Westeros looked down on it as a reminder of their once Targaryen rulers. Not just that but the Faith of the Seven viewed it as extremely abhorrent. Your love was kept a deep dark secret while the two of you lived under the guiding hand of Ned Stark. The salt people didn't think twice of it though. Theon proved himself a better ruler than his father and everyone knew much of that was thanks to his sister-wife. They wouldn't complain. Now that many of the islanders were becoming more busy thanks to the opening of trade through their ports and the reconstruction of not just Pyke, but the other six islands as well.

Dock workers and sailors alike help those on deck, unload their cargo as Theon descends the gangplank, boots clanging against the wooden planks as he made his way to solid ground. The feel of the dock beneath his feet was a welcome one.

"Oy! Is that my brother the king?!" Came the crowing voice of his other sister Asha. She was on a neighboring ship the Black Wind, dangling off of one of the ratlines carelessly.

He grins, surveying her as Asha swiftly jumps down. A dockhand hands Theon the reins of his readied horse. He nods in thanks and turns back to Asha who was now strutting up the dock to give her brother a big hug. Their relationship had been rocky in the beginning when Theon first arrived back on the isles.

"Asha! Can't believe I'm actually saying this, but aren't you a sight for sore eyes." His arms embrace his older sister, bringing her into probably a less than fragrant body.

Asha snorts and is the first to release the hug. "A mule would be a sight for sore eyes for you by how long you've been gone." Her eyes soften as she gestures with her head toward their home. "The queen has been missing you."

"As I have missed her." Theon's chest flutters as it always did when he thought of you. You were his heart and soul after all.

She chuffs him on the shoulder. "Well, best not to keep either of you waiting then, eh?"

They ride off together. While he knew you were a patient lady, Theon was not. He wanted you in his arms as soon as possible. He urged his horse to go as fast as it could run along the rocky terrain.

Constructed from the same dark, weathered stone as the surrounding cliffs, giving it an almost otherworldly appearance as it melded seamlessly with its natural surroundings was their ancestral home. It was a place where saltwater spray had etched its mark, leaving streaks of briny residue on the walls that bore witness to countless storms. A series of narrow bridges and walkways connected the various towers and buildings of the castle, each one precariously suspended above the churning waters below. The cause of Balon's demise.

The main keep, which housed the Greyjoy family, rose from the center of the fortress like a dark, brooding sentinel. Its towering, angular walls were crowned with crenellations that cast stark shadows against the overcast sky. Theon could see the Greyjoy banner, a kraken of black on a field of gold, billowing in the wind above the keep, a symbol of his family's dominion over the Iron Islands.

Making it into the fortress' stables, Theon and Asha dismount from his horse and handed the reins to a waiting stable hand. Those who had spotted his arrival on horseback had come out to greet their king and his most trusted advisor. An up and rising young lord from Blacktyde, Kyllan Stewar, takes Theon by the forearm as was the custom greeting.

"Welcome back, Your Grace." Kyllan's smile is wide despite cracked lips that were common in this weather.

"Good to be back, Lord Stewar." Theon replies though his attention is elsewhere. "My queen?"

"Where else would our exuberant queen be?" Lord Kyllan chuckles knowingly. There was only one answer: the training yard.

Much like your siblings, you grew restless sitting around in a pretty dress. You loathed needlework and playing instruments of any kind. Your fingers weren't meant for delicate tasks. They were meant to wield deadly weapons.

You prefer to spend your days out in the fresh, salt air with either a blade or bow grasped in your hand.

The moment you spot Theon and Asha walking into the yard though, you let your sword fall to the ground; quickly forgetting about the young knight that you had been sparring with. Your legs move faster than your mind could think, on instinct they run toward Theon.

He collides into you, strong arms sweeping you up and off your feet. His grip could be considered suffocating to any other woman. You want him to break your bones though. To absorb you into his body so that you could always be with him.

"It's about damn time." You dig your fingers into his black hair, twisting the locks around your digits as Theon is now completely holding you up. Nostrils flare as you inhale his musky scent that mingles with the salty air. A primal smell stuck to your brother from weeks without a proper bath. But it was all him. "What took you so long?"

Theon chuckles and peppers the crown of your head in numerous butterfly kisses. "My apologies, your grace. There was lots of trading to be done overseas. Our oysters and mussels are the talk of the kingdom." You didn't like when he pulls away from you and you feel a pout rising on your lips until he crashes his mouth against your's. Relenting, you meet his hungry fervor; biting his bottom lip and keeping it as your captive for a moment before diving back into the kiss.

In the background, you hear the clearing of Asha's throat as she reminds the both of you that you were among other lords who were watching the reunion unfold. While many didn't care about your incestuous relationship, they didn't necessarily like being reminded of it with displays of affection. Not caring for what they think, Theon would have continued on kissing you until the sun went down, but you were more tactical and didn't want to make anyone uncomfortable, especially toward men who supported Theon's claim to the salt throne.

Sighing, you pat Theon on his chest and ignore his frustrated groan and turn him around to face his men. They stand straighter at his attention. "Men, our feast tonight will be overflowing with the finest red meat Westeros had to offer us!"

They cheer, red meat had been a rarity in the islands besides goat and lamb they could spare. Actual beef was worth more than any gold dragon to them. The Crownlands boast the most cattle and they just so happened to enjoy the large oysters that were abundant in the Iron Islands. Even your mouth watered at the thought of the meat being unloaded into the kitchens of the castle.

Heading back to the Greyjoy fortress, Theon cocks his head toward you with that smug grin of his. Holding out his arm to you in a warm gesture. "My queen, shall we follow?"

Immediately you latch onto his extended arm. You wouldn't be leaving his side any time soon. You plan on monopolizing his attention for the rest of the evening. Damn the other lords who have important business to discuss with him. You were Theon's number one priority.

"What the fuck is he doing here." You didn't bother to keep the vulgarity from your vocabulary nor the venom that dripped off of every word you hissed out. It wasn't phrased as a question. A demand more like it from the lord who had delivered the news that your uncle Euron had shown up on the docks like he owned the place.

Heat rose to your cheeks and down your neck at what this threat could bring to the prosperity of the islands. Euron could potentially fuck up everything you and Theon worked so hard to build.

Theon watches his sister's rare temper come to surface. There was little that could truly tick you off enough that you would raise your voice. He almost found it amusing since it was an event that didn't happen often. That's why he merely leans back in his throne and observes you in all of your haughty splendor.

"Well. . . he says since Balon is dead that he should be able to return to Pyke." The lord hesitantly continues, nervous eyes dart to Theon a bit helplessly but Theon was not going to be the one to stop you from fuming.

Asha barks out a cruel laugh. "Oh that's rich. Like that's going to undo the baby he put in the belly of Victarion's saltwife. Or bring her back to life."

Victarion who was present in the throne room, glares at his niece for her callousness. Both Victarion and Aeron did share her sentiment about Euron though. He should not be let back into the inner circle of the family.

Another liege lord pipes in "He's making quite the ruckus out in the courtyard. He's insisting an audience with you, your grace."

Indeed, everyone in the audience chamber could hear Euron's booming voice from the other hall. Grating on your nerves, you look to Theon to gauge his reaction just to find him still staring at you. Lazily his lips curl into a smile now that he had your intention.

