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bucknastysbabe · 3 months

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Sleepover Challenge - C.Cole

Prompts

20: “take off your clothes” 77: “want help with that”

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Criston likes to make his insane Targ gf jealous, toxic couple, jealousy, self depreciation, couple’s spats as foreplay, world building, au Criston ditches to Essos with a diff Targ, pnv!sex, rough sex, degredation kink, erotic choking, talkin bout FEELINGS, fluffy toward the end

A/N: I used an OC (random timing I know) but she’s Aemond’s twin. To make a long mf story short: they ditched the war and went to Essos to start a mercenary company. If you enjoy two toxic insane people there’s more of them on my page xoxo

Taglist: @bambitas @valeskafics @fairysluna @arcielee @aemonds-holy-milk @lovelykhaleesiii @starogeorgina @targaryenbarbie @sugarpoppss2

Thanks and shoutout to @targaryen-dynasty ❣️

The princess narrowed her eyes, calculating how many ways she could kill her other half. Skysinger flew overhead, blending in with the clouds. Valaerys knew they would have to take shit jobs to build a credible reputation. Currently their company ranks included Criston, a Qohorik bowman, a pair of exiled Northern hedge knights, and the once enslaved pit fighter from Astapor. Not a bad crew. Especially when one has a dragon.

This particular entourage was idiotic. She could’ve hoisted the Volantene quim onto the dragon and be done with it. There, the dainty little thing was dropped off in in Braavos. But no. Criston insisted on the gold they would get protecting the passage of Volantene Triarch’s daughter as she traveled to Braavos to meet a sea-lord’s son.

Valaerys Targaryen didn’t like the girl at all. She was vapid and moony eyed for her lover. Criston, the cunt, seemed to enjoy the attentions— smiling and regaling the girl’s questions in fine Valyrian. He picked up the language quite well, surprisingly. Bastard Valyrian dialects weren’t so stiff on pronunciations.

The travel was long and agitating, boring truly. Criston and Valaerys’ small company only slaughtered some weak bandits near old Rhoynar ruins. They traveled on the black Valyrian roads, all on horses. The way the triarch’s daughter clung to Criston and thanked him with big lavender eyes after they killed the bandits made the former princess see red. She needed to punch something. Quick.

Their protected charge was too pretty. Jealousy burned within the Targaryen’s chest as she stewed on it. The girl was all delicate features and soft curves, utterly gorgeous. Nothing like Valaerys lanky frame, long nose, and boring straight hair. Merlot colored eyes stared into the campfire, pouty lips downturned.

Criston sidled up to his princess, nosing playfully at her cheek with a kiss. She glared and pointedly ignored the knight. Morak— the pit fighter— began to grin at the pair of them. He continued to eat and chuckle. Criston murmured lowly “What’s gotten stuck into your craw?” He settled his warm hand high up on her thigh, sliding inwards teasingly.

Valaerys grumbled absently while chewing on rations, keeping her face forward, focusing on not shivering from Criston’s big hand on her thigh. So close to where she wanted his irritating smiley face. Instead she hissed right back at him. “Don’t you need to go watch over the doll in her fancy tent? Make sure she doesn’t have any nightmares?”

The knight’s thoughts went two different ways. His pride puffed with Val’s obvious jealousy, seeking to push her a bit farther, she was something else when angered. Criston’s other side grew annoyed at her bratty behavior. He was merely being chivalrous with the noble girl, practicing his conversational Valyrian more than anything.

The Essosi girl definitely wanted a piece of him, Criston was not that dumb, but he was dumb enough to enjoy stoking his true love’s fiery temper. He rolled dark eyes at Morak, turning back to invade his pretty girl’s space. She scooted farther away, brows furrowing.

“You’re really this upset? We’re doing a job, I’m merely providing good service so we gain notoriety. You could stand to be a bit kinder,” he said. Cole’s lips grazed her ear as he admonished the angry woman. She flushed and eyed him, whispering back angrily, “Good service is coddling and carrying the mewling kitten around? She’s pretty, I get it.”

The princess slapped his big hand away from her thigh, stomping off to go see what Skysinger was up to. Criston called once, “Valaerys! Get back here!” Val was too pissed off to deal with him. Unfortunately there were familiar footsteps catching up, the knight snatching her around the midsection, pulling up close.

He rumbled, “You’re being fucking dramatic, when have I ever strayed from you?”

Valaerys wanted to sink into his body, relax and kiss those soft lips of his, catch the warm gleam in dark eyes. But she was horribly set in her head, properly offended. Criston pinched at her hip, seeking an answer.

“You’ve been by her side the entire time, maybe I could ride with the girl for once? Put the two Barrowton idiots beside her horse. You like the new cunt? Younger and richer? More power?”

Criston’s own temper flared, quickly stepping back to point a finger at the prickly blonde as he raved, “Fine then. Ride with the girl! Maybe you’ll learn some manners after all this godsdamn time! She sure has them.”

“Oh fuck you Criston!”

“If I did would you stop being such a venomous bitch?” He retorted right back, smug at her reddened face under the moonlight. Valaerys scoffed, lips trembling before continuing her quest to visit her winged beast. The ex-hand was going to show her what she thought was occurring. He stood with clenched fists, turning on his foot to sit back at the fire.

He stopped one more time, debating on whether to try again. The brunette shook his head— no, the princess wouldn’t change her mind after this spat.

Loroi was quiet, like most Qohorik. He had a fox-like face and gleaming dark eyes. Criston sat back onto the ground, angrily slugging some fermented shite from the wineskin. Loroi asked in poor common tongue “You two are…heated this trip?” Morak laughed brashly, explaining in his bastard Valyrian, “You’ve never seen a lover’s spat bowman?”

Ser Garett snorted, “They just find ways to be mad so,” his friend Ser Kendal finished, “So to spice up the fuckin’.”

Then they all burst into laughter. Criston grimaced. His princess was indeed quite angry. Not the fun way the men were mentioning either. Maybe once she rode with the fellow Valyrian things would ease up. He really didn’t enjoy seeing the princess so angered she wasn’t ready to fuck, that’s how it always went with them.

Ser Cole sighed as the Triarch’s daughter fought with the horse’s saddle. Yesterday’s ride did not go as he preferred. Valaerys made an effort to speak to the fellow blonde. Which was quite the effort considering how she already perceived the girl— a threat. The Volantene noble seemed dismissive of the dragonrider, pointedly talking to him instead.

His Val didn’t speak a word afterward and for the rest of the night beside dropping acrid backhanded insults.

Ser Criston Cole was laying it on thick in the meantime, drawing on that easy charm he held when prancing around tourneys in King’s Landing. Cole practically cooed, “Need help with that my lady?” The spoilt child seemed to enjoy Westerosi customs. She nodded eagerly, blushing, lilac eyes shiny with awe. Leaning over and straightening out the straps with a quick snap, Cole’s hand grazedacross her soft arm in the process.

Valaerys immediately slowed her horse’s gait, lips downturned as she rode in stride with Loroi. He could feel the heat on the back of his head. Hell, she might call Skysinger down. The Volantene babbled as they neared Braavos, the giant statue appearing on the horizon.

Criston helped her down the horse, kissing her ringed hand, leading the blonde to the manse of the Sealord. He was on an ego trip, his contemptuous lover growing more agitated by the second. The ex-princess completed the transaction, gaining extra gold for ‘the knight’. Valaerys stormed out when the Triarch’s daughter laid her plush lips on Criston’s stubbled cheek.

The Targaryen was planning murder. The rest focused to find a nice inn and rest for a night or two before returning to home base in Qohor. They managed to find a nice one, a bustling bar covered in colorful streamers on the street level.

Val ordered for three rooms. Criston relaxed a bit— worried he may have gone too far to fuck with her.

They drank, Cole making multiple attempts to talk to his lover. Valaerys narrowed her dark eyes at him, a bit drunker than he expected, cheeks prettily flushed. She bit out sourly “Do you find yourself enamored with every bitch with blonde hair and purple eyes on the planet?” Gritting her sharp jaw she shoved at Criston, eyes calculating.

He couldn’t help but grin at her behavior. Sometimes Criston smiled when he was agitated, heated for a fight. He snatched the leggy blonde over and pressed his face close to hers, laughing, “You truly are envious! We left our old lives together, you’re smarter than that, girl.”

She bit his bottom lip, rasping, “Flirty asshole, smiling and playing Ser Cole, fuck you,” her hands gripped at his waist while kissing him roughly, “Get your ass to the room.” Criston took his ass up to the room, the princess close behind, lobbing insults.

As soon as the door closed and locked behind them, Valaerys shoved the knight into the wall, cursing. “Take your clothes off. Fucking prick. You think it’s so funny to play with me like that? Made me feel like a godsdamn ninny, moping over how pretty she was.”

Val stepped back to shuck off her boots. Criston felt a bit afraid for what was to come but his cock was harder than the Smith’s hammer. He loved his princess like this, still grinning as he divested his armor and clothes.

“Why the fuck are you smiling? You’re lucky!”

The former Kingsguard was used to a little manhandling from his lover but she was raw aggression, shoving him flat onto the bed and crawling atop, slapping his cheek and barking, “Shit-stirrer. You knew I was upset!” He’d be lying if he said he didn’t whimper a bit.

“I should just get myself off on your thigh and leave you dry,” she hissed.

Criston tried to grovel a bit, his hands batted away from those gorgeous thighs. He pled, “Val, come on, I was merely playing to piss you off. That child was a babbling idiot.” Her dark wine colored eyes softened a hair— face turning back to anger.

“Well you’ve succeeded in pissing me off, Cole. Slut. You’re a slut. No better than the whores flashing their tits on the Street of Silk for a little coin.”

She plastered her pale body against his tanned, wet cunt sliding over his poor cock. Criston choked on his breath, eyes flashing in excitement. He breathed, “It excites me when you get angry my love, I went too far. Quit, let’s fuck it out.”

She slapped him again, lips crashing against his own, pussy grinding against him as she rocked her hips. Criston groaned and Valaerys’ tongue slid right in, twisting with his own, the pair in a frenzy. The tip of his cock kept catching against her slick opening, begging, “C’mon— Valaerys, please, I- ah- apologize. You’re the love of my life!”

She whined softly, demanding afterward, “Keep talking, oh gods, keep fucking talking.”

Criston was going to lose his mind, his soaked cock half-enveloped in her warmth but not sunken in that tight cunt. He panted and writhed, fisting his hands in the sheets. The knight knew he sounded embarrassingly needy as he kept apologizing.

“Pretty baby, fucking shit, you’re so gorgeous. Those legs, pretty lips, how your cute little tits f-feel on me— that other slut wouldn’t stand ahhaaah- chance! Lemme touch you, need it.”

Valaerys cried out and grabbed his bigger hands to massage at her tits, rutting her pussy frantically across Criston’s swollen cock. She placed both hands on his shoulders for balance, cursing and trembling as she grew closer. He always knew her signs.

“M’gonna cum on your filthy cock, you attention whore,” she groaned throatily.

“Please, please, please,” Criston panted.

Tweaking at her nipples had the angered dragon fall apart babbling and clenching. His own release was closer than expected— but Criston wanted her cunt so bad. He begged, “Mm, Val, sweetling, my favorite girl, let me fuck you, I’ll do whatever you want, just!” He whined sharply, frustration clouding coherency.

The blonde smiled teasingly, blissed out and fuck drunk. She patted Criston’s cheek to jape “That’s right, remember whose pussy this is?” She moved upward, muscles flexing in her thighs. Taking ahold of the knight’s prick she continued, “Whose cock it’s only fit for. Don’t do it again or I ought to make you a eunuch.”

Criston’s eyes rolled up when she enveloped his aching cock— groaning pitiful and high. Valaerys rasped his name, hands locking around the tender skin of his throat. He saw the twisted look in her eyes, possessive and eager. The knight knew he was getting used. Thoroughly.

All the brunette did was hold onto her hips as he gasped and threw his head back, quiet sounds slipping out. Val’s strong thighs flexed as she rode him roughly, a moan pushed out on every wet slap of their skin— sweat and release.

“You like that Criston? You wanted me to be mad, fuck you into the bed?” She managed, blonde hair falling from a once meticulous braid. Criston whimpered when she tightened her hands, nodding a yes. Her sweet pussy pulled and massaged his cock, the quick movements bringing him closer and closer.

She leaned down to his gaping mouth, spitting into it with a pleased look. Criston swallowed, almost choking because of her hands. Val exclaimed, slapping his tanned flank with a praise, throwing her head back. He was twitching and trying his best to fuck back against swift movements, drinking in her exposed neck and pretty tits.

She tightened harder, gritting out, “You’re fucking mine, best heed that, Ser Cole.”

The knight’s mouth hung open as she placed pressure on the sides of tender throat, sending his head into a tizzy. His hips helplessly stuttered as he tensed, lips stretched around a silent cry, Criston came so hard his vision went blank. Floating in rapture before coming back still in the throes.

Valaerys let go and came right along as his pumps of hot seed coated her tight cunt. Criston sucked in a breath before exhaling out a sob, then a slurry of moans and whines— stimulated and assaulted by utter ecstasy. He wrapped his arms around her pale waist and yanked the Princess against him, riding out his orgasm, panting wetly against her pulsing neck.

She curled a hand in his dark hair, breathing rapid from her exertions. Criston’s cock gave a last pitiful jerk, the pair both whining. Silence enveloped the room besides breath and the occasional soft sound. The knight knew he needed to say something. Stagnancy filled the room as quickly as the pleasure settled down.

He rolled them to the side, cock sliding out in the process, Criston’s chest swelling at the ruined mess of his love’s cunt. Dark eyes met the familiar grape-like color. He cradled her face, stroking a sharp cheekbone. Her lashes fluttered, arm tightening around his torso.

“Valaerys,” he paused to swallow, “I apologize for upsetting you…behaving childishly. But do know you’re the only one who holds my heart, my soul, the one who holds me together. I should not have made you feel otherwise, my love.”

Val’s face twisted a little, emotions welling up. She was terrible with expressing them; always disliked tears from anyone. She murmured, “She was beautiful. You were being the gallant knight and I wondered— I wondered what it was like to be pretty for you.” She sniffed and rolled her eyes, “That was fucking stupid, I didn’t feel secure. I know I’m a bitch and look like my damn brother, no curves either. Then she comes along and reminds me of it.”

Criston frowned, finding himself chiding her like he did back in Westeros, “I don’t give a rats ass about that or the idiot child, I like you the way you are. You’re beautiful to me covered in ash and dirt, blood, still banging your fists on the training post and yelling at Aegon. In leggings and chain mail.”

She smiled a bit, getting clingier, how he knew Val was feeling loved. He hummed, kissing her soft lips gentle. The princess sniffled, “I love you. So much.”

Criston replied, “And I love you, stubborn wench. Forgot to include that trait of your twin, Targaryen. I’m yours.” Besides, she handled jealousy much better than he did. A dead body or two might be lain around Essos from staring too long, or that one making her laugh with a jape. Oh, such was the nature of their love.

#hotd fanfic #hotd smut #Criston cole imagine #Ser criston cole imagine #criston cole smut #criston cole x oc #Criston Cole x Targ!Princess

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beautifulloverwitch · 10 months

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By Fire, Sea and Blood

the untold tale of an approaching collapse

Act I: Chapter eleven: another visit.

Previous ///// Next

Summary: the search goes on for Rhaenyras missing daughter, but hopes begin to dwindle as many begin to believe a cruel face had paid a visit once more.

A/n: I have not revised this at all lmao, if there are any mistakes please overlook them for the time being<3

_________________

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Daenerys Velaryon (Strong! Oc)

WC: 9k

Warnings: descriptions of death, abuse of power, death.

Masterlist

Cries echoed in the village as men, women and children were ripped away from their homes. Made to watch while their homes were ransacked, floorboards ripped out, and walls broken open. Outlaws herded together and brought in for questioning, their confessor being the fearsome, lean and red Caraxes.

Daemon stood at the centre of the village, his eyes flitting to each house, patiently waiting for someone to come forth. Daemon did not believe a reward of coin had sufficed, for as shiny and valuable it may have been, it was not worth more than one's only life.

He ignored the cries, and the curses thrown at him by man, woman and child.

His dark clothes weighed heavily with rain water, his feet sunk into the mud as he stood and watched. His hair wet around his tired and sharp face.

Glancing over his shoulder he hummed in satisfaction as he saw his Dragon gnaw away at another outlaw, he wondered to himself which one had this been? Rapist? Thief? Murderer? He scoffed at the thought, what did it matter? They were all the same to him. The sound of desperate pleads hit his ears, a sound he had grown to find annoying. He found solace in hearing the booming thunder overshadow the sounds of their cries.

Glancing to his left he saw a crazed woman trying to gain the guardsmen's attention, pleading them for help, on what matter, none of them had been interested in entertaining.

An uneasy knight carefully approached the scarily calm prince ��have you found her?” he asked.

“No my prince, we’ve searched every home,” the knight reported, looking around himself, wondering how necessary this all was.

Daemons jaw ticked with impatience, this has gone on too long “then start searching their fucking heads before they start losing them,” he commanded.

The knight's eyes widened “We’ve tried,” he told “All of them have claimed to not even know what she looks like, terrorising them like this is unnecessary,” Daemon turned back to look at him, stepping away from his horse as he eyed the brave young knight “what's your name?”

“Ser Lance Beesbury, my prince,” he answered.

Daemon let out a hum of feigned amazement as he looked him up and down “how old are you?”

“Seven and ten my prince, I was knighted by the lord commander Westerling three months ago,” he said.

“I didn’t ask you that.”

He shook his head “you did not, my prince, forgive me,” the poor knight feared that he would meet his end at the hand of the rogue prince, so early on in his knighthood.

“A fresh knight,” Daemon mumbled to himself, “searching for my wife's missing daughter.”

Lance squirmed fearing to meet the end of Daemon's sharp sword, or his even sharper tongue.

“Ser Mychael!” Daemon called out, his eyes not leaving the face of the young knight.

“Why are knights without an ounce of experience searching for my step daughter?” he questioned, the approaching white cloak.

Mychael glanced towards the fear-struck boy, speaking in his defence “my prince, we need more men, so I gathered every knight new and old to help, without them we would not be able to fulfil such a search with the effort we have.”

Daemon hummed, unimpressed by the idea “no wonder this search has gone for so long,” he mumbled.

“My prince! The princess Rhaenyra requests that you join her in the painted room, you have guests,” A messenger told.

Daemon frowned “who?”

“Lord Corlys Velaryon and his wife, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen.”

Daemons eyes widened, rushing to his horse as he grumbled “The fuck do they want?”

Lance watched the prince as he left, heaving out a breath he had not known he had been holding. He hissed as he earned himself a swat to the back of the head from his superior.

“First day here and your already on your way to Caraxes’s gullet?” Mychael chastised.

Lance stumbled back before being pulled forward, he kept a stiff lip in the face of his frustrated superior. He had not meant to have such a confrontation with the rogue prince, he came here to help that was all, not stir strife.

“I thought it best to explain to the prince-.”

“You explain nothing to the prince, you only listen!” Mychael harshly reminded.

