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shining-m00nlight · 3 months

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Broken Face and Broken Soul

Ned/Cat week 2024 Day 2: Hide the Body

Ned gets a call. He ends up at his brother’s girlfriend’s apartment late at night wishing to be anywhere but there. How did he get pulled into his brother’s mess again?

Please read ALL the tags for warnings!

It was 10pm at night when Ned Stark's phone rang. He looked at his screen and groaned. It was his brother. Ned really didn't want to pick up his phone. I would probably end in him driving across town to get his drunk brother of some dirty bar floor. The thought of staying in bed was much nicer. But after he let the phone ring two more times, Ned picked up anyway.

“What do you want, Brandon?” he asked, annoyed.

“Ned?”

Ned sat up straight in his bed immediately. It was not his brother's voice coming through the phone but that of his girlfriend’s, Catelyn Tully. Catelyn had been his brother's girlfriend for three years now but Ned had only met her 6 months ago because he had been away at the Vale, so their paths never crossed before.

"Catelyn? Is everything ok? Is somebody hurt? Is it Brandon? Is that why you have his phone?” For a while there was only silence on the other side of the phone.

"Catelyn!?"

“I … I don't. Brandon is … fine? Can you just come please? We … he needs you! Please?"

Ned got up, grabbing his clothes.

“I'm on my way! Where are you?”

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Ned stood in front of Catelyn's apartment half an hour later. He had never been here before. The apartment buildings around him had appeared to be a mace of never ending houses that looked like they might come down on him any second.

Luckily Catelyn had given him an accurate description on how to find her place. The main entrance had been open when he arrived due to a faulty lock. Before he could lift his hand to knock on her door the door opened just enough that half a head with a mess of red curls and one tear filled red eye could appear in the gap.

“Oh good you made it! Did you bring your phone?” she asked. Her voice sounded raw as if she was suffering from a bad cough.

“No, you told me not to,” Ned answered.

She smiled sadly: “Good, thank you for coming. And I am so sorry for this.”

“What are you sorry for? Are you ok? What is happening?” Ned was feeling more confused by the second.

Catelyn bid her lip. “I will show you but you have to know if I show you, there is no going back.”

Ned made his decision in that second:

“Show me”

Catelyn stepped out of the way to let the door swing open so Ned was able to enter the flat. He quickly scanned the state of the room. It was clear that the door led directly into the living room of the little flat, a living room that was a total wreck.

A lot of the stuff was laying around in the middle of the room as if they had been thrown through the room. Broken pieces of what Ned thought might have been a vase mixed with water on the floor. But the worst thing was the living room table. Or what was left of it. It had been made out of glass but the only thing that made the shattered glass identifiable as a table was the placement in the room in front of the couch.

What was left of the table was covered in a red liquid that made Ned's stomach turn. He hoped that it was not blood but judging by Catelyn's panic and the trail the liquid that led through the room to another door, it appeared that hope was probably for naught.

For a second Ned thought about his brother and how he hadn’t heard a word of him yet, but just in that moment Brandon came out of the door the blood led. His hands were blood red and the skin was broken, all of his clothes seem to be covered in blood as well but he was way too steady on his feet for the blood on the floor belonging to him.

“You called my brother?” Brandons eyes went from Ned to Cat.

“We needed help! You were the one insisting on not calling the police!” Catelyn whisper yelled back at his brother.

For the first time since entering the flat Ned turned around to the woman who had called him here in the first place and for the first time he was able to see her whole. And what he saw made him furious. The reason Catelyn had only shown half her face when opening the door earlier was now shining on her face as clear as day. Half her face was bruised and her lip was split open which made her overall stressed appearance even worse.

“What happened to her face?”

He turned back to his brother. He wanted to ask her but he knew that he was not able to contain his anger and yelling at her right now would have been the wrong choice.

“Nothing, it was just a bit of a misunderstanding.” Brandon answered but avoided his brother's eyes.

“A misunderstanding, that leaves half her face black and blue? What did you do Brandon?”

“Why do you think I did something? Maybe~~”

“If it wasn’t something you did, you would have given me an actual answer and not this bullshit about misunderstandings!”

“Well if you're so sure. Why don’t you ask her? And also ask her what she did!”

“Brandon, I already told you. I didn’t do anything and you are an asshole to accuse me like that!”

“Oh I’m an asshole? How would you have felt coming into my flat and finding me with another girl?”

“Well for once I wouldn’t have flung you across the room into a wall!”

“You did what?!” Ned was jumping in again.

“How could you do something like that Brandon! Have you lost your whole goddamn mind?!”

“Did you listen to what I said?! She was making out with the little perv of a foster brother!” Brandon yelled back at Ned pointing accusingly towards Catelyn, who finished despite the fact that Brandon stood multiple feet away from her.

For a moment Ned was thrown for a loop so much that he almost missed Catelyn whispered: “That’s not true” from behind him.

He didn’t know Catelyn that well and he had only heard of her former foster brother but he really couldn’t imagine Catelyn cheating on Brandon and even less Catelyn cheating on Brandon with Petyr Baelish. Ned caught himself pretty quickly though.

“Even if she did it. How dare you put your hands on a woman in violence!”

“I didn’t put my hands on her in violence. It was just a bit of an accident”

Ned chose his next words very carefully, looked Brandon in the eye and in a low tone said:

“Mother wouldn’t be able to look at you.”

Those words seem to go through Brandon's body like a shockwave and with a few quick steps he was right in front of Ned's face. Ned braced himself for a punch. When Catelyn lifted up her voice again, this time much stronger than the last.

“Stop it Brandon! Stop it, both of you! This is not helping anyone! We need to concentrate on the problem that is right in front of us!”

For what felt like the hundredth time this evening Ned was confused. How was Catelyns face looking like she stumbled into an MMA fight, not the problem right in front of them.

Ned looked around the room again, processing what he was seeing and what he heard tonight until he finally realized that he still didn’t know who the blood belonged to and that the third party involved in this mess that his brother mentioned, Petyr Bealish, didn’t seem to be around.

“Where is Petyr Bealish?” Ned asked slowly into a now completely quiet room.

Neither Brandon nor Catelyn said a word, but Catelyn lifted up her arm and pointed towards the door his brother had appeared from earlier. Ned walked through the door into the room behind it, he immediately wanted to turn around again.

The room he was in was the bathroom and in the bathtub was the pale lifeless body of Petyr Bealish. Blood was still gathering under the body collecting in the bathtub which appeared to be plugged to not let the liquid go down the drain. By now, Ned guessed that his face probably didn’t have much more color than Bealishes but he took a few deep breaths and walked the last steps towards the man in the tub.

Ned bent down and put his fingers on the throat to feel for a pulse or any other sígn of life. But there was nothing. This was a dead person. His brother had just left a room containing a dead person and apparently no proper authorities had been involved.

When Ned left the bathroom again Catelyn was sitting on the floor still close to the door and Brandon had placed himself on the couch staring at the mess before his feet. Ned himself didn’t feel like standing either and he let himself sink down onto the floor.

“How did all of this happen?” he asked and hoped that he might finally receive the full story.

And he did. Told by Catelyn her eyes fixed on the bathroom door.

Apparently Petyr had asked Catelyn if he could stay with her for the night. He had told her he had to come to town spontaneously and hadn’t had time to find a hotel to stay in. Catelyn, the kind person she was, had seen no problem with letting him crash on her couch. But she also had plans with Brandon that day she didn’t want to cancel.

When Catelyn got to the next part she became really quiet as if she was ashamed of her words. Ned's blood boiled at the realization that this shame was most likely Brandons fault for the way he reacted.

Catelyn wanted to leave her flat because Brandon was scheduled to appear any minute but when she tried to leave Petyr had stopped her, talked about how much he loved her and then forced himself on her.

It had been a blessing and a curse for Catelyns when Brandon came into the flat, not wanting to wait outside for too long. He was able to get Petyr away from her, who by then had tried to get his hand under Catelyn's shirt, by pulling him away.

But then he had turned to Catelyn and accused her of cheating on him. She had turned away from him, hurt that he put the blame of the situation on her. This action had apparently enraged his brother so much that he pulled on her arm to turn her towards him.

To Catelyn’s shock Brandon had used so much force that pulling on her arm had caused her to stumble right into the corner of the wall, causing the bruises on her face.

While Catelyn was clearly mad at Brandon, she still labeled it an accident. Ned had another name for it but he didn’t want to interrupt Catelyn or tell her how to feel.

When Petyr had seen Brandons action he jumped in, ironically trying to protect Catelyn from Brandon's violence. It had turned into an all out fight between the two. Brandon being the taller, older and stronger of the two had an easy time defeating the other man.

The fight had ended when Bradnon had pushed Bealish into Catelyn's glass table head first. One of the legs of the table had apparently pierced Bealishes skull making him bleed quickly and a lot. By the time Brandon and Catelyn had realized what had happened the life had completely left Bealish and with half his brain on the floor it had been clear that there was no coming back.

Catelyn had wanted to call an ambulance anyway but Brandon stopped her and took her phone away. He had been sure that no one would believe that it had been an accident so he did not want any authorities near this mess.

Ned silently agreed. If he arrived at a scene with a battered woman and a dead man present and the third party in the room was clearly responsible for both, he wouldn’t believe in an accident either.

Brandon had decided to put the body in the bathtub where the blood would be easier to clean, as if there weren't already a few liters of it in the carpet. While Brandon had been busy moving the body, Cat had grabbed his phone. She hadn’t been able to unlock it to call her Uncle like she had planned but she had been able to access Brandons emergency contacts and found his name in them.

Ned wondered why she hadn’t called the police or an ambulance with Brandon's phone but she probably also worried about his brother going to prison. That is how they ended up here.

When Catelyn had finished her retelling of the last few hours Brandon seemed to wake up out of his trance and asked: “So brother, as Cat seems to think you are the hero we need in this situation. What do we do now?”

Ned could only look at his brother in righteous indignation, how dare his brother both mock and demand a solution for him after assaulting his girlfriend and killing a man.

“I have no idea, Brandon. But since you thought calling an ambulance was unnecessary, shouldn't you have an idea!”

“Well believe it or not I am not in the business of getting rid of bodies, brother dearest”

“Don’t you dare act like this now! Not after the things you did tonight!”

"The things I did? I defended my girlfriend against a little perv!”

“After you assaulted her!” Ned yelled louder than he had the whole day.

Suddenly Catelyn jumped up from her spot by the door.

“Shh, both of you. Are you crazy yelling at each other in the middle of the night in a house full of people. Discussing who did what will not help us right now. Ned? I am so sorry that I pulled you into this. I shouldn't even have called. I was just panicking and I didn’t know what to do. But you can still leave. No one knows you were ever here.”

Ned looked at her and a wave of protectiveness came over him.

“I am not letting you here alone with two men who assaulted you tonight, Catelyn. I’m in this now and we will find a solution.”

Brandon made a sound that clearly showed his disagreement with Ned's words but he probably realized that it was better for him if he didn’t voice it.

“I might know something. I still think that we should call my Uncle. I know he has some contacts to people one might call sketchy but I would trust no one more than him to help with this.” Catelyn told Ned.

“Great! Let’s call the old guy then. Why haven't you done this before?” Brandon voiced his agreement from the couch.

“Because you have my phone” Catelyn hissed at her boyfriend.

Brandon had at least enough decency to look embarrassed, under his breath he mumbled, oh right, and handed the phone to Catelyn.

Catelyn grabbed her phone quickly and while turning around she had already started to dial the numbers. She walked towards the last door that was unknown to Ned, he guessed it must be her bedroom, and entered it. In the second before the door closed Ned could hear her saying her Uncle's name with such a relief in her voice he had never heard before.

While Catelyn had talked to her Uncle, his brother had tried to start a conversation with Ned, trying to justify what he did to his girlfriend again, but Ned hadn’t been interested in listening. He couldn’t even truly look at his brother. He might have believed that his brother was sorry for what he did to Catelyn if he hadn’t tried to minimize it over and over again.

No his brother didn’t think of Catelyn or Petyr and what he had done to them, not that Ned felt much sympathy for the dead man either, but his brother was just concerned with making himself look better. He did not sound like a person that regretted having actively hurt his girlfriend and having killed a man. No, Ned didn’t believe his brother was truly sorry.

After Ned repeatedly stopped his brother's attempts at talking, Catelyn stepped out of her room again.

“Uncle Brynden said he and some people are on their way here. He said he will take care of everything under some conditions. One, Brandon you will leave right now, you will leave all of the clothes you're wearing right now, I have some spare ones for you. Two, you will never contact me or any of my family members again. And third..”

