valyriandreamer

[valyriandreamer]

why has tumblr suddenly flagged all my posts as NSFW... im a minor who refuses to write anything NSFW?? bro HUH? 😭

[valyriandreamer]

Dancing With the Storm

summary: during a storm at dragonstone, Jacaerys pulls you away from a formal feast and into the rain for a spontaneous dance in the rain, much to your dismay.

paring: jacaerys velaryon x reader

The storm had rolled in from the east, its dark clouds swallowing the last vestiges of daylight. The great hall of Dragonstone flickered with candlelight, shadows dancing across the cold stone walls. The feast carried on despite the tempest outside, the high lords and ladies in attendance speaking in hushed tones, the occasional burst of laughter barely rising above the howling wind.

You sat at the high table, poised as was expected of you. As Jacaerys Velaryon’s betrothed, duty came before all else. You had been raised to understand this — to be the perfect lady, to embody grace, to never falter under scrutiny. Yet, even as you sipped from your goblet, your thoughts were elsewhere, your gaze drawn to the prince seated beside you.

Jacaerys was laughing at something his younger brother had said, the mirth crinkling the corners of his warm brown eyes. He had always been a beacon of light in any room he entered, and tonight was no different. Yet, there was a restlessness about him, as though he longed to be anywhere but confined within the hall.

Then, as if he could sense your gaze, Jacaerys turned to you, an impish smile tugging at his lips. Without a word, he reached for your hand beneath the table, his palm warm against yours. Before you could protest, he was tugging you to your feet, ignoring the questioning glances of those around you.

"Come with me," he whispered, his voice barely audible above the din.

You hesitated for only a moment. To refuse Jacaerys was near impossible.

The hall blurred behind you as he led you through the winding corridors of the castle, the torches along the walls flickering wildly in the draft. Then, the doors to the courtyard burst open, and the storm embraced you both in its relentless fury. Rain lashed at your skin, soaking through the delicate silk of your gown, but Jacaerys only laughed, the sound rich and carefree as he turned to you.

"Just one dance," he pleaded, his hands finding your waist. His dark curls were plastered to his forehead, droplets clinging to his lashes, yet he had never looked more alive. "No courtiers, no expectations. Just us."

You exhaled shakily, your heart hammering against your ribs. "You are impossible, my prince."

"And you love it," he teased, twirling you beneath the storm-ridden sky.

You did not correct him. You could not.

The rain poured in torrents, cold against your flushed skin, but Jacaerys’ hands were steady, his touch igniting warmth beneath your dampened clothes. He led you through the motions of a dance neither of you truly knew, stumbling, laughing, your steps erratic yet perfect in their own right. Thunder rumbled overhead, the heavens alight with streaks of silver lightning, and still, you did not stop.

The world beyond this moment ceased to exist. The weight of duty, the watchful eyes, the expectations — it all faded into oblivion. There was only Jacaerys, his laughter against your ear, his breath mingling with yours as he pulled you close.

And it was then, as the storm raged and his arms encircled you, that you realised — this was the moment you fell in love with the prince.

Jacaerys must have seen the shift in your gaze, the softness in your expression, because his teasing grin faltered. His fingers traced the damp skin of your cheek, his touch reverent, as though you were something sacred. "You’re looking at me differently," he murmured.

"Am I?"

"Yes." His voice was quieter now, barely above a whisper. "Do it again."

You tilted your head to the side, fluttering your eyelashes.

And as he kissed you, rain slipping between your lips, you knew there would be no turning back.

[valyriandreamer]

Summer Nights

summary: the red keep gardens look extremely welcoming late at night. especially to the two last royals of the targaryen dynasty.

paring: aegon targaryen iii x targaryen!reader

part one - 𝔊reen and 𝔅lack (can be read separately)

part two - 𝔖hared 𝔖orrow (can be read separately but recommend before this read)

The days after that quiet moment by the fire slowly began to change the rhythm of your life with Aegon. It wasn’t a grand shift — nothing ever seemed to be with him. But there was a difference, a subtle one. He would sit closer to you now, let the silence stretch between you without it feeling so heavy, so suffocating. His presence was no longer so distant, as if he was learning to be comfortable in it and with you.

It was still awkward at times — more often than not, really. The two of you were young and had never really known each other before your marriage. The divide between your families during the war had kept you apart for much of your lives, and the weight of that tension still lingered in the air when you thought too much about it. But here, in the small moments that you shared, there was something new blooming.

One evening, you found yourselves sitting together once more, this time in the gardens of the Red Keep. The autumn air was cool, and the scent of the sea drifted on the breeze. The sky above was a soft, dusky blue, the sun having just dipped below the horizon. Aegon sat beside you on the stone bench, his posture stiff as always, his dark eyes scanning the horizon as though lost in thought.

You tugged your cloak tighter around your shoulders, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. He hadn’t said much, but that wasn’t unusual. What was unusual, however, was the fact that he had suggested coming here at all. You had spent so much of your early marriage in the silence of the Red Keep’s chambers that the open air felt almost strange.

"I… didn’t know you liked the gardens," you said softly, trying to coax him into conversation.

Aegon shrugged, his eyes still fixed ahead. "I don’t mind them."

It was a simple answer, as most of his were, but you didn’t let the conversation drop there.

"They’re beautiful this time of year," you ventured, looking around at the softly glowing lanterns and the last of the summer blooms. "The leaves are just beginning to change."

He nodded, but his gaze remained distant. You couldn’t help but smile at his reluctance. He always seemed to hover on the edge of engagement, never fully committing to a conversation unless you gave him enough space.

"You know, when I was a child, I used to imagine myself living in a small cottage surrounded by a garden like this," you said, a little more brightly. "Far away from the court. Somewhere peaceful."

Aegon turned to look at you then, his brow furrowing slightly. "A cottage? You wanted to leave the court?"

You laughed softly, shaking your head. "I didn’t want to leave, not really. I just… imagined it. A quiet place, far from all the... noise."

He considered that for a moment, his gaze shifting from you to the gardens around you. "It sounds nice," he admitted quietly, and there was something almost wistful in his tone.

You glanced over at him, surprised. There were times when you caught glimpses of the boy he must have been before the war before everything had hardened him. It was moments like this that made you wonder what could have been had your families not been so torn apart.

"I think you’d like it," you said gently, your voice soft. "Somewhere quiet, just the two of us."

The words hung in the air between you, and you saw Aegon’s jaw tighten slightly, as though he wasn’t quite sure what to do with them. He shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable, but not in the way he usually was. This wasn’t the stiff formality of court life: this was something else, something more personal.

"I’m not… used to that," he muttered after a moment, his gaze dropping to the ground. "Being with someone. Talking like this."

You nodded, understanding. It hadn’t been easy for you, either. Your marriage had started with little more than oaths and the weight of expectation, two strangers bound together by circumstance. But slowly, you were learning to navigate each other.

"Neither am I," you admitted, offering him a small, reassuring smile. "But we’re figuring it out, aren’t we?"

He looked up at you, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, to your surprise, he gave you an awkward smile, nodding stiffly at you.