Lance clenched his jaw to not speak, he would need to learn not to speak out of turn, a skill that had slipped his mind as he exhausted himself to be worthy of knighthood. His face flushed in humiliation as he saw two familiar knights heading his way, preparing himself for their remarks.

“I fear you may need to say that again Ser, I think the boy may be as slow as his father,” one of them advised, speaking of Lance as though he was not there.

Lance frowned at the insult made towards his father, as true as it may have been.

The other knight tore off Lance’s helm, pushing his hair away as he shouted in his ear “HE SAID YOU DON’T SPEAK UNLESS SPOKEN TO!”

Lance shoved him away after taking back his helm, clutching his ear, he was with a head of unspecial light brown short hair, his pale blue eyes looked awake compared to his fathers tired ones, he was tall and muscular in stature for his age, from afar one would have perceived him a man three decades old before noticing the innocent gleam in his eyes, no wonder Harrold had decided to knight the boy, he oozed with promising potential.

Humfrey chuckled, taking a quick swig from his flask before looking towards Lorent, leaning against the frustrated Lance “shall we take to the ports Ser, I’m sure we’ll find a misplaced crate to present as a clue to the princess.”

Mychael gave him a pointed glare before sighing “No… I cannot have you be here when prince Daemon returns,” he said, glancing out towards the chaos before recalling the irritated concerns he had received from the people. He nodded towards the two dragonkeepers that were stood idly by, the younger of the two fearfully looking at the disrepair around him.

“I’ve heard word of dragons taking lambs from pastures,” Mychael said.

Humfrey frowned, puzzled as to why this was a problem “sheepstealer? They should be happy that the ugly cunt is sating his hunger with their sheep and not their lives.”

“But it isn’t Sheepstealer,” the younger Dragonkeeper quickly corrected, bowing his head beneath the knight's judging stare. He continued once Mychael had given him a sign to go on “all the large dragons have all sheltered in, they’ve already gathered their stock for the winter,” he explained before telling them “there has been a sighting of three baby dragons, black, red and green, small enough to catch, large enough to be a concern.”

The other knight interrupted, “this sounds like a problem for your lot to solve.”

“It is and you will all help them,” Mychael instructed, his eyes landing back on the quiet Lance “find them and bring them to the dragonmont.”

“Why not slay them?” Humfrey questioned, his hand tightly gripping the hilt of his sword, seemingly excited.

Lorent arched his brow “Eager to be a dragonslayer ay?”

“All dragons belong to house Targaryen you half wit, even the wild ones,” Lance explained.

Mychael nodded “killing them costs you your head, catching them grants you a fortune of honours,” he frowned as he saw the reluctant looks on their faces “what appeals to you facing three baby dragons, or a dragon that doesn’t need flames to kill you?”

Their faces paled as they recalled the darkness that loomed about the unusually calm rogue prince, fearful of what small thing could trigger his fury to unleash.

“Ser Humfrey, I expect this to not be too much of a hassle for you,” Mychael asked, ignoring the look of disbelief from Lance.

“Him?!”

“Not at all Ser Mychael,” Humfreys answered, a smirk stretching across his thin lips as he relished in Lance’s outrage.

Mychaelleft, ignoring Lance's protests. Humfreys arm slung around his shoulder “you’ve much to learn little bee before you take charge of this hive.”

Lance shrugged his arm off, sneering at his now superior.

The other knight next to him chuckled as he cheekily asked “regretting your choices now aren’t ya lad?”

Lance sent the knight a pointed look, warning him not to prod and pick at the matter.

“Go polish your shields!” He commanded, laughing as he smacked the backsides of the two knights as they left before looking at the two unimpressed dragon keepers.

Rhaenyras fingers tapped over one another as they lay clasped on the table. Bloodshot eyes flitting across the ancient painted table, wondering what corner she had left unsearched. She was surrounded by commanders, members of her court, guardsmen, and her Maester, Gerardys. Twas another day of hearing their reports of what little progress they had made in their search.

Gerardys’s hand circled his wrist anxiously beneath his cloak “I’ve received word from the wardens in the west, and south and the lord of Storm's end…” he gulped before glancing over to Rhaenyra as she looked his way “they have all ceased their search for the princess.”

Rhaenyras lips tightened with contempt as she looked at the southern region of the painted table. Wondering if they had forgotten the cost of their stagnance.

One of the commanders glanced from the Maester and towards the distraught princess, searching for a reaction he would not find on her tense face.

“But I have received word from the north and the riverlands, they remain as eager as we are,” he quickly assured.

The commander fiddled with the handle of his sheathed sword, contemplating the right words to say as he stepped forward “Might I give my counsel on this matter your grace?”

Rhaenyra looked his way, expecting something useful to fall from his lips.

“It should be no surprise that many have begun to… halt their search for your sweet daughter,” he walked on the edge of danger as he spoke, his words pushing him over to the flames on the other side “for they know the harsh truth, that all here know as well,” he claimed, many began to shake their heads for none had agreed that he would be speaking on their behest “I would wager, that even you know but refuse to admit it,” he spoke, hoping to guide her gently to what he was to say next “this world is unkind to little girls, tis’ not possible that the princess Daenerys had avoided its cruelty.”

A dreadful silence fell upon the room, so silent you could almost hear the warning cracks of Rhaenyra’s fiery glare, her voice was eerily cold as she asked “are you tired Commander Irwin?”

His lips parted in surprise, stammering out his answer “no, I am not princess.”

“Your words tell me otherwise,” she said, before asking another question “do you think my daughter dead?”

The man gulped, glancing around him for help, but everyone seemed to have stepped away, he was alone in this dragon's den. He knew there was no right answer to that question but he needed to answer either way “Tis not an impossibility-.”

“So you’ve found her then?” she asked expectantly.

He shook his head, bewildered by this line of rapid questioning “no, I have not.”

“So you're proclaiming my daughter dead without a body to prove it,” tilting her head as she waited for his answer. Words of dragon fire tingling at the tip of her tongue as she stared at him.

“I… I-”

“You’re useless, I realise that now” she said, finishing for him the sentence he had yet to form. She was tired of his stammering, and angry for he had wasted valuable time “Commander Mervin, do find someone else to take your place, for you have been instated as first in command, know that your first assignment is to get Irwin out of my sights.”

Mervin’s widened eyes met with his once superior, surprise soon turned to pride. Nodding to the other guardsmen to help escort the protesting Irwin out of the hall.

“You can’t do this!” he cried out, he received no answer from Rhaenyra, who saw no use in entertaining these feeble attempts. He was fortunate for the restraint the princess had, if the rogue prince was present he would have needed to be replaced for different reasons.

Rhaenyra’s eyes passed over each face of the men in the room before cautioning them “should I hear another one of you proclaiming my daughter to be dead without evidence of it, know that I will have you walk yourself willingly to my dragon's gullet.”

“Princess!”

Rhaenyra looked towards the guard at the door “what is it?”

“The Sea Snake requests an audience with you, urgently,” he informed.

Rhaenyra sighed, she had delayed the audience with them so long,hoping that Daemon would show up already. In her defence, they had arrived uninvited, she was not aware of their coming presence.

With a wave she dismissed them, and they were quick to file out.

“Let them in,” Rhaenyra reluctantly told before returning her focus back to the painted table.

A thousand words stung the tongue of Rhaenys Targaryen as her gaze landed upon Rhaenyra. A wild fire burning around the reflection of the heir within her brown eyes.

Her mind still ached with sorrow but her heart burned with a rage, her house was humiliated and insulted before the realm. She was robbed of everything left that had been held dear to her once full heart, and even that had amounted to nothing to this world. In her years she has seen pigs treated with more respect than her children, whose memories had turned to ash with them. All because of their desires, all because of that greedy throne. Her eyes scoured Rhaenyra’s face for regret, for guilt, for something, she was irked to find nothing that she wanted. Only a face ailed by sleepless nights.

The seeds of their animosity began to sprout and quickly shaped into a twisted sapling, waiting to be nourished again, but they were old and wise enough to know to restrain it, to hide their disdain behind looks and remarks.

She did not tense beneath the weighty stares of her unexpected visitors.

Before they even had the chance to speak, the doors of the hall burst open and Daemon stomped his way in angrily, their intrusion was not a welcome one. He looked across the table where his wife was sitting, frowning as he saw her slumped and weak stature; he had spent these days in agony, watching her slowly cave in on herself with every passing moment without her daughter.

“What occasion grants you the right to invite yourselves here?” Daemon angrily questioned the stiff faced Corlys and Rhaenys, Standing tall beside the slumped Rhaenyra.

The seething Corlys spoke with an indifferent expression that did well to mask his anger “I admit it unseemly to come here without notice, especially at a time like this,” his judging eyes narrowed as they flitted over to Rhaenyra “but we have come here to take our granddaughter, if I recall correctly I have been promised to have her as my wifes ward.”

Daemon's face twisted with disbelief, his head so slightly reared back as he heard their words, a note of caution laced in his worryingly quiet voice as he spoke “I never said you would be taking her, we promised she would be sent to you, did we not?” he asked glancing at Rhaenyra for support, but she was not with them in this discussion, it had not involved the mention of her daughter, so what point was their to listen to them bicker?

He breathed in a heavy breath through his nose before turning to look at them again, slowly stepping towards them, a sly attempt at shielding his wife from being seen like this any longer, he doubted that the Velaryons were above spreading word of how pitiful the realms heir had looked especially with the grievances that had been stewing silently between them.

“That was more than two months prior to today,” Corlys pointed out angrily.

“If I recall, all my kin were still beneath the roof of this castle two months prior, were they not?” Daemon reminded.

Corlys let out a sharp sigh “We know of the predicament you are in, I worry for my granddaughter just as much as the two of you,” his eyes widened with anger at the short snigger that left the lips of the man in front of him.

“Had that been true you would have granted us your help, instead you’ve come to make demands of us,” Daemon told a slight twitch pulling down at the corner of his smirk.

Rhaenyra finally looked up from the table, towards the three, her red eyes landing on Corlys. For a second Rhaenys had begun to believe that she had nothing to do with her son's death, but she quickly concluded that Rhaenyra was arrogant enough to expect such services from the people she had hurt.

Quite the contrary, he had offered some help, upon receiving the news of her disappearance, he had his ports searched and informed every voyager that returned and left to keep a keen eye out for her, to him, that seemed to be the bare minimum he could have done as her apparent grandsire.

“I have not come here to argue,” Corlys was not pleased with the accusation as he tried to steer away from the matter “We have come all this way-.”

“For naught unfortunately,” Daemon interrupted “I do not know if news passed over your sorry island but your eldest granddaughter has gone missing and until I have Daenerys brought before me I will not have any of my children leaving my sights.”

“Do you really think it safe for your daughters to stay on the very island she went missing on?” Rhaenys spoke, cutting between them. The action startled Corlys, who retreated away from her as she stepped forward; they may have arrived together but the wall of tension between them kept them far apart, neither knowing how to tear it down gently.

Rhaenys spoke to the fear Daemon would never wish to admit “let them come with us,” she advised, reluctantly continuing as she glanced over towards Rhaenyra “all of them.”

Rhaenys did not want to take the boys, but she needed to make them think that she had believed this delusion if she had wanted to have her Granddaughters.

Rhaenyra ran her hands over her face before telling them “how thankful we are for your thoughtful offer, we will consider it duly… but not now,” she said, nodding towards Daemon “the children will be staying here, until Daenerys is brought home.”

Corlys breathed out, looking towards his jaded wife.

“I understand the journey was long,” Rhaenyra assured as she sat taller in her seat “I offer you both a place to stay here, til you have rested well enough to leave, and hopefully by then my daughter will have returned to me for us to fulfil our promise to you.”

The two arched their brow, they knew Rhaenyra wanted her daughter to be home sooner rather than later.

Rhaenyra gestured for a servant to come her way, informing him to have chambers befitting the lord of the tides and the princess prepared as soon as possible.

“Might I see my granddaughters?” Rhaenys abruptly requested once the servant had walked past.

Daemon eyed the woman suspiciously, before looking towards Rhaenyra, who had returned to the confines of her mind. He stared at Rhaenys and Corlys before walking past them muttering “follow,” as he guided them, he would not leave them alone with his daughters.

Rhaenyras tired eyes returned to the painted table, the urge to break it was strong. Waiting for it to grow a tongue and tell her where it had kept her daughter.

The large hall of the great sept sung a solemn song, candles fighting to stay alight within them this night. The loud sounds of raindrops hitting the stone walls of its structure blanketing the sounds of whispered prayers.

Green gown pooled on the floor behind where she was sat, hair tightly put up in a ring of braids crowning her bowed head,and fingers bare of any rings to adorn them. Her hands rested on the table, clasped so tightly that the crescents of her nails dented the skin of them. Lips muttering a prayer to the father, the mother, the warrior, the maiden, the smith and the crone. Every prayer contained the name of the missing princess.

She prayed to the mother for her protection, to keep the girl -where ever she was- in her gentle arms.

She prayed to the warrior, to brandish his sword and defend her from every danger that would come her way.

She prayed to the smith, to mend the girl a path for her to return home, and she prayed to the crone to guide her to that path.

She prayed that the maiden would keep her safe, to protect her innocence from wickedness.

And she prayed to the father, to forgive and forget the curses she had prayed befall Rhaenyra and her kin.

A shuddered breath left her lips as her eyes came open, glancing up towards the looming statue that stared down. Shrinking beneath its displeased gaze, clutching her cloak tightly around her shoulders as she made her way out.

She exited the sept grimacing as the rain hit her skin, ushered into the carriage by the loyal Ser Criston.

A sigh of relief passed through her lips as she settled into the small carriage. Prayers still echoing in her mind as she got further away from the great sept. She had hoped they would be met with a swift answer, that when she returns a letter would arrive from Dragonstone that the girl was somehow miraculously found.

The keep was quiet in anxious wait, waiting to hear what had become of the missing princess each passing day. None had dared stay in the king's presence too long, not even his council. For the first time many had begun to believe that he was once the rider of the legendary Black Dread Balerion.

He would spend much time in his chambers, running his fingers over his rings anxiously as he stared deeply into the fire of his hearth. He prayed that he would only see flame in that hearth.

How he worried for his daughter, fearing what grief she must be feeling. He was thankful that Daemon -as angry as he may have still been about their secret union- was at her side, he has never known a man to be as steadfast as him, not even Laenor.

The door to his chambers came open and he glanced over his shoulder to see whom it was.

“The hand, my king,” His Kingsguard informed.

Viserys grumbled, turning his attention back towards the hearth.

Otto strolled in standing beside the king’s chair, patiently awaiting the king's attention. Otto's face was not haunted by trepidation, he was one of the few who was able to get a good night's rest. He had his pity for Rhaenyra and the King, but he was not on tenterhooks waiting for her return. Decorating himself to be a patient man, for if he was ailed by their fears he would not be so effective in guiding this search.

“There best be a good reason for this late visit,” Viserys acknowledged.

Otto bowed his head to look down at the sitting King “I’ve received letters of apology from the lords Tyrell, Lannister and Baratheon,” he informed “they have ceased searching for princess Daenerys on their lands, but they pray for her swift return to princess Rhaenyra.”

Otto grimaced as he spoke those words, as indifferent as he may have seemed, he did take careful steps. He knew that this action by those houses would not be appreciated, and for it, the king would not hold them dear to heart. House Lannister was warm in Otto's pocket thanks to his diplomacy, in time he hoped the Tyrells would be as well. They were two of the wealthiest houses in the seven kingdoms, and if the king had the malice to even wish for it, he could change that with a quick wave of his hand.

Had Tyland mentioned word of it to him, he would have been quick to advise against it, for the sake of house Lannister.

A hot breath left the frustrated lips, clenching the ends of his chair.

Otto was quick to rush to their defence “they had searched every corner of their territory, your grace, not a stone was left unturned, not a port left unchecked, they’ve exhausted much of their resources and they’ve yet to prepare for the summer storm.”

Viserys’s eyes fell shut “my granddaughter has yet to be found, and they’ve already began to lounge away.”

“Your grace, you are first the realms king, before being the girl's grandsire,” Otto advised, patronisingly reminding Viserys, who had seemingly forgotten.

Viserys glared up at Otto before shaking his head and turning his attention back towards the flames.

“Leave me,” Viserys dismissed, rubbing the bridge of his nose between his dry fingers.

Otto hummed, but did not bow his head in goodbye “the queen has just returned from the great Sept, she has finished her evening prayers for the princess,” he informed “Daenerys’s vanishing has saddened my daughters good heart, I can barely find her without a prayer falling from her lips.”

Viserys looked over at the ground where Otto stood.

“Neither she nor your children have known a moment of serenity,” a note of sorrow in Otto's voice as he tried to imagine a bit of sadness on the indifferent Aegons face.

Viserys sighed a sharp breath through his nose. Wondering to himself if they were well, he could only imagine how her disappearance must have been affecting them.

“I shall report to you their standing on the morrow,” Otto told dismissing himself.

His face returned to the same indiscernible expression as he made his way to Alicents chambers, where she and her children waited for her alive.

Alicent stared blankly on the table, the array of foods spread across it turning into a blur of colour as she sunk into her thoughts. Hands itching for a pen and quill to express her sympathies to Rhaenyra, her formal sympathies for all that existed amidst the strife between them was formality.

Aemond looked over at his mother worriedly, the only one amongst the table who seemed to care for her well being. He wanted to tell her how unnecessary it was, for her to worry so much, if it had not been so long since Daenerys had gone missing.

He thought that within the first week since her disappearance was announced she would have been found. Instead, weeks had passed and she was still missing. He would lay in his bed wondering where she could have gone, but soon, he began to wonder why she had ever disappeared.

Even though he had sworn to forget her, with her disappearance he could only think of her, and what they could have done to her. He knew her to only ever disappear when she was hurt, and how hurt she was decided how long she would be missing for. So he began to ponder, whenever she was stared at too long she would be gone for an hour, hating the discomfort of being a spectacle, she was smart enough to not have subtle insults slip past her ears, that would cause her to disappear for the rest of the day, and when Aegon had taken a blade to her hair she was gone for nearly two days, and even then she had not returned by her own volition. So he wondered, what horror had they done to her that would make her disappear for two weeks.

Otto entered the room and sat upon the chair he most commonly sat at, brushing Helaenas shoulder and giving her a warm smile. One that would have startled Alicent for it was not a sight she had seen even in her younger years had she noticed it.

“Prayer before we begin?” Otto asked Alicent, drawing her out of her thoughts.

Her eyes fluttered as she looked over towards him “Of course.”

They all rested their clasped hands upon the table, bowing their heads as Alicent led the prayer “may the mother smile down upon this supper with love, and may her warmth shroud Daenerys as she finds her way back home.”

The winds turned the rain into sharp needles, swiftly tearing through the air and upon the skin of the men's faces. Soaking their cloaks as soon as they had left their tents.

Humfrey tried to look through the thick rain, relying on the bolts of lightning that brightened the sky and ground. Trying to not lose sight of the two dragon keepers ahead of him.

Lance tried to observe his surroundings, hoping for some sign to show him that they were close to the Dragon Caves would appear, but to his dismay there was nothing. Only a thick mist of water droplets splashing up from the ground. He feared that a flood would soon ensue because of this downpour. He was the furthest behind, for in Humfrey's opinion he was still a baby bee, best he stayed at a safe distance. He was made to pull a cart of small dragon cages.

