#games of thrones fanfiction

[justagirlwholikesadam]

Realm's Delight

Summary: You were the twin of the dark haired child Cersei had with Robert. While fever took your twin, you survived. You are known throughout the seven kingdom as the realm's delight. The years has passed and your younger brother Joffrey wants something you have. Sandor Clegane x Baratheon! Reader

A/n: Let me know if you enjoy this. Likes and comments are appreciated. Enjoy -L

Warning: NSFW, being the it girl, Joffrey being Joffrey, Robert is nice to us, manipulation at its finest, daddy's girl, princess wants princess gets, territorial!

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“It was a miracle.” Robert Baratheon, your father told you. You had survived the horrid fever that took your twin brother away. It was a secret that was kept among the Lannisters and only Robert. While Cersei was in mourning of the loss of her son, Robert’s was cut short. Cersei always resented him for that and that he gave you his undivided attention. Everyone in the Seven Kingdoms knew how Robert adored you. Some had even said that he loves you more than his own wife, Cersei and as you grew, he practically gave you whatever your heart desired. Your father wasn’t the only one to give you gifts. Fur straight from House Stark, jewels and the finest dresses from House Martell. Seafood freshly caught by House Greyjoy. The list of gifts went on and on. You were named the realm’s delight among the people. 

When Robert learned about the nickname that you have been given he feared that you will have the same fate as Lyanna Stark. Robert decided to do what was best, keep you protected at all times. Robert declared for Sandor Clegane to become your personal guard. Cersei had cried out to Robert about it. He is a monstrosity and hideous beast, she ranted. You heard of the Clegane’s brothers. Lord Baelish always been somewhat kind enough to keep you up to date about the accomplishments Ser Gregor had done along with Sandor’s. 

“A flower like you shouldn’t be guarded by such an animal.” Lord Baelish exclaimed as his wandering eyes looked up and down that you. You grabbed a hold of his hands. Lord Baelish blushed from the sudden contact. 

“I will grow to be the most beautiful flower because of that animal.” You whispered to Lord Baelish who honestly wasn’t paying attention to what you were saying. 

You were so close to him, his mind was in the gutters. Rolling your eyes when you turn away to leave Lord Baelish, you wipe your hands on your dress while walking away from him. Men, they will always think with their cock. Cersei had told you after she had too many cups of wine. Your uncle, Jamie had laughed at her and tried to take her back to her chambers before she said anything else. That’s how you used Lord Baelish to tell you about the gossip going around. A praise, batting your eyelashes at him or giving him a smile was all needed for him to tell you what you wanted to know. 

When Sandor was presented to you for the first time, you were surprised. He was the second tallest man you ever seen, his brother was the first. He had lowered his head as he entered the chambers so he wouldn’t hit the door frame. Robert had taken your hand and pulled you towards Sandor. You noticed Sandor had the most beautiful brown eyes you've ever seen. Brown, like the earth and as the light hit his eyes, they looked like honey. You got a closer look when he knelt in front of you and vowed to keep you safe. You knew about the story of his burn scars. It took you an afternoon with Lord Baelish, drinking tea to learn about it. You had taken a liking to Sandor when he became your guard. He was too silent for your liking but that meant you had to break his walls down. 

Sandor stood and waited with you outside of your mother’s chambers. She was going to give birth to her second child. Sandor had mumbled to you to keep still since you kept walking back and forth, worried every time you heard your mother’s screams. You were about to say something when the screams stopped. Joffrey was born, and he was healthy. King Robert had his heir to the iron throne. Cersei had two other children after that and your relationship with her became unsteady. Sandor would cast a look at you whenever someone mentioned to you about Joffrey’s and your siblings' golden locks as they grew. You gave them a smile and answered. “They have been blessed with the Lannister’s golden hair.”

He knew you weren’t an idiot, he ignored when people said you were and sometimes when in a bad mood he slayed them whenever they expressed their opinions about it to him loudly. All beauty but nothing in your head. He wanted to tell them how wrong they were. He had spent hours with you in the dusty library of the castle. Seen you excelled in your studies. The winning smile you gave them disappears the moment they leave your sight. 

“Something to say, my beloved Sandor?” The tips of Sandor’s ears grew hot by your affectionate words. You had a habit of calling him all sorts of names after both of you grew closer. You didn't want to admit it to Sandor but you like seeing him squirm after calling him those sweet names. 

“No, princess.” He croaked out when you gave a cheeky smile. He immediately looked down at the ground. 

“Do you think father will ever notice?” You ask Sandor and he looks back at you. You were being serious. 

Sandor shook his head, no. “Maybe if he stops drinking and catches a break from his whores, I reckon he might see it. Unfortunately I can’t say anything. As much as father loves me more, I fear I will be punished if I say it.” 

Sandor was right you weren’t the dumb princess everyone seems to think. As the time passed, Joffrey and the rest of your siblings grew; it's been nearly 16 years. You had finally managed to get out of a marriage proposal that your father mentioned to you. Sandor was waiting outside as he heard your voice behind your father’s chambers door. He couldn’t help but grin when he heard the hearty laughter from the King. 

“Thank you, father. I knew you would be able to understand. That’s why you are the most wonderful King to ever live.” Sandor heard you say before walking out. 

Sandor watched as you shut the door behind you and pointed at the staircase nearby. Sandor looked around his surroundings, making sure no one was in sight. He walked a few steps down and turned to see you walking towards him. He lets out a huff when you jump on him, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

“Seven hells.” Sandor cursed when kissed his cheek, attacking him with kisses. Sandor moved to capture your lips with his. 

“I take it. It went well.” Sandor said, pulling you close to him. You nodded with a grin. 

“Father can be very kind when he’s drunk out of his mind.” You told him as he put you down on the steps. Both of you froze at the sound of Joffrey’s voice, he was coming up the steps. Sandor immediately took a few steps away from you. 

“Oh look, it’s my dear sister.” 

“Hello, my dear brother.” You greeted Joffrey in the same sarcastic tone. The blonde stood a few steps down from you with Ser Meryn Trant behind him. 

“Dog.” Joffrey said.  “My-.” 

“You mean Sandor.” You cut Sandor off. Your harsh tone wiped the smirk off Joffrey's face. You crossed your arms over your chest. This was an ongoing thing. Joffrey would call Sandor a dog to get a rise out of you. 

“His name is Sandor. Have you forgotten?” Joffrey can’t help but smile wickedly at you. It irritated you, Joffrey grew to be more ill and filled with a horrible attitude. He was a spoiled child, that’s all you had to say about your brother. His words and remarks were vile and you wouldn’t stand for it especially when it came to Sandor or to your servants. 

“He’s a dog, my dear sister. There’s no changing that. He is The Hound.” 

“You’re a dog as well. You even act like one and yet people still call you prince.” You answered back. 

“You little-.” Meryn Trant stopped mid sentence when he saw Sandor walking down the steps to get next to you. 

“Finish what you were saying. I fucking dare you.” Sandor threatens Meryn Trant and gives him a cold stare down. Sandor’s reputation grew as the years passed. Killer, monster, perhaps even worse than his brother, the names and the fear of fighting against him grew. They all knew no one is safe when he’s protecting you. 

“You are so kind to the people below us.” Joffrey said, making your eyes roll. You wished for the day when Joffrey realized that he is a bastard. It was called a rumor but you knew the truth. Cersei has always been a bit sloppy when she was drunk. You had seen your mother and your uncle, Jamie getting cozy. 

“I will be so heartbroken when you finally leave King’s Landing and join those filthy people from Drone.” You smile at your brother. Plans have been changed. 

“I’m surprised that you know about my marriage proposal with Drone.” You said knowing him and your mother had conspired this marriage proposal. 

“Let me be the one to deliver this good news to you, dear brother.” Joffrey frowned as you approached him closer. 

“There is no need to be heartbroken, for I am staying. There is no proposal.” Joffrey's blonde brows rose up and his shocked expression turned into an angry one. 

“It must be hard not being father’s favorite.”  You whispered. 

This dispute, the rivalry between you and brother began when he was able to see how Robert favored you more. He reached out for Robert but Robert was busy being King or being drunk. Joffrey was always envious of you, you had your father wrapped around your finger along with the entire realm while you got cheered and praised. He got concerned looks from the people of King's Landing. 

“Shall we go, Sandor? Agatha said she was preparing chicken for prandium.” You looked over at Sandor who nodded at you. 

“Yes, princess.” Passing by Joffrey, you ignored the look from Mery Trant. Sandor bowed his head to Joffrey and followed you. You can hear Sandor’s heavy footsteps behind you as you continue to hold your front. You wouldn’t let Joffrey know that his little plan to get rid of you didn’t work. Thanks to Lord Baelish and Lord Varys who gave you a heads up about it again, this wasn’t the first time. Joffrey wanted to get rid of you again and now he had even gotten your mother to play along. 

Night came and you welcomed the warmth Sandor provided you. Even though the weather of King’s Landing was already warm you still preferred the heat from Sandor’s body. 

“I heard something.” Sandor spoke after a moment of silence. You played with the soft hair on his chest while you laid your head on his arm, his arms tightening around you. 

“Speak, Sandor.” You softly said, growing anxious every passing second. 

“The servants overheard Joffrey asking Cersei about taking me as his own guard.” You raised your head off his arm and looked down at him. 

“What?” 

“He wants me as his guard.” Sandor answered you. You shook your head. 

“That little cunt.” You whispered under your breath and you realized Sandor wasn’t even looking at you. He kept staring up at the ceiling of your chambers. His eyes had become dull and his face was emotionless. Pushing the sheets off your body, you moved to sit in his lap. Paying no attention to the soreness between your legs, you felt him hold on to your legs as you cupped his face with both hands. 

“He won’t take you away from me.” Sandor let out a strain chuckle.

He knew what he had with you won’t last. He had made a promise to himself when he first met you. He wouldn't fall in love with you but he broke it. He was utterly in love with you after being your guard for many years. He had convinced himself in the beginning of your relationship that you guys can be together but reality was hitting him straight in the face, you were a princess and he was just a second born son. You would be married to someone else, someone better. You would leave him. 

“I swear it.”  

“Might be for the best if I do switch. It will be for the best.” Sandor said, making you frown. 

“I don’t think I’ll be able to watch you marry some lord or a king and give him kids.” Sandor traced the skin of your legs as he spoke. 

“Your father won’t decline the next marriage proposal. He did it for the last two but not the third one. He won’t, I know it. The realm wants to see you married and have children. If I keep guarding you and you get married, I’ll kill your husband.” Sandor said sincerely. You dropped your hands from his face and brought it down to his chest. 

“Do you love me?” You asked. 

Sandor’s jaw clenched and his eyes grew hard. “Yes or no?” 

“You know I do. I have killed for you.” Sandor responded with no remorse. He had spilled blood for you and had lost count on how many people he killed to protect you and your honor.  

“If you love me then never say those words again. Promise me?! Promise me that you won’t say that it’s best.”

Sandor said your name softly but you yelled at him. “Swear it to me! Please.” 

Sandor nodded, raising his hand up to cup your cheek when he saw you on the verge of tears. He couldn’t bear seeing you cry. You grabbed on to his wrist, kissing his palm. 

“I promise. I swear it.” He told you. You leaned down to kiss him. Enjoying the tender moment with him, there were a few times when Sandor showed his soft side with you. It was mostly in bed, both of you would be wrapped around each other and sometimes the aftermath of many orgasms. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” He told you and you began to kiss him harder moving your hips, your cunt humping against his cock. Whining loudly when you felt him pull you to his chest and wrap an arm around you. His free hand touches your bare ass. Sandor takes a deep breath as he feels how warm and wet you are. 

“I won't let Joffrey take you away from me. I have a plan.” 

Sandor’s hand freezes on your ass and looks down at you. 

“A plan?” You nodded as you pressed a kiss on his chest. 

“Yes. You’re mine, Sandor. No one is going to take you away from me.” Your words were like a shot of adrenaline to him. He gripped your ass harder, he wanted to believe you.

He didn't want to ruin this moment with a fight. He wanted to remember this night with you incase this would be the last night he gets to spent with you. Naked and curled up together. He wanted to enjoy it, so he moved to his side, taking you with him. Facing each other now, Sandor drapes your leg over his waist, your right arm under his head while his arm goes under you. In a thirst position, he can hold you close to him. You bump his nose softly and kiss his scared cheek.  He gripped your waist pulling you closer to him.

You shut your eyes and moan when his thick fingers touch your slit. Gather the reminiscence of your cum and his dripping from your hole and rub it on along the swollen lips of your cunt. The tip of his fingers gliding over your clit making you cry out, your cunt was sensitive from earlier. Your toes curled up and legs tensed up when you felt his finger inside of you. 

“Fuck.” He groans as he holds you close to him. Moaning his name as you felt him finger you for a moment. He shifted and moved your legs higher so he had room. 

“Sandor.” You cry out his name as he slips inside of you. You held on to his arms as he gripped your waist while pumping into you. 

His face hidden between your neck and shoulder, you can feel his hand on your back, nails digging into your skin. You held on for dear life as you heard him growl against your skin. 

“I’ll kill him, Y/n.” He moans to you as he fucks you, his cock sliding in and out of your cunt. His thrust was growing faster and harsher. The thought of you married with some prince made him angry. Even if people didn't know, you were his and he would keep it that way.

“You hear me?” He said with a moan. He moves his face towards you. You nod at him letting out a pitched whine when he hits that sweet spot. 

“You belong with me. You’re mine.” You kissed him trying to mask your moans but nothing in the world would mask the squelching sound of your pussy being fucked. 

Sandor held on to you as he moved his hips back and forward. He feels his balls tighten when he feels you cum on him, you’re trembling, skin slick with sweat. Sandor is grunting as he manhandles you. Your hands are on him, touching him, you can feel the muscles and his scars from his battles on his back and his arms. 

Sandor cries your name and you shut your eyes as he presses his hips against you, slamming his cock deep inside of you. His hand on your hips goes down your ass, cups your cheek. He squeezes it as he cums deep inside of you. You whimper feeling stuff, your pussy keeps clenching and unclenching around him. He shifts his hips and you moan at the feeling of your clit being ticked by his pubic hair.

You feel his lips on your cheek, pressing soft kisses as he huffs out of breath. 

“Sandor.” You whispered as you nuzzled against his face. You didn’t mind the feeling of the scars against your face, you kept close to him enjoying the aftermath of your orgasm. 

You didn’t want this to end, you wouldn’t allow it. Sandor was yours first, Sandor belongs to you just as much you belong to him. You weren’t going to give him up without a fight. 

Morning came and you were woken by your ladies in waiting. The flock of ladies knocked and waited for you outside to respond. You rose up, finding yourself alone. You wrapped yourself in a blanket and invited them inside. One by one they walked inside, picking up the sheets from the floor, one went to your closet to get your clothes for the day and one opened the doors to the balcony. 

“Here, my princess.” The eldest came by you after you covered yourself with your robe. You thanked her for the tea and waited patiently while one warmed your bath water.

One of the ladies was brushing your hair after your bath. They stopped when there was a knock on the door, opening the door. Sandor came walking in, he had a concerning look on his face. 

“Good morrow, princess. The king demands your presence in his chambers at once.” 

You walked to your father’s chambers with Sandor behind you. He sensed how nervous you were. Before going around the hall, you felt Sandor grab your arm. He gently pulled you back. You were pushed softly against the wall. Sandor stood in front of you, towers over you as he looked down at you. 

“Worried?” You whispered to him. You feel one of his hands cup your face. 

Sandor doesn’t reply, he simply presses his lips against yours. “Go on.” He tells you and steps away from you. 

Sandor has a habit of never expressing his feelings out loud. Sandor followed you quietly. He wasn’t worried at all, he was scared and he hasn’t felt this way since he was a child when Gregor disfigured him. 

You walked down the hall and came to a halt when you saw Ser Meryn Trant standing outside of your father’s chamber. It meant that Joffrey was inside. You felt bile rise up. Clearing your throat, you took a deep breath to calm your nervousness. 

Meryn Trant saw you and opened your father’s chamber door for you. You looked over your shoulder and gave Sandor a look of nervousness. You took one last look of his brown eyes. It calms you for a moment and you’re able to walk inside your father’s chamber. You noticed Joffrey sitting down along with your mother while your father sat behind his desk. The door shut behind you as you walked towards your father. 

“Mother. Brother.” You greeted them and walked next to your father. You leaned down to kiss one of his pudgy cheeks. Robert gave you a smile and greeted you. You can smell the wine coming off your father.

“Sit, we have been waiting. Joffrey and your mother wish to discuss something with us.” 

You sat on the empty seat next to your mother. “Joffrey has told me that he would like Sandor as his personal guard.” Your mother said. 

So this was about Sandor. “What's wrong with Ser Meryn Trant?” You asked Joffrey. 

Joffrey wasn't expecting for you to say something. He thought you would obey instantly. You stare at Joffrey, you weren't going to let Sandor slip away from you. You were going to fight for him. 

Joffrey looked over at his father who was also staring at him. “Well, since Y/n is going off in Dorne. I want Sandor.” 

“I'm not going to Dorne. I told you.” Joffrey clenched his jaw. 

“You had refused your last marriage proposal. Father, are you going to accept this?” Joffrey asked Robert. 

“She isn't going to Dorne.” Robert said, making Cersei sit up. “Why not?” She asked him. 

“You dare to question me, woman.” Robert eyed Cersei. 

“Our daughter has not been wed, people will talk.” 

“You think I care what people say about her. She is my daughter. My word is law and final. She won't be shipped to Dorne.” 

You dislike how sometimes your father would speak to your mother. Robert was a down right misogynist but when it came to you he was different. You knew it had to do with Lyanna Stark, everyone told you how there was a resemblance between you and her. It was confirmed when Ned Stark and his family came to King's Landing to celebrate your name day. Ned couldn't take his eyes off of you and had even stuttered his sister's name after drinking with your father. 

You felt bad for Ned after so many years the death of his sister still had a hold over him just like Robert. He had begged forgiveness to you the next day. “Nonsense. No need to forgive, Lord Stark.” 

“He’s a good man.” Sandor told you after Ned left. You had finished a walk with Ned in the garden after you told him if it would be alright to share some stories about Lyanna. He gave you a smile and accepted. You learned a lot about her and intend to use this information. 

“He is.” You replied to him. 

“It will get him killed one of these days.” Sandor’s words made you sad. You didn't want to see the Lord of Winterfell dead. Unlike Joffrey and your mother, you enjoy their presence and have grown fond of his wife, Catelyn. 

“Our daughter should have been married and had babies by now. We can use her as an advantage, a leverage.” Cersei stood up from her seat and walked to the corner of the room where the cart of wines and cups were at. 

“I believe it has to be that atrocious dog always behind her. His face scares off any suitors. She will be married soon and doesn’t need him anymore.” 

“He protects me, mother.” You said folding your hands on your lap. Cersei looked over her shoulder at you. You looked over at your father because at the end of the day, he has the last day. 

“Father, remember the riot. Those men would have killed me. Sandor was there and killed them all. He killed those men.” Robert nodded remembering all too well about that horrible riot that broke out.  

You stood up from your seat and walked towards the desk. You kneel down near your father ignoring the tsk sound from Joffrey. You decided if Joffrey and your mother wanted to play dirty. So will you. 

“I do not wish the same fate as the lovely Lyanna Stark. May she be at peace.” Your father’s eyes shifted at the mention of Lyanna.

“I know. I have refused two marriage proposals now but I must tell you the truth, Sandor didn’t trust them. He had seen him, heard them speak ill behind my back.” You knew the words you were about to say will be a low blow to your mother and it will create a shift between you two but you had to do it. You didn’t want Joffrey to have Sandor. Sandor Clegane is yours. 

“You might think this is ridiculous, father.” You grabbed your father’s hand. 

“I want to be loved. The type of love you and Lyanna shared. Ned told me stories about your love with her and it warmed my heart. I crave for that love you both shared.” You flinched at the sound of Cersei throwing her cup of wine to the ground and walked out of the room. No one said anything for a moment. You just watched as the red wine from Drone stained the carpeted rug. This was your chance, your moment to seal it. Joffrey won’t take Sandor away from you. 

Sandor stood straight up when he saw the queen running out of the room. The door was opened and he looked ahead. He saw you kneeling by your father, looking up at him. 

“Don't take Sandor away from me. Don't let me have the same fate as the woman you loved.” 

Robert smiled down at you and cupped your face. “No need to worry. Clegane will stay by your side.” 

Robert looks towards Joffrey. “Stay with Ser Mery Trant. If you wish for a more depraved guard. Perhaps we can ask The Mountain to fill in.” Joffrey quickly shook his head. He sent a glare at you before standing up and walking out of the room. Sandor moved away from the door when he saw Joffrey with a pout on his face. Ser Mery Trant followed the prince. 

Sandor looked back at the doorway. Robert had helped you get up on your feet and gave you a hug. Sandor gave you a small smile when he saw you staring back at him with your own smile as you hugged your father. It worked. 

Sandor knew he would have to beg forgiveness for not believing in you. Your plan worked. Shame on him for ever doubting you, Princess Y/n Baratheon, the realm's delight. 

Chapter 2 ->

#sandor clegane #sandor clegane x reader #sandor clegane fanfic #games of thrones x reader #games of thrones fanfiction #rorymccann #sandor clegane smut #sandor the hound clegane #prince joffrey #robert baratheon #reader baratheon

[softsan]

Eyes On Fire. (Pt. 1)

PAIRING: Aemond Targaryen & Fem!Reader

CHAPTERS: | 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 |

WORD COUNT: 3146

GENRE: Alternatively Universes/Canon Divergence, Alternative Ending, The Greens Win, Loosely based on the books/show, Made up House,

DESCRIPTION: After the Greens win the Dance of The Dragons, you a left alone navigating the dangers and woes of Kings Landing. You were one of the last survivors of House Vermillion with the expectation to restore your House to its former glory. Pressured to find yourself a husband, you unintentionally catch the eye of the dangerously, one-eye kingslayer—how will you ever survive amidst those who kill, those who take, and those who wish to eat you alive? Can also be read on AO3 here.

WARNINGS: Bodily Injury, Death, Graphic violence, Suspicion, Attempted murder, Murder, Poisoning, Possessive themes, Aemond in general

OPTIONAL PLAYLIST: Royalty by Egzod & Maestro Chives, Middle of the Night by Joel Sunny (cover), Down (feat. Trella) by Simon

You’d do your duty as always. No matter the circumstance, no matter how the tides changed. You were the dutiful daughter of House Vermillion, the red hibiscus—petals bright and blushing, with the palest of white throats. Venom, Bane, and Frenzy were your House words. Not the most eloquent of sentences but it summed up the ferocity of your House. Small in stature and territory, but always an admirable opponent.

You bowed graciously, your beautifully hand-threaded skirt brushing the tiles of the Red Keep. You proudly displayed your house colors, the orangey-red, and a white-like silver complementing your most distinguished trait—your eyes. You and all Vermillion children possessed a pair of crimson eyes. Eyes that unnerved everyone outside of your House for how otherworldly they appeared to be.

You kept your breath steady, your sight grounded to the Lord’s feet as he inspected the ladies one by one. You had been brought to Kings Landing as a hostage during the war. Locked in a degree of comfort on the uppermost floors of the dungeons. Your father, uncles, and cousins had answered the call of the Blacks to fight the Great war they now quipped as the Dance of Dragons. They had fought fiercely to their bitter ends, leaving no male heir to House Vermillion’s Island Throne.

The Greens came out of the war victorious and overnight you unexpectedly found yourself, head of your House, a position you had never foreseen for yourself. You were to represent House Vermillion during the ceremony where all the great Houses were to re-pledge their loyalties to the crown—or face the abolishment of your House altogether.

The woman beside you nervously played with the hem of her sleeve, the bottom fraying at the edges. You like most of the other ladies lined up were not keen to be chosen. After all, but days ago you were all daughters of traitors, and despite the fact that King Aegon had pardoned your Houses, the stink of your House’s past treacheries remained.

You doubted anyone lined up here would be treated kindly. Especially if you were assigned the task of serving under the Targaryen family.

“You in the gown in redden silk,” The Lord called.

You offered a smile of puffery, lifting your gaze to meet his stony face.

“You will be serving under Princess Jaehaera,”

You curtsied in response, “It will be my honor to faithfully serve under House Targaryen.”

Princess Jaehaera was a girl of one and ten, described as sweet and simple. The maids had advised you she’d be painless to handle, quiet with few words to offer. But it wasn’t Jaehaera that gave you worry it was her Queen mother Helena and by extension to the Dowager Queen Alicent. Princess Jaehaera wouldn’t know your family’s standing, nor would she know their past treacheries but her mother and grandmother would.

“Let us break fast,” You swept the curtains of Jaehaera’s chambers open, a beautiful morning light flooding the room.

Jaehaera gave a soft grumble, stirring slowly awake.

“Come on now,” You encourage, searching for the hairbrush you remembered you’d placed by her vanity the night prior, “Your Queen mother expects you to be dressed and fed before your lessons.”

The Dowager Queen Alicent had specifically brought in Artisans that specialized in embroidery from Dorne. She wanted her only granddaughter to fashion a handkerchief to gift to her unknown betrothed, which was to be revealed during the Targaryen’s first hosted ball since the war had ended.

Princess Jaehaera slid her back off her mattress, her silver hair knotted at its ends. You knelt down, the ivory brush in one hand whilst you used the other to tuck away the silver strands that obscured her face.

“I’m terrible with the needle,” Jaehaera quietly confessed to you.

You hummed, aware of so. You could read from Jaehaera’s body language that she found her embroidery lessons to be a painstaking bore.

“It’s not a bad skill to possess,” You brushed the last off her knots, reaching for some red ribbon to decorate her hair.

Jaehaera’s face remained glum.

“How about after your lessons I’ll take you to visit the gardens,” You began to braid, weaving the red ribbon throughout, “We can search for some of those jewel-colored Beatles,” You whispered, knowing exactly how to entice the young girl.

“Truly?” Jaehaera’s eyes lit up.

“Yes, but first you must wash” You stood straight, “Servants!” You instructed, “Fetch a pail of the Princess.“

A flurry of servants heeded your request. You stopped one whilst heading towards the door “Dress her something green,” You kept your voice low, motioning towards the vibrant green gown you’d acquired along with the oval-cut emerald necklace that was draped over one the chests beside her vanity.

You had hoped your efforts would be appreciated by the Hightowers. It was your duty to do all you could to keep House Vermillion alive, even if it meant denouncing your father and uncle for their support of The Blacks. House Vermillion was in a fragile state, your wealth had dramatically declined, your remaining lands were at risk of being swallowed up by the crown and your people were restless with you as their head of house.

The servant nodded, “I’ll have someone escort her to the dining hall.”

“Make sure you don’t keep her majesty waiting.” You made your exit.

Your Aunt who had stepped in as regent during your absence and had advised you by raven to marry quickly. Your House needed alliances, it needed new wealth, and most importantly it needed heirs… But finding a husband that suited you was easier said than done.

“Lady Y/N is it?” A voice startled you.

You paused your velvet slippers, turning aback. Ser Cristion Cole approached, his armor glimmering in the light that filtered through the corridors. He was undeniably handsome, his white cloak immaculate without a stain of dirt.

You had heard whispers Ser Cole had once fancied the Princess Rhaenyra and had asked her to forget her crown, run away and marry him instead. Her refusal sent him on a downward spiral of retaliation and revenge. You examined his face, finding the rumors hard to believe. He had been re-instated as Dowager Queen’s Alicent’s sworn shield, having been removed from the hand of the king.

“Indeed, I am,” You’d tread carefully, politely lifting your skirts as you bowed. If what they had said was indeed true, he was not a man you wanted to familiarize yourself with, “Do excuse my rudeness Ser Cole the preparations in the dining hall have yet to be attended to, and do not wish to keep her majesty waiting.”

You passed him with haste, noting a glimpse of a shadowy figure lurking in the depths of your peripheral vision. Was it the hair of sliver you saw? Eye if violet?

You shook your head, you must have been growing paranoid.

You came forth with a plate with Princess Jaehaera’s favorite honey cakes. You held back the long sleeve of your sage green dress, placing the plate down on the cloth that covered the table.

You had assembled cakes, the likes of Honey, Blackberry, Oat, and Cream. You had chosen the cakes according to the Targaryen’s preferences. Jaehaera adored the taste of honey, Jaehaerys had a liking for Blackberries, their mother Helena preferred the lesser sweet option of Oat, while Maelor was still a toddler and would happily enjoy the taste of cream. You, however, hadn’t counted for the presence of another, certainly not the king’s brother—Prince Aemond ‘One-Eye’ Targaryen.

You kept your expression neutral. Prior you had only seen the formidable Prince from afar. He had a head of long silver locks that draped downs his shoulders, his face was unearthly, striking, and sharp, it was as if the gods had carved him out of stone itself. His sinister violet pupil was trained on your every move. Your cheeks unintentionally flushed; you suddenly felt naked under his heated gaze.

The subtle bodily reaction his look had given you brought him satisfaction. Amused, he awaited until you passed his spot at the table. He then, caught the long sleeve off your silken gown, his thumb brushing the red and black hibiscus threaded into your dress. The flower was embroidered in his house colors, not yours.

“You bring cakes for everyone but none for myself?” There was a hint of something in his voice you couldn’t quite decipher.

You offered your dearest apologizes, “Had I known your grace to be attending, I would have surely supplied some for you,”

Aemond tilted his head, “Some of what?” He challenged, pointing to the likes of the blackberry and honey cakes.

You bit the inside of your cheek. You hadn’t been around Prince Aemond enough to observe his preferences. How could you possibly surmise which cake he craved, what excited his taste?

“Which cake would you bring to me?” He pressed, ignoring when his sister Helena tried to provide you with a change of conversation.

“A Winter Cake,” You finally answered, it wasn’t a type of cake baked in Westeros. It was local to the Norvos, one of the Free Cities Eastward. You thought it safe to pick since it was unlikely Prince Aemond could deny disliking a cake he had never tasted.

You waited for his dismissal, unprepared for the grin that arose on his features.

“Then I demand a Winter Cake from you the next time we meet.”

Your hands were stained with charcoal, your back leaned against a tree. You had been subconsciously tracing the outline of Prince Aermond’s face on your piece of parchment. His face was truly unlike anything other you’d seen before. His angular jaw, his pink lips, and even the pronounced scar that crossed beneath his eyepatch had a beauty of its own. They had said Targaryens were closer to gods than men and judging by their looks than perhaps that was to be true.

Aemond was bold, wilful, and hot-tempered. He was a fierce swordsman and known to be unforgiving. It was best you stayed away from him. After all, you needed to focus. You needed to paint yourself as a dutiful lady, favored by the crown enough to entice a husband that would marry you and save your House. Prince Aemond with his unnerving stare…Your finger absently grazing the eye you drew— you feared, he would bring you nothing but trouble.  

The sun had begun to make its descent down to the Earth, a cold chill running through the air. Your body shivered, lifting your cloak closer to your breast, “The hour is late we should retire to our chambers Princess,” You called to Jaehaera, who had been carrying an unfastened jar of insects.

“A little longer,” She pled, her eyes spotting a spotted moth flying past.

"Only a little,” You Affirmed, “Otherwise, you are bound to catch a cold.”

Clinking could be heard in the background, the sound of metal hitting against metal. You raised your head higher spying Prince Jaehaerys sparring with a knight. You found it odd, they were practicing in the gardens rather than in the courtyards. You narrowed your eyes, Prince Jaehaerys usually trained with the same handful of knights. This knight, however, was different. You studied his armor, the small indented crest welded into the iron.

“House Lansdale,” You quietly bespoke to yourself, “ Harold, Nephew of Ser Loreth Lansdale,”

Your face hardened, the chill you felt now was a lot stronger. Ser Loreth Lansdale had been apart of Rhaenyra’s Queensguard, faithful until his death in her defense. House Lansdale had sworn their allegiance to The Blacks and refused to honor the new order under king Aegon. Your brow furrowed, this would not end well.

Aemond Targaryen had felt the wear of court life. The fatigue of listening to Lord after Lord whine, protest, and complain about their little matters and self-serving affairs. He much prefer the time of war, at least then he could ride daily on dragon back and burn down cities as he pleased.

His now existence was monotone, void of color. He yearned for something or someone that lit his fire, that could spike his interest. He’d had thought he’d have to wait until the ball in a month’s time so he could have some fun. Yet, this time to his benefit he was mistaken.

Aemond leant over the low-hanging balcony that stared over the gardens, his elbow resting upon the stone fixture while his hand lay in his palm. The cool wind blew his sliver locks ahead while his predatory gaze fixated on you.

You appeared to be the perfect lady, kind, and well-mannered. You knew how to entertain his niece Jaehaera and charm his Queen Sister Helena. You went out of your way to garner favor from his House by spoiling Jaehaera with gifts, honoring his mother’s Hightower colors, and even embroidering Targaryen-colored hibiscus’ on the sleeves of your dresses. He admired your commitment, but what he admired, even more, was how you studied and used those around you to further your cause.

It was unquestionable that you were trying to rebuild your house. Put in a good word when you could for your Aunt, appeal to the other Lord’s sensibilities to send food and livestock to the small island House Vermillion called home. You were tactful, underneath your sweet façade.  

He watched you place down the roll of parchment, carelessly wiping your charcoal-stained hands on your skirts. You ushered Princess Jaehaera to run off to greet Lady Barom who would most likely be by the pond, dismissing the Princess’ protest, letting her know that you’d be with her in a moment.

It wasn’t until Princess Jaehaera was out of site, did you turn your focus onto his nephew who was sparring with a knight. You lurked behind a tree, using it as cover as you observed the two of them.

Aemond was beyond engrossed with the scene at hand, silently scaling down the balcony until his feet met a fresh patch of grass. He felt his sheathed Valyrian steel sword against his hip, his hand naturally finding its place upon its handle.

Aemond strayed closer, as did you. It wasn’t until he was only a few paces away did he notice he didn’t recognize the knight sparring with his nephew. In fact, his nephew shouldn’t have been sparring in the gardens altogether. Aemond’s hold on his handle tightened.

You surveyed the knight and Prince Jaehaerys just as closely. Prince Jaehaerys had been innocently smiling as he twirled, leaving an opening where his back faced the knight. The knight immediately took advantage resting the sword against Prince Jaehaerys neck. Prince Jaehaerys dropped his sword in defeat, expecting the knight to lower his too but he didn’t. Ser Harold Lansdale continued to press the blade against the young boy’s neck, scoring blood.

“Ser Harold Lansdale!” You exclaimed emerging from behind a tree, this distraction was enough to get Ser Harold Lansdale to release the pressure he was placing upon the Prince’s throat.

You used your palm to knock away the sword, quickly weaseling Prince Jaehaerys out of the way.

“You shouldn’t be so rough on such a young boy,” Pretending you were ignorant of Ser Harold Lansdale’s true intentions.

You briefly bent to peer closer at the slice the knight had inflicted on the Prince. Luckily it appeared to only have cut the surface of the skin.

“Come now Prince Jaehaerys, head inside and I’ll call for maester to clean your wound up.” Prince Jaehaerys blinked back and forth before wordlessly nodding. He followed the trees, running up the steps and out of sight.

Ser Harold Lansdale’s nostrils flared, his cheeks purple, “You protect a Hightower Prince,” He spat with venom, “Your father was loyal to the Blacks, and you repay him so.”

“He is Targaryen Prince,” You corrected, “And Ser Harold Lansdale you cannot go around slaying children.”

“They are children of my enemies,” He raised his voice, “Your enemies too.”

“Children don’t fight their father’s wars,” You dropped your usual niceties, “The war is over Ser Harold Lansdale, I advise you to restrain your anger and adapt to your circumstances.”

Your last comment seemed to set Ser Harold Lansdale off, his arms arching as he heaved his sword back into the air.

Aemond unsheathed his sword at lightning speed and was about to come barreling forward when he saw you skid back with ease, the knight’s sword landing nowhere near you. You kicked your feet off the ground, dodging his next blow. You then used your palm to hit the inside of his elbow forcing him to drop his sword. Before he had gotten the chance to bend down and retrieve it, you kicked his ankles so he lost his footing altogether. Ser Harold Lansdale tumbled, a blade you had hidden in the depth of your sleeve sliding into your grasp. You rested it against the base of this throat just as he had done so to Prince Jaehaerys, cutting the first layer of skin.

“You seem to forget yourself,” Your voice bone-chillingly cold, “I am of House Vermillion. We are not known to be easy prey.”

Aemond watched in awe, a smirk widening on his lips. He was right during his first assessment of you… you were a lot of fun.

“Kill me,” Ser Harold Lansdale demanded.

You tsked, shaking your head. The humiliation of being brought down by women may have been too much for Harold Lansdale to handle.

“And be tied to your death? That wouldn’t be too smart for my image now would it.” You pressed harder onto the blade, “I won’t kill you now,”

Aemond pouted slightly disappointed, it would have been appealing to see you kill him.

“Venom, Bane, and Frenzy” You directed into his ear, your voice awfully menacing, “The poison in this blade will kill you.”

Aemond’s smile returned.

“In approximately—” You pretended to think for a moment, “Four days I’ll say. Well, unless I give you an antidote of course.”

“Antidote?” Ser Harold Lansdale grunted.

You released your dagger, “In the next couple of days if you formally apologize to me, I’ll give you the antidote.”

“You want an apology?” Ser Harold Lansdale barked.

“A financial apology would be most welcomed. I’m thinking two thousand coins, or maybe three thousand would be more suitable.”

“You bitch!”

You ignored his further vulgarity, his cusses repetitive and unoriginal.

“Remember, you have but four days.” You hid the blade back in the sleeve of your dress, turning to walk up the stairs to find Prince Jaehaerys.

Once you were gone, Aemond stepped out from the shadows. Ser Harold Lansdale who had struggled to lift his weight on his injured ankle, froze his eyes widening with a newfound horror.

“I’d say you have less than four days,” Aemond lifted his sword, slicing it clean through.

MONICA’S NOTE: Hello! Thanks for reading my first instalment. I’ve decided to repost this again as it isn’t showing up in any tags and tumblr support is not being helpful at all. I hoping this issues with tags is resolved soon. 

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #house of the dragon fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen scenarios #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond fanfic #aemond fanfiction #games of thrones #games of thrones fanfiction #house of the dragon aesthetic #aemond

[lunagb]

A Plague of Sleet and Rot (ASoIaF x The Walking Dead fanfic)

BOOK 2 - A Road of Snow and Grime

CHAPTER 5: Confession

Masterlist

Relationships: Daryl Dixon x Carol, Rick Grimes x Lori Grimes, Carl Grimes & Sophia, and basically a friendship tag with Jon Snow & Everyone else [except Shane].

Summary: A month has passed since Jon Snow awakened on a highway outside of Atlanta and joined Rick Grimes and his fellow survivors. His memories of his death have returned and our alien world is beginning to make a bit of sense. Ever since the loss of the CDC, surviving in the apocalypse has been a daily struggle. The group is on thin ice. Supplies are dwindling. Hope is fading. The dead are walking. And their only chance for life may be a run-down farm, an old man and his daughters.

Chapter Summary: Jon is left to pick up the pieces after dealing with the barn walkers.

