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whenthesnowfelloverwinterfell · 7 months

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Vatic - Chapter XVII "Tryst"

Series Description :The youngest daughter of King Viserys and Queen Alicent grows up split between the two sides of her family. With dreams plaguing her sleep of people she does not know, and a war looming ahead of her. She will be forced to choose between the two sides of her family, between the love for her brother, and the loyalty for her sister.

Chapter Description : Y/n finds out what Otto has been plotting.

A/n : Sorry for my extended absence

Warnings : Mentions of underage marriage, weapons, kissing, incest

Pairing : Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader ( cannon typical targcest idk what to tell you )

Word Count : 5.7 K

Horses hooves against the soft damp dirt, leather and metal moving as they rode further into the Kingswood.

There was one guard ahead of them, the sound of his armor was the loudest to Y/n. He was the closest. While the guards behind them were far more faint. The sounds of leather came from Theobrand and Y/n respectively. This was not the first time they had ventured out into the Kingswood, but it was a first for two reasons.

Theobrand had hired someone to make her something fit for an archer. With leather and warm fabric. It was the first time Y/n had ever had boots similar to the ones Aemond, Theobrand, and even Aegon wore. The time she’d gone to practice with Theobrand, she’d worn a pair of shoes in the same style as the ones she wore with her dresses. The kind that were a thin fabric with a thin sole. Whenever they came out into the Kingswood, she’d often get a bur stuck in the fabric of the shoe, or it would end up in the shoe, and once, there had even been a stick so sharp it had stabbed into the shoe. When it had happened, she’d sworn she was fine, but once they’d returned to the Keep, she found she’d been bleeding into the shoe. Now, there was a small scar on the anterior side of her left foot.

Another thing that was different, was that she did not carry her old wooden bow. Rather, this was the first time tha Y/n had taken her dragonbone bow with her at the request of Theobrand. He thought she was ready to begin practicing with Rhaenyra’s gift. She’d grown quite a bit since she’d received it for her name day. As had the rest of her siblings, though Aemond seemed to out grow all of them within the past few months.

Dragonbone was a hefty material, meant only for those who were adept in their style of combat, heavier than a wooden bow, and lighter than steel. Dragonbone was a rarity. The type of material only the highest of lords could possess and truly turn into a weapon if they had the means to.

Y/n’s bow had gone untouched for years now, Sitting like a prized piece of art on her wall, awaiting the day she would climb a chair to retrieve it from it’s home. When she had pulled it down, her hands were coated in dust she had to wash off at the washing stand in her chambers.

“We may stop here,” Theobrand announced, pulling the reigns of his horse to bring himself to a stop as Y/n followed his actions, as did the guards.

“Little Princess, get off your horse for me,” He instructed.

The princess did not question his request. She hardly ever had. Y/n only gave a curt nod and secured one foot in a sterup and swung the other foot off of her horse, coming to stand on the soft dirt ground. A light rain had come through the day prior, and it was rumoured that a rainstorm from the Stormlands would travel through King’s Landing soon. But Y/n didn’t think much of it.

Theobrand also got off of his horse, pulling his own bow from his back. “Take out your bow.”

Y/n reached behind her, grabbing her bow and pulling it off of her body, holding the heavy material in her soft hands. Despite how heavy and the potential danger the weapon could cause, it was beautiful, and just as smooth and bright as the gemstones in the jewlery she wore at home. As smooth as the sapphires of her most worn waistchain

Theobrand hummed for a second, “Aim without an arrow,” It was a common instruction he gave her. He did it everytime they began practice, and even more so whenever she had a new bow to practice with. As she had gotten older, she needed larger and better bows. And hopefully, this would be her last. Y/n turned her body to be in the correct position, having a firm grasp on the grip of the bow, the fingers of her spare hand grabbing the bow string, pulling it to bebeside her cheek, her eyes trained on the bellyside of the bow.

Theobrand approached her, kicking a bit at her feet to correct her stance in the most minute ways it hardly even mattered. He then reached out and readjusting her grip on it. “This is a warrior’s bow, Little Princess. It must be held differently.” Theobrand’s nickname never bothered her. It reminded her of when he had first begun training her. Only nine when Rhaenyra had brought him to King’s Landing from some of the most northern reaches of Westeros to train her. She’d been missing a tooth when they’d met.