The young dragon keeper's voice shouted out to them “We’re nearly there!”

“What?!” Humfrey loudly asked.

“He said we’re nearly there!” Lance shouted, earning himself a sharp look he could not see from Humfrey.

The gaping dark pits protruding from the ground soon appeared from the mist. Prompting them to halt in their tracks, Humfrey asked the two dragon keepers “what now?!”

The elder of the two nodded for the young one to let go of the poor sheep. Letting it stroll about the stoney field around the caves.

Humfrey glanced behind him to the two knights that accompanied him, Thankful to see that they too were confused.

“They should come out when they catch scent of the sheep,” the young dragon keeper explained as he approached Humfrey “it is best we seek shelter, keep watch from afar.”

They frantically searched the field for a spot to wait in that had a clear view of the dragon caves. The knights had no doubt that they would succumb to a cold for how long they had been out in the rain.

Eventually, after an exchange of many yells of disagreement, they had found a large stone jutting from the ground, a suitable shelter for the short time they had hoped to spend there.

Humfrey was quick to claim the most sheltered spot, leaving the rest to huddle tightly together. Unfortunately, Lance was the last to reach them, sitting at the edge of the shelter, shuddering as he felt the water trickle down his back.

Humfrey smirked his way as he asked “not as glamorous as you thought, ain’t it little bee?”

Lance grumbled as he heard the vexing nickname.

Humfrey leaned back “what I would give for a warm bed, a warm cunt and a hot cup of tea sweetened with the finest honeys.”

“Can’t be that good, if our little bee so gladly left it all,” the other knight stated, sending a look of disdain towards the annoyed Lance.

Lances lip twisted to the side, restraining the urge to argue. Turning to look out on the field his eyes squinted as he searched for the wandering sheep, pitying the poor thing as it fought against the wind.

“Do you think they’ve any luck in the search?” the knight asked.

Lance arched his brow curiously, tilting his head their way.

Humfrey scoffed “I doubt it, we’re faring better than they are in a few hours when they’ve had two months,” proud to see them nodding in reluctant agreement with him.

An uncomfortable silence befell them, and all they could hear was the sound of the whooshing rain around them.

Lance stared out onto the field, frowning to himself “you think she's still alive?” he asked abruptly.

All of them had squirmed uncomfortably at the mention, in truth they were so used to Daemon's presence, hearing tellings of what he would do to those who dared even discuss the matter of her living or dead.

“You’d have to be daft to believe that true,” Humfrey answered quietly “at this point they’re hunting for a pile of bones.”

The knight beside him scoffed, shaking his head in pity for the missing girl's family “it’s best they spare themselves the grief and stop searching, better to think her still alive than find her dead.”

Lance glanced over her shoulder pondering their words, surprised by how true they were. He had seen the princess once, on her seventh name day, he saw how much she was adored by the king and her family, frowning as he imagined the grief they would feel if such a thing were true.

The frantic bleats of a sheep reached their ears and they all shot up from the ground, turning towards the crying sheep as it battled with a small dragon, struggling to latch its teeth onto the sheeps neck as it thrashed about.

Lance moved to get up only to be shoved down by Humfrey as he ran past him “Get the cart!” Humfrey yelled, grasping the hilt of his sword as he rushed towards the dragon.

Another dragon leapt down from the sky, small but significantly bigger than the first. The bigger dragon landed on the sheep's back, claws digging through its coat of wool, through to its pink flesh. Growling as it latched its teeth around the poor creatures neck. The sheep thrashed about a feeble attempt to break free. The dragon began to gnash and pull at the flesh of its neck, frustrated by the fight it put up.

The dragon's jaw was coated with bright red blood and saliva dripping down from it, it was hungry, thirsting to be sated by this fresh flesh.

The little dragon watched on, roaring out to the bigger dragon as it saw the sheep begin to succumb to its fate.

The bigger dragon continued to gnaw at its neck, spurts of blood shooting out from the sheeps open neck. A final attempt by its heart to encourage the poor thing to keep fighting, gone for naught.

The dragon finally let go of the creature's neck, shaking its head before looking credulously at the other dragon.

The little dragon gestured with its head back towards the caves, the bigger dragon following its gaze and croaking in answer, turning its attention back towards the carcass at its feet.

His flaws had dug deep enough into the sheeps skin for it to be confident that its food would not fall from its grasp. Beginning to beat its wide spanning wings and lifting itself and the carcass up into the air.

The little dragon spread its wings to join the other dragon but its attention was caught by the four men charging their way. Jumping back in fear of such a sight for it was not something it had seen before, a sorry roar passing its mouth as it tried to frighten them.

The dragon that took flight, snapped its neck towards the sound. The black of its eyes narrowed at the sight. He dropped to the ground, staring at the metal men running its way.

A familiar scent reached him, scrunching his snout for it was the smell of human flesh.

But there was a twinge of something unfamiliar, something unwelcome, they may have smelt of flesh but they were missing something else. That was enough for the fierce dragon to label them a threat. Hovering closely to the ground eying them all as they approached asking itself, which one?

Humfrey felt a thrill rush through him, seeing the two dragons still on the ground, unmoving. His hand grasping the hilt of his sword unknowingly.

They surrounded the dragons, the two dragon keepers approached the two beasts, speaking in their foreign tongue.

Humfrey would be annoyed had he not been so focused on the dragon's movements, waiting for a slip up, waiting for the right move that would lead to a great story and an even greater title.

The elder dragon keeper gestured for the young one beside him to step forth, seeing this as a great chance for the boy to learn. These were baby dragons, what could be so harmful about them?

The boy gulped nervously as he stepped forwards, his ears not missing the sound of the black dragons growls growing louder the closer he got.

“Gīda byka zaldrīzes,” he softly commanded.

That seemed to only make the dragon angrier, tilting its head at the gall, but it continued to wait.

The boy stepped closer, and was a few feet away from the beast's mouth, but he was close enough.

The dragon snapped forward, the sound of its teeth clashing together as it clamped its jaw down onto nothing.

The boy fell back, scrambling away from the dragon and towards the feet of the confused elder dragonkeeper.

In a flash, Humfrey removed his sword from its sheath and charged forward.

Everyone around him cried out for him to stand down, but he did not listen. Standing before the dragon and raising his sword above his head. From his perspective, he could not see the orange glow omitting from within the dragon's gullet.

As he moved to lower his blade upon the dragons back, a burst of fire came forth, bathing Humfreys front in a blaze that had him crying out in agony. The burst of flame did not stop, it kept flowing from the dragons mouth until Humfrey fell back onto the ground. Writhing on the wet ground as he attempted to pry off the armour that had begun to melt to his flesh.

The dragon roared once more, keeping away the knight who tried to come to Humfrey’s aid. The dragon turned away climbing on the carcass and latching its claws into its body before taking flight, closely followed by the reluctant little dragon, who glanced behind it and back towards the group of men before taking after him.

Lance watched on in horror at what had unfolded, dropping the cart and rushing to the man patting down every region of his body frantically, too frightened to realise the damage that had already been done.

“GET OFF! GET OFF OF ME!” he cried out.

Lance’s brow furrowed in worry for him, he glanced back to where the dragons flew off to and was surprised to see them flying so close to the ground. He stood up from beside Humfrey instructing the knight “get him back to the castle!”

“How?” the knight asked, grimacing as he heard Humfrey cry out for him to get away.

Lance yelled as he turned “figure it out!”

Lance chased after the dragons, with no desire to confront them of course, he was not stupid, but he thought it best he knew where the dragons were going to come back with a greater amount of men. He could not have imagined such a reaction to come from a young dragon, he had heard stories of larger dragons attacking, but never had he heard of baby dragons' fury.

As he reached the edge of a cave he gasped and dropped behind a rock as he saw all three dragons together. Narrowing his eyes to get a clearer look of the three.

The largest of them was a pitch black, its darkness absorbed the light that hit its body. Like an untethered shadow. The second was a dragon of iridescent green, the loudest of the three and most regal, its eyes a stark yellow. The last was a far smaller dragon, the size of a pup. His eyes were a beautiful ocean blue and skin was a red of the softest hue, one that was painful to the eye, its behaviour possessed dare Lance say it, an innocence.

In awe of the sight his hand slipped against the wet stone and he fell to his knees, the sound of his armour scraping against itself alerting the three creatures.

The black dragon's fearsome demeanour returned as it prowled towards Lance, the small beasty was considerate enough to give the man a string of warning roars.

Lance raised his hands up, showing that he was without a weapon, and hoped that it was not blinded by its hunger to understand that Lance was no threat.

The green dragon seemed to call out to its black companion, a discussion between them that Lance was puzzled by but was hopeful for it to be in his favour. As he moved to adjust his footing, the black dragons attention quickly snapped back to him, eyes demanding the man stay still in his place.

Lance could have sworn he could see small wisps of steam passing from the corners of its mouth.

Lance stilled “I just want to leave,” he told, as though the dragon could understand. He moved around the dragon slowly, thankful that it was too busy roaring back at its two companions to focus on the man before him.

He knew of a safe path back to the castle that led up the shore, before he had decided to leave the comfort of Honeywine and vibrance of the red keep he had indulged all the books regarding warfare, knighthood, and history, most importantly he had poured over the schematic filled parchments, for he had no desire to be lost on the first day of the job. His access to knowledge was the one thing he appreciated most from his privileged upbringing.

He was careful as he stepped over the stones that littered the ground, wincing at every misstep that had made too much noise for comfort.

One stone he had stepped over was rather odd, it crumbled beneath his feet so quickly.

He frowned as he heard the crumble and glanced down in horror as he realised what he had stepped on.

At first it blended into the scorched ground from afar it would have been mistaken for a line of small rocks on the ground. Upon closer inspection it was revealed to be something terrible.

a hollow pit of darkness stared up at him, darkened flesh still attached in ashened patches scattered all over, the rain seemingly had managed to wash most of it away, turning some of it to a sludge carried towards the shore. Body curled into a foetal position, left leg having crumbled beneath the man's foot, mouth agape leaving Lance to imagine the rasps of distress that once fell from it.

A flash of lightning reflected from something clutched in the corpses ashened hands. He knelt down beside it, careful not to step on another fragile limb. Bringing himself closer to get a better look without having to pry it away from the small corpse's hands.

His eyes widened as he reared back realising the figure that hugged the blade's handle.

It was a seahorse.

The handles once sea blue base burnt away revealing the metal beneath, no longer were its surfaces smooth but they were marred with patches of bubbles and melted metal. What remained of it was enough for him to recognise that such a dagger was not crafted by any smith, this had surely belonged to a noble. One of house Velaryon.

A shrill roar made him look away from the body as he began to dread who it had belonged to.

The pale red dragon had made its way towards him trying to catch his attention. Once it had gained it, it turned to face the cave and looked back towards the man, a gesture for him to follow the small dragon.

Lance was too lost in his own mind to understand what it had meant. He glanced back towards the body, eyes looking over it, noticing how small it was, how fair it was to assume who it had belonged to.

“Ser Lance!” a familiar voice called out.

He looked up to where it had come from, five knights led by Ser Mychael headed his way.

The dragons grew fearful but the little one did not seize its urging. The green dragon had seen enough, and knew it was time they left. Teeth lightly grabbing at the smaller dragons tail, pulling it back to the cave.

The largest of the free leapt forth and bellowed a wall of fire around the caves entrance, an attempt to ward them off. An action not appreciated by the red dragon.

The men drew their swords and shields and surrounded the dragons shielded by their wall of flame.

The water hitting the hot stone quickly turned to a thick steam. The dragons wisely took this valuable opportunity, fleeing to escape, disappearing into the inky depths of the cave.

Lance slowly looked back down away from where they had disappeared, returning his gaze to the charred corpse at his knees. His face, a mask of horror and disbelief, most of all fear.

Mychael noticed this, following the boy's gaze, and soon, the same mask fell upon his aged face.

The rest of the knights circled the body, staring down in horror, not for disbelief and disgust at what had happened to what they assumed was a poor child, but the terrible omen behind it, the terrible promise of a wrath unimaginable.

“It's her…” Lance whimpered, his arms limp at his sides as he stared at the remains.

Mychael gulped “how do you know?”

Lance sniffled, his hands gentle as he pointed at the clutched blade.

Mychael knelt down and soon a sombre look marred his face, deep lines lining between his brows and at the corners of his downturned lips.

A fearful knight frantically suggested “we needn’t do this, we could let the search continue, they do not need to know.”

“Let them go on thinking her alive Ser, give them that mercy!” the other pleaded, in agreement with the first knight.

Lance looked at them in disbelief.

Mychael sounded a rumbling hum from deep within his chest as though he was pondering it. Lance looked towards the man, awe struck by how long his answer had taken.

“Are you sure that this would be a mercy to them or to you, a litter of cravens?” he rhetorically asked, his eyes not leaving the body of the child.

They fell silent, but squirmed in fear as they imagined the fire that would soon hit their skin once they’d presented the dead dragonling to its mother.

“Go to your tents, go to your rooms, and rest, sleep well knowing yourselves safe,” Mychael told, pulling his wet cloak from his back, laying it on the ground “but let your cowardice burn itself into your minds, and may it remind you that the title you wear of Ser, of Knight, of protector, is made of a sheep's coat and not worn like a lion's mane,” he was gentle as he slid the body carefully upon his cloak “what dishonour you bring, what a stain you all are.”

His last words before he stood, cradling the body in his arms, marching with a stiff lip and steely eyes to the dragon's den

Lance arose from the ground paying no glance to the sulking cravens that surrounded him and instead tailed after the man.

Mychael stilled in his steps turning to face the solemn boy “do my commands always pass through to the otherside of your ear?” he questioned.

Lance attempted to match the mans face, but there was the smallest hint of fear in his young eyes “I found her, tis I who should be seeing it to its end.”

“You expect an award?” Mychael asked.

“I expect a duty fulfilled, that ends with no gratitude.”

The man stared at the boy stepping forth towards him “know this is your next duty boy, rest.”

“You can’t.”

“You will.”

Lance's eyes flickered between the man's eyes, outraged by how he was addressed. He was no boy, he was a man grown, he was a knight, a knight that fulfilled his duty, a duty that led to anguish but he had fulfilled it nonetheless.

“Rest,” Mychael commanded before turning his back and continuing his solemn march. His breaths turned shallow as he grew closer to the almost villainous looking castle.

He readied his mind and his heart, so that they would be prepared to greet the strangers fury with grace.

Lance watched dejectedly as the man walked away. Turning behind him to see that all the other knights had dispersed, not questioning the command. He had wondered if Mychaels words had done anything to them. He frowned as he saw the same pale red dragon emerged from the inky cave again, crying out to him, urging him in a tongue he could not understand.

He tiredly looked at the small creature, exhaustion wrapping its limbs around his stiff body, and guiding him away from the terrible scene, which he knew would haunt him, he knew it would forever haunt him.

His first duty had ended with expected anguish.

Cries of agony echoed through the castle of dragonstone, the empty and quiet halls carrying the sound throughout the structure, waking its uneasy inhabitants.

Rhaenyra's eyes flew open at the sound, rising from her bed as quick as the flash of lightning that shone from outside her window. Angry at the interruption, for she worked behind closed eyes to shape her daughter's face, the face she had begun to forget. Her eyes were a blur of purple, her head a blur of brown, and her face devoid of detail.

Daemon arose from the chaise by the fire, alarmed by the sound, rushing for his sword and leaving the room without a word.

Rhaenyra stared at the upon door, curious by what was beyond it.

‘Has she returned, as my sweet girl returned?’ she asked the world, knowing that its answer lies behind those doors.

She rushed to grab her robe, slinging it around her shoulders, briskly sliding her arms through the sleeves and tying it painfully tight around her waist. The pain did not matter for the excitement quickly subsided as her feet carried her swiftly down the halls and towards the painted room.

Her mind raced as she wondered to herself, would she find her daughter well? Was she injured? Mayhaps she was starving. Was she afraid? Would she charge to her mother and fall into her arms, a safe embrace that Rhaenyra promised to offer all her children no matter what.

Her footsteps stilled at the sound of a familiar grunt, and the sound of a terrible squelch. The hall was empty, likely having all gathered into the painted room, their shouts and pleas proving her right as she heard them come from the rooms open doors.An orange glow omitting from the firelit chamber, cutting through the cold shadows of the hallway.

She began to move slowly towards the room, rounding its corner, eyes widening as she saw her husband straddling a man's body, one hand around the man's neck and the other tightly gripping the man's helm.

The once silver helmet was coated red, its curves flicking out the blood that had pooled into them with every quick raise before being brought back down upon the gaping red hole where the man's face should have been. All that was left of it was a mess of flesh, muscle, blood, and skull fragments, all scattered across the floor.

She stood at the centre of the doorway watching Daemon as he unpromptedly bestowed his wrath upon the poor man. Corlys and many other guards urging him off the already dead man, but careful enough to not be within the reach of the thrashing wormy limbs of his fury.

All sound seemed to fade from her ears as she saw a black mound resting on the table. Her tired eyes had made it look like a black blob from afar, a pile of soot.

As her feet brought her closer towards it, detail began to form from the dark mound, the same details she had fought to retain as she tried to remember her daughter's face.

Soon the mound had a bony foot, missing a two toes, that foot then connected to leg, with ashened and shrunken flesh that latched around the charred bones of its thigh, the beginning of the femur loosely attached to a pelvis, that then joined to a small cage of ribs and a short rod of spine, barely held together by the skin of the shrunken flesh covering the remainder of the body.

And lastly.

A head.

A small skull to be more correct.

Detached from the spine.

Its base against the curved shoulder its body rested on.

A thin layer of black flesh hugging the eye canals, disappearing from the cheeks.

Jaw loose from its place, hung open.

Rhaenyra stared at it for a moment before pushing away the horror, the dread, the fear, and worst of all the anguish, the grief, a grief she prayed not to feel, not ever.

The eyes of the hall stared at her, Daemon seized his assault as he looked at Rhaenyra with blood splattered across his face. He was overwhelmed by failure, by defeat, he broke his promise to her, his oath to her.

Rhaenyra could feel their gazes bore into her, how they waited for her reaction.

She sniffled, not realising the heavy tears that slipped down her cheeks as she turned to look at them, her face eerily credulous but her eyes a pool of hot anguish waiting to burst forth.

“Who is this?” she asked, her heart feigning her naivety, forcing her mind to submission as it refused to admit who was laid before her.

None dared speak, standing in silence as they watched her, flinching at every subtle movement she had made. Her hands rested over her rounding belly, bruising the lengths of her fingers as she twisted them harshly.

The brave Corlys stepped forth in his hands a dagger resting within them.

“Tis with a heavy heart I tell you this Princess,” he gently spoke, staring at the dagger in his hands, hiding the sheen of tears on his eyes as he stared at the familiar object “know that my house sends its greatest sympathies good daughter.”

Rhaenyra kept her credulousness, but her eyes screamed a warning to him.

With a heavy heart he spoke the words none else dared say, words that sent waves of dread rolling through those who only heard it.