The awkwardness lingered, as it always did with Aegon. Yet there was something softer in the air between you now. You watched as he glanced at his hands, fingers twisting together as though unsure of what to do with them, and you felt a flicker of warmth towards him. He was trying, even if neither of you knew quite how to bridge the gap that still existed.

"I think..." you began hesitantly, "it’s all right that we’re not used to this. It’s not as though anyone ever taught us how to... well, be with each other."

Aegon shifted beside you, giving a noncommittal grunt. But he didn’t pull away, and that in itself felt like progress. You wondered if, like you, he had spent years learning to build walls. The war, your families’ animosity, the pressures of the court — it had all left marks on both of you, invisible but deep.

"I always thought," you continued, "that marriage would feel... easier. Like in the songs they sing." You laughed lightly, half-embarrassed at admitting such a thing. "That or it would be horrid, like my parents. But it’s not like that, is it?"

"No," Aegon muttered, almost too quietly for you to hear. He glanced at you then, his eyes still wary but with a hint of something softer lurking beneath the surface. "It’s not."

"I don’t think the songs get it right," you said softly, smiling a little. "They leave out all the... uncomfortable bits."

Aegon snorted, a small, almost reluctant sound of amusement. His lips curved just the tiniest bit, the ghost of a smile. "Maybe they’re not meant to be real."

"Maybe not." You turned your gaze back to the gardens, watching as the wind rustled through the leaves, some already turning golden and red. "But I think this, what we’re doing now, learning to... talk, to understand each other — it’s worth more than any song."

Aegon was silent for a moment, and you wondered if you’d said too much. But then, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke again, his voice low and hesitant.

"Do you really think... it could be like that? Just the two of us somewhere quiet?"

You glanced at him, surprised. His expression was guarded, but there was a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. It was the first time he had ever truly acknowledged the possibility of something more between you. Something real.

"I think..." you said slowly, choosing your words with care, "it could be, yes. If we both wanted it."

Aegon’s brow furrowed slightly, as though he was trying to puzzle out the weight of your words. He shifted again, clearly uncomfortable, but he didn’t retreat. Instead, he nodded, more to himself than to you.

"I’ve never wanted anything like that," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn’t... think it was possible for me."

Your heart ached a little at the quiet confession. You reached out, hesitating for just a moment before gently placing your hand on his. His fingers tensed beneath yours, but he didn’t pull away.

"Maybe it is," you said softly. "For both of us."

He didn’t say anything, but his hand shifted slightly, his fingers brushing against yours. It wasn’t much — just a fleeting, awkward touch — but it was enough to make your chest tighten with something warm and hopeful.

The silence stretched on, but it didn’t feel heavy this time. It felt like something had shifted, something small but important. You weren’t entirely sure what it was, or where it would lead, but for the first time, the future didn’t feel quite so uncertain.

Aegon’s gaze drifted back to the horizon, his posture still stiff, but his hand remained where it was, resting lightly beneath yours. The gardens around you were quiet, the last of the evening light fading into the sea, and for once, the silence between you felt... comfortable.

You squeezed his hand gently, a small gesture of reassurance, and he didn’t pull away. Neither of you said anything more, but in that quiet moment, you both understood — this was enough, for now.

The rest would come in time.

[valyriandreamer]

just realised I have 136 followers.. that's insane

love you all 💗

[valyriandreamer]

Shared Sorrows

summary: the evenings were quiet, filled with unspoken grief and silent comfort. neither of you acknowledged the bond slowly forming.

paring: aegon targaryen iii x targaryen!reader

part 2 of 𝔊reen and 𝔅lack (can be read separately)

It was a quiet evening in the Red Keep, the kind Aegon preferred. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, filling the room with warmth, while outside, the sun slowly dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the chamber. You sat near the window, fingers absently toying with the hem of your gown, lost in thought.

Aegon sat across from you, his dark purple eyes fixed on the fire, as they often were when he retreated into his own thoughts. He had always been like this—distant, quiet, and brooding. It wasn’t something that surprised you after your wedding. You hadn’t expected warmth or joy. The war had taken that from both of you.

But things had changed slightly, and in ways you hadn’t anticipated. Since your marriage, there had been small moments—brief, fleeting glimpses of the man beneath the silence.

Moments when Aegon had allowed you closer, not with words, but in the shared quiet.

You had learned to read the small things about him—the slight softening of his gaze when he looked at you, the way his shoulders would relax when you were nearby, as if your presence was something he could tolerate. It was more than most would have expected from a union born out of necessity rather than affection.

Today, though, the atmosphere felt different. The silence between you wasn’t as heavy as it usually was, and there was an odd sense of ease in the air. You watched Aegon for a moment, taking in the way the firelight danced across his pale skin, casting shadows over his sharp features.

“What are you thinking about?” you asked quietly, breaking the silence that had stretched between you.

Aegon’s gaze didn’t leave the fire, but his expression shifted slightly, as though he hadn’t expected you to speak. He was still not one for long conversations, and you weren’t sure if he would answer. But after a long pause, he finally spoke, his voice low and thoughtful.

“The past,” he muttered, almost as if to himself. “Everything that’s been lost.”

Your heart ached at his words. You knew what he meant—he had lost so much. The war had taken his family, his childhood, his sense of peace. The weight of that loss hung over him every day, even in moments like this, where there was no immediate danger, just the quiet melancholy of memory.

“I try not to think about it too much,” you admitted softly, your fingers still idly tracing patterns on your gown. “It’s too painful.”

Aegon nodded slightly, his expression distant. He was always like this when it came to the past—closed off, reluctant to open up about what he truly felt. But you couldn’t blame him. The Dance of the Dragons had left scars on both of you, and neither of you had known how to heal them.

“Dragons,” Aegon said suddenly, his voice bitter, “they’re what started all of this. What tore our families apart.”

You glanced at him, surprised. He didn’t often speak of the dragons anymore. The mere mention of them seemed to stir something dark inside him, something he kept locked away. But tonight, he seemed willing to let that part of him surface, even if just for a moment.

“They brought nothing but death,” he continued, his voice tight. “I hate them.”

You didn’t say anything at first, unsure of how to respond. Aegon’s hatred for the dragons was something you had come to understand over time, even if it was difficult for others to grasp. They had been a symbol of Targaryen power for generations, but to him, they were a reminder of everything that had gone wrong.

“I understand,” you said finally, your voice soft. “I don’t blame you for feeling that way.”

He turned his gaze to you then, his dark eyes meeting yours. There was something vulnerable in his expression, something raw and unguarded that you rarely saw. For a moment, you thought he might say something more, something deeper—but then, just as quickly as it had appeared, the vulnerability faded, and his usual stoic mask slipped back into place.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, looking away again. “I didn’t mean to...”

You shook your head gently, offering him a small smile. “You don’t need to apologise. You’re allowed to feel what you feel.”

Aegon was quiet for a moment, his jaw tightening as he struggled with something unsaid. You could see the tension in him, the way he held himself back, even now. But then, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke again, his voice softer this time.

“I just... I don’t know how to let it go,” he admitted, his gaze dropping to his hands. “The anger. The loss. It’s always there.”

You reached out, placing your hand gently over his. His skin was cool, and for a moment, he tensed at the contact. But then, slowly, he relaxed, his fingers hesitantly curling around yours. It was such a small thing, but it felt like progress—a sign that, maybe, he was beginning to let you in, even just a little.