Time Frame: Farm Arc - TV Variant Adjacent

Featured Characters: Jon Snow, Ghost, Mormont's Raven, Rick Grimes, Carl Grimes, Lori Grimes, Daryl Dixon, Carol, Sophia, Dale, Glenn Rhee, Andrea, T-Dog, Edwin Jenner, Shane Walsh, Beth Greene, Maggie Greene, Hershel Greene, Randall Culver, Original members of the Culver Family

Warnings: gore, vivid descriptions of dead bodies, child mutilation, graphic violence, death, murder, active combat, descriptions of armed warfare

[Art above is a piece by Art.of.Azrael. You can support them here: https://linktr.ee/Art.of.Azrael ]

Any notes are appreciated!

Dusk settled over the farm, all pinks and reds. Sixteen graves lined the base of the barn’s hill, fourteen filled and marked, two open and empty. Fourteen crosses marked the filled graves, casting long shadows upon the hill. Fourteen long, reaching black fingers upon a field of pink and red grass. From afar, Jon watched Dale and T-Dog lower a corpse into the fifteenth grave. Careful, as if the corpse was pottery and glass rather than flesh and bones. Once, to hear Hershel tell it, the corpse had been Alex Culver, a friend of Beth’s, always smiling, always joking. Hershel’s voice travelled with the wind, drifting across the farm.

“May you forgive whatever sins he committed through human weakness and in your goodness, grant him eternal rest.” Hershel snapped shut a little book and bowed his head.

At the foot of the grave, Beth buried her face into Maggie’s chest. Her shoulder’s heaved and shook. A great tremble shot through her, buckling her knees. Maggie took hold of her, stopping her from falling. Tearless, she watched Dale and T-Dog fill the grave, silent and still. Hershel tucked his little book away into a pocket. Embracing his daughters from behind, he held them firm against his chest.

Jon watched the burial from across the fields, sat at the long plastic table, eating the last of the canned corn. Beside him, Glenn watched Maggie comfort her sister, bouncing his knee. Andrea sat across from them, focused on nothing but her bowl of corn. Beside her, Jenner occasionally gave Jon a sour look but otherwise focused on his corn too. In the seat beside the head of the table, Lori watched Rick with a frown. They’d planned on aiding the burial, but so had Hershel. Professions of apologies had earned Dale and T-Dog a role in the burials. Rick commanded that the rest gather around the plastic table but now, he stood out in the fields. Unaided, halfway between the graves and the camp, he watched the burials. But from afar all the same

“It’s time,” he’d whispered to Jon as they’d gathered.

Daryl, Carol and Shane were hidden away. Shane had vanished inside his tent come sunrise, to hear it told, and hadn’t been seen since. Daryl and Carol had remained inside the house to watch over Sophia, who had grown too weak to risk being left alone.

“Corn!” Bloodbeak strutted up to Jon and pecked his hand. “Corn! Corn!”

“Aye. Corn.” Jon pushed the bowl to the raven.

As Bloodbeak gobbled his precious corn, Jon turned on his stool to watch the woods. Hours ago, Ghost had left to hunt. Oddly, the direwolf’s absence reassured Jon. Ever since re-uniting among the quarry hoard, Ghost had nary left his side. Occasionally he left to hunt but far less frequent than normal. Direwolves aren’t lapdogs or even pets but free spirits. To see him so close, never far from Jon’s heel made the wolf seem as queer as the world they’d found themselves in.

Reassurances had escaped Jon of late. Last night, he’d lied. Unknowingly, but a lie all the same. Taking the farm by force was no longer a simple matter. Rick had made as much clear the moment he’d chastised Jon for putting down the walkers. A glare and a few harsh words complicated everything. Apart from Lori, those who sat around the table would take the farm if need be, undoubtedly. Shane too, but Dale, and now T-Dog, would aid the Greenes. Daryl and Carol were less certain but Jon suspected they would side with the Greenes. A forceful takeover put Sophia at risk. Just as it did Carl. No matter, they had the numbers yet, Jon was under no delusions of his place in the group. They respected him, yes, even trusted him. But at the end of the day, they’d granted Rick the mantle of leader. If Rick told them to leave the farm, they would, no matter what Jon had to say. The farm was life and safety and a chance to rebuild; worth fighting for; worth killing for. He had to make Rick see that. Their old world is dead. New rules reign; rules written in blood.

Once Dale and T-Dog finished refilling the fifteenth grave, Beth planted a wooden cross at its head. The name, Alex Culver, marked the cross. Fourteen other names marked the other crosses. They spoke of friends and family. In a neat row before the sixteenth grave, the corpses of five strangers lay rotting. Dale and T-Dog seized the corpses by shoulders and ankles and then dropped them into the twelve-foot-deep grave. Beth watched on, standing on her own, back straight and stiff. For all her madness and incessant weeping, Jon could not detest the girl the way Andrea could. It took a certain courage to watch so many of those once close to you buried, in succession no less. In time, the truth would make her strong, as it had him, and the others too. Hershel opened his little book again to read a prayer for the strangers. Maggie left her sister and father. She marched across the fields. The wind carried Hershel's words after her.

“God, we thank you for the life that you give us. It is full of work and of responsibility, of sorrow and joy. Today we thank you for these strangers whom we never had the pleasure of learning their names, for what he has given and received. Help us in our mourning and teach us to live for the living in the time that is still left to us. Thank you for eternal life that can give light and joy to our days and years already here on earth. God, we thank you for your Son, Jesus Christ. Help us to see that it is he who opens the gate to the life that shall never die.”

Maggie passed Rick and took a seat at the plastic table beside Glenn. Of all the Greenes, she saw the truth, Jon knew. A thought dawned on Jon. Will she help strangers take over her family’s farm? No, quite unlikely. And would her allegiance with her family be enough to sway Glenn? The man has fallen head over heels for her, like a boy with his first woman. Glenn has sense, but a man’s cock oft persuades him to senseless acts. More and more, a takeover of the farm appeared more and more difficult, even with Rick’s support.

Andrea and Maggie shared an uneasy gaze across the table. Scorn and mistrust soured Andrea’s eyes, and Maggie hardened her own gaze in response.

“You got something to say, Andrea?” Glenn asked, breaking the table’s silence.

His words drew the attention of Lori and Jenner. Even Bloodbeak lifted his good eye from the corn to stare.

“Say!” he quorked.

“I ain’t got nothin’ to say to our gracious host. For however long that lasts.” Andrea shoved a spoonful of corn into her mouth.

Maggie’s lips twisted into a tight, thin scowl. “I’m workin’ with my dad. He’ll come around. He just needs time.”

Andrea swallowed and then scoffed. “I don’t know how things work in fantasy land, but in the real world, the one where dead people walk, time is precious. If y’all are gonna kick us out, just get it over with. Sleep’s fucking impossible while, for all I know, tonight might be my last here.”

“Andrea, cut it out,” Glenn said.

Maggie spoke over him. “I’m sure that must be really hard for you.”

Andrea slammed her palm on the table. “You ain’t got a fucking clue, do you? Fucking du-”

“Enough!” Jon cut above Andrea’s shouts with a Commander’s voice.

All eyes went to him.

“What, you on their side now? You?” Andrea asked.

“This isn’t the time for this. Both of you.”

“Seems as good a time as any other, while we’re all here.”

Jenner spoke, hushed and gurgled. “He’s right.” His eyes found Glenn’s. “It’s time for a more pressing talk.”

Glenn’s eyes widened. “That’s what he wants us here for?”

“What else?”

“The hell are you two talking about?” Andrea asked.

“You’ll see,” Jon said. “Now be quiet, and wait for Rick.”

“You’re keepin’ secrets?” Lori asked.

“Not any longer,” Jon said.

“Fuck waiting, tell us now,” Andrea said.

“I agree.” Lori stiffened in her chair. A scornful gaze flashed Rick’s way.

Jon met Lori with a hard, stern gaze. “I keep secrets when it’s asked of me.”

Lori dodged his eyes and gummed her lips.

“Is this about the virus?” Maggie asked.

Jenner gawked at Maggie, his spoon hanging limp from his grasp. While he gawked, Jon glared at Glenn, who’d paled.

“You told her?”

“I-It just kinda slipped out.��

Andrea scoffed. “Yeah, I bet it did. Jon, just tell us already. You can speak as well as Rick, why’s he gotta tell us?”

“We agreed to tell all of you, at once. And that’s what we’ll do.”

“Well, it seems-”

“We did.” Rick stood at the head of the plastic table. The setting sun draped his face in long shadows and twinkled upon the sheriff’s star pinned to his chest. “The truth about the virus needs to be told to everyone at the same time.”

Andrea wrinkled her nose and scowled, but shut her mouth all the same. Lori grasped Rick’s hand and looked up at him.

“Should we be worried?”

Rick mulled over the question for a lingering moment before sighing. “Yes.”

“Yes!” Bloodbeak cackled, his beak clattering.

“Once they’re finished with the dead, I’ll tell you everything. I promise.”

“DEAD!” Bloodbeak shrieked. He erupted from the table, a fluttering mass of black feathers, shrieking his damnable head off. “DEAD! DEAD! DEAD!”

Rick’s eye twitched as Bloodbeak soared away towards the barn.

“Did you train him to do that?” Maggie asked.

“No.” Jon shovelled corn into his mouth.

Rick scanned the table and then frowned. “Where’s Daryl and Shane?”

“Shane’s in his tent,” Glenn said. “And Daryl’s with Sophia and Carol.”

“Go get Daryl, he needs to be here. I’ll get Shane.”

Glenn nodded and made to stand.

Jon swallowed his corn. “Daryl already knows.”

Glenn furrowed his brow. “You told him?” He glanced at Maggie.

“Aye.”

Andrea sighed and Jenner gave Jon an incredulous look.

“God…” Rick kneaded the bridge of his brow. He glanced at Maggie. “Is there anyone else who knows?”

“Only Carol,” Jon said, sharp and curt.

Rick’s face softened. “Oh… yeah, right.”

“Some fucking secret guys,” Andrea muttered, poking at her corn.

“You shouldn’t get Shane,” Jon said.

Rick wrinkled his nose. “Why? He know too?”

“No. Your face is the last he’ll want to see right now.”

“True… Fine. You get him then. Glenn, go with him.”

Glenn nodded. “Right.” He left the table.

Jon joined Glenn in making their way across the fields. Shane had set his tent up by the corner of the scrap-metal fence, nestled amongst the wheat. Its blue point poked above the golden stalks. Jon and Glenn waded through the wheat.

“Think he’ll listen?” Glenn asked.

“Not likely,” Jon said.

Glenn’s hand rested on his machete’s red handle. “So, we make him come?”

“Let’s see what kind of state he’s in first.”

“Yeah… Okay.” His hand moved away from his machete.

When they reached the tent, they found it zipped shut.

“Shane. Come out.” Jon spoke slow and clear.

No response.

“Come on, dude. It’s important,” Glenn said.

Again, no response.

Glenn whispered to Jon. “He is in there, right?”

“Shane, come out or we’ll come in.”

Jon waited for one heartbeat, and then another. When he received no response, he crouched and unzipped the tent. Inside, dusk’s pink light filtered through the tent’s blue plastic, casting all in burgundy; a bedroll, a cleaver and a bald man sat in the corner. Curled shavings littered the floor. Patchwork stubble and fresh, small cuts covered Shane’s head. His back to the light, cast in dusk’s shadow, Shane glared at Jon.

“Fuck off.”

Glenn poked his head in after Jon. “Jesus…”

“You need to come with us. Rick wants you at the table.”

Shane smirked. “Look at you two, doin’ glorious leader Rick’s biddin’ like a pair of dogs. He got a treat waitin’ for you when you get back?”

“It’s not a request,” Glenn said.

“Do I really gotta say it twice? Fuck. Off.”

“Glenn, wait outside.”

“What? Why?”

“Just do it.” Jon entered the tent and sat across from Shane. “Close the flap behind you.”

Glenn’s nose wrinkled. His eyes switched from Shane to Jon and then back to Shane before he clicked his tongue. “Fine.” He stepped back and zipped up the tent.

Jon slid Shane’s cleaver out of the man’s reach. “I’m going to talk and you’re going to listen.”

“Am I?”

“You are.”

“Or what?”

“I’ll drag you from your tent and you’ll listen to Rick say the same thing.”

Shane folded his arms. The burgundy light warmed his scabbed and stubbled head. “Whatever. Say your piece, kid.”

“Myself, Rick, Jenner and Glenn have kept a truth from you and the rest of the group.”

Shane arched an eyebrow.

Jon continued. “Jenner revealed to us how the virus actually turns people into walkers. It isn’t the bite. The bite only kills. It’s death itself that creates walkers. We’re all already infected.”

“Okay. That all?”

Jon studied Shane’s face. Stiff, stern features spoke of a lack of shock or concern. A facade, Jon assumed at once. But on closer inspection, his eyes matched the face. The eyes always revealed the truth of a man’s intent. Even so, Jon did not trust them. Perhaps he does not understand. Or perhaps his wits have left.

“You’ve understood what I’ve said?”

“We all become walkers in the end. Got it. Get the fuck out of my tent.”

Madness then. “Not yet. One more thing.”

“Jesus,” Shane chuckled. “What are you, kid? A fuckin’ telegram? Got a little speech from Rick?”

“Don’t overstep yourself. My promise still stands. Try to take control of the group, or revenge on Rick and I’ll kill you.”

Wrinkles furrowed Shane’s brow and shaved head. His jaw clenched. “Got it.”

“Good.” Jon slid Shane’s cleaver back to him and left the tent.

Glenn awaited him outside, hand resting at his machete. “Well? He coming or not?”

“I told him.” Jon headed off into the wheat.

Glenn trailed him. “Dude… seriously. And you gave me shit for telling Maggie. That’s two now, Daryl and Shane.”

“Aye, I know, I know. But it was either that or drag him from the tent.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Glenn clicked his tongue. “How’d he take it?”

“Well. To well. I fear he’s lost his wits.”

“Probably. You see his head? Did he do that with his fucking cleaver?”

“Aye, most likely.”

“We should tell Rick.”

“There we agree.”

Back at the table, Rick met Jon and Glenn’s return with a scowl.

“Where’s Shane?” Rick asked.

“We… ” Glenn glanced at Jon. “Uh…” He rubbed the back of his head.

Jon spoke. “He refused to cooperate. We were left with two options; drag him from the tent or tell him the truth there. I told him the truth.”

“Great,” Andrea grumbled. “One more fucking person who knows.”

Rick sighed. “Fair enough. Good call. Sit down, they’re about done.”

Jon and Glenn retook their seats. At the base of the hill, Dale and T-Dog shovelled the last of the dirt into the sixteenth grave. Hershel and Beth watched side by side, holding the other’s hand.

“How’d he take it?” Rick asked.

“Well enough. Too well. He’d acted like I’d told him something trivial. I fear he’s lost his wits.” Jon said.

Glenn made eye contact with Jon as he nodded confirmation.

“He ain’t crazy, just sulkin,” Rick said.

“No, man. He shaved off all his hair, with his fucking cleaver,” Glenn said.

Rick avoided their eyes. “We’ll keep an eye on him then…”

Lori shuffled on her stool.

“So, this secret is something we can take badly then?” Andrea asked.

“I’m sorry for the waitin’,” Rick said. “Just be patient a little while longer, that’s all I ask.”

“Yeah, whatever…”

In silence, they waited. Dale and T-Dog shovelled the last of the dirt and flattened the grave with their shovels. Beth planted a wooden cross, Hershel spoke some final words, and as one they crossed the fields. They joined the table, on the opposite side to Rick. All except Hershel sat, who stood at table head, scowling.

“What’s so urgent it couldn’t wait until mornin’?” He asked.

“You might want to take a seat,” Rick said.

“I’m fine where I am.”

“Alright.” Rick sighed. Head hung, he put his hands on his hips, staring at the table for a moment before addressing them all. “For the past few weeks, it’s been my decision to keep somethin’ from all of y’all. Somethin’ awful. It was my belief that it should be kept from y’all until he had a bit of stability. But now that we’ve got food, water, shelter and medicine, I believe the time has come. A few days after the CDC, Jenner told me how the virus actually turns the dead into walkers. It ain’t the bite. The bite only kills us. It’s death that turns us into walkers, bitten or not. We’re all infected. The whole world.”

Speechless, the group looked around the table at one another with wandering gazes. Hershel sat, took Beth’s hand into his and held his head with the other. Dale, sat up, head tall.

“And you know this for sure, Jenner?” he asked.

“Yes,” Jenner said

“How? What proof is there?”

Jenner wet his lips. “Washington’s CDC ran… experiments, that gave credibility to the theory. In Atlanta we… we were able to reproduce their results consistently.”

Dale’s face dropped. “Beyond a shadow of a doubt?”

“Beyond a shadow of a doubt.”

“No. No, you can’t know for sure that we’re all infected. You had, what? A week? Maybe two to run your tests? You could have been wrong. You could have missed-”

Andrea scoffed. “You’re a scientist now?”

“Dale’s got a point,” T-Dog said, fidgeting.

Andrea scowled at Dale. “I’m sorry, do you two not remember the first few days of all this? People dropping like flies all over the world at once? Where do you think all those dead ones came from?”

Dale scowled at Andrea. “That was then. You don’t see people just up and dropping dead anymore, do you?”

“The virus mutated in order to adapt to its environment,” Jenner said. “What you’re talking about was the first wave. It spread, symptomless in order to-”

Dale snapped. “I don’t need you to tell me about the start. I was out there, watching everyone I ever cared about die, while you were holed up. Safe and sound. With food and water and hot showers.”

Jenner slammed the table. “Safe and sound?”

“That’s right!”

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about!”

“Stop!” Andrea shouted. She swept a glare over Jenner, Rick, Glenn and Jon. “Who gives a shit about the start? What the hell possessed you to keep this from us?”

Jon steadied his voice. “As Rick said, we believed we required stability before the truth could be revealed.”

“Only Jon and I,” Rick said. “Jenner and Glenn wanted to tell y’all earlier.”

Glenn wrung his hands. “Well, actually I changed my-”

“I don’t care,” Andrea snapped. “We should have been told, all of us, right away. I mean, shit. What would have happened if one us died out there? If one of us passed in our sleep? Got an infection, or sick or, or anything! You put us all in danger, dammit.”

“We were barely keeping it together as is,” Rick said. “To tell y’all the truth would be to take away hope.”

“No,” Lori said. “Andrea’s right, we should have been told. I mean, what is this? We’re keeping secrets now, in some secret council? This is meant to be a democracy. We make decisions as a group.”

Rick took Lori’s hands into his. “This is a democracy. Always will be.”

Lori snatched her hands back. “A democracy is by the people for the people. All the people, not just four.”

“Lori, I-”

Andrea made a sardonic chuckle. “Oh no, we’re a democracy all right. Fucking, shadow government and all.”

Jon began. “It was-”

“Don’t you dare say it was for our own good. I don’t treat you like a kid. Don’t think to treat me like one.”

“A mistake,” Jon finished.

Rick’s brow furrowed, Glenn gawked and Jenner raised an eyebrow.

Jon continued. “And we apologise. It was ill befitting of us to assume you could not handle the truth.”

For a moment, Andrea did naught but stare at him but then her scowl softened somewhat, and her head cocked. Jon concerned himself not with her reaction. Rather, he focused on Hershel, Beth, Dale and T-Dog. Beth glared at him openly across the table. Seething malice swirled dark storms in the blue pools of her eyes. Hershel gazed at nothing particular, hollowed-eyed, squeezing Beth’s hand. Denial and despair twisted and knitted Dale’s brow. T-Dog slumped in his chair, stooping his broad shoulders.

Maggie’s voice came as a surprise. “We’ll never be free of this. Will we?”

Glenn frowned and squeezed her hand. Jenner answered.

“No. Not for a while.”

“C-Couldn’t a cure be made?” Dale asked. “If you got the right equipment?”

“Yeah!” A thin, wavering grin pulled T-Dog’s lips taught. “Once we rebuild, a cure should be possible.”

“Possible. But not in our lifetime.”

“Come now.” Dale smiled. “Look around. This is the bedrock of our future. Civilisation will start a new right here.” Dale prodded the table. “Right here. We can harvest food from the fields, fortify the town, and build houses, and walls to keep out the dead. This could be a sanctuary for others, a place to kindle the embers of a new age. Who knows? Maybe in a few decades, we could have power, government, jobs and laws and, and normalcy. A cure in our lifetimes doesn’t sound too unrealistic.”

“Yeah…” A grin spread across Glenn’s face. “The town’ll have all the infrastructure we need right?”

“Yup,” T-Dog said. “And once we fortify it from the dead, we’ll be back on the path to a normal world.”

“And what happens when another group comes along and wants what we have?” Jon asked.

The smiles and grins vanished as quick as they’d come.

Dale laughed. “Why’d anyone want to do that, when they could have a place here and help rebuild the world?”

“Because in times like these, some people survive by taking what others have.”

Hershel stood. “People like you, you mean?”

“Dad!” Maggie shot to her feet.

Hershel curled his upper lip, snapped on his heels and marched off for the house.

“Don’t yell at him! Traitor!” Beth shouted. Tears welled. She scrubbed them away and took off after her father.

Maggie stormed after her but Glenn remained, shifting and fidgeting in his chair.

“What would we do if another group attacked?” He asked. “We haven’t got any defences. And even if we did, we haven’t got enough weapons to defend it.”

“We don’t fight,” Dale said. “If we offer an olive branch, any reasonable person would accept it.”

“No, they’d see it as a trick,” Jon said.

“But it isn’t.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“What then? Do we just attack anyone who comes across this place? We need people to rebuild, not more corpses.”

“Corpses is what we’ll be if we allow just anyone to join us.”

“Enough,” Rick calmly said. “Clearly, there’s a lot to unpack here. It’ll be night soon. Let’s pack in for the night and continue this in the mornin’.”

“That would be best,” Jon said.

Dale nodded. “Fine.”

T-Dog nodded too while Glenn stood, looking towards the house.

“Whatever,” Andrea muttered.

“Hold on,” Lori said.

Glenn froze. “What?”

Lori scowled at him, then Jon and Jenner, but none more so than Rick. “No more secrets. From now on, we share important information as soon as we find out about it.”

“No matter how awful it may be,” Andrea added.

“Sure,” Glenn said.

“Aye, deal,” Jon said.

“Of course,” Jenner said.

Lori arched an eyebrow at Rick.

Grunting, Rick went to one knee and squeezed Lori’s hands. “The truth, now and always.” Pain flashed across his face. His arms trembled.

Lori smiled and punched Rick’s shoulder. “Don’t do that. Get up, idiot, you ain’t recovered yet.”

***

The stench of piss and vomit burned the back of Jon’s throat. Sophia had been laid on her side. Dried vomit crusted the sheets below her mouth. A wet spot darkened the sheets beneath her groin. Her blankets lay heaped in the corner, stinking of all things vile. Her clothes topped the heap of blankets. Only her small clothes remained, darkened by grime. Flakes peeled off of dry, blotchy skin, pale like milk. Blood swelled her feet and ankles, puffing them pink and bulbous. Bald spots littered her head. Only hair thin like straw and brittle like twigs remained. Her chest puffed and fluttered as she wheezed. Empty, glazed eyes stared at the wall while she lay on her side in filth and decay.

“Fuckin’ old timer can’t let go of the past.” Sat on a stool, in the corner of Sophia’s room, Daryl whittled a stick to a point.

Hair once shiny with grease and dark with grime had been fluffed and lightened. A crude cut left tangled ropes that once hung past his ears, as a lopsided head of short, straight hair. Soap and water rid him of a perpetual stink. Instead, a sweet honey aroma fought a losing battle with the room’s stench. Even his skin looked clean. Yet, the wash did naught for the man’s sour scowl.

“Aye, seems so. T-Dog as well, I suspect.” Jon stood at the foot of the bed, back to the closed door.

“Dumbasses.”

“They ain’t dumb. Their hearts are in the right place.” Carol sat in a pink, cushioned chair by Sophia’s side.

Grease-matted hair encroached past her ears. Heavy bags hung beneath her eyes. Chipped and cracked fingernails topped every one of her fingers. She stunk as foul as the room and her daughter. The smallest, wisp of a smile lingered on her cracked lips.

Daryl glanced at her. His scowl softened to a frown. “Yeah, whatever,” he muttered. He tossed his pointed stick into a pile of many others and took up a fresh stick.

Carol picked at her thumbnail. “What about the Greenes? How are they after everything?”

“Just as misguided. If not worse,” Jon said. “Except Maggie. She appears to see things for what they are.”

“Don’t count on her, man. Push comes shove, family comes first. She’ll take their side.”

“What do you mean, push comes shove?” Carol asked.

“If we gotta take this place.” Daryl tossed another sharpened stick into his pile.

“Oh. Okay.”

Jon allowed himself a smile. “So you’d side with us then?”

Daryl wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, man. ‘Course we would.”

Carol gave a slow nod. “If it really came down to it. Yeah. What other choice is there?”

Thundering footsteps raged over Carol’s voice. They stormed down the hall outside. A door slammed. A second pair of footsteps stomped after them, followed by the pounding of a fist.

“Beth!” Maggie yelled.

“Go away! Traitor!”

A door handle rattled. “Open this door!”

“Leave me alone!”

“Stop acting like a fucking kid!”

“Stop acting like a psychopath!”

“Ugh!” Maggie thundered back down the hall then slammed a second door.

Sophia’s wheezing filled the silence. Daryl and Carol shared a disquieted look.

“Hershel’s not really stupid enough to try and make us leave, is he?” Carol asked.

“He strike you as smart?” Daryl asked. “Fucker housed up walkers like they were cattle or somethin’.”

“Let’s hope he finds reason,” Jon said.

Sophia’s wheezing stopped. She shifted and groaned. In a heartbeat, Carol snatched her knife from the bedside table and Daryl whipped his from his belt. Jon touched his dagger’s hilt. Tense as steel, they stared as Sophia rolled onto her back. Again, she groaned, then pissed herself. Carol sighed and put down her knife.

Daryl scowled. “Fuck’s sake. She needs new clothes and sheets. This shit’s fuckin’ undignified.”

“I’ll talk to Hershel about it. They must have other sheets,” Jon said.

Carol got up and rolled Sophia back onto her side. “That a good idea? After what you did?”

Jon’s jaw clenched. “Perhaps I should get Rick to do it…”

“That’s probably better.”

Daryl put away his knife. “The fuck we even askin’ for? Just go take-”

An engine’s roar filled the air. It peaked, assaulting Jon’s ears. Then faded off into the distance, giving way to a commotion of shouting.

“The fuck?!” Daryl rushed to the window.

Jon joined him. Outside, the others rushed across the fields and gravel to meet Rick before the porch. Off in the camp, Daryl’s bike was gone. A cloud of dust streaked down the farm’s road towards the asphalt.

“What’s going on?” Carol’s voice tightened.

“Someone stole my fuckin’ bike!” Daryl slammed the windowsill. “God fuckin’ dammit!” He snatched up his crossbow, a handful of arrows and barreled for the door.

However, with one foot out the door, he paused and looked back at Carol.

“Go,” Carol said. “They need you. Both of you.”

“You need me.”

“I’ll be fine. If she passes while you’re gone, I can do it. You know that.”

“Maybe…” Daryl stepped back inside the room. “But you shouldn’t have to do it alone.”

A full smile spread across Carol’s face. Tears welled in her eyes. Daryl put down his crossbow and grabbed Jon’s shoulder.

“You get my fuckin’ bike back.”

“Aye. I will.” Jon patted Daryl’s hand.

Daryl nodded and knelt at Carol’s side.

***

Downstairs, Jon flung open the front door and entered a world of shouting and raging. Atop the porch steps, Rick faced a huddle of raised voices battling to be heard. Empty bottles lay scattered about his feet on the steps.

“Everyone calm down!” Rick shouted over the voices. “He couldn’t have gone far! Glenn and I will go after him, y’all just go back to your tents!”

“Screw that!” Andrea yelled. “If he wants to run, let him. Why should we risk our lives?”

“Where’s your heart?!” Dale shouted. “The man’s grieving!”

“He’s insane, that’s what he is!”

“Where’s your fuckin’ empathy?!” T-Dog shouted.

“Give it a rest you guys!” Lori shouted.

“Be quiet and listen to Rick!” Glenn shouted.

Every voice raised as one in a grand, chaotic cacophony of noise. Rick shouted for calm and quiet, which only worsened things.

Bloody hell. Jon made to cross the porch and approached Rick. But before he’d taken more than two steps, Maggie burst out of the door with Beth in tow.

Her voice cut above the others. “What’s going on here?!”

Silence killed the cacophony. Rick gave Maggie a sullen look and opened his mouth to speak.

Andrea shouted. “Your dad’s lost his fucking mind! He stole our bike and drove off!”

Maggie sighed and wiped her hand over her face. “God dammit…”

Beth’s nostrils flared. She marched past her sister, pointing at Jon. “You! This is your fault!” She made to slap him.

Jon caught her wrist. “Calm yourself.”

“Let go of me!”

Jon let go and Beth snatched her wrist away. Tears welled in wide, sharp eyes. Maggie yanked Beth behind her, and Rick stood between her and Jon.

“Jon, where’s Ghost?” Rick asked.

“Hunting.”

Rick clicked his tongue. “Okay… then go get Daryl. We might need to track him.”

“No, you don’t,” Maggie said. “I know where he is. I’ll take you.”

“Where?” Beth asked.

Maggie frowned at her sister. “There’s this bar in town. Whenever he and my mom got into a fight, he’d always take off in the truck and spend the night there.”

Beth voice’s shrunk. “Oh.”

“How far?” Jon asked.

“Those cars still got gas?”

“They do,” Rick said.

“About ten minutes, then.”

***

By the time they’d gathered weapons and ammo and piled into the rangerover, dusk had given way to twilight. A new moon forbade but a faint sheen of silver starlight to linger in the absence of the sun. Jon sat in the back of the car beside Glenn, a pair of shotguns in their laps. Maggie waited behind the wheel, weaponless.

“But why does it have to be you?” Lori asked as Rick opened the passenger's side door. “You’re in no condition.”

That he isn’t. Weakness pestered Rick. Each step taken with a tremble and a clenched jaw. Every action done with stiff, taught hands.

Rick turned his back on the rangerover’s doorway and leaned on a rifle. “’Cause these people look up to me. If I say, ‘go out there and risk your lives’, how can I stay behind?”

“God, Rick. Look at yourself. You can barely stand.”

“Me bein’ out there gives ‘em hope.”

“You being out there’ll get you killed.”

Jon stuck his head out the window. “Don’t worry. We’ll keep him safe.”

“We won’t let him do anything dumb!” Glenn shouted.

Rick smiled at them both. Lori frowned.

“And what about Carl? What happens if he wakes up while you’re gone? He’ll be scared and confused. He’ll need his father.”

“Lori…” Rick chewed his lip. “Carl’s asleep; at rest. And safe and around those who care about him. Hershel’s out there right now; alone and hurtin’ and in danger. He could have fallen from that bike and hurt himself for all we know. And part of that’s my fault.” He glanced Jon’s way. “I gotta go.”

Lori let out a shaky sigh and pressed her head against Rick’s chest. “You come back. You hear? I will not lose you again.”

Rick bundled her in his arms. “I will. You won’t.”

“You two done?” Maggie asked.

Stern of face, Lori pulled away and nodded. “Done.”

Rick seized her by the shoulders. “Keep ‘em calm. Don��t let ‘em do anythin’ dumb. Shane especially.”

Lori nodded. They hugged again, kissed and then separated. Lori hurried away from the car a few paces while Rick ducked inside. Grunting, he slumped into his seat, lay his rifle across his lap and slammed the door shut. The engine roared to life, rattling the car around Jon. Twin beams blazed, dousing all ahead in bright, white light. They sped off across the field and down the gravel road, followed by a cloud of dust.

Through fields and forest, the asphalt road showed no signs of old men or motorbikes. Nor much of anything for that matter. Bar a few of the dead, wandering without purpose. They livened at the sight of the car and made to reach for it. Maggie clipped a few in her haste, splattering brains and black blood across the windows. Yet, for the most part, she weaved around them. The vet looked much the same as Jon’d left it, as they passed. Dark and dusty. The rangerover’s twin beams of light glimpsed the two corpses. They still rested outside on the gravel, headless, in pools of dried black blood. The tracks of the boy’s bike-without-engine remained in the gravel, a wavering line from vet to road. But new tracks joined it, thicker and straighter.

Jon tightened his grip on the shotgun. “We may not be alone out here.”

“We can deal with the dead,” Rick said, not taking his eyes off the road.

“I speak of the living. The companions of the boy who attacked Jenner and I are likely not far.”

Rick looked back at him, tight-jawed. “You sure?”

“Aye. There were new tracks on the gravel. And the boy spoke of revenge when he ran.”

Glenn gripped his shotgun. “He could have been bluffing.”

“Better to be safe and keep an eye out regardless.”

Rick nodded. “If we encounter hostiles, we run if we can. A shootout’s the last thing we need in the dark, with the dead all around.”

“Okay, good idea,” Glenn said.

Jon nodded. Best to avoid a fight, he agreed. Besides, Jon suspected that compared to blades, the conventions of battle varied quite vastly where it concerned guns. In a gunfight, he’d be out of his element, always on the back foot.

Maggie huffed. “I ain’t runnin’ without Dad.”

They drove into the heart of the town. Sidewalks and close-knit buildings replaced gravel paths and open fields. The dark bred blind spots upon blind spots. Thin alleys between every building, with spiked, steel fences harboured shadowy voids. Crossroads upon crossroads littered the streets with corners. Places to hide; places of ambush. Even with the light of twin beams, Jon felt as blind as if he were in a cave with no torch. Not a single corpse roamed the streets. Yet, signs of death were everywhere. Smashed windows, broken-down doors, crashed cars, burnt cars, burnt buildings, black blood, red blood; it all followed them wherever they went.

All of a sudden, Maggie stopped the car. “We’re here.” She moved a lever between her and Rick before rushing from the car. “Dad!” She yelled, marching for a building.

They piled out after her, guns at the ready. The building stood short and stout, made of brick walls and wide, paned-glass windows. Daryl’s bike lay discarded at it’s stoop. Starlight cast a sign hanging above its door in silver. ‘Joe’s Tavern,’ it read.

“Keep your voice down,” Rick hissed. He hurried after Maggie.

Glenn made to hurry after her too but Jon slowed him with a touch. “Keep your eyes open. Threats are everywhere,” Jon whispered. He scanned the inky pitch that filled the alleys and windows.

“Right.” Glenn took a deep breath as he scanned too.

Together, they approached the tavern with slow, considered steps, eyes trained on the dark. In an alley across the street, the starlight glinted off of nine pairs of eyes. Jon froze and squinted. He made out the silhouettes of several dogs. One crept forward, a lanky thing, all sleek black fur and pointy bones. It squeezed between the bars of the spiked, alley-way fence, bore its fangs and let out a low, guttural growl. However, a larger dog burst from the shadows and snapped its jaws by the other’s ear. The smaller dog tucked tail and retreated while the larger stared at Jon. For a moment they did naught but stare at each other before the dog snarled. It disappeared back into the shadows beyond the spiked, alleyway fence, along with the rest of the pack

“Where are all the dead?” Glenn whispered.

“Lurking, most like. Come, best we get out of sight.”

Inside, darkness, dust and blood covered the tavern. Two, half-decomposed walker corpses lay killed. One, sprawled out in the middle of the smooth, wood floor, rested a bludgeoned head on a crust of black blood. The other slumped over a long counter that ran the length of the tavern’s back, a hole blown through the back of its head. Maggots squirmed within the gaping wound. Tables, chairs, stools, cabinets and draws were all left in a chaotic state of disrepair as if a small storm had torn through the space. A lone stool remained on its legs and stood at the opposite end of the counter to the corpse. Atop the stool, Hershel sat, bathed in the golden light of a lamp. He poured drink from a dust-covered bottle into a filthy, smudged glass and drank deep.

Jon and Glenn joined Rick and Maggie in staring from across the tavern. While wrath darkened Maggie’s features, Rick’s stayed still and stony.

“Jon, Glenn, watch the windows,” Rick whispered.

“I might be old, but I ain’t deaf.” Hershel slurred his words. He poured another drink.

Glenn moved to the windows but Jon remained at Rick’s side.

“Is this place clear?” Jon whispered to him.

Rick whispered back. “Don’t know.” He raised his voice to speaking level. “Hershel, you gotta come with us.”

Jon moved to the window, attention split between the shadows outside and inside.

“Who else is with you?” Hershel drank.

“Dammit, Dad. It ain’t safe here.” Maggie marched across the bar.

Rick followed. They stood on either side of Hershel, looming over his shoulders.

“Jon, right? And Glenn?” Hershel chuckled bitterly as he poured another drink. “That boy follows you everywhere now, huh?”

“Glenn’s here to make sure you don’t get yourself killed,” Maggie hissed.

“That right?”

“How many you had, Hershel?” Rick asked, soft and calm, leaning on his rifle.

“Not enough.” Hershel drank.

Hershel made to pour another but Maggie snatched the bottle from his hand. He sighed, slumped his shoulders and stared at the counter. Rick rounded the counter and crouched with great effort so that his and Hershel’s eyes were level.

“Let’s finish this up back at home, okay? Back at your farm.”

“My farm? Is that right?”

“Get up!” Maggie grabbed his arm.

Hershel shrugged out of her grip.

“For fuck’s sake, Dad! Beth needs you! She just buried her mother, her brother, her friends, neighbours, even that Culver kid she was sweet on! You ain’t the only one who’s hurtin’!”

“What could I do? Make her worse? Fill her head with more… more lies.”

Maggie turned and threw her hands up in the air. “You’re unbelievable!”

“Hershel, I think you’re in shock, okay?” Rick said.

“She needs her mother.” Hershel’s voice wavered. “Or rather to mourn. Like she should have done weeks ago. I took that from her.” Hershel raised his head and stared at the ceiling.

Jon tightened the grip of his shotgun. Outside, he swore he spotted movement yet, when his eyes snapped to it, the shadows stiffened.

Rick clenched his jaw and stood, matching Hershel’s gaze. His rifle remained on the ground, out of hand. “You thought there’d be a cure, right? Can’t blame yourself for holdin’ out for hope. If I’d been in your situation, if that’d been Carl and Lori in that barn, I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same.”

“Then you’re just a big a fool as me.”

“I’m as scared as you. Scared for the future. Scared for now. But runnin’ away don’t fix none of that. You can’t run from this.”

“I ain’t runnin’. But I can’t fight neither. So, go ahead. Fight your fight. Try and rebuild for all it’s worth. Just do it without me. I’m done.”

“You’re just gonna give up?” Maggie snapped.

Hershel looked over his shoulder at Maggie. Golden light glinted off of moist eyes. “I’m layin’ down, Maggie. I’m old. Sometimes, you forget how old I really am. The fight, the fight I used to have, it’s gone. Has been for a while now.” He looked back at Rick. “You can have the farm. Not that my blessin’ means much. Couldn’t make you leave even if I wanted. So, take it. Use it for as long as you can. Never wanted the darn thing in the first place.”

Some of the sharpness left Maggie’s voice. “What do you mean?” She sounded like a frightened child. “You’ve lived there your whole life.”