You would have found it cute any other time, but your patience was wearing incredibly thin. "Well? We're going to turn him away, aren't we? He has no place here in our Iron Islands. We do not raid anymore. He is a reminder of that century old practice that near ruined us."

The way you spoke with such authority really did get Theon's cock hard but this was no place or time for a hard-on. "I understand why you and many others may not want him back on Pyke." He kept his eyes solely on you as if you were the only one he was talking to. "But Euron does know how to rouse the people into work."

"That can be a bad thing, my love. He can rouse people the wrong way. We do not want to go back to paying the iron price. That's not how this world works anymore. It's evolving. We're evolving." Your words may have come off as harsh, but honestly you were scared. Scared that Theon could see the fear in your eyes too. So much had been done for the islands. Your people were now prospering and not being looked down by the rest of the world. There were even some from Faircastle and Banefort coming and joining the faith of the Drowned Man which made your Uncle Aeron jump for joy (that is if he was capable of such an intense emotion).

"Like usual, your queen is right." Aeron quips. Theon nearly rolls his eyes but manages to keep them trained on you. Where was the lie though? Even Theon knew it was you who really ran things around here. You'd always been smarter than him. You were the baby of the family but acted like the eldest.

His smile softens. "I know she is. But we should at least hear him out. If only for a few moments."

"Just a few minutes." Huffing in your own throne, you flick your gaze to the lord who had informed you of Euron's arrival. "The very moment he steps out of line, I want him off our island. He would be grateful enough that we let him leave with his life."

Oh, he wanted to fuck you right in front of everyone that instant. Have you bent over his throne and wear the seadrift crown as he rails into you. All of that would have to wait though. There was no way you were as horny as he was right now.

With his consent, Euron was brought in.

He leisurely waltzes in, a familiar cocky grin plastered on his face that resembled the one your brother usually wore. You didn't like it on his face. Once his eyes land on you though, his smile dims. "Well, you grew up into quite the beauty."

You resist the urge to vomit. "Uncle, what brings you here to Pyke? Our father banished you. That banishment still remains."

Euron all but chuckles at the lofty air you carried about you. A gleam of reverence shimmers in his visible blue eye. The other that was covered with an eyepatch, you knew, was deep black much like his soul. It takes effort for him to retract his attention from you and to finally regard your brother, the king, seated next to you. "I wanted to see my beloved family. Excuse me, the King and Queen of the Iron Islands. Imagine my shock to learn that my niece and nephew took up the Targaryen custom of marrying one another. Balon must be rolling in his watery grave. I was even more shocked to see Pyke. The two of you have really cleaned up the place. The soil actually has greenery to it now."

Theon remained quiet, observing his uncle and the way the Crow's Eye would size you up every now and then as he was speaking. A long time ago, he would have immediately felt the sizzle of jealousy. He was a grown man now. His love for you had evolved above jealousy as you had reassured him through the years that you were his and he was your's. Even Robb Stark wasn't able to woo you away from him, though the match would have been beneficial to both the Starks and Greyjoys. And there was absolutely no way you would reciprocate Euron's lustful stares. Theon could see you physically recoil at his leering.

Subtly, his hand lands atop of your's, pulling you away from Euron. He smiles softly before replying "Yes, Pyke has come a long way since you've been here. The old ways were not beneficial to our people and unfortunately you still represent that. You can imagine the threat you pose to our achievements, uncle."

Victarion could be heard grumbling from off to the side where Aeron hushes him into silence. It doesn't go unnoticed by Euron who shoots his brother an goading wink that only furthered Victarion's flush of anger.

"Threat? I bring no threat." Euron chuckles and takes a step toward your throne. Asha who was silently standing next to you puts herself between you and Euron, sending a message that he was not to come any closer. Her hand moves to her sword, eyes hard with her warning. "I wish to be part of the greatness you have created here! Even in Essos I've heard of the prospering Iron Islands. Did you know your products have reached even that of Qarth?"

Of course you knew. No traders left without the crown's consent.

"What makes you think you have anything to offer the islands?" Asha sneers. His words were as trustworthy as a snake's.

His smile twitches in vexation. "I am a changed man, niece." He spits out the last word with mirth. "I have my dearly departed brother Balon to thank for that. His banishment was actually the best thing for me. My years spent wandering Essos has tempered me into a wiser and more resourceful man. I have newfound knowledge that would greatly contribute to the Iron Islands. I wish only to serve."

Putting on quite the display of fealty, Euron bends the knee to you and Theon; bowing his head deeply in reverence.

Murmurs spring up in the throne room. Many were those of doubts. Some were of intrigue. Your hand that was under Theon's curl letting Theon know of your disquiet thoughts. Theon flicks his attention on the other lords lingering around. "Leave us."

While the lords obeyed their king, your other two uncles were more hesitant to leave. This was a family matter afterall and they deserved a say in whatever decision you and Theon made.

"You two as well." He informs Victarion and Aeron.

Pursing his lips, Victarion is dragged away by Aeron Damphair. His scornful glare never leaves Euron who waves at them tauntingly.

When their footsteps fade away, Theon surprises you by standing up. You and Asha exchange wary glances before you too stand next to your husband. As a trio, you and your siblings walk down the raised dais to stand directly in front of Euron. Up close you do notice that he wasn't that bad looking. You would even call him handsome, much like Theon. They must have gained all the good looks in the Greyjoy family.

"Walk with us, uncle." Theon beseeches.

"Please stop glaring at me like that." Theon hated when you were upset with him. Euron had proved that he indeed possessed knowledge that would be beneficial to the islands which irritated both you and Asha even more.

"This is a bad idea, Theon." Pacing back and forth in your chambers, all you could think of was the calamity that Euron's presence could bring. Anxiously you chew on your cuticles, a nasty habit you'd had since childhood. It soothed you though and dampened the swirling thoughts that plagued you.

He watches helplessly as you just refuse to be still. "My love-"

You shake your head. "Don't 'my love' me. I can't believe you're letting him stay. Others will have issue with this too."

Catching you by the hand, Theon implores you to still your body. Grudgingly you do stop your pacing only to frown at him. You didn't yank your hand out of his grip but allowed him to slowly pull you onto his lap. Once settled in, his thumb smoothes against your cheek. "Our supporters are many. People trust us. If Euron dares to raise a hand against either of us, he will face repercussions from our citizens. And don't forget Asha would never let him get close to our wing of the castle. I don't think she'll be sleeping tonight."

"I. . . I just remember the stories father would tell us about him." Your eyes flutter closed, grimacing with the thought of Balon's gravely voice recalling his treacherous brother.

"Your fears are valid. I know. I know he can't be completely trusted. But we're strong enough to handle him if he does get the idea in trying to harm us."

True. If Euron really knew the other side of you. . . he would not have returned at all. He would stay far away, the only wise thing to do. Still sullen about the turn of events, all you could do was nod and place a small kiss on Theon's forehead.

"Very well."

You leave, not feeling any better. The clicking of your boots against the stone floor seemed incredibly loud in your ears. You hate how uneasy you feel in your own home. Like Euron would pop out of nowhere-

"Sweet niece."