“What!” Brandon interrupted her:

“Did you agree with your Uncle's demands? What about us? Cat, you know I love you!”

She looked at him colder than Ned had ever seen her face.

“Us? What about us? Us was over the moment my face hit the wall while you accused me of cheating on you with my foster brother. And you don’t love me Brandon cause you don’t hurt the people you love”

Brandon started to say something again but Ned stopped him and encouraged Catelyn to finish what she was saying before. Catelyn took a deep breath.

“Third, you will spend the next two years aboard. You will have two weeks to find a way and a reason for it or my Uncle will find one for you. If you can find one yourself it does not matter what reason you find, from traveling or a college education, my Uncle doesn’t care. But you should know that the one my Uncle will find if forced to will probably be less pleasant. My Uncle said this is a take it or leave it deal. If you are gone by the time he comes he will see it as you accepting. If you are still here when he comes or go against his conditions afterwards he will make sure that you will be put in front of the appropriate authorities.”

Catelyn had delivered the speech with no emotion in her voice like she was delivering the safety instruction in an airplane. For the first time this evening Brandon looked truly devastated.

“Is this what you truly want, Cat?” he asked her.

“This is the choice you get Brandon. I’m sorry but we all have to live with the consequences of tonight and you still have the chance to choose which ones you want. But you have to choose now.” she said and at the same time lifted up a pack of clothes towards Brandon, that Ned only noticed now.

She knew, he realized. She knew just as he did that Brandon would choose to leave. She knew that Brandon would rather leave than face the court system, rather leave than deal with the true consequences of having killed someone and having assaulted his girlfriend.

As expected Brandon grabbed the clothes his now ex-girlfriend had offered him and walked into Catelyn's bedroom, apparently not wanting to change next to the men he killed.

Catelyn stood completely still not moving an inch as they waited for Brandon to return. Ned didn’t dare to speak.

When Brandon came back and said his goodbyes, he leaned forward to give Catelyn what appeared to be a kiss on the cheek but she flinched away when he came near her.

Brandon mumbled a quick apology and left. Making Ned wonder if he apologized for the kiss or everything before and if his brother had ever offered her a sincere apology for hurting her.

Ned looked at Catelyn for a long time then:

“Do you want me to leave as well?”

He had thought about leaving but he didn’t want her to be alone until her Uncle arrived.

“If you want to leave, you can.” Her voice slowly lost her steadiness as she talked.

“I will be fi~~” she wasn’t able to finish her sentence before she broke down in tears.

Violent sobs shook her whole body and she would have collapsed on the floor if Ned hadn’t caught her. She cried and cried. Her tears would stop. Ned awkwardly tried to sooth her by giving her encouraging words. As that didn’t seem to walk he carefully tried to to put his arms around her in a more comforting way than the way they had been when he caught her.

He hoped he wasn’t doing the wrong thing. He didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable by another man touching her after what happened today. But when he carefully started to stroke her back to hopefully calm her down she practically threw her arms around him and sunk deeper into his embrace. After a while of standing there Ned arms became quite heavy from having to hold her on her feet.

“Catelyn, maybe you wanna sit down for a bit?”

“Yes, that might be a good idea, But I can’t sit on that couch, I just can’t. Please!” Catelyn's voice became panicked.

“Ok, ok. Don’t worry. How about I’ll sit you down on your bed. Is it ok if I take you there?” Ned asked while continuously trying to sound soothingly.

Catelyn nodded but didn’t move an inch. Ned noticed that she probably wasn’t able to move. He asked her for permission to lift her up and she again just nodded. Slowly to not startle her he grabbed her under her arms and legs and lifted her up in his arms to bring her to her bed. He tried to put her down carefully but she clung to him with a strength he hadn’t expected, so when he tried to stand up straight again he got pulled down by her, falling onto her bed right next to her.

Both of them stammered out apologies after apologies while their limbs got awkwardly entangled with each other. After some rearging they ended up laying next to each other on the bed and Cat let out the smallest giggle.

“I’m sorry.” she told him again.

“I really didn’t want to pull you into this and now I’m even making you babysit me because I am a wreck”

“Everything is fine. This was not your doing. It was my brother's fault. And I am truly sorry for what happened to you tonight. Neither of them had the right to hurt you. I hope you know that.”

“I do. At least I think I do. But why would they do this? Why?”

“I don’t know. I can’t explain it. I’m sorry Catelyn.”

Catelyn turned her head towards him.

“You know, after tonight I think you should really call me Cat. All my friends do.”

“Are we friends?” Ned asked.

“Yes, I don’t just let anyone into my bed” Catlyn tried to make a joke.

Ned tried to smile for her sake but couldn't quite manage it. So instead he asked her, when she thought her Uncle would arrive.

“He should be here in about half an hour. And I should actually start packing up some things, I obviously can’t stay here but I don’t know if I can get up again already.” she signed.

“Don’t worry about that. I will help you if you would allow. How about you stay here on the bed and relax and tell me what I should pack for you and where to find it.” Ned suggested.

Catleyn agreed to the suggestion and soon after Ned was walking around the flat trying to find her things in the places she had instructed him to look for them. When he was finished he carefully placed the bag he packed next to her on the bed.

“Here you go my Lady, your bag is ready to be transported.” he told her, now it was his turn trying to get the heaviness out of the room.

He thought it worked, at least a bit since she gave him a small but true smile. But with a look at the time she had realized that her Uncle would be arriving any minute. She told him that he should better leave now. She wasn’t sure how her Uncle would react to Ned still being around after what his brother did.

She brought him to the door of her flat to give him her goodbye.

“Again, thank you so much for coming, Ned. And thank you so much for staying and comforting me. It really wasn’t your responsibility but you are a good man Ned. I hope you know that. Maybe we will see each other again some time. But for now goodbye, Ned.” she said. Carefully placing a kiss on his cheek and slowly closing the door.

Ned, completely stunned, touched the cheek she had just kissed and whispered towards the closed door:

“Goodbye Cat.”

#cat x ned #game of thrones #asoiaf #catelyn stark #catelyn tully #ned stark #minor character death #tw sex assault #tw violence #my fic #ao3fic #nedcatweek2024

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whitecreekvalley-if · 4 months

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Do the ro's have scars or tattoos? (;

They all have a variety of scars, some major, some minor. Mace has the most small ones because he's a clutz and works physical jobs. The worst one is probably a straight cut over the left side of his ribs when he got kicked by a horse and fell into an unfortunately placed heap of debris.

Alice has the second most because she keeps breaking glasses at work and doesn't take precautions when cleaning up. And the physical farm job too. She doesn't have any visible big ones though, but she scraped her knee pretty bad one night walking home drunk, and the skin still looks funky. Her fingertips get the worst of it though.

Judge has a few, but they're bigger ones. Got one on his thigh where someone misfired a gun and it scraped him pretty bad. There was this time he fell down the side of a cliff and landed on a sharp rock, and the evidence is a u-formed gouge on his shoulder blade. Also got a bit of his eyebrow missing from being projectile hit in the face with a vase. There's more but those you can ask about in the game hehe.

Sadie has no visible scars, unless you count a little nick on the inside of her right ring finger where she somehow managed to wound herself while playing pool. Otherwise she's pretty good at keeping her skin intact, that lucky woman.

On to the tattoos! Mace has none. He wants one but he's a wimp.

Alice has some, like a peppering of different realistic flowers on her right forearm (was gonna be a sleeve but meh) and a huge memoriam tattoo for her dad over her right upper arm. It's a portrait of him and his favorite horse against a sunset, with his birth year over and death year under. She's planning on having more though.

Judge has the surname of the guy who shot him by the scar on his thigh (a very crude and wobbly "mooney", zero capitalization), and it's kinda funny. He doesn't really get the appeal of tattoos anyway so no more than that for him.

Sadie got a few minimalistic ones. There's the silhouette of two birds flying on her right wrist, a tattoo she shares with her mother. Then a little minimalist rose on her ankle, and a laurel leaf behind her right ear. She has an entire Pinterest board with ideas for more.

#wcv answered #I'm writing this exhausted I hope it makes sense lol #ch: mace #ch: alice #ch: judge #ch: sadie

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the-hinky-panda · 7 months

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Strings: Part II

Title: Strings

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Les Packer x Fem! Reader

Summary: You and Les had been high school sweethearts. You're going to be a music teacher, he's going to climb the ranks of the SAMDINO MC. The only thing that stands in your way is his mentally unstable brother, Isaac. Things fall apart and fifteen years later, your daughter calls Les for help when you're in a coma and she's trying to figure out how to stay out of foster care. Les is faced with figuring out if you daughter is his or possibly Isaac's. Either way, he can't walk away for a second time from you and your daughter.

TW: This chapter has a mention of rape.

Les Packer is a tough son of a bitch and there is very little that surprises or unnerves him. Seeing you lying in a hospital bed, tubes and IVs and monitors surround you makes his heart race and his palms sweat. The constant beeping of your heartbeat, the whoosh of the ventilator, the ticking of your brain waves are all hopeful signs that you’ll survive this but the constant noise grates at his nerves. Your coloring is off, your eyes closed, your hands are still. He remembers you always being so animated, bright, and full of life. You didn’t stay still for longer than necessary.

You’re almost unrecognizable.

Almost.

Zoey goes through the routine of setting down her backpack in one of the pastel vinyl chairs in the room, opening the blinds, and putting fresh water in a plastic vase of drooping roses. She picks up the dropped petals and drops them into the small trash can in the bathroom. The routine has come so naturally to her, she seems to forget that he’s even in the room at the moment. It’s when she turns from the trash can that she seems to finally notice him.

“When was the last time you saw her?”

Les smooths a hand over the soft leather of his kutte, wishing he could touch you. But it’s been so long, too much damage hangs between the two of you. Damage he had hoped one day to fix but it seems time may have run out. “It’s been sixteen years.”

Your hair has been braided, the thick rope draped over the side of your bruised neck and shoulder. Zoey carefully undoes the plait and gently brushes your hair. There’s no movement from you whatsoever, no flicker of eye movement, tic of your cheek. He steps up to the other side of the bed and slips his hand into yours. His fingertips brush over yours, looking for the familiar callouses he had come to love feeling against his skin. But they’re not there anymore. Another thing lost.

Zoey turns those blue-green eyes towards him, studying his face with a shrewd intelligence, as she rebraids your hair. She almost looks like Isaac in her intensity, her planning and scheming. “She told me my father died before I was born.”

It’s almost a challenge but more of a question. He wonders if she went home last night and recognized her eyes in the mirror, that she saw the similarities that he did. That she has the same questions he does: who is her father? There’s only one person who can answer that and you may never be able to solve that mystery for them.

He understands, with almost a sad resignation, why you would have said that and it only seems to confirm his suspicions. He stays quiet, neither confirming or denying anything. He had been hopeful last night when he had returned home that Zoey had been his own child, born out of passion, love, and joy. Instead, evidence is pointing to his unstable brother and his off the charts intelligence. This struggle brings back another time with stunning clarity when he struggled with the idea of Zoey being his daughter or his niece.

He’d been standing in front of your door for ten minutes, squeezing and twisting the soft stuffed rabbit in his hand. This was the third time he’s ridden down to Santee, a suburb of San Diego that was dilapidated and falling down. He wished you would get a better lock on your door, carry mace or a knife on your person. But he did see how the community treats you and it’s with nothing but kindness.

Especially now that the baby was born.

A little girl with your dark hair and bright blue eyes. She’s beautiful and fierce. And he wants nothing more than to protect you both. But he can’t. That night at the clubhouse, in the middle of the chaos of celebration with a group of Sons from Seattle, proved he couldn’t protect you. That’s why he didn’t blame you for leaving him and San Bernardino. You deserved so much better, as does the little girl you’ve been gifted.

He took an envelope out of his back pocket. It had a note, words filled with regret, bitterness, and a need for forgiveness, that he had spent hours writing. It also had $500 in it, a pitiful amount to help as best he can with this burden you’ve taken on yourself. He wanted you to know he realized just how much he failed you. How he failed your child. How desperate he was to make it up to you both, if it was at all possible. But then he recalls that night with razor sharp clarity: you in the dim light of the clubhouse, holding your ripped blouse closed, a dark navy shirt with bright yellow lemons on it. It’s a sunny, happy shirt that you only wear on special occasions. There was a thin rivulet of blood running from your nose, some of it already smeared as you had tried to wipe it away. Your eyes, dark ringed with smudged mascara, downcast and tear filled as you slipped out the backdoor.