“You don’t have to carry it all alone,” you said quietly, your thumb brushing softly over his knuckles. “We’ve both lost so much, Aegon. But we’re still here. We have each other.”

Aegon didn’t say anything, but his grip on your hand tightened slightly, as if holding onto that small connection between you. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, filling the room with warmth, and for the first time in a long while, the silence between you didn’t feel as heavy.

You leaned back into your chair, still holding his hand, and let the quiet settle around you both. You weren’t sure what the future held, but in that moment, you felt something you hadn’t felt in a long time—hope.

[valyriandreamer]

Green and Black

summary: in the aftermath of the Dance of the Dragons, Aegon III Targaryen and his betrothed, the daughter of Aegon II, struggle to find meaning in their union, haunted by the past.

paring: aegon targaryen iii x targaryen!reader

The small council’s insistence that you and Aegon III dress in the colours of your respective sides—green for you, black for him—had left you feeling hollow. They believed it would symbolize the union of two warring factions, a marriage that would heal the wounds between the Greens and the Blacks. But what did any of them truly know of the scars you carried? How could the colour of a gown or a tunic wipe away the bloodshed, the betrayals, the grief? You were just children when you were first betrothed, mere pawns in a game that was far too large for either of you to understand.

Now, at nineteen and Aegon, who has been newly turned eighteen, that promise had become a reality. Two survivors of a house once full of fire and might, now little more than embers trying to warm a dying flame.

As you sat in your shared chambers, you let your fingers trace the delicate embroidery of the green gown you wore. The fabric shimmered in the candlelight, a relic of your late mother, Queen Helaena. She had been the epitome of grace and fragility, her life marked by sadness and shadows. You had seen that same fragility within yourself at times, a fear that you would break under the weight of the world’s expectations. But you couldn’t afford to be fragile, not now, not with Aegon watching you with those solemn eyes of his, black as night and full of a darkness that mirrored your own.

Aegon sat across from you, his posture stiff, his face expressionless. He had always been quiet, even as a child, but now his silence seemed deeper, a void that you could never quite reach. He had grown into a handsome young man, with his silver hair cropped shorter than you remembered and the faintest shadow of a beard on his jaw. His face had lost the softness of youth, replaced by the sharp lines of a man who had seen too much and felt too little. He wore black, a tunic of simple design that seemed to absorb the light around him. A small, unadorned circlet of gold rested on his brow, a reminder of the crown that weighed on both of your shoulders.

He hadn’t spoken since the dinner held in his honour earlier that evening. It had been a strained affair, filled with well-wishers and empty smiles. You had felt his discomfort, his reluctance to engage with the guests, and you had done your best to make up for it with your own bright nature. It was a role you had perfected over the years—charming, smiling, laughing at jokes that weren’t particularly funny. But your heart hadn’t been in it tonight. It had been a performance, just like everything else in your life.

Now, in the privacy of your chambers, there was no need for masks.

You lifted your gaze from the dress, looking at Aegon. He sat with his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped together, staring into the fire as if searching for something within the flames. His face was a mask of neutrality, but you could sense the turmoil beneath it. You had known him long enough to recognize the signs—his jaw set tightly, the slight furrow of his brow, the way his fingers flexed and tightened around each other. He was always trying to hold himself together, as if one wrong move would cause him to fall apart.

The silence between you stretched on, heavy and oppressive. You felt the need to fill it to reach across the chasm that had always existed between you.

“Aegon,” you said softly, your voice barely more than a whisper in the dim room. His head turned slightly, acknowledging that he had heard you, but he didn’t speak. His dark eyes flickered toward you briefly before returning to the fire.

You swallowed, feeling the weight of the gown’s fabric against your skin. “The council suggested that we wear these colours tonight.” You gestured to the green of your dress and the black of his tunic. “To remind everyone of where we came from.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, but still, he said nothing.

You sighed, dropping your hands into your lap. “But that’s not who we are anymore, is it? Greens and Blacks.” You met his gaze again, willing him to see the truth in your words. “We’re what’s left. Just... us.”

Aegon’s fingers tightened around each other, the knuckles turning white. His expression didn’t change, but you could feel the tension radiating off him, the way his body seemed to coil in on itself, as if preparing for a blow that would never come.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said finally, his voice low and flat. “They’ll always see us as that. The daughter of Aegon II and the son of Rhaenyra. The last remnants of a war that tore our family apart.”

There was a bitterness in his tone that made your chest tighten. You knew that bitterness well, had tasted it on your own tongue many times. You were both the products of your parents’ choices, bound to the legacy of their conflict. No matter how hard you tried to escape it, it clung to you like a shadow.

“Maybe,” you admitted quietly, looking down at your hands. “But that doesn’t have to be all we are.”

His gaze shifted to you again, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as if he didn’t quite believe you. You couldn’t blame him for that. Aegon had lived through more than any child should have—witnessing the death of his family, the fall of dragons, and the devastation of a realm divided by fire and blood. How could he believe that anything could change? How could he believe in anything at all?

You stood up slowly, the soft rustle of your gown, the only sound in the room. You moved toward him, your bare feet silent on the cold stone floor, and knelt beside his chair. For a moment, he didn’t move, but then his eyes flickered to you, a faint hint of confusion in their depths.

Gently, you reached out and placed your hand over his, feeling the coolness of his skin beneath your palm. His fingers twitched, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he watched you with guarded curiosity, as if unsure what you were trying to accomplish.

“We’re still here, Aegon,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the knot of emotion tightening in your throat. “We survived. Together. That means something.”

He didn’t respond immediately, but you saw the faintest flicker of something in his eyes—doubt, perhaps, or maybe a sliver of hope that he refused to acknowledge. His shoulders slumped slightly, as if the weight of your words had chipped away at the wall he had built around himself.

“We’re the last of our house,” you continued, your hand squeezing his gently. “The last of our family. But that doesn’t mean we have to carry their ghosts forever.”

Aegon’s jaw clenched, his gaze dropping to where your hands were joined. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he seemed to wrestle with your words, torn between the grief that had shaped him and the possibility of something else, something more.

Finally, he spoke, his voice barely audible. “I don’t know how to be anything else.”

You felt your heart ache at his admission, at the vulnerability hidden beneath the layers of armour he had worn for so long. In that moment, you realized how truly alike you were—both of you trapped by the past, struggling to find your way in a world that expected you to be something greater than you felt capable of being.

“I don’t either,” you admitted, your voice soft. “But we can learn. Together.”

Aegon’s eyes met yours again, and for the first time that night, you saw a flicker of emotion in them. Not the cold detachment or the bitterness you were used to, but something else. Something fragile.

Tentatively, he lifted his other hand and placed it over yours, his grip tentative but firm. It was a small gesture, but in that moment, it felt like a bridge being built between the two of you, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that had always been there, even if neither of you had known how to express it.

You smiled, a small, hopeful curve of your lips that you hadn’t felt in a long time. “We’re not just the Greens and the Blacks, Aegon. We’re more than that.”