Fuck.

Feeling stupid for leaving your sword behind, you reluctantly swivel on your heel to address your uncle. "Euron. You're not allowed here. Where are the attendants that we gave you?"

"I told them they could have the day off." Was all he would give you. Something spoiled your gut watching him strut toward you, thinking himself hot shit. Practically purring, his voice was smooth as the sea on a calm day, "You are a vision of beauty, even amidst the stormy shores of Pyke. Time on the mainland was good to you evidently."

Nails bite into your palm, the one thing keeping your facade neutral and gaze unwavering. Euron's silver tongue and beguiling charm was well known and he used it to seduce both men and women for both sex and war. "Your words are kind, uncle. But I must tell you that you should refrain from saying anymore from here on out."

His laugh grates against your hearing. "But we're family!" A dark undertone lowers his voice. "And apparently you have no problem with having family say sweet nothings to you. Or is that only for your brother?"

"Watch what you say." Your own tone is icy sharp. "You're lucky he even allowed you to stay here. You do not hold any kind of power in our court."

In faux defense, he holds up is hands. "My apologies, your grace. I see I have touched a nerve. I'm just saying, if blood is of no issue to you, then I willingly offer myself as a paramore to the queen. Loyalty can be such a confining chain. Why tether yourself to just one man? Have you ever tasted another's lips besides your brother's?"

Your eyes flash with a steely resolve as you step forward. "My loyalty is not a chain and you have stepped out of line. I need no other lover except for my king and husband, you unworthy worm. Get out of our wing before I truly lose my temper. If I even smell you here again I will have you hanged. Kin or not."

Like the rest of Westeros, kinslaying was beyond abhorrent. You did not make the promise lightly and Euron was aware that you would keep true to it.

Euron's demeanor shifted slightly, his charming facade cracking to reveal a hint of frustration and resentment. His lips curl with a retort but you raise your voice loud enough for any nearby guard to here. "GET OUT OF HERE."

The abrupt loudness of your voice actually causes him to take a step back. He weighs his options before ultimately skulking away.

"Are you alright, your grace?" A guard quickly rounds the corner to check on you.

"Have the guards doubled around our wing of the castle. By no means is Euron allowed here. If he is, then I insist on corporeal punishment."

Thank the gods Euron kept relatively quiet for the following days. Not a peep or sighting of him. You'd told Theon of your encounter with him. The treasonous things he said. He took it all in good humor, annoyingly so.

"He's just jealous." Theon nuzzles his nose against the warmth of your throat. Both of you were taking a break from honing your swordsmanship. Your sweat didn't bother him. In fact it appeared to entice him to lick a long line at your throat. "Jealous that you're all mine."

You blow out an exasperated puff of air. "Of course I am. That should be of no debate." The two of you are seated on a lone, grassy cliff that overlooks the tops of Pyke Castle. You enjoyed watching the busy port, the many sea vessels that were drifting upon the waves.

You didn't expect for your brother to take Euron's advances seriously.

He'd have to do something though once rumors from the taverns started to reach the castle.

Asha brought you the upsetting gossip which stemmed from your uncle. It was well recorded from many people how Euron would fall into his cups and talk of nothing but killing not just you, but Theon himself. He spoke openly of the kinslaying/regicide as if he were the better candidate to sit the salt throne.

There was a reason Asha came to you hesitantly. She knew what would happen once she told you that Euron had outright threatened Theon.

You couldn't let him live. Not after that. He could have just said he'd kill you. The moment he said he'd kill Theon you'd already made up your mind that you would take the situation into your own hands.

"Gather everyone in the castle to the bailey. Make sure Theon and Euron are in attendance." The coldness in your eyes could make any weather worn warrior tremble in front of you.

Asha actually smiles at the prospect of seeing this side of her sister released to the open. "Of course. I'll get right on it."

You listen to her walk away, your focus still on the sword behind the case you kept it in. Your sword.

--

When you challenge you uncle in front all of the household, all Euron does is bark out a laugh that has him rocking on his feet.

"You're joking, of course you must be joking." One arm is pressed against his stomach as another laugh wheezes out of him. When he finds everyone else with a sober face, he straightens up. Unwilling to let his condescending smile fall. Others were serious about this, awaiting his answer.

Behind you, Theon hisses out a desperate whisper "What are you doing?"

You're still staring at Euron. "He's been boasting about killing you. I can't allow him to keep saying such things."

That was all Theon needed to hear. He recognized the tightening of your posture, a spine like iron. This wasn't his queen anymore. This was a mercenary. Someone entirely different from his sweet sister who loved honeycakes and playing with the kennelmaster's puppies when there was free time. You weren't you and yet this part had always been woven into your being.

The only ending for Euron now was a slow and painful death. No one threatened the life of your brother and got away with it.

Euron finally replies, his tone dripping with mockery. "I accept your challenge. But be warned, I am not one to be taken lightly. Even if you are queen and blood. Whatever happens to you, I will not be held accountable for."

As the duel begins, Euron lunges forward with swift, calculated strikes. His years of experience at sea granted him an uncanny balance and agility, making him a formidable opponent. That was well known knowledge. He was capable of holding up his own in a fight. He was fast, but there was no one in the known world who could match your almost dancer's grace, movements precise and deliberate. You didn't have to be physically intimidating and neither did your sword. Slender, sharp, and double-edged you deftly parry each of Euron's attacks, focus unwavering.

It didn't take long for Euron to realize the grave mistake he'd made by agreeing to fighting you. With a fluid grace that belied strength, you disarm Euron in a swift, unexpected maneuver, sending his sword clattering to the ground.

With his lone, blue eye, he stares at it. He doesn't even catch your voice telling your men to bind him and toss him into the dungeon to await the king and queen.

Their hands are not gentle.

Fists split his face open. Another thing Euron had underestimated was how much they loved their sovereigns.

At some point, Euron fell unconscious. He's slow to rouse awake, head lolling from shoulder to shoulder as he stirs. Pain explodes on every known surface of his body. They must have continued to beat him even as he passed out.

Moving his mouth, he finds a gag placed over it. Vaguely he was able to make out muffled voices.

"Good, you're up."

A sharp slap to his face was what truly wakes him up. He finds his eyepatch was removed. One black eye and one blue eye wildly gape at you and Theon.

"Your death has been voted on by not just ourselves, but the lords of the Iron Islands as well." Theon announces, his expression passive. "We will grant you a private execution to lessen your humiliation. However, there has been a special request. You have the honor of being executed by the very woman that made you look like a fool."

Euron was half-listening though, distracted by what you were doing behind Theon. Your hands are busy unlacing your bodice, letting free your breasts. His throat clenches at the sight. You weren't paying either men any of your attention as you went on to remove the rest of your cumbersome clothing, leaving you naked.

"But not before my queen and I demonstrate our. . . united front." Theon's lips curl when he catches on that his words fall on deaf ears. Euron was entirely consumed with watching you perch yourself on a chair he hadn't noticed before. The dip of your hips was hypnotizing.

Only when you're fully seated do you look at your uncle. Legs crossed and tits pushed forward, you were downright sinful just sitting there. A cruel smile on her pretty lips. "I like you a lot better like this, Uncle Euron. My king, you've wasted enough time on him. Why don't you come over here?" Syrupy sweet when you turn to your brother.