He removed the note from the envelope. He didn’t deserve forgiveness for that. Not yet at least. When he trades in his Sergeant at Arms flash for the Vice President, and then the President’s flash, when he officially takes Isaac’s kutte from him and banishes him for good from the club and San Bernardino, then he can come ask for your forgiveness. Until that happens, he has no right to invade your life. So he set down the stuffed rabbit with the envelope of money in front of your door and left.

“Mr. Packer?”

“Les.” He chuckles. “Well, when CPS comes around, better call me Uncle Les.”

Zoey finishes off your braid and ties the end, a small smile on her face. “Uncle Les. I like that.”

He likes Uncle Les.

He would prefer Dad.

#les packer x you #les packer x reader #les packer soa #les packer mayans #les packer fic #les packer

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thebadgerclan · 2 years

Text

Covert

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x reader

Requested by Purple Heart Anon

Summary: How quickly a mission can go wrong...

A/N: Another pre-Fold Aleksander!

Also I’m not great at angst, so I hope this is sufficiently angsty! 😂

It was an extremely dangerous, covert operation, and Aleksander was not all that pleased that you insisted on going. But he’d be lying if a Heartrender wouldn’t be useful on this mission, so you went. You were crossing into the sect of Ravka that was notoriously anti-Grisha and was extremely religious hoping to find and recruit Grisha for the growing Second Army. “Listen to me, Y/N,” your husband said, clutching your hands in his. “Where we’re going, it isn’t safe. The people here will want to hurt us, they will want to kill us, and I need you to promise me you’ll be safe.

“When I say hide, you hide, when I say duck, you duck, when I say run, I need you to do as I say and don't even think about me, alright?” You shook your head, squeezing Aleksander’s hands. “I can’t do that, Sasha,” you said, and the shadows around you twitched with your husband’s temper. “Y/N, you have to, I-” “If you think I’ll leave you behind, then you’ve lost your damn mind, you-” “Don’t argue with me, Y/N!” he shouted, and you fell silent. “I hate to yell, but I need you to listen to me. We are fighting for our very survival here, I will not lose you.”

You’d reluctantly agreed, which led to the current scenario: you, Aleksander, a pair of Inferni and a pair of Squallers sneaking into the Convent of Saknt Yeryin under the cover of night, praying there were indeed Grisha here who would agree to join you. But the night went very wrong very fast, when Pavel, one of the Squallers, tripped over an open cabinet, sending a vase shattering on the floor. Monks and priests bearing swords, bolas, and maces, and Aleksander shouted the command to array in fighting formation.

There were six of you and at least 12 monks and priests; you were severely outnumbered, but that didn’t mean you wouldn’t fight like hell. The Inferni and Squallers lit the hems of the monks’ robes on fire, Aleksander drew the shadows from the corners of the room to cover what appeared to be the lead priest’s eyes, and you held your hands before you, focusing on the heartbeats and slowing them. The monks and priests clutched their chests, one of them toppling to the ground.

But a priest yanked on a rope, the bells in the steeple ringing out, “Shit,” you swore, focusing on crushing the tracheas of your assailants. Four of them fell before reinforcements came, and said reinforcements came bearing horrifically sharp blades. They surged forward, skewering Pavel and Anya in one motion. “Y/N!” Aleksander shouted. “Run!” You knew you should obey, run from this hellscape, save your skin, but your husband was down to two fighters.

But then Joran and Lisa were downed, leaving you and Aleksander standing. “Like hell!” you screamed, plunging into the fray. Aleksander sent the Cut flying, but with no time to aim, his hits were few. You brought down a few soldiers before feeling a sharp, hot pain in your side. “NO!” You looked at your flank, your clothes black in the low light. No, not black, red. Red with your blood, and suddenly, the world was sideways. “Y/N, no, don’t you dare close your eyes.”

Aleksander knelt at your side throwing his arm out, surrounding the two of you in an impenetrable circle of shadow. He cradled you in his arms, one hand outstretched, keeping the shadow-sphere up, the other hand pressed to your wound. It was deep, blood gushing out rapidly, your skin paling and becoming cold and clammy. “Don’t do this, stay with me. Stay with me, Y/N. Please, my love.” He was sobbing, but he didn’t care. “S-Sasha,” you said, voice weak and trembling. “I l-love y-y-you.”

Your eyes closed and your body went slack, and the scream that left Aleksander’s mouth shattered the shadow-sphere around you and killed every priest and monk in a two mile radius. He scooped you into his arms and ran without stopping to the sanctuary, not caring if your blood was leaving a trail behind him, not caring if he was seen. If you died, his life would be over, so what would it matter?

“Healer!” Aleksander screamed. “I need a Healer, now!” He laid you on a bed and three young Healers came to your side, their eyes wide. “Help her,” he commanded. “I don’t care what it takes, heal her!” They got to work, removing your clothes to better visualize the wound. Aleksander was told to leave, the process would not be pretty, but he refused, remaining at your side, your hand in his while the Healer’s worked. For the better part of 15 hours, they cleaned the wound, cauterized the blood vessels, repaired muscle damage, reconstructed damaged structures, and stitched your skin back together. It was touch and go for a long time, but finally, the Healers said you’d live, and Aleksander sobbed.

They left him alone with you, and Aleksander rested his head on the bed next to you, allowing himself to feel the fear and grief he’d pushed down. “Y/N, my love, oh Saints, I love you. I love you so much, darling, I’m so sorry.” It took another few hours, but you woke, blearily opening your eyes, blinking fatigue away. “Aleksander?” Your husband’s head snapped up, and tears fell anew upon seeing you awake. “Y/N, oh Saints, you’re awake.” He sat up and pressed kisses to your arms and face, letting himself smile softly.

“I thought I’d lost you,” Aleksander said. “There was so much blood, I thought you were gone.” You reached out to touch his cheek, and your husband shuddered under your touch. “I’m here, Sasha. Right here.” Something changed in him, and Aleksander straightened up. “Don’t you ever do that again!” he said, voice stern and rough. “Do you have any idea how stupid that was? I told you to run, why didn’t you listen?” “Because,” you said, breathing labored, the simplest things exhausting you. “If I left, you would’ve died, and I can’t let you die.”

Aleksander shook his head, but leaned in to kiss you. “You have to promise me you’ll be more careful, Y/N,” he said, resting his forehead against yours. “Promise me you’ll be safe.” “I can’t,” you replied. “We live in a world where our people are hunted for sport, where any day might mean death. Being careful means losing chances, and I can’t do that.” They were his words, words he’d said when you told him to be careful, and he smirked. “I know,” Aleksander said. “I was just so worried.”

“I know you were,” you replied, lifting his hand and kissing it. “But I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.” Aleksander nodded, but he still saw you; bleeding out and limp in his arms, and he shivered. “Hey, look at me.” You turned his face to yours, locking eyes with him. “I’m right here, Aleksander, and I am alive. You have me, and I promise you that I am not going anywhere.” Your husband broke, sobbing against your shoulder, and you held him as he cried. This moment of weakness showed how deeply he loved you, and how hard he would fight for his people, and the level of revenge he would take if someone hurt you.

#aleksander morozova x reader #shadow and bone fanfiction #the darkling x reader #general kirigan x reader #shadow and bone reader insert

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ragnarlothcat · 2 years

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hello! i hope your day is going well! i'm absolutely in LOVE with your sugar baby au - do you have any hcs/ideas/scraps about it?

Thank you 🥰 I do have some of those! I've got an extremely rough outline for the fic now, which is progress since before it was just vibes. I worry it reads a little similarly to my fic à la carte but in space, but I'll interpret it as me having found my niche instead of me only having one singular idea that I will shoehorn into new settings until eventually I die. Anyway it's 12 chapters now because it's important to me that I start more long projects I will never finish.

This Anakin was trained by Mace Windu so he's a slightly different flavour of Anakin. He agrees to the casual, sugar baby relationship because it's very specifically not a romantic relationship so it's probably fine and Anakin won't get attached (ha). But he does resist Obi-Wan buying him pretty things because as a Jedi he shouldn't really have stuff. Obi-Wan cleverly gets around this by spoiling him with experiences (and also stuff, once he finds Anakin's weaknesses).

This bit is from after they've slept together for the first time and Anakin is being very cool and casual about it.

Sugar baby au

“How was the mission?"

Anakin tugs on the collar of his robes self-consciously, very aware of the bitemark on his collarbone. “It was fine. The assassin never even showed.”

“Hmm.” Aayla narrows her eyes. “And the senator?”

“Still alive, last I checked.” Last Anakin checked Obi-Wan had been lounging on his plush chaise lounge draped in pale silk, his chest bare aside from the marks Anakin left on the swell of his pecs.

If Anakin hadn’t come three times already, he’d have fallen to his knees right there.

“Hmm,” Aayla says again. “It looks like you checked pretty thoroughly. Based on the beard burn, I mean.”

Anakin winces and slaps a hand to his face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We kept things strictly professional.” Which is true, in a sense, because Anakin did protect Obi-Wan from danger as his job demands. It would have been very difficult for someone to assassinate the senator, after all, when he'd spent the entire night between a Jedi knight’s legs.

Aayla laughs as Anakin furtively checks his reflection in a polished vase. “You really are all grown up now,” she says with a sigh. “Have you now slept with 100% of the senators you’ve been assigned to protect?”

Anakin abandons his vase with a scowl. “I told you about Padmé in confidence.”

“I thought you avoided senate duty because you found it boring. Little did I know it’s because you’re like spice to these politicians. They just can’t keep away.”

Anakin’s comm buzzes and he blanches at the ID. “Senate duty is boring,” he bites back.

“Or is it that your type is politicians? You’re all about the fancy clothes, impassioned speeches.” Aayla clears her throat. “Silver tongues…”

Anakin never asks Mace for favors, but suddenly he feels like begging him for a very long assignment in the outer rim. His comm buzzes again. “Shut up, Aayla,” Anakin hisses. “It’s Kenobi.”

Aayla raises her eyebrows. “He has your personal comm number? Didn’t you just meet him yesterday?”

“Shut up—this is Skywalker.”

“Anakin,” comes Obi-Wan’s voice, as sticky sweet and intoxicating as it was in bed. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

Anakin glares at Aayla, who smiles back, all innocence and dimples. “Nothing important. Is everything okay, Senator? Has there been another threat?”

It’s entirely possible. If someone wants Obi-Wan dead, they’d hardly stop after just one failed attempt. Truthfully Anakin thinks the man needs to increase his security permanently if he’s not going to stop being controversial in the senate. But Anakin’s assignment had been for a single gala, not to hang around Obi-Wan indefinitely and keep him locked up in his apartments.

(Unfortunately.)

“Only a threat to my sense of honor. Do you know Delia Zaro?”

“The holostar?” Anakin blinks down at his comm. “I don't know much about her. Senator, what does this have to do with the threats?”

“That’s the one,” Obi-Wan says, completely ignoring Anakin’s question. “A friend of mine owns a restaurant. It’s very exclusive and the food is exquisite.”

It’s sounding less and less likely that this anecdote has anything to do with the assassination attempts. “Sounds nice. Most of what I eat comes vacuum sealed.”

“Ms. Zaro dined there the other night. Now my friend has started advertising that he’s played host to ‘the most beautiful person on Coruscant’. Can you believe that?”

No, because Anakin wasn’t aware that restaurants advertised at all, let alone that they did so by hawking attractive celebrities. What's the point? It's not like you can eat the other patrons.

But Aayla is looking far too amused for someone who is currently eavesdropping, so Anakin turns away from her and aims for his most serious, no-nonsense Jedi voice. “Senator, I’m not sure I understand.”

“I just can’t tolerate falsehoods. As a politician, I am bound by the truth.” And even Anakin can hear the ironic smile in Obi-Wan’s voice at that. “I’m left with no choice. We must take action.”

Aayla snickers and Anakin pinches the bridge of his nose. “I don’t think I can arrest your friend for having different taste in holostars.”

Obi-Wan scoffs. “Of course not. My plan is much simpler and much less illegal. I just need to turn a lie into a reality.”

“How—”

“By ensuring the most beautiful person on Coruscant actually eats there as soon as possible. Say, eight o clock? My treat.”

Anakin frowns down at the comm for a moment. It’s fine if Obi-Wan wants to go to dinner with some other random holostar of his choosing. Well, it’s not fine because someone is actively trying to kill him, but it’s not something he can forbid. But why is he calling Anakin and making it sound like—

Oh.