“Tis your sweet daughter Daenerys, she has been found.”

Taglist: @takemetotheweirdness @grungegrrrl @paininmyasgard @deadunicorn159

#House of the dragon #a song of ice and fire #aegon targaryen #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond x oc #alicent hightower #dragons #helaena targaryen #hotd #Rhaenyra Targaryen #daemon targaryen #viserys targaryen #otto hightower #aemond targaryen x reader

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zeciex · 7 months

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A Vow of Blood

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: “You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you,“ the witch said….

Daenera Velaryon returns to King’s Landing with the intention of bolstering her mother’s position and reminding both the Greens and nobility that Rhaenyra is the rightful heir to the throne. She has a specific goal in mind: to be a constant source of annoyance to the Greens and is willing to play the political game without hesitation.

However, what catches her off guard is the way Aemond gazes at her and seems to relish in her suffering. He openly expresses his desire to bring about her downfall, her ruination.

This situation leads to a tense game of cat and mouse, with each move escalating the already high stakes. Will their precarious situation crumble as the dragons soar above, or will fate intervene?

After all, love often demands the sacrifice of duty, just as duty can sometimes lead to the demise of love. Characters: Aemond Targaryen X OC, HOTD characters.

Chapter 4: The Arrival

AO3 - Masterlist

King’s Landing had become unfamiliar in the years she had been away.

The city itself hadn’t changed all that much. Life, it would seem, to the small folk remained the same. Or perhaps she just didn’t recognize the changes they’d all face, sitting on her high horse in her fine jewels and silks. But the hustle and bustle of the city was the same. Merchants trying to sell their wares, workers moving to and fro, children playing in the streets. And there, deeper and lower, were the beggars and orphans. All fighting to stay alive.

“Are you sure of this, my Lady?” Ser Fenrick questioned once more. He had asked at every turn, from the port on Dragonstone and all the way over the seas to King’s Landing. Her sworn sword sat heavy in his armor, eyes flickering through the crowd for enemies and dangers.

“I am,” Daenera answered once more. The answer to the question remained the same.

“Your mother could have sent for more Maesters.”

“And it would not change a thing. The Maesters can do little to make things grow on Dragonstone. The environment is too harsh and changing. If I am to continue my studies I’d need to actually get my hands dirty.” Maesters could only do so much with books and drawings. If she were to really learn it, she’d have to go where things could grow. Besides, it wasn’t the only reason for her return.

“Your mother wished for you to stay,” Ser Fenrick pointed out, as if it’d change the answer.

“My mother understands my decision.”

In truth, Princess Rhaenyra hadn’t been happy when Daenera broached the subject of returning to King’s Landing. In fact, she was very opposed to it. ‘A den of Vipers’ was what she had called it, ‘Few and far between those who could be trusted’. She hadn’t liked the idea of her daughter returning to the capital with no one to protect her. It had been Daemon that had convinced her in the end.

Her and Daemon had agreed that it would be her that went back. Jacaerys was the next in line to the throne after their mother and Luke was too young to go on his own.

So it was Daenera who went back with the mission of strengthening her mothers claim.

“I should think King Viserys will be happy to see me,” Daenera said. “I am his favorite after all.”

Fenrick didn’t accept the change of subject. “Your return will draw much attention.”

“I’m aware.”

They rode through the city in silence, watching a mere glimpse of the small folks’ lives. Daenera often wondered whether their lives were easier, but then she’d think of all the poor people toiling at work, trying to make ends meet. The struggles may be different, but they struggled all the same.

Still, she quite liked the chaos of the city, even if the smell was absolutely terrible.

They rode through the gates of the Red Keep, riding into one of the smaller courtyards. The walls of the Keep remained red, hence the name. And its towers still stood tall and true. Why she should think it was any different, she didn’t know. The courtyard felt smaller though.

She felt eyes prickle over her skin and she straightened her spine and held her head high. Out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of white, like moonlight given life. He moved with agility and speed, avoiding the blade with ease, stepping aside to thrust his own blade back at his opponent. Steel met steel, the sound ricocheting through the courtyard, bouncing off the walls.

Her uncle beat his opponent's sword out of his hands, pressing the tip of the blade to his throat, the man yelding with his hands up and breath quick on his lips. It was then that Aemond’s eye met hers. She felt it slide along her skin like a blade, threatening to sink into her flesh and draw blood.

Daenera turned her attention back on the doors to the Keep and the young queen that had graciously awaited her arrival.

Fenrick was the first one down from horseback, the sworn sword coming up to the reins of Daenera’s horse and taking them as Daenera stepped down from it, her deep purple dress falling heavy around her feet, slightly wrinkled from the time spent on horseback. It was one of her finer dresses, though modest. Her return would cause enough stir and it would have been quite the talk had she arrived in trousers.

Daenera felt the queen's eyes follow her as she approached.

“Princess Daenera, welcome back. I do hope the journey wasn’t too rough on you,” Alicent greeted. “One should think there were many oceans between us and Dragonstone.”

The snide comment didn’t go unnoticed, but it would go unmet. “The journey has been long, your grace, but I found comfort in the thought of returning home.”

Daenera remembered the day they had fled the queens ire and the rumors nipping at their heels. Alicent remained as beautiful as she was then. A shame, Daenera had hoped that the blatant resentment in the queen's heart had poisoned her appearance.

Beauty was always a great weapon.

One she did not wield herself.

“You will find much has changed since you were here last.” The smile on Alicent’s lips didn’t reach her eyes. They were distrustful, uncertain of the princesses intention.

“That tends to happen with the passage of time, your grace.”

“I assume your mother is in good health? And your brothers?” Alicent questioned. The two of them walked into the Keep.

“Yes, my queen,” Daenera answered though her attention was drawn to the changes made in the keep. Most of the Targaryen house symbols and sigils were gone, replaced with religious memorabilia of the Seven Pointed Star. She schooled her expression and swallowed the distaste, feeling the eyes of the Red Keep on her. “She is with child again.”

“What a blessing,” Alicent crooned, though Daenera didn’t believe it. If it stood to the queen, all of Rhaenyra’s heirs would be dead. It would lessen her claim to the throne. Those thoughts would never be spoken though, like so much else.

“May I ask what brings you back from Dragonstone?”

“My studies, your grace. As you can imagine, Dragonstone is a hostile environment. King’s Landing is more agreeable when it comes to plants,” Daenera said, using the prescribed answer she had come up with. It wouldn’t be in her best interest to outright say that she was here to keep an eye on her and the king. “And if I’m being honest, I missed the Keep and my grandsire. He has begged by return for years.”

The queen’s smile got tight. “Yes, the King has always had a soft spot for you, princess.”

“I thought the King may have taken time to welcome me back himself,” Daenera ventured. “I suppose he’s too busy.”

They had stopped on the stairs, the queen a few steps above her, looking down on her. She was the pillar of proprietary, hands clasped in front of her, a righteous look in her eyes and the green modest dress on her form, ordained by a golden, seven pointed star.

“Do not take offense to his absence, princess. The King has not been of good health as of late and he is resting.” The excuse was weak but true enough. Viserys had been ill for some time now, some days were better than others. Daenera kept her expression schooled. “You must be tired from the long journey.”

Now, it was Daenera who got a tightlipped smile. “Yes, a bath and some rest would do me good.”

“Talya,” the queen voiced, bringing forth a rather pretty lady-in-waiting with red hair and sharp features. She bowed respectfully. “Please show the princess to her chambers and make sure she’s well taken care of.”

“Yes, my queen.”

Daenera followed Lady Talya towards what would become Daenera’s private quarters. Behind her were Joyce, Jelissa and Ser Fenrick. The Seven Pointed Star of The Faith was everywhere they turned, edged into stone, replacing the three headed dragon of House Targaryen. Most of the wall hangings had also been replaced, the once sexual tapestries now a bland mirage of forestry. Daenera found it distasteful if not outright disrespectful. It was as if the Hightowers had tried to erase the Targaryen claim to the throne. She severely doubted it was Viserys doing.

Hightower cunts.

Eyes seemed to follow her through the halls as the nobility realized who she was. Daenera took it in strides, a mask of indifference and politeness upon her face as she nodded to them, pretending not to know what they were thinking.

The Hightowers had been surrounding themselves with their people it would seem, and had let their tales spread like an infection through the halls.

By the time she reached her quarters the whole castle was bustling with her arrival. Hushed whispers spoken in shadows, ripping up old rumors to blow dust from them and speak to them anew.

It was those rumors that had made them flee King’s Landing in the first place.

They entered her new quarters. Daenera looked it over with a skeptical eye. The apartment was made of a large sitting area, with the bedroom connected to the right side. The rooms were big and finely decorated, sufficient.

“I will have the maids bring water for the tub, my Lady,” Talya spoke politely.

Daenera smiled. “Thank you.”

“I will also assign some maids to you.”

“That won't be necessary. I’ve brought my own maids Joyce and Jelissa.”

“As you wish.” Talya left the princesses chambers with new information to sell, the door clicking shut behind her.

Daenera breathed a sigh of relief, rolling her neck and rubbing her fingers against her temples, letting go of the mask of politeness and respectfulness.

Fenrick stood by the door, hand resting on the hilt of his sword, looking at the princess with slight concern. “If you’re already exhausted from pretending then perhaps returning was the wrong decision.”

“I’m exhausted from the travels and the ugly seven pointed star everywhere,” Daenera complained, glaring at the small round window that held the star within it. She felt as if she were in the sept and the gods were staring down at her in judgment. They could stare all they wanted.

“The queen honored you with her welcome,” Jelissa said, beginning to unpack one of the huge trunks that had been brought to her chambers, plucking one dress after another from its depths.

“The queen wanted to size the princess up,” Joyce told her younger pupil, the older maid coming up to Daenera to brush her hair away from her shoulders as she began to unlace her dress. “Did you notice what they did to the Keep? It’s nothing but disrespectful.”

“They’re honoring the Faith,” Jelissa countered.

“The Hightowers are erasing everything Targaryen as if their children are Hightowers only,” Joyce raged, pulling the strings loose.

“Be careful,” Fenrick warned. “There are spiders everywhere in the Keep.”

As if to underline his warning the doors opened to let a string of maids in, each one carrying a bucket of hot water, pouring it into the tub standing in front of the fire, seam rising into the air. Daeneras' company fell silent while the maids poured the water.

When they left again it was Daenera who spoke up. “We must be careful of our words. We never know who might listen and as we are now, we are surrounded by vipers waiting to strike.”

“Yes, my Lady,” her company agreed.

Daenera wiggled out of the dress, standing only in her bodice and underdress. Fenrick averted his eyes, staring straight into the room while Joyce helped remove the rest of Daeneras' clothing. Red lines were drawn across her pale skin, marking out where her bodice had pressed in on her. She went to the tub, fingers skimming the hot water, her thoughts turning in her head. “When you move around in the Keep I want you to gather as much information as you can without drawing attention to yourselves. Make friends and connections. And if something happens with the King I wish to know.”

They all agreed.

“You may leave,” Daenera dismissed.

Her room fell silent as her company left. Fenrick stood guard outside the door.

Daenera had often thought how utterly boring the job must be. Most of the time they just stood and stared. How they managed not to go insane she didn’t know. She herself would lose her mind out of boredom.

With a sigh Daenera stepped into the warm waters, letting the heat prickle at her skin reddening it. She sank beneath the surface all the way to her chin, inhaling the lavender and rosemary scent, finding it far better than the smell of horse that clung to her skin. The journey hadn’t been that long. Dragonstone wasn't far from King’s Landing, but Daenera didn’t care much for traveling the sea. It wasn’t because she became greensick like her brother Luke did the moment he stepped onto a boat, the future fleet commander utterly cursed in that regard, it was the boredom of being stuck that bothered her. And perhaps Luke could command the fleet from dragonback instead.

Daenera scrubbed her skin clean and washed her hair twice to get the smell of horse out of it before oiling it. Her lithe fingers ran through her dark curls, the very thing that started the whole fuss about her parentage. She was aware, of course, of why she looked nothing like her Father Laenor Velaryon.

Daenera frowned at the memories her return brought up. Memories she thought best buried. But nothing ever stayed buried, unfortunately, and she’d have to contend with the fact that time may have changed but the rumors would persist.

The princess got up from the water and wrapped herself in a robe, hair dripping down her back as she headed towards the balcony, opening the doors to let in some fresh air. She looked down over the courtyard, watched Prince Aemond move as he continued his sword lessons with none other than Ser Criston Cole. Daenera made a face. How he still managed to have a position in the Kingsguard was beyond her understanding.

No, not beyond it, she understood very much why he still had his position, she just didn’t understand why Vierserys allowed it. The queen's favor should only reach so far. And with a man who murdered someone at a royal wedding's welcome feast should have been punished. And again when he continued to disrespect the children of the crown princess.

Her eyes turned to Aemond again. Daenera hadn’t seen him since that night when he stole Vhagar and lost an eye.

As if sensing her eyes on him, Aemond turned his face towards her, their eyes catching once more. Daenera didn’t school the distaste on her face and was of half a mind to roll her eyes. Aemond smirked at her.

He was going to be a thorn in her side, she just knew it.

Daenera turned and headed towards the bed.

The heavy skirt of her cornflower blue dress swished as she walked up the steps of the Red Keep, heading towards the Kings Chambers. She had specifically chosen the dress for its complement to her eyes and the memory of Viserys telling her that blue suited her.

This was her armor for the day.

Her heels clicked over the stone as she made her way through the Keep and towards the King's chambers, her spine straight and head held high. Behind her followed Fenrick, his armor clanking as he walked.

The last few days the queen had dismissed her before she was able to seek an audience with the King. She would not allow it any longer. The King had sent for her after all. He’d want to see her.

So, she had sent out Jelissa to keep an eye on the King’s Chambers and the queens movement. Word had come not half through the morning that the queen had left his chambers and the king within. Daenera took her chance then. If she had to scheme and sneak around to see the king then she would do just that.

“Lord Commander, I wish to see the King,” Daenera said, armed with a kind smile on her face.

“The queen has just left the King's side, princess,” Ser Harrold Westerling told her.

“Does the queen need to be present when I visit the King, Ser Harrold?”

Behind his battle worn exterior the lord commander smiled. “No, princess.”

Ser Harrold knocked on the wooden door before opening it for the princess, who smiled appreciatively at him as she passed, walking into the King's chamber to find the King sitting in a chair propped up on pillows, a thick blanket wrapped around his lower half. Daenera felt her heart sink at the sight of her grandsire, finding that age had come at him hard and unforgiving. He had lost much of his hair, having only a few brittle strings of it left. At his side sat a young stone mason, carving details into a stone figure as the King told him about the building being made, voice low and rumbling with age. Viserys one good eye lifted from his stone map of old Valyria to his grandchild, lightning up at the sight.

“Daenera,” he greeted as loudly as he could.

Daenera hid her pity and concern beneath a smile. She would not show him anything else than what he deserved. “Grandsire!”

Her feet hurried over the floor, dress swissing around her feet, dark curls tumbling over her shoulders as she leaned down to press a kiss on the King's cheek. He smelled of old age and the illness that was slowly killing him. He had lost his left arm years ago, even before the incident that made them flee to Dragonstone, the sleeve empty.

And from the look of it, an infection had taken the sight of one of his eyes, the skin beneath it hollowed out and irritated. Daenera wondered how she’d tell her mother about how bad it had gotten.

“It is so good to see you, my sweetling,” the King said, waving away the stone mason. Viserys tried to stand, his knees buckling and his breath alluding him as he forced himself to his feet. Daenera was quick to wrap an arm around him, supporting him as they made their way towards more comfortable seats in front of the fire. “Have you brought your mother and siblings with you?”

“No, unfortunately not, my king,” Daenera answered softly, trying to lessen the blow. “I hope I do not disappoint you, your grace.”

“You could never disappoint me, Daenera,” Viseryes told her, pinching the apple of her cheek as she wrapped the blanket around his legs once more. “I just wish we could all be together.”

“Perhaps soon we will,” Daenera said.

“How are my daughter and brothers?” Viserys asked. Daenera sat down in the chair opposite him, finding the seat uncomfortably hard. Her hand reached for her grandsires, holding his thin and bony hand, cold with age despite the warmth of the room.

“They are good, your grace. My mother is pregnant with her and Daemon’s second child. I’m sad to miss the birth of my sibling but I suppose that is the price to pay if I wish to further my education,” Daenera said. In truth her education came second as to why she was here. Her concern for the King and what was happening in King's Landing was the main reason for her presence.

“You’re still buried in books and plants?” Viserys smiled.

“Yes. Dragonstone is a fine place but there’s not a lot of… green.” In the regard for nature it was bad, but it was a blessed place to avoid the Hightowers. “And of course I missed my grandsire.”

“You’re too kind. I fear I’m not much these days,” the king said sadly.

Daenera squeezed his hand as much as she dared. “And yet it is enough. You’re still the King and you are blood. I could not wish for a greater grandsire than you.”

“Flatter will get you far,” Viserys chuckled. “And how’s my other grandchildren?”

“Jacaerys is as hot-tempered as ever, I hope age will teach him to control it. He is a fine swordsman and dragonrider. You’ll find that he’s very educated in most subjects but he’s having trouble with Valyrian. And Lucerys follows his big brother around like a puppy. I’ve never seen anyone with as great of a love for their brother as him… well, perhaps between you and Daemon.”

“Is Luceryes as big of a pain in the ass for his big brother as Daemon has been in mine?”

Daenera tried and failed to hold back a laugh. “No, not yet. He’s still in the obey every word age, mayhaps when he’s older.”

“I hope not.”

“Joffrey is still very young. Growing every day,” Daenera finished.

They sat in content silence for a while before Daenera decided to break it with an inquiry about the changes to the Keep and by extension who was making the decisions. She had a feeling she already knew but the answer was still as cutting as it would have been had she not expected it.

“Ah, Alicent and Otto are the ones taking care of such matters. I’m not particularly fond of the changes, but it honors the Faith and keeps the peace.”

“You can honor the Faith and still keep some of the house symbols, your grace,” Daenera said. She knew Viseryes would avoid conflict at most cost, but she would never understand why he let the Hightowers run rampant and desecrate everything Targaryen as if he wasn’t still king. It was disrespectful. Daenera was about to press further when the door opened and the Queen swept in, her brown locks waving down her back, crown jutting from the curls, eyes finding the princess immediately and narrowing a little. Daenera got up and bowed as customary. If it wouldn’t have consequences she’d have remained seated, but alas her mother had raised her well.

“How nice to see you again, Princess Daenera,” the queen greeted, coming up to the side of her lord husband, placing a hand on his shoulder. Her green dress gleamed in the light from the fire. Daenera wished for the flames to lick a little closer to the dress.

“You as well, your grace.”

“I think we should hold a feast for the princesses return to King's Landing, don’t you think, Alicent?” The King asked, his frail hand reaching to pat Alicent’s hand on his shoulder. She withdrew it immediately, clasping her hands together in front of her.

“A feast is a big affair, my king. It would take time to prepare and it would cost-,”

“I think it’s worth it for my granddaughter's return. We would have held one upon your arrival, had we known you’d have come sooner,” the king cut her off.