“Of course,” She agreed. The grip he changed her hands to was uncomfortable. The weight of the bow dug the smooth hard material into the side of her knuckle of her index finger. She tried to hide her grimace, but Theobrand noticed.

“Does the weight hurt?” The tone the older man used was not that of a true question, but of knowing amusement. And knowing exactly what she would say next.

“No, Of course not.”

“Some archers wrap the grip of such bows like this one in a soft material. It helps to custimize a weapon, and to make it more comfortable to hold. This is the largest bow you’ve ever weilded, I would not blame you if it is uncomfortable.”

“It hurts my hand,” She finally confessed, dropping her posture, now holding the bow in both hands. “It feels as though it is digging into the bones of my hand.” She gave a bitter chuckle, now looking up at Theobrand who had his arms crossed with a grin.

“Well,” He began. “I will not be turning back anytime soon. I do suggest you learn how to suffer through a discomfort and build a callous.”

“Mother says callouses are only proper for men. A lady’s hands must be soft. It is why we use thimbles when we embroider.” Y/n retorted. She could practically hear her mother now if she were to find a callous on her hands.

Aemond and Aegon both had them from years of training with swords. Both had scars on their hands from small cuts, and Y/n had done a well enough hiding the small cuts and scars on her own hands from her moments of foolishness when she fumbled an arrow and cut her hand. A majority of the time the small nicks were on her fingers, blending into the bitten and scabbed cuticles surrounding her nails.

“Dragonbone is a rare material. It shares a similar quality to Valyrian steel,” Theobran told her, taking his own bown and pulling a arrow from the quiver that was slung over his back. “It is one of the sturdiest materials known to man. Difficult for a weapon maker to carve weapons out of it. It requires such a skill that it is scarcely seen in the realm. It’s a durable material. Unlike a wooden bow it does not need nearly as much maintenance.” Theobrand nocked the arrow, facing the woods surrounding them. “You do not need to polish and seal it like you would with wood. It does not splinter, warp, or buckle when exposed to water for vast amounts of time. . . And it is the most flexible and long range bow known to man.” He finished his sentence with the firing of the arrow, allowing it to fly through the air. And somewhere within the woods, they heard a ‘thunk’ as the steel arrowhead lodged itself into a tree trunk.

Y/n looked at him curiously, brows furrowed.

“You try.” He told her. “We shall see if your attempt is worth you putting up with the discomfort.”

His amusement at her discomfort was not endearing to her. It often times was, but in the instance of being out in the woods, with royal guard surrounding them, and nothing but forest surrounding them from where they were, had her glaring at him as she reached behind her, pulling an arrow out of her own quiver that was on her back and quickly nocking it, the fletching tickling her cheekbone as she aimed in the same direction as Theobrand had, steadying her breath before she let the arrow go.

Y/n dropped her posure immediately after hearing the ‘thunk.’

“Let us see,” Theobrand encouraged, beginning to walk into the treeline. Y/n was not far behind him, urging the lead guard to stay with the others and the horses. Going through the bristle, Y/n brought the bow closer to her chest, keeping it from hitting the ground or the trees they were weaving themselves through.

She had not even realized how close behind him she truly was until he came to an abrupt stop and she slammed into his back. Stumbling back away from her, she held her nose, rubbing the bridge as Theobran turned to look at her, completely unfazed by the incident as he pointed to the tree in front of them. There was one arrow lodged into the tree at Y/n’s eye level, completely straight. Then a second one, lodged in at an angle and far closer to the roots than the other one.

The lower arrow was just barely in the trunk of the tree. Just the tip of it in the bark. While the other one, the entire arrow head was lodged into the tree.

“Dragonbone bows have such force behind them that the arrows loosed from it could travel such a distance that a traditional archer could not even fathom. I once visited my brother at the northern wall. . . They had an old dragonbone bow in the armory. I had never seen one before, so one of their archers gave a demonstration. They shot an arrow up at the wall with it. And when we took the wooden lift to the top of the wall. . . We could not find it.”

“Did you ever find it?” Y/n inquired, her finger coming up to her arrow, delicately running her finger across the fletching.

“A few rangers came back from an exposition from over the wall. Looking worse for wear. A couple of wildlings had attacked them, and they somehow made it out with their lives. And as they had been on the trip back, not far from the wall, an arrow came falling from the sky, hitting one of ther rangers in the thigh.”

Y/n turned her head to look at Theobrand, and incredulous look upon her face as she did. “What?”