Humiliatingly he feels his face flame and his heart flutter in his chest. How can this man fluster him so easily? Anakin has been tortured more times than he can count, but this smooth-voiced senator has him squirming like a youngling.

Anakin pointedly ignores Aayla’s quiet laughter. “Senator”—he clears his throat around the embarrassing roughness— “I’m flattered, but I have a lot of work to catch up on.” He does. He has dozens of reports to finish, and Mace will have him murdered if they're late again, especially if he explains that they’re late because Anakin is weak to pretty words and a free dinner with a handsome man.

“Please, darling—”

‘Darling?’ Aayla mouths.

“—I want to thank you for taking such good care of me last night.”

Aayla snorts and Anakin yanks her lekku with the Force.

“There’s no need for that,” Anakin says. Obi-Wan thanked him plenty last night. And again this morning in the shower. “It’s just part of the job.” Keeping him alive, that is. Learning the taste of his skin and melody of his cries was more…extracurricular.

No, Anakin cannot be alone with this man again. He doesn’t have the willpower to resist him.

“I already made the reservation. I promise the food is absolutely worth the trip. Now, it is a fine dining establishment so there’s a dress code.”

Perfect, a way out without offending him. Anakin doesn’t even own a dress. “I still only have my robes.”

“Which is why a courier is on their way now. The outfit I picked out is mostly black, so I do hope you like it.” Obi-Wan pauses and makes a small coughing noise. “I for one can’t wait to see you in it.”

Obi-Wan has barely known him for a full day and he already knows Anakin is most comfortable in black. Obi-Wan is so sweet and charming, and he is getting so fucked tonight.

(Mace is going to have Anakin's head. Oh well, a problem for the Anakin of tomorrow.)

“You really didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” Anakin croaks out.

“I don’t think of it as trouble,” Obi-Wan says, his voice leaving no room for argument. “It’s what you deserve. I’ll let you go for now, Anakin. I’ll see you at eight.”

He hangs up, and Anakin meets Aayla’s eyes, worrying his lip between his teeth.

Aayla rests her hand on Anakin’s bicep. “Oh yes,” she says, her face suspiciously neutral. “You two are definitely keeping things nice and professional.”

#asks #anon #sugar baby au #obikin #i hope this is fun!#i'm battling some brain fog so i haven't been writing much #but i do like these versions of them #anakin is doing his best to be a good jedi #also aayla and anakin friendship forever

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moneeb0930 · 1 year

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The Land of Punt(Ta netjer, the “land of the gods”)

After the end of the New Kingdom period, Punt became “an unreal and fabulous land of myths and legends.”

At times, the ancient Egyptians called Punt Ta netjer, meaning “God’s Land”.This referred to the fact that it was among the regions of the Sun God, that is, the regions located in the direction of the sunrise, to the East of Egypt. These eastern regions’ resources included products used in temples, notably incense. Older literature (and current non-mainstream literature) maintained that the label “God’s Land”, when interpreted as “Holy Land” or “Land of the gods/ancestors”, meant that the ancient Egyptians viewed the Land of Punt as their ancestral homeland. W. M. Flinders Petrie believed that the Dynastic Race came from or through Punt and E. A. Wallis Budge stated that “Egyptian tradition of the Dynastic Period held that the aboriginal home of the Egyptians was Punt…”.The term was not only applied to Punt, located southeast of Egypt, but also to regions of Asia east and northeast of Egypt, such as Lebanon, which was the source of wood for temples.

Location

The oldest known expedition to Punt was organized by Pharaoh Sahure of the 5th dynasty (2458-2446 BC). Also around 1950 BC, in the time of King Mentuhotep III, 11th dynasty (2004-1992 BC), an officer named Hennu and three thousand men from the south transported material for building ships through Wadi Hammamat, and to Punt acquiring a number of exotic products including incense, perfume and gum was brought to Egypt. A very famous expedition was for Queen Hatshepsut in the 18th dynasty (1473-1458 BC). It was formed of five ships, each measuring 70 feet long, and with several sails. These accommodated 210 men, including sailors and 30 rowers, and was led by the Nubian general “Nehsi”. They departed at Quseir on the Red Sea for what was primarily a trading mission, seeking frankincense and myrrh, and fragrant unguents used for cosmetics and in religious ceremonies. However, they also brought back exotic animals and plants, ivory, silver and gold. A report of this voyage is left behind as temple reliefs in Deir el-Bahri, Egypt (see reliefs below). The reliefs shows the departure of the expedition, its arrival at the mysterious land, the landing of the ships with the gifts by the Puntine leader to Hatshepsut, and the preparations for the return voyage. The temple reliefs also showed the features of the Puntine people, who were black Africans, as well as another race much resembling Egyptians. Donkeys were depicted as the method of transporting goods, and white dogs guarding the people’s houses. Birds, monkeys, leopards and hippopotamus are also seen, as well as giraffes which are typical African animals, to live in Punt. The Nubian Nehsi is then shown in front of his tent with a banquet offered to his guests, and observing the gifts presented.

And then there is the story of The Shipwrecked Sailor, 2200 BC which references Punt.

Petrie, W.M. Flinders. The Making of Egypt, London. New York, Sheldon Press; Macmillan, 1939:

Page 77

“Some of the most obvious public works of the 1st dynasty were the carrying on of earlier undertakings. The great historical maces, and the irrigation works, had been developed under the Scorpion king of the Aunu, and both may have originated much earlier. Many vases and bowls bear his name.”

“Origins in Elam and Punt. The distinctive character of the 1st dynasty, which separates it from all that went before, is the conquest and union of the whole land of Egypt. It became thus subject to the falcon-bearing tribe of Horus, which was the natural enemy of the Aunu, the Set-bearing tribe. This falcon tribe had certainly originated in Elam, as indicated by the hero and lions on the "Araq knife handle”. They went down the Persian Gulf and settled in the “horn of Africa.” There they named the “Land of Punt,” sacred to later Egyptians as the source of the race. The Pun people founded the island fortress of Ha-fun, which commands the whole of that coast, and hence came the Punic or Phoenic peoples of classical history. Those who went up the Red Sea formed the dynastic invaders of Egypt, entering by the Qocier-Koptos road. Others went on to Syria and founded Tyre, Sidon and Aradus, named after their home islands in the Persian Gulf (Strabo, XVI, iii, 4). This migration formed the basis of the great spread of Puni, by the colonies of Carthage around the Mediterranean, and into the Atlantic on both north and south.“–W.M. Flinders Petrie

The Oxford History of Ancient Egypt, Ian Shaw, p. 317, 2003:

"There is still some debate regarding the precise location of Punt, which was once identified with the region of modern Somalia. A strong argument has now been made for its location in either southern Sudan or the Eritrean region of Ethiopia, where the indigenous plants and animals equate most closely with those depicted in the Egyptian reliefs and paintings.

It used to be assumed (primarily on the basis of the scenes at Deir el-Bahri depicting Hatshepsut’s expedition to Punt in the mid-18th Dynasty) that the trading parties travelled by sea from the ports of Quseir or Mersa Gawasis, but it now seems likely that at least some of the Egyptian traders sailed south along the Nile and then took an overland route to Punt, perhaps making contact with the Puntites in the vicinity of Kurgus, at the fifth cataract.

The Deir el-Bahri scenes include depictions of the unusual Puntite settlements, comprising conical reed-built huts set on poles above the ground, and entered via ladders. Among the surrounding vegetation are palms and myrrh trees, some of the latter already in the process of being hacked apart in order to extract the myrrh. The scenes also show myrrh trees being loaded onto the ships so that the Egyptians could produce their own aromatics from them (and it has been argued that this in itself may be an argument for the combined Nile-overland route from Punt to Egypt, given the fact that such plants might well have died during the more difficult voyage northwards along the Red Sea coast). These myrrh trees might even have been replanted in the temple at Deir el-Bahri itself, judging from the surviving traces of tree pits there.”

And then there is the story of The Shipwrecked Sailor, 2200 BC which references Punt.

[right] chief of Punt “Parakhu”; [left] his wife queen “Aty”

Original copy at the Museum at Cairo (No. 34419)

There is still some debate regarding the precise location of the mythical land of Punt:

Breasted, James Henry, Ph.D., Ancient Records of Egypt, Historical Documents, Vol. II, 1906:

Pages 102-104

“These are undoubtedly the most interesting series of relief’s in Egypt, and form almost our only early source of information for the land of Punt. They are as beautiful in execution as they are important in content. They record an important expedition of the queen thither, which was successfully concluded just before her ninth year.”

“The only earlier evidences of intercourse with Punt are as follows: In the Fourth Dynasty a Puntite negro appears as the slave of one of the sons of King Khufu, in the Fifth, King Sahure sent an expedition thither, and King Isesi sent another, which brought back a dancing dwarf; in the Sixth, an officer of Pepi II, named Enenkhet, was killed by the Sand-dwellers on the coast, while building a ship for the Punt voyage, and another expedition thither under the the same king was led by assistant treasurer, Thethy; in the Eleventh Dynasty, Henu, chief treasurer of King Senekhkere-Mentuhoptep III, dispatched an expedition to Punt, which he accompanied only to the coast of the Red Sea; in the Twelfth Dynasty, an officer of Amenemhet II, named Khentkhetwer, records his safe return from Punt; and finally there was also an expedition under Sesostris II.”

“The question of the location of Punt is too large for discussion here, but is was certainly in Africa, and probably was the Somali coast.”

“Historically, it is important to note that Thutmose III appears only once in the Punt reliefs, and that in a subordinate position, so that, as far as this source is concerned, the queen is the author of the expedition, which she undertakes in accordance with an oracle of Amon”.

Page 117

Punt under the Queen

“But I will cause thy army to tread them, I have led them on water and on land, to explore the waters of inaccessible channels, and I have reached the Myrrh-terraces. It is a glorious region of God’s-Land; it is indeed my place of delight. I have made it for myself, in order to divert my heart, together with Mut, Hathor, Wereret (Isis), mistress of Punt, the mistress, ‘Great in Sorcery’, mistress of all gods. They took myrrh as they wished, they loaded the vessels to their hearts’ content, with fresh myrrh trees, every good gift of this country, Puntites whom the people know not, Southerns of God’s-Land. I conciliated them by love that they might give to thee praise, because thou art a god, because of thy fame in the countries. I know them, I am their wise lord, I am the begetter, Amon-Re; my daughter, who binds the lords, is the king [Makere] (Hatshepsut). I have begotten her for myself. I am thy father, who sets thy fear among the Nine Bows, while they come in peace to all gods. They have brought all the marvels, every beautiful thing of God’s-Land, for which thy majesty sent them: heaps of gum of myrrh, and enduring trees bearing fresh myrrh, united in the festival-hall, to be seen of the lord of the gods. May thy majesty cause them to grow. My temple, in order to delight my heart among them. My name is before the gods, thy name is before all the living, forever. Heaven and earth are flooded with incense; odors are in the Great House. Mayest thou offer them to me, pure and cleansed, in order to express the ointment for the divine limbs, to offer myrrh, to make ointment, to make festive my statue with necklaces, while I am making libations for thee. My heart is glad because of seeing thee.”–James Henry Breasted

The loading of the ships.

Plate from The Road to Punt, F.D.P. Wicker, The Journal of African History, Vol. 12, No. 1 (1971), 162.

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notenoughmuses · 2 years

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@vaeycllas

“My Princess” Alicent Tyrell greeted, giving her a curtsey. She was supposed to watching the two youngest Princesses while she was to be upon her fathers instructions looking at Viserys for a husband. Her father, Mace, thinking she would do better to catch the young Princes eye being close to home rather than a name far away.

“Vaeyella, please!” Alicent wishes she could be around Daenerys today, but Rhaenys had taken her niece to Dorne for a trip to see Dorne with Elia while Rhaegar and his son and brother stayed in Kings Landing. Leaving Vaeyella with Alicent in Kings Landing to hide from. “You didn’t even inform me you were playing games! That’s not very fair of you to do!” She huffs as she peeks over the edge of a big vase that held a growing tree, not finding Vaeylla there.

“You must come and speak to your suitors. They’ve come from far and wide to see you.”