For a long time, he said nothing, his gaze locked on your hands. But then, slowly, he nodded. It was barely perceptible, but it was enough. Enough to tell you that, perhaps, there was a future for the two of you beyond the shadows of your past.

As the fire crackled softly in the hearth and the weight of your shared history hung in the air, you remained by his side, your hands intertwined, and for the first time in years, the silence between you wasn’t heavy with unspoken pain. It was the beginning of something new.

---

part 2

[valyriandreamer]

Northen Support

summary: amid winterfell's blizzard, Rhaenyra sought the north's loyalty to secure her claim to the iron throne.

paring: rhaenyra targaryen x male!reader

The biting chill of Winterfell’s great hall was a stark reminder of how far Rhaenyra had travelled from the warmth of King’s Landing. Her fur-lined cloak did little to keep out the creeping cold, but the hearth fire before her provided a small measure of comfort. The North was harsh, unforgiving, and yet breathtaking in its raw beauty—a world so unlike the one she had left behind. Snow blanketed the landscape in an endless expanse of white, and the howl of the blizzard outside was as constant as the low murmur of voices echoing through the stone corridors.

Rhaenyra’s gaze drifted to the iron-banded doors of the hall. She was here not just as a Targaryen but as a claimant to the Iron Throne, seeking to bolster her claim with the strength of the North. Her eldest son, Jacaerys, had journeyed ahead to treat with Lord Cregan Stark, but it was Rhaenyra herself who had to solidify the pact. The North was proud, its people unwavering in their loyalty and their principles. She would need more than her title to win their allegiance.

Her thoughts were interrupted as the heavy doors creaked open, a gust of icy wind sweeping in before the figure of a man stepped into the hall. He was wrapped in a dark fur cloak, his features rugged yet noble, his long hair dusted with snow. Y/N Norrey, a noble of the North and a close friend of Lord Cregan Stark, had entered with the kind of quiet confidence that could not be taught.

"Your Grace," he greeted, bowing with a solemnity befitting the occasion. His voice was low and steady, a deep resonance that seemed to anchor the room.

Rhaenyra inclined her head, studying him with curiosity. "Lord Norrey," she replied. "Your name precedes you. Lord Stark speaks highly of your honour and counsel."

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he straightened. "Lord Stark is generous with his words. I am but his humble advisor."

Rhaenyra moved closer to the hearth, gesturing for him to join her. "Humble, perhaps, but not without merit. It was your idea, was it not, to form a pact with my house?"

"It was," he admitted, stepping closer and unfastening his cloak. "The North values strength, Your Grace, and loyalty to those who prove themselves worthy of it. Your claim is strong, but our people need assurance that your rule will honour their traditions."

The flickering firelight caught in the silver of her braided hair as she turned to face him. "And do you believe I can provide that assurance?"

Y/N met her gaze, unflinching. "I believe you are capable, Your Grace. But belief must be earned, not given freely. The North remembers, and we do not suffer broken oaths lightly."

Rhaenyra appreciated his candour, though it stung to hear the implied caution in his words. "The North is not the only one with a long memory," she said, her tone sharp but not unkind. "I have fought my entire life for what is mine by right. I do not take oaths lightly either, Lord Norrey."

He inclined his head, his expression unreadable. "Then perhaps we are not so different, Your Grace. But words alone will not sway the North. They will need to see your resolve to know that you will not falter in the face of opposition."

She stepped closer, her pride bristling at the challenge in his words. "And what would you have me do, Lord Norrey? Declare war from your great hall? March on King's Landing with the snow still thick upon the ground?"

He held her gaze, unshaken by her frustration. "I would have you earn their trust, Your Grace. Speak plainly, show them you are more than the heir of fire and blood. Show them you are a queen who understands the North, not one who seeks to bend it to her will."

For a moment, silence stretched between them, the crackle of the fire the only sound. Rhaenyra’s temper cooled as she considered his words. He was not challenging her claim but rather offering her insight into the hearts of the Northern lords. There was wisdom in his advice, even if it was difficult to hear.

"I see now why Lord Stark values your counsel," she said finally, a small smile softening her features. "You speak boldly, without fear of reprisal. It is a rare quality."

"I speak only what I believe to be true," he replied. "And I speak it for the good of my people. That is all I can offer."

Rhaenyra regarded him for a moment longer before nodding. "Then I will take your counsel to heart, Lord Norrey. The North is vital to my cause, and I will do what is necessary to win its loyalty."

As the fire cast its warmth over them, Y/N inclined his head once more. "You may find the North harsh, Your Grace, but it is not without its rewards. Loyalty here is as unyielding as the winter. Once earned, it does not falter."

For the first time that evening, Rhaenyra felt a flicker of hope. The road ahead would be treacherous, but if she could win the North’s allegiance, her path to the throne would be all the stronger. And in Lord Norrey, she saw not just an ally but a man of honour—a rare and valuable thing in a realm so often ruled by deceit.

[valyriandreamer]

Gossiping Corridors

summary: Jacaerys Velaryon remains fiercely loyal to his wife, cherishing her eccentricities and tender heart, and vows to protect her and their unborn child from the cruel whispers of others.

paring: jacaerys velaryon x reader

part 2 of 𝔓erculiar 𝔏ady

idea from @lexi-anastasia-astra-luna

The corridors of Dragonstone carried whispers wherever you went, faint murmurs that never quite seemed to dissipate. You had learned to ignore them for the most part, but today, their cruel words had reached you too clearly, slipping under your skin like thorns.

“I pity the Prince,” one voice had said, their tone dripping with mock sympathy. “If the babe is like her, may gods help him.”

“It’s not just her oddness,” another had replied. “Imagine a child as soft as she is. It wouldn’t last a day in the court of dragons.”

The words rang in your ears long after you had passed them, slicing through your fragile calm. It was one thing to bear their unkindness when it was directed at you alone, but now they were talking about your child, about Jacaerys. You couldn’t protect him from their scorn, and the thought made your chest tighten painfully.

You returned to your chambers as quickly as you could, sinking into the window seat where you often sat to feel the cool breeze. One hand rested on your swollen belly, feeling the occasional flutter of movement from the babe within. You whispered a soft apology, stroking the curve of your stomach as if to shield your child from the cruelty of the world.

The door creaked open a moment later, and Jacaerys entered. He always brought with him a warmth that filled the room, his brown eyes searching for you the instant he stepped inside. The golden light spilling through the windows highlighted his fair complexion and the sharp lines of his jaw, a contrast to the boyish charm that still lingered in his features.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice full of concern as he crossed the room to kneel before you. His strong, calloused hands covered yours, where they rested on your belly. “What’s happened?”

You hesitated, not wanting to burden him with the weight of what you had heard, but Jace’s gaze was steady, his loyalty unshakeable. “Please, tell me,” he urged gently.

“They were talking about us,” you murmured, barely able to meet his eyes. “About me… about the babe. They pity you, Jace. They think…” Your voice broke, and tears filled your eyes. “They think the child will be strange, like me. They pity you for loving me.”

Jace’s brow furrowed, and his jaw tightened. He didn’t speak for a moment, his silence simmering with quiet anger. Finally, he stood, his hands still holding yours as he pulled you to your feet.

“Listen to me,” he said, his voice low but firm. “I don’t care what anyone says. They can pity me all they like—I don’t pity myself. Do you know why?”