Theon turns his back on Euron. Happy to obey his queen's demands. There was nothing left to say to him.

Undoing the clasp of his fur cape, he lays it out at your feet like a rug. Watching his nephew undress would not be as nice as watching you. Theon's bare back was that of a grown man's, broad and muscled and covered in scars. A testament to the turbulent symphony of his tumultuous life. Inked verses of his existence, painted by the relentless hand of adversity. The little boy was gone. Dead.

This was the King of the Iron Islands.

You shift in your seat, pussy already throbbing with the need for Theon's cock to fill it. What a pretty cock he had too. A blossom pink bulb of a head that was supported by a long, weighty shaft. Just thinking about it had your cheeks warming and your breathing become shallow.

Euron muffles, attempting to pull free of his confines.

His struggle music to your ears. You bite your bottom lip, chewing on it as your hand creeps between your legs. "Yes, louder if you will." You wanted to remember Euron like this. Helpless, being a captive audience for you and Theon. You would drive the point into his head, as one would a nail in wood, that Theon life and being were your's. And you were possessive over your things to a dangerous degree. When someone threatened the safety and happiness of Theon, you took it personally. Who thought they had the authority to kill him? Only you did, but you would never.

Your slick already covered the insides of your upper thighs, dripping down onto your seat. The only thing to pull your focus away from Euron was Theon pulling down his breeches to reveal his swollen, feverish cock. Practically springing out and begging for your lips around it. The softness of his cloak cushions your knees as you slide off and in front of Theon. His hand lovingly brushes against the top of your head.

"I understand you in some degree, uncle." Theon's voice is raspy, your mouth opening and leaning forward to wrap around the bulbous tip of his dick. He lets you suckle for a moment before continuing "If she were not mine, I too would be driven to jealousy and perhaps want to kill whatever lucky man had the honor of sleeping next to her." His eyes rove over your face, a twitch to his cock at the hollowing of your cheeks and the bobbing of your head. Fingers tighten around the tresses that adorned the crown of your head. He slams his length all the way to the back of your throat, making you gag. Tears accumulate on your bottom lashes but you will your throat to relax. Expertly breathing through your nose as you take him. You could feel your throat bulge, barely able to contain his girth let alone allow it down your throat. Saliva dribbles out of the corner of your mouth. He face fucks you, each snap of his hips pulling out a gagging noise from you.

Obscene squelching emits from the velvety drag of his dick down your throat and along your tongue. Usually he enjoyed cumming in your mouth. Theon would have to restrain himself this time.

Sharply Theon's sharp canine tooth pierces the plump flesh of his lower lip as he uses all of his strength to yank you off of him. "Hands and knees, my love."

Maneuvering around him so that Euron could watch you position yourself in front of your king. Your ass raises high, exposing your puffy, wet pussy for Theon's gaze to feast on. He takes a moment to appreciate the work of messy art in front of him with a smug grin.

"To never know how it feels to fuck such a perfect pussy. . . I feel sorry for you." Flashing up to his uncle, Theon grabs the shaft of his cock and lined it up perfectly against your lower lips. You feel the blunt prodding as he makes small, experimental thrusts against you. A territorial growl rips from him that has your nipples hardening even more. "But you're lucky enough to witness this. For this to be the last thing you see before my queen severs your head from your neck."

Pulling back a margin, he propels his hips forward to fill you to the hilt. All you could do was pathetically grip at the fur pelt beneath you for any kind of stability. You let yourself be as loud as you want. Shamelessly so. Euron could see the whites of your eyes as Theon drilled into you with his cock. Your tits bounce with each snap of his hips. Skin on skin smacks together in a loud symphony that was accompanied by your high pitch cries and Theon's own sinful praises that he lavished upon your pussy.

Your upper body threatens to give out. "TH-Theon-" You rasp out between the slapping of his balls against your clit.

Reading your mind, he reaches under you and with a feather light finger starts to languidly stroke the hood of your clit; his thumb already toying with your swollen bead that could make you squirt if stimulated enough. Somehow he manages to lift you up without jostling you much so that your back was pressed against his bare chest. His hand holds your neck, the other going to support a thigh as he continues to fuck you. At least now you could see his cock impale you, breaking past your pussy lips and disappearing deep inside of you.

He feels your walls constrict at the new angle he was taking you from. Squeezing contractions that massaged his cock in the way that made him feel like he was but a wild beast, reduced to his baser instincts of simply rutting into you. Theon's vision grows blurry, his head hot.

When he feels you spasm around him, seizing up and squeezing the life out of his cock in your own euphoria, that's when Theon allowed himself to break. He shudders and grips you tightly against him. Teeth bite into your shoulder to help him ride out his orgasm.

You yourself feel light headed, delirious and almost forgetting where the two of you were. Everything around you melts into nothingness. There's just you and Theon, stuck together. His panting matching your own.

Theon's tender voice is barely audible in your ringing ears. There was something he was reminding you to do. Your faculties were shut down as you were slowly coming down.

Patiently chuckling, Theon kisses your cheek. "My love, we can continue this in our room. But there's something you need to do first."

That's right.

Euron's cheeks were flushed and there was a tent formed in his pants. You smirk thinking that he would die with a hard-on.

On wobbly legs, Theon helps you stabilize before handing you your sword.

More muffling comes from your uncle with each step you took toward him. Still naked and glowing with a light sheen of sweat.

He's offered no last words.

Your blade strikes fast and true, slicing past bone and cartilage; tearing arteries and veins so that his warm blood sprays onto your skin.

Thus was the fate of any man or woman who dared to think they could take your Theon away from you.

TAG LIST:

@enchantingcupcakecollectionfan

[maid-with-sunset-in-her-hair]

My opinion is that none of the stark children knows what happened to their family before especially LYANNA, like yea they have an idea that both the three died, but do they actually know what caused their death ? No, merely the fact that Bran has no idea about the tourney of harrenhal is really telling and Ned most likely kept a tight-lipped about what happened after the tourney 

Hello! I agree with you that Ned probably didn't tell anyone about what happened before and during Robert's Rebellion, after all, Catelyn didn't know the gruesome details about Rickard and Brandon's murders. But Ned isn't the only one responsible for raising and educating his children, there's also Catelyn, Maester Luwin, Septa Mordane, Ser Rodrik and others.

Lyanna's kidnapping and Rickard and Brandon's murders aren't just personal tragedies for the Starks, they're also some of the most important political events in the last twenty years. Robb was going to become Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, and Sansa was supposed to marry Robert's son and become the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, so they needed to know about Robert's Rebellion to function in their upcoming political positions.

It makes sense that Bran only knows the barebones of the situation, because he's eight years old, but Theon knows about the Tourney at Harrenhal:

But there were others with faces he had never known in life, faces he had seen only in stone. The slim, sad girl who wore a crown of pale blue roses and a white gown spattered with gore could only be Lyanna. Her brother Brandon stood beside her, and their father Lord Rickard just behind. (ACOK Theon V)

Jon probably also knows about Lyanna being kidnapped and raped by Rhaegar, otherwise the revelation of his true parentage will have to include an history lesson 😂

Basically, Robb, Jon and Sansa know the basic historical facts about Robert's Rebellion even if they don't have all the details, Arya and Bran probably know that their family members died during it or maybe that they were killed by the Targaryens.