“I grew up there. Bein’ farmers, that was Nan and Pa’s dream. An American dream for a pair of Scottish immigrants. I left for veterinary school first chance I got and never looked back. Until Pa had his stroke. I could have stayed, there, in Montgomery and finished my residency. I wanted to. But I came back, opened my little vet, met your mother… then Beth’s… By the time Nan passed and left the farm to me, you and Beth had lives here, school, friends, boyfriends. What kind of father would I have been to take that from you? So, take it Rick. Take the darn farm and leave me be. Lead your people, my daughters. I ain’t fit for what this world’s become. He showed me that.” Hershel pointed at Jon.

Rick glared at him, part shame, part fury.

Jon stood tall. “None of us are fit for this world. Yet, we go on living in spite of it.”

Hershel smiled and looked on Jon with soft, doughy eyes. “That’s your youth talkin’, son.”

An engine roared, faint and distant. Then another. And another. Jon whipped around to face the window. Outside, all remained dark and still. Yet, the engines roared louder, closer.

“We need to go, now,” Jon said, scanning the dark.

Rick’s voice gruffed. “Hershel, please.”

Hershel answered with silence.

“Glenn, do you see anything?” Jon asked.

Glenn jostled back and forth, craning his neck. “Nothing.”

The engines drew closer.

A stool or chair scraped across the ground, then slammed. Someone sat, hard. “If you’re stayin’, Dad. So am I.”

Hershel sighed and muttered. “Dammit, Maggie,” he said. “Fine. Let’s go.”

The engines roared loud, shaking Jon’s core. Beams of light flooded the street, gleaming off of dusty windows and the bulbs of arching street lamps.

“Behind the counter! All of us!” Jon hurried from the window.

“Shit,” Glenn followed.

Hershel gawked at them, afraid and confused. “What? Why? Do you know these people?”

“No, but best not to, aye?”

“Is there a side exit?” Rick asked, grabbing Hershel’s arm over the counter.

“Y-Yeah, right there-”

The front door flew open, rattling. Three figures meandered inside, veiled in shadow, armed with rifles and shotguns. As they stepped inside, the golden glow of the lantern revealed a short, stout older man with a head of stubble. He wielded some sort of shotgun, Jon assumed, with one barrel rather than two. A short, lean man, owner of but a single hand stood to the older man’s left. In his good hand, he wielded a shotgun with the barrels cut off. To the older man’s right, stood a tall, lanky woman wielding a hunting rifle. Above her left eyebrow, the numbers 1488 were tattooed in black ink. The three of them shared a look; long faces, narrow noses, and black of hair. Their dark, sharp eyes scanned the group.

“So it was you,” the older man said. “Didn’t think you’d survived, Hershel.”

Hershel rose from his stool and stepped forward, joining Jon’s side. “Clyde? Clyde Culver?”

Clyde Culver answered with a nod as he scanned the rest of them with a squint.

“What happened to your boy’s hand?” Hershel asked.

“That don’t concern you. Now, how about your little friends put down their guns so we can have a nice, calm conversation?”

“We will if you will,” Glenn answered at once.

“I’m afraid, that ain’t gonna work, Slit-eyes.”

In a flash, One-hand and Numbers had their guns raised, fingers on the trigger. Hershel gasped and staggered back. Maggie stiffened. Glenn cursed and went to his knees. Jon froze, staring down One-hand’s shortened barrels. Ice, steel and stone streaked through Jon’s veins, planting him firm where he stood, tightening his grip. The moment his hand squeezed the shotgun’s handle, Clyde’s eyes were on him.

“Don’t, son. Be smart about this now. Put it down.”

Before Jon could even think to kneel, Numbers’s eyes found his sword and widened.

“Look, the sword. That’s him! He’s the one who killed Dan!” she said.

“That true?!” One-hand bellowed, waving his gun. “You kill, my brother?!”

Jon’s chest clenched and he lost his breath. The scars along his chest, belly and heart flared hot red, like a dozen branding irons pressing hard into his flesh. He felt half mad; he aught to lie, to make some excuse, anything. But he couldn’t breathe, let alone think or speak. Desperately, he tried to breathe but instead, he only gawked at them like a fool. Clyde sighed.

“Go on, Caleb. Get it over with.”

“NO!” Hershel screamed.

A great weight slammed Jon from the side. The ground vanished from under him and the world spun. Sound beyond sound split Jon’s ears, a blast of heat flashed past his face and the floorboards rushed to meet his back. The ground took him from below and the great weight from above, squeezing the wind from him in one huge impact. As his ears rang and his mind spun, Hershel’s face filled his vision, afraid and bloodied. A boot knocked it away and then stomped Jon’s chest. In place of the old man’s face, twin barrels and One-hand’s glare bore down on him. A blast roared. One-hand’s chest exploded into red mist and pulp. He cried and fell; a ruptured sack of flesh and blood. The twin barrels vanished and beyond, Jon saw Clyde holler and raise his gun. Another blast rocked the world and Clyde’s throat exploded. Spluttering, he collapsed beside his son. Fire blazed in Jon’s chest and all of sudden he found himself on his knees, gun in hand, sights trained on Numbers. She fled for the door, unarmed. He squeezed the trigger ever so gently, just as Shane had taught him. A blast rocked Jon to his core and the woman’s back exploded. She hit the floor at once, soundless.

As a calm settled in, Jon’s ears continued to ring. But his mind sharpened all at once. Clyde lay before him, dying noisily in a growing crimson pool atop his son. Sticky warmth clung to Jon’s hands and face.

To his left, Maggie screamed. “Dad!” She scrambled past Jon to where Hershel lay, face down.

A curtain of blood wept from a streak across Hershel’s temple. Maggie seized him and he grunted struggling to all fours.

“Jon!” Rick shouted from behind the counter, rifle in hand. Crimson droplets speckled his face. “You okay?!”

Jon found his breath. “A-Aye.”

Glenn’s blood-soaked face filled his vision. “Are you hit?” he grabbed his shoulders.

Jon shook him off. “No.”

Eyes wide, Glenn nodded and scrambled over to Maggie. He helped her drag Hershel behind the counter. Outside, a voice shrieked.

“Pa! Caleb! Cynthia!” It sounded vaguely familiar. “Pa?!”

After a pause, a second voice shouted. “You motherfuckers!”

Hellfire erupted through the tavern’s front wall. Without thought, Jon threw himself to the ground and covered his head. Glass and mortar hailed. Rolling, rapid thunder crackled, smothering distant screams. It lasted an age, the gunfire bore down on him, crackling, crackling, crackling, never-ending sound. It tore his head apart from the inside out. Until all of sudden, it vanished. Jon scrambled, hands and knees. Numb pricks stabbed his palms, wetting and warming them. He saw only the counter, shelter, cover, safety. Like a maddened beast, he scampered behind it where he found the others, knees to their chests, hands on their heads, cowering in the golden lamp-light.

“The light!” Rick shouted.

Hershel sprang up and made a grab for the lamp. A single gunshot boomed. Hershel screamed and he and the lamp came tumbling down. The lamp hit the ground but didn’t break. It bathed Hershel in light. Where two fingers ought to be, two bloody stumps gushed crimson. Hershel wailed. Maggie screamed. Jon pounced on the lamp. He dashed it against the counter, dousing them in darkness, stealing sight, leaving only sound. The others’ voices clashed and combined, yelling over Hershel’s feverish wailing.

“Put pressure! Put pressure!”

“Who’s armed?!”

“Are you hit anywhere else?!”

“Oh god! Put fucking pressure, I said!”

“I am!”

“His hand not his head!”

“Jon, Glenn have you got your guns?!”

Jon ignored them and listened elsewhere. Outside, other voices were shouting. Jon honed in on a man’s voice.

“Fuck’s sake, just move the truck back, Pete! Give us some fuckin’ light!”

An engine roared over the others' shouting, silencing them all, even Hershel. Bright, white light poured through the tattered front wall of the tavern, illuminating all. Jon saw Maggie and Glenn holding rags torn from their shirts over Hershel’s wounds. Despite the pressure applied, his lifeblood gushed in pulsing, crimson waves from beneath the rags. Rick crouched by their side with a rifle in hand, finger on the trigger. His eyes found Jon’s. He touched his holster then nodded to Jon’s, to Needle. Jon nodded and unsheathed the pistol. Unwelcome shakes troubled his hands. Shakes that persisted no matter how steady he breathed. What’s the matter with me? An icy chill burned the scar over his heart.

“See, empty. We got ‘em all,” said a different man’s voice outside.

“No way, I heard ‘em,” yet another voice said, the same who’d shouted for his Pa, the one that sounded vaguely familiar.

“You don’t know what you heard, Randy.”

“Better safe than sorry,” said the other man.

A second round of hellfire erupted through the front. Jon tucked his knees and covered his head as the others dived to do the same. Rolling thunder roared and crackled. Bullets peppered the back wall, back and forth and back and forth, showering Jon in dust and mortar. When it became clear the gunman had aimed too high, Jon lifted his head. The light lit up the back of the tavern, revealing a side exit.

Jon shouted over the gunfire. “There’s a side exit! We can flank them from the alley!”

Rick uncovered his head and nodded. “I’ll go!”

“No, you stay here! You’re too slow!” Glenn’s shotgun lay discarded by Hershel’s side. “Glenn, you come!”

Glenn uncovered his head. “What?!”

“Come with me! Out the side! We’ll flank them!”

Suddenly, the gunfire stopped. The changing of magazines clicked and clacked. Rick whipped his colt from its holster and thrust it into Maggie’s hands.

“We’ll cover you,” he whispered.

“Right.” Jon pointed to Glenn’s gun. “Pick it up!” he hissed.

“O-Okay.” Glenn scrambled for the gun.

“Dammit, Jack! That’s enough!” A voice outside yelled. “You’ll draw the dead ones!”

“You ain’t never let me have fun! We killed all the dead anyhow!”

“God dammit, do as your-”

Rick and Maggie sprang up and unloaded their weapons over the counter. The voices outside screamed and shouted. Jon and Glenn made a dash for the side exit across shards of brick and glass. A shot rang out and a bullet clipped Jon’s shoulder, carving a line of pain across his skin. He put his head down and barged through the exit just as the third bout of hellfire tore through the tavern. Jon charged down the alley, Glenn hot on his heels. At the end stood a spiked, alley-way fence with a gate open ajar.

“They’re comin’!” shouted the familiar voice, muffled by the hellfire.

But by then it was too late. Jon and Glenn burst through the alley gate, guns raised. A black-haired man crouched behind the rangerover, spraying the tavern with bullets. He noticed them. But too late. Jon had him in Needle’s sights. He squeezed the trigger. A tremble plagued his hands and Needle’s shot exploded through the man’s shoulder. The man cried and fell, raising his gun at Jon. Glenn appeared at Jon’s side. Thunder screamed. Heat and flames spat from his shotgun. The man’s face and chest erupted into bloody mist and pulp. He died spluttering. Glenn fired at a truck with a flatbed on the back, parked across the street. Its front window shattered.

“Shit, he ducked!”

Thunder clapped from the rooftops. Sparks spat off the pavement, inches from Jon’s feet.

“Fuck!” a voice shouted.

“Take cover!” Glenn dove back into the alley.

Jon ran forward and dove behind the rangerover. Thunder cracked and a bullet spat sparks above Jon’s head.

“Get out here, motherfucker!” A voice shouted from the roof.

The man in the truck yelled. “Forget ‘em, Randy! Jump down! Get in the back!”

“Okay!” Hurried footsteps scampered across the roof.

Jon peered over the rangerover and spied a shadow silhouette dashing across the rooftop. He put the silhouette in Needle’s sights and fired three times. The first shot missed. Then the second. But the third landed. Screaming, the silhouette tumbled from the roof and impaled itself on the steel spikes of an alleyway fence. The screaming persisted, carrying high into the night, wailing and shrieking, like game caught in a trap. The other man cursed loudly and the truck’s engine roared. Tyres squealed on asphalt as the truck peeled off down the road. Jon unloaded the last of Needle’s ammo but only managed to spit sparks off the truck’s steel.

Jon shouted above the incessant wailing of the impaled. “All’s clear!”

“Are y’all hit?!” Rick shouted.

Glenn gave no response. Lowering his shotgun, he crept out of the alley, staring at the corpse in the street. The impaled cried for help and mercy.

“We’re fine! Hurry, the dead will be upon us soon!”

“Good! Get the back seats down! Hershel’s losin’ consciousness!”

“Aye!”

Jon flung open the range rover’s back doors and found the handle behind the back row of seats. He lowered them, extending the trunk.

“I killed him...” he heard Glenn say.

“Aye.”

“PLEASE!” wailed the impaled. “HELP ME HELP ME PLEASE!”

“We gotta help him…”

Jon ducked out of the car. “Leave him, he’s doomed and our enemy besides.”

“Don’t leave meeeeee!” the impaled sobbed. A boy’s voice, Jon realised. Boy, man. Woman, girl. It makes no matter.

Rick and Maggie stumbled out of the tavern’s ruined entrance, supporting one of Hershel’s arms each. Feebly, Hershel staggered between them, tripping over his own feet. A crimson curtain masked half his face, matting his white beard. As Rick and Maggie were about to get him in the car, the impaled cried again.

“PLEASE! I don’t wanna die…”

Hershel cried out and flailed, wrenching free of Rick and Maggie’s grip. “We can’t leave that boy to die!”

Rick looked as if he were about to agree, so Jon spoke first to stop the folly.

“Aye, I’ll end his suffering.” He sheathed Needle and drew Longclaw.

“No, dammit! Look at him!” Hershel pointed to the silhouette. “He’s impaled through the legs. We can save him.”

Jon didn’t look to confirm. “We haven’t the time and he’s our enemy, besides.”

“He’s a boy! Randall Culver!”

“I want my mom!” the boy, Randall Culver screamed. “I want my moooooooom! Pa! It hurts!” Sobbing overtook the screams. The silhouette thrashed.

“Dad, Jon’s right.” Maggie grabbed her father’s arm. “Randall Culver’s a skinhead piece of shit like the rest of ‘em, anyhow.”

“A child! A few years younger than Beth even!” Hershel wrenched free again, splattering blood on the pavement from his ruined hand.

He shouldered past Jon and hurried across the street. Maggie ran after him.

“Dad, get back here!”

“God dammit,” Rick muttered. He hurried after them.

“He sealed his fate the moment he fired upon us. Just as the others did.” Jon followed at Rick’s heels.

“We killed those guys 'cause we had to, man,” Glenn said. “He isn’t a threat anymore.”

Jon ignored Glenn’s folly. Before the spiked fence, Hershel and Rick stood before the thrashing boy, inspecting his impaled legs. The spikes skewered either thigh from beneath, danging the boy over the back of the fence. Maggie watched from afar, arms crossed. Glenn rushed to help.

“I guess we could break the spikes,” Glenn said. “That way the wounds stays sealed.”

“With what?” Hershel asked.

“If you free him, the moment he’s healed he’ll try to kill us all,” Jon said.

Hershel and Glenn scowled at him but Rick took pause.

“What if he were Carl?” Hershel asked.

“But he isn’t,” Jon added. “That’s our enemy. We’ve just murdered his family. He’ll kill all of us, the first moment he gets, Carl included.”

“Please please please no I won’t I won’t please I promise I promise!” the boy blabbered.

Hershel grabbed the boy’s right leg. “Listen to him, Rick. He’s one scared boy. He ain’t a threat no more. Now help me lift him off.”

Rick ran his hand through his hair, sighed and grabbed the boy’s right leg. As one, Rick and Hershel yanked the boy off of the spikes. Blood sprayed and the boy wailed.

#fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #ao3fic #asoiaf fanfic #jon snow #the walking dead #rick grimes #the walking dead fanfic #jon snow fanfiction #rick grimes fanfiction #carl grimes fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon #twd daryl #game of thrones #games of thrones fanfiction #art #asoiaf art #the walking dead art #horror

[chic-beyond-the-wall]

More medieval dyes for y'all!

#game of thrones #asoiaf #asoif/got #a song of ice and fire #house of the dragon #headcanon #fashion #hotd #asoiaf books #asoiaf fic #asoiaf fanfic #asoiaf fanart #asoiaf fandom #got fandom #got fic #got fanfiction #got fashion #got #game of thrones fanfiction #medieval dyes #medieval #natural dye #plant based #natural dyes #dyes

[eventually27]

Me reading fanfics when i should be asleep 💀

#fanfiction #evan peters #marvel #the avengers #harry potter #supernatural #bnha #star wars #bts #sherlock holmes #teen wolf #jack champion #ethan landry #naruto #the last of us #stranger things #american horror story #game of thrones #fanfic #lol

[multific]

Moonlight 

Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Wife!Reader

Warnings: childbirth (no detailed description)

Summary: Aemond loves his little wife, so naturally, when you give birth to your first son, Aemond falls in love even deeper. However, when a simple refusal of his breaks your heart, it will be difficult for him to win you back.

It was hard to keep you close. You were much like Aemond, a true fighter. You had a fire in you which couldn't be questioned. A fire towards him, pure love. And now, fire towards your son.

Aeren was only born a week ago, yet you protected him fiercely like a dragon.

And you refused to let the small child out of your hands.

When Aemond was allowed in the room, he saw the blood, he heard your screams and many times, he wanted to barge in but he knew he couldn't.

So, once he was allowed in, someone informed him that it was a boy and that you were in bad shape. 

Aemond could see it, you looked beyond tired, yet you smiled.

But your smile didn't last long.

Aemond refused to hold his son. 

"Give him to me." he heard your voice as he looked from the woman holding his son to you. You looked angry. Way too angry.

It was too late when Aemond realised what he had just done.

He refused to hold his own child.

And since then, you didn't speak a word to him.

You slept in a different room with your baby, sometimes, late at night, he heard the cries. He wanted to get up and go to you but he couldn't, his guilt was overbearing. 

"You should put a leash on her, brother. If I had a wife like that, she wouldn't be sleeping in another room." Aegon taunted his brother daily. 

One day, you were in the gardens, walking with your son in your arms when Aegon spoke up.

Aemond never heard his brother speak with such longing.

"I truly wish she was mine." 

Aemond looked at his brother who was watching you.

"But she's mine." was his simple and firm reply.

But you truly weren't.

You used to be, now, you just sat next to him during dinners. 

One night, you excused yourself, and he followed you.

In an empty corridor, he spoke up.

"Why are you avoiding me?" he knew why. He very well knew why.

"I'm sorry, My Prince." you turned and looked at him. "I believe you are mistaken. I'm not avoiding you, I just hate to see the disappointment on your face." this surprised Aemond. "I gave birth to a child you refused to even look at. I loved you, Prince Aemond, I truly did. But I love my child more. And if you cannot look at him, you won't get to look at me. Fill your bed with whores for all I care. Goodnight." 

"You are mistaken." he said, not letting you leave, but you did grab the handle. "You-You were in that bed, crying, screaming and bleeding for hours. I couldn't do anything. And when they let me in, the blood... so much... they told me you were weak, you survived but you needed a lot of rest. How-How could I hold my child when the love of my life almost died? How could I look at him when I was worried to even look at you? I feared you would die giving birth. I was shaking. I feared losing you and my child. That is why I didn't hold him. I was scared." you stood there, your hand on the door, you looked away from his eyes.

"Then you could have just fucking say so, Aemond! For fucks sake!"

"That is not very lady-like."

"FUCK lady-like, you made me believe you hate me and our son! I believed I disappointed you since you wanted a daughter."

"I said I would be happy either way. My emphasis was on a girl because I feared if you had a daughter, you would see that as disappointing my bloodline."

"You are fucking terrible at communicating." you opened the door and walked into the huge room in which you stayed the last couple of weeks.

Aemond followed you, and watched as you walked over to the small bed and picked up your son. "Next time, you should just tell me. Letting me assume things clearly don't work out." 

"Of course." a small smile found its way onto his lips, next time, it was the promise of a future, a promise of more, something he could work towards. He walked over to you after closing the door. "I wish to hold him." you handed him the small child who didn't even stir in his sleep. "Aeren you named him I recall." Aemond's attention was now fully on his son as you decided to leave the two alone after watching them for a couple of minutes.

You got changed and when you arrived back, Aemond was sitting on the bed, his son on his chest.

"Some nights I heard his cries. It broke my heart but I broke yours far more. I apologise for not being clear and for causing you pain. I am truly sorry."

"I'm sorry as well. I should have asked." you said as you sat down next to him. "I will have to feed him soon."

"I will stay here with you."

You smiled as the moon shined through the window, illuminating the room a little more, helping the fire so you could see your husband's face.

"I love you so much Aemond."

"I love you too, My Queen." you giggled, moving closer to him as he leaned down to kiss you.

You two kissed in the moonlight until your son made it clear that he was hungry.

It all made you look towards a better future.

Taglist: @castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse  @jacalineiscomingforyou @mandoloriancookie @brascaris @il0vebeingdelulu @deliciousfestsalad

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE OR REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

#aemond #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen imagines #fanfiction #x reader #x female reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen fic #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon imagines #house of the dragon x reader #game of thrones imagines #game of thrones #game of thrones au #house of the dragon #house of the dragon x you #house of the dragon aemond #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon aemond x reader

[palioom]

little dove

summary: your first attendance of a huge feast is bothersome, alone and inexperienced as you are. until the eyes of a certain prince won't stop following you.

pairing: oberyn martell x f!reader

word count: 4.5k

warnings: 18+ content; no use of y/n; virginity/innocence kink; implied age gap (oberyn is in his early 40s, reader early 20s); fingering; unprotected p in v; creampie; some biting

a/n: another fic from last summer, hope you enjoy! ; headers & dividers by @/saradika-graphics

follow @palioomfics & turn on notifs for future updates

• masterlist •

Oberyn had been watching her all night already, his dark eyes following the shape of her wherever she went. Between the bustle of the people, her bright orange glowing dress like the sun, rising and settling as she appeared and disappeared, standing around like she didn’t know what to do with herself.

It was adorable, a smirk gracing his features as he watched her wring her hands, smiling sheepishly when someone approached her. 

So innocent.

He could see the nervousness on her face from where he sat, the uncertainty, clearly not used to people approaching her.

He could see the heavy rise and fall of her chest, exposed by the deep cut of her garments.

Taking another sip of his wine, Oberyn stood, deciding now was his time.

The festivities had been going on for a while, and even though he had planned on celebrating with a group of people in his bedchambers later, she had thrown those plans into the wind the second he set sight on her.

Something just intrigued him, maybe it was the innocence she seemed to harbour, maybe it was her beauty.

Whatever it was, he had to know more, waiving away another woman that approached him with a polite smile, then walking over to the mysterious woman.

She looked around nervously, playing with the rings on her hands as people passed by her, some stopping to talk to her.

Feeling incredibly out of place at this feast, her first big one, she didn't quite know what to do. Her parents were somewhere, as were her siblings.

The lords trying to speak to her made her feel uneasy, knowing she was supposed to find a possible suitor at some point, but wanting nothing more than to flee this place.

In fact, she was thinking about just leaving, when she was approached again.

Tall, dark haired and handsome. The Prince of Dorne, Oberyn Martell.

She had seen him at his table, stealing a glance every once in a while and looking away when his dark eyes caught hers.

And now he stood in front of her, flashing her a wide smile.

“My Prince.” She said, curtsying as well as she could, perhaps a little clumsily. 

Out of everything she had expected to happen today, she did not expect for him to approach her.

“Do you intend to sulk in the shadows all night, my dove?”

She blinked up at him, once again playing with the rings on her fingers.

“I have not been sulking.” A frown graced her face, a slight tremble in her voice. His presence was intimidating, but different from the other people who had approached her. “I have been observing.”

Oberyn chuckled, taking a small step closer to her, watching her step back just a little in return. So close to her, he could practically feel the nervosity radiating off of her, trying to hold eye contact before they moved away again, looking at anything but him.

“Observing by turning down all lords and ladies who approach you?” He said, watching her fingers stop for just a moment, as if she had been caught, before fiddling with her rings again. “I must admit, I have been watching you for a while - you are the only lady not dancing, not talking to anyone. Just standing in your corner, sometimes moving to follow the servants for a drink or something to eat.”

She stayed quiet. Had she been that noticeable? Just by standing around, hoping for a saving grace?

“I assume this to be your first attendance at a feast this big, am I correct, my dove?”

That nickname.

It made her feel warm, a different kind of warmth than the Dornish weather. Running through her in an unfamiliar fashion, her veins like molten metal, a strange feeling moving up her spine..

“Yes, my Prince.” She said, nodding, but not looking at him.

Oberyn noticed how she became more nervous, smirking at the display in front of him.

“My parents have kept me from them for long, I was only ever allowed to attend small ones.” She continued, sighing. “It is quite overwhelming. I am inexperienced in these kinds of things.”

Her words made him inhale sharply through his nose, still smiling.

If she was inexperienced in this, what else was she inexperienced in?

He had wanted her before, but now the desire for her burned even brighter. Oberyn wanted to show her the things her parents have undoubtedly sheltered her from.

To keep their daughter pure for a potential suitor.

“I understand, my dove. Would you perhaps allow me to accompany you to a place more quiet?”

Usually, he did not beat around the bush when it came to a potential partner for the night.

But it was different with her. If he was blunt he would simply chase her away.

She didn’t look at him, thinking about his question.

All the other men and women that had asked before had made her feel uneasy. Unsure why they wanted to whisk her away, promising a better night someplace else.

But the Prince of Dorne? He made her feel different. A heat and a pressure in her abdomen that she never felt before.

She knew of the rumours, that he took many partners, for whatever they did. Yet, as he stood in front of her, charming smile and good looks, she felt herself drawn to him.

Oberyn reached out, placing a finger under her chin and forcing her to look up at him. “I asked you a question, my dove.”

His fingers on her chin made her still, just looking up at him with her big eyes, lips slightly parted. The touch made that pressure worse, breath hitching in her throat.

“My Prince, I’m-” She stumbled over her words, unsure what to answer.

He just chuckled, a sigh leaving him. “You are quite easily flustered, my dove. Come with me, please.”

Holding out his arm for her to take, he hoped she would. Such an innocent, pretty thing. There was something so endearing about the way she was behaving.

She swallowed hard, looking from his face to his arm, hesitating for a moment. Something drew her to him, and after another moment, she hooked her arm into his with a nervous smile.

Oberyn walked her away from the feast, the noises dying down behind them as they walked the long corridors.

“What did the other lords and ladies ask of you, my dove?” 

She sighed, glad to be away from the bustle in the halls, but feeling uncertain now, a throbbing at the apex of her thighs distracting her.

“They wished to take me away for some fun. I’m unsure what they meant exactly.” She didn’t look at him, too nervous to meet his dark, piercing eyes. 

It was intimidating, she had never been in the presence of a man other than her father or her brothers alone. She knew how to behave, for the most part, but nonetheless was it a little scary.

Oberyn smirked, looking down to her, seeing how she only stared at the floor or ahead of them. 

“You did not know what they were implying?” He asked, a bit amused but genuinely curious. “My little dove, you must be younger than I thought or your parents simply were too careless with your education.”

She remained quiet, her cheeks growing hot. 

A sense of shame washed over her, that he thought she was too young. It was as if her friends were with her, giggling and whispering because of something she didn’t understand.

And when she asked, they never explained, finding it too amusing to laugh and belittle her.

There was something she was missing out on, and she hated not knowing what.

“My dove, you do not have to be ashamed.” He said, his other hand coming to gently rest on hers. “If you wish, I could show you.”

He had been right about the assumptions of her being a virgin, too innocent for her own good.

Walking next to her, he felt something else besides the desire for her, a need to protect.

As if he was the only one allowed to show her, that anyone else would simply take advantage of this fact.

Now her eyes met his, brows furrowed. 

“Show me?” She echoed his words. “How? What exactly?”

Oberyn just smiled, eyes leaving hers to look at the guards standing by the door of his chambers.

He stopped, not too far away from the door, looking back at her.

“Do you wish for me to show you, my dove?” He asked, brushing back a strand of hair, tucking it behind her ear. “If not, I understand.”

She should be wary. Despite him being the Prince of Dorne, she should think about this. But she was curious, so curious about what this thing was that she had been missing out on.

And there was still that feeling inside of her.

“Yes, my Prince.” She said with a small nod. “I am curious, please.”

He chuckled, his knuckles brushing over her cheek. “Please, call me Oberyn, my dove.”

Moving along, the guards allowed them to enter, the heavy door falling shut behind them. Oberyn let go of her arm, walking over to a table to pour himself some wine, then offering her a cup.

She took it with a small nod, taking in his quarters. They were richly decorated, the bed massive.

Just how she would imagine it, if she had ever spent time on that before meeting him.

Taking a sip of her wine, Oberyn laid a hand on her waist with a gentle smile, pulling her closer to him.

“Most people stare when they first come here.” He said, his hand wandering up and down her side. “Don’t be nervous, little dove.”

She nodded, swallowing hard. That was easier said than done, the heat inside her becoming unbearable at this point.

His hand on her side felt like it was burning her, even through the thin fabric of her gown. Like it was hot coals placed on her.

“Have you ever been kissed, my dove?” He asked suddenly, eyes searching hers. Pulling her just a little closer to him.

She shook her head no, slowly. Heart beating in her throat, he was so close to her. 

She could feel the warmth of him, twirling the cup of wine in her hand.

“Would you allow me to?”

There was some hesitation inside her, her hands stilling. Should she allow him to? She wanted to, somehow.

Often had she imagined what it felt like, kissing someone.

Her answer came in the form of a nod, her head barely moving.

Oberyn smiled, his hand coming up to cup her cheek.

“Oh, my little dove.”

Despite his growing desire, he moved gently, bending down to place his lips onto hers. The small gasp that left her made him chuckle, his other hand coming to rest on her hip and pull her hips flush against his.

She stiffened beneath his touch, liking the way his lips felt on hers, surprisingly soft, while his beard and moustache tickled her skin. Holding onto her cup tightly, she closed her eyes, humming when he deepened the kiss and she tried to match his movements, clumsy and inexperienced.

When he parted from her, she chased after him, opening her eyes when she couldn’t. Oberyn laughed at that, staying close to her, his thumb brushing over her cheek.

She looked adorable, the way she greedily breathed in air, lips slightly parted. Still too nervous, too stiff.

“What do you think, my dove?” He asked, leaning closer again so their noses were almost touching. “Would you like for me to show you more? There is quite an array of things I could assist you with.”

His fingers curled into her hip, and when she nodded, he only smiled wider.

“I promise to be gentle, my dove. A beauty such as you needs to be handled with care.”

She didn’t know what he meant, but it didn’t matter, because as soon as he kissed her again, more eager this time, her mind went blank.

His hand briefly left her hip to take the cup from her hands, placing it on the table next to them, before it was back, pulling her against his chest and making her gasp.

Letting his tongue glide against hers at the opportunity, Oberyn heard her muffled moan, relishing in the sweet sound.

The way she tried to kiss him back was delightful, so tender and new, trying to keep up with him.

Slowly he manoeuvred her back towards the bed, having to hold onto her waist as her steps became unsure, stumbling backwards once, her cheeks glowing even hotter.

The throbbing only became more intense, and when they reached the bed and he gently pushed her to sit at the foot of it, she squeezed her thighs together, looking for relief.

There was a wetness now that felt foreign to her.

Oberyn noticed, amused at the display.

“Are you aching, my dove?” He asked, his hands coming to the belt tied around his waist.

Aching.

It did hurt, but in a different way. Not like a bruise or a cut.

She nodded. “A little. My Prince- Oberyn, what- I don’t understand what is happening.”

Poor thing. Her parents had done a horrible job to prepare their daughter.

To leave her in the dark at such an age.

She watched him undo his belt, letting it fall to the floor before motioning for her to move further back to the middle of the bed.

“You’re aroused, my dove. You feel the need for cock.” He explained, shedding his robe, then crawling over her. “Have you seen a cock before, little dove?”

Her mouth went dry as she watched him undress, now only clad in a dark orange tunic and his breeches. 

Aroused.

Of course. But was she really aroused by him? In need of his cock?

She nodded, and she could see a flash of surprise grace his features. 

“In the bathhouses, yes.” She tried to hold his gaze, now hovering over her and letting his hand glide down her side. “From afar.”

He chuckled, leaning down to kiss her cheek, then her neck, hearing the breathy moan spill from her lips, feeling her back arch slightly.

“In the bathhouses…” He repeated in a whisper, still some amusement in his voice. “Yet you don’t know a thing about this… about desire and fucking.”

The word felt vulgar, so close to her ear.

And she felt embarrassed again. That she didn’t know more, that she didn’t understand she was aroused just by him being near her, by him kissing her, by him hovering over her.

“Do you want me to show you, my dove? The thrill of desire?” He asked, still mouthing along her neck, gently, just feeling her as she squirmed, her own hands coming to rest on his broad shoulders. “How to fuck?”

Her breath hitched in her throat when he sucked at the junction of her neck and shoulder, a throaty moan leaving her.

“I- I do not know, Oberyn.” She stammered, fingers digging into his shoulders. The throbbing and the pressure were distracting her, just needing relief. “It hurts, it really hurts.”

His hand moved lower, down her side and to her thigh, gathering her skirts before it dipped below them.

“I can help you, my dove.” His hand wandered between her thighs, finding her dripping already, a soft sound escaping him at the feeling. “Oh, my dove. Wet and gushing like a waterfall and I have barely touched you.”

He sounded pitying almost, his fingers slipping between her folds, raising his head to watch her face when he found her clit.

A hiss left her, looking at him with wide eyes at the foreign feeling. It felt good, strange but good.

“Have you never touched yourself before? Brought yourself to the peak of pleasure?” He asked, drawing slow circles into her clit, with featherlight touches. 

She shook her head, trying to keep her eyes open, her legs opening further.

“Never, I didn’t know-”

“You poor thing.” He cooed, kissing her. 

When his fingers left her again, she whined in protest, one of her hands reaching out to grab his wrist. 

She didn’t even really know what was happening, simply that his touch felt good and that she wanted more.

Needed more.

The burning sensation inside her was so consuming and overwhelming while also hurting her.

“Oberyn, please, continue.” She said, guiding his hand back down but he escaped her grasp. 

“Do you know anything about this, my dove? About fucking, the feeling of something stretching you open? Feeling somebody’s naked skin against yours?”

Stretching her open? It sounded painful, she couldn’t imagine how anything could do that, and where.

But she didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to embarrass herself further.

She shook her head again. “No, I don’t.”

He chuckled, his hand coming up to tug one of the straps of her gown down her shoulder, then further down her arm, exposing her breast.

“My little dove, so innocent, so pure.” A sigh left him, watching her face as he touched her breast, just lightly brushing over the hardened nipple. Nothing could have prepared him for just how much her innocence spurred him on. “I will take care of you, just allow me to do so.”

“Please, please, Oberyn.” She whined, desperate. His hand felt good on her, back arching off the bed and into his touch, her head thrown back as she closed her eyes.

This was what she had missed out on, something so good and intense. If only he could touch her again.

Slowly Oberyn undressed her, slipping the garment down her body and kissing each inch of newly uncovered skin. Taking in how she whined and moaned, took in a sharp breath or hissed at the sensation.

She felt exposed, once he sat back and pulled the gown down her legs, his dark eyes raking over her naked form as she laid before him, resisting the urge to cover herself.

So sweet and pure. And he would be the one to ruin her, to taint her beautiful body.

Thank the Gods it was him and not someone else.

“So pretty.” He said, a hand gliding up and down her thigh, the other working open his tunic. “My little dove, all for me to enjoy. I shall show you the heights of pleasure.”

She watched as he shed the garment, exposing his toned torso, the muscles under his skin moving. She was mesmerized, despite having seen this so many times at the bathhouses, when she came to find her siblings or her parents.

His hands moved down to his breeches, opening them just as slowly as he had done with the rest of his clothing.

“It seems as if my little dove has found something she likes.” He chuckled, shedding the last piece of clothing, kneeling between her spread legs, just as exposed as she was.

Cock heavy and throbbing, her eyes were fixed on it.

It was bigger than what she had seen before. But she didn’t know if she should mind that.

“Don’t be scared, my dove.” Oberyn said, moving to hover over her again, one hand on her thigh, his cock brushing against her stomach. “I’ll prepare you to take me.”

“Take me?” She asked, gasping when his hand found that sweet spot again, applying more pressure this time and leaving her breathless.

He hummed against her neck, kissing and sucking on her skin, taking in her sweet sounds.

So adorable, needing to be taught. Not knowing what pleasures awaited her.

His hand moved lower and he felt how she stiffened when one finger pressed against her hole.

“Don’t be scared…” He repeated, slowly pushing a single digit in, groaning when he felt her squeeze around him, her nails digging into his shoulders with a whine.

It felt strange, his thick finger inside of her, moving in and out slowly. Yet it also felt good, her hips rolling on their own, legs opening wider.

“Oberyn-” She moaned, voice breaking, the pressure inside her easing just a little. 

His mouth found hers again, continuing to move his finger slowly, his cock twitching at the thought of burying himself inside her soon.

“Tell me how it feels, little dove. You might be ready for another finger soon.”

She whined, concentrating on the foreign feeling, the stretch when he pushed a second finger in.

“It feels good, my Prince- Oberyn.” She breathed, her mind feeling as if it was floating on a cloud, hissing when he scissored his fingers inside of her. “It hurts a little, but it feels good.”

He chuckled, kissing her cheek and down to her jaw, then down her neck again.

“My dove, you feel splendid, gripping my fingers so tight with your sweet cunt.”

Something inside her built, blood hot like molten metal as it rushed through her, building her higher and higher until he took his fingers from her again.

A noise of protest died in her throat, his teeth softly sinking into her shoulder.

He grinned at that, lifting his head to look at her, bringing his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean with a deep hum.

“Finer than any wine.” Oberyn said, positioning himself so his cock was lined up with her. “My dove, I promise to be gentle. It may sting nonetheless.”

She nodded, drowsy and wanting nothing more than this ache to end. He said his cock would help, and so she wished for nothing more than him to enter her where his fingers just had been.

“Please, help me relieve this ache.” She said, feeling him against her, so much thicker than his fingers.

Oberyn watched as he entered her, grunting at how tight she still was, seeing her eyes squeeze shut and take a sharp breath.

It stung, he hadn’t lied about that, his lips finding hers as he pushed in further, muffling her whimpers while he buried inch after inch inside of her.

All the way until he was fully sheathed inside of her, hips flush against hers, one of his hands coming to rest on her thigh, squeezing it gently.

“It hurts, Oberyn.” She breathed when he broke from her, looking back at him, his lips on her cheek again.

“I know, my dove. You will feel better soon, don’t you worry.”

It was so new, the sensation of being filled, of him inside of her and stretching her out just as he had said.

Overwhelming, someone being so close to her, inside of her, his hot skin against hers, his soft lips on her cheeks.

The pain slowly fading into a need, the throbbing returning, as did the pressure.

Her hips moving on their own, making him chuckle, the sound vibrating against her chest. 

“Are you sure you wish to continue already, my dove?” He asked, kissing a spot just below her ear that sent a shiver through her. “I cannot stop myself if we do, your cunt is simply too tight and inviting.”

She nodded, whispering a silent please.

So he slowly pulled back, setting a lazy rhythm of shallow thrusts, her dragged out moans like music to his ears, a little symphony written just for him as he drove back into her over and over again.