Daenera pressed her lips together. They had known of her return for a fortnight. It was plenty of time to not only prepare her a proper welcome with lords and ladies present but also with the king, it would also have been enough time to prepare a feast. The queen's lips had turned into a line having been cornered. Would she refuse it would be perceived as an insult.

“Of course, your grace.” Alicent looked anything but happy, which pleased Daenera immensely. Alicent schooled her expression and stepped forward, reaching out to take Daeneras’ hand in hers. “Forgive us for our unpreparedness. We will hold a feast in your honor.”

“I understand, running the kingdom is a grand task that requires great attention.”

“Thank you for your understanding, princess, and I hope you will understand that I need to speak with the king about private matters.”

“Of course,” Daenera smiled sharply. It was a pretty way of throwing her out of the King's chambers. Daenera passed the queen and knelt down in front of the King, taking his frail hand in hers, trying to pass some of her warmth onto him. Their eyes met and Viseryes gave her an apologetic look that Daenera dismissed with a quirk of her lips and an understanding nod. She kissed the king on his cheek before rising. “I will come visit you soon, my king.”

“I will look forward to it, Daenera.”

Daenera gave one final bow before exiting the chambers. Fenrick fell into step behind her, though she didn’t not hear the clanking of his armor, her mind elsewhere. How was she going to tell her mother how bad it had gotten? She doubted her letters would leave unread by others. And how do you tell the daughter that her father was ailing and in pain, overrun by Hightowers and powerseekers. She feared for the king and his health. Most of all she feared the time when Viserys would pass.

“Joyce has confirmed that Lord Caswell will take lunch in one of the groves of the garden at noon.”

A small smile formed on Daenera’s lips. “Perfect.”

Daenera decided to head to the library in the meantime.

The smell of dust and old books were familiar to her, having spent a lot of her childhood buried in books, soaking up all that she could while her brothers trained with their dragons. Of course, she had also had dragon training. But there wasn’t much improvement nor need if one did not have a dragon. So instead, Daenera found fulfillment elsewhere.

The book she plucked from the shelves were of dark binding, with golden but crackled writing on the front. It was one of the old tales about a prince and a princess at odds, a tale of treachery and betrayal, of love and honor. Contented with her pick she headed towards the small sitting area by the fire, sinking into one of the chairs, fingers flipping to the first page.

“Why have you come back?” Aemond’s smoothe voice interrupted Daenera’s concentration, though her eyes never moved from the page. She hadn’t expected him to approach her. Out of the corner of her eye, above the focus on the pages, she saw him move in front of her, back to the fireplace, a pillar of cold shadows.

“Nice to see you too, uncle,” Daenera acknowledged, voice light and unbothered.

“Why have you come back?”

Daenera sighed, finally laying eyes upon him, noting the intense glare in his eye, lips sharp and set in a cold smirk, that left little to interpretation. He didn’t want her here. “Would you believe me if I said I missed King’s Landing?”

“No.”

Her head tilted to the side, a bothered and thoughtful expression upon her face. “I came back to further my studies in herbal medicine and such.”

His eye darted across her features, like a knife seeking purchase. It slid along her skin, threatening to draw blood. Daenera let him glare.

“Liar,” he hummed.

“Oh, I’m a liar now, am I?” Daenera responded to the accurate accusation. “Tell me then, why else would I be back? To bother you specifically? Or are you implying some other nefarious reason?”

“You should go back to Dragonstone. You’re not welcome nor wanted here,” Aemond disclosed shortly.

Daenera rolled her eyes, lifting the book back into position in front of her, to continue reading from where she left off. “Hmm… It seems that the King quite enjoys my presence, and he is the only one that matters is he not?”

Aemond stepped closer to her, snapping the book right out of her hands, her eyes widening in surprise at the sudden incursion. He held the book out of her reach, one hand on the tall back of the chair, back curved as he half leaned over her. His hair of pure moonlight fell smoothly over his shoulders, a stark contrast to her own dark, common locks. “Why are you really here?”

Daenera glared up at him, eyes as sharp as his own. He didn’t believe her lie about her education, which wasn’t as surprising as it was annoying. Alicent might not have believed it either, but she at least knew how impolite and disrespectful it was to flat out question her like this.

“What would you like my answer to be, since all of the option’s I’ve provided do not seem to hit the mark? Would you like me to admit I’m here to find a husband? That my mother doesn’t hold court on Dragonstone and has therefore made it impossible for me to do so? That King’s Landing provides a much better place in my search? Is that honest enough for you?”

It wasn’t a lie. Not only had she come in search of allies and to keep an eye on the Hightowers, she came to find a husband. They had gotten many a letter the day she came of age, asking for her hand in marriage, but her mother had kept the hounds at bay. Coming back to King’s Landing in search of a husband created the perfect cover and with the addition of her wishing to further her studies, no one could really question her reasoning. No one, but Aemond apparently.

“Hm…” Aemond hummed, releasing the back of her chair to stretch to his full hight again. He gave her a once over, then turned and walked away, heading to the doors.

“My book,” Daenera chided.

Aemond didn’t look back at her, he simply held the book up, waving it in the air before releasing his grip, letting it fall to the floor with a loud thud and then he was gone. It was such a childish and petty move that Daenera couldn’t help but stare a burning hole into the space he had preoccupied mere moments before.

It was Fenrick who picked up the book, a thick brow raised in question. Daenera just shook her head, waving his question off.

#aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #hotd aemond #prince aemond #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #A Vow of Blood

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coarsely · 17 days

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Build a pokemon team for your ocs

Jumping on from @thanataes, because I thought this was such a fun idea! I may have gotten a little carried away, but I really like pokemon :) it's really fun to look at what suits their aesthetic, their fighting style, their personality, etc, while trying to create a balanced and workable team.

Ucalegon, Nod's most beloved warrior.

Ucalegon is someone fairly concerned with aesthetics, but also as a fighter for Nod has to have a fairly balanced team. She often uses eletricity to taze and shock people, but also lives in a fairly urbanised area, hence the eletric and steel types. There is a certain level of mystique to her, which Absol represents, while also being considered wild and uncivilised by the Bronze Eden populace, which Lycanroc shows. Tauros acts as a good balance for the rest of the team's speciality, while also showing how full-on she can sometimes be.

Hendrix, leader of the Undark.

Hendrix's team are all visually related to water creatures, although only two are actual water types. While he is heavily involved in the pirate aesthetic, he is not actually one, so I thought it would be fun to show that by only visually looking like sea creatures, while not being one. I chose two poison types, because he is mildly radioactive. Most ground attacks are physical, which suits his physical and aggressive nature, hence my choosing of those. Barbaracle was chosen because Hendrix does have barnacles in different places on his body, so it just makes sense. Garchomp, I can't really explain, it just feels right to have at least on dragon type on there. There's a certain status symbol thing with dragon types, and he is a leader of sorts, so it fits in!

Vítor Cadogan, former Gladiator of Golden Glimpse.

Vítor was quite fun to do. Aside from Mimikyu, I tried not to choose too many recent pokemon, to show he's a little older than maybe you'd first expect. Once being a superhero for Golden Glimpse, I tried to make his team more varied, to have more options in a fight. Lucario evolves with high friendship, so it's nice to have that sort of implication that Vítor treats his pokemon very well. Jolteon is honestly mostly chosen because Golden Glimpse is visually very yellow, and it's cute to imagine one curling up in his lap. Porygon2 is because it requires a lot of trading to evolve, and Vítor is someone very well connected. His protective instincts are symbolised via Aegislash, and his secretive nature while also being very socialble feel well represented by Mimikyu.

Dr Edgar Edwards, former heavyweight champion of Bronze Eden.

As his title suggests, Ed was once a highly successful boxer in Bronze Eden, winning the heavyweight championship 3 times in his career. This is why Hariyama and Machamp are there! Steelix and Weezing I chose due to his rags to riches story, which both represent to me with the sleek steel form and the pollution tophats. Houndoom feels like they fit in very well as a guard dog, which in a way Ed is one himself. Venusaur just felt right to add there. Very large, poisonous, and Ed is a war criminal who is not far off 8 feet tall, so it just feels good!

Diomede, exiled leader of the Vagor.

Diomede is a horse girl, so Mudsdale was an obvious choice. His actual steed though is an elk, which Sawsbuck sort of emulates, so I went with them too. Crobat was fun to add because of the whole "cannot evolve without high friendship", while also being scary-looking, which hints at how much he loved his people when he was part of them, but doesn't necessarily show it. Golurk, being inspired by a golem, also shows that latent protective instinct he had. Being a ghost type also feels like it shows those are just memories now, which i like. Bisharp was chosen as Diomede is a weaponsmith like most Vagor, and Bisharp looks like it would help out! Bouffalant works well as being a Vagor is also about working in tandem with the wilderness and with the untameable megafauna that roam Nod, which Bouffalant is clearly inspired by.

Saccade, Punisher of Neo-Babylon

For Saccade, it was important almost every pokemon felt recognisable as an animal. Saccade is quite a down-to-earth, no nonsense person, so these choices sort of infer that with their recognisable designs. Two are normal type, further cementing that she isn't someone majorly into the flashy looks of other pokemon. The exception to this is Noivern, who I'd imagine she rarely deploys as a sort of "suprise tool that will help us later". Mabosstiff, some of you might have noticed, is a shiny! I imagine Mabosstiff as a gift from her spouse when they were still alive, who Saccade rarely brings out in a fight either, for fear of losing them. Durant was chosen frankly just because I really like durant! Gallade, because in between these two pokemon she's hesitant to bring out, I think she needs a more aggressive partner to compensate. This team was also very fun to put together!

This was so fun to do! I'm gonna tag @megarywrites, @solipseismic, @revenantlore, @noblebs, @dyrewrites and @cream-and-tea, and of course, absolutely anyone else who is as taken with this concept as I was! Here is a link to the team builder, enjoy yourselves!

#brieuc.txt #tag games #pokemon #ucalegon #hendrix #vítor cadogan #ed edwards #diomede #saccade #Sort of wish I did more people from Bronze Eden but this was getting too long! Maybe if I get tagged in it again I'll do that.... hmm #anyway very fun idea! lots of fun to do

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notyour-valentine · 9 months

Text

A Fair Exchange XXXIV ~ Aemond Targaryen x Reader/OC (Angst)

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All my writing is produced by an adult and created with an adult audience in mind (18/21+). You are responsible for your own media consumption. I do not consent to my work being translated, copied or posted elsewhere on this platform or any other.

Notes: So in my absence, tumblr decided to eat this part while it was in the queue, so here it is. I will upload XXXV again after this to avoid confusion. My apologies.

Summary: They have to find a way out

Warning: bullying, blood, mention and threat of violence and death, mutilation, mention of torture and death, childbirth, injury, misogyny. Expect canon conforming tone and language. (18/21+)

[Series Masterlist]

Previously

Part XXXIV

It didn't help to see that she was exhausted; his own arms, hands and back were sore as well, but they weren’t out of danger just yet.

At this point, they were safest if no one could find them.

Thanks to her little ploy of shortening the rope, it had come down with them and at least made it impossible for any pursuers to know where and how they had left the palace but that didn't mean they couldn't suspect it.

And Sunspear was small.

It was obvious to Aemond, they had to get away from the area around the palace and the city itself as quickly as possible.

"Perhaps you three should seek refuge in a sept while I find a way.", He suggested. There were twelve he had read about, but there were bound to be more.

Once they were inside the seven-blessed walls, no good servant of the Faith could harm them.

"I'm not being stuck anywhere.", She argued. "We have to keep moving."

Aemond couldn't help but agree with the sentiment but it was one thing for a man to move amongst a city after dark alone, maybe even the two of them, although it was never a good idea for a woman to walk past nightfall, but they still had Luke and Jaehaera to worry about.

Carrying them would cost both time and energy, things they were already painfully low on.

She glanced up at the cloudless sky.

"That way if we want to head North out of the city.", She stated after a while, pointing towards a street that led away, but without too much enthusiasm.

They couldn't walk to King's Landing, and even if they were let, they’d starve or die of thirst long before they reached the Stormlands.

"They'll expect us to go north.", He whispered.

"Well yes.", She argued. "It's the only way to go."

If you go by foot or horse or carriage, Aemond thought, before turning his attention elsewhere.

"Planky Town is a few hours' sharp ride south. Unlike the Sunspear harbour it's less guarded, and-"

His eyes caught a spark.

"Has all the trading ships from the free cities."

Whatever the Dornish or the Martells or just a fraction of them had been plotting, their schemes were unlikely to extend beyond the Narrow Sea.

They could buy passage there, or at least gather news. It was a safer bet than the harbour of Sunspear, which was far stricter controlled.

And when it came down to it, there were bound to be more Valyrian descendents to blend in.

"Don't delude yourself, Aemond. Jaehaera and your silver hair isn't the problem.”, she scoffed. “Our eyes are or you know…the lack thereof.”

His jaw clenched.

"A silverhaired child, and two one-eyed adults. The only person with any chance to blend in is Luke."

A flash of concern washed over her face. She hadn’t stopped trying to wake him periodically, and had checked his breathing as often as she could, but it was to no avail.

Jaehaera and Luke were fast asleep.

Aemond wanted to argue, lots of sailors had eye injuries, and if it came down to it, he'd shave his hair, though he didn’t like the idea of parting with his sapphire and eyepatch. It would be…unseemly and undignified.

And it would hurt to remove it.

When it came to her, she could remove her dragon eye with more ease. But with or without it, he doubted there were many other one-eyed women in the Seven Kingdoms, or anywhere.

If anyone was going to be the problem it would be her!

She seemed to consider that for half an eternity, too long for Aemond’s peace of mind.

“Planky Town.”, she sighed, a line of concern on her forehead. “And horse riding - we don’t even have horses. Where are we supposed to get them?”

“It can’t be worse than climbing the wall.”, he argued. “And horses we can find.”

There were barracks not too far away, and a few traders he had seen on their way to the castle that sold the animals, so there would be opportunities to get some, even if it wouldn't be the most ethical way.

“There’s rocks on Dragonstone, and not that many horses.”, she argued, but then the fight left her, to reveal a confession.

“I’m not good on horseback, Aemond.”

It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do. It was their only chance of leaving Sunspear and reaching Planky Town at any sort of speed. If they walked, they wouldn’t make it before daylight, and then the sun of Dorne itself would become their enemy.

“I’d prefer my dragon too, but we have to take what we can and make do with what we’ve got.”

Her nod was a single, disgruntled not, but it was a approval.

To his surprise, it wasn’t too difficult to find the barracks. Due to the Rhoynish expansion they had been moved to the outside of the inner castle, as he had suspected, but he hadn’t thought he would find it so quickly.

Then again, they had to have the horses close to the castle but it was preferable to have the stables’ stench nowhere near the more illustrious apartments.

As they had left the palace over the side of the servants’ quarters, it wasn’t that far.

The stables were a longer building than its King’s Landing counterpart, recognisable by the smell of the animals and the style of architecture Aemond remembered from a book. The Rhoynish kept for horses, but the Dornish had to create structures to hold the animals in comparable cool surroundings against the heat.

And like all things belonging to the palace, it was guarded by a few watchmen gathered at the front of the stables.

Aemond could see their shadows moving in the light of the moon, and the few torches kept inside to illuminate the stone structure.

They would find horses there but trouble was just as likely.

Maybe this hadn’t been the best idea after all.

“Aemond,”she said in a whisper, a glint in her eye. “How good are you with horses?”

“What do you mean?”, he whispered.

They were huddled together in an alleyway, having left Jaehaera and Luke in the shadow of a sept, behind a bench, hidden in the darkness.

They had argued about that, with him insisting she stay behind and watch over them, while he went about it on his own. Leaving them hadn’t come easy to her, but simultaneously she thought it better if they moved and worked together to save time.

He had been arguing against it when she had just begun walking away from him, taking any decision in her own hands.

It left him irritated, but they had no time to argue.

“Would you be able to catch and calm them if they were distressed?”

“I suppose so, but there is no need to catch them. They are right there.”

She turned to meet his gaze.

“Yes, and if we want them, we have to sneak past the guards inside, get horses out and they will find it in the count come sunlight at the latest. that sounds…unlikely."

“Well by sunlight they will know we are missing too.”

The horses wouldn’t be the problem.

“But they wouldn’t know the horses are missing if they have no horses to count.”

He could sense that there was a concrete idea forming in her mind, one she was certain of.

“If there are horses, there is hay. And while we don’t have dragons, we do have fire.”

His head snapped over to the windows from which one could see the flickering glimmer of red and gold.

If they were to set the stables on fire the guards would rush to get all the horses out and quench the fire. The frightened beasts would run in all directions, and if he managed to catch and calm just two, they would be long gone before the others were brought back.

Sometimes it took even days.

But while the windows were there, they were up high and narrow.

Maybe one could fit through them, but one had to get up there first.

“Right-”, she said, inhaling sharply, her gaze firmly locked on the stables in front of her. “You’ll need to get me up.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s too far up for any one of us to reach it on our own. You’ll need to help me get up there.”

Aemond felt the muscles at the back of his neck tense in protest.

“And then what?”, he hissed.

“And then I’ll set it on fire.”

“And yourself with it? How will you get out again?”

She shrugged.

“I’ll find something in there to boost me.”

“What if you don’t?”Aemond asked.

“Then I’ll find another way. But unless you have a better idea, it’ll have to be that, won’t it?”

Aemond wished, and maybe even prayed for an epiphany but none came.

Yes, he could get her up there, but then she would be on her own, with only luck to help her.

And to Aemond, it was too risky.

“Let’s just look somewhere else - if we don’t find something, we can still try.”

He reached for her arm and pulled her with him, deaf to her protest.

Sunspear’s unique city structure had been something he seemed worth studying and so now he had a rough idea of where to find the marketplace, where the merchants lived, and where those merchants lived who may or may not be wealthy enough for horses.

There was no curfew in Sunspear, but most nocturnal activity had been concentrated on the taverns and inns, and other more unseemly places, away from the sept they had placed Jaeheara and Luke close to.

Still, every second they were away from her, they couldn’t protect her.

The urgency made him quicken his pace, though they could not run because that would draw too much suspicion from the passer byers.

Instead, they rushed huddled together. He had drawn his cloak deep into his face while she was similar, keeping her gaze down.

They saw traders, merchants, whores, and a few errant children, but the further away from the busy marketplaces they got, the more it quieted down.

The people who lived here had enough money to make sure their streets were quiet and clean, and also enough to fund the upkeep and space for horses.

Just like in the palace, they kept their horses in the proximity but also far enough to avoid the smell.

Without much debate, they settled on a large house with blue tiled decorations on its facade. It was walled and guarded but the three guards they had were focussed on the street-facing manor, and not the mews that led further back.

This, Aemond deemed a far safer option.

The stable door was locked, but like at the palace stables, there were windows for air and light.

“That door may also open from the inside.”, he suggested. At least that was what he hoped. There was no way they could break the lock without waking all of eastern Dorne.

“Now we just need to find something to aid us in reaching the window.”, he mumbled, searching around for a barrel or a box.

“You.”, she said, reaching for his arm and pulling him to stand under the window.

“What?”

“You - if you help me, I can climb in.”