You shook your head, tears spilling over as you tried to blink them away.

“Because I’m the luckiest man alive,” he said, his voice softening as he cupped your face in his hands.

“I have you, Y/N. I have this child. And if the babe is anything like you—kind, brave, and full of wonder—then they will be perfect.”

“But—”

“No,” he interrupted, his thumbs brushing your tears away. “You’re not strange. You see the world differently, that’s all. You see the beauty in the smallest things, in places no one else thinks to look. That’s not a weakness—it’s a gift. If this child has even a fraction of your heart, I’ll be proud.”

His words melted away the ache in your chest, replacing it with a warmth that spread through you like sunlight. You buried your face in his chest, clinging to him as he held you tightly, his arms a fortress against the unkindness of the world.

“You’re too good to me,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his tunic.

“Too good?” he scoffed, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Y/N. And I’ll remind you of that every day if I have to.”

You managed a small, watery smile, leaning into his touch as he kissed your forehead, lingering there for a moment before pulling away.

“Now,” he said, his tone taking on a sharper edge, “stay here. There’s something I need to deal with.”

“Jace…” You caught his arm, already knowing what he intended.

“Stay,” he said firmly, his lopsided grin doing little to mask the fire burning in his eyes. “I won’t be long.”

----

When Jacaerys returned some time later, his knuckles were red and bruised, but his expression was calm, almost satisfied. He didn’t offer an explanation, and you didn’t ask. Instead, he scooped you up into his arms with surprising ease, carrying you over to the couch despite your protests.

“Jace!” you exclaimed, laughing softly as he settled you onto his lap.

“I promised I’d take care of everything, didn’t I?” he said, his grin returning as his hand came to rest on your belly. His thumb traced slow, soothing circles as he held you close. “No one will dare speak against you again.”

You sighed, resting your head on his shoulder, the tension that had gripped you earlier, melting away. “I love you, Jace,” you murmured.

“And I love you,” he replied, kissing the top of your head. His voice softened as he added, “Both of you.”

You closed your eyes, letting his steady presence anchor you. Whatever the world threw your way, you knew Jace would be there, your shield and your sanctuary. And with him by your side, you could face anything.

[valyriandreamer]

Marriage in Westeros

MARRIAGE:

A marriage is a legally or formally recognised union, typically between two people. In most cases, it is a religious ceremony between one man and one woman who should not be more closely related than first cousins. The union involves the exchange of vows in the presence of sacred witnesses, such as a septon (for the Faith of the Seven), a heart tree (for the old gods), or a priest or priestess (for the Drowned God). The ceremony is followed by a feast where the bride and groom celebrate with their guests. The event concludes with the bedding, during which the marriage is consummated.

WEDDING CEREMONIES:

In Westeros, the wedding ceremony is a religious affair. The bride's father, or someone standing in for him, escorts the bride to her future husband and those officiating the marriage.

⋆ ─ Faith of the Seven: A septon presides over the ceremony, which includes prayers, vows, and singing, and takes place in a sept. The bride wears a maiden’s cloak in her house’s colours. The bride's father, or his representative, removes her cloak, allowing her husband to drape a cloak in his own house colours over her shoulders. This act symbolizes the bride’s transition from her father’s protection to her husband’s. The bride and groom then exchange vows, with the septon declaring them man and wife, proclaiming they are "one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever."

⋆ ─ Old Gods: The ceremonies are much shorter and involve no priests. The bride is escorted to her groom, who waits in front of the weirwood tree in the godswood. A ceremonial exchange follows, confirming the identities of the bride, the groom, and the person giving the bride away. The bride is asked to accept her husband, and upon her agreement ("I take this man"), the couple joins hands, kneels before the heart tree, and bows their heads as a sign of submission. After a moment of silent prayer, the couple rises, and the groom removes the maiden's cloak, placing his own cloak around the bride's shoulders. He then carries her to the feast in his arms. Some northmen believe that snow on a wedding day foretells a cold marriage.

CONSUMMATION:

In Westeros, the bedding occurs after the feast. The bride is escorted to her bedroom, often by the male guests, who undress her along the way while making crude jokes. The women at the feast perform the same for the groom. Once the bride and groom are in the bedchamber, they are typically left alone, though guests may gather outside the door, shouting suggestions. In some cases, witnesses may be present for the bedding, but the extent of their involvement remains unclear.

Women, especially noblewomen, are generally expected to be virgins on their wedding night. After some weddings, the bedsheets are displayed to show blood, proving the bride's virginity.

Although it is rare for a marriage to take place before the bride has had her first flowering, it does occasionally happen. However, bedding a bride so young is considered perverse.

Lords in Westeros once held the right to the first night, allowing them to bed newly-wed women before their husbands. Queen Alysanne persuaded King Jaehaerys I to abolish this practice, but it continues illegally in some parts of the North.

DIVORCE:

Vows spoken at swordpoint are not considered valid, and in theory, a marriage can not be declared if either person refuses to say the vows. However, issues of consent can still arise even when the vows are willingly spoken. In cases where lands are at stake, a lord might still claim the marriage as legal, even if it occurred under duress.

In the religion of the Drowned God, it is possible for someone to be married by proxy, without their consent, or personally saying the vows. However, if the marriage has not been consummated, it can easily be annulled.

In the Seven Kingdoms, marriages can be ended in various ways. A king has the authority to set aside his queen, even if she has borne him children, in favour of marrying another.

Under the Faith of the Seven, a marriage that has not been consummated can be annulled by the High Septon or a Council of Faith. Even if the marriage has been consummated, it can still be annulled, regardless of its length or whether children are involved. An annulment can be granted in the absence of either spouse, though it must be requested by at least one of them. The exact procedures of a Council of Faith remain undefined.

Another way to end a marriage is for the bride to join the Silent Sisters. Similarly, when a man takes the vows of the Night's Watch, his marriage is considered null and void.

POLYGAMY:

Before the Andals arrived in Westeros, Garland II Gardener, a King of the Reach known as the Bridegroom, had multiple wives. To marry the daughter of Lord Lymond Hightower, he set aside his other wives. According to the songs, Ronard Storm, a Storm King, had twenty-three wives.

Followers of the Drowned God may have only one rock wife, with whom they have trueborn children, but they are permitted to take multiple salt wives. Children born of salt wives are not considered bastards and can inherit if there are no heirs from the rock wife.

⋆ ─ All my information comes from the A Wiki of Ice and Fire page!

[valyriandreamer]

𝔅etrothals 𝔦n 𝔚esteros

Most noble betrothals are made to forge alliances between families rather than for love. Similarly, marriages of convenience are common among the middle class and peasants. These unions often serve as pledges of support or tools to broker peace between rivals.

The head of a house is responsible for arranging matches for their children and any unwed younger siblings. While a lord can not force a dependent to take marriage vows, refusing could lead to serious consequences.

Betrothals can occur at a wide range of ages. While children as young as two may be betrothed, it is more common for such arrangements to be made when they are older. Eleven is generally seen as a standard age for a betrothal, though in cases of significant political necessity, younger children may be involved.