“You feel perfect, my dove, what an honour to teach you about the pleasures of the flesh.” Oberyn groaned, his hands grabbing her legs and wrapping them around his hips, making her whimper loudly. “You won’t find a nicer cunt than that of this little virgin dove.”

She let him move, rolling her hips, trying to meet his thrusts, that something inside her building again, becoming stronger this time.

If this really was what she had been missing out on, what she had been ridiculed for, she never wanted it to stop now that she had it.

The feeling pleasant as the ache became less and less present.

Oberyn had to hold back to not just drive into her with his entire force, losing himself in how good she felt, but still wanting this to be something good for her, as much as he desired her.

Already knowing he would seek her out again and again, her innocence far from gone, her sounds so sweet in his ears, her hands so soft as they grabbed at him, trying to find purchase on his body.

“My dove, you are close, I can feel you.” He rasped, his movements becoming sloppier, lips dancing over her skin. “You’re close, aren’t you?”

“Close to what?” She asked, words catching on her breath, feeling something but unsure if it was what he meant.

Gods, she was so adorable.

“Oh, you will see, my dove.”

His hand moved between them, finding her clit.

And with just a few movements, something snapped inside of her so suddenly and with such force that all breath left her, a strangled noise catching in her chest as her veins burned, the pressure in her abdomen released. 

She was trembling, holding him against her tightly as he kept moving, thrusts harsher now.

“There you are, my little dove, isn’t that wonderful? The heights, the peak?”

It was a pretty sight, her face contorted in bliss and pleasure but also so shocked by what was happening to her, by these new feelings.

She could only whine, falling silent when she heard him grunt deeply into her ear, stilling above her.

Spilling himself deep inside of her before rolling off of her, not separating but rolling her with him so she came to rest on top of him.

She felt exhausted suddenly, the euphoric feelings still coursing through her veins.

And he felt solid beneath her body, catching his breath just as she did, his hands carding through her hair.

“Now, my dove, how do you feel?” He asked, watching her face as she rested on him. “Are you satisfied?”

If anyone had told her just a few hours ago that she would land in the bed of the Prince of Dorne, she would have laughed at them.

But now, it seemed quite nice.

She nodded. “I feel exhausted, but I am very grateful for what you showed me.”

A smile stretched her lips wide, he liked it. She seemed to be less nervous.

He chuckled, one hand wandering down to smooth over her back. Normally he would be far from done, already planning another round of pleasure.

But she truly seemed too exhausted by this. After all, she hadn’t even known about any of this until now.

Her eyes drifted shut, but she was still awake, listening to his heartbeat.

“Oh, my dove.” He said quietly, kissing the top of her head. “There is so much more to show you, I am far from done with you.”

She felt warm at the idea, curious what else there was to discover. Her eyes felt too heavy to open them again, slowly drifting off into sleep on top of him.

Oberyn simply smiled, sighing deeply.

Yes, he was far from done. 

There was so much to learn, so much to discover.

And he couldn’t wait to see her face once he began to truly teach his little dove.

#oberyn martell #oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell fanfiction #oberyn martell smut #oberyn martell x you #game of thrones #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x you #pedrostories #my writing

[danceyreagan]

Its so hard being a black women who likes fanfiction. Like there is just still so little representation. Even when things are “reader” they are coded for white people.

No one is running their fingers through my silky hair. Or brushing hair out of my eyes behind my ear. I have an afro and when I dont its in twists. Also, black women dont really let people touch or play in their hair.

I dont have pink nipples.

I dont blush. My skin will not turn red no matter how hard Im blushing.

Now I thought it was hard in the Peaky Fandom. But there are some amazing black fic writers here and likely more have emerged since I havent been active in the fandom for a few years.

Trying to read Kpop fan fiction, its even harder to find representation.

If you are in any of the fandoms below, please comment or reblog with your fave black fanfic writers.

Mine are

@btsqualityy

@kimnjss

@panjakes

@laketaj24

@xxdearlybeloved

#welcome to the new series #Dancey’s rants. #please feel free to post your pet peeves. #peaky blinders #game of thrones #kpop fanfic #Black Reader #black fanfiction #Black and nerdish #BTS Fanfiction #Stray Kids #stray kids fanfic #txt fanfic #tomorrow x together #TXT imagine #BTS Imagine #Stray kids imagine

[lis-likes-fics]

The Dragon's Wife

Pairings: Daemon Targaryen x bride!Reader Word Count: 4k words Kink: Breeding Warnings: NSFW, noncon, dark content, fingering, p in v, slight cum eating, first time, humiliation, crying kink, biting, multiple force orgasms, forced breeding, creampie, A/N: Happy Kinktober, everyone! I think this may be the darkest thing I've ever written, in terms of this is my first noncon. If you catch any warning I missed, please let me know. Thank you so much and I hope you enjoy this and the rest of my prompts for kinktober! Find the main masterlist here. Also A/N: I had to respost this shit twice but Tumblr fucking sucks and is hiding it. I hate this website sometimes... Enjoy!

The large doors of Daemon's bed chambers shut behind you with a damning thud. Still wrapped in your wedding gown, the events of the night were still very fresh in your mind.

You were angry, outraged by the dishonor done upon you. Like some broodmare, your father gave you away to the Targaryen prince in need of a new wife after the last had passed "suspiciously".

It was humiliating, to say the least. You had produced no heirs for your house and "talked too much for your own good". Your father jumped at the chance to have this brute of a prince tame you. Perhaps you would be a "respectable lady".

But you would give neither of them the satisfaction.

"Are you going to stand there and stare at the door all night?" Daemon's voice spoke behind you, exhausted by you already.

You sighed. "Better than looking at you, dear husband."

You could hear his footsteps against the hard floors as he stepped closer to you. "Someone ought to teach you some respect."

You turned to face him so he could see the way you rolled your eyes. "Apparently, that's meant to be your job…seeing that I am now wed to you."

He gave you a hard look, his gaze dark and dangerous as his eyes rake up and down your body. A long silence filled the space between you as you stared one another down.

"Come here," he commanded, his tone stern but his voice quiet. yet

"No."

He tilted his head and a wicked smile took over his face. Amusement lit up within his eyes as a new goal took over him. He took a couple more steps toward you, stalking closer like some predator to its prey as he sized you up.

"Perhaps I will teach you some respect."

A chill ran down your spine, but you refused to stand down as you glared at him. He stood before you, raising a hand to touch your cheek. You smacked it away. "Don't touch me."

He breathed a laugh, looking you up and down. You moved to take a step back, to put more space between the two of you as an unsettling feeling settled into your skin.

But before you could lift your foot, his hand was wrapping firmly around your throat and pulling you close to him. You gasped out of shock, bringing your hands up to his own to pry it off of you as you stared wide-eyed at him.

"Such strong will you've got," he said, sighing deeply. "I wonder how easy it would be to break it." Your breath was shallow as you clenched your jaw. He hummed, moving his hand up in a harsh trail to your jaw, where his thumb and fingers dug into your flesh and made you hiss from the pain. "Your job is to produce my heirs, little cat, nothing more. You will do as I say."

You huffed. "I am not a whore."

"No," he said. "But you are my wife now…and you will breed if I say you will."

"I will not."

He laughed, a loud one deep in his chest as he pulled you closer by your neck. You were trembling in his grasp, the stubbornness turning to fear as his eyes trailed your face and stopped at your lips.

"You don't have a choice."

He shoved you away, and you stumbled to the ground. You stood quickly, trying to put more distance between you. But you had nowhere to go. You watched as he slowly advanced.

He backed you against the large table in his chambers, the wood digging uncomfortably into your back. He trapped you, grabbing roughly at your waist and regarding you with a primal grin.

"Wait," you begged, leaning back as you grabbed the table for support. "Wait, please. I'm sorry." He pulled back slightly, looking over you as he took in this new sense of fright. You swallowed thickly, staring at him as you trembled, tears pricking at your eyes and threatening to spill. You sighed shakily. "Please don't."

You received no sympathy as a wolfish grin took his face. "Look at you," he teased, laughing again as his hand found your neck again. "Not as strong as I thought then."

His lips crashed down upon yours, a bruising kiss that had lips mashing with teeth, breaking skin and filling your mouth with the taste of blood. You tried to push him away, grabbing at his arms and peeling them off you only for him to grab you again in a rougher grip than before.

You whined against his lips, still trying and failing to push him away from you. He lifted your chin, his hot breath enveloping your neck as he bared his teeth, burying them in your throat and making you yelp.

You grabbed at his hand uselessly. The adrenaline coursing through your veins made your blood pump furiously beneath your skin. Desperate to remove him from you, you managed to shove him away with your foot. He stumbled backwards. You took no time to catch your breath as you turned to run. You didn't know where you were going, but you ran.

Daemon watched with an amused smirk, wiping his mouth and advancing toward you again. You hardly got far before his hand was hooking around your neck and pulling you right back against him, your back flush against his front as his hot mouth and breath lingered at your ear.

"I stand corrected," he purred, biting your earlobe.

You shuddered under his grasp. "Please," he watched a tear slip down your cheek. "Don't hurt me."

"Oh," he breathed, pressing his lips against the crook of your shoulder and savoring the way you closed your eyes and whined. "Where's the fun in that?"

He held your body against his own with a tight grasp around you, his arms wrapped around your body and over your arms as his hands roamed your figure hungrily.

It all happened so fast. And he was so uninterested before, you admit, you had become a little cocky with your words the more comfortable you became with your detest for him. You never expected anything like this to happen—although you probably should have.

His hands found the neckline of your dress, and with a monstrous tear, he ripped it down the middle until it pooled in rags around you. He removed each layer from you like some beast tearing the flesh from a quivering animal with its sharpened tooth.

And when you were bare, another rush of adrenaline filled your veins and built another fight in you, a fire that would soon be overcome by a larger, more furious one.

"Daemon, stop!" you shouted in false bravado, kicking your feet to get him away, only to feed his hunger for this enticing hunt you created.

His large hand groped your breast, and you clenched your eyes shut at the sensation of it. You were trapped, and you couldn't do anything about it as he walked you to the table and shoved you to lay on it. Your cheek pressed against the wood, and you could almost swear you felt splinters poking at your skin. But the wood was so smooth, you could have been imagining it.

He bent down, confining you once more as his lips and tongue and teeth clashed with the skin of the back of your neck, your shoulder, your back. He licked and sucked and bit until you were sure you'd be covered in bruises, the marks of his claim coloring your skin red and purple by morning.

"You taste magnificent, little cat," he purred before biting your earlobe once more. A cold tear ran down your cheek as you shuddered, and a dark chuckle slipped from his chest. "Such beautiful tears you've got. Like crystals."

You yelped as his hand smacked down on your ass, gripping the flesh immediately after in a vice grip that burned.

Your whole body jerked when you felt his fingers press between your thighs to feel your cunt, baring your teeth and biting back another whimper. "Oh, that's no good," he remorsed, acknowledging the lack of slickness between your thighs as his crude fingers continued to feel you. "We'll just have to fix that. You do not want to take this dry, I'll tell you that. Especially not when you're this tight. You've needed a good fucking, haven't you, little cat?"

You could hear the smirk on his voice, and it made your skin prickle, a chill running down your spine that soured and turned to fire in your belly when he shoved two fingers inside of you. You clenched around him and tried to hide your face away on the table.

"Daemon, please," you begged. "Please, please, please."

He thrust them deeper, exploring more of you as he listened to your stifled moans and cries. "I know, little thing. You don't want my fingers inside of you… you want my cock, don't you?"

You shivered as another cry shook you at that. He continued, "You do. I can see it. You want my hard cock inside of you, you need it." He shoved his fingers in deeper, adding a third that curled harshly inside you and allowed waves of arousal to coat his fingers. "You need my thick cock in your tight little cunt to fill you with my dragonborn sons and daughters."

He kept thrusting, his pace picking up faster and harder as he set a cruel rhythm. You couldn't help clenching around him, opposing the invasion as the searing pleasure tore through your body.

"You were so confident," he said, his voice suddenly right next to your ear, "until I got my hands on you. You were just begging for someone to put you in your place."

You gripped the edge of the table, wanting nothing more than to sink into the ground and disappear, let the Stranger take you away from this cruel world and deliver you to sleep.

"Look at you," he snickered, pulling his hand from you with a sickening squelch. "Wetting my hands like a common whore. Perhaps you needed this more than I realized."

Your legs trembled, and you wrapped your arms around your head to cover your face, to hide away from him. You startled when you felt his hand reach out and comb through your hair, starting from the beginning of your scalp and working his way back until he suddenly gripped a handful of your hair at the base and pulled. He made you look at him, you closed your eyes and whimpered at the pain.

"Open your eyes," he said calmly, staring at your face as you refused. His grip in your hair tightened as his voice lowered to a dangerous register as he nearly growled. "Open your eyes, little cat."

You followed his orders, afraid of the consequences otherwise. He watched another tear join the rest of them streaked along your cheeks, your eyes wet and pathetic as he fed off your misery. "Well, you needn't worry," he whispered, faux sympathy poisoning his tone. "I'll fuck you like you need to be fucked."

He yanked at your hair again, pulling you up to stand and ignoring the way you cried at the pain. He led you to the bed, letting you go with a small shove so you stood in front of it. He gestured to the bed. "On your knees."

You stood frozen, covering your body as you hung your head. You were shaking. He didn't care.

"On your knees."

You bit your trembling lip, moving slowly as you set your knee on the edge of the bed and slowly moving forward until you were sitting as he told you: on your knees, humiliated and cold.

He pressed his hand to your back, and the rest of his body followed to hold you as he harshly kissed the back of your shoulder again, more teeth than lips. Then he pushed you forward so you held yourself on your hands.

"Look at you," he remarked again, another chuckle echoing in his chest. "I shall make a bride of you yet."

You listened to him strip, taking his sweet time to remove every piece of clothing he had from his body and let it drop to the floor like sacks. You waited, hating the suspense. And you flinched when his hand found your dripping cunt, slipping through your lips and leaving just as quick.

There was a quite suckling sound, and then he spoke again. "Mm, you should taste yourself. Such sweet nectar."

His fingers prodded at your lips, you sealed them closed as you tried to move your face away, but he wasn't having it. He smeared your slickness all over your lips and down your chin and cupped your jaw with his cruel fingers. "Taste it."

You let out a choked sob as you slowly opened your mouth. His fingers invaded your mouth the same way they did your pussy, thrusting harshly in and out between your lips as you tasted yourself on them. You breathed heavily around his fingers as he pushed down on your tongue, spread them apart to make your tongue lick between them, adamant on making you lick every drop of your arousal off of his hand.

He finally removed his hand, and you could breathe again as you hung your head and gasped. You felt your blood run cold at the sound of wet skin on skin, a steady shlick making you clench, rejecting what you knew was coming, what you knew you couldn't fight.

You expected him to say something, to whisper in your ear to make you shiver, to taunt you as he fed off your humiliation and loathing.

Without warning, he shoved his cock into you, burying himself to the hilt in one deep thrust. It was much worse than if he had warned you beforehand. You'd found safety in his predictability, his need to tease you gave warning to what he intended to do when he intended to do it. He'd taken even that from you.

He groaned as he settled deeply within you. "Ondoso se gods…" he muttered under his breath, taking your hips and pulling you back as he ground inside of you. "Now I know why you were so eager," he breathed. "This is a virgin's cunt."

You gripped the sheets of the bed and clenched, wanting to force him out but unable to. He was bigger than you, faster than you, stronger than you. He was carved by war, bled and seasoned by it. If you thought there was a chance you won this fight, you were dumber than he thought.

He pulled out of you, an agonizingly slow drag that emptied you out until he suddenly thrust back in with a harsh thrust. The pleasure burned. As his patience began to wear thin, he was rid of all his slow, tempered thrust and resolved to piston inside of you like a hungry beast.

His hips snapped into your ass with every thrust, in and out was his fast rhythm that split you apart on his cock. You gripped the sheets and squeezed his cock and cried as the ecstasy of his intrusion tore you apart.

You whimpered and moaned, unable to help the way your sobs left you as he grunted and groaned about how good he must be making you feel.

His hand snaked around your waist and between your thighs to find your clit, and he pressed down harshly as he moved to make you cum. The pleasure spasmed when he touched you and you hated it.

His relentless thrusts ached as he built you up. When you came, your whole body shattered and you cried out, your arms giving out as you fell forward into the bed and muffled your sob. Your thighs shook and it took far too long for the shocks of pleasure to simmer. You hated yourself for letting it feel so good.

A hand cracked down on your ass once more as he pulled you close again by the waist. "You fucking loved that, I could tell," he breathed. "You clenched around me so tight. Even now your cunt is sucking me in."

You pulled weakly at the bedsheets. "Daemon, please…"

"So sweet… begging for me like some cock-drunk whore," he smiled. "Oh, my little cat… I'm going to fuck my cum so deep inside of you, you'll feel me dripping out of you for days."

He pulled out of you, and you let out a breath. In the same breath, he flipped you onto your back and spread your legs wide with his calloused hands. You fought to close them, but to no avail—not to your surprise.

He spread you open and sunk into you once more, grasping your jaw with his hand shaped into claws as he made you look at him. He thrust into you, deep and fast, his breath almost like a groan in his chest. "Look at me," he ordered. You obeyed, albeit hesitantly, on the first command.

"Such obedience," he praised. "You love it when I fuck you like this? When I force open your legs and take what is mine?" You wanted to shake your head and throw your hands and shove him off, but you were trapped and already broken in enough. His free hand grabbed at your thigh and clawed into your flesh, tearing you apart like he was doing to you now.

"Of course, you do. I know you do," he continued. His hips continued to snap into yours, shoving deeper and rougher into you in a way that made it hard to contain moans that came from the sick pleasure curling within you, burning in your belly and fueling the tears in your eyes. But you were quieter than before, your sobs realizing they were getting you nowhere and accepting that this would be your life now. You could do nothing but lay there and take it as he fucked you, taking his pleasure from you like he would the spoils of war.

And he lasted too long. He held you down and kissed and bit and sucked and clawed at your flesh. He taunted and teased you, made you cum at least twice more with his insistent fingers as the pleasure seared in your belly like a corrosive flame ruining you from the inside out. You winced and whimpered and could do no more.

You didn't know how long you were there. It felt like forever, his relentless thrusts becoming numb to your sore body as you let him use you.

He sat up, pulling you into his lap as he fucked you in a newer, deeper angle. "I'm going to breed you now," he smirked, his strong hands keeping you close as he impaled you on his cock with a new determination. His white hair had fallen messily in his eyes by now, his lips pink and his eyes blown wide with lust.

"Would you like that? Would you like me to plant my seed in your quivering little cunt and make you an heir?" You stared up at him, your eyes tired as you watched him taunt you. Apparently, the question had not been rhetorical as his hand grips your jaw again and sets your head straight. "Answer me, little cat."

A war went off in your mind. If you said no, he'd likely to subject you to more horror, drag out the moment longer than he needed just to make you endure this torture a little while longer. If you came again, the shame would be so thick and so deep, you likely would not survive it.

But if you agreed to him, you would be admitting defeat. You would officially be his little plaything for him to use whenever he felt a little too pent up one moment or bored the next.

But another moment of this would bring more emotional turmoil than you have the heart for right now…

"Well?" he wondered, grinding his hips deep within you as he continued to claw your face, barely holding on enough as his head bowed with his thrusts. You whispered, but he just tilted his head to listen closer to your barely audible voice. "What?"

"Yes…" you whispered.

"Yes, what? What would you like, little cat?" he smiled wide, triumphant in his ability to break you so easily.

You swallowed thickly, your saliva like syrup at the embarrassment. "Yes, Prince Daemon… I want," a new, tiny sob choked out of you as the words stuck in your throat, "I want you to…to breed me."

The pride shone in his gaze like the sun, harsh and bright. "That's a very good girl, you are. I'm so very proud of you," he said as he kissed you roughly again. His hips began to snap harder into your once more, and you felt the unsteadiness of the rhythm, the desperation of the chase for his release hot in your belly.

And when he came, he pulled you down by his hips and pushed so deeply inside of you, it hurt. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, reaching his peak with a roar as he spilled his hot, fiery cum inside of your cunt and fucked it in to stay. You mewled and grabbed uncomfortably at his arms as you lay through the whole ordeal, hating his grabby hands and his thick, pulsing cock and his depraved sounds above you. The warmth filled you like tar.

He cursed under his breath in a language foreign to you. After grinding his hips for longer than he needed, he finally pulled out of you and put an end to your misery. You sighed in relief, laying back as he sat up and removed his heavy weight from your body.

He stared down at you, completely flustered and spent but well enough to tease some more. "Look at you," he shook his head. "Pathetic whore hungry for my cock."

You didn't look at him, turning your head to the side and laying there as he kept your legs open with his body between yours. He chuckled deep in his throat and smacked your side, earning little more than a near silent yelp.

You flinched when his hand found your cunt again, this time filled and smeared with both your cum and his. His long middle finger shoved inside of you and then back inside. With no warning, he placed his hand at your mouth. Another fight kicked through your veins, though noticeably less fueled than the last.

"Ah-ah," he tutted. "Open your mouth and see how well we taste together, little cat. If you don't, I have other things I can do with that little mouth of yours."

His threat was clear as day as you obeyed. Cracking your mouth open, he smeared your mixed release over your lips again and finally delved into your mouth to make you lick every single drop from his fingers. It was salty and sweet, and you hated it.

"Such a good, pathetic little girl, you are." He pulled his fingers from your mouth and sighed longingly. "Was that so hard?"

He shoved you off his lap, discarding you like trash as he stood to tidy himself once more. And once he finished, he blew out the remaining candles in the room and spared you not a single glance and not a single word more. He rolled over on the bed beside you and eased himself to sleep.

You lay there, staring at the sealing as the soreness in your limbs spread deeper and deeper until it reached your very soul. A heaviness took you, weighed down your heart until you were naught but a body on a bed next to a dark prince. A numbness ate away at your toes, at your fingertips, until the even numbness disappeared and was replaced by a terrible grief when the thoughts of the night flashed behind your eyes like a terrible dream.

And you began to sob. Softly, as not to wake Daemon and invoke him into another frenzy, you cried and hated the way it did not cleanse your soul. You belonged to him, his little wife, his little cat to prey on. You were just a dragon's whore now. Nothing more, nothing less.

Tag yourself here or send me a message!

#daemon targeryen x reader #daemon targaryen smut #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader smut #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #dark content #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #female reader #dead dove do not eat

[dragons-and-handcuffs]

Aegon Targaryen ii x niece!reader

If there is anyone Aegon has truly loved in his life, it is you. His niece. Rhaenyra's daughter. Aegon knew you two will be married the moment you were born. At the time he was very young to realize that it was a strategic move by his older step sister and father, but it doesn't mean that his feelings for you have been anything but genuine. Even Alicent knew that if there is anyone who can keep him in the right path, it's you.

Aegon often compares you to a beautiful snowy day. Your hair silver and shining as the snow when the lazy sun rays brush against them. Your presence warm like the fire. Your smile bringing comfort to him always.

You were close to Aegon when you were growing up, or at least you thought you were made to be close with him. To always have his trust and love. Unlike Aegon, you always knew the reason why you two were arranged to be married, and it has always made you feel that whatever you feel for Aegon is not real, it's all part of the grand scheme. Even if you let yourself feel and enjoy him and his presence momentarily, your mother would always remind you of your purpose.

But Aegon was not completely blind. He can see how his beloved niece is always conflicted. He can see how you are stopping yourself from listening to your heart. But he hopes one day you will love him just like he loves you.

The night before your wedding Aegon sneaked into your room, taking you by surprise. "What are you doing in my room at this hour, uncle?" You asked. "What? I can't come and see my soon to be wife?" He just chuckled and threw you some clothes he stole from a servant. "Change into this quickly." He told you as he made sure the door was locked. "Why?" "Because I want to sneak you out of the castle like we used to do when we were kids," Aegon replied. "I want us to be just Aegon and y/n, not some prince and princess."

Aegon couldn't help but admit that even in a servant's clothes you look beautiful. He himself put the hood over your head to hide your silver hair before holding your hand and taking you through a secret passage.

For the night you forgot about your mother's words. You forgot about your purpose. You were just y/n enjoying your last night in the streets of kings landing before getting married the next day.

Your smile, your laugh, the twinkle in your eyes, it was all Aegon could focus on, thinking of himself as the luckiest man alive.

The night ended with you gently pressed against the wall, laughing after you two ran from some guards. Aegon gently caressed your cheek before kissing you. A kiss both of you have been longing for a while now. A kiss you have dreamed of many times but scared to desire it.

The next day you married Aegon in front of everyone, vowing to always love him. You were happy. Aegon was happy. But your smile soon turned upside down when your mother told you to not bear him a child until she is crowned as the queen. A legitimate child of Aegon would cause problems for Rhaenyra and her way to succession.

How can you stay away from the man you love? It would be impossible but to obey your mother you had to. You ignored Aegon, pretended to be annoyed by him or hate him. It was a torture for you. Poor Aegon couldn't understand what was going on. He couldn't figure out what he did wrong. And so he started drinking to forget about the pain. He slept with other women to forget about you. You knew everything and you never imagined it would hurt so much.

You were doing everything to obey your mother until you just couldn't take it anymore. You were beyond frustrated, unable to live your own life or love your husband, unable to see Aegon in other women's arms. You just ran out of the castle with tears in your eyes and mounted your dragon and flew away. The news reached Aegon and even in his drunk state he didn't hesitate to mount Sunfyre and ride in search of you.

Hours later Aegon finally found you, far away from kings landing. The young prince has flown through a storm, the effect of wine long gone, and he is beyond worried. When you heard the flap of the dragon wings you thought it was maybe Aemond, because in your mind there is no way Aegon would be the one to come for you.

When you saw him you just broke down, on your knees, tears running down your face. Aegon ran to you. Despite everything you have done he still loves you. "I can't take it Aegon. I can't take it anymore," You cried as soon as he kneeled down and wrapped his arms around you. "Tell me what happened. I can fix it," Aegon begged.

You just couldn't' hold it any longer and told him everything, breaking both your hearts with each word. "I love you Aegon. I really do but if I choose you I will lose my mother and my brothers," You cried. This is the first time in your life you have opened to him. Aegon just hugged you tightly, letting you cry and feel everything. "I don't desire the throne, y/n. All my life I have only desired you. I have only loved you and I will only choose you. For the first time in your life you initiated the kiss. It was slow and sweet, and full of emotions from both of you. " Make me yours, husband. I only want to belong to you from now on."

Aegon was gentle with you. Kissing you everywhere as you two made love. You were holding and hugging him tightly, feeling a weight has lifted off your shoulders. You have decided to only live your life as the Aegon's wife and the princess, not Rhaenyra's daughter or a pawn.

You two returned to King's Landing together, walked through the halls holding hands. Aegon has promised to only find comfort in your arms and has sent all the other women away.

A year later you are pregnant with his child. You have seen what a man Aegon has become. A true Targaryen prince. And after everything your mother has done you hold nothing but hatred for her. She pushed you to go against her and support Aegon's claim on the throne.

"My beautiful wife," that's what Aegon always calls you. He was right by your side when you gave birth. He became a much better man and an excellent husband.

By the time Viserys died you were a mother of three royal Targaryens, all of them strongly resembling you and Aegon. It's something Rhaenyra is very displeased with. For years she tried to push the agenda that Aegon forced himself on you, otherwise why would you betray her and give him heirs. She refuses to believe that you love him.

You now have a seat at the small council. Your children are loved and even have a great bond with their uncle Aemond. You are pregnant again and the maesters believes it's another set of twins.

But tragedy soon struck when Blood and Cheese happened. It was your children who were the targets, specifically your eldest son but how can you not protect them? You fought the two assassins and lost your own life right in front of your children. When the guards found you were already dead but your children were safe.

Aegon rushed to you and his mind and heart just broke in the most irreparable way as soon as he saw you on the floor. Your eyes still open, your lifeless body lying in a pool of blood.

Aemond rushed in as well. He couldn't process what happened either but he did manage to take the children out of the room.

"My love?" Aegon called you in the most broken voice as he shook your lifeless body. "Wake up, my love. It's me, your Aegon."

His mother, Alicent, stood by the door and was totally helpless. She watched her eldest son cry over you and the more the realization draws in that you are dead the more shocked he gets.

Aegon was crying and fighting everyone when you were getting prepared for the funeral. He didn't leave your side for even a second. His arms and clothes are still stained with your blood.

As your pyre burned Aegon vowed to get revenge and make everyone suffer. He didn't move a single thing of yours from the room. Your jewelry, your dresses, even the last flowers he gave you. If anyone touches anything of yours they would lose their hands.

Aegon did manage to get his revenge. He described to Rhaenyra his last most moments with you as he fed her to his dragon who was also very fond of you. But ge knows nothing he can do or desire can bring you back.

At last it's your eldest son who sat on the iron throne and even claimed your dragon.

When Aegon closed his eyes for the last time he knew he was finally going to see you again. He woke at the same place you two made love for the first time. You were in a white dress, playing with the two children you never got to give birth to. "I was waiting for, my love," you gave him the very smile that always brings him comfort. Aegon finally got to kiss you again, to hold you and feel your love again. "I am never leaving you again, my beautiful wife."

#hotd #game of thrones #house of the dragon #game of thrones imagines #hotd headcanon #hotd fanfic #hotd imagine #hotd imagines #hotd one shot #house of the dragon imagine #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen #aegon x reader #hotd aegon #aegon targaryen #aegon the second #aegon the usurper #aegon targaryen x niece!reader #aegon x niece!reader #got fanfiction #game of thrones fanfic #game of thrones fanfiction #got #game of thrones imagine #got imagine #got one shot #got oc #aemond targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen

[justagirlwholikesadam]

Realm's Delight

Summary: You were the twin of the dark haired child Cersei had with Robert. While fever took your twin, you survived. You are known throughout the seven kingdom as the realm's delight. The years has passed and your younger brother Joffrey wants something you have. Sandor Clegane x Baratheon! Reader A/n: Let me know if you enjoy this. Likes and comments are appreciated. Enjoy -L

Warning: SFW, Joffrey is Joffrey, ANGST ANGST ANGST

Word Count: 5.3K

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Chapter 2

Joffrey's hatred towards you started when he was a teen and grew tremendously as he became older. He remembered you being an amazing sister, reading him stories when he was a child. Walking with him around the garden and to the Red Keep but he yearned for the attention of his father. Robert’s attention was always captured by the fancy wine, his whores and you. He knew Robert’s love for you is boundless, there was simply no end to it. Robert never yelled at you or hit you even when you protected Joffrey after he killed the kitchen cat.

He disemboweled the poor feline when he found out it was pregnant. He wanted to see the kittens, he cried out as you held him so he didn’t receive a second hit from his father. You stopped defending Joffrey when he became more ill-mannered. His hatred towards you began when you yelled at him for being discourteous to your help.

“Mind your manners when it comes to those who work for me. My servants are not bitches and my guard is not a dog. Learn to respect, brother.” You scolded him then turned to console one of your servants.

It's been a month after the events of Robert accepting your refusal to wed your betroth in Dorne. Cersei hasn't spoken to you and so didn't Joffrey, he grew more annoyed by the fact that you didn't care at all. You went on talking with Robert, to your uncles and his younger siblings. Joffrey was looking out the balcony trying his best to take short breaths so he didn’t have to smell the shit coming from below where the commoners live. He was staring out because he heard the ruckus you were making this morning. You didn’t break fast with them, he hasn't seen you all morning. Of course, Robert was fine with it. He told Cersei you were busy with your activities.

“Feeding the poor is one of her activities now?” Cersei spoke with a mocking tone. She got angry when Robert straight up ignored her and continued on with his meal.

Joffrey rolled his eyes when he finally found you. You were walking with Sandor up and down the streets of King’s Landing. Sandor walked behind you as he led his horse. Joffrey’s blue eyes hardened when he saw a group forming in front of you. Your smile didn’t break when they got near you, Joffrey couldn’t believe you could be near them. They reeked of shit, he couldn’t even be around them for 5 minutes before he started to gag.

Your smile didn't falter, it grew bigger as you walked around the dark mare to open the bags draped over its body. The people's eyes widened when you came back with slices of bread and cheeses wrapped in a white cloth. Sandor remains silent as he looks over at you then at his surroundings.

Joffrey walks away from the balcony when you continue to walk around with Sandor. It was evening and Sandor can tell you were tired. You were walking slower, you were up at dawn wrapping bread and cheese with the servants of the kitchen. This wasn’t something new, he’s been walking around King’s Landing with you feeding the people for years. You were kind unlike your family, Sandor thinks as he passes the last house that stood at the bottom of the hill. He had told you it would have been better to ride in a carriage so you wouldn’t have to walk all over the place but you told him you didn’t mind it. You wanted to speak with the people and have a close interaction with them.

“Princess.” Sandor looks over at the last house to see an elderly woman walking out of the front door. She bowed her head when she got close to you.

“How are you today?” You asked, grabbing the last bundles in the bag.

“Better now that you are here.” Sandor watches as you give her a smile while handling her food.

Sandor bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smiling as he watches you communicate with her. You spoke to her like an equal. You’re the first to ever do it with the commoners. That’s why they called you the Realms Delight. It was one of the many reasons why Sandor fell in love with you. You never looked down at anyone, you treated everyone with kindness especially to the unfortunate.

When it tends to bite you in the ass because of it that’s why he’s there with you. Sandor has threatened people throughout the years since you started giving food out. People got ahead of themselves and took too many bundles. He was always there to make sure everyone got their share. He gives them a stare down when they begin to fight with others for more food.

He remembers the first time the children from the orphanage wouldn’t get near you since he was behind you.

“No need to fear. Sandor and Stranger are here to help me.” You tell the children but they don’t believe you until a man tries to cut the line. Sandor bares his teeth, sending him running away.

“You see. Sandor is here to help me to make sure everyone gets their share.” The children calms down as Sandor brings Stranger closer to you so you start passing out the bundles.

“Remember to eat up so you can grow tall and strong like Sandor.” He shakes his head as you tell the children before walking away.

Sandor was so busy remembering the past that he didn’t notice you were walking inside the older woman’s house. Sandor shouted your name and you waved at him to come inside. He leans down to get his big frame past the door frame. When he gets through he notices you were talking with a young girl. Sandor awkwardly stood by the front door as you talked with her. The young girl was the older woman’s daughter. They were all alone after the woman’s husband died from the recent war. He was unaware when you placed a comforting hand on the woman's knee. A war broke out not long ago, your father’s brother wanted to be King. Robert brushed it off but soon it became clear that his brother was serious when he received support from other houses. All you could do is pray for when the next war breaks out that your father would win it again.

Sandor heard the words working and tavern but didn’t pay attention to it. He was busy looking around to make sure no harm would come to you. As much as you like to believe the people in King’s Landing wouldn't hurt you. Sandor thought the opposite. His eyes almost pop out of his head when he sees you sitting on a chair, pulling your dress up to your knees so you can remove your black slippers.

“Seven Hells!” He shouts but you look over at him with a stern face that shuts him up.

“Princess! No! Please. We can not.” The mother tells you while the daughter is pushing the slippers back towards you.

“Nonsense! You can’t work with those shoes. They are falling apart.” You pointed at the old slippers near the bed by the daughter.

“Princess Y/n.” Sandor calls out walking towards you. You were getting out of hand now, passing food was one thing but giving up your belongings was something else completely.

“Sandor. Please.” You look up at him. How can he say no when you look at him with those puppy dog eyes.

Sandor’s nostrils flare but he looks away from you letting you continue on. He hears that you tell the girl to take it. If they were too big or small to have the cobbler fix it. He hears the coins clinking together as you grab a hold of your small pouch that was kept strapped on your waist.

He looks out the door when the mother and daughter start to cry by your kindness, giving them money to make sure the shoes would fit properly. He walks out when you mention to them that you should be returning back to the castle. Sandor had already pulled the bags off of Stranger and draped it over his shoulders.

“Get up here.” Sandor tells you when he saw you were about to walk barefoot up the hill. Sandor helps you up, settling you on top of Stranger. He wanted to snap at you but couldn't when he saw the smile you had on your face.

“Why?” Sandor asked you after a moment of silence.

He can’t comprehend why you were so kind to everyone. He knew you had the ability to manipulate, manipulate men, and the king but you never did use it for anything wicked. Years of him guarding you; you’ve never changed, you've always been kind since the very start but he just can’t wrap his head around the idea of it. Maybe because he was so used to being treated like shit by his brother and by others when he was younger that it was normal to him.

“Remember what you told me two weeks after guarding me?” You asked him, looking down at him as he walked side by side with Stranger.

“Aye.” Sandor answered you with a nod. He had snapped at you because you were being too nice with the guards. Your intentions with them were innocent and nothing more. You didn’t notice their beady eyes ranking up and down your figure.

“You were the first man to ever tell me how this world works. Mother told me a few things on how to get what I want but you showed me a whole other side of the world beyond the castle’s wall.” Sandor senses a sadness in your voice.

“There is so much pain and sorrow in this world. I want to ease their pain, even if it’s just a little bit.” You look towards the castle.

“I am grateful to have survived the fever when I was a babe. I was born into a wealthy family. I have a roof over my head and I will never go hungry. My relationship with my family may not be the best, but I have my father.” You told him as you felt Stranger’s soft fur against your toes.

“ And I have you.” You said looking down at him with a smile.

He will never get used to your kind words and it makes him dread even more when the day comes for you to get married to some Lord, leaving him all alone in King's Landing. He will miss it, miss everything. He will miss hanging out with you, guarding you and loving you. When he and you finally made it to the stables, he shook his head letting all those sad thoughts of you leaving, disappear.

The stable boys welcome you and you greet them with a smile, asking them about their family. Sandor huffs at you, he doesn't even know their names, he was impressed on how you remembered most of the people's names that work for your father. He keeps quiet as you speak with them.

The stable boys walked out as Sandor brought Stranger into his stall. The dark mare wasn’t fond of other people that weren't Sandor.. You grabbed a hold on Sandor's shoulders as he put you down to the ground.

“It’s evening.” You told him. The stable boys were already leaving for the day. He places you on top of his shoes so you won't touch the dirty stable floor. Stranger is eating the hay placed out for him in the corner as Sandor shuts the door, pushing you against it, lifting you up to meet his face.

“I do, enjoy evenings.” He tells you. Evenings were the best, the workers were retreating back home, others were already at the castle breaking fast to eat dinner. King Robert and Queen Cersei should already be drunk out of their minds. Both of you can be alone, he can be close to you now. Your face is flushed from being outside all day, he feels your legs wrapped around his waist, he hides his face between your neck and shoulder.

“Spend the night with me. We can bathe and eat.” Sandor grips his hold on you tighter as you kiss his mutilated ear.

“You can fuck me.” You whisper and he looks at you by your choice of words. His only brow rose up at you as you smirked at him.

You cupped his face with your hands, your thumb brushing over his beard as you looked at him. Passing food to the ladies in the whore house had you shocked when one of them noticed Sandor over your shoulder. They were very outspoken about Sandor. Wondering how big he is and how he would fuck. One girl was about to ask you about him when the other hushed her, telling her you, the princess wouldn't know such a matter when it came to Sandor’s sex life. You quickly walked away when they commented on his face.