It was a way, but not one Aemond would have preferred as it once again meant sending her into the unknown. But she was smaller, and she was lighter, and while he could help her up, she wouldn’t be able to do the same for him.

“A-alright, how…-”, he crouched down and attempted to wrap his arms around her legs just below her knees in an attempt to lift her.

“What are you doing?”, she hissed, stepping away.

“I’m sorry, but there’s no way for me to lift you without…”

He made a vague gesture towards their now forced proximity.

“I understand this is uncomfortable for you, but we have to do what we must.”

She shook her head.

“Just give my leg a little boost.”, she asked, clearly expecting him to do something specific he was not privy to.

“How…?”

She stared at him with utter disbelief. “Like you would help me on a horse without stirrups.”

Aemond bit back the question of why ever a lady would ride a horse without stirrups, and a horse without stirrups meant a horse without a saddle, specifically side saddle.

It dawned on him that they must have lived close to savages on Dragonstone if she rode horses in any other way but side saddle.

“Just…just bend your knees a little.”; she sighed.

He did, although he nearly fell when she began to climb, treating him as if he was just another wall to scale.

While grabbing his shoulder, she stepped onto his thigh.

Aemond reached up to help steady her, and was glad for the darkness to hide his blush as he released her next step would be to brace her leg on his shoulder.

Closing his eye would be the barest appropriate thing to do at the sight of this, though necessary, debauchery.

But then he wouldn’t be able to see what she was doing and wouldn’t know how to help her, how to steady her, and in the end, how to stabilise her as she pulled herself into the window.

And then, there was only the absence of her weight, and the deafening silence in the wake of his new found solitude.

Every second felt like an hour to him now, as even the Dornish skies itself came crashing down on him.

He just hoped she would hurry up as he listened desperately for any noise.

There were sounds, light clanking and shifting, but it had nothing to do with horses, or doors.

Then finally, after half an eternity, he heard the soft screech of the hinges.

As soon as it was opened a hand width, he pushed himself inside.

“What took you so long?”, he demanded to know, barely containing his anger at her dalliance.

Anything could have happened to her, to him, and to Jaehaera.

“I found something better than your fruit knife.”, she announced, holding up a small workman’s knife.

It was a little crooked and the hilt well worn, but it was longer, and sturdier.

Immediately, he reached for it, but she pulled back.

“I found it, it’s mine.”

“Well I know how to use it!”

She glared at him.

“Want to test if I don’t?”, she snarled. “Or do you want to take a look at the horses so we can leave?”

There were four horses there. They weren’t war or tourney horses and one looked more suitable to carry cargo, but they were horses, and they couldn’t be picky.

Aemond checked at the best of his ability, searched for reigns and opted for a brown and a black horse. The white one was pretty, but she could be seen in the dark.

In the meantime she had searched around for more suitable items, gathering them in a bag she seemed to have no qualms about stealing.

Each of them led two horses out and left the door open. Two animals they would release somewhere, the other two they would take. It slowed them a little, but it may work as a at least temporary distraction.

Just when he saw the blue tiles once more, he felt a pang of guilt.

The merchant had not done them any wrong and now they were stealing his beasts.

He had half a thought of maybe leaving some of her jewels behind as payment but that would make it certain it was them that stole the horses.

By the time they got close to the sept, they had released the horses, and had chosen to walk separately, as not to draw too much attention.

He led the way and as soon as he was in the shadow of the sept, he tied the horse to the tree and rushed to where they had hidden the other two.

Both were still as sound asleep as if they were laying on a featherbed and not the cold stone floor.

He was glad they were safe, but Luke’s obliviousness was irritating.

Once more the boy didn’t realise just how lucky he was.

A hand on Jaehaera’s chest he glanced over his shoulder.

There was still no sign of her.

What in Seven Hells was she doing now?

This was the problem with her - not listening and always going after her own instinct and will.

They had decided to meet here and so Aemond ought to wait, but something told him he had to see, and had to retrace his steps.

As soon as the spark of nerves caught, it turned into a wildfire within moments.

He couldn’t - wouldn’t do this without her.

She had never liked horses.

She didn’t mind them, but she never liked them.

When the others had learned as children, she had been too sickly, and later she had only done it from time to time as a kindness to Rhaena.

That was the only reason she ever found herself on horseback when dragonback would do.

It wasn’t that she avoided the animals per se, but she had no use and no favour for them. And now her life would possibly depend on it.

If this had been by any choice but her own and Aemonds, she would have thought this a thinly veiled insult.

Aemond was leading the way in quiet confidence.

This was no challenge to him. Undoubtedly he had trained for tourneys and battle rides, probably with Ser Criston Cole.

Perhaps, if she was lucky he would be dead by now. If he hadn’t drowned in the sea.

The thought of him slowly succumbing to a burning fever, as his blood turned to poisonous fire inside him, was a comforting thought.

He didn’t deserve a painless death. Not after what he had done to Rhaena, and what he would have done to Aegon and Viserys.

The memory of the taste of his blood and his flesh in her mouth made her gag, but with nausea a sense of pride rose inside her.

He had attacked her family, and she had defended it. If that was no reason for pride, what was?

She had been so lost in thought she nearly missed the sound of the whistle coming from the alleyway, but she stopped and turned to look.

A man approached, with a little lamp and an unmistakable sense of authority.

She saw a dagger, a knife, but no spear, no armour.

“Who goes there?”, he demanded to know.

“Who’s asking?”, she mumbled, keeping her gaze downward.

“I have a right to know who walks these streets.”, he snarled.

Her heart was thundering in her chest, as she tried to think, to appear not as she was, but as someone who was unafraid, someone who had done no wrong, and in a way she hadn’t. In the laws of the world, it wasn’t wrong to defend and protect one’s family and that law was above any Dornish one.

“You will look at me when I speak to you, boy!”, he snarled. “I wish to know who your master is to think he has you walking the streets at night with a horse with uncovered hooves.”

It took her a few seconds to realise what he was saying.

He didn’t think her a scoundrel, but an apprentice boy or a servant, simply obeying orders.

And he was no guard, just a neighbour, with too little problems in his life and so he created them on his own.

“Why do you care? Go back to bed old man.”, she sneered, still not looking at him.

“I’ll call the city watch on you, boy, and your master!”, he threatened, huffing and puffing on his insult.

When he grabbed her arm, it was all over. She tore at his grip, but when he didn’t release. She drew the knife.

And slashed.

The man looked as shocked as she was, as he saw blood pouring down his arm.

“You- I’ll make you lose your hand for that!”, he snarled, before taking a deep breath to call for guards or scream for help -

But whatever he intended on doing, no noise left his throat but a gurgle as blood sprayed.

She stared as she watched the red rain fall, black in the night.

The man’s eyes had gone wide and frantic, and empty.

By the time he was released and dropped into a puddle of his own blood, there was no life remaining in them.

The horse began to stumble to the side, neighing frantically.

She could only watch in disbelief more than shock, as Aemond stepped forward, calming the animal with practised touches.

Aemond.

Yes, of course. It couldn’t have been anyone but Aemond.

“Take the horse back to the sept. Jaehaera and Luke are fine. I’ll be there in a moment.”, he ordered once the animal was calm enough.

“But-”

“Go!”, he ordered, and for once she didn’t argue, or question, or doubt, she obeyed.

Aemond only breathed again when he saw her make the turn towards the sept.

When he glanced down he saw the wet stains of blood on his hands. Then he reached into his belt and pulled forth the fruit knife. Tip to hilt it was coated in blood.

The blade was so short, he had felt the man’s neck on his thumb as he drew it across with force.

There was no other way with a tool like this - and he had to.

If he had screamed or called or drawn any more attention to himself and others, it would have all been lost.

They would have been lost.

His hand trembled as he wiped the blade clean on his cloak.

But it wouldn’t be clean now, would it? Just like his hand wouldn’t, even if he consulted the finest soapmakers of King’s Landing.

It was a fruit knife, a stupid little thing created for the carving of apples and the slicing of oranges, not the cutting of throats. But now here it was.

He had had no time to think, just to do. And so he had.

Aemond sniffed. He knew he had to hurry, but he had to look too.

The man had stood with his back towards him, and he did not see his face.

A part of him thought this may be a blessing, that he should leave it at that and go - to get back to her and Jaehaera and Luke and get them out to safety as quickly as he could, while praying he wouldn’t have to kill them again.

But the thought made him feel like a coward, and so he knelt down beside the man and pulled him over.

His face was coated in blood, from his throat, and the puddle he had fallen into.

His hair was black like most Dornish, and fell down to his shoulders, but his eyes had almost a hazel colouring.

Beyond that, he looked perfectly ordinary, like a man he would have passed in King’s Landing a hundred times.

He was of middle age, with the clothes and belly that promised a comfortable life. Beside him lay a small lamp, gone out due to his fall.

Aemond did not know if he was a merchant, a tradesman, a salesman, a teacher maybe. He did not know his name, or if a widow or orphans would mourn his loss.

He knew none of these things and doubted he would ever find out.

But when he looked at the man’s face he was certain of one thing - that it would be burned into his memory for all eternity.

Sometimes the men had talked of it, the soldiers, the knights. They all liked to share their glorious stories, their triumphs, their tales. And on one thing, they all agreed. No matter what comes after, no matter how much or how many, above all things, you will never forget your first.

Later, when they had managed to sneak out the city gates and make for Planky Town, he recalled the lessons he had had in his youth, then when he had feared he may never have a dragon to ride and instead focussed his studies on horses and tourney riding.

They were all certain the horses could somehow sense the rider’s state, if they were afraid, or confident, but also if they were a good person, a trustworthy person.

Aemond couldn’t help but wonder if this dark brown horse he had stolen from an unsuspecting merchant, could tell he was now carrying a killer across the Dornish plains.

Since this series has continued on AO3 I will now upload a part a day to catch up. I hope you enjoy, and once again I apologise for technical problems and my absence from here.

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#valentineswritings #hotd #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen angst #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen / reader #aemond targaryen / oc #aemond targaryen & reader #aemond targaryen & oc #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen fanfic #asoiaf #fire and blood #the rogue prince #the princess and the queen #a fair exchange

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red-riding-wood · 5 months

Text

Chapter 3

OC: Aleera

Fandom: Game of Thrones / ASOIAF

Summary: Former protector of the last Targaryens and bastard daughter of the Mad King Aerys, Aleera ventures to Westeros in search of the family she's never known, and finds herself swallowed by a world of cruelty, ambition and lies... She must leave behind her heart to survive, and, like her ancestors, forge her path through fire and blood. Madness and greatness, they say, are two sides of the same coin, and may the world hold its breath to witness how this coin lands.

Warnings: (for entire story) angst, graphic violence, gore, cursing, sexual assault, graphic sexual content, incest, torture... standard GoT stuff. I'm not holding back with this story so if you're not a fan of dark or disturbing content this is not for you. Also future Ramsay x OC and Petyr x OC and those two are their own warnings.

~ Combines content from Game of Thrones TV series and the ASOIAF books. Some canon changes are made to suit the story. ~

I had ridden ‘til my back ached and my thighs wobbled as I dismounted my steed; I had been sure to take the same one Illyrio had provided me, to give the Dothraki less of a reason to follow. But soon enough, I would be across the Narrow Sea, and they would not follow me onto ships, for they feared any water their horses couldn’t drink.

The mare snorted, dark nostrils flaring as she chewed at her bit, restless. A veneer of sweat collected on my fingers as I brushed them across her muscled neck, and yellow eyes flashed at me, wary and wild. I stared into them for a moment or two as I stroked her neck, and something in them that I couldn’t quite explain stirred all of my pain to the surface – the pain that I had been doing everything in my power to force down, to shield myself from. I swallowed a knot that formed, thick, in my throat.

Fingers of dusk light caught the bright of her coat, the dapples that shone almost iridescent across the palomino. The horse was beautiful, and she rode well, but I would have to part ways with her if I was going to cross the Narrow Sea.

Escaping the Dothraki horde hadn’t been as difficult as I’d thought; once their khaleesi had left the tent, silver hair standing out in the sea of dark, they were too enamoured to notice me slipping away to the horses.

It was the sea that would prove difficult. I would need to smuggle myself on board a ship before the next dawn, in case Viserys or Illyrio or the Dothraki came looking for me. No ships would depart this late; they would wait ‘til the morrow, to sail with the sun in the sky and the seas calm.

The dragon egg weighed heavy in my satchel as I led the mare down to the docks, winding through the markets of peddlers, shop owners, fishermen and hunters and seamstresses, still bustling with activity early into dusk. I stood out a sore sight, with the palomino and its yellow tasselled saddle, and my bruises and my torn red tunic.

Past the almost overwhelming aroma of spices and tonics, and the reek of sweat of the peasants and travelers, I veered to a small stable. The owner, or perhaps stable-hand, ceased his mucking when he caught sight of the palomino, and leaned on his pitchfork.

“I’m looking to sell this mare,” I told him, taking care to choose my words and instill my voice with confidence. I used the common tongue of the Seven Kingdoms; if he asked, I was travelling back to Westeros.

The man’s eyes scoured my appearance, and he asked, “Did she buck you?”

“I am unaccustomed to the unruly terrain of the Pentos outskirts,” I said. “I stumbled down a rocky hill. The mare is quite capable; she has never bucked nor spooked.”

He took another look at my bloody, bruised knees and scuffed face, and nodded. We bartered, back and forth, but briefly; the more I watched the sun’s forked fingers slim on the horizon, and the more shops I noticed closing for the night, my unease grew. I settled on the far low price of five golden honors, a common currency of the Free Cities.

With those coins, I had my wounds tended by a healer. She dribbled wine and salved honey on my cuts, and I refused milk of the poppy, a painkiller she sold for an exorbitant price. She asked how I came to bear these wounds, and I told her the same I had the stable owner.

At the seamstress, I traded my silver-mouthed scabbard to buy one of nothing but boiled leather, and a roughspun tunic of a muted, brown colour typical of peasants in Essos. She asked me what became of such a fine tunic I wore, and I once more told my story in as few words as possible. I allowed her to take it to repair and do with as she liked, but for its condition she offered no more than a mere shawl to protect my hair from the sun. I accepted, for I would use it to hide the unmistakable shade of crimson.

By the time I walked the winding street again, with the yarn of my tunic itching my bruised flesh, I was fifteen again, before Illyrio had welcomed me into his home. My stomach growled in hunger, and I kept a sharp eye for bread and cheeses I could thieve, and a sharper one for criminals that might emerge from any corner. Old habits did not go so willingly into the dark.

Only, for the first time in my life, I fought and survived not for the younger sister who awaited my return to be told a bedtime story, nor the older brother who I would’ve spoiled with a nicked finery in a desperate act to please, but for myself. For the first time in my life, I was well and truly alone.

Not for long, I assured myself. Soon, I would be in the loving arms of my true mother. And I kept telling myself this, until the scars burdened for my family didn’t sting so hot and the pendant round my neck didn’t burn so cold.

Pulled sharply from my reverie by the roar of a nearby crowd, I chastised myself. One moment and one moment alone not on my guard, and I could’ve been dead – or worse.

Thankfully, the commotion only seemed to be from a crowd of theatre goers, clustered around the final act of a play. One of the mummers wore a white, thinly spun wig that patched the balding of his forehead, and his eyes seemed to sink into his face from the weight of the crown atop his skull. He sat in a chair made of dyed wooden planks that jutted from the seat at every odd angle, lined in iron swords. Curious, I eased closer, weaving my way through the ring of peasants round the paying customers.

Another actor, clad in ridiculous wooden armour stained a garish gold and a white linen that had been fastened at his shoulders to resemble a cloak, addressed the crowd. In the background, others worked to run giant props of painted fire across the stage, settling behind two men whose jaws gaped in silent screams, their knees dropping to the floor.

I had glimpsed several plays depicting the Mad King before, but Viserys had always told me their characterisations were wildly distasteful, that witnessing one brought a stain to the Targaryen name.

The armoured man said procured a glint of silver from his pocket, and said, “Greatness and madness, you see, are two sides of the same coin.”

The crowd fell silent with a hush.

“Each time a Targaryen is born,” the false knight said, “the gods flip a coin and the world holds its breath to see how it will land.” Taking a dramatic pause, he then flipped the coin into the air, and arms tangled around me, greedy fingers reaching from fevered limbs for the silver. I squared my shoulders and took a step back, allowing them to converge around me but keeping my gaze fixed on the actors and their silly little play.

And when at last someone had snatched the coin from the ground, and everyone settled like hens after a wild dog had been let into their coop, the knight said, “The gods must have dropped the one for Aerys Targaryen.”

I looked again upon the wilting visage of the Mad King, milky eyes staring almost blankly at the burning men but chapped lips slightly parted and curved into a sick smile as his chest heaved a few silent laughs. I’d never met my father, but I couldn’t help but wonder, in that moment, what it would have been like to stand in that room, to hear the laughter of the king and the screams of men as the flesh melted from their bodies, to choke on the heat of the flame and the billows of smoke. Though he had existed long past the extinction of our last dragons, he had still ruled through fire and blood. The infamous words of our ancient house.

The knight drew his sword, stalking towards the king as he turned his back to his guard. The false blade was shoved between the arm and the side of the king, as the elder actor’s head flinched back, milky eyes going wide, shaking fingers curling inward as he collapsed to his knees. I recognised the knight now as Ser Jaime Lannister.

“Kingslayer!” Someone shouted with virulence at the stage, and the knight wore a gloating smile as he turned, blonde threads of his wig falling before his eyes as he turned to face the crowd.

A red fruit splattered across the gold of his armour, and he flinched, smile falling from his lips. Its juices leaked like blood down his breastplate. “Guards!” he called, voice having lost its bravado.

A few leather-clad sellswords emerged from the outskirts of the audience and dragged the seething man, kicking and yelling, repeating the word over and over at the man in gold. Something crawled beneath my flesh, and I began to remove myself from the event, butting shoulders with a couple of annoyed commoners.

I knew the rest of the story. I’d heard it a thousand times from Viserys, how the Kingslayer, Jaime Lannister, had thrust his sword through my father’s back as the usurper and his men marched on the Red Keep and claimed the great city of King’s Landing for themselves. How they ended the greatest dynasty the world had ever seen.

His words were imprinted so firmly in my memory, it was almost as if I was back in the depths of the Free Cities, hearing the tale from the tongue of the man who’d once been my brother. I remembered every inflection of spite in his tone, how he loathed the Lannisters and the Baratheons and the Starks, how he thought himself above them all because of his birthright.

And to think, how I would’ve followed my unworthy king, across the Narrow Sea, and slain those who raised a sword to him, and lived and died for him and hoped that someday he would love me for everything I had given him.

“Viserys is no dragon,” my sister had said. And he was no king, either. And maybe, someday, my blade would cross with his, and if he were to drag me before his throne and make me bow, I would answer him with fire and blood.

My heart beat viciously in my chest, and a tear crossed the cheek of my burning flesh.

“At times… I fear you more than Drogo.”

My sister’s words came to me again, in my flash of wrath, echoing in my pounding skull, and in my hollow chest threads of darkness sprouted from the shattered remnants of my heart and seemed to strangle me from the inside out. Black, they were, black as the pitch of the eyes that landed on me from across the square from a woman in red robes.