[racefortheironthrone]

Hello, I've been loving your blog posts thus far and came across your analysis on Baelor Breakspear versus Bloodraven and how the latter's priorities and personality certainly did not help put out the garbage fire fate had given him, as opposed to the general peace and prosperity Baelor was gifted. I was curious as to how Baelor would have handled the plague and drought? I understand that they're probably not pulling off a miracle, but given that he'd at least maintain the feudal contract he's taken at least half of Bloodraven's issues off of his plate. Like, what could you even do with the tech level and ability of state they were working with?

That's an excellent question.

To be fair to Bloodraven, he was handling situations that medieval governments generally did not have the state capacity to deal with - even if they had understood the biological mechanisms of plague, they generally had neither the medical technology needed to test and treat it nor the bureaucratic manpower needed to execute a public health strategy. (To be completely fair, the Republic of Ragusa did invent the quarantine or technically the trentino in 1347, but republics tended to be outliers when it came to state capacity.)

I think that Baelor Breakspear would have struggled to deal with both the plague and the drought that followed. However, I think the main difference between King Baelor's government and the Lord Hand Bloodraven's government is that Baelor would have tried to help, and I think that would have changed the popular perception of whether the feudal social contract was being upheld. Bloodraven's abiding sin as Hand, in addition to the whole police state thing, is that he was so monomaniacally focused on preventing a Blackfyre crossing of the Narrow Sea that he essentially abrogated the monarchy's responsibility to govern on all other issues.

So what could Baelor have done?

Well, when it comes to the plague, I think Baelor could have issued a decree calling on towns and cities to emulate the Vale and Dorne in closing themselves off from travelers - it's a crude form of quarantine, but it did work to protect those kingdoms from the Great Spring Sickness. And in the aftermath, providing even symbolic assistance to widows and orphans and the like would go a long way to making the people feel like the government was trying to help in an impossible situation.

And when it comes to the drought, I think Baelor could have done a lot to help with famine relief. Similar to Aegon V sending food supplies to the North during a harsh winter, I think bringing in grain shipments from Essos to alleviate the suffering of the peasantry would have done a lot more to prevent destabilizing mass migration than Bloodraven's decrees. Issuing decrees waiving royal taxes and cutting feudal rents for affected areas would certainly strain the budget and piss off local lords, but again they would make sure that the peasants wouldn't have to hand over what little food they had and then go migrating in search of something to eat.

Equally importantly, I think Baelor both could and would have acted against Dagon Greyjoy - if the Royal Fleet is needed in the Narrow Sea, calling up the Redwyne Fleet and the Oldtown fleet and commanding the Wardens of the West and North to ready for an invasion of the Iron Islands would have put the Last Reaver down years earlier. And again, showing that the King will act to uphold the King's Peace and punish rebellion and piracy goes a long way to making the populace feel like the rules are being upheld.

And if those actions didn't outright prevent a Second or Third Blackfyre Rebellion, they would at least starve those uprisings of the fuel for their fire, shrinking them from rebellions with a popular constiuency to a mere conspiracy of a few disaffected aristocrats.

[faderifted]

#FADERIFTED. Selective SINGLEFANDOM MULTIMUSE for the DRAGON AGE series featuring GARRETT HAWKE, INQUISITOR LAVELLAN, CULLEN RUTHERFORD and others. High enthusiasm, slow writing speed. Established in Sep 2024 and written by Min (30+, she/her). Not spoiler free. Duplicate friendly.

I feel sun through the ashes in the sky. Where's the one who'll guide us into the night? What's begun is the war that will force this divide. What's to come is fire and the end of time.

GALLERY | MEMES | MUSIC CREDIT

BLOG ROLL: vidyadawn (Dan Heng) | delusionaid (Genshin Impact multimuse) | inominati (Honkai: Star Rail multimuse)

Blog Rules below the cut.

MUSE LIST & CHARACTER SHEETS HAWKE | LAVELLAN | CULLEN | ANDERS

I. ABOUT ME. My name is Min, I'm over 30 years of age and I've been rping in various fandoms for over 15 years. I work during the week so replies are slow, but I'm online throughout the dayand available through DMs or discord (for mutuals only).

II. REQUIREMENTS. If you are interested in roleplaying with me, you must be at least 18 years of age, ideally over 25. I make no exceptions for minors, regardless of thread content. I will gravitate towards DA canon muses (in this context I consider wardens and inquisitors "canon"), but I am open to OCs if the character appeals to me and crossovers if I can see a way to merge our worlds together.

III. WRITING. I prefer plotted threads and longer replies (on average I'll write 3-6 paragraphs). What matters to me is the content of our posts and our ability to progress in the story we want to tell. I don't really do short convos anymore (unless it's dash crack) and I don't write unplotted starters because they often lead nowhere. If you have ideas for our muses, just message me and if you don't have ideas yet but would like to write, let's plot together :)

IV. MEMES. Best way to get something started with me is through memes. Any memes in my meme tag are available without time limit for all mutuals, so no need to ask first, just send in whatever tickles your fancy! Heads up: it might take me forever and three days to respond, but I will get there eventually. Feel free to reblog any meme posts directly from my blog, I don't mind that at all. Bonus: there's a high chance you'll get a meme reply from me 84 years after sending it, when you no longer remember it.

V. SHIPPING. I don't auto-ship and once I do have a ship for a muse (or maybe more than one) I'll probably cap. If I write multiple ships, they are automatically in separate verses unless discussed otherwise. Don't be afraid to ask if you're interested in shipping, the worst case scenario could be that it doesn't work out.

VI. SOCIAL POLITICS. I am against callout and cancel culture and do not engage in it. Callouts will not be reblogged - I curate my dashboard my own way and I have no interest in being dragged into other people's fights. I don't respect publicly hating on fictional ships, characters or portrayals. I will never harass anyone or shame them for the fictional things they choose to write, I simply avoid, blacklist or block what I don't want to see. I believe the RPC would be a better place if people tried to be more tolerant, respectful and kind to one another.

Rules are subject to change. Thank you for reading this far! :)

[bruiisedpetals-a]

       ❝ 𝐖𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐆𝐨𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞: 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐡, 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭, 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥, 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫...     𝐋𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝔅𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔫 𝔬𝔣 ℌ𝔬𝔲𝔰𝔢 𝔖𝔱𝔞𝔯𝔨 & ℭ𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔢 𝔬𝔣 ℌ𝔬𝔲𝔰𝔢 𝔏𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭, 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐡, 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥. 𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫.❞

             @bruiisedpetals​​  +  @lannisterjewel​​

[lives4lovesworld]

The doomed north

Political marriages featuring the stark children are always heavily speculated, and one between Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen has often been (rightfully so) brought up as THE solution to the fiasco that was the eighth season.

However, given the state of the north (show- and/or bookwise) the question arises; Which political smart monarch in their right mind would want to match a marriage between themselves and the head of the north given the horrible state it is and will be?