“It is the longest range weapon.” He said simply.

Y/n looked back to her arrow, reaching out to grab the cresting and the shaft, pulling as hard as she could on the arrow. Struggling for a moment before Theobrand assisted her in pulling it out.

With the force that the arrow came out, both of them stumbled back a few paces. But she held the arrow in her hand. The steel arrowhead was covered in an amber colored sap.

Y/n placed the arrow back in her quiver. She pulled her braid over her shoulder, looking at the ends of her silver hair where the red ribbon had been tied off. It had also been braided into her hair. It was a long velvet ribbon gifted to her from Helaena. It had black embroidery along it. It was a beautiful ribbon.

The Princess shoved her bow into Theobrand’s hands, using both of her own to undo the tie her braid was in, and began to undo the braid, collecting the ribbon in her hands as she did, allowing her hair to be let loose in waves , and as she finally had all of the ribbon in her hands, she allowed the silver strands to fall over her shoulder and down her back.

Reaching back out for her bow, Y/n held it by the lower limb of the weapon, beginning to wrap the grip in the ribbon, making it softer and easier to hold. And once she had tied it off, she held it up, and the discomfort was gone.

“Certainly innovative, Princess. Come, let us find something to hunt.” Theobrand did not give her time to catch up to what he meant before he began walking further into the woods, but once she noticed him walking away, she soon caught up to him.

Y/n with care, stepped over the rough roots that stuck up out of the soft dirt ground, The soft clover that looked as though it had sprouted from the ground overnight being pressed into the ground whenever one of them stepped on it, only for the clover to slowly push itself back up once they had stepped off of it.

“It is nothing more than a quarrel between shepherds that I’m sure Lord Tyrell can come to an agreeable solution for both of them before it has any ramifications.” Y/n’s mother spoke, her back was turned to her as she had entered the royal apartments, however, her grandsire had instantly laid eyes on Y/n.

His ever prying and suspicious gaze took in her appearance, from the small amount of mud on her leather vest, her free hair, and her bow clutched in her hands as she and Otto made eye contact, holding it as he made his reply to her mother.

“Lord Matthos Tyrell is an imbecile.”

“I am aware of his nature. But I am as aware as you are that in truth it is not him who controls the land surrounding Highgarden, but Lady Tyrell. It has always been truth that women-”

“have influence in their households.” Y/n finished her mother’s words. It had gotten Alicent’s attention then, and the auburn haired woman finally turned to look upon her daughter.

Her mother’s brown eyes took her in before she released a sigh. The youngest Targaryen daughter didn’t need to be told that her mother disapproved of her craft. It was something she’d made clear to Y/n from a young age. She was not allowed to practice the art of the sword with her brothers and nephew as a child, but Y/n had not let up. She could still recall the days when all she’d been allotted was an old bow that gave her splinters, and a single arrow.

“Darling, you look a mess.” Alicent finally spoke to her.

“Theobrand and I were off in the Kingswood.” Y/n spoke as Alicent approached her. Her mother’s soft hands coming to tuck back the loose hair behind her ears, before she bagan to fiddle with a chunk that was over her shoulder. It was reminiscent of when her mother gently stroked her hair as she braided it back when she was only a child.

“I was made well aware of your whereabouts.” Alicent told her, her spare hand fixing the leather material of her vest. a habit her mother had picked up when fixing Y/n’s bodices. “Lady Maris tried to find you, she seemed quite displeased when she could not.”

A hum bubbled up from Y/n’s throat, a habit she’d begun to pick up from Aemond.

“She finds my disappearing acts troubling.” Y/n confessed with a grin, taking in her mother’s appearance. The green silk of her gown was embroidered with beautiful gold thread and beads, the soft fabric reflecting the light that seeped into the royal apartments from the windows.

Her mother shook her head in disapproval. “I find that you have gotten far too adept at the act of disappearing.” Despite her mother’s tone, Y/n knew she found it to be an endearing quality. “Go change into proper attire, Darling. Then go find Lady Maris.”

Y/n did as she was instructed, walking away down the corridors to her bedchambers, asking for one of the maids to follow her so she may assist her in dressing herself.

Once the Princess was changed and presentable, with her hair combed through and shining like molten silver, she had placed her bow back on its display, and stored the quiver away in her wardrobe.