A priestess of the Lord of Light had stopped to let her gaze linger on me, pierce through me, as if she see the black tendrils around my heart, as if she could feel the fire roaring to life in my fractured soul. The dragon’s egg in my satchel weighed heavy against my shoulder, and my amulet still burned wretchedly cold against my flesh.

I blinked, eyes caught in hers, devoured by the pitch black that seemed to reach so curiously for me, before pulling my shawl tighter round my red hair and continuing downward, towards the docks.

The scent of the ocean grew stronger, the rot of seaweed left on the beach in the harsh sun that died now, slowly, along the rolling waves of the horizon, and the salt and brine that clung to the cloths of the fishmongers crinkling my nose as they brought in their last catch of the day. Kegs of ale, fish and fruit were hauled across the wooden docks, to and from the ships.

I had barely set foot on the first board when something caught the corner of my eye, the dark robes of four men who carried no trap or net nor barrel, who covered their faces but on the hilts of their swords could not disguise the unmistakable glint of Lannister gold.

My heart froze in my chest. And I paused, my fingertips running along the boiled leather of my scabbard.

There was only one reason the Lannisters would be so far from home, that in favour of muted robes they would not wear their cloaks of red and gold so proudly.

And though I loathed Viserys for what he had done to me, and though my heart still splintered from my sister’s betrayal, I could not find it within myself to make peace with the images of their blood on the assassins’ blades, of their lifeless corpses keeling over like Aerys had.

Though I had fought their battles all my life, though a smarter woman would’ve turned her head the other way, I found myself drawing my blade for my unworthy king and his perfect queen one last time.

NEXT CHAPTER

SERIES MASTERLIST / FULL MASTERLIST

Please let me know if you would like to be added/removed to any of my taglists and notified of new works!

Taglist: @emotionalcadaver @zablife @confidentandgood @shelbydelrey @punypoesy @call-sign-shark

#game of thrones fic #a song of ice and fire #game of thrones #asoiaf #fanfic #asoiaf fic #my writing #fanfiction #a song of ice and fire fic #got #got fic #series

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roseredblooms · 1 month

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Dragon of the Seas

Impending future

Rhaenyra x male!oc

Original story from Wattpad by me - Roseredblooms

***

RHAENYRA FLEW ABOVE THE CLOUDS ON SYRAX. She dived, twisted and turned, enjoying the adrenaline of riding a dragon. She dived down, flying above the great blue ocean. Syrax wings slightly touched the water.

Soaring calmly, not knowing the surprise that was to come.

Below them, Aeron was on Vaeron swimming at the speed as Syrax's flying. Soon they shot up to the sky, startling Syrax and making her roar at Vaeron. Aeron laughed as he looked behind him to see Rhaenyra shaking her head. She chased after him and Aeron made Vaeron fly faster. Rhaenyra chased him all the way back to the Red keep. Flying above buildings and avoiding high roofs.

Syrax came up behind and tapped Vaeron on the wing. Aeron bowed his head telling Rhaenyra that she and Syrax had won the chase.

They flew all the back to the dragon pit. Where Rhaenyra's personal guard and the dragon keepers were waiting. Both of them landing softly on the ground. Aeron got off of Vaeron and pet him on the snout.

Vaeron never stayed at the dragon pit since he was a wild dragon. But of course that wasn't true and Aeron knew that from his father, Corlys. Whenever Vaeron was away from him, Aeron knew that he was in the ocean and getting taken care of by the atlanteans.

They were a secret society that remained hidden from the people above the surface.

Vaeron stretched his wings, indicating that he was ready to leave. He made a few more flaps and made his way to the clouds.

"I sometimes wonder where he goes?," Rhaenyra said. She knew exactly where he was going but she loved to tease Aeron to get him to tell her out loud. "You know where he's going," Aeron said as he petted Syrax's golden scales.

They walked towards the carriage where Alicent was waiting for them.

"Welcome back, Princess" Ser Harrold Westerling said. He was Rhaenyra's personal guard. Rhaenyra smiled at him. "Try not to look so relieved, Ser Harrold," Rhaenyra teased.

"Everytime that golden beast brings you back unspoiled, saves my head from a spike," Ser Harrold said. Aeron wheezed hysterically and Rhaenyra smacked his chest. "And where do you think your going, my Lord," Ser Harrold said to Aeron.

"Uhh, to the carriage?," He said pointing over where Rhaenyra and Alicent were talking.

"Your father said to head to the council meeting, he wants you present," Ser Harrold informed him. Aeron groaned and turned to the girls. Alicent and Rhaenyra were already looking at him. "Can't go with you today, father needs me," He said with a grin.

"It's alright we don't need you anyway," Rhaenyra said with her hands on her hips. Alicent made a little giggle.

Rhaenyra looked at Alicent and smirked.

"But maybe you could give Alicent a good-bye ki-," Rhaenyra was cut off by Alicent covering her mouth. Rhaenyra laughed and Alicent quickly went inside the carriage, embarrassed.

Aeron shook his head. Rhaenyra teased the girl way to much when it came to Aeron. "Tell the Queen, I send greetings and a big warm hug!," Aeron yelled as he mounted his horse and rode off to the palace.

"I will!," Rhaenyra yelled back as she waved good-bye. She would never admit but Rhaenyra also had feelings for Aeron, ever since they were little. After finding out that Alicent also liked him, she kept those feelings to herself.

She didn't want to hurt her best friend.

Story on Wattpad

Dragon of the Seas

#hotd fanfic #rhaenyra targaryen #jason momoa #atlantean #dragonstone #male!oc #house targaryen #fantasy #westeros #essos #prequel trilogy #love story #house velaryon #follow #share #wattpad #wattpad story

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axl-ul · 1 year

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Names Meaning Tag

Thanks a lot to lovely @shellyscribbles <33

Rules: List the meanings of your OCs’ names.

I haven't created an intro post for everyone but for the sake of doing this tag properly (and also, I really enjoy researching the suitable names for my original characters and then talking for eons about them, hehe).

BTW, I will not include characters such as Wukong or Loki since 1) I haven't created them, they're based on/inspired by/alternative versions of already existing deities and folklore legends and 2) meaning of their names has already been explained or is still being speculated on (and you can research this in the libraries or on the Internet).

I'm including (open) tags right here in case somebody wants to avoid some spoilers which will be featured at the end of the post. So, here are my lovelies <33 (+ anyone who wants to join in - as I said, the tags are open^^): @toribookworm22 @dogmomwrites @faelanvance @frogqueenofmirkwood @aalinaaaaaa @aohendo @verba-writing @vanessaroades-author @emberlyric @toribookworm22 @arijensineink

I also include the animal companions and minor/side characters who play quite an important roles in short stories. Here we go:

Ulfrika - from the Old Norse 'úflr' = 'a wolf'

Márgerdra - from the Old Norse 'marr' ( 1) 'a sea', 'a ocean', 'a lake', 2) 'a horse') and 'garðr' ('enclosure', 'protection'), it was also a name of a giantess/sorceress in the saga of Hjálmþér and Olvir

Kogar - no meaning, a made up word, I went with a sound that seemed the most cool to me

Udra - from Lithuanian 'ūdra' = 'an otter'

Lešij - a name of a Slavic forest demon/entity, = 'a leshy'

Meluzína - from the Slovak 'meluzína' = 'a howling/wailing wind'

Krabat - a name of a Sorbian folk hero, there's also a novel version of Krabat where a boy of the same name becomes a disciple of a warlock and is capable of transforming into a raven

Tiru - a made up name, no meaning, though a name of a real doggo inspired it

The Merchant - well, that's it, he's literally a merchant. Or is he?

Faust - a name of an alchemist Johann Georg Faust who's (in)famous for making a deal with the Devil thus selling his soul

Ivan - a name common in Slavic languages (I've heard some people translate it as 'John' but it's not the same name, though the ethymology is quite similar => comes from the greek Ioannes)

Zmej Milošovič - zmej/zmij (English version 'zmei') is a type of a Slavic dragon/snake (or a hybrid of those two, depends on the story), Milošovič can be used either as a surname (not at all that common), but it can also be translated as 'a son of Miloš (Milosh)'

Barbora - a Slovak, Czech and Lithuanian version of Barbara, named after a witch who was said to ride a hellish dog (literal Satan) at midnight

Kmotra - from a Slovak 'kmotra' = 'godmother', a nickname for Death Ulfrika gave her when she was a child

Krcho - from a Czech word 'krchov' = 'churchyard, graveyard'

!!!SPOILER PART!!!

Ruta - Ulfrika's second/real name given to her by Kogar when he took her under his protection, from a Slovak, Czech, Lithuanian (also other languages) word for 'rue'

#name meaning tag #tag game #writeblr #writing community #writers of tumblr #writers on tumblr #writeblr community #thanks a lot for the tag and sorry for the late response #honestly i've been really bussy lately #also this was fun to make #maybe i'll make additions in the future :p #because i'm pretty tired i'll finish another tag tomorrow #gn darlings

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vdragoncatgirl · 1 year

Text

Winter’s Dragonfire

chapter 1 - king’s landing

the hound/sandor clegane x targaryen female oc

roughly follows canon timeline (tv)

From a dinasty once defeated, a child with unmistakable silver hair was born in the frosted lands of the North. Her journey east awaits with a kiss of fire.

words: 3083

notes: short chapter! introductory! hope you all like it. also posted in AO3 (link below)

Tywin Lannister looked across the strategy table, and surrounded by his guards stood a scrawny looking young woman with a distraught look on her face. She wore simple riding clothes and was looking around frantically, perhaps trying to find a way to escape. The girl seemed to be in her late teens or early twenties and her skin was white as a ghost’s. She looked ahead with big pale green eyes, and an expressive face with strong features. What stood out most, though, was her hair: it was all the way long to her hips with uneven wavy ends, but above all, it was of silver colour, and it made her look exactly like a Targaryen.

— What’s your name, girl?

She jumped at the sound of his voice and locked eyes with Tywin.

— Rhaenys Snow. — she muttered, trying to stop her voice from shaking.

— So, Rhaenys Snow, what brings a young peasant woman riding alone straight into a war camp? — he looked intently at the girl with piercing clear eyes she couldn’t bear for long. Though there were guards and other men in the tent, it felt as if it was just the two of them.

— I was trying to get to the next port to the Narrow Sea when these men captured me. I have nothing to do with this war, I just happened to ride past this camp by accident. If I can get back on my horse I will be on my way immediately. — she said hastily, barely making one word from the other.

The Lannister men all scoffed. Rhaenys was starting to panic and could barely stand still.

— Do you believe yourself to be a Targaryen, girl?

She froze, that being the worst question the man could have asked at that moment. The simplest answer was: yes. But that was no simple situation, and she had no idea of what answer she could give that would decide between a bad and a horrible fate.

— If you really believe you are one, — Tywin did not wait for a response. — you must know what that means. You are certainly aware of what, or who, lies beyond the Narrow Sea in Essos where you were headed: a silver-haired girl just like yourself. Except she has true blood and will likely join in in the war for the iron throne. Think for a time and answer: do you still think you have nothing to do with this war?

Rhaenys stood silent. He had, somehow, seen into her mind in an admirable display of deduction. Though why else would someone so similar to a Targaryen be risking their lives to ride across Westeros in the middle of a war if not to get to Essos, where lived the only known Targaryen in the world? There was no point denying her intentions now. She just wanted that moment to end.

— Are you going to kill me now? — she whispered. That seemed like the only reasonable fate after such an awful interrogation.

Tywin scoffed.

— No, girl, I will not. Now that you’ve been seen here, the dragon woman will end up hearing all about you soon. Word travels, even I can’t stop that. There is no way of knowing if you truly are a Targaryen bastard, except from your silver hair, but when this reaches Daenerys’ ears, it will be as a fact. If she finds out you’re dead, gods know what she would try to do. Targaryens have a tendency for madness after all. — he put his hands on the table and stood. — Take this girl to the next messenger riding to King's Landing. — Rhaenys’ eyes met his. — You will be kept there until you can be of use, then we’ll see about this death of yours.

Within the small circle of people who knew her, Rhaenys had been dubbed the curse of the Mad King. Unknowingly to all, she had been a product of Aemon Targaryen’s last escapade from the Night’s Watch into Mole’s Town, before old age took his sight and disposition. All the whores in the pleasure house were horrified when a baby with silver hair was delivered by one of them, and that’s when the curse took place.

The mother, being ostracised in town after the birth, asked her sisters for guidance and some agreed she should have the baby killed. A child with such resemblance to a Targaryen during the Mad King’s reign could not have been a worse omen. The mother, whose name has already been forgotten, despised the infant girl, but couldn’t find it in herself to kill such a young thing. She then begged for a cousin, who was on his way to Winterfell, to take the baby away. And so he did.

From that moment on, all over the neighbouring towns, there was a rumor among the poor folk about a Targaryen child who had been born in Mole’s Town. The lords in the area made an unknown pact to not believe or entice such nonsense but Maester Ciaran, on the other hand, was entirely sure about that baby’s existence. That is because it had made its way from Mole’s Town right into his village near Winterfell, and when the townsfolk started whispering about the child who appeared with a traveler, the maester ran to his encounter and saw the baby for himself. She was identical to a textbook Targaryen with her silver hair, and Ciaran could see most people around were afraid or despised her.

News about the horrifying conclusion of the War of the Usurper had recently reached Ciaran’s ears. As a man with strong beliefs in the Targaryen royal line and right to reign, a Targaryen loyalist as they would say, he then decided to take matters into his own hands, and told the traveler he would keep that child and care for her. The mother’s cousin didn’t hesitate in giving her away and the maester returned home with the baby. He was overjoyed. He did not believe her to be a curse, but rather a blessing of the must unlikely nature.

He named her Rhaenys, a reference to prince Rhaegar’s only daughter who had been recently killed by the Mountain in the War of the Usurper. Maester Ciaran looked after Rhaenys in a loving and caring manner, and there was no doubt he played a fatherly role to her, but that was never spoken of explicitly due to his vows. He taught her how to read and do quite a few simple treatments a maester was required to know, so she was fairly educated considering the context of their small town.

Rhaenys was commonly frowned upon by the people who lived there, but the maester constantly emphasised how she should be proud of her hair and strong features. Even though she would constantly help the villagers as the maester had taught her, they mocked her and called her a cursed child. However, that only made her interest in the Targaryens grow, and she was always eager to learn more about them from Ciaran and his books. He was also always eager to teach her more about the family’s history, as he had no doubt in his heart that his adoptive daughter, or housemaid to the public eye, was in fact born to the House of the Dragon.

Rhaenys was, although considered weird due to her appearance, a fairly normal person, though she did act a little strangely sometimes. Rejection made her take medical duties as merely that, duties, and desensitised to the most gruesome parts of life and death. Although a little self-centred, the girl was overall polite and typically friendly and talkative towards those who didn’t treat her with disdain. The people who did, though, would often see outbursts of anger and cursing as Rhaenys was above all, very short tempered. That didn’t really help her social status, but also made some grow closer to her, since she could be quite amusing with her blabbering about the things that made her laugh and the things that made her mad. Sometimes it was hard to tell if they were laughing with or at her, but she had friends of some sort nonetheless, as well as a suitor or two with whom she could have a little fun.

By the time she was 18, an ever growing tension regarding the heir to the iron throne was erupting. King Robert Baratheon had recently died, much to Rhaenys’ excitement. Robert was the person she hated the most in all seven kingdoms for having treasonously overthrown the Targaryens with such brutality. Now that he was dead, there were multiple lords everywhere wanting to claim their right to reign. At that time, when Robert’s firstborn Joffrey had just been crowned, a rumor reached the girl and the maester’s ears about a Targaryen woman living across the narrow sea who was the mother of three dragons. Rhaenys had always been mocked and called a knock-off Targaryen bastard, a curse of the Mad King that had no family. Due to that, the news about Daenerys filled her with newfound hope to finally own that and make something out of it. Upon hearing this, maester Ciaran started making plans as to how she could go about that. There was no hard proof the girl was, in fact, a Targaryen by blood except for her appearance. But if the Mother of Dragons were to see her and believe her, Rhaenys could be destined to a greatness fit for one of the few remaining Targaryens in the world. That was what her father had always dreamt and wanted for her.

For some time Ciaran and the girl schemed a journey that would take her to meet Daenerys. She would have to lay low and attract as little attention as possible. They decided she would ride south to the Vale and cross to its port, one that should be easy to access relatively unnoticed. Then, she would get in a boat that would take her to Essos, and from there she would find her way to the Khaleesi.

It was a very dangerous plan, so Rhaenys spent a couple of months preparing. Maester Ciaran gave her every instruction and provision she might need, and the girl worked hard in a neighbour’s livestock farm for a few weeks to get a feeble and old horse they had in return. Every bit of time that wasn’t spent working, it was spent preparing for the journey east. The townsfolk all ended up hearing about their plans, and some were thankful to see the cursed woman leaving the town for once. Others were cautious and concerned, so would try to dissuade Rhaenys at every chance they got to speak to her, saying things about murder, rape and war. The girl could only pretend that it didn't scare her, but maester Ciaran could see right through it. One evening in their home, he sat her down and said, with his hand on her shoulder.

— My girl. — he sighed and smiled. His dark hair, the reason behind his name, had already turned gray, and his tired face was illuminated by the fireplace. — As you know, you and I have been working hard lately on getting you to our true queen. You should be with her when she comes to conquer the seven kingdoms, I believe that with all my heart. However, we both have to have faith that she can do it alone as well. I see how afraid you are. You are right to be, and I want you to know that if you change your mind at any point, it will be just fine. I will never stop cherishing you.

— I don’t want to leave you, father. — she sobbed and held the maester tightly, tears dripping down his chains. Being alone without him around was much more frightening than any raper and war that she may expect to find. — I need you with me, I can’t do it on my own.

— Of course you do, my dear Rhaenys. You’re stronger and brighter than anyone I’ve ever met. You are strong enough to conquer the seven kingdoms if you wish. — that was a thing he always said to her when she was feeling down. She laughed through the tears and looked at his aging face. — Don’t worry about me, my sweet girl. I need to be here to care for our people. They trust us and they need us. I will do my duty as I always have, and you will do yours.

Rhaenys looked down at her apron, which was wet with a few tear droplets. She was terribly afraid of leaving, but was even more afraid of disappointing her father and herself.

— I will do it. — she wiped the tears from her cheeks. — I will meet our queen and I will return to Westeros alongside her. Then we will meet again. Right, father?

The maester kissed her at the top of her head with a sad smile.

— Of course we will, my girl.

The day of Rhaenys’ departure came shortly after. Dozens of people in town came to see her off, both those who liked her and those who didn’t. Either way, that silver haired girl was pretty popular with the townsfolk. Those who came right before she got on her horse saw her bawling her eyes out in maester Ciaran’s arms as they said goodbye. She was known to be very emotional, so no one was surprised to see her cry like that. They saw the maester grab her by the shoulders and encourage her sternly, to which she responded by wiping her face and giving him one last hug. Rhaenys got up on her old little brown horse, packed with loads of bags, and looked back at everyone watching her. Her cheeks became red to see so many people there saying goodbye to her, even if some were glad to see her leave. She felt she meant something to all of them somehow. She waved at them, finding her friends in the crowd and smiling. The girl only faced away when she could barely see any person at all in the distance.