The north is the most affected by (long) winters with thousands of people dieing, famine and mass suicide being common occurrences due to it being largely uncultivated, with too little game during the winter and it being unable to cultivate during winter. (x, x, x)

It's poor in mineralas, has little to no trade and is sparsely populated for a territory that big. It has been made clear that the north even under normal circumstances needs the assistance from southern, more fertile kingdoms and that it has depended on the Iron Throne to ensure it:

King Aegon, always concerned for the welfare of the poor and weak, did what he could to increase the flow of grain and other food to the North, but some felt he did too much in this regard. - The World of Ice and Fire - The Targaryen Kings: Aegon V

A generation ago, Lord Rickard even tried to tie the north and south more closely together via marriage pacts between his children and southern Great Houses and with his middle son being fostered by a Paramount Lord:

He told me so, on our last night together ... but Rickard Stark had great ambitions too. Southron ambitions that would not be served by having his heir marry the daughter of one of his own vassals.

Some theorize Rickard Stark's ambitions entailed the fall of House Targaryen, however, what's more likely is that he wanted to secure the aid of the south during winter.

Now after an autumn, in which there was no harvest due to Robb's withdrawal of most of the ablebodied men, of wars lost with grand losses and with their southern allies in ruins: House Tully has almost been extinguished, its lands have become a burnt wasteland. Given the outcome of TWot5K their aid is unlikely, if they could even afford to spare any recourses to sent north to begin with. The Vale has proven their lack of interest in aiding the North and currently there are no reasons for a change. The rest of Westeros have neither reason nor obligation to aid the north, trade with them or across the Narrow Sea is unlikely. The north is already in shambles and will continue to get wreaked by more wars and schemes to determined who will rule over this wasteland, decimating even the few remain able-bodied men. It's current Warden throws feats, instead of rationing their remaining resources. It's political anchor points (Winterfell and The Night Watch) are no more, both are in shambles, with one's apoltical facade being completely destroyed. Winter is on its doorstep, The Long Night coming soon and the Others swarming over the North as the Wildings the first to flee ins search of food and shelter.

Which monarch with a sense of self-preservation would even bother to help such a doomed region, let alone make the grave poltical mistakes to bind themselves to it via marriage instead of securing a marriage with a more prospering region?

Quite frankly, the north is truly fucked and that for decades to come. Yet, the fandom continues to be hyperfixate on the Meereen's knot (endlessly stressing how there is no easy fast solution) instead on the more than grim future for north. The pretend a Stark reinstallation will solve everything, most go even further than that and believe wholeheartedly that the north will continue to insist on its independence, and will be antagonistic towards any possible monarch that would truly see to its people and needs. Truly believing an independent north (after all the wars and battles since Eddard Stark's death, including the Long Night) will be a prospering and successful nation. Suddenly able to sustain itself miraculously (despite being historically unable to do so), trade with others, be a political force to be reckon with AND get special treatment from others.

When in reality, its only hope now remains to forge strong alliances, especially ones via marriage. However, (as said) given their current state and the fact that their self-styled King went down in the annals as an oath breaker (a marriage oath at that!) it should have lost all its appeal it might have had in the eyes of the realm.

IMO house stark should need to literally beg anyone for aid (as Jon Snow already has been forced to do as Lord Commander with Stannis Baratheon, and even his (family's) enemies such as House Bolton and Lannister) when it will be reinstalled. Hopefully (for their sake and the integrity of the story) the starks will know that they will need to offer their loyalty and support at the very least in exchange for resources and protection from others (unlike their stans). Although given House Stark's and the north's state, it's loyalty and support won't make much of a difference in the grand scheme of things.

While this post won't touch upon the question; Who should end up as The Head of Westeros, but based on probability, logic (and the north's state) a conclusion with Brandon Stark as it seems more and more unfeasible.

[aerltarg]

Jon Snow Month 2022

Day 5: Bastard identity

Benjen Stark gave Jon a long look. “Don't you usually eat at table with your brothers?”

“Most times,” Jon answered in a flat voice. “But tonight Lady Stark thought it might give insult to the royal family to seat a bastard among them.” (Jon I, AGOT)

He had thought on it long and hard, lying abed at night while his brothers slept around him. Robb would someday inherit Winterfell, would command great armies as the Warden of the North. Bran and Rickon would be Robb's bannermen and rule holdfasts in his name. His sisters Arya and Sansa would marry the heirs of other great houses and go south as mistress of castles of their own. But what place could a bastard hope to earn? (Jon I, AGOT)

“A bastard can have honor too,” Jon said. (Jon I, AGOT)

[...] Sansa, who never called him anything but “my half brother” since she was old enough to understand what bastard meant. (Jon III, AGOT)

When Jon had been Bran's age, he had dreamed of doing great deeds, as boys always did. The details of his feats changed with every dreaming, but quite often he imagined saving his father's life. Afterward Lord Eddard would declare that Jon had proved himself a true Stark, and place Ice in his hand. Even then he had known it was only a child's folly; no bastard could ever hope to wield a father's sword. (Jon VIII, AGOT)

“You’re Ned Stark’s bastard, aren’t you?”

Jon felt a coldness pass right through him. He pressed his lips together and said nothing.

“Did I offend you?” Lannister said. “Sorry. Dwarfs don’t have to be tactful. Generations of capering fools in motley have won me the right to dress badly and say any damn thing that comes into my head.” He grinned. “You are the bastard, though.”

“Lord Eddard Stark is my father,” Jon admitted stiffly.

[...]

“Let me give you some counsel, bastard,” Lannister said. “Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armor yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you.” (Jon I, AGOT)

Tyrion Lannister had claimed that most men would rather deny a hard truth than face it, but Jon was done with denials. He was who he was; Jon Snow, bastard and oathbreaker, motherless, friendless, and damned. For the rest of his life—however long that might be—he would be condemned to be an outsider, the silent man standing in the shadows who dares not speak his true name. (Jon IX, AGOT)

Sam looked dubious. “Dolorous Edd says Craster's a terrible savage. He marries his daughters and obeys no laws but those he makes himself. And Dywen told Grenn he's got black blood in his veins. His mother was a wildling woman who lay with a ranger, so he's a bas...” Suddenly he realized what he was about to say.

“A bastard,” Jon said with a laugh. “You can say it, Sam. I've heard the word before.” (Jon III, ACOK)

“I remember.”

“And did you see where I was seated, Mance?” He leaned forward. “Did you see where they put the bastard?”

Mance Rayder looked at Jon's face for a long moment. “I think we had best find you a new cloak,” the king said, holding out his hand. (Jon I, ASOS)

The dream was sweet... but Winterfell would never be his to show. It belonged to his brother, the King in the North. He was a Snow, not a Stark. Bastard, oathbreaker, and turncloak... (Jon V, ASOS)

[...] A couple of them saw Jon looking down from atop the King's Tower and waved up at him. Others turned away. They still think me a turncloak. That was a bitter draft to drink, but Jon could not blame them. He was a bastard, after all. Everyone knew that bastards were wanton and treacherous by nature, having been born of lust and deceit. (Jon VII, ASOS)

“My name is Snow.”

“Bastard.”