Betrothals can be broken, but doing so often carries serious consequences. Such actions may dissolve military alliances; for example, Prince Duncan Targaryen broke his betrothal to Lord Lyonel Baratheon's daughter to marry Jenny of Oldstones, prompting Lyonel to rise in rebellion.

If a betrothed nobleman dies before a political marriage takes place, his sibling or heir may assume his place. One example is Brandon Stark, who died before marrying Catelyn Tully. Following his death, his younger brother, Eddard Stark, the new Lord of Winterfell, wed her in his place.

Among the free folk beyond the Wall, men are expected to prove their worth by "stealing" women from other tribes instead of arranging betrothals.

[valyriandreamer]

𝔐arriage 𝔦n 𝔈ssos

BETROTHALS:

In the Seven Kingdoms, dowries are typically paid by the bride's family to the groom's family. However, this custom may differ in the Free Cities. For example, King Daeron II Targaryen fulfilled his father Aegon IV Targaryen's promise by paying a dowry to the Archon of Tyrosh when his half-brother Daemon Blackfyre married Rohanne of Tyrosh.

WEDDING CEREMONIES:

A marriage is a legally or formally recognised union, typically between two people. The union involves the exchange of vows in the presence of sacred witnesses, such as a priest or priestess. The ceremony is followed by a feast where the bride and groom celebrate with their guests. The event concludes with the bedding, during which the marriage is consummated.

⋆ ─ Lord of the Light: A priest (or priestess) recites ceremonial prayers, with the wedding guests responding in turn. The priest and groom await the bride by a ditchfire. When the bride arrives, the priest first asks her to identify herself, followed by the question of who comes to claim her. Both the bride and groom are asked if they will share their fire with one another, to warm each other "when the night is dark and full of terrors." The couple then leaps over the ditchfire together, symbolizing their union. Afterwards, the groom removes the maiden’s cloak and drapes his own cloak around the bride’s shoulders.

⋆ ─ Valyrian: Valyrian wedding ceremonies are sometimes conducted by members of House Targaryen. While little is known about the full rite, it is understood that the participants are "wed by blood and fire." The officiant can be a woman, and the ceremony is often marked by symbolic acts involving fire, reflecting the Valyrian connection to dragons and their fiery culture.

⋆ ─ Dothraki: Weddings take place beneath the open sky and can last the entire day. During the ceremony, guests feast, drink, dance, and often engage in fights, sometimes to death. Towards the end of the ceremony, the bride is presented with her bride gifts. A khaleesi receives a gift from each of her husband's bloodriders, which she is expected to decline and pass on to her husband instead. After receiving the gifts, the khal and khaleesi consummate their marriage. Following the wedding, the khal presents his new bride to the dosh khaleen at Vaes Dothrak.

⋆ ─ Ghiscari: As per Ghiscari wedding customs practised in Meereen, the groom's female relatives inspect the bride's womb and female parts to confirm her fertility. This ancient ritual is witnessed by the Three Graces, who recite prayers during the ceremony. For this ritual, the bride is stripped naked for examination. Once the process is complete, the women partake in a special betrothal cake, which men are forbidden to eat. Traditionally, the bride washes the groom's feet, symbolising her role as his handmaid. In certain circumstances, it may be the groom who washes the bride's feet. Traditionally, the bride wears a tokar of white silk with dark red veils. The tokar is adorned with baby pearls, symbolizing fertility. Weddings among the highest nobility in Meereen are held at the Temple of the Graces. The ceremony can last up to four hours, and when the husband and wife emerge from the temple, they are bound together by wrist and ankle with chains of yellow gold.

⋆ ─ Qartheen: The Qartheen have a custom in which the bride and groom may each ask the other on their wedding day for a worldly token of love that can not be declined.

POLYGAMY:

The dragonlords of Valyria often took multiple wives. King Aegon I Targaryen, who unified six kingdoms, married both his sisters. Though the Faith of the Seven forbids polygamy, Aegon's reign was accepted. During his Conquest, he received marriage proposals from the Storm King, Argilac Durrandon, and Sharra Arryn, Queen Regent of Mountain and Vale. Aegon's son, Maegor I Targaryen, was the last Targaryen to take multiple wives, a decision that led to his exile.

Among the Dothraki, the khal is permitted to practice polygamy. For instance, Khal Jommo is known to have four wives. Additionally, according to the "ancient ways," a khal may share his khaleesi with his bloodriders, a tradition still followed in some khalasars.

⋆ ─ All my information comes from the A Wiki of Ice and Fire page!

[valyriandreamer]

𝔘nder 𝔗he 𝔚eirwood 𝔗ree

summary: under the weirwood tree, Alicent quizzed a restless Rhaenyra while you leaned on her shoulder, eventually stepping in to ease the tension.

paring: rhaenyra targaryen x reader, alicent hightower x reader

The afternoon sun dappled the ground with golden light, filtered through the thick canopy of the godswood. The warmth of the day wrapped around you like a soft cloak, the distant hum of bees and rustle of leaves creating a serene backdrop to the scene unfolding beneath the ancient weirwood.

You rested your head against Alicent Hightower’s slender shoulder, her soft auburn hair brushing against your cheek as she sat straight-backed, her focus intently fixed on the book resting in her lap. Beside her, stretched out lazily with her head on Alicent’s lap, was Rhaenyra Targaryen. She was the picture of youthful impatience, her Valyrian features set in a petulant pout as she twirled a strand of silver hair between her fingers.

Alicent’s voice, soft and precise, rose and fell as she read aloud from the tome—a detailed recounting of the histories of Westeros. Her tone carried the quiet authority of someone who had memorised much of it and was determined to impress its contents upon her listener.

“Rhaenyra,” Alicent chided gently, though with an edge of frustration, “are you even listening? What did I just say about the Conquest?”

Rhaenyra gave a theatrical sigh, her violet eyes rolling upwards to the heavens. “Something about dragons and fire, no doubt,” she replied breezily, her tone thick with boredom. “Honestly, Alicent, I could recite this in my sleep.”

Alicent’s lips pressed into a thin line, her green eyes narrowing as she set the book aside for a moment. “If you know it so well, then why do you refuse to engage with it?” she countered, her voice betraying the slightest tremor of irritation.

Sensing the tension brewing between the two, you decided to intervene. “Perhaps Rhaenyra’s lack of focus isn’t entirely her fault,” you said with a light tone, tilting your head to look at Alicent. “It’s such a beautiful day, after all. The histories can wait, can they not?”

Alicent turned to you, her expression softening, though she still appeared reluctant to relent. “It’s important for her to understand these things,” she replied, her voice quieter now, tinged with a hint of exasperation. “One day, she may sit the Iron Throne. If she refuses to take the lessons of history seriously, how will she rule wisely?”

“She’s right here, you know,” Rhaenyra interjected, sitting up suddenly and pulling her legs beneath her. “And if I’m to be queen, I’ll surround myself with clever people like you and Y/N. You can do all the thinking for me.”

Alicent gave her a disapproving look, but you couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. “A queen who delegates. How very modern of you, Rhaenyra,” you teased, earning a smirk from the princess.