She’d found Lady Maris in the gardens, sitting under a gazebo in a wooden chair, with a glass of pink wine, and overlooking the blackwater, the ships coming to and from the ports, carrying many different kinds of goods to be traded and sold.

“Whatever is on your mind, Maris?” Y/n pondered aloud as she came under the gazebo as well, taking a seat right beside her friend, joining her in gazing over the blackwater.

Maris Tarly’s gaze felt like a heavy weight as the redhaired girl looked over Y/n’s form as she leaned over to rest her arms on the stone wall separating them from the stoney and water filled fall below.

The sound of crashing waves against the rocks below and seagulls cawing in the distance was a familiar sound. One that Y/n had only ever associated with being in the Red Keep. They had shared many moments like this one. Sitting in a silence, enjoying one another’s company, and a beautiful view that you would find provided from the various rooms, balconies, and spots in the garden of the Red Keep. However, the silence that presided over them now was not one that was comfortable for either of them. The air between them was thick, unnerving. Ominous.

“Your Grandsire. . . And Lord Reyne.” Maris confessed after a moment, extending an arm to Y/n, and when the Princess had turned her head to look at her friend, Maris had the glass of wine in her hand, offering it to Y/n.

With a hesitant gaze, Y/n took the glass from Maris, bringing it to her lips and taking a sip of the pink liquid. It was sweet, and it smelled of spring.

“They are conspiring against you, Princess. Dealing with one another for their own benefit, even if it means your own detriment.”

Maris’ words were calloused, and sharp. It was a familiar tone. The same she had heard in Maris’ voice on Aegon and Helaena’s wedding night.

“What?” Y/n’s own voice was low as she stared at Maris. The girl’s amber eyes trained on the ships in the water, her jaw clenched in deep thought. “Why would my own Grandsire conspire against me? He has nothing to gain from me-”

“If I may speak freely, Princess, you are mistaken.” Maris cut Y/n off.

“I’ve always given the freedom to speak freely, My Lady.” She reminded

“Otto Hightower is a conniving, lying, scheming, power hungry, little man.” Maris was sitting in such a way that the Princess could feel the rage seeping off of the Tarly girl. “It is a common trait among second sons. They feel inferior to their elder brothers on the very fact that they do not inherit the titles, wealth, or power, so they feel the need to find and take it somewhere else. Even if it means putting their family at risk.” Maris then looked at Y/n, strands of her red hair being picked up by the gust of wind that came to them from the bay. “He’s in negotiations with Lord Reyne to have you married to Ser Raymond.”

Her words had stunned Y/n into silence. The lump in her throat and her blood feeling cold prevented her from speaking. She desperately wanted to say something, anything, ask questions, but in the moment, she could not even open her mouth as Maris’ striking eyes were burning with a fury that had been well kept all morning, her pupils so small they looked like the tip of a needle. She looked half a woman crazed.

“He feels as though you have wasted your chances with every other suitor in the court. Ser Raymond is the only one who shows any legitimate interest in having your hand in marriage-”

“He does not wish for me!” Y/n stood so suddenly that the chair she sat in toppled over onto the stone. She had not even realized she’d shouted till Maris stood up as well, trying to grab Y/n to calm her.

“He wishes for my name! My blood! He wishes for a power that it is only granted by house name! That is only given by the house of the dragon!”

Maris grabbed onto Y/n’s wrist, “Princess, please-” Y/n snatched her wrist out of Maris’ grasp.

“It is clear can you not see it?” She inquired. “The houses of the Westerlands only lust for power, especially House Reyne. The Lannisters lust for the power they had before Aegon’s conquer. ‘Kings of the Rock.’” Y/n bitterly chuckled. “And Reynes? They want to be as respected as the Lannisters. They want their power! They believe themselves to be one in the same, both cats, just of different color coats. The only way for them to gain such power is to be in the King’s favor! And with the King indisposed, they must deal the vulture ruling in his place.”

“Y/n, lower your voice,” Maris finally grabbed Y/n’s arms, holding her still. In this state, the Princess was sure they must both looked crazed to one another. With Maris’ eyes wide, and pupils hardly even there, and Y/n? with her outburst and a toppled over chair beside them.

“Your anger is justifiable, expected even. But you cannot allow it to rule you-” Maris’ hushed anger made Y/n look around the gardens, the only person there was on the other end, by the roses, completely unaware of their words, but Maris must have seen something else, as she quickly hooked her own arm with Y/n, and faced them towards the bay once more.