“Guilty. Of that, at least.” (Jon X, ADWD)

[brywrites]

Lock and Key Masterlist

Summary: Milburn Correctional Facility is a tough place to find hope in. But when Spencer Reid stumbles upon a GED class, led by a teacher with kind words and a smile that breaks through the dark, he thinks it might not be so hopeless after all. Spencer Reid x Reader. Set in Season 12. Prison!Reid

Content Warnings for discussion of prison/incarceration, correctional conditions, abuse, etc. Note that this story will feature a lot of real-life prison things. Reid and other characters may at times speak in a derogatory or judgmental manner regarding incarcerated folks, but those statements do not reflect my personal views (xoxo, your friendly neighborhood abolitionist fanfic writer).

STORY

Part I: In which Spencer Reid stumbles upon a GED class at Milburn and feels something like hope for the first time in weeks.

Part II: In which the Reader tries not to lecture Spencer before the lecture, and Spencer gets a nickname.

Part III: In which Spencer gets a visitor and the Reader’s kindness is repaid with a surprise connection.

Part IV: In which Spencer finds sugar bittersweet, and the Reader finds the same sentiment in her work when a student is hurt. 

Part V: In which nothing is beautiful and everything hurts.

Part VI: In which Reid and the Reader both find themselves at the center of problems they just can’t fix… and the stakes are higher than ever.

Part VII: In which Reid finds himself in solitary confinement, and the Reader is simply trying to find him.

Part VIII: In which being free is harder than Reid expected and the Reader has an unexpected reunion.

Part IX: In which Reid realizes he might not be the only one falling, and the Reader has an important question to answer.

Part X: ✨✨ In which some statements are only true for so long, and Reid and the Reader get closer and… closer.

Part XI: In which Reid and the Reader finally say what needs to be said, and the Reader finds she has something in common with the BAU. aka, The End.

Epilogue: In which Spencer invites the Reader to make a move and the Reader starts a new chapter.

TIMELINE

“Alpha Male” / Part I

“Assistance is Futile”/ Part II

Part III

“In the Dark”

Part IV

“Hell’s Kitchen”

Part V

“True North”

“Unforgettable”

Part VI

“Green Light” / Part VII

“Red Light”

Part VIII

Part IX

Part X

CHARACTER REFERENCE

Y/N: The Reader, who teaches GED and college level courses at Millburn Correctional Facility. Spencer is the TA for one of her GED courses.

Marina: Y/N’s roommate, a confident defense attorney with a heart of gold.

Warden Everton: The warden of Millburn Correctional Facility.

Luis “Slim Jim” Delgado: Spencer’s closest friend at Millburn, takes Y/N’s GED class.

Xavier “Hammerhead”: One of Spencer’s classmates, he has two young kids and picks out stories to read to them when they come to visit Millburn.

Richie “Spiders”: One of Spencer’s classmates.

Carl “Porkchop”: One of Spencer’s classmates, known for his jokes and lack of filter.

Malcolm: One of Spencer’s classmates, he wants to go to culinary school after his release.

Tim: One of Spencer’s classmates, he’s a jailhouse lawyer for other prisoners.

[queenaryastark]

He had thought on it long and hard, lying abed at night while his brothers slept around him. Robb would someday inherit Winterfell, would command great armies as the Warden of the North. Bran and Rickon would be Robb's bannermen and rule holdfasts in his name. His sisters Arya and Sansa would marry the heirs of other great houses and go south as mistress of castles of their own. But what place could a bastard hope to earn? -- Jon I, AGOT

This never made sense to me. Highborn bastards could be granted positions, both in the real medieval world and in Westeros. I get that GRRM’s goal is to send Jon to the Night’s Watch as soon as possible, but still, Jon would have whatever possibilities Ned chose to give him. Just as he can find holdings for Bran and Rickon, he could do that for Jon as well. My guess is that Ned’s actual plan for his sons was to settle them in the Gift/New Gift once he got that deal arranged with the NW and the Iron Throne.

His lord father had once talked about raising new lords and settling them in the abandoned holdfasts as a shield against wildlings. The plan would have required the Watch to yield back a large part of the Gift, but his uncle Benjen believed the Lord Commander could be won around, so long as the new lordlings paid taxes to Castle Black rather than Winterfell. "It is a dream for spring, though," Lord Eddard had said. "Even the promise of land will not lure men north with a winter coming on." -- Jon V, ASOS

But then, GRRM probably hadn’t thought of this when he was writing AGOT.

[nomnomzombies]

8x04, Identity and Accountability

> Part 2 <

This started off as me writing a general analysis of last night’s episode but it got really long, really quickly and I haven’t even talked about what I really wanted to talk about. So.... Yeah, here’s my ted talk, and if you guys think I should type up and post the rest of it (themes being Narrative Symmetry/Full Circle and the Sansa/Dan dynamic) let me know! Otherwise, here’s two of four.... Identity and Accountability in relation to Jon, Dan, Cersei, and Missandei. 

Wolf and Dragon symbolism and the theme of Identity

GHOST IS ALIVE!! We kinda knew that from the previews. And his role is just as minuscule as the rest of the season. After everything, Ghost looks like he’s in rough shape.... cut and bruised, missing an ear. And Jon releases Ghost without so much as a fucking good boy goodbye (still not fucking over it. WORST DOG DAD EVER), saying that “he belongs in the North.” We know that the direwolves are direct symbol of their respective owners’ Stark identities, and the direwolves have had deep symbolism in respect to their fates and the fates of their owners. Ghost’s sorry state after the battle shows the state of Jon’s security in his identity. Ghost is alive, Jon is still a Stark, but he’s grappling with the RLJ reveal and his relationship to his Stark identity. Rhaegal is the embodiment of his Targaryen ancestry, and is in sorry shape after the battle as well. Considering both of these animals are directly tied to Jon, Rhaegal not being given time to heal after the battle (because of Dan) may also be an allusion to Dan being relentless about Jon’s heritage and unwilling to compromise. Jon releasing Ghost to go north with Tormund while following Dan south, along with Rhaegal, may seem like he’s choosing his Targaryen heritage over his Stark upbringing, but it’s important to note, however, that Jon is not riding Rhaegal. He mentions that Rhaegal is injured and isn’t riding him to give him a break. There’s distance between him and his Targaryen heritage, and there’s distance between him and Dan following RLJ and “begging for secrecy.” Instead, he’s firmly planted on the ground with the tired and wounded Northern troops who are following him south.  

Dan, on the other hand, is still riding Drogon even though he was assaulted by wights. 