You wonder why people thought Sandor was hideous, he really wasn't. The burns were large and took up almost half of his face but he was the most handsome man you have seen. If anyone got the chance to see him smile, they would know it’s one of the most beautiful things in the world. His eyes were a deep and rich brown color, his lips that seemed to only know foul words were pale pink and kissable. You can’t recall the amount of times you nibble on it for the fun of it.

“Is that a yes?” You asked him. Sandor nods softly as he leans down to kiss your cheek. You moved to catch his lips.

Joffrey was walking out of his mother’s room when he heard laughter. He walked to the railing trying to listen where it came from. He was leaning over it when saw Sandor walking with you draped over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Joffrey frowns as he notices you were barefoot. He could believe that The Hound had cracked a smile and laughed when you slapped him on his behind. Joffrey broke out a sinister smile when he saw Sandor playfully biting your ass making you squeal.

This was something much more than a guard guarding the princess. Joffrey kept staring as he started to form a plan.

Sandor had dropped you at the end of the hall when he noticed your servants were waiting for you by the door of your bed chambers. You fixed your gown and walked towards the room. You asked them to bring the large brass tub you wanted to bathe today and to bring food so you can dine inside your chambers as you released Sandor from his duties. After convincing the eldest servant that you wanted to bathe alone, she bowed to you and left the room. You were in the tub relaxing when a couple of minutes later you heard the door open. You looked ahead to see Sandor walking inside, he’s not wearing his usual gear. Locking the door behind, you sat up straight in the tub moving to the side to make room for him. You grin as he walks towards you.

“Water is still hot. Come inside.” You tell him. Sandor doesn’t need to be told twice. He removes his white tunic shirt, dropping it to the ground. Watching him remove his clothes you bite your bottom lip, you can’t help but stare at his body, his cock as he gets inside the tub. The water overflows over the edge of the tub as he sits down across from you.

“Come here.” He tells you. You move towards him, turning around. His legs are spread, leaving you space to get in between and lean back against his chest. You can feel the coarse thick hair of his body on your back. Your hands trail up his thick thighs under the water.

“The girls were sweet to get these roses and lavender from the garden. They said it will help me ease my mind and body.” You told Sandor as you grabbed a rose petal floating near you and giving it to him over your shoulder.

Sandor takes it between his fingers, giving it an uninterested look. “Hopefully I won’t find one between my arse.”

You break out laughing as you throw another petal at him. “The best smelling arse in the seven kingdoms.”

He chuckles at you before tugging you closer to him making you giggle as he kisses your neck. His wandering hands are touching your hips and waist before settling down on your outer thighs.

A comfortable silence drifted over both of you, enjoying each other's company; this was something he liked. Being close to you, feeling you on him. Your mind wandered off as Sandor leaned forward to grab something from the side. You look down to see what he got. You smiled when you saw what he was holding. The bar of soap looks so minuscule in his hand, he dips it in the water and rubs it against your skin. He lather you up well and you let out a moan when you feel his hand working on a knot on your shoulder.

When he was finished you took the bar out of his hand, you slowly turned around, moving his legs straight so you could straddle him. His hands immediately went to your waist as you placed your hands on his shoulders. Sandor’s stares at you as you were washing him, rubbing the soap on his chest and shoulders. Gathering a rag hanging from the edge of the tub you use it on him. He relaxes as you wash him. He was so relaxed to the point that he had his head tilted back. You dropped the rag in the water and kissed his open neck. He whines as you nip his throat and shoulders. You thought this would be the perfect time to tell him something. Sandor wasn't the only one thinking about the future.

“I want to tell you something. It’s been plaguing my mind since the event with Joffrey and my father.” Sandor brings his head back forward to look at you with a worried expression.

“I know my time will come when my father expects me to marry.” You felt Sandor tense up under you. His face became blank as he looked at you.

“Why don’t we run away?” You ask him, moving his hair out of his face. You don’t know what Sandor is thinking.

“I’ll give you my jewelry to sell at flea bottom. We save enough money to go wherever you wanna go. Braavos?” Words kept spilling out of your mouth as he kept silent.

“Anywhere you want. We can buy land and have a farm. Stranger would be so happy with all the open fields.” You frowned when he didn't say anything.

“No more King’s Landing. No Joffrey, no more guarding, no more rules. No more Gregor.” You mentioned his brother’s name softly.

“You would give up your title? Run away with me?” He asks you quietly. You nodded at him as you got closer to him. Your chest was close to his face as you looked down at him seriously.

“I will.” Sandor shook his head.

“Y/n.” Sandor tried to find the right words to say. He looks around at your room. The gowns are hanging from your closet, the large bed of silk sheets and feather pillows. He can see your jewelry on the vanity.

“If we leave. I can’t give you all of this. The pretty and expensive dress. Jewels and dornish wine.” You look around your room following his gaze.

“You deserve all of it.” His words make you angry. “You know what I deserve?” You ask him.

“I deserve to be happy. You are what makes me happy. Being with you makes me happy and the idea of getting to spend the rest of my life with you brings me so much joy. No more hiding. I want to kiss you when I want. I want to make love to you whenever I want. I want you to fuck me whenever you want. I don’t care about the dresses, the wine and the jewels. Sandor, say yes. Say yes to me.”

He feels like he must have done something to please the gods and now they were rewarding him with you. He can’t believe that you were willing to give all of this up to be with him, a second born son.

“Say something.” You tell him with tears in your eyes. Sandor brings his hands to face, cupping his hands in your face. Droplets of water are running down his arms to your chest.

“We do it but I make you mine. Make you my wife.” You let out a smile.

“What do you say, princess?” He asked you.

“This would be the last time you call me that. Next time it will be Y/n Clegane.” Sandor smiles at you before pulling you in a kiss. He liked the sound of your new name. Leaving the tub when the water became cold, Sandor and you sat by the table eating dinner as he talked about how he could sell the jewelry you offered, a few jewels without people knowing it from you. He would have to go early in the morning and in secret.

You agreed with him. Talks about the future filled the night, both of you were tired from the walk. Slow kisses and gentle touches both of you gave each other. Sandor refused when you were going to have sex with him. He can see it in your face that you were tired. He kissed the top of your head and told you, “We will have all the time in the world to make love when we are free from King's landing.”

It was dawn when Sandor snuck out of your chambers and made his way to his own. He froze outside of his door when he noticed a light coming under the door. He didn't leave any candles on. He pushes the door and walks inside. He frowns at the sight of Joffrey and Ser Meryn Trant sitting around the table in the middle of his room.

“About time.” Joffrey said with a loud sigh as he crossed his arms over his chest. Sandor threw a glare at Meryn Trant who grabbed his sword that was on the table.

“We have been waiting for you all night.” Sandor shuts the door behind him and walks towards his bed.

“Went to the tavern and stayed the night at the whorehouse.” Sandor lied as he sat on his bed. His eyes went to his sword near his bed post.

“Without your armor or sword?” Joffrey asked with a smirk. “Very strange.”

“Everyone knows not to fuck with me. No need to carry all that shit.” Sandor answered him bluntly. Joffrey looks over at Ser Meryn Trant.

“I searched every whorehouse in King’s landing. You weren't there.” The knight answered.

“Where were you, Dog?” Joffrey asked. Sandor frowned at the nickname. It’s been so long that someone called him that. No one dared to disrespect him when he started to guard you. You demanded respect for him and your servants.

“My sister has such a loyal dog, Ser Meryn Trant.” Joffrey told the knight next him when Sandor did not respond.

“You're wasting my time already. We were waiting in your room all night. I know where you were, Dog.” Sandor stared hard at Joffrey.

Joffrey told him how he saw him and you walking away from the stables. A disgraceful sight, Joffrey called it. Sandor felt his heart dropped to his stomach when Joffrey mentioned how he saw him going to your chambers last night.

“What do you want?” Sandor asked, looking down at the ground. Joffrey stood up from his seat and walked towards him.

“Look at me, Dog.” Sandor’s jaw clenched but he obeyed Joffrey.

Joffrey gave him a malicious smile. “It all makes sense now. Why wouldn't she get married.”

“She is in love with the dog. How ridiculous! What a joke this is!" Joffrey cracked a laugh and looked over at Ser Meryn Trant who joined him with his own laughter. Sandor felt his mouth go dry as they laughed at him, laughed at the idea that you love him.

His laughter dies as he looks back at Sandor. “What would the king say when he hears about this? Mother would die from this news. Y/n will be stripped from her title. She will be disowned and severely punished for being with a lowborn.” Sandor felt ill to his stomach.

“Perhaps she threatened you to sleep with her. Or you raped her and she had no other choice.” Sandor stood up at his words. He never in his life had made you do something that you weren't comfortable with and you were the same to him.

“She will be punished.” Joffrey showed no fear when Sandor stood in front of him.

“Like I said. What do you want?” Sandor asked him as Ser Meryn Trant stood up from his seat. Ready to swing his sword incase Sandor harms Joffrey.

“I want her to suffer. I want her dog to go to her room and tell her you don't want her anymore. You will be my new guard. You will tell her that you don't love her and everything between you was all a lie. Tell her that you used her.” Sandor shook his head at him, he wouldn't. He couldn't do that to you. He would runaway with you today and fuck the rest. He will work to provide for you, he will do anything but he wouldn't say he doesn't love you.

“If you don't obey. I will tell my father everything. He will disown her and you will never see her again because you will be punished. You know how? You’ll be executed for raping my sister. I swear on everything, Dog. If you don't agree with this. I’ll have her head chopped off with yours.” Sandor looks away. He blinks the unshed tears away, he refuses to cry in front of Joffrey.

“I’ll give you an hour. Break her heart and report back to me.” Joffrey said he was about to leave when he looked over at Ser Meryn Trant.

“I always wanted a dog. Now I got the largest and the most dangerous of them all.” Joffrey laughed as he walked out of the room with Ser Meryn Trant behind.

Sandor looks at the door, he’s breathing heavily and tears are rolling down his face. He knew it was too good to be true. Sandor let out a growl and flipped the table over and leaned against the wall.

He doesn’t think he has the heart to break things off with you. He was strong to kill and fight but to tell you that he doesn’t love you. He couldn’t but he has too for your sake. He has to do it to keep you safe. You will hate him forever but you will be safe.

Sandor dresses for the day and walks slowly to your chambers. He sees your servants coming out of your room, it meant you were dressed as well and ready for the day.

He knocked on the door and heard your voice saying to come inside. He walks inside and shuts the door behind him. His heart is beating out of his chest as he watches you wrapping something by the vanity.

“Good Morrow, Sandor.” You tell him as you look ahead at the mirror to see him by the door.

He doesn’t say anything. You carefully wrapped the cloth and walked towards him. “I have it. These should be sold off first. I had them for a while so no one will suspect a thing.”

You tell him, holding out the jewelry for him to take. Sandor is still silent as he looks at you. You frowned when Sandor didn’t move. You grabbed his hand trying to open it so you could give him the jewelry. He doesn’t look well and it worries you.

“What’s wrong, my love?” You whispered. Sandor rips his hand from your gasp and walks back to the door.

He had his back turn to you. He couldn’t look at your face. He didn’t want to see how your face looked when he ripped his hand from your gasp. You must have looked so hurt by his action.

“This is wrong.” Sandor said as his shoulders rose up and down with each breath he took.

Before you can respond he cuts you off. “Between me and you is wrong. It must end. It’s over. I won’t be your guard anymore.”

Sandor doesn’t wait for a response. He’s about to open the door when you push him against the door and flip him over with all your might. His back hits the door and refuses to look at your face. He doesn't want to look at you, he knows if he does he’ll break down.

“What are you talking about? What’s going on?” You asked him.

“Sandor!” You shouted his name, the jewelry in your hands had fallen to the ground as you slapped his chest trying to catch his attention. He was ignoring you. He told you it was over.

“Tell me what’s wrong. I can help you.” You told him.

“Why won’t you look at me?” You cried out as you slapped the chest armor again. He has to do it. He has to break your heart. He doesn’t want you to get hurt, punished, or disowned for loving him.

“It’s over between us.” Sandor said, finally looking down at you. You shook your head.

“What do you mean?” You asked him, Sandor hears your voice crack.

“Sandor..”

He wants to cry but the look on your face. You looked so hurt, eyes tearful, brows knitted together in confusion. He needs to touch you one last time, hold you. He wants to remember how warm and soft you feel under his touch. His fingers are twitching to touch your face.

“What did I do? I’m sor- for whatever I did I’m so sorry.” He wants to yell at you for being so stupid. How is this your fault? How can you believe that you were the one in fault?

“Sandor, I love you. If this is about last night of me deserving all of this, I’ve told you. I told you all I want is you. I deserve to be happy and you are the only reason that makes me happy.”

‘You’re the only reason he’s happy too’, he says to himself. The words that he’s about to say kills him on the inside, it feels like bile coming up his throat.

“I changed my mind. I don’t love you. Not anymore.” You took a step back from Sandor. You place a hand on your stomach as you cry. You shook your head at him.

“I don’t believe you. You love me and I love you.” Sandor felt his tears at bay, he had to leave the room at once. You flinched at his sudden moment when he walked away from the door and towered over you giving you a scowl.

“I don’t love you anymore. Princess.” The tone of his voice drops down in a hiss.

“I never did. I just used you.” Sandor quickly turns to open the door, he does it so hard it almost comes out of the hinges. He hears you crying as he walks out of the room.

Joffrey was in his room when he heard a knock. Ser Meryn Trant opens the door when Joffrey welcomes in whoever it was. Joffrey feels like the first in his life, he won. He won on making you feel unloved just as he felt, he wished he could hear your cries right now. What he would give to see your face at this moment but it didn’t matter because his pet was waiting outside for him.

“Dog. Come in.” Joffrey said with an ominous smile.

<- Chapter 1 Chapter 3 ->

Taglist: @federalclassroom, @snixx2088

#sandor clegane #sandor clegane x reader #games of thrones #games of thrones fanfiction #sandor clegane fanfic #sandor the hound clegane #games of thrones x reader #rory mccann #angst #heartbroken #sad

[softsan]

Eyes On Fire. (Pt. 4)

PAIRING: Aemond Targaryen & Fem!Reader

CHAPTERS: | 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 |

WORD COUNT: 3389

GENRE: Alternatively Universes/Canon Divergence, Alternative Ending, The Greens Win, Loosely based on the books/show, Made up House,

DESCRIPTION: After the Greens win the Dance of The Dragons, you a left alone navigating the dangers and woes of Kings Landing. You were one of the last survivors of House Vermillion with the expectation to restore your House to its former glory. Pressured to find yourself a husband, you unintentionally catch the eye of the dangerously, one-eye kingslayer—how will you ever survive amidst those who kill, those who take, and those who wish to eat you alive? Can also be read on AO3 here.

WARNINGS: Bodily Injury, Death, Graphic violence, Torture, Suspicion, Attempted murder, Murder, Poisoning, Possessive themes, Aemond in general

OPTIONAL PLAYLIST: Don’t Fear the Reaper by Denmark + Winter, When You Break by Bear’s Den, Hold On by Brooke Annibale, 

Darkness clung to the four walls that kept you contained. The repugnant smell of rot was profuse, while the stone ground was covered in a thick layer of grime.

You had been held prisoner since the day after the tourney, ambushed the morning after whilst walking the Street of Flour, a famous street for its many twists and bends as well as its countless bakeries and dessert stalls. Two cloaked thugs had roughly manhandled you before throwing you into their carriage and speeding away.

You had verily considered, fending them off, breaking an arm or two, and continuing your day as if nothing had transpired but ultimately you decided not to.

It sort to reason that someone had their grievances with you, most likely due to Aemond's recent antic of crowning you the Queen of Love and Beauty. Therefore, you chose to play along. To unearth the question of who? You wouldn’t reveal your hand nor let on that you knew how to fight. You wouldn't risk such notions being spread by the wordlessly prying eyes of the city folk. For months you had tirelessly built an image of fragility and innocence. An image you intended to keep utilizing until you could successfully fulfill your duty to your House.

The dank and dingy vault below the castle was void of sunlight. The only light source available came from the dull lantern, its transparent case protecting the faint flame from blowing out. Beside it stood a short wooden frame that they’d dubbed ‘the bed of tortures’. You were bent over the frame, ropes restraining your wrists behind your back. The twisted strips of hide gnawed at your skin, leaving cuts and burns behind. Exasperated, you blew the mattered strands of hair away from your face, your eyes trained on Lord Unwin Peake who sat on the opposite side of the cell observing how the interrogation progressed.

“Let me ask again,” The foul-breathed servant of Lord Peake tormented, “What kind of relationship do you have with Aemond Targaryen?”

You near rolled your eyes, spent by the same handful of questions the servant had repeatedly asked. You grappled with yourself whether you ought to just tear off the restraints you had managed to loosen over time and stab the servant with the knife you had hidden in the pockets of your undergarments.

Your limbs ached, your stomach famished and most pressingly your mind was bored. You had despised being held hostage during the war and the sentiment hadn’t since changed.

“I guess one can’t go ahead with killing Lord Peake’s servant without inferring further consequences for one’s self,” Your mumble was inaudible, neither Peake nor his servant catching what you had said.

The servant sneered, “What was that? Speak louder girl!” He chastised.

You said nothing, your lip curling in defiance.  

It appeared you had made a powerful enemy out of Lord Unwin Peake, the hand to the king. Aemond’s declaration and favor towards you during the joust had foiled Lord Peake’s plans to propel his daughter, Myrielle Peake into Aemond’s arms (and eventually bind the two with marriage). You huffed. Your intentions were never to be thrust between such political affairs, your initial plans were but to attract a wealthy Lord to marry and to save your House. However, after being held captive for days, you were feeling particularly spiteful... Perhaps you would change those plans, perhaps you'd begin to embark on the dangerous political game you'd thus far avoided. A new plan, with a new goal—one which involved the Targaryen Prince after all.

“The relationship between Prince Aemond and I?” You toyed, prolonging your eye contact, “Would you care to hear that we’re close? Or would it make you feel safer if I said we weren’t?”

Lord Unwin Peake’s face soured, comprehending the underlying threat of your words. The conveyance was that if Aemond indeed considered you more than a plaything, more than a pastime then Lord Peake would be faced with the Prince’s unrelenting wrath.

A thick silence lingered as Lord Peake thought through his options.

“From this moment on you shall stay away from the Prince,” He calmly rose from his chair, dusting his trousers, “If you care for that life of yours, I’d advise you not meddle where you ought not to.” He then nudged his head toward one of the instruments that hung to the wall, “Finish off her punishment.” He ordered.

“It’d be my pleasure, my Lord,” The servant eagerly bowed.

You heard the crack of a whip, the distinctive sound of leather.

Lord Peake stopped before the cell’s exit, turning aback, “Her face is to remain untouched,” He soon left, the cold metal bars slamming loudly behind him.

The whip came lashing at your calves. You squeezed your eyes tight, balling your fists until your fingernails dug into your palms. A flurry of curses were stuck to your tongue as you tried to drown out the pain by thinking of happier thoughts, such as taking your sweet revenge and plunging your knife into the servant’s chest.

You felt the warmth of your blood streak down your legs and feet, a puddle of scarlet pooling on the ground below.

A manic laughter echoed throughout the dungeons, “Scream for me,” He sadistically urged.

You gritted your teeth. You wouldn’t oblige. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of hearing you beg. You held in any sound, swearing to yourself you’d inflict a pain tenfold worse onto both Lord Peake and his servant.

The fire burned, its flames licking the wood of the balsam fireplace in Helena’s study. Aemond was lent against the fireplace, absently watching Maelor play with his toys. The young boy roared aloud as he pretended his dragon carved from birch burned down the stick figures of men.

Helena had neglected her book, her violet eyes fixated on her brother. She was curious about what had brought on Aemond’s recent behavior. Aemond was not known to listen to just anyone… Even their dear mother struggled to put him in his place. Yet, during the joust he’d immediately caved to your demand, stopping just as you’d asked.

Helena knew this displeased her mother greatly. Aemond was handful enough for her to restrain but to have him now obey another? It threatened all she’d thus worked for, all she’d done to ensure Aemond wouldn’t rise up against Aegon and seize his brother’s crown.

Gaomagon ao hae zirȳla? Do you like her?  Helena’s dreamlike voice inquired.

Qilōni? Who? Aemond grumbled, well aware of whom his sister was referring to.

Se riña lēda mele laesi. The lady with crimson eyes.

Before Aemond could answer, his mother Alicent came sauntering into the study, Ser Criston Cole following shortly behind.

Alicent's neck was flushed, her expression clearly vexed, “What do you think you’re doing?” She bellowed, the volume of her voice startling young Maelor.

Helena quickly attended to the boy, picking up Maelor as he began to wail.

“What does it matter?” Aemond countered, his arms firmly crossed against his chest.

“What does it matter?!" Alicent exclaimed, “It matter so, you’ve crowned a maiden from a lower House. A House insignificant in comparison to the great Houses we are hosting during the tourney.” She flailed her arms, “Great Houses we intend to forge allyship with.”

“House Vermillion wasn’t always insignificant,” Helena softly corrected, “Despite, their small fleets they were unmatched in naval warfare. Their vessels were painted red as their sigil, their cargo carried a myriad of hibiscus’ which they threw into the sea to bribe the gods for their victories—”

"House Vermillion was a House which supported Rhaenyra’s false claim to the Iron Throne," The Dowager Queen Alicent cut off her daughter, her eyes narrowing, “A House which should have been wiped out completely.”

Aemond’s jaw clenched at his mother’s last sentiment, “A House, like many others Aegon pardoned,” He sternly rebutted, “An idea you proposed would unite the Seven Kingdoms.”

Alicent's bottom lip trembled, taken aback by Aemond's retort.

“If that’s all mother, I’ll excuse myself.” Aemond’s heavy boots stomped, the door slamming behind him as he left Helena’s study.

“I cannot believe it,” Alicent bespoke to Ser Criston Cole, “Of all the noble ladies in King's Landing why her?” She shook her head in objection.

“Perhaps, it is but a fleeting affection that will die when the controversy and excitement begins to wane.” Ser Criston offered.

Alicent peered upward, still riddled with doubt, “Do you truly think so?”

Ser Criston Cole opened his mouth to respond, only to be interrupted by Helena.

“Hair of silver. Eyes of crimson. Footsteps in a set of three,” Helena’s eyes glossed over, as she faded into a trance.

Alicent and Ser Criston exchanged looks, Alicent quickly bending down beside her daughter. She gently took Maelor off his mother’s lap, offering him to Ser Criston to hold while Alicent tried to regain Helena’s attention.

“What do you see?” Alicent had long learned to heed her daughter’s words, to pay mind to Helena’s prophecies, as frequent to none, they near always came to tuition.

“A mother’s beauty. A father’s temperament. All is sound, all is as it ought to be.” Helena finished her train of thought.

The Dowager Queen Alicent’s face hardened. What possibly did the gods have in store for her son Aemond?

“Keep an eye on Lady Y/N Vermillion,” She instructed Ser Criston Cole, “And report back to me. I want to know whom she interacts with, her goals, and her every intention.”

The midmorning offered your deprived and cold self a yearned warmth and solace. The sun's golden rays filtered themselves through the stained-glass windows, reflecting a merriment of colors on the ground beneath your bloody feet. Without assistance, you had managed to crawl up the stairs of the dungeons, trekking a trail of blood behind you.

Your torture had been drawn out the length of the night, Lord Unwin Peake's servant only leaving after the seventh hour. You couldn't discern how long you had stayed laying motionless on the bed of tortures, staring at the unlocked door to your cell. After what felt like an eternity, you dragged your rigid body off, your calves protesting as you forced yourself to stand.

The pain, however, grew too great, causing your vision to blur, and your head to spin. You stumbled, your knees buckling from underneath. You placed a hand on the wall beside you, stopping yourself from faceplanting into the tiles. Days without food and water had finally taken their toll and you hadn’t the energy to continue.

“Lady Y/N Vermillion!” A surprised voice called aloud.

You felt their hands immediately rope around your hips, in an attempt to keep your torso upright. You blinked a couple of times, trying to determine who had found you.

“Ser Criston Cole?” You croaked, your cracked lips turning downward. Surely, you were mistaken.

“Yes, it is I,” He said softly, brushing back your wayward hair that draped over your face.

He observed the terrible state you were in, deducing it to be in result of what had transpired with Aemond during the joust. Others besides the Dowager Queen Alicent would consider you a threat to their political agendas and wouldn’t think twice about taking their frustrations out on you.

Ser Criston Cole’s eyes momentarily flickered toward the sound of footsteps in the distance, “Let me help you back to your room,” He whispered, sounding almost as if he pitied you.

Without waiting for a response, he hurriedly lifted you off the ground and cradled you against his steel-plated chest. You were too frail to argue, allowing him to carry you throughout the rest of the castle.

Ser Criston took an alternative route to your chambers, sensing the footsteps he’d heard, belonged to the prince. Over the past day or two, he'd had been discreetly watching Aemond from afar, noting the numerous times he’d tried knocking on your chambers only to be turned away by Lady Alyssa Royce. Ser Criston Cole was weary of the scene Aemond would surely cause if he saw you in such a state.

As Ser Criston reached your door, his knuckles thumped on the wood.

It was Lady Alyssa Royce who answered, “I’m afraid my Prince, Lady Y/N, still hasn’t returned—" She abruptly paused, sighting you limply lying in Ser Criston Cole's arms.

“Y/N?” Horror replaced her usual unemotive persona, “What happened to her?”

“Let us lay her down first,” Ser Criston bypassed Alyssa without a further explanation.

He quickly lifted the furs and delicately placed you down on the bedspread, “We have to roll her over.” He directed.

Lady Royce obliged without complaint, aiding Ser Criston to roll you onto your stomach. You muffled a cry, the sudden movement aggravating your open lesions. Blood continued to hemorrhage, spilling onto your white linen sheets.

Lady Royce's brows furrowed as she hastily lifted your skirt and removed your torn petticoat. She gasped, once the true extent of your wounds was revealed. The soles of your feet had been mercilessly slashed, whilst the irate lacerations to your calves had cut deep into the muscle.

“There are some gauzes and string in the cupboard,” Lady Royce demanded forgetting her station, “I’ll find us some alcohol to disinfect her wounds.”

“Shouldn’t we call for a maester?” Ser Criston Cole questioned.

You grabbed Lady Royce’s hand with haste, squeezing it with all the strength you could muster, “No,” Alyssa Royce said firmly, apprehending what you were trying to communicate, “Otherwise, Lady Clarice Osgrey will be summoned. Let us keep this between ourselves.”

Sir Criston reluctantly nodded, undecided if he’d pass on what had occurred to the Dowager Queen.

Aemond stalked the corridors, his irritability only increasing by the hour. Over a week had since passed, and you had missed the chaos that was brought by the melee, an event where forty or so riders armed with blunt weaponry, fought to be prized as the next knight. Aemond disinterested how the contest unfolded, drowned himself in drink instead.  

You were avoiding him, or so he thought…

As the afternoons passed, he began to grow dubious. Suspicious, why all the other ladies beside you and Lady Royce were in attendance at the Targaryen festivities? He'd also taken note that Lady Myrielle Peake was now serving his niece Princess Jaehaera in your stead.

He reached the large oval door of your chambers, reaching of its handle. However, Lady Alyssa Royce opened the door first, her body blocking Aemond’s view of the inside.

“Where is Y/N?” He sternly imposed, “She has not been in attendance to melee nor has she served my niece.” He drew a maddened breath, “Princess Jaehaera has naught been impressed by her replacement.”

“I’m afraid Lady Y/N is still unwell your highness,” Lady Alyssa Royce politely bowed, her voice ever so slightly trembling.  

You listened from inside, overhearing another of Lady Royce’s fumbling excuses. You and Alyssa had always been civil but far from close. Nonetheless, she had aided you, stitched up your wounds, and kept your injuries secret. You owed the girl a great debt, one you’d hope to someday repay.

You were running a fever, your insides hot, your outsides cold. You were sat against the headboard of your bed, leaning on some flat pillows while your legs were covered in furs. A small smile crossed your lips as you continue to listen. In truth, you were gladdened by Aemond’s concern. Thankful, for the countless times he’d implored for you. It wasn’t something you were accustomed to, the worriment, the exertion. Nobody had ever put so much effort in for you.

Aemond’s exasperation was obvert, he was growing tired of the evasiveness of Lady Royce, “Step aside,” He, at last, demanded, the intensity in his tone, making Lady Royce cower.

Your smile faltered, conceding Aemond was going to barge in. You hurriedly unraveled your legs from underneath your furs and forced yourself to stand upright.

You silently yowled, it was as if lightning had struck your legs. It took a few seconds for you to regain your breath, the agony that pulsated from your calves immense. You used the bedside table for support, wincing as you slid on your cloth slippers.

You had made the short distance to your vanity when Aemond furiously pushed back the doors to your chambers, his violet orb narrowing as searched around your room.

“Prince Aemond,” Short of breath, you did your best to bow.

Aemond’s annoyance dissolved instantaneously. Yet, the creases on his forehead remained. He swiftly approached his silvery hair bouncing behind him as he moved. You took a short moment to admire how his hair glistened underneath the yellowish candlelight, how it only enhanced his fearsome beauty.

Aemond abruptly stopped before you, his large hands unexpectedly cupping both of your cheeks, drawing your face closer to his. You involuntarily shivered, as his thumb brushed across your cold lips.

"What is it you are ailed with?" He searched your face, his brows knitted.

Aemond studied your sickly pale hue and the shade of blue that replaced the color of your lips. He felt a protectiveness over you. A feeling which was foreign to him.

“I’ll send for a maester immediately,”

“No,” You shook your head, his hands still firmly resting on your cheeks, “I have no desire to cause a fuss. All I need is some rest.”

Aemond didn’t feel assured, in fact, it only strengthened his worry.

“You’ve had a week’s worth of rest” He pressed “You should be seen by a maester. What if your sickness gets all the worse?” His hands slowly slid from your face and down your arms until he grasped your two hands within his own. Aemond held you so gingerly as if he was afraid you’d break.

Your stomach fluttered, recalling the change of your plans. Lord Unwin Peake desired you to stay away from the Prince… And you’d do nothing of the sort.

“I won’t get worse”

“You couldn’t possibly be sure.” His face close, his breath hot.

You stifled a smile. Boldly you closed the distance, using your nose to gently nudge his, “I am,” You insisted, pulling away.

Aemond’s eye widened, the violet of his iris deepening. He was overwhelmed by the impulse to pull you back but to capture your lips this time.

“Just a few more days of rest and I’ll be back to my true self,” You wriggled your hands free, “But first you must go,” You incited, softly pushing his chest to leave, “You’ve caused me enough trouble. If someone catches you in my chambers, I’d never hear the last of it.”

“What trouble? I only crowed the one deserving of the title of the Queen of Love and Beauty,” Aemond smiled smugly “And showed King's Landing of my intentions,” He playfully tilted his head, his hair falling off his shoulder, “And what a mistake it would be if others were to approach what is mine,” He whispered the last part.

“I repeat,” You light-heartedly shook your head, “Trouble.”

Aemond laughed, relenting and taking a step back, “I’ll go but if you feel worse, promise me you’ll summon a maester?”

“I promise,” You nodded, “My Prince you may take your leave,”

“Not until you are tucked soundly under the covers,” He directed, lifting an arm towards your bed.

“You won’t leave otherwise?” You swallowed, dreading the walk from your vanity back to your bed.

“Yes,” He maintained, “Do you need some help?”

“No need,” You vigorously shook your head, exchanging a daunted look with Lady Royce who had been loitering by the door.

You tried your darndest to ignore the heat that radiated upward with each excruciating step. You just needed to make it to the bed without falling, you told yourself.

Aemond followed you with his gaze, his body stiffening as he caught the stain of red on the hem of your nightgown.

“Y/N,” He said, his tone spine-chillingly cold.

You hadn’t the chance to turn completely round when he wrapped a steel arm around your waist and carefully lifted the cotton of your nightgown to expose your calves.

You sucked in a breath.

Aemond’s face darkened, while an enraged snarl left his mouth. His playful disposition vanished, a seething fury coming to take its place.

“Y/N,” He growled, his arms shaking uncontrollably, “Who dared to harm you?”

TAGLIST: @elleraelockwood | @hawsx3 | @xxxevevfzeizaz | @simpsrus00 | @mistalli | @yoshiplush | @anthonys-viscountess | @bitch-biblioklept | @dudfahsn | @dangerousbluebirdpoetry | @mischiefmanaged71 | @shnadaidas | @tardis-world | @darkened-writer | @akilababs |

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond x reader #aemond #aemond targaryen reactions #aemond targaryen scenarios #aemond targaryen imagines #htod #aemond fanfiction #games of thrones #games of thrones fanfiction

[mizutori-heiko]

No, because I’m actually right.

#fanfiction #fandom #ao3 #archive of our own #writing #dramione #wolfstar #asoiaf #jonsa #drarry #harry potter #netflix #amazon prime #wincest #reylo #star wars #obikin #jegulus #marauders #game of thrones #mcu #avengers

[lunagb]

A Plague of Sleet and Rot (ASoIaF x The Walking Dead fanfic)

BOOK 2 - A Road of Snow and Grime

Chapter 8: Sink or Swim

Masterlist

Relationships: Daryl Dixon x Carol, Rick Grimes x Lori Grimes, Carl Grimes & Sophia, and basically a friendship tag with Jon Snow & Everyone else [except Shane].

Summary: A month has passed since Jon Snow awakened on a highway outside of Atlanta and joined Rick Grimes and his fellow survivors. His memories of his death have returned and our alien world is beginning to make a bit of sense. Ever since the loss of the CDC, surviving in the apocalypse has been a daily struggle. The group is on thin ice. Supplies are dwindling. Hope is fading. The dead are walking. And their only chance for life may be a run-down farm, an old man and his daughters.

Chapter Summary: Peace balances on a razor's edge as Jon and the group attempt to negotiate with the Culver family.

Time Frame: Farm Arc - TV Variant Adjacent

Featured Characters: Jon Snow, Ghost, Mormont's Raven, Rick Grimes, Carl Grimes, Lori Grimes, Daryl Dixon, Carol, Sophia, Dale, Glenn Rhee, Andrea, T-Dog, Edwin Jenner, Shane Walsh, Beth Greene, Maggie Greene, Hershel Greene, Randall Culver,

Warnings: gore, vivid descriptions of dead bodies, child mutilation, graphic violence, death, murder, active combat, descriptions of armed warfare, racial slurs

[Art above is a piece by Art.of.Azrael. You can support them here: https://linktr.ee/Art.of.Azrael ]

Any notes are appreciated!

The distant rumbling of engines howled like a pack of screamers.

Rick’s voice thundered deep from within his chest.

“LORI, CAROL TAKE CARL AND ANYONE ELSE WITHOUT A GUN INSIDE! THE REST OF Y’ALL COME WITH ME! WE’LL MEET ‘EM AT THE GATES! KEEP YOUR BARRELS POINTED AT THE GROUND! WE DON’T WANT TO PROVOKE ‘EM! WE’VE GOT A CHANCE TO END THINGS HERE!”

“End! End! End!” Bloodbeak took to the sky, screeching. “END! END! END!” He perched on the peak of the barn’s roof.

It couldn’t be true. They couldn’t be surrendering. Shane must’ve been lying. That, or the mad fool was mistaken. With Ghost at his heels, Jon rushed to the top of the hill. Loose dirt tried to steal his footing half a dozen times. Over the top of the farm’s roof, Jon saw a procession of four vehicles speeding along the asphalt road. The leader of the procession, from atop a motorcycle, waved a white sheet on a long pole. Was that what counted for a peace banner in this land? Regardless, it had to be some sort of distraction.

The woods!

Jon whipped around and scanned the woods. They encircled the farm. At their closest, they were a field’s distance away. At their furthest, sprawling hills and fields separated them. Even among the closest trees, there was no movement but that meant nothing. In the thick of the foliage, an attacker would remain unseen until the very last moment, let alone at such a distance. However, a bullet could travel the distance between the closest trees and the farm in half a heartbeat.

Below the barn’s hill, the group had already hurried off. Those without guns made for the house while those with guns followed Rick across the gravel to the defences. Only Shane remained, sitting in the dirt, chuckling to himself. “All that fuss. All that bullshit back and forth, and they just up and surrender? Bet you feel pretty stupid, don’t ya, kid?” Shane burst out laughing. Tears ran down his cheeks.

“Kid! Kid! Kid!” Bloodbeak quorked.

Jon ignored them both and drew a deep breath.

“WAIT!”

Both groups froze and turned to face him with horror in their eyes.

“What’s wrong?!” Rick strained to shout.

“Have you all taken leave of your senses?! It could be a distraction! There are only four of them! The bulk of their forces could be in the woods, preparing to ambush us!”

They did naught but gawk at one another before Rick waved the two groups together. The distance between them and Jon hushed the words spoken but, Jon saw Rick point to individual members of the group as if counting them off. The unarmed group continued towards the house while the armed group split in two. Glenn, Daryl, Andrea and Hershel headed for the defences. Dale, T-Dog, Maggie and Rick returned to the hill. Jon left Shane to his madness and met Rick at the bottom of the hill.

“All this shoutin’ is killin’ my damn throat,” Rick said to him. “I’m leavin’ this group to watch our rear while I meet the Culvers at the fence. You’re comin’ too.”

“One of us should stay here, where the true fight will unfold,” Jon said.

“And what if there isn’t a fight and we need to negotiate? I’ve only ever done somethin’ like this in trainin’. You’ve done it for real.”

“Aye…” Jon couldn’t deny the sense in it. “I’ve also commanded battles, though.”

“Shane can handle things here.”

“Shane? Look at him. You can’t trust him with anything, let alone this.”

“Shane can shoot a gun and think under pressure. Now, come with me. It ain’t a request.”

Howling engines became roaring engines. Gravel dust rose on dusk's backdrop like a plume of dancing wildfire smoke. The woods remained without motion. Ghost sat at Jon’s feet, watching the rising plume of gravel dust.

“Fine, but if an ambush comes we must waste no time with these pretenders. No voting. No arguing. War doesn’t permit such things. They must die. Right away. We must be decisive. Right now, we either sink or swim.”

“If it comes to it, they will.” Rick looked at the top of the hill. “Shane! You’re in charge here! Get ready for an ambush from the woods!”

Shane shot to his feet. He wiped the tears from his cheeks and laughed. “Alright, people! You heard our glorious leader, move! Take cover behind the metal!”

Maggie, Dale and T-Dog hesitated. They looked to Rick. Rick nodded. They headed towards the scrap metal fence facing the woods beyond the fields. Shane trailed after them, barking commands.

Jon followed Rick towards the defences. Gravel crunched underfoot with every step. A determined breeze blew a thin smog of gravel dust over them, dimming the orange glare of the setting sun. It dried his tongue and stung his eyes. A short-lived mercy. An advantage stolen. The smog evened the playing field for an attack. But when it faded and the sun’s glare returned… That’s what it had to be, an attack. This supposed bid for peace had to be a rouse. It had to be. So much blood had been shed. Too much. The time for forgiveness and peace had long since passed.

As Jon arrived at the defences on the farm’s gravel road, he looked to his right. Past the scrap metal fence, across the rolling fields, the woods remained silent and still. Ghost’s fangs remained unbarred, his hackles flattened, his ears still. The direwolf padded ahead of Jon towards the RV.