It had been two weeks from the day she left when Rhaenys found herself being almost raped and then captured in a Lannister war camp in the Riverlands. She lost everything she had taken with her; every useful item and every last piece of coin the maester had given her from his modest hidden stash, the little amount of money that saved her from getting brutalised. She was taken to Tywin Lannister and now, she had her hands tied while she rode in the opposite direction from her journey on the way to King’s Landing. In the meantime, lord Eddard Stark was beheaded for treason, and after another fortnight of uncomfortable days riding with unknown men and sleepless nights frightened by their presence, Rhaenys finally arrived at King’s Landing. She was baffled by the scale of the city and the grandiosity of its buildings, the biggest a village girl had ever seen. It smelled foul, but she was very interested in seeing the sept of Baelor in the sky and thinking about the Targaryens who ruled in that place for so many years. Even though she was excited about the sightseeing, the Lannister soldiers put a cloak over her head and told her to lay low. She was not allowed to have a single strand of silver hair visible until they entered the Red Keep.

There, she was lifted from the horse and put on the ground, hands tied still. Rhaenys looked around the patio to see rows of knights from the Kingsguard standing there, and felt a chill crawl down her spine as she realised what had really happened to her. Before arriving, she didn’t have a clear notion of where she was going, but now she saw it for herself. The girl watched with widened eyes the knights getting into a different formation as steps approached from the hall. She lowered her head as a blonde woman with very long hair in an exquisite dress walked up to her. They removed her cloak abruptly, and she saw the woman had a weird and uncomfortable grin on her face.

— Is this the bastard my father sent? — she asked one of the soldiers who had brought Rhaenys.

— Yes, Your Grace. That’s the one claiming to be a Targaryen.

The woman standing before her was none other than Cersei Lannister, the Queen mother. Rhaenys was terrified now, and couldn’t bear to look anywhere else than her feet and raggedy boots. Her heart was racing, but she tried her best to conceal her heavy breathing by clutching her hands on her shirt.

— Look at me. — Cersei took the girl’s face in her hands and pushed her head up by her chin. She examined her hair, grabbed her face by the cheeks and looked at the girl’s eyes and every feature with the same odd expression. Then she let go harshly and Rhaenys looked straight ahead, avoiding eye contact. She hated being touched by strangers.

— Take her down to the basement room. Give her the bare minimum care, nothing else. Go. — The queen said quickly, turned her back and walked away. As she did, the knights went back to their previous formation.

A septa appeared from the hallway and grabbed the girl’s arm roughly. Walking fast, she dragged Rhaenys around the castle, court members looking at her and whispering as she passed, so she turned her face away every time. But even through the pain and humiliation, she was mesmerised by the scale of the riches of that place. After a long walk and a few flights of stairs, the septa opened the door to reveal a small room with a bed, a little fire place and a bunch of old objects laying around the floor as rubbish. It was just as the queen had described: the bare minimum, nothing else.

Rhaenys gave the septa a death stare, but she seemed unfazed. She limited herself to leaving and locking the door behind her. The girl screamed with frustration upon realising she was now completely trapped inside that awful place. Tears formed in her eyes, she picked a piece of wood from the floor, the broken leg of a chair, and tossed it out the tiny window of the chamber. For hours, the girl alternated between fits of crying and bouts of depression. At night, some maid brought her a stale soup, probably leftover of the servant’s supper, and she ate it unwillingly. Rhaenys fell asleep purely out of exhaustion.

#sandor clegane #sandor clegane fic #sandor clegane x oc #game of thrones #the hound #game of thrones the hound #game of thrones fic #game of thrones oc #romance #mywriting #angst #winter’s dragonfire

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jugoftrix · 6 months

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Here’s a bunch of art I’ve done, I have alotttt more digital and traditional art I’ve done so I may do a couple of these ^w^

Art description kinda of each

1. Silly little deer guy I made

2.a little guy inspired off of a leafy sea dragon, there a deep sea sea horse definitely look them up there really pretty!

3.Headshot of chroma a little frilled lizard fox hybrid my friend gave me a while ago I love him sm, he’s really fun to draw (if you want to see more art of him I can post it, I’ve drawn him a lot)

(Echowolf on toyhouse and twitter I think if you want to see her art/characters she is amazing at art )friend who made the character

4. A little fox looking up at the sky idk I just wanted to mess around with a fun brush, I may or may not keep them as a oc.

6.citrus and her girlfriend, both opossum orange creatures that I made (making characters is one of the thing I love most about art!)

7. A little fox guy I made he is based off of all of the gummy candys I love, shark gummy, egg gummies,peach rings and his hair is Cotten candy. His name is crispy and I love him sm!

8. Ice cream goat guy he doesn’t have a name

9.chip a cheese dip fennec fox boi. His name is chip.

10.old fursona a while ago he is based off of a fox mixed with a raven. His hair is like the cut /dye I had at the time.I also have a faux fur blue tail, and bluey ears. I made him slightly so I may be able to cosplay my fursona without having to have a fursuit I want one but there really expensive.

I did all of this art pretty recently, I’m not the best at remembering what date/point of time I made stuff.

(Also for those who want to know I’m NyancarXwX on toyhouse, I made a lot of ocs so I needed a place to put and organize them) (it’s really dumb that you need a code to make a toyhouse account, I have a few if anyone needs one.)

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mareenavee · 9 months

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From thr Asks to Spread Love game, choose 3 that you havent already been asked 🙂

Hi BRI :D Thank you for two of these open ended ones! I will most certainly oblige.

Fandom Positivity asks from this game here.

2. Tell us why you love one of your OCs or an obscure canon character (link to any fics/art you have featuring them!)

I'm just going to go on and on about

⚔️Athis ⚔️

if you'll let me.

He's not really -obscure- per se but he is relatively ignored so let me just give him some love!

So I appear to be writing the majority of Athis things at the moment. Obviously my main fic features him as a POV character. I also have a couple that I'm quite proud of actually AH.

First is Sea of Storms from a duel. A Pirate AU.

Next is Little Dragon which part of the polycule AU with Tel/Nyenna/Athis actually being happy.

Love and its Decisive Pain is an extra chapter more or less for World, featuring Athis musing and worrying over Nyenna.

Next isn't one of mine but is by @archangelsunited! Originally a tumblr post but is now on AO3. Reader/Athis!

Next one is more pirates! by @paraparadigm. Athis is a Navigator <3 So smart, so handsome, so brave. Ah.

More from @archangelsunited -- this one is a bit on the tragic side but the voicing is phenomenal.

This one is also a bit on the tragic side, by TheBrandenRose.

And artwork?

AH this piece was fanart of To Hold On to You by @changelingsandothernonsense

And this post contains, like, perhaps the most handsome Athis fanart I've ever seen by @thana-topsy.

3. One of the best takes you’ve ever seen

The-Dragonborn-Is-Dead trope but done in the phenomenal way that BetterBeMeta wrote in Foe-Tongue: A Historical Fiction.

Here's a piece of the writing that I love. It doesn't mean anything out of context but OH MY GOD DOES IT ACTUALLY MEAN EVERYING.

“Valamand,” [Wyrenna] whispered, “do you have a comb?” He said, “Yes, of course,” and gave it to her. She used it to tidy up where she still was bed-frazzled, tied her hair neatly as she walked up the stairs.

I fucking love this fic. It's my favorite in any fandom, ever in existence. @paraparadigm rec'd it to me earlier on. (: I wanna write like them when I grow up.

13. Recommend a fic (can be your own!) that features something you wish was written about more.

Okay so in this case I am just over the moon about all of the overarching pulling of lore into a fanfic that KB has achieved in such a phenomenal way. I'm talking about @kookaburra1701's fic Aristeia and ALL THE ORC CULTURE. ALL OF IT. I'm HERE FOR IT. More Orcs please, OCs, NPCs, NPCs-Become-OCs. HELL. Yes.

Here's a quote I love particularly from chapter 1 regarding some cultural things that I've been -really fast eyes- over:

“Olur tells me you bloodied your sword today.” Bagrak’s voice was even, as if she was remarking on the weather. Borgakh paused in spooning stew into the bowl before straightening up and presenting it to her mother. Bagrak did not take it. “I bloodied it for Mor Khazgur, mother,” Borgakh said, throwing her shoulders back and looking Bagrak in the eyes. “One of the Reachwomen and a briarheart tried to steal the deer I shot. Olur and I extracted our Blood Price.” “I am not sure one deer is important enough to be covered by the Code,” said Bagrak. “When their clan discovers them killed with orc weapons it will cause more trouble than one deer is worth. Now you will have another enemy to watch for when you are outside the walls.” Borgakh clenched her jaw in frustration, but kept her tone respectful. “They would have never been happy with one deer, and then they would have known Mor Khazgur was weak. What if they had wanted Kharag too? Is a good horse not covered by the Code?”

More. Orcs. Please and thank you. (:

#AskMareena #positivity asks #skyrim #skyrim fic #Aristeia #Athis #borgakh #borgakh the steel heart #tes #tesblr #fanficblr

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chattegeorgiana · 10 months

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ARASHI & KUSHINA UZUMAKI!!! ♋🎂🎉🥳 (Yes, I was waiting for the full piece to be revealed before sending a message)

This birthday piece is so BEAUTIFUL! I love it so much i can't put it into words! The new ocs look amazing as well! I think the Karin look alike with purple eyes is Karin's mother when she was young. I'm looking forward to knowing who the other two are. I've already seen the guy with the oni mask on the cover for "The ties that bind" and given what I've read in that chapter, he must have played a major role in the creation of the Dead Demon Consuming Seal. The lady behind those two though, I'm not sure but from the fact that she's in the front with the other Uzumaki's who are important to the legacy of the Uzumaki clan, I think she's going to be super important to the story as well.

Anyway let's talking about Arashi for right now. I'm super glad you got my message concerning his birthday commission, it ment so much to me. I was honestly somewhat surprised you responded but to be honest, I'm always surprised when someone answers my anonymous messages. Mostly because I don't expect them to answer most of the time. But anyways, Arashi just looks so cool and handsome! I think blue suits him perfectly! Is his long hair based on the old headcanon that Arashi would grow his hair out (on @kirabooksss-blog) and the old anon ask about him probably growing his hair out like Kushina when he's older on @askshinachiku? Because if it is, this is an amazing comeback. Personally, as a matter of preference, I prefer his short hair but the story of why is so sweet so I don't mind it at all.

You know? The staff Arashi has in his hand very much reminds me of a trident. Which is interesting because everytime I see something that looks like a trident, the first thing I think of is Poseidon who is the God of the sea (or water in general), storms, earthquakes, and horses. The storm part is what brought my attention because Arashi's name literally means "storm". I think it's fitting because the Uzumaki clan are associated with the ocean being that whirlpools form mainly in the ocean or wherever water is flowing which Poseidon has complete control over. I'm not sure about the shape it's supposed to be though. Fire? A seahorse? A crab? A dragon? A chair with Dolphins at it's sides representing the king of the ocean?? I don't know, I'm just guessing at this point, it could probably be just for design purposes but I like to read to much into things sometimes because it's satisfying. I feel as though my last guess could be it but I'm not to sure about it 😅.

I mentioned crabs before which brings me to something I want to say. Being that Arashi and Kushina's birthday lands on July 10th, their zodiac sign is cancer which it's animal symbol is a crab. I've read somewhere on the internet about the folklore that crabs are believed to embody the souls of fallen samurai in past battles. More specifically, the heikegani, which are a species of crab native to Japan, is representative of the samurais from costal battles whose souls were lost at sea. Legend held that the crabs were the reincarnations of samurai slain at the Battle of Dan-no-ura. This reminds me of the fact that Uzushiogakure was destroyed in times of war (which was a pretty huge battle if it destroyed a whole Hidden Village and majority of it's inhabitants), and large members of the Uzumaki clan went with it, only leaving a few survivors.

Cancer is said to be the house of Neptune (which is named after Poseidons roman counterpart, Neptune, and it's astronomical symbol represents Neptune's trident) and the exaltation of Jupiter (which is named after the Roman counterpart of Zeus, Jupiter, and is also the god of the sky, which storms usually occur, and thunder, which storms usually consist of), both astronomical bodies over those born under Cancer. Cancer also has a history of being in the sky as a crab was crushed under the foot of Heracles, and whose remains were placed in the sky by Hera, forming the Cancer constellation. In Roman variations of the story, it is Juno—Hera's counterpart in Roman mythology—who places the crab in the sky. Cancer is also a water sign which ties with Uzumaki clans connection with water.

I wanna say so much more but I just got off work, I'm tired and scatterbrained and I just got revealed to gods works so I need a nap 😭. But before I end this message, I gotta say you and Pumiih cooked. And when I mean you cooked you COOKED. Amazing work as always. Also, thank you for accepting my headcanon for Arashi's tigers name, very much appreciated. I also wonder if Arashi would ever meet Kaito at some point, I'm interested in them meeting. Anyway, awesome work, don't rush, take your time and rest, don't stress yourself, have a good day and I'm excited to see what Kaika has in store.

🌩️🌪️🌀🐯

Aaaaaaaaaaaaah, anon, whoever you are THANK YOU SO SO MUCH from the bottom of my heart! I'm certain @pumiih appreciates this as much as I do.

AND YES YES YES TO ALL THE THINGS YOU WROTE THERE. Omg you make me more excited about my own AU than I make myself. I LOVE IT the way you broke down all the things in this piece! Are you reading like MY MIND or something?? Of course, I got to admit, some of those things weren't intentional, but I knew they would match and since I love these kind of things I went ahead.

So, let's take it on turns...first... Karin's mother, because yes, that's Karin's mother, you guessed it right.

Her name is Izumo Uzumaki. Her name is very symbolic & related to a certain character attribute of Karin's. There's a lot I cannot unveil right now cuz it means I would spoil it BUT I have some great things thought about her. Some ties/connections that I can't wait to see how everyone will perceive. Nevertheless, I can't wait until I get to Izumo. Atm, she's only been hinted at in the story & there's a lot that Karin doesn't know and needs to find out.

So basically, as Karin will find out more and unravel about her Uzumaki ties/past, so will we. And like I said, I hope what I have in mind will keep people on the edge of their seats. Next... the guy is actually aaaaaaaaa girl, lol. She's the sealer lady, like I like to call her. I still haven't decided on her name though, that's why I'm keeping it low profile with her.

She, too, is a powerful type of sealer, since duuh, it's the Uzumaki descendance. Like you said, she has already been featured on chapter 11's cover in fanfic format. And not only that... if you have read chapter 11, you know there's a certain backstory involving Kaguya & the creation of the Dead Demon Consuming Seal. Welp, let's just say she's at the center of it. I'm honestly thinking of naming her Kaika Uzumaki because I want to make it a word's play with her mother... which is ba-da-bim-ba-da-bum...

The other lady: Ōhirume Uzumaki, the Uzumaki clan's matriarch. That is of course before Ashina's times. She is the weilder of a VERY VERY powerful clan technique. One that matches the godly powers of the likes of Otsutsuki. That's precisely when the whole Kaguya ordeal happens and Ōhirume & her daugther interfere, it creates a certain inner conflict within the clan, and the leadership changes, leading to the times when patriarchy takes over and men like Ashina get to lead, instead of the initial matriarchy that the clan has. Now onto BABY ARASHI WHO'S NOW A MAN! Look at him precious baby boy T_T (can't believe I'm this obsessed with him lol; it's like I'm watching my baby grow). And ofc I got your message! It is honestly a pleasure to talk to you about this. I've had this idea in mind waay before you wrote to me, but when you did, I was so glad you did because somehow intuitively it was like you knew what I was going to do haha. We "vibed" really well. Like I said back then, I felt guilty I didn't have anything for his birthday in the past, so I made sure this year I DON'T forget it! I wanted to do the boy justice and here we are today.

Btw, I don't usually answer messages here because most of the times I forget about Tumblr lol since it's sadly kind of a dead platform. But I do return to it from time to time like now, and I try to take my time in talking to you guys. It's just that now adulting life ya know, takes a lot of my time so I am always searching to balance everything out as best as possible.

Anyway, back to Arashi... Let's take it on turns:

Blue was meant to represent the whirlpools/sea aspect of the Uzumaki clan so ofc I had to have blue introduced in his design

The long hair was actually not inspired from there, it was a personal preference of mine given some costume inspirations i saw and the man had long hair (+ there were some details from my own heritage that i introduced in his costume hehe). BUT IS SO COOL TO SEE that other people thought about thiiiis. We, the NaruSaku fans, are truly on the same wavelength without even talking to one another, it's AMAZING T_T & still gets to me

The staff thoo... You know, I actually chose that one because it's part of certain weaponry the Japanese deity pantheon hold in their left hand (for example like the 1000 Armed Kanon that Kishi introduced in the universe). Those three forks are meant to represent the three jewels which I connected very much with the Uzumaki's past, present and future. And not just the Uzumakis, but the whole system in place for Naruto's universe. It's just that Uzumakis will be at the center of that change in the systems since they are the balance after all. SOmething I ALWAYS believed myself and Kishimoto gladly confirmed it with the last Minato One Shot. I'm sorry I can't say more but I DON'T WANT TO SPOIL ANYTHING T_T. BUT I LOOOOVE the way you're reading into this. WHO ARE YOU CUZ IT FEELS LIKE I'M LOOKING AT MY OWN MIIIIND! Lol, anyway, moving on.

OMG I didn't know about that folk tale but WOW IT FITS so well with the Uzumakis thoo and with something I plan on doing related to souls & water, GIZAZ I can't believe it! Sometimes I swear I feel as if I was meant to write this AU lololol. Like sure, it's just a silly AU play for me but to see so many things fitting when maybe I didn't even intended it to be this way it's just out of this world. AND YES, I KNOOOW, MY DAD IS A CANCER AND MY MIDHEAVEN IN ASTROLOGY IS IN CANCER!! I am OBSESSED with astrology so that's one of the reasons I wrote the Uzumakis having a matriarch in the past, because Cancers are water-element signs and it's the archetype of the mother. Mother - matriarch, ta daaa. So duuh, I said to myself it fits PERFECTLY the Uzumakis.

Anyway, I talked AAAA LOT! But if there's anything else that flows into your mind about this piece or any other, FEEL FREE TO DROP IN MY DMS ANY TIME.

I love talking with people about these things and you're just RIGHT ON SPOT with your interpretations!

Once again on behalf of @pumiih and I, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for the support, for liking our work and for taking the time to write such a beautifully intrinsically introspective message. I FEEL SO BLESSED to have people like you that follow Kaika. All I ever wished is to have people like you that see what I'm doing with this story, and luckily my wish has been granted.

You guys are the MPV's! Thank you from the bottom of my heart for existing! Catch you on the next piece of art. :D

#arashi uzumaki #uzumaki clan #kushina uzumaki #narusaku family #narusaku #kaika saisei #kaika shinsei #kaika kosei #kaika au #asdhuifhsuhsus THESE MESSAGES GIVE ME YEARS EXTRA OF LIFE

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