In the corner of her eye, she could see Lady Reyne walking out into the gardens with her daughter, Lady Eleyna Reyne. Both were perfectly dressed in the white and red colors of their house, with gold embellishments. The two women had arrived in King’s Landing from Castamere a week prior, and suddenly, the explanation as to why they would have left Castamere under Lord Robert’s brother’s watch became clear.

“Ser Raymond is perfectly gallant, and kind. But it is not him making the arrangement, it is his father, Maris. It is clear what he wants.”

Maris seemed to become cautious of their environment now as her free hand came to squeez Y/n’s arm in comfort. “And what is that?”

“He wishes for his own bloodline to be seated on the Iron Throne.” Y/n muttered, watching as a ship with the sigil of the free city of Volantis.

“Yes, he does.” Maris agreed. “But how would you suspect he’d accomplish that? When Rhaenyra is set to inherit the throne? And Prince Jacerys is her heir?”

Y/n rolled her eyes, tensing as she heard one of the Reyne women laughing in the garden.

“I would expect. . . Lord Reyne is playing a long game. . . He expects me to marry his son, produce children, and when Prince Jacerys’ own children are born, Raymond would negotiate a betrothal between one of our children with the oldest child Jacerys has.”

She could tell Maris was nodding. Y/n did not know why she was suddenly so angry at the very prospect of marrying Ser Raymond. He presented himself as a good man, and Y/n had even attempted to ease Aemond’s own nerves about the knight, but now? The thought of being married to the man enraged her.

“What do you want to do?”

The question, although whispered, felt as though it echoed through the gardens and against the surface of the bay below them and back to their ears. She did not feel as though she had much of a choice in the matter. Her ears felt as though they were ringing.

Did her mother know?

The ringing came to a stop, and she then looked up at Maris. “How do you know this?” The question did not disturb Maris. She did not even appear to blink in response to the question.

“Cup bearers, maids, stewards. . . They all whisper awful gossip in the corridors. They do not realize that rumors whispered in corridors echo like none other. Some rumors they echo to one another have merit.”

Aemond’s presence was of comfort to her. For four nights now, Y/n had stared at her grandsire with such hatred she prayed to the seven that he choked on his food at every dinner. She had almost gotten her wish tonight. It had the corners of her lips wanting to tug up in a grin, though she had fought it. But he had only been coughing to clear his throat to continue babbling something political to her mother.

Y/n peacefully lounged on the chaise, with a book in hand, and a candelabra on the end table beside her providing the light she needed to follow the words on the page. Her night gown allowed the breeze from the balcony to cool her skin from the rage she was bottling up like it was a precious wine intended to be shipped off to some distant land. Aemond was sat on the ground, his back against the chaise, and his head resting on the side of her thigh that was on the edge of the cushion.

Her fingers were running through the silky strands of silver hair that she had brought to be draped over her lap. She had not even realized how long he allowed his hair to grow, but it suited him. He’d once told her that he liked to look intimiatating to the men at court. With an eyepatch covering his sapphire eye, the scar showing on his cheek and forehead, with long silver hair that was reminiscent of the old portraits of Aegon the Conquerer.

But the moon had long entered the sky, and almost every other soul in the keep had found itself at rest, their’s seemed to be the exception. But Aemond had shifted from beside her, standing on his feet then, and turning towards her with his book now closed in his hand, the ribbon bookmark placed between two pages well into the book.

“Must you go?”

Aemond hummed, reaching a free hand down to brush some of her hair out of her face. “I have already stayed longer than I tend to in honor of your name day, sweet sister.” He replied.

Y/n grabbed the ribbon bookmark of her own book, putting it between the page she was on the page she had just finished, snapping it closed and sitting up straight. “Yes. But must you go?” Y/n repeated the question, holding her hand out so Aemond would help her to her feet, which he did without even a second thought.

“You know I must. Ser Criston insists on an early training in the morrow.”

Y/n sighed, looking down at her book and placing it down on the chaise, and looking up to her brother. “Then I shall walk you to your chambers.”

Aemond grinned at that, setting his own book down as well. In truth, it was her book that she was allowing him to read. Aemond then turned to the large table in the room, grabbing the lantern. The table was low enough to the ground so that if you sat on the ground it would be at your chest.