The procession of vehicles with their false peace flag had made it halfway up the gravel road by the time Jon and Rick arrived at the RV. Perched atop a hill, the RV overlooked their meagre defences; the scrap metal of the fence and the cases of ammunition that sat behind it. Glenn and Andrea stood atop the RV behind Dale’s plastic long table. A terrible trembling plagued Glenn’s hands as he held his shotgun. Andrea’s grip on her rifle was steady as she propped it up on the table’s lip, putting the procession in her sights. Daryl and Hershel waited at the base of the RV. A bolt sat cocked and armed in Daryl’s crossbow. Hershel clutched the book of his God in his one good hand.

“Hershel, there are four of them in that procession,” Jon said. “How many more could there be?”

Hershel glanced at the woods. “Assumin’ they all survived the outbreak, three.”

Three. A manageable number. Yet… “That’s assuming they haven’t picked up any strangers into their midst.”

“That’s true…” Hershel glanced at the woods.

Roaring engines became thundering engines. The smog thickened.

“What’s the name of the one holdin’ the flag?” Rick asked.

“Sam Culver most like, judgin’ by the size of him. He’s Randall’s uncle.”

“Is he reasonable?” Rick asked.

“I never spoke more than a few words with the man but, he spoke eloquently enough. Although, he has a reputation for bein’ quick-tempered. That’s nothin’ more than small-town gossip, mind you. Still, they’ve gotta come from somewhere, I suppose.”

“You ain’t actually serious about this are you?” Daryl asked.

Rick cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

“You’re talkin’ like you plan on hearin’ ‘em out.”

“’Course I am. What would you do? Gun ‘em down? They’re surrenderin’.”

“No, they fuckin’ ain’t. People like that ain’t fuckin’ reasonable. Those tattoos the kid’s got; the lightning bolts on his face. You know what those mean, don’t ya?”

Rick's expression turned grim. “I do.”

“What do they mean?” Jon asked.

Daryl spat. “Best case they’re a bunch of shit-for-brains skinheads. Worst case they’re Aryan Brotherhood or Hells Angels or some shit.”

“Skinheads…” Hershel murmured. “Just skinheads.”

“Either way, we can’t live with ‘em.”

“We lived with Merl,” Rick said. “You don’t think I didn’t see the patches inside his jacket?”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“It just is!”

Silhouettes, like a troupe of brown shadows, approached the farm.

Daryl began pacing. “Merl was… Merl was one guy. There are four of them. Five with the kid! How do you think they’re gonna react to T-Dog, to Glenn? You see any peace comin’ from that?”

“Whatever their views are, deep down they’ve gotta be reasonable. Ain’t the fact they’re here to surrender proof of that?”

“You can’t possibly believe that, man.”

Whatever it meant to be a skinhead or Aryan Brotherhood or a Hells Angel, if it meant choosing between war and living with five Merls, the choice was obvious. Assuming the bid for peace was genuine, that is. Which it almost certainly wasn’t.

“We may as well hear their bid,” Jon said. “If we suspect them to be false, we kill them and prepare for a counter-attack from the woods. If they prove to be true, we discuss peace terms. Better to deal with petty tensions than deal with open warfare.”

“Petty tensions? Easy for you to say, dude,” Glenn said.

“There ain’t nothin’ petty about what those fuckers believe,” Daryl said.

“Whatever you’re gonna do, decide on it now,” Andrea said. “They’re almost here.”

The roar of the engines had grown deafening. Four silhouettes grew larger and larger in the smog.

Rick took Daryl by the shoulders. “I’ve gotten us this far, haven’t I? I need you to trust me again. Tell me you can do that.”

The smog hid Daryl’s face. Jon saw the silhouette of his shoulders slump. “God dammit… fine. But if they so much as look like they’re gonna shoot, I’m puttin’ a fuckin’ bolt through someone’s head.”

Rick let go. “Thank you. Now, Hershel join Glenn and Andrea on the RV and stay out of sight until I say otherwise. Andrea keep ‘em in your sights. They make to shoot, you shoot first. Jon, Daryl, take up positions behind the fence on either side of the road.”

Hershel’s silhouette began a slow, one-handed climb up the RV’s ladder. He grunted and cursed under his breath with each rung.

The roar of the engines peaked and then died. The smog thinned and cleared, revealing the procession parked ten or so paces from the gap in the scrap-metal fence. Three figures wearing brown jackets and black half-helms sat atop bikes of two and four wheels. Behind them, a flatbed truck was parked. It’d been turned so its side faced the farm. Black bandannas covered their mouths. Strange, glass lenses covered their eyes, secured by a strap around the head.

A broad-shouldered man sat on the four-wheeled motorbike wielding an automatic rifle. The same automatic rifle from the bar, Jon realised. His gaze, hidden behind the strange eye-coverings, scanned the group. Besides the automatic rifle wielder, sat on a motorcycle, was a slim, twig-limbed man holding a shotgun. He stared right at Jon and no one else. Both men dismounted their vehicles and stood on either side of the bike between them. Daryl’s bike, Jon realised.

Sat on Daryl’s motorcycle was the man who must have been Sam Culver. He held no weapons, only the peace banner, which he promptly lay in the gravel before dismounting. Barrel-chested, thick-limbed and a good head and a half taller than his companions, Sam Culver appeared more bear than man. A final figure emerged. A pot-bellied man exited the flatbed truck wielding a scoped rifle. He marched past the two behind Sam and joined his side. Sam took a single step forward.

Rick whispered. “Jon, leave Ghost by the RV.”

“Aye.”

As Rick and Daryl descended the hill, Jon looked at Ghost. Red eyes stared up into his, unblinking. “Stay, Ghost.”

Ghost sat and his gaze shifted to the Culvers. Whatever the direwolf saw, it gave him no cause to bare his fangs nor raise his hackles. Jon glanced at the woods. Silent and still. He drew Needle. The pistol weighed twice what it usually did. Tightening his grip on it, Jon hurried after Rick and Daryl. He met them halfway and, as one, they approached the gap in the scrap metal.

Rick whispered again. “Let me do the talkin’ for now. This ain’t a negotiation yet, it’s a disarmament. If you think they’re about to shoot, put ‘em down.”

“Right,” Daryl said.

“Aye.”

Jon and Daryl crouched behind the scrap metal on either side of the gap which the gravel road passed through. Rick stood in the gap, his mouth formed a firm, thin line as he stared down Sam Culver.

Sam unwound his bandanna from around his mouth and perched his eye coverings on his forehead. Grizzly hair like black, curly wire strapped his chin, neck and forearms. Squashed-in features and beady eyes gave him a perpetual squint. “Who’re you?” he asked.

“Rick Grimes. I’m a sheriff's deputy. You’re Sam Culver, right?”

“Is this your farm now, Rick Grimes?”

“These are my people. It’s still Hershel’s farm.”

“Right… well, I came to speak to Hershel.”

“Way I hear it, you and Hershel know each other about as well as you and I.”

The pot-bellied man stepped forward. “You deaf, pig? Get Hersh-”

“Pete, get back in your truck!” Sam shouted.

Pete tore his bandanna off and pulled off his eye coverings. A deep red flushed his pudgy features and layered chins. He lacked both head and facial hair, making him look like a thumb with a face. Any resolve that might have been present in his eyes vanished the moment Sam loomed over him. Pete spat, threw down his rifle and stormed back to his truck, slamming the door behind him.

Sam’s wrath left in the blink of an eye. “I apologise for him.”

“We’re all on edge,” Rick said.

“I see that.” Sam nodded to where Shane and the others were gathered.

Jon saw no movement among the trees. Did Sam acknowledge the woods as a bluff? Or was there truly no attack coming? Jon studied the grips of the other two on their guns. They were loose, almost casual. Their fingers rested away from the triggers and the barrels were pointed right at the ground. The slim man on the left stared right at him. His gaze had never once left to glance at the woods. The broad-shouldered man to the right of Sam had looked at Rick, the RV, Jon and Daryl, Ghost at the top of the hill, but never once at the woods. A man’s eyes always betrayed him. Always. So, unless these men were disciplined warriors…

“You’ll have to forgive us for being careful, we weren’t exactly expecting you,” Rick said.

The slim man on Sam’s left joined his side, looking right at Jon all the while.

“That’s gotta be him. He’s exactly what Randall described.” The man’s voice was silk, sweet and without the slightest hint of tenor. A boy, then. Randall’s younger, taller brother perhaps.

Jon moved his finger onto Needle’s trigger as Sam looked down at him but Sam only grunted.

“I’ve got eyes.”

The slim man retreated, still staring.

Sam turned his beady eyes back on Rick. “Understand my perspective here. I don’t know you and, you’re right, I don’t know Hershel much better. But I know his reputation. He’s a kind, reasonable, god-fearing, family man. Even fixed my dog Bindi’s influenza, rest her soul. As for you, for all I know you took that sheriff's star from a corpse. What I do know is that your people killed half my family.”

Rick stiffened and glanced at Daryl. Daryl’s finger moved onto the trigger of his crossbow. Rick raised a hand and Daryl moved the finger away.

“I can bring you, Hershel,” Rick said. “But I’ll need somethin’ in return. A show of goodwill. You lay your guns down and kick ‘em over to me, I’ll bring you, Hershel.”

The broad-shouldered man to Sam’s right tore his bandanna off and raised his eye coverings. His face looked queerly familiar. “Goodwill?” he snapped. “You kill my brother and expect goodwill?!” Jon watched the man’s hands, anticipating the slip of his finger onto the trigger.

“James, calm down.” Sam’s voice remained flat.

“No!” James’s grip tightened around his automatic rifle. “How the hell are you so calm, Pa?! These mother fuckers killed Jack! They killed Uncle Clyde, Caleb, Cynthia, Dan and Randy! They killed them all and you’re fuckin’ talking to ‘em instead of-”

“Randall ain’t dead!” Rick raised both his hands. A second later and Jon would’ve shot James and, judging by the whites showing Daryl’s eyes, Daryl would’ve done the same.

James froze and gawked at Rick.

The slim boy stepped forward. His voice was sharp and thin. “What do you mean Randy ain’t dead?”

Sam caught his arm. He glanced at Andrea. “Pete told us you shot Randall, that he fell from a roof and broke his neck.”

“No, he fell onto a fence. Pierced both his legs. We saved him.” Slow and careful, Rick pointed behind his head. “He’s alive, in there, that barn. Can you see the barn?”

“I see it,” Sam said.

The slim boy tugged on Sam’s grip. He tore off his bandanna, lifted his eye coverings and tossed off his helmet. Long, black hair tumbled past his… no, her shoulders. Two lightning bolt tattoos decorated her cheek beneath her eye. “Take me to the little bastard.”

“May, shut your mouth,” Sam grunted. He pulled May by her arm back to his side.

Rick spoke slowly. “I can’t do that but I can bring him to you. First, y’all need to put down your guns.”

James stammered. “So- So what? They can kill my brother and just because they saved hers we act like nothin’ happened?”

“James, get in the truck,” Sam said.

“No!”

“You do what you’re told, boy!” Sam turned on him and snatched the gun from his hands like taking a toy away from a child.

James gawked at him before, kicking Daryl’s bike and heading back to the truck. Gravel crunched beneath his stomping steps.

“Sam, put your guns down.” Rick lowered the hand that’d stopped Daryl from shooting.

“No.”

“The hell’re you doing?” May tried and failed to twist out of Sam’s grip.

“He says they’ve got Randall. Do you see Randall?”

“No,” May muttered. She stopped putting up a fight.

“I ain’t lyin’ to you,” Rick said.

“So you say. Bring Hershel. I want to hear it from his mouth. If I believe him, we put our guns down.”

“And if you don’t?” Daryl snapped.

Sam looked down at Daryl as if seeing him for the first time. He scowled. A grim look crossed his face. “Look… I know where Hershel is. He’s right there. I saw him as we were pulling up.” Sam pointed at the defences atop the RV. “You have him poke his head above that table, barrier-thing you’ve set up and May’ll put her gun down. Have Hershel climb down and I’ll put this here AK down. Bring Hershel here and I’ll kick the guns to you. All of ‘em. That sound reasonable?”

“The girl puts her gun down, and then you see Hershel’s face,” Jon said.

“Hershel first,” Sam said.

Rick gave Jon an appraising look before turning a stone-cold stare on Sam. “Her gun goes down first. Then you see Hershel.”

Sam sighed. “Fine.” He let go of May and she dropped her shotgun at her feet.

Rick shouted, never taking his eyes off Sam. “Hershel! Poke your head above the table!”

Sam’s eyes looked past Rick. He nodded and dropped his automatic rifle.

“Hershel, climb down and wait beside the RV!”

Behind him, Jon heard the clanging of footsteps on the roof of the RV and the grunts of Hershel’s slow, one-handed descent down the ladder. When the noise ended, Sam nodded and kicked his automatic rifle over to Rick.

“Hershel, come join us!”

The crunch of footsteps on gravel approached Jon from behind. Hershel appeared at Rick’s side, cradling his bandaged hand. Wet crimson darkened the white cloth. Sam kicked the other two guns one by one, sending them skidding across the gravel to rest at Rick’s feet.

“I hear you saved Randall, Hershel,” Sam said.

Hershel nodded. “I treated his wounds myself. I stopped his bleedin’ and patched him up best I could. He ain’t conscious yet but, he’s been fed, given water and kept out of harm’s way in my barn.”

May scoffed and gave Hershel a disgusted look.

“And this man, Rick Grimes? You trust him to talk for you?” Sam asked.

“I do. These people you see around us, these strangers, are honest, hard-working men and women. And Rick here is the most diligent of them all. He’s a defender, a provider, a father, a husband and a christian.”

“You’ve got a family here, Rick?”

Rick’s hands rested on his hips. His right rested above his holster. “I do.”

“A whole family?”

“No. I lost my parents, my sister, my brother, nieces, nephews and my in-laws. All I’ve got left is my wife and my boy.”

A solemn look crossed Sam’s face. “How old’s this boy of yours?”

“Eight. Nine soon, I think. If I’ve got the dates right.”

“It’s a hell of an excuse to forget a birthday, isn’t it? All this. No one can hold it against you no more,” Sam said.

“I guess not.” Rick moved his hands off his hips.

“Where do we go from here, Rick?” Sam asked. “You’ve got my guns. The ball’s in your court.”

“That depends on you. Are you ready to surrender?”

“Yeah.”

“And this is all of you here? Just the four of you? You ain’t got nobody waitin’ in the woods?”

“Ignoring your double negative, no. All that’s left of us is who you see here.”

“That convincing enough for you, Jon?” Rick asked.

“Unless they’re the best group of mummers ever graced with life, I’d say their surrender is true.”

Sam looked amused. “Mummers?”

“Daryl?” Rick asked. “It good enough for you?”

Daryl spat. “They’re too stupid to lie that well.”

Sam chuckled. “That’s gotta be the nicest insult I’ve ever heard.”

“When do I get to see my brother?” May asked.

“Soon,” Rick said. “Hershel, you willin’ to let Sam onto your land?”

Hershel nodded. “I am.”

Rick nodded. “Sam, you’ll come with us to the RV. That’s where we’ll discuss your terms for surrender.”

“There’s gonna be terms?”

“There are always terms.”

“You gonna try and kill him?” May asked, calmly, as if it was of no concern to her.

Rick blinked. “No.”

May crossed her arms. “You’d die if you tried.”

Sam gave May a swift clout in the ear, nearly knocking the girl off of her feet. “Go join the others.”

Rubbing her ear, May huffed and did as she was told.

“Jon, Daryl, gather up the guns. Sam, you’ll follow Hershel and me to the RV.” Rick spoke with a voice of steel. He turned on his heel and headed back up the gravel path towards the RV with Hershel trailing behind him.

Sam crossed the distance between him and the fence. Jon and Daryl rose. Daryl kept a firm grip on his crossbow while Jon holstered Needle and loosened Longclaw in its scabbard. When Sam reached the gap in the fence where the guns lay scattered, he stopped and raised a bushy black eyebrow at Longclaw. The man’s barrel chest stood level with Jon’s face, forcing him to look down at Jon over his squashed, crooked nose.

“Randall wasn’t lying, huh? You’ve got a real sword.”

“It’d be best if you keep moving,” Jon said.

Sam smiled. “You’re brave, ain’t you, kid?”

“You heard him, keep movin’,” Daryl said.

“You know, Dan wasn’t lying to you, kid. If you’d given him what he wanted, he’d have let you live.”

“If I’d given him what he wanted Rick’s son would have died.”

“You listenin’ motherfucker? Keep movin’!”

“Is that so? So you weighed the odds. Dan’s life or the kid’s life. Must have been an easy choice.”

Daryl pointed his crossbow at Sam. “Shut the fuck up and go!”

“Do I look like a fucking possum to you? Put that thing away.” Sam stepped over the scattered guns and headed after Rick and Hershel.

Jon tightened Longclaw’s scabbard and knelt to collect the guns. The automatic rifle had a sling so Jon slung it over his back.

“Fucking nazi bastard,” Daryl muttered. He fired his bolt into the ground. It splintered and snapped in two. The tail end spun off into the roadside grass while the pointy end remained embedded in the road. Daryl cursed, kicked the embedded point and slung his crossbow over his back. He snatched up the rifle, leaving Jon to carry the shotgun.

“First you call him skinhead, then Aryan Brotherhood, then Hells Angel, now nazi. Do all those titles mean the same thing?”

“Yeah. Well, no. Kinda. I don’t know, it’s hard to explain. All you gotta know is that they’re bad fuckin’ people.”

“What makes them bad?”

“What makes ‘em bad? The fuck you mean? They’re nazis.”

“Daryl, I don’t know what that means.”

Daryl sighed. “Right. Well, we ain’t got time for a fuckin’ history lesson. You wanna know more? Ask Jenner or Dale or somethin’. Just know this. They hate anyone who don’t look like them. There ain’t no rhyme or reason behind it. Reality don’t fuckin’ matter to these people. They see what they wanna see and hate who they want to hate. Only way this ends is with them dead. You’ll see.”

Daryl spat and removed the rifle’s magazine. It had no bullets. Daryl blinked at the empty magazine. “The fuck?” He pulled back the rifle’s lever and looked inside the chamber. Empty as well. “Open the shotgun.”

Remembering all he’d been taught about guns, Jon flipped a little lever on the shotgun and cracked it into two. Both of the shotgun’s chambers were void of shells. He slung the automatic rifle off his back and removed the magazine. Also empty.

“Those stupid motherfuckers…” Daryl stared at the empty guns. “I would have shot that kid and he didn’t even have anythin’ in the fuckin’ chamber. The fuck were they thinkin’?”

Jon slung the automatic rifle back onto his back, picked up the shotgun and stood. “Who knows.” He left and followed the others up the hill. Behind him, Jon heard the crunch of Daryl’s footsteps following him and the muttering of curses under breath. The lack of bullets could be some sort of ploy. Mayhaps, Sam intended for us to find the guns empty in a bid to appear trustworthy. Or, mayhaps, they have no ammo left to fill their guns with. They could have used it all up fighting us. Or it’s all back in that truck. Or… it’s all in the woods. No. Stop that. You’ll drive yourself bloody witless trying to puzzle out every possible deceit. Focus on the information on hand. Sam is alone, unarmed and surrounded by enemies. If an ambush comes now, we’ll kill the giant fool and the rest of his damnable family. If Sam is here for revenge why would he risk getting himself killed? Dying to avenge your loved ones is one thing. Dying before you see their murderers die is another. Sam is telling the truth. The Culvers are telling the truth. They’re truly here for peace.

Jon watched the woods. Silent and still.

Ghost awaited their return on the hill’s peak. Sam passed right by the direwolf, not stopping for even a moment to gawk. Ghost returned the disinterest. As Sam passed him, Ghost’s gaze remained fixed on the flatbed truck. Jon whistled and patted his thigh as he passed Ghost. The direwolf turned and padded beside him, silent as ever.

“That your wolf, kid?” Sam asked without looking back.

“Aye.”

“Cool.” He approached the RV.

Rick stepped into his path. “Not yet, Sam.”

Sam loomed over him and wrinkled his nose. “Why?”

“I need to search you for any other weapons.”

“You waited until now to search me?”

“Is that a problem?”

Sam lifted his arms. “Go on, then.”

Rick began touching Sam, trailing pats down his limbs and torso. As Rick worked, Sam looked up at Andrea and Glenn.

“You there. Asian boy. Do you know whose gun you’re holding?”

Glenn scowled. “My name’s Glenn.”

“And my name’s Sam. Answer the question.”

“Shut your mouth and take off your jacket and boots,” Daryl said.

Sam shrugged out his jacket. “I’m not allowed to strike up a bit of friendly conversation?” He kicked off his boots.

“No.” Daryl turned the boots upside down but all that fell out was dust and gravel.

“It’s Hershel’s gun,” Glenn said.

“Wrong. That’s Dan’s gun.”

“Who the hell’s Dan?”

“Who the hell’s Dan?” Sam looked at Jon. “You didn’t even tell them the name of the man you killed?”

A clatter rang out as Glenn dropped his shotgun.

“I told them I killed a man who tried to rob me. His name wasn’t relevant,” Jon said.

“Cold, kid… Damn cold…”

Rick patted down Sam’s legs and ankles and then stood. “Go on inside, Sam.”

“I want my shoes and jacket back”

“Put them on inside. Daryl, give him his stuff back,” Rick said.

Daryl threw Sam’s boots and jacket at his feet.

Sam smiled. “Thank you.” He crouched, picked up his belongings and entered the RV. The RV squeaked and shifted as it took on his weight.

“Alright, Jon, Glenn, Hershel, come with me inside,” Rick said. “Jon, bring Ghost. Daryl, take over for Glenn, join Andrea on the roof.” Rick looked up. “Andrea, keep your sights on the truck. If either of those three step out with a weapon don’t hesitate to shoot.”

“To kill?” Andrea asked.

Rick glanced at Jon. “To kill.”

“Got it.” Andrea propped her rifle up on the table’s edge and looked down the scope.

Glenn climbed down to join them, leaving behind the shotgun. Daryl took up the shotgun that once belonged to Dan and took Glenn’s place beside Andrea. Without another word between them, Jon followed the others inside the RV. They found Sam waiting for them in the RV’s booth. The cushioned seats and plastic table looked like they’d been made for children with Sam sitting at them. His helmet, eye coverings and bandanna sat on the table in an organised pile. Sam’s hair was a mess of thick, black curls painted with streaks of grey.

Rick and Hershel sat across from Sam, Glenn stood behind the back of their seats and Jon leaned against the cabinets across the RV’s narrow walking space. If Sam wanted to leave, he’d have to make it past all four of them to reach the RV’s only door. Ghost slunk through the door without a sound and lay at Jon’s feet, taking up most of the walkway. He shut his eyes. So much for intimidation.

“You don’t mess around do you?” Sam asked. He tapped the RV’s ceiling. “She got the guts to do it, you think? Pretty thing like her?”

“She does,” Jon said.

“That right?” Sam grinned.

“We aren’t here to discuss Andrea,” Rick said.

“So, it’s a discussion we’re gonna have?”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t that nice? Well, we’ve got a lot to discuss. Where should we start?”

“Where is your camp situated?” Jon asked. “How many of you are there? What are your supplies like?”

“Forgive me but, why are you asking the questions, kid? Which one of you is in charge here?” Sam asked.

“No one’s in charge,” Rick said.

“Someone’s gotta be in charge.”

“We’re a democracy here.”

“So, I didn’t just see you ordering these folks about?”

“I’m in charge of organisin’ people. Important decisions are decided by a vote.”

Sam chuckled. “Did you take a vote before shooting my son? Or was that an unimportant decision?”

Rick grimaced and balled his fists beneath the table.

“Answer my questions,” Jon said. “Where is your camp? How many are there in your group? What supplies do you have?”

Sam turned his gaze to Jon. Jon held his gaze in a casual, disinterested manner.

“You got a map?” Sam asked.

“Glenn, get a map,” Rick said.

Glenn wasted no time disappearing into the RV’s driver’s cab.

“You got a last name, kid?” Sam asked. “You know mine, seems only fair I know yours.”

“Snow.”

“Jon Snow. And that there’s Ghost, I assume.”

“Aye.”

“Fitting pair. Snow and Ghost. You got a family, Jon Snow?”

“Once. I’m afraid you have more family left than I do.”

Sam laughed and slapped the table. His sizeable palm rocked the little plastic table. “Lucky me! Seems you’re out of place here, Jon. This here table is a table for family men. Your family is alive aren’t they, Hershel?”

“Only my daughters,” Hershel said.

“Ah…” Sam wrung his huge hands and glanced away. “I’m sorry to hear that. Your boys were good kids to hear Dalla tell it. Never missed deadlines, always raised their hands, and knew their manners. Teachers aren’t meant to have favourites but, she did.”

“Is Dalla still around?” Hershel asked.

Sam shook his head. “The outbreak didn’t claim many Culvers. Just the wives. And Alex, I assume. Clyde and Randall never gave up lookin’ for him but, the way I see it, there’s only so long you can make it out there on your own these days.”

“Sam…” Hershel’s words caught in his throat. “Alex wandered onto my property a week after the outbreak. He’d turned. His body’s buried outside my barn. Once we’re done here, I can show you.”

“You buried a roamer?”

Glenn returned with the book of maps tucked under his arm. He stepped over Ghost, knelt before the table, laid out the book and started flipping through the pages.

“How about you, Glenn? You got a family?” Sam asked.

“No.” Glenn stopped flipping the pages. “Is this your town, Hershel?”

Hershel squinted at the book. “Yeah, that’s it.”

“Point to where your camp is,” Jon said.

Sam turned the book around to face him and began running the tip of his finger along the map. “No family at all, Glenn? Nothing?”

“No.”

Glenn bristled.

“Good for you. She white?”

Glenn flushed and glanced at Hershel. “The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“You got eyes, don’t you? Don’t tell me you don’t know what Randall’s tattoo means.”

Glenn stood, scowling. “Yeah, I know.”

“So, it’d probably be best if there ain’t a little family of Asians here if we’re gonna start livin’ together. I’ll make no excuses for it. My father’s poison trickled down the family tree. Clyde didn’t help matters much, but that’s just the way things are. No point pissing our pants about it.”

Glenn gave Sam a disgusted look before returning to his place behind Rick and Hershel.

“Who said anything about livin’ together?” Rick asked.

“I did.” Sam prodded the map. “That’s it there.”

“The school?” Hershel leaned over the map.

Jon approached the table and looked at where Sam had pointed. A marker outside of the town read “St Francis School.” Jon had heard the word school used to describe an action. To school somebody in a subject, to teach. But a place? Is a school where this land’s maesters go to study? No not maesters, doctors, that’s right. If a school was anything like the Citadel, Jon supposed it would make an excellent place to build a community.

“The fences keep the dead out and it’s about a twenty-minute drive from the town. We’ve been picking through the stores for supplies, clearing the dead as we go,” Sam said with a smile.

“And how many of you are there?” Jon asked.

“Four. Used to be more.” Sam kept his smile.

“And your supplies?”

“I haven’t got a tally on me but we’ve got a surplus of food, water, medicine and ammunition.”

“If you have a surplus of ammunition, why come here with empty guns?” Jon asked.

“Your guns were empty?” Rick asked.

“They were,” Sam said.

“The hell were you thinkin’? Do you know how close we came to shootin’ y’all?”

“I’m aware. I thought I’d be coming to speak to Hershel. Instead, I found you and friendly friends here.”

“Or, you had no choice in the matter,” Jon said.

“I had a choice. We’ve got plenty of ammo.”

“From where?” Hershel asked.

Sam’s chest puffed. “From the Adventure Outdoors in the Mall”

“The same mall that’s overrun with the dead?”

“We cleared it.”

“When?”

“A month ago.”

“Not even two weeks ago, Maggie and I made a trip into town for supplies. The mall’s still overrun. Saw so with my own eyes.”

“You’d do well, to tell the truth, Sam,” Jon said.

Sam’s smile vanished. “Fine. We haven’t got any bullets left. Happy?”

“If you lie to us, it’s only gonna make this harder,” Rick said.

“Let’s cut to the fucking chase then, shall we? You killed my family. I’ve heard Pete’s side of it. Little shit’s been lying before he could walk. Tell me your side of it. Give me a good fucking reason as to why half my family’s dead.”

“May I?” Hershel asked. He looked to Rick and Jon for approval.

“Aye.”

“Go ahead.”

Hershel nodded. “Your brother, nephew and niece stumbled upon us in Joe’s Tavern. Clyde recognised Jon as the one who killed Dan. He told Caleb to shoot him. I tackled Jon out of the line of fire.” Hershel tapped his bandaged temple with his maimed hand. “Caleb’s buckshot grazed me. He made to shoot again so Glenn shot him. Clyde tried to retaliate so Rick shot him. Now, I won’t lie to you, Cynthia tried to run but Jon shot her in the back. He was dazed and confused, you can hardly blame the boy.”

Sam stared at Hershel, expressionless. “And Jack?”

“Jack and Randall opened fire on the bar. Jon and Glenn flanked them from the alley. Who shot who then I can’t say but Randall fell from the roof trying to escape. Pete left him and drove away.”

“Jack was the one with the machine gun, right?” Glenn asked.

“He was,” Sam said.

“Well… It was me, then. I shot your son.”

Sam stared at Glenn for a good long while. Glenn looked at his feet and shrunk back. Sam’s expressionless mask of stone faded into a solemn, down-cast look. The huge man seemed to almost be of a normal size. After a while, he finally asked, “Did he die slowly?”

“No. I shot him pretty much… point blank.”

“Okay then,” Sam whispered. “Your hand, Hershel. That Caleb’s work too?”

“Randall’s. He shot Jon’s shoulder too.”

“From across the street? In the dark?”

“Yes.”

Sam smiled a sad sort of smile. “Only talent that kid ever had was with a rifle.”

“Our reasons for killing your kin were just. Do you deny it?” Jon asked.

“No. My brother got my son killed. I see that.”

“So you’ll seek no retribution then. That is our first term,” Jon said.

“And I agree to it. I’ll keep them in line. No one’s gonna come looking for revenge.”

“It’d probably be best if you didn’t tell them who killed Jack,” Rick said.

“Sorry, but I can’t do that. James’s got a right to know who killed his twin. Otherwise, he’ll never move on.”

“Is he like Randall?” Glenn asked. “Is he a nazi?”

“Unfortunately.”

“You can’t tell him then, man!” Glenn’s voice trembled. “You can’t!”

“I told you, I can control my own.”

“Like you controlled them at the bar?!”

Sam slammed the table. “It’s non-negotiable! James gets to know who killed his brother!”

Ghost opened his eyes and lifted his head. He and Sam made eye contact. Without a word, Sam retracted his fist from the table and slumped back into his seat.

“I should have been there that night…” Sam ran his hand over his face. “If I had been it could’ve stopped at just… them three…”

“Well you weren’t,” Glenn said.

“Tell him I killed Jack,” Jon said.

“You?” Sam asked.

“Aye. The issue is skin colour, I assume. I have the right sort for James’s liking, yes? He already believes I’ve killed one of yours. What difference is another?”

“But you didn’t,” Sam said.

“I didn’t stop Glenn either. I would have done it in it his place. It’s but a small lie. James can receive his closure without involving his hate of skin colour into the mix.”

“A small lie…” Sam glanced at Glenn. “Alright.”

“That’s your first term then? That I take the blame for your son’s death.”

“I guess. When you say it like that you make me sound like a total asshole. What’s your next term?”

“Your guns,” Rick said. “You’ll give them and any ammo you have left over to us. On top of that, you won’t scavenge any new guns to replace your old ones.”

“Fair enough but, I ain’t got any ammo to give. There are a few guns left but they’re all at our camp. I’d have to send someone to get them.”

“We’ll choose who,” Jon said.

“Alright. What about our knives and any other melee weapons? We need something to defend ourselves from the dead.”

“You can keep one each,” Rick said. “Any other weapons belong to us.”

“And you decide what counts as a weapon?”

“Aye,” Jon said.

“Anything else?”

“Aye, half of your supplies.”

“Half of our supplies? Why?”

“Retribution for attacking us.”

“I don’t know…” Rick said. “That’s probably a term we should vote on.”

“Terms aren’t something to vote on,” Jon said. “We’re here to represent our people, to speak for them.”

“What damage are you getting retribution for?” Sam asked. “None of yours’ died.”

Glenn spoke up. “We had to kill people… That’s something no one should ever have to do.”

“You’re saying you never had to kill any of the roamers?”

“That’s different.”

“They’re people aren’t they?”

“Dead people.”

“Barely.”

“Well, what about Hershel’s hand? He lost two fingers.”

“I’m sorry and all but half of our stuff isn’t worth two fingers.”

“He lost more than that,” Jon said. “Without the pointer and middle fingers, he may as well not have the hand anymore. And, that’s his dominant hand. Isn’t it Hershel?”

“It is… I think half is fair but, if the Culvers ever run out of essentials we should share with them. It’s only right.”

“Aye, that’s fair.”

“I agree,” Glenn said.

Sam clenched his jaw. “What would be right is not taking half of our stuff.”

Rick sighed. “Well… it seems that’s our second term so you’re gonna have to accept it.”

“Do I now?”

“You’re more than welcome to go back to being at war with us,” Jon said.

Sam wrung his huge hands. “I’ll accept… but only if you accept my second term first.”

“What’s your second term?” Jon asked.

Sam prodded the table. “I want a place for me and mine on the farm.”

“That won’t work,” Rick said. “With the way your people are, we’ll never get along. Glenn ain’t the only person of colour among us.”

“We’ll live separate from you. It’s a big farm.”

“Not that big.”

“I can control my own. We can make it work.”

“I don’t doubt you think you can.”

Sam sighed and looked out of the RV’s window. “It seems we’re at an impasse then.”

“You aren’t exactly in a position to make demands, dude,” Glenn said.

Sam glared at him. “Why? Because I’m stuck in here with you four?”

“Five.” Jon touched Ghost’s head.

Sam huffed. “I’d take a few of you with me.”

“I doubt so.”

“That right?” Sam pointed at Longclaw with his huge hand. “You think you can draw that sword before I get my hands around your neck?”

Ghost stood and bared his fangs. Glenn took a step back. Rick touched the hilt of his revolver.

Sam laughed. “Relax. I’m just blowing hot air.”

Rick moved his hand away from his revolver. “So, you agree to our second term then?”

“No. If half of our stuff is coming here, the other half is coming with it and that’s that.”

Rick let out a long breath as he drummed the table. “A quarter then. How about that?”

“No,” Jon said. “Half.”

Rick gave him an incredulous look but it was Sam who spoke. “You ain’t much of a negotiator, kid.”

“This school of yours. How have you fortified it?” Jon asked.

“The school?… Well, we took some metal scrap and timber from a construction site and used it to reinforce the chain link fences. Also, we wound some barbed wire over the top. Some of the dead can fucking climb, you know? It’s fucking freaky.”

“How many dead would it take to break down your fences?”

“I don’t know. A lot.”

“A hundred?”

“Nah, it could take a hundred.”

“A thousand?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah, kid. A thousand roamers could take my fences down.”

“We came here from Atlanta along the highways. A horde followed us all the while. According to our counts, it’s grown to well over a thousand walkers.”

Sam chuckled and shook his head. “Okay, kid. Sure. An army of the dead followed you out of Atlanta. You can have half my stuff. You know what? Take all of it. Everything. The clothes off my back, the sweat from my brow, I’ll even package my balls up for you in a little sack for you to wear around your neck.”

“He ain’t lying to you,” Rick said.

“Come on, the first time was cute. A second time’s a fucking insult.”

“The dead are attracted to two things. The sight of humans and sound. Engines are loud. The dead followed their roar no matter where we went,” Jon said.

Doubt flickered in Sam’s eyes. “Can we- Can we get back to the fucking discussion at hand here? Me and mine can stay here for a couple days while we clear out another farm for us to live in. There’s gotta be a dozen empty farms at least.”

“Sam, they’re tellin’ the truth,” Hershel said.

“No. They fucking lied to you too.”

“Why would they do that?”

“I don’t know! They just did!”

“We can take you to it,” Jon said. “It may take a few days. It’s about a week out given our best estimates.”

Sam scoffed. His thick, long fingers drummed a frantic beat. “Let’s say, hypothetically speaking, you’re not lying. What’s all this been for? The back and forth? What’s the point if we have to pack up and leave in a week?”

“Who said anything about leaving?” Jon asked.

Rick raised an eyebrow. “You got a plan?”

“Aye.”

Sam’s fingers stopped drumming. “Go on then, kid. Tell us how you’d stop a thousand walkers.”

“With a wall, and-”

“With a wall!” Sam laughed a thin, strained laugh. “What a great fucking idea! Let’s just set up some walls in a week! Easy as that.”

“Only one. Over there, parallel with the woods that separate us from the highway.” Jon pointed out the window. “It’ll catch any stragglers while we herd the rest away. The dead are stupid creatures, like cattle or sheep. It stands to reason we’d be able to herd them the same way small-folk herd groups of farm animals. We’ll use the sound of engines to lure them along the highway.” Jon found the highway on the map and traced a path, stopping where the highway was the closest to the school. “Here should be far enough. After that, the dead’ll wander off North, West.” Jon dragged his finger to the school. “East. Who knows? Who cares? They won’t head south, that’s for sure so long as we make our way back to the farm on foot.”

Sam stared long and hard at the map, at Jon’s gloved finger.

“We’d have to cover the horde on all sides,” Hershel said. “Cattle and sheep like to wander without dogs to keep them in line.”

“How will we make the wall?” Glenn asked. “The scrap metal isn’t gonna cut it.”

“We’ll cut down trees from the woods. Their trunks are thick and tall enough to serve as posts. We can scavenge sheets of metal and timber from abandoned farms to make the wall as well as battlements to walk on. That alone could hold off a few hundred if spread thin enough but, if we pile dirt up against the inside of the walls, they could hold back the horde ten times over.”

Sam muttered. “It’d have to be a long fucking wall, and angled on either end to catch any dead trying to go around. Can something like that be built in a week?”

“Aye, with enough manpower. There are thirteen able-bodied men and women in our group. Add yours and we’ll have eighteen. Give up half your supplies. Aid in the construction of the wall and the herding of the walkers. And after, and only after, will we consider assigning a farm for your people to live on.”

“A quarter now. A quarter after we’ve dealt with the horde,” Sam said.

“That’s fair,” Rick said at once. He eyed Jon. “Don’t you agree?”

“Aye,” Jon said begrudgingly.

“Hershel, Glenn, you agree?”

“Yeah, sounds fair,” Glenn said.

“It does, so long as we agree to share our supplies if they should ever need anything,” Hershel said.

“We will,” Rick said.

“I want a guarantee that if we help you do this, we get a farm,” Sam said.

“You’ll get your farm if you can keep your people under control,” Rick said.

“Deal,” Sam said at once.

Rick extended his hand to Sam. Sam’s hand enveloped Rick’s as they shook.

“We’ll bring these terms to our people and take a vote on it,” Rick said.

Bloody hell… Always with the voting…

Sam retracted his hand. “A vote? What do you mean? A deal’s a deal. We just shook on it.”