“Exactly,” Rhaenyra declared triumphantly, as though you had just validated her entire approach to life. “And besides,” she added, leaning back against the tree trunk with an air of self-satisfaction, “if I’m to rule, I’ll need to know the hearts of my people, not just their histories. You can’t charm a council with dry recitations of Aegon’s conquests.”

“Nor can you command respect without knowledge,” Alicent said firmly, her hands folded neatly in her lap now that the book was abandoned. She glanced at you for support, but her eyes softened as they met yours. “Tell her, Y/N. You agree with me, don’t you?”

You hesitated, caught between your affection for both girls. “I think,” you began carefully, “that Rhaenyra is right to want to connect with people. But Alicent is also right—it’s not enough to rely on charm alone. Knowledge is power, after all.”

Alicent’s lips curved into a small, satisfied smile, while Rhaenyra groaned dramatically and threw herself back onto the grass, her arm flung over her eyes. “I should have known you’d take Alicent’s side,” she muttered, though there was no real malice in her voice.

You leaned closer to Alicent, your shoulder brushing against hers. “At least you’ll never have to worry about being wrong, with Alicent around to guide you,” you said softly, your voice warm with affection.

Alicent turned to look at you, her cheeks flushing faintly at the compliment. “And Rhaenyra will never lack courage, with you at her side,” she replied, her words equally tender.

For a moment, the three of you sat in comfortable silence, the tension melting away like morning frost under the sun. Rhaenyra peeked out from under her arm, her gaze flickering between you and Alicent. “If you two are going to gang up on me, at least bring some lemon cakes next time,” she said with a mischievous grin.

You and Alicent shared a knowing look, both smiling. For all the weight of expectations and duties that loomed over each of you, in this moment, beneath the shelter of the godswood, life felt simple and bright.

[valyriandreamer]

# alicent hightower masterlist!

▪︎ 𝔘nder 𝔗he 𝔚eirwood 𝔗ree

summary: under the weirwood tree, Alicent quizzed a restless Rhaenyra while you leaned on her shoulder, eventually stepping in to ease the tension.

[valyriandreamer]

# rhaenyra targaryen masterlist!

▪︎ 𝔘nder 𝔗he 𝔚eirwood 𝔗ree

summary: under the weirwood tree, Alicent quizzed a restless Rhaenyra while you leaned on her shoulder, eventually stepping in to ease the tension.

▪︎ 𝔑orthern 𝔖upport

summary: amid winterfell's blizzard, Rhaenyra sought the north's loyalty to secure her claim to the iron throne.

[valyriandreamer]

𝔓erculiar 𝔏ady

summary: Jacaerys Velaryon is a devoted husband to his wife, no matter how peculiar she can get.

paring: jacaerys velaryon x reader

The late afternoon air held the hint of salt from the sea, mingling with the fragrance of wildflowers that grew stubbornly between the cracks in the ancient stone pathways. You were crouched near the edge of a patch of lilies, your hands delicately prying a small beetle from the wet earth.

Jacaerys stood behind you, watching with a soft smile as you turned the tiny creature over in your hands, your purple eyes reflecting the fading sunlight as you examined the beetle’s wings. The mud clung to the tiny insect's body, but you didn't mind the dirt; your focus was entirely on the small, helpless thing in your palm.

“Look,” you said quietly, turning to Jace with wonder in your voice, “its wings are stuck.”

Jace knelt beside you, resting on the balls of his feet as he extended a hand. You placed the beetle in his palm, trusting that he would be as gentle as you always were with the world’s smallest creatures. He turned the insect carefully, his thumb brushing away the mud that had ensnared it. You watched him with a mixture of fascination and love. Jace was patient, where others would have dismissed your concern as childish or odd. He never once called you mad, not like your mother had whispered behind closed doors when she thought you weren't listening.

“Are we taking it to our room?” Jacaerys asked with a soft smile, his eyes meeting yours. His brown eyes, warm like honey, always made you feel seen, truly seen, in a way that no one else did. Not your mother, not the maesters, not even your father, who tried to love you but could never understand you.

You gave a small laugh, one that sounded more like a breeze whispering through the trees. "I don’t think it would like the room," you replied, brushing a stray silver-gold strand of hair from your face. "It belongs out here, I think."

Jacaerys nodded. He understood. He always understood, even when you struggled to explain yourself. He placed the beetle back on the ground gently, and you watched as it scurried off into the grass. The small moment passed, but it left a warmth in your heart. These moments with Jace were everything to you.

The wind shifted, and you froze. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. You could feel them again—the ghosts. The invisible presences that followed you everywhere, the ones no one else could see. Your chest tightened, your breath quickened, and the world around you blurred at the edges.

Jace was by your side in an instant, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you close. He didn’t ask what was wrong; he didn’t need to. He knew. He always knew. The panic that clawed at your insides like a ravenous beast began to subside under the familiar pressure of his embrace. You focused on the steady beat of his heart, grounding yourself in the rhythm of his breathing.

“They’re here again, aren’t they?” Jacaerys whispered into your hair, his voice low and comforting.

You nodded, burying your face in his chest, the rich scent of his skin calming you further. “I can feel them,” you whispered back, your voice trembling. “Watching… waiting…”

Jacaerys held you tighter, his chin resting on the top of your head. “They can’t hurt you. I won’t let them.”

You wanted to believe him, wanted so desperately to believe that the things you saw, the shadows that loomed just beyond the edge of sight, were only in your mind. But how could you, when you could feel them so keenly? When they whispered to you in the dead of night, filling your dreams with images of things long dead and forgotten?

Your mother, Alicent, had always looked at you with a mixture of pity and fear. From the time you were a child, she had treated you as if you were fragile, almost breakable. The day she had agreed to your marriage with Jacaerys had been one of the rare moments when you had seen relief in her eyes—as if you were finally someone else’s responsibility, no longer her burden to bear.

But Jacaerys never made you feel like a burden. He had taken you as his wife not out of duty or convenience, but because he had truly wanted you. He had seen your strangeness, your peculiarities, and had loved you for them. Even now, as you stood in the fading light, haunted by the unseen, he held you as if you were the most precious thing in the world.

“I’ll chase them away if you want,” Jacaerys said, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. His hand brushed against your cheek, his touch feather-light.

You managed a small, shaky smile. “You’d do that?”

He smiled back, that lopsided grin that made your heart ache with affection. “Of course. I’ll chase them all away, every last one of them.”

You knew he would. You knew he would humour you, would run through the garden or the halls of Dragonstone, waving his arms and calling out to the ghosts to leave his wife in peace. It was absurd, but Jacaerys never cared about appearing foolish, not when it came to you. He had done it before, on more nights than you could count—banishing your invisible tormentors with all the seriousness of a knight battling real foes.

But tonight, you didn’t want him to chase them away. Tonight, you only wanted him to hold you, to remind you that no matter how strange or broken the world seemed, there was still something real and solid in it—his love.

“I just want you to stay with me,” you whispered, resting your forehead against his chest.

Jacaerys nodded, his arms never loosening. “Always.”

The two of you stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, standing in the middle of the garden as the sky darkened, the first stars appearing overhead. The wind whistled through the trees, and somewhere in the distance, the waves crashed against the cliffs, but here, in Jace’s arms, the world was quiet.