#;;Alicent Hightower;;#;;V;Tyrell not a Hightower #;;c;opp;Rhaenyra Targaryen

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tiny-librarian · 1 year

Photo

Exactly 100 years ago today, on November 26th, 1922, Egyptologist Howard Carter, in the presence of Lord Carnarvon, Carnarvon’s daughter Evelyn, and various other officials and members of his excavation team, made a tiny hole in the doorway of the newly discovered Tomb of Tutankamun, with a chisel given to him as a 17th birthday gift by his grandmother. He described the event and what he saw inside in his journal:

It was sometime before I could see, the hot air escaping caused the candle to flicker, but as soon as my eyes became accustomed to the glimmer of light the interior of the chamber gradually loomed before me, with its strange and wonderful medley of extraordinary and beautiful objects heaped upon one another.

There was naturally short suspense for those present who could not see, when Lord Carnarvon said to me ‘Can you see anything?’ I replied to him ‘Yes, it is wonderful.’ I then with precaution made the hole sufficiently large for both of us to see. With the light of an electric torch as well as an additional candle we looked in.

Our sensations and astonishment are difficult to describe as the better light revealed to us the marvelous collection of treasures: two strange ebony-black effigies of a King, gold-sandaled, bearing staff and mace, loomed out from the cloak of darkness; gilded couches in strange forms, lion-headed, Hathor-headed, and beast infernal; exquisitely painted, inlaid, and ornamental caskets; alabaster vases, some beautifully executed of lotus and papyrus device; strange black shrines, with a gilded monster snake appearing from within; quite ordinary looking white chests; finely carved chairs; a golden inlaid throne; beneath our very eyes, on the threshold, a lovely lotiform wishing-cup in translucent alabaster; and, lastly, a confusion of overturned parts of chariots glinting with gold, peering from amongst which was a mannequin.

The first impression suggested the property-room of an opera of a vanished civilization. Our sensations were bewildering and full of strange emotion. We questioned one another as to the meaning of it all. Was it a tomb or merely a cache? A sealed doorway between the two sentinel statues proved there was more beyond, and with the numerous cartouches bearing the name of TutAnkhAmun on most of the objects before us, there was little doubt that there behind was the grave of that Pharaoh.

We closed the hole, locked the wooden-grill which had been placed upon the first doorway, we mounted our donkeys and return home contemplating what we had seen.

Advised the Chief Inspector of the Antiquities Department, who was with us at the commencement of the opening of the first doorway, and asked him to come as soon as possible, preferably the following afternoon to enable us to prepare an electrical installation for careful inspection of this extraordinary and pleasing discovery.

#tutankhamun #king tut #howard carter #ancient egypt #egyptology #archaeology #howard carter: professional grave robber

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cleverdeception · 5 years

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Kibum really...did that. He sure is calling his album “Face.” After all this, when he absolutely didn’t have to continue this dumb pseudo-tradition, when he could have called it anything in the world...he really holds on. He really is the biggest heckin shawol there is. “Ace” and “Base” are so proud. Shawols are proud. This is the best gift.

#shinee key #Face #shinee #key #minho and onew can drop us the same #case trace lace mace doesnt matter just keep it going #onew should call his vase just cause i think he would

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navybrat817 · 2 years

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Nick Fowler Masterlist

Welcome to my Nick Fowler Masterlist, lovelies, and I hope you enjoy! Header by @sgt-seabass , banners by @vase-of-lilies and dividers by @firefly-graphics. Check them out!

Main Masterlist

I have discontinued my tag list. Please follow my sideblog @navybrat817-sideblog and turn on notifications to see new fics! I will only post fics, writing ideas and updates there.

🔥 smut 💓 fluff 💔 angst 💞 AU 🛑 dark content 💙 Navy's faves

Mini-Series and Shared Universes

Undercover (Nick Fowler x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Your partner wants you...and so does the man watching you.

Lie to Me 🔥 💞 (undercover) 💙

Summary: The lines get blurred when you go undercover with Nick.

Tell Me You Love Me

Nightclub (Nick Fowler x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Nick Fowler x Reader x Bucky Barnes)

You’re unwillingly caught in a battle between a nightclub owner, Nick, and his bouncer, Bucky.

Push and Pull 🔥🛑 💞 (nightclub) 💙

Summary: Nick wants what Bucky has.

Back and Forth

Mob

Nick has the world in palm of his hands. It’s too bad someone wants to destroy it.

Bride and Groom

Summary: Nick lives in a dangerous world, but it won't stop him from marrying the love of his life.

Read Between the Lies (Featuring Max Burnett x Reader)

The Truth Will Set You Free 🔥🛑

Summary: An agent from Max's past has some questions for you.

Skeptical

Summary: Nick lives in a dangerous world, but it won’t stop him from marrying the love of his life.

Summary: Nick and Max have a conversation.

Reluctant

Summary: Max and Nick say you're not playing a game, but you find yourself to be a reluctant player anyway.

One Shots, Drabbles, Headcanons & Imagines

Soft Spot 🔥

Summary: Nick has only one soft spot...you.

Gratification 🔥💙

Summary: A ring on your finger isn't enough to satisfy Nick Fowler.

Wake Up Call 🔥

Summary: Just a morning in bed with Nick.

Coming Home 🔥

Summary: You welcome Nick home after a mission.

Just a Dream

Summary: The stranger in your dreams seems familiar to you.

Hell Hath No Fury 🔥

Summary: You show Mace that Nick belongs to you.

Falling Apart for You 🔥

Summary: You’ve been hurt before, but Nick will wait for you.

Give It to Me 🔥

Summary: One is never enough for Nick, so why not return the favor?

Trust Me 🔥

Summary: Nick just needs a little push to get things to the next level.

Put on a Show 🔥

Summary: Nick doesn’t like to share, but he’ll let you put on a show.

Christmas Karma

Summary: Nick doesn’t appreciate anyone pushing you around, especially when you’re shopping.

Salt in the Open Wound 🔥 🛑 💞 (a/b/o)

Summary: Nick's jealousy gets the better of him when you take an assignment with another alpha.

Monster in Your Head 🔥 🛑 💞 (demon)

Summary: After being captured and sold to a powerful demon, Nick, you begin to wonder if you're right where you belong.

With This Ring 🔥 🛑

Summary: Nick wants you to be his wife, even if you don't think you're ready.

#navybrat writes #nick fowler x reader #nick fowler x you #nick fowler x y/n #nick fowler x female reader #alpha!nick fowler x omega!reader #demon!nick fowler x angel!reader #nick fowler imagine #nick fowler fanfiction #nick fowler masterlist #nick fowler

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hinducosmos · 2 years

Photo

Laksmi-Narayana: Combined form of Vishnu and his Consort Laksmi 18th century Nepal. Opaque watercolor on paper Stella Kramrisch Collection (via Philadelphia Museum of Art)

Here the divine couple Vishnu and Lakshmi merge to create a single being. Known as Vaikuntha-Kamalaja, this form appears mostly in Nepal and the neighboring highlands of India. Green-skinned Vishnu holds his identifying objects (discus, conch, mace, and lotus) while white-skinned Lakshmi carries a vase, rosary, and book.

#Ardhanari #Vaikuntha Kamalaja #Vishnu #Lakshmi #hindu #hinduism #antique #nepalese painting

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ficsilike-reblogged · 3 years

Text

Sea Salt: One

Summary: As a noblewoman from a small (and nefarious) kingdom in the Stepstones and quiet Lady-in-Waiting to Princess Elia Martell, she is accustomed to being looked through rather than looked at. The only exceptions to this rule are Prince Oberyn and Lord Willas Tyrell but they are often far from the dark shadows of the Red Keep or Dragonstone. She finds comfort in her quiet friendship with the princess and the delight of the darling royal children. But as Prince Rhaegar places a wreath of blue roses in the lap of Lady Lyanna Stark and rebellion starts to rage, she knows she will have to live up to her reputation. But luckily, she seems to have two allies lurking in the shadows.

Pairing(s): Eventual Willas Tyrell/F!Reader/Oberyn Martell/Ellaria Sand

Word Count: 10.2k (these are all going to be monster chapters. I apologize)

Rating for this chapter: T for a bit of violence. but not much. my over-use of italics and my love for ASOIAF lore. If you have any questions or need clarifications, please just ask! I’m playing fast and loose with a bit of it, and a few ages, too. But I’m always happy to answer any questions you have!

(banner by my darling @starlight-starwrites)

Chapter One: The Salt of the Tears

Or you can read on Ao3!

For all its supposed charms and storied history, Westeros had very few redeeming qualities. Most of the noblemen Y/N was forced to associate with during her time in the kingdom were filled with intolerable hubris and a lack of humor. They also liked to joke about her ‘little kingdom’ in the Stepstones as being inferior and nefarious—it would have been better if they could actually choose what they wanted to call her home. It seemed to be impossible to be both inferior and nefarious. And everything was so…bland this side of the Narrow Sea. She was used to Skilliga where people could trace their ancestries to Yi-Ti, the Summer Isles, the Bone Mountains, and beyond, all of them proud and varied. All of them fleeing the constrictions of their old lands and finding freedom in the islands and the homes they dug into the rock. They were proud to defend themselves in any way that was necessary and gained riches and notoriety with their famed corsairs. And, finally, the clothes were itchy and constricting and the food was largely unseasoned.

But there were a few bright spots in her time in the Seven Kingdoms. Mostly, it was Princess Elia Martell. Her nearest and dearest friend. Accepting the position had not truly been her decision anyway. She had been woken up by her uncle Hammond, the king of their little kingdom, nearly four years ago with him tossing a heavy scroll at her head.

“Tywin Lannister is offering to open up trade with Westeros again if you behave yourself at Court and marry some lord they choose. I’ve had your things packed. You leave at sunup.”

And Y/N knew that she was serving her kingdom by becoming a faceless peon for some pompous princess and then, perhaps, a broodmare for some strange man—but that did not mean she was going to be happy about it. In fact, she had been fully prepared to be the worst lady’s maid the Seven Kingdoms had ever seen…until Princess Elia.

Elia with her quick wit and soft smiles.

Elia with her musical laughter and unfailing loyalty.

Elia. The best friend she had never dreamed of ever gaining.

They would spend hours together in either her rooms or Elia’s chambers at Dragonstone, speaking of their lives before the Targaryens, laughing about the charades of courtly life, and dreaming about their futures.

“What type of queen will you be?” Y/N asked with a tease as they passed a jug of sweet grape juice between them. Rhaegar was out…somewhere, probably pondering some ancient prophecy that didn’t make any sense, and Y/N was happy to not have to pretend to care about anything that came out between his thin lips. “Quiet and mysterious?”

Elia laughed and shook her head. “I have had my fill of being quiet, I think. No. I do not want to be a quiet queen.”

“No? Then you may be the boisterous queen, always telling Tywin Lannister than his ideas are preposterous and he is not the true king of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Elia shushed her, fighting another bout of giggles and reached for the jug but knocked one of the numerous pillows from the bed, revealing a small blade atop the blankets. “Another one?” Elia asked with a huff. She handed the blade over with a frown. “Honestly, dear heart, you seem to think that everyone means you harm.”

Y/N took it and carefully hid it away in another place with a shrug of her shoulder. “I have met only three people who I would trust to not stab me through the heart when I’ve turned my back. It is better to be prepared than to be caught unaware.”

“Please tell me that you do not still keep half a dozen blades on your person when we go to court or the market.”

“Of course not.”

“Oh, good-”

“It is now a perfect dozen.”

Elia walloped her with a pillow, fighting another laugh. “You are a menace.”

“I am your most trusted confidante in this wretched city,” Y/N retorted, knocking the pillow away with a smirk. “You need better friends.”

Elia shook her head, still smiling. “You are enough trouble for several lifetimes, dear heart. You and Oberyn will be the cause of all my grey hair before Rhaenys reaches her fifth nameday, I am sure of it.”

Y/N smiled at the sound of the Dornish prince’s name. It had been too long since she had seen him. While he had been somewhat sent into exile after the suspicious death of Lord Yronwood, the youngest Martell had hopped across the Narrow Sea to become a sellsword for a moment after growing bored at the Citadel and visiting his sister at Dragonstone where he had met Y/N and she had somehow endeared herself to him. “He will be joining you for the tourney at Harrenhal, yes?”

The princess nodded. “It will be good to see him. I always hated knowing he was off in Essos.” Elia sighed before she glanced at Y/N. “And I’ve received word that Lord Willas will also be in attendance.”

“Do not.”

“Do not what?” Elia repeated, leaning closer to her friend with a conspiratorial smile. “I simply mentioned his name.”

“You know exactly what you are doing!” Y/N growled, knowing it would only mean Elia had won—as she always did.