“We shook on you agreeing to our terms. We’re a democracy here. This decision affects the life of everyone, they should get a say.”

“And if they say no?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“How will we cross that bridge?”

Rick thought for a second. “You’ll make your case in front of everyone. They’re reasonable people, we can come to an agreement I assure you.”

Sam scowled. “You want to vote? Fine. I want Randall. Now.”

“Deal,” Rick said. “Jon, go get Randall and tell the others to meet in the house.”

***

The barn still reeked of the dead but only up close. The stench loitered, delectable only within a few paces of the towering twin doors, as if afraid to stray too far from home. It would remain for some time no doubt. It had at The Wall. Long after Mance’s assault, after ice froze the gore and snow buried it deep out of sight, the stench of death still travelled with the wind to hit you in the face as you stood atop the ice. Jon opened and closed his sword hand, staring at the towering twin doors. The little cuts in his palm stung.

He’d moved the sacks of gravel aside. All he need do it give the doors a strong push and he could enter. Yet, he stood before them, dumbly, like a child afraid to enter his father’s solar after being caught in some mischief. He needed to open the doors before T-Dog thought he’d lost his wits. The stocky, dark-skinned man was watching him from a few paces away, holding Hershel’s shotgun. An old weapon, to hear it told. Older than the man who owned it and far older than the man who held it. T-Dog had clutched it so ever tight when Jon had told him what Rick had asked of him.

“We under attack?” Shane had asked when Jon had approached them by the scrap-metal fence.

“No, not of yet. I’m here on behalf of Rick.”

“For what?” T-Dog asked.

“To tell you that we’re to give the boy back over to his family.”

T-Dog gripped his old shotgun tight. A clash of emotions struggled on his broad features.

“Rick’s lost his mind. The kid’s our only leverage,” Shane declared.

“Come now, I’m sure Rick knows what he’s doing,” Dale said.

“You blind, old timer? Those tattoos the kid has- these aren’t the kind of people you compromise with. Give ‘em an inch, they take a mile.”

“I saw but, they’re still people aren’t they?”

“The Culvers are racist pigs, all of them,” Maggie muttered.

“You see? We should have gunned ‘em down at the gates, to be honest. It ain’t fair on Glenn and T-Dog too-”

“Don’t talk for me,” T-Dog said. He bristled and marched to Jon’s side. “The kid should be with his family.”

Shane scowled. “Alright go on then, play right into their hands. What else does the glorious leader want? Should we pack up and head inside?”

Jon cooled his blood and kept the lie from his face. “No. You’re to stay here for now.”

That had pleased Shane. And it still did. Jon watched him march up and down the fence, back straight, shoulders square and barking orders with a grin as Dale and Maggie watched the woods.

“You alright?” T-Dog asked.

“Aye.” Jon rested his hand on Ghost’s head. “Aye…”

“Sure you want me to wait here?”

“He’s one boy and crippled at that. I’ll shout if I need you.”

“You said you needed my help.”

“In case he puts up a fight, aye. Or if he still isn’t awake.”

“Alright…” T-Dog gripped his gun. “These Culvers? Are they really all nazis?”

“Their leader isn’t, from what I gather. The other four are, yes.”

T-Dog stared at the bikes and trucks parked outside the farm. He gripped his shotgun tight.

“Could you live with them? If it came down to it?” Jon asked.

“Been living with them my whole life.”

“Will you do it again?”

T-Dog scanned the horizon, the woods, the fields and all that surrounded the boundaries of the farm. “They’ve got a right to life.”

His whole life… Just how prevalent were the nazis in this world before the outbreak? Jon placed his hands on the towering barn doors and pushed them open. A wave of sour stink crashed into him. Fighting a gag, he gritted his teeth.

“If he’s awake, I shan’t require your assistance to transport him.”

T-Dog nodded and turned away from the stink. With that, Jon headed inside. Ghost prowled after him and followed a trail of dried red blood with his nose. Black blood matted the straw floor in streaks across its width, like the stripes of a bumblebee. Insects congregated in the festering rot, scuttling, squirming and writhing. Fat black flies thickened the air. Bloodbeak swooped from the rafters and snatched a maggot between his beak. He perched above the third stall along the left wall and gobbled the writhing creature whole. A trail of dried, red blood streaked inside the stall. Jon paused before he could get a good look inside and Ghost stopped at his heels. If the boy had awakened, no mercy could be permitted. The truth took precedence. His uncle had proven himself a liar when it suited him. He’d lied about their ammo, he could have lied about any number of things, unlikely as it be. Lies presented themselves in certain distinctive ways. Sam puffed when he lied. He’d puffed when he lied about the ammo. He hadn’t any other time yet, skilled liars could fake a tell and Sam appeared a cunning man. The other Culvers seemed unprepared for an ambush yet, skilled warriors could fake such apathy. However unlikely, if all so far had been a deception, the boy would unveil it. He couldn’t have been privy to any plans. To assume otherwise would be deluded madness born of paranoia and bias. The truth must be revealed, whatever it took.

“Whatever it takes…” Jon muttered.

“Whatever!” Bloodbeak bobbed. “Whatever! Whatever!”

“Talking to yourself, asshole?” The boy’s voice wavered on the final word.

Jon approached the stall and found him sitting up against the back wall, staring at him. Heavy bags hung beneath his eyes. He was white as a sheet, causing the black lightning bolts to stick out like a sore thumb upon his cheek. Flies swarmed around his bandaged legs. When Jon started to enter the stall the boy puffed and sat as tall as his bandaged legs would allow before a grimace overtook him. He tensed and slumped. Jon held up a hand to Ghost and the direwolf sat on his haunches out of sight.

“How long have you been awake?” Jon asked.

The boy grunted, still grimacing. “F-Fuck you.”

Jon crouched before him, out of reach. Once Pain’s grip released the boy and he limped, Jon began.

“How many people are in your group?” Jon asked.

“Fuck you.”

Whatever it takes. He slapped the boy. The boy’s jaw spun and he gasped, gawking.

“How many people are in your group?”

“A hundred!”

“Are they armed? Do they have ammo?”

“Yeah, they’ve got machine guns and grenades and- and- rocket launchers and enough ammo to kill your sorry ass a thousand times over!”

“Where is your camp set up?”

“At the school! We’ve got guard towers and walls and a field of landmines around the entire place!”

Whatever it takes. Jon whistled and patted his thigh. Silent as ever, Ghost crept into the stall, eyes locked on the boy. The boy scrambled to press himself as far back into the stall as possible.

“What the fuck is that?!”

“How many people are in your group?”

“A hundred! I already told you, motherfucker!”

“Are they armed? How much ammo do they have?”

“Yes!” Ghost crept past Jon and loomed over the boy. Tears welled in the boy’s eyes. “Get it away!”

“Away! Away! Away!” Bloodbeak cried.

“Where is your camp set up?”

“THE SCHOOL!”

Whatever it takes. Jon drew his dagger and touched the point to the boy’s throat. The boy froze. His breathing turned rapid. Sweat glazed his forehead.

“How many people are in your group?” Jon pricked him and drew a little red bud.

The boy whimpered. “F-Four. No, five including me.”

“Are they armed? Do they have ammo?”

“They are but- but no grenades or rocket launchers just normal guns and only a little bit of ammo.”

“How much ammo?”

“I don’t know.”

“Think.”

The boy’s eyes darted from Ghost to Jon to Ghost and back to Jon. “A couple boxes maybe. No more than a hundred rounds.”

“Where is your camp set up?”

“The school…” His lip trembled. “That one was the truth but we ain’t got no watchtowers or nothing. Just a rusty chain link fence with some boards and sheets nailed between the poles.”

“What are the names of your people?”

“May, James, Peter and Sam.”

Jon sheathed his dagger and gave Ghost a nudge, sending him out of the boy’s space. The boy rubbed his pricked throat, smearing the thin trickle of blood. His eyes fell on Longclaw.

“Dan wouldn’t have killed you…”

“So I’ve been told.” Jon stood. “Your family’s come to get you.”

The boy shrunk. “May’s here?”

“Aye, and Sam and James and Peter. Sam’s worked out a peace between our people. You’re free to rejoin them.”

The boy looked at Jon’s feet.

“Can you stand, boy?”

“No…” The boy whispered.

“Shall I carry you, then?”

“No!” The boy grabbed onto the side of the stall and struggled to rise. His legs wobbled as they took his weight. Crimson patches darkened his bandages, working the flies into a frenzy.

Jon slipped his arm beneath the boy’s and supported his weight.

“Get off me. I don’t need help!”

“Shut up.”

Jon started to walk and the boy stumbled along beside him, leaning on Jon’s shoulders, grumbling all the while. For a few sweet moments, the boy graced him with silence but not even after a few steps out of the stall, he ended that sweet fortune.

“I wouldn’t have fallen if you hadn’t shot me.”

“I wouldn’t have shot you if your father didn’t try to have me shot.”

“Well, he wouldn’t have done that if you hadn’t killed Dan. Besides, you didn’t get shot and I did.”

“Actually, you shot me.” With his free hand, Jon tapped his wounded shoulder.

“I missed.”

“As did I.”

As they neared the barn doors, Jon braced for what was to come. Whatever it takes. He hoped T-Dog could forgive him.

“He’s awake,” Jon said as he half carried half dragged the boy out of the barn.

T-Dog and the boy met gazes, and Jon held his breath. T-Dog eyed the lighting bolt tattoos and his grip on his gun tightened. The boy scanned T-Dog’s face only to look away and say nothing at all.

“You sure you don’t need help?” T-Dog asked.

“Aye, I’ve got him. Unless you feel otherwise, boy.”

“No… I don’t need help…”

T-Dog gave the boy a queer look and his grip on the gun loosened.

“T-Dog, go tell Shane and the others that Rick wants them to gather inside the house. We’re to vote on the Culver’s surrender terms.”

“Sure thing.” T-Dog turned and left.

Ghost took off after him and tore across the fields towards the woods. A feast of blood and flesh awaited him somewhere among the trees. Jon envied the wolf, a full belly sounded splendid. How long has it been since I ate? Yet, for all his hunger, Jon took his time getting the boy down the barn’s hill. The summer sun had baked a thin crust into the soil beneath the grass that cracked and splintered underfoot. Each step threatened to spill Jon’s footing let alone the staggered steps of the boy. He complained the whole way down, casting blame on Jon for every near fall. At the bottom he quietened as they moved between the graves, watching the wooden crosses with a sullen frown. The boy’s eyes widened.

“Wait.” He pulled on Jon’s shoulder.

“What is it, boy?”

“Is that my brother?” The boy pointed at a grave marked “Alex”.

“I believe so.”

“Did you kill him?”

“No, he’d turned when Hershel found him.”

Defeated and shrunken, the boy stared at his brother’s grave for a while without a word. As Jon watched a brother’s sullen grief clash with a boy’s wrath upon his face, Shane’s tearful mad prattling whispered in the back of Jon’s mind. Bet you feel pretty stupid, don’t ya, kid?

“How long ago did Hershel find him?” Randall asked eventually.

“A week after the outbreak.”

“Was he bit?”

Jon tried to recall the night he’d broken open the barn, to remember if Alex had been disfigured at all. The faces and bodies all melded into one formless mass. He let his blood run cold. “No. If I had to guess, he turned during the first wave.”

“Oh… Okay.”

“Hershel said he was kind when we buried him,” Jon said.

“He was smart too. He knew words like nothing else. Every time, he found the ones to make you smile even when you really didn’t wanna.” Randall smiled a sad smile. “Girls liked him.”

“Did he follow your family’s beliefs?”

Randall tensed. “He… he never tried to understand it.”

“So he wasn’t a nazi?”

“I ain’t a nazi. Only Pete is.”

“What about your tattoo. What are you?”

“Something better. Something bigger. Pete, he’s a dumbass, he just hates but we see the truth of things.”

“We?”

Randall nodded. “May and James too.”

“And what is your truth?”

“The truth. The way of the wolf.” A boy’s pride swelled in Randall’s eyes, green as summer grass.

“So, all this business with skin colour, that’s only Pete’s beliefs?”

Randall tensed again. “No! … I mean, that’s a part of it. The strong rule and the weak scuttle and hide. The white man is the strongest of all the races. Now that the world is the way it is, we can take back our rightful place as masters.” He sounded like a maester reading another’s words from a letter.

“You didn’t appear all that hateful towards T-Dog before.”

“I was! Well, uh, no- I mean he’s a good one. Quick to help, quick to obey. That’s what his kind should aspire to be like. He’s big too. That means he’s got a strong warrior gene. Makes it all the more impressive that he can hold back his aggressive instincts.”

“This warrior gene? Are all coloured people born with it?”

“Just blacks. Every race has some sort of strength in their blood. Only white people are well rounded in all of them, that’s why we swim while others sink.”

“Shall we get you back to your family now, Randall?”

Randall glanced at his brother’s grave. “Yeah…”

As Jon helped Randall across the farm, he contemplated this so-called way of the wolf. Hate, Jon was all too familiar with but the Culver’s flavour of it was puzzling. His brothers had often called the freefolk and their ways savages but, a wall separated them, such feelings were to be expected. But, from what he could gather, those with white and coloured skin lived among one another, not in separate kingdoms but in the same communities. The same towns. The same streets. Yet they hated them all the same as if they were thought of as… as lesser by right of birth. As if they were bastards.

As they crossed the gravel outside the peeling white farmhouse, Jon spied a face in one of the upstairs windows. A little round face with freckled cheeks. Carl glared at them from beneath the brim of his father’s hat.

“There’re kids here?” Randall asked, looking at the window.

Carl’s glare flared and he vanished from sight.

“Aye, only one. That’s Carl.”

“How old is he?”

“Eight.”

“Eight…”

“Your group has children too,” Jon said.

“No, we don’t.”

“Your sister seemed no older than yourself.”

Randall scowled. “You don’t look any older than us.”

“I’m older than you. Far older.”

Randall was huffing and puffing by the time they approached the RV. His feet scraped along the gravel, floundering meagerly to walk. The sun kissed the horizon casting all around the RV as silhouettes and forcing Jon to squint. New bodies gathered around the RV, huddled around the looming silhouette of Sam. One, short and skinny, broke off and made for them. Strands of her long black hair snapped and twisted in the breeze like the ends of a cat o’ nine tails. As she drew nearer, Jon spied her brutal look hidden beneath the shadow veil of the dusk’s silhouette; void of fear or concern. When she reached her brother, May slapped him.

“You stupid little bastard. You let them do this to you?”

Randall stared at her riding boots.

May’s look curdled as she eyed his crippled legs. “Look at you… they should have left you. You’re lucky they’re a bunch of pussies.”

“I know.”

May turned her curdled look on Jon. “What are doing letting him hold you up? Can’t you stand? Ain’t you a wolf no more?”

“I am!” Randall struggled in Jon’s grip. “Let go of me, asshole!”

“You’ll fall.”

“No, I won’t!”

May folded her arms. “Sink or swim, Randy.”

Randall flushed and struggled harder. When it came to foolish children, oft it was best to let them experience a taste of their folly. Jon let go and Randall screamed. He collapsed, like a mummer’s puppet without the strings. His palms took the brunt of the fall. Blood wept from tiny cuts, courtesy of the gravel.

“See.”

“Stand up,” May said.

“Stop this nonsense.” Jon moved to pick Randall back up but Randall, with tears streaming down his cheeks swatted his hands away.

Jon allowed him to struggle on his useless legs until the strength left him. Jon hoisted him to his feet.

“You get your hands off of him!” May whipped out a knife from her belt.

“Put that away, girl.”

“Make me, boy.”

May raised the knife and a huge hand caught her wrist. “Feral little shit, gimme that,” Sam growled.

“But he-”

Sam clouted May across the head, this time knocking her from her feet. The knife skipped across the gravel. Sam clicked his tongue and offered her his hand but she slapped it away, shot to her feet and marched off.

Sam sighed as he picked up the knife. “Don’t look down on me for it, kid. It’s all she respects. Give me, Randall would you?” He slipped the knife beneath his belt.

Jon nodded and handed off Randall to his uncle. Sam scooped him up into his arms.

“Put me down, I ain’t a fucking baby.”

“Shut up, Randy.”

Sam turned and carried Randall back to the rest of his family. Jon ascended the farmhouse stairs, opening and closing his sword hand. The little cuts on his palm stung.

***

Carol added another vote to the heaping pile, making it five affirmatives in a row versus the single negative vote. Yet, the room’s attention was not on the bowl and its remaining votes, Jon among them. Daryl rolled a crossbow bolt between his thumb and finger, wallowing in denial. He ignored the attention of all in the kitchen as he glared at the bowl as if willing it to side with him. A just cause. Such vitriolic concern over the Culvers was fair if Jenner were to be believed. Yet, a cause doomed to fail.

Jenner had grumbled and complained once Jon had found an opening to take him to the side. “It’s complicated. There isn’t time to explain it all before the vote.”

“Try.”

“Jon…”

“Explain it to me as if I were a child.”

“You are a child.”

“You know what I mean.”

Jenner clutched his bandaged cheek and scowled. “Didn’t you have bigotry in Westeros?”

“It wasn’t called that but, aye we did.”

“Then what don’t you get?”

“I understand it all too well. It’s the why of it that fails to make sense. Bastards are thought of as having sinner’s blood as we are conceived through sin.” The words pricked Jon’s tongue with a sour stab. “What charges are levied against those with coloured skin? And why?”

“That’s not- they’re not really the same. Well, no they are, but… Look, we could spend hours unpacking it, and maybe one day after this we will but for now, just understand this part of history. White people conquered America, as they had done all over the world for centuries. They brought with them the idea that whites hold an innate position of superiority over all other races and installed that idea within the new American institutions. The Culvers are just carrying that torch. This way of the wolf shit is just a new coat of paint on something older than any one of us.”

“So… Nazis are part of America's traditions?”

“Kinda… Nazis are something else but it’s also just a catch-all term.”

Jon considered Westeros’s conquerors and their legacies. First Men left behind the stubborn ferocity of Northern culture. The Andals brought their seven-faced god. The Rhoynar left behind the proud grace of Dornish culture. The Targaryeans left behind a united seven kingdoms, for some time at least. Each had left its mark on Westeros. Some for the better. Some for the worst. Which of them brought the lies about bastardy? Or did the children of the forest shame their bastards too? All of them, he decided; The First Men, The Andals, The Rhoynar and The Targaryeans. They all believed in the supposed lesser nature of bastards yet, none of their cultures were built around it. Hatred of bastards was but a brick in the wall of their cultures.

“Nazis, or whatever you call them, is their culture built upon their hate? Or is it a small part of their culture?”

“It’s a pretty big part, I guess.”

Jon opened and closed his sword hand. “Can we live with them?”

“Don’t think we’ve got much of a choice, do we? We fight them, people die. We leave the farm, people die. We stay and work together to face the horde, we’ll live, in theory.”

“Aye, but after when times become easier?”

“If we ever want to have more than two people of colour living among us, living with them will make that harder than if we didn’t.”

“To an unmanageable degree?”

“Given enough time, yeah. Ideas like this spread like mould through society. And times like this are to those ideas what rain is to mould.”

“The Culvers aren’t unique though, are they? If we rid ourselves of them, more will take their place.”

“Yeah…”

“We should return to the group.”

“Wait. Our deal.”

Jon smiled. “You’ll find I already upheld it. You asked if Westeros had bigotry. I answered yes.”

“That doesn’t count. What groups were there in Westeros? Were you all white?”

“For the most part. There was the odd person from Essos here and there but, mayhaps only everyone in several hundred. And we never had trouble with any of this white supremacy nonsense, kingdoms had feuds but not the races.”

“I doubt that.”

“Doubt all you want, it’s the truth.”

“Maybe you just couldn’t see it.”

“Well it doesn’t matter now, does it?” Jon snapped.

Jenner only had time to give Jon a sad look before they called back to the living room to commence the discussions.

Carol plucked the final vote from the bowl; Jon’s vote, folded diagonally. She placed it in the affirmative pile. A mound of votes sat beside a solitary, opposing vote. Daryl snapped his crossbow bolt between his fingers.

“Y’all have lost your damn minds. We can’t live with these pieces of shit.”

“We’re gonna have to, dude. We need all the people we can get to build this wall,” Glenn said.

“Fuck the wall! Y’all are actin’ like this is the only farm in Georgia. We should just get out of the horde’s path.”

“With what supplies?”

“There’s a town just down the road!”

“The decision's been made, Daryl,” Rick said.

Daryl began pacing, eyeing everyone gathered around the counter like a feral dog. “I can’t believe you motherfuckers… You two most of all!” Daryl pointed his snapped bolt at T-Dog and Glenn. “You’re the ones these bastards hate!”

“We know,” T-Dog said.

“Then what the hell’s your problem? You think you’re gonna win ‘em over or somethin’? Kill ‘em with kindness? Cause it ain’t gonna fuckin’ work. I’ve lived with people like this. Ate from the same table. Slept under the same roof. My old man-”

T-Dog cut in. “I want us to die old, man. In a bed, maybe in our sleep or some shit. If the price for that is putting up with these racist assholes the fuck it, so be it. What’s a bit of the more of the same compared to a long life?”

Daryl scoffed and looked at Glenn. “And you’re buyin’ into this shit?”

“Yeah, man. It makes sense.”

“Dumb motherfuckers…” Daryl stormed towards the kitchen door.

“Daryl,” Rick said.

Daryl snapped on his heels. “What?”

“Hand over your crossbow.”

“You wanna take it? Come get it.”

“I ain’t takin’ it. Just leave it here. Please.”

Daryl threw his crossbow to the tiles and stormed out of the kitchen, slamming the door behind him.

“We done here?” Carol asked.

“We are.” Rick sat and kneaded the bridge of his nose.

Carol crossed the kitchen, picked up Daryl’s crossbow and left, prompting the others to follow suit. Aside from Jon, only Lori and Hershel remained in the kitchen with Rick. Hershel gazed out the window, running his good fingers along a peppering of white stubble. On the other hand, his thumb stroked what was left of his bandaged, pointer finger. Lori stood beside Rick, holding his hand. She whispered to him and glanced at the door. Rick sighed and nodded.

“Shall we inform them of our decision?” Jon asked.

Rick nodded. “Where’s Ghost?”

“Off hunting. He shan’t return for a while, I wager. He’s been long without food and his fur isn’t suited for summer hunting here.”

“You should do the same, son,” Hershel said. “I’ll make you up something.”

“Can I join you?” Lori asked, delicately.

Hershel avoided her eyes and cradled his bandaged hand. “Oh… yes, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Lori and Hershel rose from their seats.

“Hold up, Hershel.” Rick rose too. “Come with Jon and me first.”

“Sure thing.”

“The stove'll be nice and hot for you when you get back,” Lori said.

Hershel smiled a weak smile and nodded.

“I am capable of making my own food, you know,” Jon said.

Hershel’s smile grew. “You live on my farm, you eat my cooking. That’s that.”

“You’re mad with power! I name you a tyrant.”

“Damn right.”

Hershel left the kitchen laughing, as Jon and Rick followed them down the hall. Only for Rick to stop as they passed the living room. Jon followed his eyes to Carl’s bedroom door.

“Back to bed, Carl,” Rick said.

“What?” The door to Carl’s room opened. “How’d you know?”

“I see everything.”

Beneath the brim of his hat, Carl’s brow furrowed. “Well, Daryl was right. You shouldn’t let these people live here. They’re bad.”

Rick crossed the living room and knelt before his son. “They are, that’s why I need you to do a very important job for me.”

“You do?”

“I do. You keep an eye on them for me. If they use any of the bad words we discussed, let me know. While they live with us, that won’t be tolerated. Be my eyes and ears, son. Can you do that?”

Carl smiled. “I can! Do I get Slayer back?”

“Slayer?”

“My gun.”

“You gave your gun a name?”

“Every weapon worth anything needs a name, Dad. Can I have it back?”

“One day, when you earn it back.”

“How do I do that?”

“By bein’ responsible, smart and safe. When you’ve proved you can do all those things, you can have it back.”

Carl considered that for a moment before nodding. “Okay. I’ll make you proud.”

Rick chuckled. “You already do that just by bein’ you.” He grabbed the brim of Carl’s hat and pulled it over his eyes.

Carl giggled and swatted away Rick’s hands. He raised the brim of his hat and hugged Rick before hurrying back inside his room. The moment Carl’s door shut Rick looked to the outside world beyond the living room’s windows and frowned.

“Ready?” Jon asked.

Rick nodded, stood and opened the front, wire door. Outside, the Culvers awaited them on the porch gathered around the porch table. They rose from their chairs, expect for Randall. He bore a glare into the floorboards and covered his bandages with his hands as if trying to hide them.

“We’ve agreed to let you stay on the farm with us while we build the wall,” Rick said.

“No shit,” James said.

“Shut your mouth, boy,” Sam snapped. “What about our other terms? You agree to those too?”

“We did. You can pick out a farm after we’ve dealt with the horde so long as it’s been abandoned. We’ll collect our first quarter of your supplies now and our second quarter after. My people will take a count beforehand. Whatever a quarter of that count is, is what you give over.”

Sam scowled. “Fine.”

“Also, I want no trouble from your people. If things get out of hand, the deal’s off. Understand?”

May scowled. “There ain’t gonna be no trouble so long as you keep your nigger and chink away from us.”

Sam pinched her ear. “You keep those damn words out of your mouth!”

May stomped Sam’s foot. “Fuck you!” Sam twisted her ear until it turned purple and she screamed. “Fine fine, okay!”

Sam let go. “That goes for the rest of you. Keep that shit out of you’re fucking mouths.”

“Or what?” Pete asked.

“You answer to me, little brother.” Sam loomed over him.

“Whatever…”

James stepped towards Rick, eyeing Jon. “That murderer comes near me and we’re gonna have a fuckin’ problem. Him or his fuckin’ mutt.”

“Don’t you call it a mutt,” May snapped.

“The fuck do you care?”

“It’s beautiful. Better than any of us,” May said with a zealous fervour.

James shifted and avoided her eyes. “Well, I still don’t want ‘em near me.”

“You needn’t worry, we have no intention of being near you,” Jon said.

“Alright, enough,” Sam said. “Get your asses to the barn. We’ll sleep there tonight.”

“I ain’t sleeping there,” Randall said. “It fucking stinks.”

“We’ve got some extra tents in the RV, I’ll help y’all get set up,” Rick said.

“Thank you. Go on you three, wait by the RV.”

Grumbling amongst themselves, May, James and Pete left the porch.

“It’d be best for his legs if Randall slept in a bed,” Hershel said.

“I don’t need no charity,” Randall.

“You’ll take the damn bed and thank him for it,” Sam said.

“I… I don’t want to be apart from y’all again.”

Sam’s face softened. “Alright… just give me a second here and I’ll carry you back.”

Randall scowled but said nothing in protest.

“Do you require something?” Jon asked.

“I’d like to bury those we’ve lost here, so they and Alex and be at rest together.” The strength in Sam’s voice wavered.

“Sure,” Rick said. “If that’s okay with you Hershel.”

“Of course. I can give a sermon for them, if you’d like, Sam.”

Sam glanced at the three made for the RV. “I thank you but, best not.”

“At least let me lend you my bible. I’ve got a few funeral prayers written in the back.”

“Sure. Thank you.” Sam offered a handshake to Hershel.

Hershel reached out with his ruined hand only to realise his mistake. Hershel flushed. Sam avoided his gaze. They switched their hands and shook.

***

Dawn’s fiery hearth bled warmth into the twilight sky’s shadowy gloom. Orange fingers, like bands of liquid fire, crept across the rolling fields and hills to tickle at Jon’s feet atop the RV. Jon shifted in his chair, grasping for a new perspective. The light caught the hodgepodge of bits and pieces in his lap, glinting off of Needle’s barrel. Taking the sign, Jon picked up the barrel and another piece at random. No. He may as well have chosen a square peg for a round hole. Sighing, he put both pieces down and bore his gaze into the hodgepodge of bits and pieces as if will alone would reassemble them. The single lesson Shane had given him had turned to soup in his mind. All the pits and pieces melded together as he stared, morphing into an amorphous blob of steel.

Jon tore his eyes from the folly. A soupy mind demanded rest. He basked in the beauty of twilight’s retreat from dawn on the horizon. The sun looks the same, no matter where one stands. He glanced at his companion for that night’s watch. He’s looking over his shoulder again. Silence had been the name of the night; a welcomed pleasure under usual circumstances. If only T-Dog had let it be so. He’s insisted on a fragile silence that never quite allowed one to put their mind at ease. Throughout the night, T-Dog had repeatedly looked back over his shoulder at Daryl and Carol. They’d spent the night on the other side of the farm, grieving at Sophia’s grave. Whenever T-Dog finished glancing at them, he’d let his gaze linger on Jon before facing the horizon. The unspoken words screamed louder than even the most boisterous of commanding voices.

T-Dog looked away from Daryl and Carol and again lingered on Jon.

“What is it?” Jon asked.

“Oh… it’s nothing, man. Sorry.”

“Tell me of this nothing. I could use a distraction.” Jon folded the bandanna in which Needle’s bits and pieces lay, and tied it off.

T-Dog rubbed his freshly shaven head. “Well… I was thinking we should plant more crosses.”

“For who?”

“Everyone we lost along the way to get here.”

Jon gave a slow nod. “Aye… A fine idea but, one for another time. Our attention should be on the wall.” There isn’t enough room on a hundred farms for the crosses needed to honour the lives my brothers of the watch stole.

“Yeah… I told you, it’s nothing.”

The damnable strained silence returned.

“Who would you honour?” Jon asked. “I don’t believe you’ve ever told me about your past.”

“I’d only need two crosses. One for Taylah, my baby sister and one for Jacqui.”

“That’s all?”

“Yeah…”

“Your family? Your friends? …”

“I’d only need two crosses.”

“Aye, okay.”

Again the damnable silence returned but, T-Dog provided swift mercy.

“How about you?” T-Dog asked.

“I’d need… I’d need quite a few more.”

“How many?”

Would he believe me? His look is earnest but… “Six for my family; two sisters, three brothers and my father. As for my friends… too many.”

“Your sisters, how old were they?”

“Thirteen and eight. Sansa and Arya were their names. Robb, Bran and Rickon were my brothers. Eddard was my father.”

“Thirteen… it’s a tricky age ain’t it?”

“Don’t underestimate the trouble eight can cause.”

T-Dog chuckled. “I’d never.” T-Dog’s smile faded and he cast his gaze down. The silence threatened to return. “That day in Atlanta, it was just you and Rick. If you don’t mind, how’d you lose them?”

“To the dead.”

With that, the strained silence returned in full force. Jon surveyed the farm to escape it. Yet, it nagged him despite the effort. The Culver’s borrowed tents cast dark peaks against a darker forest backdrop, nestled up against the treeline outside of the scrap-metal fence’s boundaries and the encroaching warmth of dawn. Bloodbeak flew in lazy, swooping ovals between the farm and barn, black wings upon a field of blacker clouds. Rain the morrow would spell disaster. The more they delayed the wall, the shorter it would be when the horde arrived. If we can finish it at all. The Culvers believed they would, thanks to Jon’s empty assurances. Or had that been a facade too? Is that all that united them; bonds forged of half-truths and hot air?

Boots clanged up the steel rungs of the RV’s ladder. A bucket hat poked into view, followed by the silver-haired, baggy-eyed face beneath. Dale rested on folded forearms and smiled up at Jon.

“Not disturbing you two, am I?”

T-Dog turned. “Nah man, you’re all good.”

“Your watch isn’t for another hour,” Jon said.

“Forgive me, geezers like me don’t need all that much sleep.” Dale climbed onto the roof, yawned and rubbed the sleep from his eye. “Interested in an earlier rest, T-Dog?”

T-Dog glanced at Jon.

“Go ahead.” Jon turned his attention back to the dawn’s beauty.

“Thanks, man.”

T-Dog got up and Dale replaced him in the chair. As T-Dog climbed down, Dale picked up the scoped rifle laying beside the chair and started to disassemble it with swift, practised motions. The sounds of T-Dog’s climbing. The RV shifted and squeaked. Strained silence returned.

“What?” Jon met Dale’s gaze.

Dale stiffened. “Am I that obvious?”

“What do you want?”

“Well, I- you and I, we- this past few days has been…” Dale flushed and tightened his grip on the half-disassembled rifle. “God… listen to me, can’t even apologise to someone a third my age without getting all flustered.” His chuckle rang hollow.

“Say I was right about the walkers in the barn. An acknowledgement of that will suffice for an apology.”

“It ain’t a matter of right or… look, do you remember the conversation we had after Atlanta? On that gas station roof?”

“Aye…” Jon watched the sunrise.

“Do you remember what you asked me?”

“If you have hope for the future.”

“Well, now I’m asking you the same. Do you still have hope, Jon?”

“Aye, we’re perfectly capable of surviving through this mess, if we do what is demanded of us.”

“Yes, but you acknowledge that it’s the future that you fight for?”

“Of course.”

“And so do I. That’s all that matters. Whatever struggle our disagreements manifest, they’re nothing compared to the struggle for life.”

“They are.” Jon opened and closed his sword hand. “In that, we are allies but, know this. One day this world shall force you to make a choice between life and what is right. And if on that day you baulk, that decision shall be made for you. Sink or swim, Dale. You can not float forever.”

“We’ll see. For generations, people had tried to decipher the true way of things and time and time again they have all been proven wrong in some way or another.”

Jon watched dawn. The lip of the sun poked above the horizon, blinding him with his glare. As his eyes readjusted Jon saw how old Dale truly was. His eye bags were sunken and heavy. His silver hair and beard were thin and wispy. Liver spots dotted his cheek. Yet, he smiled.

“Can we bury the hatchet, Jon and put these past few days behind us?” Dale offered Jon a handshake.

“We can.” Jon gripped his hand.

“To a better tomorrow,” Dale said.

“To a better tomorrow.”

Jon and Dale shook hands and the old man’s smile broadened. Jon allowed himself a smile too.

“Do you feel prepared to face Andrea, now?”

“Oh God… don’t even. I’d rather face the horde.”

“She’s fierce.”

“That’s putting it lightly.”

“Aye, but speak your truth as you have now and you’ll find her in your arms once again.”

“You think so?”

“Aye.” Jon smiled at the sun. “Women like that want the men they love to wear our truth on our sleeves, not to shy away from them. Even if they may hate what those truths be.”

Dale’s laugh rang full, booming from his belly. He smiled at twilight’s receding gloom painted upon the clouds.

“That your gun?” He gestured to the tied-off bandanna.

“Aye. Bloody nonsense it is. Whoever heard of weapons with so many bits and pieces? Swords, now those make sense. To clean it you wipe it down. To sharpen it, you spin a whetstone. Simple, elegant and practical.”

“Want me to show you how to put it back together?”

“Please…”

#fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #ffn.net #asoiaf fanfic #jon snow #rick grimes #the walking dead #asoiaf #the walking dead fanfic #daryl dixon #jon snow fanfiction #rick grimes fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfiction #game of thrones #games of thrones fanfiction #horror #zombie apocalypse

[chic-beyond-the-wall]

More natural dyes! I honestly love stuff like this so much.

#game of thrones #asoiaf #asoif/got #a song of ice and fire #house of the dragon #headcanon #fashion #hotd #asoiaf books #asoiaf fic #asoiaf fanfic #asoiaf fanart #asoiaf fandom #got fandom #got #got fic #got fanfiction #got fashion #natural dye #medieval dyes #natural dyes #dyes #medieval #medievil #medieval dye

[ireneispunk]

Teach Me

Aemond Targaryen x female reader smut (Rhaenyra & Harwin Laenor Velaryon's daughter)

After your family gathers in King's Landing for Maelor's name day celebrations, tensions build between in more ways than expected. A lesson in High Valryian from your uncle Aemond causes a mutual infatuation to bubble over.

w.c: 9,398 (i know)

c.w: SMUT 18+ , targcest (uncle & niece), NO use of Y/N, oral (m & f receiving), afab reader, foreplay, unprotected p in v sex, the slowest of slowburns to ever exist, mild aemond angst, but also kinda soft aemond(?), fluff to finish ofc, small implied age gap, reader is briefly mentioned to have Srong features, pet names (in high valyrian), use of High Valyrian all translations in text as it is spoken (E.G "Rytsa Skorkydoso glaesā?" (Hi how are you?)) (i didn't translate these everytime bc i used them a lot so: mandianna = niece (child of your older sister), iāpa = uncle), pls let me know if i've missed any

a.n: so this came from a post i did the other day, and @sinistersnakey9419 gave me the idea for this fic and it had me giggling and kicking my feet fr. also, this took me like a week to write because i kept adding more plot teehee.

dividers: @saradika ♡

It was a week into your families stay at King’s Landing. The Red Keep was a familiar place, but it was no Dragonstone. Your Grandsire, King Viserys, had made it his wish of his for his family to be together to celebrate Maelor’s name day which was to be a multiple day affair. And he meant all of his family, regardless of the fabricated tensions that divided you. As Rhaenyra’s second eldest and only surviving daughter, you felt an unspoken pressure to help maintain the peace between the brothers of the family. One side couldn’t help but torment whilst the other was quick to defend his family by any means. You missed being back on Dragonstone, but this was an exciting place to be. Days were filled with activities befitting of a young lady, and you enjoyed spending time with your Aunt Helaena – both of you appreciated a sisterly figure from within each other. There was one presence you couldn’t quite understand. Aemond. Your uncle had watched you closely since you first arrived, it had been a time since you had both seen each other. He had grown into a very tall and incredibly handsome man; he was more pleasing to the eye than he should be. His large frame and equanimous demeanour loomed over you, even from the other side of a room. His gaze stuck upon you like a hound tracking game. You couldn’t help but assume, like most other members of his side of the family, he held nothing but judgemental distain for you and your brown-haired brothers.

The mornings were always the same, Viserys had wished for you all to break your fast together daily. That had started to dwindle until the King had heard of it and demanded you eat together regardless of his presence. It was going about as well as it had the past week, Aegon’s head in a cup, Alicent on edge at every second.

“The maesters have been helping us with our Valyrian.” Spouted Lucerys, he was sweet, too sweet and sensed a smog of tension over the room. Rhaenyra smiled, appreciating your brother’s attempt.

“Let us hear it then.” Daemon announced leaning back in his seat.

“Rēbagon se gerpa kostilus.” (Pass the fruit please). Lucerys seemed impressed with his statement, Daemon seems confused for a moment before leaning forward and sliding the dish of grapes over towards Luke. A short scoff was heard from across the table, Aemond sat casually, smirk laden on his lips.

“Something the matter, Uncle?” Jacaerys spoke through slight gritted teeth. Aemond raised a hand in a defensive motion, smile still playing at his lips.

“What my brother wants to say,” Aegon peeled his face up from the tablecloth and took a swig of whatever was in his cup at this hour, “Is that your ‘High Valyrian’ sounded more like Old Ghiscari.” Lucerys smile faded as he looked to your mother for reassurance. You sighed, looking down at you half-finished plate as yet another verbal disagreement erupted between the men in your life. You rose to your feet with more haste than you anticipated causing your chair to wobble and crash onto the stone floor behind you. The room fell silent, and you felt everyone’s eyes burning into your skin.