Ever since it was established that she could ride a dragon rather than a horse, she’s opted to (with the exception of when she came to Winterfell with Jon). Her relationship to the dragons has always been a symbol of her power. Not only does she draw her power and confidence from them, but the simple fact of her riding a fucking dragon elevates her to a higher status in the eyes of her subjects. Eerily similar to James Cameron’s Avatar (right down to mighty whitey and the white saviour trope), Jake Sully becomes the leader of the Na’vi against the militarized industrial complex by harnessing toruk and becoming the legendary Toruk Makto (toruk rider). Dan becomes the leader of the Dothraki horselords by overthrowing the current seats of power and riding her mount into battle (dragon rider), leading the charge against her enemies. She garnered the Unsullied by leveraging her dragons value before sacking Astapor. Much like Cersei has connected the throne and her ego as symbols of self-worth, as has Dan connected the symbol of “the dragon” as representations of hers. This could be the reason that the s8 marketing has melded Drogon and the throne together as one image. Both are the battling queens’ symbols of power and identity. This could also be alluding to the fact that Dan has completely lost sight of her initial goals in life and has melded the two (dragon, throne) in her mind in terms of her identity. Many people believe that the season 8 poster is a breadcrumb to something as straightforward as “Dany will win the throne” or “Drogon will melt the throne,” but considering the last season’s poster was an image of the Night King, and the entire season was in preparation for the threat of the AotD, I think it’s far more likely that the poster symbolized that this season’s biggest threat is going to be Dany’s ambition for the throne. She is, after all, “the last dragon,” in that Jon and Gendry are two others with Targaryen ancestry but Dan is the last full-blooded Targaryen (Interestingly, Dan is the great-great-granddaughter of Aegon V Targaryen, which puts her at the same distance from Aegon V as Gendry. This would mean that she’s behind both Jon and Gendry for the throne, considering the Targaryens were usurped and legitimizing Gendry would make him Heir to Robert’s throne, and then Jon, and then Daenerys).  

Daenerys’ decision to not only march south on the metaphorical backs of a compromised host, but on the literal back of her wounded dragon is very telling of her current mental and emotional state following the RLJ parentage reveal. Which leads me to my next overarching theme of the episode:

Actions Finally have Consequences Again

People have said for a long time that the allure of Game of Thrones is that “it’s so realistic.” And, on a surface level, it’s easy to agree with it for a variety of reasons, but once you start to really pick it apart, the arguments don’t really hold up in court. While ASoIaF is incredibly rooted in real-world history, Game of Thrones has become untethered from this sense of reality. I think that a huge part of the story that the writers have lost sight of is accountability—and in this episode, we’re finally starting to see, once again, that even in this high fantasy actions still have consequences. Ned made the decision to confront Cersei about her childrens’ legitimacy out of honor and respect, while incredibly well-intended, he failed to follow through and ended up beheaded. Robb made the decision to break an oath and married for love, and he lead thousands of men into their graves for it. Theon chooses to betray the Starks and was tortured in mind, body, and soul. Jon brings the free folk south of the wall and is faced with a mutiny. Stannis burns his daughter at the stake and half of his host deserts. Cersei elevates the High Sparrow and suddenly reaps half of her life’s worth of sowing. 

While Dan managed to make it through her entire Mereen arc escaping accountability for her actions, those sown seeds are making for an awful harvest. She was able to leverage power and ruthlessness to bulldoze those cities into the ground, and maneuvered her way into her crown by inserting herself into the master/slave dynamic, but she’s stagnating because the game in Westeros is not one where she can just flip the table; in order to change the system you must first infiltrate it. Daenerys believes that she can come over, touting “birthright” from a monarch that was overthrown, and show people that she’s “The Liberator” the “Breaker of Chains.” But with neither chains to break nor people to liberate... how do you get these people to love you..?  

Doesn’t matter to Dan! Much like Cersei, she’s happy as long as they fear her;

 as seen with the burning of the Tarleys (Randyll definitely had it coming, but Dickon?) and the less than warm welcome in the North (and the return of the “saviour” complex).

Speaking of the Tarleys.... I bet Dan’s wishing she’d had a hostage to trade for Missandei. While it’s hard to say if the execution of Mis was unavoidable, it cannot be ignored that Dan declared no quarter after the Loot Train Attack and chose to burn Cersei’s new Warden of the South and his heir. So even if Missandei’s beheading was more psychological warfare than political, the importance of taking at least one Tarley hostage is paramount. This brings us back to The War of the Five Kings, and the consequences of Joffrey’s decision to behead Ned. There’s parallels on both sides, now, because executing Missandei was likely just as foolhardy as executing Ned since we know how important she is to Dan. Cersei, however, probably saw Missandei as little more than a scribe... just one of Dan’s puzzle pieces and as expendable as the Tarley’s were to her. 

As a result, the first person to be liberated by the Breaker of Chains has just died in chains. 

Missandei’s last words are a call back to Olenna Tyrell’s “You are a dragon, so be a dragon,” because Mis essentially prods Dan to “burn it all down” in one word. Which brings up an interesting point, in that Missandei gives awful advice. Let’s not forget that Mis was the one who suggested that Daenerys start ignoring her counsellors all the way back in season 4—and it parallels Olenna nicely because neither Mis nor Olenna were concerned with the outcomes of “burning it all down.” Both allied themselves with Dan because they saw that brutality as a very satisfying route to retribution for their pain. Dany indiscriminately burns and crucifies everyone but the slaves. It’s not hard to see why Mis and Olenna are attracted to her brand of power, especially when neither of them are going to have to face the consequences of Daenerys’ actions. Olenna’s already lost everything, and Missandei already knew she was getting her head cut off. So why not tell the dragon lady to burn it all down?  

[thebritishmonarchycouk]

Historic Royal Signatures . Richard III . . 📜 Richard was named Duke of Gloucester in 1461 & made both a Knight of the Garter & a Knight of the Bath. In 1462, on his birthday, he was made Constable of Gloucester & Corfe Castles & Admiral of England, Ireland & Aquitaine & appointed Governor of the North, becoming the richest & most powerful noble in England. . ▪️ Edward appointed him the sole Commissioner of Array for the Western Counties in 1464 when he was 11. By the age of 17, he had an independent command. . 🏰 Richard spent several years during his childhood at Middleham Castle in Wensleydale, Yorkshire, under the tutelage of his cousin the Earl of Warwick, later known as ‘the Kingmaker’. Warwick supervised Richard’s training as a knight; in the autumn of 1465 Edward IV granted Warwick £1000 for the expenses of his younger brother’s tutelage. . ▪️ On 17 October 1469, he was made Constable of England. In November, he replaced William Hastings, 1st Baron Hastings, as Chief Justice of North Wales. The following year, he was appointed Chief Steward & Chamberlain of Wales. On 18 May 1471, Richard was named Great Chamberlain & Lord High Admiral of England. Other positions followed: High Sheriff of Cumberland for life, Lieutenant of the North & Commander-in-Chief against the Scots & hereditary Warden of the West March. Two months later, on 14 July, he gained the Lordships of the strongholds Sheriff Hutton & Middleham in Yorkshire & Penrith in Cumberland. . 👑 When his brother Edward IV died in April 1483, Richard was named Lord Protector of the realm for Edward’s eldest son & successor, the 12-year-old Edward V. Arrangements were made for Edward’s coronation on 22 June 1483. Before the king could be crowned, the marriage of his parents was declared bigamous & therefore invalid. Now officially illegitimate, their children were barred from inheriting the throne. On 25 June, an assembly of lords & commoners endorsed a declaration to this effect & proclaimed Richard as the rightful king. He was crowned on 6 July 1483. The young princes, Edward & his younger brother Richard, Duke of York, were not seen in public after August. . . . (at York) https://www.instagram.com/p/B_LTFAfDC6j/?igshid=6pfbkv4r8qvv