The ghosts were still there. They always would be. But with Jace, you could bear them. He was your anchor, the one thing that kept you tethered when everything else seemed to slip away. You knew that the whispers would return, that the panic would strike again, and the shadows would come creeping back into your mind. But as long as Jacaerys was there, with his steady heart and his unwavering love, you could face them.

He was the husband you never thought you would have. The kind of man you had been told you didn’t deserve, that you would never find. But Jace had chosen you, strange as you were. And he had stayed through all the dark nights and haunted days.

You tilted your head up to look at him, your eyes meeting his. “I love you,” you whispered, the words so quiet they were almost lost to the wind.

Jacaerys smiled, his hand cupping your face as he leaned down to kiss your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than necessary. “I love you too.”

And in that moment, you believed him. You believed that no matter how haunted your mind was, no matter how broken you sometimes felt, there was still something whole and good in the world.

It was him.

It was Jace.

And for now, that was enough.

part 2: 𝔊ossiping ℭorridors

[valyriandreamer]

# aegon targaryen iii masterlist!

▪︎ 𝔊reen and 𝔅lack

summary: in the aftermath of the Dance of the Dragons, Aegon III Targaryen and his betrothed, the daughter of Aegon II, struggle to find meaning in their union, haunted by the past.

▪︎ 𝔖hared 𝔖orrow

summary: the evenings were quiet, filled with unspoken grief and silent comfort. neither of you acknowledged the bond slowly forming.

▪︎ 𝔖ummer 𝔑ights

summary: the red keep gardens look extremely welcoming late at night. especially to the two last royals of the targaryen dynasty.

[valyriandreamer]

𝔖outhern 𝔚ife

summary: to Cregan Stark, winter was comforting; to his southern-born wife, it was cruel. but with their child on the way, he’d shield them both from the north’s relentless cold — no matter the cost.

paring: cregan stark x southern!reader (house not specified)

The North had always been an unforgiving place. To those who called it home, it was a land of harsh beauty, where the cold was a constant companion, and survival was more than a mere skill—it was a way of life. But to outsiders, the North felt more like an eternal challenge, an unrelenting test of endurance.

For Cregan Stark, the endless white blanket of snow and the biting chill in the air had always been sources of comfort. The North was his sanctuary, a place where he felt both bound and unshakably rooted. In the winter, when the skies turned grey and the world seemed to hold its breath beneath a blanket of snow, he found a quiet peace. There was something almost sacred in the solitude of those cold days, something that echoed within the depths of his own heart.

But when he looked at you, he saw an entirely different story.

You stood near the grand hearth of Winterfell’s main hall, wrapped in furs far heavier than anything you’d ever needed in the warm, golden South. The flames cast a soft glow across your face, warming your cheeks, and for a moment, Cregan let his gaze linger, watching the subtle, delicate way your brow furrowed as you stared into the fire, seeking warmth. The South had been your world—a land of balmy breezes, of flowering gardens and warm sunshine. Winterfell, with its ancient stone walls and freezing nights, must have felt like a fortress built of ice and shadows.

His gaze softened, though his features remained as stern as ever. In you, he saw a softness, a gentleness that the North rarely harboured. It was as if the warmth of your homeland clung to you still, like a tender light that persisted against the cold. But he could see it too—the subtle, weary lines in your expression, the faint tremble in your hands when the chill crept too close.

And it was more than just you now. The child within you, the life you both awaited with an unspoken hope and an unyielding fear, made the stakes even higher. The North would be his child’s home, just as it was his. But as much as he loved his land, he knew it would be no kinder to his child than it had been to him.

As he approached, his footsteps slow and deliberate, you looked up, and a gentle smile lifted your lips. He could see the love and trust in your eyes, the quiet faith you held in him to keep you safe, even here in this unfamiliar land. He moved closer, his large frame casting a shadow over you, his rugged face softened just a touch by the flickering firelight.

“I know this place feels foreign,” he murmured, his deep voice as steady as the mountains, “but I swear to you, it will be a home for you… for both of you.” His gaze lowered to your abdomen, where his child grew beneath your heart. A sacred duty—that was how he saw it. This fragile life, a blend of him and you, a delicate piece of both your worlds brought together—it was his to protect.

You reached out, placing a hand against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath layers of wool and leather. “I trust you, Cregan,” you whispered. “I know the North is in your blood. And I know… our child will come to love it, too. But sometimes… sometimes, it feels like the cold is too much, like it seeps into my bones.”

Cregan felt a pang of something he rarely allowed himself to feel: helplessness. He could swing a sword against any enemy and defend his land and his people against any threat. But this? The cold was an enemy he could not strike down, a force he could not control. All he could do was keep the fires burning, wrap you in furs, pull you close to his chest, and let his warmth shield you, even if it never quite chased away the cold completely.

“Then I’ll stay close,” he replied, his voice a low rumble as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against him. His hands, large and rough from years of sword-wielding, settled gently on your back, holding you as if you were as precious and fragile as the finest glass. “And when the cold feels too strong, I’ll be here to keep it at bay. My warmth, my strength—it’s yours. Every bit of it.”

You leaned into him, letting the heat of his body seep into you. The broadness of his shoulders, the unyielding strength that he carried so effortlessly, was a balm against the chill that seemed to haunt Winterfell’s halls. As you pressed your cheek to his chest, you felt his fingers gently brush your hair, an act that was tender in a way only he could make it—subtle, almost hidden beneath his roughness.

The silence stretched between you, a silence that spoke of shared worries, unspoken hopes, and a deep, quiet love that neither of you had yet fully put into words. For a man like Cregan, love wasn’t something expressed in declarations or grand gestures. It was in the steadfastness of his gaze, the unwavering loyalty he showed, the way his arms tightened around you as if vowing never to let go.

His grey eyes, as sharp and fierce as the winter storms, softened as he looked down at you, his fingers tracing a gentle path along your back. “The North is harsh,” he murmured, almost to himself. “It can be cruel. But it can also be… protective. Strong. Like the walls of Winterfell. I know it seems bleak, but it’s a kind of strength. The kind that will protect you, that will protect… our child.”

You lifted your gaze, meeting his eyes, and saw something in his expression that stole your breath—a fierce, unbreakable promise. In that moment, you understood the North a little better. It wasn’t a place that gave its love freely; it was a land that guarded, that endured. And in Cregan’s embrace, you could feel that same strength, that same loyalty, radiating from him.

“Then I’ll learn to love it,” you replied softly, your voice steady with a resolve that matched his own. “If the North is your heart, then it is mine too. And our child will have the strength of both worlds.”

Cregan’s gaze held yours for a long, silent moment, as though committing every word, every promise, to memory. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, the scratch of his beard warm against your skin. It was a kiss that felt like a vow, a promise that no matter how cold or dark the North became, he would be there to shield you from its worst.

As the night deepened, he held you close by the fire, his presence a solid wall against the chill that surrounded you both. And for the first time, you felt a little less of the foreign cold, a little more of the warmth and strength that Cregan carried within him.

In his arms, you realised, Winterfell did not feel quite so strange or unwelcoming. It was slowly becoming a home, built not just of stone and ice, but of shared warmth, unspoken promises, and the fierce loyalty of a man whose heart beat steady and unyielding as the North itself.