Your gaze remained vacant, lingering on the table, “May I please be excused.” You were embarrassed: of your outburst, your family’s inability to get along, your uncles’ comments. Mostly due to the fact they were right, Lucerys’ nor Jacaerys High Valyrian was perfect, and it just added to the rumours that spread about your family. Your mother had barely spoke an ‘of course’ before you took your leave, nails digging crescents into your palms.

Leaves rustled beneath your feet as you paced the grass of the Godswood, it was always a small sanctuary of peace for it’s quiet and empty nature. You closed your eyes and let the sun beam down on your face, if you imagined hard enough you could feel the cold breeze from your balcony at Dragonstone. A harsh snapping of a twig pulled you from your thoughts, your head shooting up towards the direction of the disturbance. Aemond stood a few paces away from you, palm raised in a surrendering motion. You released a breath you had been holding onto, bringing your hands together to fiddle with the clasp of your bracelet. “I did not mean to startle you, Mandianna,” He took a stride closer towards you, hands clasped behind his back. “You caused quite a scene. For a princess.” Your eyes stayed fixated on the ground beneath the two of you. This was the first time you had ever been alone with Aemond, and he was being agreeable? It was hard to deny how beautiful he was, even just from the stolen glances towards him. You knew about sex, parts of what it entailed. From a few detailed paintings to the small snippets you overheard from the younger handmaidens. You hadn’t spent an awful lot of time thinking about it apart from when conversations of finding you a match came around. That was until this week, something about being around Aemond meant fighting away thoughts of him a regular occurrence.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you picked up your chin to meet Aemond’s stare. It was softer, and more inquisitive than his usual piercing gaze. Your stomach dropped as thoughts of him bending you over and fucking you right here in the Godswood clouded your mind, how his hands would feel over your body, his tongue across your neck and between your thighs, how it would feel him sliding – “Keli jiōraton aōha ēngos byka genes?” (Cat got your tongue little mouse?). You felt heat rising towards cheeks and across your chest as you tried to mask your raised heart rate. You were pretty sure Aemond couldn’t read your thoughts, but the small smile that played at his lips made you feel otherwise. Something about your close proximity, the way you could make out each detail of his face, and his intoxicating smell had muzzled you. Lips parted to respond but nothing came out. You felt helpless in the best way possible. “A Velaryon princess who can’t hold a High Valyrian conversation, you disappoint me Mandianna.” Aemond turned on his heel, briskly walking towards the wood’s exit.

Maybe it was the need to please, the burning between your thighs, or the fact he was no longer facing you, but the words escaped your lips before you could even process what you had said, “Teach me.” The small wave of confidence dwindled when he turned his head back to face you.

“Teach you?”

“Teach me what you think I should know, Iāpa.” You didn’t know how he would respond, nor did you know how you wished for him to respond. Aemond raised a brow and smiled to himself, your small use of High Valyrian and how your statement could be interpreted in many different made him intrigued to see where this would lead.

“Tomorrow evening, after supper. Meet me in the library’s reading room.” Without needing a response, he once again made his way out of the wood, leaving you flustered and equally excited, yet dread filled.

As supper slowly began to drew to a close, your excitement manifested in a small bobbing of your leg. Actual conversation rang out between small groups on the table, Lucerys and Helaena had included you in there’s but all you could focus on was keeping your thoughts clear. Everything about Aemond drew you further in his lips softly against his cup, the way his index and middle finger tapped along to the quiet music that had been played, but most of all the way he would catch you watching with a satisfied smile. You partially walked back to your chambers, before feigning forgetting a ring behind at the table, and insisting to your mother and Daemon that it couldn’t wait until morning. Part of you wondered if you shouldn’t have lied, there was a simple explanation: getting lessons in High Valyrian from your uncle Aemond. Except this would not go over well with your immediate family. For you could hold a conversation in High Valyrian, it was Aemond you couldn’t speak to specifically. You were actually quite proficient in High Valyrian, not as much as you’d hoped to be but a whole lot better than your brothers. Whether it was common tongue or Valyrian Aemond rendered you speechless, and now you were willingly walking into a situation where he had complete control. You knew for certain how much you longed for him, but other than glances you couldn’t figure out what he truly felt. Part of you wanted to be under him at every moment possible but if he didn’t feel the same, if his glances were all a trick, you’d be ruined.

After stepping through the library, you took one final breath before opening the heavy oak door to the reading room. It pushed open with a small creak to reveal Aemond sat at the desk, tattered book in hand. “I thought you might’ve gotten cold feet,” he closed the book and softly placed it on the table, “Come take a seat.” He arose, pulling the wooden chair beside him out from the table, allowing you to sit down. You nodded your head slightly before taking a seat, smoothing out any creases in your dress. Taking a moment to examine the reading room in the dark, you noticed the two brass cups and a wine jug, along with numerous High Valyrian scriptures and books with plain parchment and a fresh quill. Aemond himself was wearing his usual attire, except his black coat had been unbuckled a few straps, and the sleeves rolled up to his elbow. You swallowed, eyeing the wine. Everything seemed real of a sudden. You weren’t used to drinking wine, especially alone at night. Sensing your nervousness, Aemond picked up a cup and placed it in front of you, “Just because it is my drink of choice for the evening,” he poured a small amount into his own cup, “Doesn’t mean I expect you to partake, Mandianna.” You paused for a moment before shaking your head ‘no’ and sliding your cup away. “Very well, read this out for me, I want to hear what you can do already.” He relished in how you squirmed when he was close to you. You looked down at the papers in front of you, ‘Aegon the Conqueror, The High Valyrian Scriptures’. You knew all about Aegon the Dragon, but the words escaped you as Aemond stood behind you, left hand atop your chair, right hand holding up his weight on the table. You felt a few strands of his long hair tickle your shoulder, the closeness of him made you feel as if you could burst. “Go on then, read it.” He said, almost a whisper. His lips were so close yet still too far, you could feel the warmth of his breath when he spoke but not the softness of his lips on your skin. This is the type of torture that scribes should mention.

“Aegon I Targaryen iksin se ēlī āeksio hen sīkuda Dārȳti se-“ (Aegon I Targaryen was the first Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and-). You paused as Aemond moved from behind you to stand beside the table.

“I didn’t say stop.” His firm tone excited you more than you wanted it to.

“se dārys va se Dēmalion Āegenko.” (and king on the Iron Throne). You continued, looking up to Aemond for approval. He nodded before gathering up the papers from in front of you and holding them in his hands. Puzzled, you turned to face him “But-“

“Too easy, you know how the story goes, tell it to me in High Valyrian.” Aemond looked pleased with himself as he sat back into his own chair that now faced yours.

You looked down at the floor for a moment, before continuing “Ziry kithsair bȳre hen sīkuda Dārȳti se-ziry se-“ (He conquered six of the seven kingdoms and-he a-nd-). Yet again, your words escaped your lips as Aemond’s gaze wandered over your body, free to visually devour your form now you were not in the company of others.

He inhaled sharply and rose to his feet, “Valyrio Eglie iksis iā kostōba udrir, se ēdruta sagon spoken hae mēre.  Aōha udra issi nākostōbā, ao ȳdragon tolī rāpa. Eman daor drīve geptot naejot dohaeragon ao byka genes.” (High Valyrian is a powerful language and must be spoken as one. Your words are weak, you speak too softly. I cannot help you little mouse.) His words came at you fast and rather harshly, you hated the effect he had on you, and you hated how he judged you for it. You searched his face for something more, surely all of this was not over, the yearning looks, the candlelight, the wine, did it not mean something more? As your mind raced you looked towards the floor and wished it would envelop you. Aemond sighed, and placed the scriptures that you had read from under your chin and used them to lift you face up towards his. Your brows furrowed slightly as you looked up at him standing over you. “You don’t understand do you Mandianna,” He chuckled softly, tilting you head to his will. “Nyke would qogralbar ao ēva ao could gaomagon daorun yn ilagon isse ñuha baer mirre tubis byka genes.” (I would fuck you until you could do nothing but lay in my bed all day little mouse.) He dropped the scriptures onto the table, taking his leave with such haste that you felt he air pass by through your hair. Once his footsteps dissipated you felt as your jaw went slack. The wetness grew between your legs as you squeezed your thighs together, attempting to relieve some of the mounding pressure.

Your heart thudded in your chest like a drum, you swiftly shut the door to your chambers and tried to steady your shaky breathing. After shedding yourself of your dress you made your way to the vanity and undid your hairstyle of the day. As your fingers worked between your hair you imagined Aemond’s large hands making their way through it, your fingers delicately glided across the crook of your neck before resting upon the warmth of your chest. If Aemond wanted to play games then you would gladly oblige, except this time you knew he wanted to play.

Your reading was interrupted by the ever-persistent King’s Landing ladies in waiting, you’d usually grumble except it was the first day of Maelor’s name day celebrations and you were taught the importance of good first impressions. Today would be important as Lords and Ladies of every great house would be there and you were yet to find a betrothed who was approved by the heir to the iron throne, your brothers, and Daemon, who once sent a young lord away teary eyed with embarrassment. You smiled to yourself as the ladies working on you bickered between what way to style your hair for the occasion. “What about something mostly up, with a few small braids, and the red gem hairpins? I think that’ll match the dress I picked out for tonight.” They glanced between each other, smiled, and got to work on your dark hair. Part of you was filled with excitement, it had been a while since you had an excuse to dress up, and it was even more thrilling at the thought of catching Aemond’s attention over all the other Ladies present. As the late afternoon rolled around you were finally considered presentable to the guests in the great hall. You eyed your reflection, your hair lifted to expose your neck and clavicle, dark fabric fitted to your shape with delicate blood red beading sewn into the neckline and down the sleeves finished with your gold jewellery pieces. Just as the ladies were about to leave you had an idea, “Wait! Do you have any of the rose perfume oil?” You spoke with a smile. A few knowing glances were shared between the two eldest ladies as a younger one brought over the small crystal bottle before dabbing a small amount on each wrist and on either side of your neck.

The rest of your family waited beside the towering doors of the great hall, “Finally, I thought we’d all starve.” Joffrey spouted with a huff earning a short laugh from Lucerys, a half shove from Jacaerys and a raised brow from Daemon. Your mother waved them off and placed her hands either side of your upper arms, “What a beautiful young woman you have become, my sweet child.” Rhaenyra looked upon you with great admiration as always. You smiled and squeezed her hand as you all stood together as the doors were slowly pulled open. You could feel your heart beating in your ears as the chittering in the room slowly dissipated and all heads turned to face you all. You bore a brave face following after your parent’s movements down the steps and towards the King’s table. After greeting the king, you were all seated, the family had grown rather exponentially since Rhaenyra’s wedding to your father Laenor which you had heard many stories about. You sat towards the outer curve to one side of the table, and out of the corner of your eye you saw Aemond, already watching you. So not to give him the pleasure of your gaze, you made conversations with your family next to you.

A short clearing of a throat pulled you from your conversation with Jacaerys, “I am Jorick Lannister, your graces,” He bowed his head towards you, “I was wondering if I may have the honour to ask the Princess to a dance?” He flashed his best smile at you.

You looked expectantly to your mother and Daemon, “If you wish to, then go dance.” Rhaenyra grinned, she gently touched her own elbow against Daemon’s, and he muttered something about there ‘being worse choices in the room’. You stood up from your seat, perhaps a bit too eagerly and walked around to the side of the table where the Lannister stood. He extended his hand, palm up towards you and lead you down the few steps to the crowd of dancers. You stood a pace apart and looked at the man in front of you, he was certainly handsome, dark blonde hair that waved towards the nape of his neck, gentle grey eyes. As you looked into them something caught your eye behind them. Aemond was alert, not sat in his usual laid-back posture with his cup resting in his hand on the arm of his chair. He was sat forward, stiff as a statue and boring daggers into the back of your dance partner. You swallowed as you saw the grip he had around his cup; it was solid metal but from the look on his face alone it could crumble. The music swelled as Jorick took your hand in his and placed his other upon your waist.

As you both moved across the floor, he leaned in to speak to you “How are you enjoying the capital princess.” Jorick spoke above the music.

“There’s a certain beauty to it, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss Dragonstone.” You spoke with truth.

Jorick chuckled, “Ah yes, it is the perfect home for a dragon. I do believe you would grow to like Catserly Rock your grace. It’s no island but the coastline is just as harsh, I miss the sound of it when I try to sleep somewhere new.”

You heartily laughed at his statement as he twirled you in a circle. “I have said that ever since we got here! But no one else seems to understand it.” While he laughed and agreed in return.

Meanwhile at the King’s table, Aemond’s jealousy bubbled harshly. Already did he have a hard time resisting taking you into his arms and treating you as you deserved, but watching another man, a Lannister at that, hold you the way he wanted to, enraged him. He counted the guards in the room to simmer his anger, but then imagined fighting them off as he cut down every person between you and him and taking you into an embrace. He was completely and utterly enamoured with you, ever since he watched you climb off of your dragon from a tower of the Red Keep. Gone had the child he knew as a babe himself and was now replaced with a woman who plagued his thoughts. Your darker hair that framed your face, eyes that crinkled when you laughed and held so much emotion, the way you smile brought him an unmanageable amount of joy. He couldn’t hate you, no matter if he tried. At this moment, he wished for it to be simple. That he wasn’t your mother’s brother, that he was just a Lord of some other house, dancing with you and holding you close. A world in which he could have you, touch you, without bearing the reprehensible disappointment of his mother or the feeling of his heart being crushed right in front of him. He had once and for all had enough after the 6th eager meek had hovered around you after each song had finished to ask for your hand. Aemond rose to his feet and made his way to you on the floor with large strides dipping in between the guests. Queen Alicent watched him with worry, he wasn’t known to dance or partake in many festivities like these.

You parted ways with your last dance partner and smiled as you were approached by yet another Lord, “My princess, I am Erich Baratheon and I would love the honour of-“ He started before being cut off by the sudden appearance of Aemond: he’d brushed past the suitor on his was to you, not harsh in any sense but it definitely took you both off guard.

The broad Baratheon was dwarfed by not only the Targaryen’s height, but his mere presence also. “Perhaps is it my turn for a dance, Mandianna.” The request seemed so lewd and intimate coming from him, despite it being what would otherwise be an innocent dance between family.

“I was just asking the Princess for a dance. Perhaps you may dance with her after?” The Baratheon mustered his bravest voice, a touch deeper than it had been a moment ago. Aemond’s gaze lingered on you a moment longer before he turned his head round and down with a rather dramatic tilt to amplify the inches between the pair. From this angle you could fully admire his jawline and neck. You imagined kissing across his sharp jawline, travelling down to his throat. At this moment you were so overcome with lust you imagine grazing your teeth against it and biting gently just to release some tension. After a very short stare off on the Baratheon’s end, “Perhaps not, uh- goodnight, Princess.” He had turned to walk away before even finishing his sentence, leaving you and Aemond face to face on the floor.

“That wasn’t very proper of you, uncle.” You spoke above a whisper, struggling to hold back a small laugh.

“Luckily it’s not so expected of me.” His face bore a small smile. An actual smile instead of a sly all-knowing smirk.

“I didn’t take you for a dancer either.”

“Well, someone had to put a stop to the herd of sheep begging to stomp on your feet all evening.” You couldn’t help but chuckle in agreement. Some of the Lords had been nice, decent dancers, with something to say. Others spent their time ogling your exposed skin or asking about your inheritance. You could not deny as conversations lulled between some of them, you imagined you were in the arms of Aemond instead. As the music began to swell, he offered you his hand which you gladly accepted whilst his other hand tentatively made its way to your upper waist. As he led the dance, he never looked away from you, it felt as if you were slowly melting into him. Able to ignore the few judgemental looks and quiet whispers from the people around you and just focussing on the man in front of you.

Back at the King’s table, your interaction had not gone unnoticed. Alicent’s worry had faded, she knew you had always been a sweet girl. She looked over to Rhaenyra who had already been watching her to gage a reaction and the two exchanged a small smile each. “Mother, are sister and Uncle Aemond going to get married?” Joffrey asked in matter-of-fact way, causing Rhaenyra to cough on the wine that she had sipped whilst Daemon chuckled and ruffled his dark curls.

You’d made a mental note to thank the gods for the current song choice, a slower one. Your hands flush together as the two of you rotated and eyes never leaving each other’s. As the end of the song drew close Aemond’s body moved behind you, left hand upon your waist and right taking your hand in his and intertwining your fingers. The latter part was not a usual for this particular dance. Your breath hitched in your throat as you could feel the strength of his torso behind you. “You know uncle, I have been wanting more lessons in High Valyrian, I think a few more and we could really make some progress.” It wasn’t 100% a lie, Aemond definitely could teach you some High Valyrian, but it was mostly an excuse to be in private with him again.

“Really? Because you did so well last time?” You could practically feel the smirk on his face from behind you. “I know you can ask a lot nicer than that Mandianna.” You shuddered softly at the sensation of his voice so quiet, whispering into your ear. The music pace picked up as you glided across the floor, heart beating within your ears. As the instruments came to a halt, you felt a sense of weightlessness as Aemond dipped you and held you there, so low to the ground you felt the ends of your hair touch against it. You eyed him, brows raised and chest rising and falling, feeling fully in his hands.

“Kostilus, Aemond.” (Please, Aemond) The words left your lips in a soft way that travelled straight down his spine. You could not identify the emotion that swept his face as he swiftly brought you to your feet and ripped his hands from yours. His eyes shut briefly, his hands flexing into tight fist, you were not sure what had happened. As you reached out for his hand he stepped back and kept his eyes to the ground before making his way to the exit of the great hall. You called out to him softly, but he soon disappeared in between the crowds.

Confused and a little hurt, you made your way back to your seat and looked at the remainder of your meal that had surely gone cold. You felt your mother’s hand rest upon yours, and you looked to her and smiled weakly. “Where did your uncle go sweet girl?” She spoke softly and quietly, as to avoid bringing your brothers into it.

“He mentioned that he had to go for something.” Your lie wouldn’t have fooled a stranger, let alone your own mother, but she did not pry. She gave your hand a small squeeze and gave you the mother’s look of ‘I’m here if you need me’.

Aemond briskly made his way down the corridors of the Red Keep. His hands met the roughened wooden doors to a balcony as he pushed them open and felt the chill of the night air cover him. It was not enough as he felt is blood burn hot, coursing through his veins and the sight of you in his arms. Your hair cascading down past you, exposing your neck, the way your breasts filled out your corset and raised with your breathing. That damned perfume you wore and how it mixed with your scent had been a drug to him this night. Your eyes that stared up at him like a doe and looked at him like he was a god. He couldn’t help but remember your soft plump lips, the way they parted slightly when he looked your way, how you bit your lip whilst saddling your dragon and worst of all: how deliciously his name sounded coming out of them. He had not yet heard you say his name, but it being paired with such a submissive plead made it all the more torturous. He slowly breathed through his nose; head tilted back resting on the bricks. Aemond was too infatuated with you to ever hate your effect on him. His frustrations only grew greater the more he knew you. He was at a grand dinner, filled with every food and treat he could ever imagine, yet all he wished to taste was between your legs. He decided then and there on that balcony that his affections for you must go. ‘It should not be so painful’ He thought to himself, after all, you only had a few short days left in the capital.

The following day started even earlier, with the second day of the celebrations taking place in the gardens. You yawned into the palm of your hand and watched as the front side pieces of your hair were brought back and weaved into a delicate braid. “You mustn’t stay up so late princess!” The handmaiden fretted as she pulled out the dress you had chosen yesterday. You eyed it, before glancing towards the window to see the sun breaking out through the clouds, giving you an idea.

“It looks like it could really warm up in the garden under the sun, I was thinking of wearing this dress instead.” You lifted the dark berry coloured dress up in front of your handmaidens.

“I think you may get cold your grace.” One of the younger handmaidens spoke eyeing the dress, after a harsh glare from the eldest maiden she continued, “But you will look perfect no matter what!” She clarified with a nervous chuckle. You smiled at her in reassurance and allowed the cluster of ladies to dress you. Once they had finished arguing over minor details you stood back to look at your reflection. This was a dress you had never worn before, meant for particularly warm weather. It was an off the shoulder cut, that capped your upper arms with a tie. The dark coloured material was thinner than your regular dresses and the skirt flowed with any movement you made. After trying to sound as nonchalant as possible you once again asked for the rose perfume oil. After a few dots were dabbed on your wrists and neck, you thanked your ladies and placed the delicate bottle on the vanity. Once they had filed out you reapplied a few extra drops to your skin before dropping a small amount onto your fingertips and ran it through the ends of your hair. You looked beautiful, and hoped this would gain Aemond’s affections once more.

The garden party was a success from the get-go. Conversations bubbled, drinks were poured, and the food spread was something to marvel at. You were walking through the flowerbeds, arms linked with Baela, both of your laughs travelling from reminiscing on moments from your shared childhoods. “I heard you and Aemond caused quite the stir last night.” Baela giggled, nudging her elbow into yours.

“Word does travel fast in the capital,” You laughed. “And it was not a shared commotion, he was the one who left in a rush after we danced!” You reasoned with her; slight frustration apparent in your tone.

“And what a dance it appears to have been, they’d be able to smell you from Pentos.” You frowned slightly, wondering if you had overdone it today. She turned to face you, placing her hand over yours. “I jest of course, anyone would be lucky to catch your eye.” Baela’s smile was genuine and reassured your worries. You looked around the crowds of people once more, eyes fleeting from face to face. “He’s still not arrived yet.” Your eyes met hers once again as you both burst into loud laughter.

After much convincing from Alicent and a more silent encouragement from approach from Helaena, Aemond was finally making an appearance at the garden party. He thought to himself ‘What could a child so young possibly want with such celebrations?’ He justified his annoyance for his affections for you by dismissing the whole day, but being Maelor’s uncle he was expected to be there at some point. He was mere seconds into his arrival at the party before he overheard a distinct sound that made his heart sting. The familiar song of your laughter rang out from across the gardens. Every fibre of his being urged him to look for you, just to turn his head and see your face once more. Against all odds he kept his eyes trained on the floor and made his way to a quieter corner of the event in an attempt to go against his instincts and hide from you. He stood with his cup, fingers tracing across the details, a few feet away from the largely untouched array of desserts.

You grew frustrated as you looked around once more for your uncle’s presence. “Drink this, it’ll relax your nerves.” Baela handed you a cup with a dark red liquid in the bottom of it. “I know, wine isn’t for you, but this one is sweet! I think you’ll like it.” You nodded and took a sip, there was a slight burn as you swallowed it, but the fruity taste overtook it, and you nodded in agreement with her. As Baela and Jacaerys began talking intently you decided to have a look the foods on offer. You took another sip of your wine, the sweetness made you crave the sugared fruits the cooks always put out after dinner. After glancing over each table filled with every animal you could think of, cooked in every way. Your eyes made contact with a cake that was almost the size of you. Peering round the corner of the tent your eyes spotted something even more tempting. Aemond stood to himself, brows furrowed and finger lightly tapping against his cup in slight sync with the distant music that played.

“Uncle! I thought you were not going to make an appearance.” You tried to hide your excitement as you stepped into the tent and faced him. He seemed taken aback by the sudden presence of someone. His gaze shot up from the floor and lingered on your body, fleeting from your face to the way your dress fitted your figure. Just as he thought he’d mustered the strength to speak a light breeze rustled through the gardens and cascaded through your hair. ‘That damned floral perfume’ he thought to himself as he tried to hold his composure. After taking in her appearance once more, he noticed something unusual.

“I didn’t think you to be a wine drinker.” He spoke to you, his jaw clenched stiff.

You giggled slightly, “Me neither! But this one is Dornish, it’s a lot sweeter.” You took a step closer to him and held up your cup to him. “Would you like to taste?” You looked up at him through your lashes.

‘Yes’, He thought. “No.” He answered bluntly, “Thank you, no thank you.” His Adams apple bobbed in his throat as he answered, and you tilted your head slightly.

“Well, there’s plenty if you change your mind.” You smiled at him and turned towards the desserts table, various cakes, fruit pies, candied treats, decorated the large table.

You placed your cup and traced your finger across the end of the table eyeing the selection, you spotted your favourite sugared fruits. “I love these!” You exclaimed as you made your way over to the selection: cherries, berries of all kinds, plums, and peaches. You selected one of the peach slices and looked towards Aemond to find him watching intently. You popped the slice in your mouth and closed your eyes and exhaled a small ‘mmm’. You eyed the remaining sugar on your thumb and index finger. You looked into Aemond’s eye and popped the tip of your finger into your mouth and sucked the crystals off and releasing your finger with a pop.  He muttered a short ‘gods’ to himself as he watched you round the table, another piece of fruit in hand. You faced him and held out the small piece of fruit. “You should taste it for yourself Aemond.” Something changed on his face, he looked down at you and slapped the fruit out of your hand and grabbed you by your wrist and led you out of the tent into the empty corridor nearby. “Uncle, Uncle!” You protested quietly once you were led far enough away to not be heard by guests.

“Let go,” you demanded, pushing his hand away. You eyed him as he turned away from you, breathing steadily, hands balled into fits. “Why have you dragged me out here?” You exclaimed in a hushed tone.

“Why have I?” He turned to face you, “Why have I?” He roared, stepping a pace towards you. Stepping backwards you felt the stone walls hit your shoulders. “It is you, you who has poisoned my thoughts ever since you got here, you who has made even existing in the same room as you arduous yet being away from you nearly impossible. You danced with every fool this side of The Narrow Sea and even then, you could not keep your eyes on them and not me. Calling me by my name. Now today-“, He furrowed his brows, remembering the sight of you in that tent. “Gods.” He whispered, running a hand over his face. “Do you really wish to torture me so?” He looked up at you, fragments of defeat washing over his face.

You pushed yourself away from the wall, taking a step towards him leaving an impossibly small gap between the two of you. “Nyke pendagon bisa iksin skoros ao jeldan hen nyke, Iāpa.” (I thought this was what you wanted from me, uncle.) His jaw remained tense, as slight confusion washed over him. You rose to the tips of your toes to whisper to him, “Hen aōha byka genes.” (From your little mouse.)

Without hesitation you felt his large hand cup the side of your face, his other snaking around your waist, the force of it pinning you towards the wall. His fingers brushed down your face, resting beneath your chin. His thumb tentatively ran across your bottom lip. Aemond leaned down to the side of your face, “Tell me to stop, tell me to stop and I will walk away.” His breath fanned over you; lips grazing against your neck. It took all of your efforts to not crumble beneath him.

“Ȳdra daor keligon.” (Don’t stop.) Your breath was shaky as Aemond brought his face to yours. You placed a hand against his chest and leaned up to kiss him before a rumble of distant laughter reminded you both of your current location.

He grabbed your hand from upon his chest and led you down the winding corridors of the Red Keep, your slippers tapping twice as fast on the floor to keep up with his long strides. As you both climbed the spiral staircase towards the chambers, voices rang out on the floor in front of you. Aemond brought you both to a halt, keeping his back against the wall and pulled your back towards him to avoid detection. “Why did we st-“ You started before feeling his large hand covering your mouth. He whispered a small shush into your ear. A heat spread across you face feeling a large bulge in his trousers, just above your ass. Once the footsteps had completely disappeared, he climbed the rest of the stairs, hand still firmly gripping yours. His spare hand pushed open the heavy door with such urgency, crashed against the wall beside it. He pulled you into his chambers, almost pulling you off your feet before only breaking eye contact to close and lock the door behind him.

He stepped towards you, unbuckling his jacket from the top. “Tell me to stop.” He once again commanded.

“No.” You spoke so quietly you weren’t even sure it had left your lips, but Aemond had definitely heard it. He pulled you close, keeping your bodies flush and brought a hand to your hair, pulling you closer. Your eyes fluttered closed as you felt his lips graze yours slightly before delving into a deep kiss. You struggled to keep up with his desperate pace at first, feeling overwhelmed a gasp left your lips in an attempt to catch your breath. Aemond pulled away ever so slightly before planting a small kiss to the side of your mouth and kissing across your jaw.

“Turn around,” He whispered. You did as he instructed and turned your back to him. His hands gathered your hair and looped it over your shoulder. His hands traced down your back to the satin ties of your dress, before undoing the bow. You felt as his pulled your dress down your arms, down your torso and heard it drop to the floor in a light whoosh. You felt exposed, this was your first time in just your undergarments around anyone other than your handmaidens, and a man at that. His hands moved to the lacings of your corset, undoing each loop as his eyes consumed every inch of new flesh he saw. He tossed your corset to the side and pulled the rest of your undergarments off, and your arms instinctively crossed your chest. Grabbing a hold of your hand, he pulled you around to face him once more. A low groan escaped his lips at the sight of you before bringing your face to his in a deep kiss. His body led you to the foot of his bed, your back hitting one of the towering bedposts.

You let out a small gasp as his lips left yours and latched onto your neck. His hand came to your jaw and tilted your head back to look up at him. “Ivestragon nyke skoros jaelā.” (Tell me what you want.) His voice sent a heat that spread across your body.

“I want you to-“ You started before he cut you off, fingers gripping your hair slightly.

“Daor.” (No.) He eyed you, thumb tracing your jawline.

You realised what he was requesting. Your brain sped through thousands of scenarios you could’ve imagined before settling on one. “Obūljagon.” (Kneel.) You spoke with all the confidence you could gather. His typical smirk returned to his lips as he scanned your face. He was not sure what he had expected you to say, but it certainly wasn’t that. A welcomed surprise, he sank to his knees in front of you. You watched as his lips peppered small kisses across your hips, running his hands up your thighs. He parted your legs and lifted your leg up and over his shoulder by the back of your knee. You gripped the footboard of the bed to steady yourself. An almost growl left his lips at the sight of your pussy mere inches away from his face. A sharp gasp left your lips at the feeling of his large fingers spreading your wetness from your core to your clit.

He brought one of his fingers to his lips and sucked the tip of it, watching your face intently. “Mmm, all this for me?” He grumbled rubbing the inside of your thigh at a painfully slow pace.

“Yes- Kessa, syt ao.” (Yes, for you.) You felt your pussy clenching, aching to be touched. His fingers moved to your pussy, teasing your folds before starting to slowly rub circles across your clit. You let out a moan, desperate for more. A smirk painted his lips, watching you in this state. Surrounded by the plush of your thighs, your small moans filling his ears, watching your nails dig into the footboard just to cope with the sensation. His middle and third finger slid down from your clit to the entrance of your pussy.

Your eyes opened and mouth parted to question the lack of contact before you felt his two fingers slide inside of you. You let out a loud moan at the foreign sensation. He worked his fingers in and out of you at slow pace, admiring as he watched them disappear into you, stretching you out and covering them in your slick. He left small kisses on your inner thigh, keeping his eye on your face. “More,” You pleaded in between moans. Aemond considered teasing you further, before giving into your request. His sped up his fingers pumping inside of you, increasing the tightening in your lower stomach. He admired your face screwed up in pleasure for one more moment before latching his lips upon your clit. A loud ‘fuck’ left your lips, and even you were partially surprised by the vulgarity of your language before all you could think about was Aemond’s tongue. He alternated between furiously licking and sucking your clit as his fingers pumped at a rapid pace inside of you. Your other hand moved up the bed post, gripping it for dear life as the man beneath you pleasured you. Your hips involuntarily bucked into his tongue as your moans grew louder and more frequent. A moan that left Aemond’s lips vibrated across your clit pushed you over the edge. You cried out his name and felt your pussy clench around his quick fingers. He continued to thrust them inside of you and delivered a few final licks to your clit, only stopping when your legs began to quiver. He slowly removed his fingers from your pussy and planted a final kiss on your clit, earning a shiver from you. He wiped the wetness from his chin with his cotton shirt before moving your leg off from his shoulder and rose to his feet and held his hand upon your waist sensing your wobbliness. He raised his fingers towards you admiring the wetness that coated them. He brought them up to your lips and you opened your mouth, feeling them run over your tongue towards the back of your throat. You sucked them clean, watching his expression from beneath your eyelashes.

Despite how hungrily he had attended to you, he looked at you like he was starved. “Better than any of the sugared fruits down there.” He gestured towards the window, and you blushed at his remark. Never had you been filled with such desire; you had just reached your peak on Aemond’s tongue, yet you needed more. His hand collected yours, as he led you over to his bed. His lips once again found yours as he pushed you towards the edge of the bed. The backs of your knees hit the bed and you plopped down. His lips left yours and you looked up at him expectantly. His fingers gripped the ends of his shirt before lifting it off of his head and tossing it with the rest of the discarded clothes. You eyed the definition of his chest, down his stomach and his arms that landed either side of your head, pushing you down onto the bed until your head hit the pillows. His lips latched onto your neck and eagerly kissed down your chest between the valley of your breasts.

“You do not know how much I have dreamt of this,” His large hand travelled up your side to cup your breast, his hand playing with the plumpness of it before his thumb ran over your nipple. “Moaning my name, naked in my bed, all needy for me.” His tongue traced the perimeter of your nipple before taking it into his mouth, massaging it with his tongue and earning another moan from you. Those moans that could sustain him for the rest of his life he was pretty sure.

“I also dreamt of you.” You spoke meekly, almost hoping he wouldn’t hear. He raised his head from your breast, brow raised.

“And what did you think about little mouse.” His smirk radiated off of him. You dreamt of him. The tightness in his trousers had become almost unbearable, but he needed to hear your sweet voice talking about him.

“I was touching you, a-and you were enjoying it.” You spoke, interrupted by a moan or two from his touch stimulating your nipples. He hummed a small ‘mmm’ in response before he moving off you and laying beside you, back propped up against the headboard. You turned to your side and looked and him inquisitively, his hand rubbed slowly over the bulge in his trousers and your mouth fell into an ‘o’ shape. He patted the bed next to his hips and you knelt facing him, unsure of what to expect. His hands reached for the tie of his trousers before you reached out and placed a hand over his. “Wait!” He looked at you with a hint of concern before you continued, “Can I try? And you tell me what you like along the way?” His jaw stiffened for a moment before he moved his hand to tangle in your hair and bring your lips to his.

You pulled your lips away from kiss and moved to kiss his neck. You started tenderly, mirroring how he had kissed yours as your hand slid down his chest towards his trousers. His breathing became more uneven as your hands touched him. Your hand fumbled with the tie of his trousers, struggling to undo it before you removed your lips from his collarbone to concentrate on the tie. He watched as your brows furrowed together, he felt as if he could finish at the sight of you. Beautiful and naked, trying so desperately to get into his pants. You finally undid the tie and looked up to Aemond with a sheepish smile, “I am not used to trousers it seems.” You giggled, and it seemed by reflex he planted a kiss on your lips.

“Dōna.” (Sweet) Your cheeks burned with his affection.

Your fingers looped over the hem of his trousers, and you pulled them down along with his undergarments as he lifted his hips slightly. Your stomach dropped at the sight of him, his cock was large and red at the tip. You froze for a second – the paintings and stories had not prepared you as well as you’d thought. You watched as his hand came to his cock and pumped it slowly a few times. His free hand reached for yours and replaced it with his own, “Just like this.” You followed the movements he had previously made, concentrating on trying to make him feel good. A small hiss brought your gaze back to his face to see his eye squeezed shut and hands gripping the sheets beneath him. You slowly increased your movements, enjoying the feeling of his cock in your hands, as you noticed a bead of precum spill his tip. Working on instinct you leant your head down and licked your tongue in a broad stroke across the tip of his cock, tasting him in your mouth. His eye immediately snapped open, “Don’t-“ He groaned.

“Sorry I-, I thought it would feel good like it did for me when you…” You trailed off searching his face. He panted, bringing your face to his. He placed his hand over yours and continued pumping his cock indicating for you to continue. He rested your forehead against his and inhaled deeply.

“It does feel good, great even, much too good.” You watched him confused, if it felt so good, why couldn’t you do it? “The difference between you and I, men and women, you may finish as many times as you please.” His voice travelled over you like honey, his free hand sliding down your stomach and rubbed his two middle fingers over your clit. “I may only once, for now, and I intend to do it in your sweet pussy.” His fingers ran small circles over your clit causing a flurry of moans to leave your lips. Your hand continued to run up and down the length of his cock, but it was hard to think straight when Aemond touched you.

“Can I feel your cock inside of me too?” Your question was genuine, if not laden with lust. It was all Aemond needed to hear before his hand reached your hip pushing you onto your back. He kissed you, hungrier than ever, barely giving you chance to keep up.

“Mirros syt ao.” (Anything for you.) He said in between kisses. He spread your legs apart, eyeing your soaking cunt, and stroked himself a couple of times before leaning over you, elbow resting beside your head. You felt as he ran his cock up and down from your clit to your core, a low groan leaving his lips. “Remember to breathe deeply, Dōna.” (Sweet). You nodded, unsure of what to expect. Aemond’s weight shifted, and you gasped as his cock slowly slid into you. Your brows furrowed as the slight discomfort slid away and was replaced with a new pleasure. His cock bottomed out, and you reached your hand to his cheek, pulling him in for a desperate kiss. He slowly started thrusting, the pace was painfully slow, but he was determined to make you feel good. As his pace picked up, his cock continuously hit a spot in your pussy that his fingers did not, causing a rather loud moan to escape your lips. “Mazemā ziry sīr sȳrī.” (You take it so well.) His praise caused a familiar tightening to start to form in your stomach.

“I love the way you feel.” Your moans filled his ears, fuelling him to go faster. His hand free hand snaked between your bodies and found your clit once more. His thrusts pounded into you, as his fingers diligently worked at your sensitive clit. The headboard begun to crack against the wall with each movement, not that either of you noticed. The quiet but delicious moans that left Aemond’s mouth were enough to ride towards your peak, the coil in your stomach tightening as you gripped your nails into his back. “Fuck! Aemond!” You exclaimed. His large cock filling you up and his fingers playing with your clit caused your orgasm to wash over you, feeling yourself tighten around his cock. His thrusts became quick and erratic as you rode out your high and his groans growing louder and more animalistic as he finished inside of you.

He panted, dropping to his elbow, and planting a small kiss upon your cheek, before pulling out of you slowly. You groaned at the loss of the fullness, missing the feeling of him already. Aemond lay beside you, pulling you by your hips to have your back against his chest. As both of your breathing slowly returned to normal you felt a small shiver run across your body, now aware of the breeze through the window. Aemond’s hand came up and ran up and down the length of your arm and pulled you close. “Is it possible to remain here all day.” You sighed, cuddling the blankets in front of you.

Aemond chuckled, “It is not our name day.” He planted a small kiss upon your shoulder. “But I do think people may notice both of our absences.” He spoke softly, with a small amount of his serious tone peeking through. You groaned, liking the feeling of being in Aemond’s arm, in his bed.

“Aemond?” You questioned, turning slightly to face him. He hummed a ‘hmm?’ in response, opening his eye. “Kessa gaomā bona run lēda aōha ēngos arlī gō īlon return naejot se rūklun?” (Will you do that thing with your tongue again before we return to the party?). A playful smirk returned to his face as he shifted above you on the bed.

“Va moriot” (Always).

#aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen smut #hotd smut #aemond smut #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x reader #aemond targaryen x reader smut #hotd fanfic #aemond argaryen x y/n smut #aemond imagine #game of thrones #game of thrones smut #asoif #asoif/got #fanfic #smut #aemond fluff #fluff #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #aemond fanfic #prince aemond #prince aemond targaryen #fluff smut #aemond targaryen x reader