Willas was the firstborn of Mace Tyrell, the Lord of Highgarden, and Lady Alerie Hightower. He’d been an only child for most of his life, his mother having trouble carrying to term several times before little Garlan was born over a decade later. And Y/N was very fond of Willas, just as he seemed fond of her. He was happy to make her laugh when he was at court, seeking her out when he should have been speaking with Rhaegar and gaining the crown prince’s favor for The Reach (not that it was necessary) or attending some vapid luncheon with other noblemen.

“He is a good man. And you deserve a good man.” Elia patted her shoulder, soft smile on her face.

“He is the heir to Highgarden-”

“Mama?” A quiet voice at the door had them turning to see little Rhaenys, rubbing her teary eyes. Her kitten, little Balerion, was sitting dutifully at his princess’ feet and quickly kept pace on his little legs when she walked into the room.

“Come here, sunshine,” Elia said, opening her arms toward her daughter and carefully scooping her up onto the bed. She gently pushed Rhaenys’ hair away from her damp cheeks and kissed her forehead. “Tell me what is wrong, my love.”

“Another nightmare?” Y/N asked. Balerion meowed until she bent down and helped him onto the bed where he quickly curled into a ball in the princesses’ laps.

Rhaenys nodded, a few more tears trailing down her cheeks. “It was scary, mama. A big dog came in and…” she hiccupped and Y/N felt her chest squeeze at the little girl’s pain.

Elia hummed and patiently waited for Rhaenys to finish telling her what she had seen in her dream. While the massive dog her mind had conjured scared her, it was the manticore that crawled from beneath her father’s bed that truly frightened her. Its vicious tail going straight for her throat over and over again until she woke up with little Balerion pawing at her nightgown, trying to stop her cries. “It is just a dream, sunshine. You are safe here. I will not let anything hurt you.”

Rhaenys sniffled and nodded but continued to hold her mother tight. “I know, mama. You and Lady Y/N will protect me.”

Y/N reached out and curled the lone strand of silver hair that Rhaenys had around her finger. “Of course we will, princess. Our world needs its Sunshine.”

The little princess finally turned her head out of her mother’s chest and smiled at Y/N, tears still gathering at the sides of her eyes. “I’m your sunshine, too?”

“You are,” Y/N said with a smile, gently tugging at silver strand before letting it curl back around her ear. “You are my sunshine, your mother’s sunshine, your grandmother’s sunshine, uncle Oberyn-”

“And father?” Rhaenys asked. “Am I his sunshine, too?”

“Of course,” Elia said and then kissed Rhaenys’ hair again. “Your father loves you very much.”

The three spoke in hushed tones for a little longer—just long enough for the little princess to fall asleep in her mother’s arms. Elia was careful as she slid off Y/N’s featherbed and kept her daughter in her grasp.

“I suppose it is time for us all to retire.”

Y/N nodded and offered to help put Rhaenys back to bed but was waved off by Elia, as she knew she would be. Elia was always fond of the little, quiet moments she stole with her daughter. Away from the pretenses of courtly life and the expectations of her husband’s father. This was Elia at her brightest, her strongest. When it was just her and her sunshine.

Y/N often wondered if she’d ever have moments like that—moments of soft reprieve from the trials of courtly life, either here in Westeros or back home in Skilliga, near the Stepstones in the Narrow Sea. She also wondered if Rhaegar would ever pull his head out of his ass and realize that Elia was his wife and not some thoughtless vase he could ignore and only pick up out of necessity. She wondered what the future held. For everyone.

But, whatever it did, she hoped it treated Elia well. It was what the princess deserved.

Y/N gently rubbed Elia’s back with a frown. It was the third time this morning that they had to have the wheelhouse stop so the princess could empty her rolling stomach. She quickly handed Elia a bit of juice and a damp cloth as she stood tall again with a wince.

“It was like this with Rhaenys,” Elia murmured, a hand cradling her stomach. The maester had confirmed she was with child again, the day before they set off toward Harrenhal for this stupid tourney. "You remember, don't you?"

Y/N did. And she worried then, too. But the Maester had also found that this would be Elia’s last pregnancy. Her body would not be able to handle another. And Rhaegar had only nodded once before turning and excusing himself from Elia’s chambers to play his stupid harp, looking out his chamber windows with a familiar (and consistently grating) pensive look on his face.

“The dragon must have three heads,” was all Y/N heard him say when she was eavesdropping on the conversation the husband and wife shared later that night. He was obsessed with some sort of prophecy. It was as if he didn’t care that his wife was of fragile health and pregnant with his child.

Y/N hated him.

Hated the stupid, silver-haired prince.

“We can stop for the day,” Y/N said. “It is not as if the tourney will be held up by your absence. You need your rest.”

Elia shook her head and told the wheelhouse driver to continue on and the large caravan started to move again. “The sooner we arrive, the sooner I can rest. You know I do not sleep well on the road.”

Rhaenys, the little sun, had slept through most of the travel, curled up on the velvet pillows on the other side of the wheelhouse, barely aware of any goings-on aside from when they stopped for the night or meals. And that was the way Elia preferred it, sheltering her daughter from courtly life and its trappings.

Elia reached out and patted her hand with a small smile. “It is worth it, dear heart.” She leaned back and shut her eyes for a moment. “I know when I hold this babe in my arms, all of this will seem like a distant memory. All of it…all of this is worth it.”

Y/N was not convinced. But she nodded anyway. “Tell me, do you think Ser Arthur will beat Rhaegar this time?”

Elia laughed.

The tourney was the largest the Seven Kingdoms had seen in generations. Ten days filled with jousting, melees, archery, axe-throwing, and horse racing. And feasting. Every night ended with a feast in Harrenhal’s great room, filled with piles of food and jugs of expensive wine and ale.

It was exhausting. And much too far from a substantial body of water for her to feel truly comfortable. She needed the sea, the water. Thankfully, Rhaenys also found the tourney lacking and was happy to accompany Y/N to the edge of the lake known as the God’s Eye and they enjoyed the chilled water and allowed the hungry fish to nibble at their ankles.

Y/N had grown up watching horse races, bet on boat races around the islands of Skilliga, and even participated in a few events herself. This tourney was…boring. Excessively so. Elia, more than once, had to nudge her to keep her from dozing in their box. Thankfully, the company was good.

Arthur Dayne was a kind man, a fine knight, a member of the fabled Kingsguard and Sword of the Morning. Y/N was sure they would sing songs of his deeds long after his soul had left. And he had the honor of knowing he was the crown prince’s dearest friend. (Y/N did not think this was an honor but did not voice that to the kind knight and tried not to hold it against him.)

But Y/N saw how his eyes softened whenever Elia would appear. His easy smile was near-permanent whenever she would whisper into his ear with some joke or story. He was in love. A soft, gentle love with a bedrock foundation. It was so different than the lukewarm platitudes Rhaegar dealt her within the confines of their marriage.

Maybe in a different life, Elia and Arthur could have lived a happy life in Dorne together. Far away from the Mad King’s machinations and paranoid delusions and Rhaegar’s apathy. But now, in this life, Arthur had to be content to simply stand at her back in their royal box when he was not participating in the tourney—right now he was readying for his turn in the melee and Elia had wished him luck before he departed.

Ser Lewyn, Elia’s uncle and knight of the Kingsguard, was another knight assigned to their box and they knew they could speak freely in his presence. He was a man of quick wit and fiercely protective of his niece and her baby. He was one of the few people who knew of Elia’s second pregnancy and was quick to have a servant fetch her something to eat or drink if needed. “And you are as lovely, as always, Lady Y/N,” Lewyn would say with a wink. He was such a flirt—but it was always in good humor. She knew him to have a lover in King’s Landing to whom he was devoted.

For the moment, Elia and Y/N were alone in their box, unguarded. She knew that anyone would be foolish to try anything but it still set her on edge when she noticed the fabric at the back start to sway with someone coming up. Her hand slowly slipped toward one of the small blades she kept in her boot but then she recognized the man slipping into the box. It was Oberyn—three days late and smirking. He winked at Y/N and pressed a finger to his lips before he snuck up on Elia and roared with laughter when she nearly leapt from her seat when his hands clapped over her shoulders. “You brute!” She yelled as she smacked his arm. “I have told you a thousand times to cease your sneaking!” But she laughed on the last word, betraying her happiness to see her younger brother.

Oberyn was just as dashing as he had always been, just as confident. And just as unattainable. He was more than a handful of years older than her and as much as his reputation preceded him, was very picky on whom he lathed attention.

She was too young for him. He has said so himself not a year ago at their last meeting when Y/N had all but thrown herself at him, too into her cups to stop herself.

“You have so much life ahead of you. I would not dare think I was worthy of usurping your time when you have the world at your feet.”

It was a gentle rejection, but a rejection all the same. He was a good man, leagues far and away from the men who would jump at a chance to bed a young highborn girl or take her to wife. But that did not mean her heart did not clench every time he smiled at her or whispered a joke in her ear at the expense of the tourney knights or an unrepentant letch of a lord who caught his eye between jousts. He told them of his adventures with the Second Sons and how he founded his own sellsword company, too, after he grew tired of the politics within the Sons’ hierarchy while Elia and Y/N told him of the ‘excitement’ of the tourney and the actual excitement of the appearance and disappearance of the Knight of the Laughing Tree just the day past. King Aerys, raging and paranoid, had even sent Rhaegar to find the mystery knight and unmask him but the dragon prince came up emptyhanded.

“And I see little Lord Willas is here,” Oberyn said, dipping his head just so to indicate the box opposite them, across the jousting grounds. Willas was sitting at his father’s side, the shining wood of his cane visible even from a distance as it leaned against the seat beside him.

It was only Y/N’s third day in the kingdom when she attended the tourney when the accident happened. She knew Willas to be too young to truly be participating, he was only a few years older than Y/N, but Lord Mace Tyrell had pushed him. When Oberyn met him on the field, it was an accident. A tragic accident. Willas’ leg was crushed beneath his horse and Oberyn had been mortified, sending the Dornish healers he’d brought with him to the tourney to care for the young lord.

But the damage had been done.

Willa’s leg was in constant need of a brace and he walked with a cane. The Tyrells blamed Oberyn for crippling their heir. Well, most of them did. Willas bore no ill-will toward Oberyn and was often seeking him out when they were both present. “I am not sure if it is to spite his father or to truly try to mend the divisions between Dorne and The Reach all on his own.”

“I believe he seeks out your attentions because he enjoys you as much I do, my prince. Willas is not the sort to have ulterior motives when it comes to his companions or friends. If he did, I assume he would tolerate our dear Rhaegar’s presence a bit more,” Y/N mused as she half-heartedly clapped for the nameless, faceless victor of that round. She had stopped paying attention ages ago.

Oberyn huffed at that and turned to look at Willas and he caught the lord’s eye.

Willas raised his hand in greeting, a soft smile on his face—until Mace grabbed his wrist and all but shoved his son’s hand back down.

Y/N did not stop the laugh that bubbled out of her throat, even as Elia nudged her.

“He does blush such a pretty pink,” Oberyn mused, earning himself a nudge from Elia, too. “Do you think he will finally ask you to dance tonight, little shark?” He winked with the well-worn nickname, stemming from her house’s sigil of a large, white shark.

Y/N quickly turned in her seat to stare at Elia who looked away, a sly smile on her face. “Please tell me you did not speak to your brother about Willas.”

“I have no idea what you are insinuating, dear heart.”

“Willas is a good man, little shark. But you will have to contend with his family if you finally allow him to court you.” Oberyn patted her knee. “You will need every bit of your Skilligan strength to stop yourself from killing them.”

“Hush, Oberyn. They are not all terrible.”

“You, dear sister, are the soon-to-be Queen Consort of the Seven Kingdoms. It would be improper to think of you as anything other than the Realm’s Sun.” Oberyn smiled as Elia rolled her eyes. “I am the man who crippled their heir.”

“Willas does not believe it was your fault. We just need for Mace Tyrell to die and Dorne and The Reach will once again be fair weather allies. Olenna and Alerie are much more agreeable.”

“I could help,” Lewyn said as he stepped back into the box, carrying a sleeping Rhaenys. The two had slipped away from the festivities when the little princess complained of a headache and her great-uncle had been happy to shepherd her away for some rest in the shade and a bit of juice. Elia easily took her daughter into her arms and let her continue to sleep against her chest.

“A kind offer, uncle. But Oberyn is simply continuing to be the most dramatic of Martells.”

Lewyn reached forward and bopped his nephew on the head with a smirk. “I know.”