Her brother reached for her hand which she gladly offered to him, happily following him to the wall, where he pulled the entrance to the passageway open, and began leading her into the thin and dark passage.

They walked in near silence, the only sounds heard were their own footsteps, his in boots, and her’s bare against the stone, and their breathing that echoed against the stone walls around them.

The eventually reached his chambers, where he pushed to stone wall enough that it finally peaked open, allowing the candle light from his room to seep into the passage.

Y/n stepped into his chambers right after him, looking around the familiar room as he placed the lantern down on the table beside the passage so she could take it back with her. As she examined the room, she noticed the sword that was placed to be leaning against the wall, still in its sheath, the steel hilt glittering in the candle light.

Aemond and had begun to unbuckled the green doublet he wore. revealing the white tunic he wore underneath.

Y/n noticed the stack of books on the floor at the foot of his bed that seemed to have grown since the last time she had been in his chambers. It made her smile, as did the spare eyepatch that she spotted on top of his bed.

Then her attention was back on Aemond as he approached her, She could not help but to notice how he appeared before her, having rid himself of his doublet and somehow of his eyepatch, showing her the sapphire freely.

Aemond reached for the lantern and put the handle into her hands, but as she looked up from the candle flickering inside of the lantern, she noticed just how close Aemond was to her, not that it was abnormal for him to be so close to her, but in this moment, it was different.

They seemed to both be examining each other’s features, and they seemed to have both noticed the close proximity. But neither made the move to step away. And all at once she recalled seeing his sapphire for the first time, how she could feel his breathing when he’d reached for her waist chain with the sapphires on it. That was how close they were now. If someone had seen them on that day, they would have told them it was improper. If someone were to see them now? She was sure he entire keep would be awoken by it. She did not even wish to know what their mother would say.

But as she held the lantern in one hand, she brought one to rest against his chest. She was not even thinking as she did it. But with her palm pressed against the thin fabric of his tunic, she could feel his heart hammering against his chest. But she did not push him away.

No, instead he only stepped closer to her, their chests now pressed against each other, and so close that her eyes could not even bring his features into focus, it was mostly blurry as she felt a hand on her hip, and his other hand coming up to hold the side of her face.

His heart was now hammering against her own chest, to the same beat as her own. His scent completely surrounding her as looked up at him. The oils he used on his hair to keep pin straight mixing with his natural scent was almost as intoxicating as northern ale.

It happened all at once, him resting his forehead against her own, blocking out most light so all she could see was his lilac eye, sapphire, and his scar, and not even a second later, she was closing her eyes as he came impossibly closer, his lips meeting her own.

Her stomach felt as though it was sprouting wings to try to fly away, and she could hear her heart in her own ears.

Y/n knew she should pull away and run back to her own chambers, but she couldn’t find herself able to. But he had pulled away first, only to look down at her.

With the anxious lick of her lips, Y/n could taste Aemond on them. Her stomach flipped at the taste, and she found herself bringing the hand resting on his chest to then bringing her fingers to the back of his neck, gently urging him to do it again with a small tug.

And he did. Without an ounce of hesitation he kissed her once again, the hand on her hip then coming to wrap his entire arm around her back, squeezing her to him as though she could get any closer to him.

This was wrong. According to the Faith of The Seven they were sinners now. Even if they were exempt due to the very nature of their house, it had been engrained into Y/n from a young age by her mother that it was wrong.

But despite all the talk her mother had done about it, Y/n could not help but to find it silly now as Aemond kissed her and held her this way. She simply could not find it in her in the moment to feel guilty for being in her undergarment in front of her brother, nor could she feel guilty for enjoying the feeling of his lips against her own.

As Aemond broke away from her only for a second, both of them briefly catching their breath before he moved his lips against her’s once more, she felt. . . almost peaceful. As though what she’d heard from Maris was no longer relevant, and that she was meant to be between Aemond’s arms, with his body against her’s and the taste of him against her lips.

It felt like it was too soon when Aemond fully pulled away from her, no longer holding her so tight against him, and his lips no longer on her own, it felt as though a warm blanket had been torn away from her in the cold of night.

She went to protest his actions, but he kissed the crown of her head. “You must go, little sister.” He muttered against her hair before he pulled away, leaving a gently kiss on her lips before stepping away.

Y/n could only nod and turn away with the lantern in hand, stepping down the passage back to her own chambers.

For the rest of the night, she could only smell him on her, and taste him on her lips.

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