The day gave way to night and they were once again shuffled off to the Great Hall of Harrenhal for the night’s feast and dancing. Ashara Dayne, Arthur’s sister and another companion to Elia, joined them at their table, looking a little flustered as her pretty purple eyes kept jumping toward a table near the door where a small grouping of Northmen were seated.

“Which one has caught your eye?” Y/N whispered to her, trying to figure out which solemn-faced man captured her attention. Ashara was a romantic, always singing love songs to Rhaenys before her afternoon naps. She was kind-hearted and sweet, if not a little shy. Y/N enjoyed her company and how she cared for Elia. That was all that truly mattered anyway.

“The quiet one,” Ashara murmured.

“They are all quiet,” Elia said in return, also trying to figure out which one Ashara was speaking about. “Except for that she-wolf. She seems fond of making noise. I heard she thoroughly beat a handful of men for attacking that little Crannogman.”

“And then the Knight of the Laughing Tree beat them again at the joust,” Y/N muttered, thinking aloud. “Curious.” She turned to Elia. “Tell me, was the she-wolf in her box when that knight took his turns at the joust?”

Elia looked at her with a frown. “What are you implying, dear heart?”

“I do not know,” Y/N said with a shrug but then her eyes narrowed on one of the Starks at the table and poked Ashara. “That one? With the dour expression?”

“He is not dour.” It was nearly a pout. “He is just…quiet.”

Elia hummed and nodded. “Hm. Yes. The Quiet Wolf. I believe his name is Eddard. His brothers call him Ned. Is that right?”

Ashara’s cheeks bloomed with color and she looked away. “Yes, his name is Ned.”

Elia and Y/N teased their friend a little longer before the night’s festivities started and the people splintered off for dancing or singing or drinking contests—Robert Baratheon was the current champion of that impromptu tourney. Elia wanted to listen to music and had Y/N and Ashara move with her to one of the smaller chambers where they could hear someone plucking at a harp’s strings.

What they saw when they arrived was not entirely welcome.

Rhaegar was sitting on a bench, his familiar harp across his lap, and the she-wolf beside him with tears in her eyes as he sang a sad song they had all heard hundreds of times. (It was not as if he could write songs himself.) The young girl was clearly besotted with the prince.

“Princess,” Ashara murmured, turning toward Elia, trying to shield her from the sight. “I do believe Arthur is in the next room over. You promised him a dance, did you not?”

Y/N watched Elia straighten her shoulders and press a practiced smile to her face. “Yes, I believe I did. I could definitely benefit from a bit of revelry anyway.”

And one dance turned into two and then three as Arthur coaxed smiles from Elia that had Y/N releasing a breath she did not know she was holding.

She could kill Rhaegar, should kill him. She didn’t care if she was sent to the Black Cells for the rest of her life or if her head wound up on a spike—if it meant Elia was free. Free to love her babies without reproach for not looking Valyrian. Free to love whom she pleased (probably Arthur). Free to laugh and smile and dance. Free.

That was all Y/N wanted for her friend.

She watched the quiet wolf’s brother, Brandon she thought his name was, approach Ashara and point out Eddard who seemed to be trying to hide behind his tankard of ale with a vibrant blush on his cheeks. Ashara quickly made sure that Y/N was fine on her own before letting the elder Stark wave his brother over and they slowly, adorably started to dance. She watched from for a while and then spotted Elia now dancing with Lewyn with a sleepy Rhaenys balanced on her hip, too.

A quiet, rhythmic tapping of wood against stone caught her attention over the din of the music and she turned to see Willas stepping to stand at her side, a small smile on his face. “My lady,” he said with a tip of his head.

“My lord,” she replied with a smile of her own and a small curtsey. “It is good to see you again. Dragonstone and King’s Landing are far less agreeable since you were called back to Highgarden.”

Willas smiled, tucking his chin a bit. “I would prefer to be at your side, even if it is in that snake pit.” Y/N patted the seat beside her but he shook his head and held out a hand toward her. She didn’t comment on how his fingers shook. “I cannot dance, not truly, anyway. But I would be honored if you allowed me the honor of spending the next song with you.”

The smile that crept across her face could not be stopped and she quickly placed her hand in his and stood as the last beats of the song started. They took their position toward the edge of the floor, trying to keep to themselves as the next song started. And it was true, they could not truly dance. His leg could not accommodate the stomps and hard turns the song called for—but it was okay, because she had not taken the time to memorize the steps anyway. Instead, they swayed in time with the beat, taking an occasional turn to step to the side, ignoring how some onlookers clicked their tongues or whispered behind their hands about how ridiculous they might look.

“Tell me, how is Highgarden?”

“It is just as lovely as I have said before. My father is insisting on building a new aviary for my next nameday.”

“I assume this is because you mentioned once that you wanted to take up hawking? Hm?” She asked with another grin.

“He wants, so desperately, for me to be some sort of great man. Fit for song and legend. I think I will only continue to disappoint him.”

Y/N stopped her uneven swaying and simply squeezed his hands. “You are not a disappointment, Willas. You are the most intelligent man I have met and you are a capable man—capable of ruling HIghgharden in a way worthy of song. You do not need to be a warrior for that. I do believe that the world needs more smart, kind men. Like you.”

Willas sighed and shook his head. “You are too kind, my lady. But I do doubt that my father will be convinced of your reasoning.”

“Well, perhaps it is better that you are your grandmother’s favorite instead of your father’s. Your mind can and should be your greatest asset, Willas. It is one of the things I admire most about you.”

He finally looked up at her, another shy smile on his lips. “You admire me?”

“Of course. How could I not?”

His pale cheeks flooded with color and he nearly stumbled on the next step but quickly righted himself but stopped moving, holding her hands just a bit tighter. “My lady, I… Y/N…I was hoping if you would give me the honor of-”

Y/N nearly fell as someone collided with her back and Willas’s cane slapped to the floor in a clatter, gaining too much attention for Willas to continue.

Y/N turned to see some Northern lord—Roose Bolton, if she remembered correctly—sneering at her and Willas.

“Careful, my lady.” His voice was low and deep and might have been soothing to listen to if his pallid and angular face did not betray the complete lack of soul beneath his skin. She had only one other interaction with him and it had been on the tourney fields just before the first joust and he had been sneering with a few of his bannermen about how the Dornish knights must be tiny men with how small their horses seemed. (Of course, the Dornish Sand Steeds were smaller, but they were also faster and more durable than the horses these Northern lords were so fond of and could outlast them for days. Y/N had laughed heartily when Roose had been unseated by a Dornish knight not yet past his five-and-ten nameday.)

Willas huffed as Roose walked away and shook his head. “I will never understand that man. But if he was half as handsome as he was clever, the Realm would be in peril. I do not trust him.”

“I cannot say I enjoy his presence either.” She brushed away her discomfort and turned back to Willas, trying to press a smile onto her lips. “But what were you saying?”

Willas opened his mouth and was quickly interrupted again by Ashara, who did look apologetic to her credit, tugging at her sleeve. “Princess Elia requires our presence, my lady.”

She turned back to see Willas sigh before he nodded once. Before Y/N could excuse herself, he grasped her hand and pressed a kiss to her fingers. “I will find you again, my lady. Please enjoy the rest of your night.”

Y/N squeezed his hand before letting it drop back down to her side. She wished him well with her heart a little heavier in her chest, and let Ashara lead her back toward Elia who was standing with Lewyn and Oberyn and clutching a sleeping Rhaenys to her chest. But that was not what bothered her. No. It was the tears in Elia’s eyes and how Oberyn seemed ready to run his sword through anyone who looked at him incorrectly. “What is it? What has happened?”

Oberyn turned to her, teeth bared in a snarl. “The Mad King has once again let his thoughts be known that Rhaenys is too Dornish for his tastes.”

“She woke from a nightmare and I took her to her mother,” Lewyn explained. His large hand was pressing against Rhaenys’ back and Elia’s hands, a warm grounding force. “His Grace was nearby and little Rhaenys waved at him—she knows him as her grandfather.”

“Of course she does. Rhaenys’ heart is much too big.”

“And he turned his lip up at her and called her a…” Elia sniffled and held her daughter tighter. “A burnt leaf on the Targaryen tree. He said the only reason he knew she was his son’s daughter was the bit of silver hair she had.”

“How cruel!” Y/N exclaimed before turning to Lewyn. “Tell me no one heard him. Tell me that king of yours did not say this in front of anyone but you.”

And Lewyn’s answering silence was heartbreaking. He only continued to hold Elia and Rhaenys a little closer, a shallow consolation.

“The room was filled with people. Even the prince was there—he said nothing to stop his father’s tirade. Against his own daughter!” Oberyn was raging.

“Did Rhaenys know what he was saying?”

Elia shook her head, a tear slipping down her cheek. “No. She only thinks the best in people, my little sunshine. She was happy to be called a leaf.”

Y/N sighed and stepped forward to wipe the tear from her friend’s cheek and press a kiss to the sleeping child’s head. “The old man’s time is coming. I promise you that.”

“Y/N!” Ashara hissed. “You cannot say such things.”

“I will say such things when he says such things. Damn my uncle’s trade agreement. Damn it all. I will kill a king. I will do it.”

“No, no, dear heart. I cannot ask that of you—nor you, Oberyn,” Elia said, watery eyes cutting toward her brother. “I need you both at my side to handle whatever comes next.”

What came next, however, was Rhaegar winning the jousting tourney, with Elia’s favor hanging on the handle of his lance. There was a stupid tradition of the victor crowning a woman the ‘Queen of Love and Beauty’ and giving them a crown of blue roses. Y/N expected for Rhaegar to place the small bunch of flowers on Elia’s lap and be done with it.

But no.

The silver-haired prat rode right by his wife and laid the wreath in the lap of the she-wolf, Lyanna Stark.

All the smiles died.

Elia grasped Y/N’s wrist as she moved to stand, keeping her seated. “Your anger is appreciated. But I would not have more eyes on me for my husband’s indiscretions.”

It did nothing to quell the rage she felt burning in her throat. But she could be quiet. “I have Sweetsleep in my bag.”

“Y/N,” Elia snorted and shook her head. “No.”

“You’re right. Tears of Lys would be a better suit for his crimes against you.”

Elia finally uncurled her fingers only to tangle them with her friend’s as she managed a small smile. “You make me smile. Even when my heart is full of sorrow.”

Y/N’s kissed her friend’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “You deserve to smile, Princess. I will gladly play the fool if it makes you happy.”

Elia nodded and patted her hand. “I know, dear heart. I know it very well. But I…” the words died on her tongue as she turned to look around the box and found it lacking… “Oberyn.”

But Oberyn was already gone.

“Find him,” Elia whispered in a rush. “Before he does something rash. Stop him.”

Y/N instantly shot to her feet and darted out of the box in search of the Dornish prince. Luckily, it did not take long for her to find him, he was only a few paces away with his spear in hand.

She reached out and grabbed Oberyn’s arm and pulled him to a stop. “You cannot, my prince.”

“He has dishonored my sister in front of the entire kingdom. You cannot think to stop me from taking vengeance.”

“Elia said no. Would you hurt her further? You would be caught and executed and she and little Rhaenys would be as well. You know the Mad King’s wrath knows no bounds.”

Oberyn’s shoulders slumped but his teeth remained bared. “You are both too kind.”

“I offered to put Tears of Lys in his wine. I am not kind. But I would not make Elia suffer more than she already has.” She paused and watched Oberyn nod, appeased—for now. “Come, let us try to make our princess smile, hm?” Oberyn was breathing hard and Y/N pressed her hands against his chest, trying to help him breathe a little easier. “Calm—for now, at least, my prince. Breathe with me.”

He nodded and pulled in a few deep breaths through his nose and his grip on his spear loosened just a fraction. Oberyn leaned forward and brushed a kiss against her forehead. “Despite what you think of yourself, you are gentle hearted, little shark.”

“I know I am the worst sort of woman to have at your sister’s side, apparently. Always ready to murder if it would make her smile. Hardly well-mannered, too.”

“On the contrary, little shark. You are the best friend I could ever hope for her to have.”

The road back to Dragonstone was quiet, thankfully. Rhaegar had ridden ahead of their wheelhouse, not looking at his wife for longer than a few moments and kissed Rhaenys on her head before he set off.

It was for the best, probably. Y/N was not sure she could have stopped herself from murdering him if the opportunity presented itself—and it was always so easy for ‘bandits’ to attack a travelling party.

Oberyn was only able to accompany them so far before he had to divert his path—he had been called back to the sellsword he founded to deal with a contract dispute.

“I do not have to go,” Y/N heard him whisper to Elia the night before he left. “I can stay with you, Rhaenys, the baby. I can stay at your side.”

“I will be fine, Oberyn. I can handle this.”

“I know you can. But I don’t want you to do it on your own.”

“I’m not on my own.”

The wheelhouse hit a bump and Y/N made sure the sleeping princess on her lap didn’t jostle too much. It seemed that Rhaenys could sleep through almost anything. Even if her dreams were becoming increasingly erratic. The last night of the tourney, just a handful of hours after her father crowned a woman who was not her mother, Rhaenys had woken up in tears, babbling about dragons and fire and clouds of snow that never stopped. Elia had hummed her old lullaby until her daughter fell asleep again and it broke Y/N’s heart.

The two women she loved most in the world were hurting and there was nothing she could do about it.

“You’re good with her,” Elia said, a hand over her stomach. “And she adores you.”

Y/N smiled and curled her finger around the errant strand of silver again. “I adore her. I can only hope that if I ever have children, they are half as well behaved as her. She is wonderful, Elia. Your little sunshine.”

Elia smiled and drummed her fingers against her stomach. “I can only hope that this one is less troublesome as they come into the world.”

“I will be with you every step of the way.”

“I know, dear heart.”

And Y/N silently said a prayer to her gods—and then said another to the Seven that Elia was fond of, too—hoping for the best. Wishing for good health for Elia and her babe.

But her prayers were not answered.

Elia’s sickness continued and lingered as her pregnancy progressed and then King Aerys demanded Elia give birth within the ‘safe haven’ of the Red Keep in King’s Landing. He did not care that travel was not advisable in her condition. He did not care that Rhaenys was not sleeping well lately.

The Mad King cared for nothing and no one aside from himself. It was glaringly apparent.

It was just another reason for Y/N to hate these stupid Seven Kingdoms. She missed Skilliga. She missed how she could hear the ocean from every room in her family’s home, a massive, sprawling fortress carved into the steep rock face of the fractured islands—just like every other castle and fortress in their kingdom. She missed how clean the air was in her kingdom—smelling sea salt and fog. King’s Landing smelled of piss and moldy bread. Dragonstone was not home, not really, but it was far better than the city—and she feared far less for her friend there than she did at the capitol.

But she kept her mouth shut and held Elia’s hand as little Aegon came screaming into the world with a few strands of silver hair already crowning his head. But Elia was even more delicate after the birth, frequently needing to rest and seeking the guiding hand of healers who supplied her with calming teas and cooling balms. Y/N felt the exhaustion and relief rolling off her friend in waves as Aerys proudly presented his grandson to court, proclaiming him the heir to the stupid pointy chair. All of this made no sense to Y/N. Rhaenys was born first—did it truly matter that she was a girl? Women were set to inherit just as much as men in Skilliga—it simply mattered who was born first.

Oberyn had proudly told her that it was the same custom in Dorne—but the other six kingdoms in Westeros did not follow those rules.

And while the court celebrated the birth of another heir, Rhaegar took it upon himself to remind his wife that, “the dragon must have three heads,” before he kissed Elia’s brow and set off toward the vast library—again.

Arthur, however, hovered between dutifully following his prince and friend and staying at Elia’s side. The rigidity in her posture let those who knew her best know she was close to tears even though her smile had not moved from her face as she watched Queen Rhaella happily parade her grandson around the throne room, letting her ladies maids ooh-and-ahh over the new prince.

“Go, Arthur,” Elia eventually murmured. “I know he needs you.”

The famed knight’s shoulders dropped just a fraction before he bowed the slightest bit, excusing himself and walked away.

But Y/N was not done, feeling something bubbling her gut as she watched him near the door and she slipped away and pulled him to a stop.

“My lady?” Arthur said, eyebrows scrunched together as he looked at her hand on his arm.

“Ser Arthur, if you love her, as I know you do, protect her. Do right by her, by her beautiful children. Try to make Rhaegar see reason. See that his wife is good and gentle and all he needs.”

Arthur, proud, sweet Arthur, nearly crumpled at that and he nodded—just once—before turning and walking away.

“What did you say to him?”

Y/N turned at the sound of the small voice to see Prince Viserys looking up at her with hard, lilac-colored eyes. It must have been a miracle for him to escape the ever-present Septa and guard at his side—Aerys and Rhaella seemed to be hellbent on protecting their second son from some unseen threat. “I told him to make sure your brother stays out of trouble, princeling.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“And I don’t think that matters. Your mother will be looking for you.”

His thin lips pulled into an even thinner line but he nodded and walked away.

Apparently the Targaryen family was filled with presumptuous little pigeons. Truly, the only ones Y/N truly liked were Rhaenys (who was more of a Martell anyway) and Rhaella (whom she rarely saw as she was constantly nursing healing bruises and cuts from her husband’s ‘attentions’.) And she was sure Aegon would take after his mother too, making him another one of the few the Seven Kingdoms did not deserve. But Y/N pushed that thought out of her mind as she discovered Elia, still cradling Aegon, weeping in her chambers that night. A bit of parchment was set beside her on her undone featherbed and Y/N hurriedly tried to stop her tears, to know why her dearest friend was crying, but Elia only pointed a finger at the parchment and silently told Y/N to read it.

The seal of a snarling wolf was stamped on it with a wax seal and she could already feel herself growing angry.

The missive was short. But it said enough. It was from the she-wolf, Lyanna Stark. She was responding to the raven Rhaegar must have sent earlier—stating that she would meet him in the Riverlands in just a few moons’ time and that she was excited to be at his side, and away from her oaf of a betrothed, Robert Baratheon.

Y/N crumpled the note and threw it into the roaring hearth.

“I’m going to kill him.”

Elia sniffled and shook her head. “You cannot. I will not have my babies grow up without a father.”

“And I cannot have him shame you so. You deserve more than this pompous little lizard can give you—crown prince or not.”

Aegon fussed in his mother’s arms but quieted as Elia pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. “Rhaegar told me that he must have three. The prophecy he’s been obsessed with since he was a boy demands it, he believes. Something about the prince who was promised.” Aegon’s little hand reached up toward his mother and Elia caught it, letting his fingers wrap around her as she kissed his thumb with a watery smile. “The wolf girl—she will sate Rhaegar’s need for a third baby.”

“This prophecy he believes in is madness,” she hissed. “I will not allow him to treat you like this-”

“It is done, dear heart. He has made his decision.”

“Have you made yours?”

“What choice do I have?” Elia asked with a mirthless laugh. “He is the crown prince and I am-”

“A princess of Dorne. Mother of his two children.”

Elia waved her hand and looked down at her son. “All I want in this world is for my children to be happy.” She sighed, shoulders sagging under an invisible weight. “It is not the wolf girl’s fault. Rhaegar can be very persuasive. I hold no ill will toward her.”

“And toward Rhaegar?”

Elia’s beautiful eyes cut to her before falling down to her lap. She did not answer.

“The offer still stands for me to kill him, you know.”

“I know, dear heart. And I thank you for it. But I need you by my side. I know the times ahead will be turbulent. The Realm has not had a king with more than one queen since Maegor the Cruel.”

“He means to marry her?” Y/N hissed. The anger she felt bubbling grew hotter as Elia nodded and wiped at her cheeks.

“We shall both be his queens, I suppose.” Elia paused and sniffled once more. “I could love the child she bears Rhaegar as my own.”

And that took the wind from Y/N’s sails in an instant. Plans for a slow murder evaporate and she crossed the room to sit at Elia’s side, her hands coming up to rest on her friend’s shoulders, mindful of the babe in her arms. “Your heart was always too big,” Y/N said. “And I shall be at your side until the end of my days.”

Dragonstone was a welcome reprieve from King’s Landing. She could truly smell the sea again, leeching a bit of the tension from her shoulders. It was even more of a respite when Rhaegar left (again). He had been playing his stupid harp and looking even more melancholy than usual before he kissed Rhaenys and Aegon on their little heads and bit Elia farewell.

Y/N knew what he was setting off to do—the little She-Wolf waited for him.

And she also knew that Arthur had finally confessed his repressed feelings for Elia and had gently kissed her under rising sun before he was called away by an unsuspecting and unknowing Rhaegar who waited for his trusted friend at the gates of the castle. She had spied it from her chamber window and had not told Elia what she had witnessed, only noting that she was fond of smiling that day. The smiles continued as Elia received ravens from Oberyn and Willas, filled with words of congratulations for her new babe and well wishes for her and her growing family. “And Oberyn wants you to know that you are not allowed to be Aegon’s favorite as you are Rhaenys’—he has deemed it selfish and he will challenge you to a duel if it seems that Aegon prefers your company to his when he visits next.” Elia laughed and showed her the slip of parchment with Oberyn’s flourishing handwriting.

“And Willas wishes for me to give you his best, and hopes that you remember your dance at the tourney as fondly as he does.” Y/N tried to pull the parchment from Elia’s fingers but it was jerked away at the last moment as Elia laughed. “Oh no, dear heart. I am going to keep this to read when you have babies of your own our dear little Willas!”

But the smiles would not last.

It started as whispers than grew to a scream. Lyanna Stark had disappeared with Rhaegar Targaryen. Was she kidnapped? Had she gone willingly? Elia had tried to dissuade the Stormlands from taking up arms against the crown, led by a ‘hurt’ Robert Baratheon, but Y/N surmised that the ravens the princess had sent had gone unheeded. The Baratheons wanted blood and they would have it.

And that meant that the paranoia of the Mad King was now proving prophetic.

Aerys had killed two Starks and wanted the heads of the others who were leading the Northern infantry toward the Trident. He wanted Jon Arryn to send him the head of his former ward, Robert Baratheon as a show of loyalty.

Arryn refused.

War raged.

Aerys called Elia back to the capitol.

“He is only doing this to make sure Dorne stays loyal,” Elia whispered to Y/N as they lay together in Elia’s bed as a storm raged outside. “But House Martell keeps its promises—there is no need for threats. No need to keep me and my babies as hostages.”

Tears slipped down Elia’s cheeks and Y/N gently wiped them away. “I will protect you, Elia. I promise you that.”

The sail of the ship was emblazoned with the sigil of House Redwyne—Willas’ grandmother’s house. The stupid burgundy grapes on blue cloth had never been a more beautiful or welcome sight.

Willas.

Her dear, sweet Willas had heeded her call. And now it was time for Y/N keep her loved ones safe. She had a sleeping Rhaenys (and tiny Balerion) in her arms and Elia had a fussing Aegon in hers as they slipped from Elia’s rooms and took the servants’ stairs down to the courtyard and toward the seldom-used docks on the north side of the fortress as thunder rolled overhead with a coming storm. The stone steps had weathered away and the wooden ladder down to the dock had been washed away ages ago. Y/N had to hand Rhaenys to her mother for a moment before she jumped down to the dock and took the sleeping girl back into her arms.

The Redwyne ship was nearly there. Their sails had been pulled down, letting them look like unmarked and unnoticeable trade ships.

“Princess Elia?” A voice boomed in the dark.

Elia looked back toward the castle and then down at Aegon, her grip tightening. Rhaenys stirred in Y/N’s arms and opened her eyes, little brow furrowing at the commotion around her. Y/N carefully set her down on the dock, holding her hand tightly before turning back to Elia.

“You can make it, Elia. Just jump. I will catch you!”

Another shout of her name had Elia looking backward.

“Elia!” She hissed. “We must go!” It would only be a matter of time before someone discovered the three bodies Y/N had dropped to clear the way for the little family. They never saw her or her hidden blades coming in the dark.

But Elia was frozen and the shouts of her name grew louder. Slowly, so slowly, Elia’s head turned and with a flash of lightning, Y/N saw what she was looking at: a fleet of ships blazoned with the three-headed Targaryen sigil headed toward the eastern dock.

They had come.

Elia turned, still clutching Aegon to her chest. She kissed him once more before pressing him down into Y/N’s arms. “Go. Go now before they catch you. Protect my babies.”

“We can make it! Elia, please-”

“Mama!” Rhaenys cried. “Mama!”

“Go, my sunshine. Remember, I will always love you.”

Y/N looked out to see the ships were docked and a small army had come to take Elia and her children away to King’s Landing.

“Princess Elia, you have been commanded by King Aerys to present yourself and your children in court immediately.”

She had to go.

Her choice had been made.

The Redwyne sailors were accommodating to the two crying babes and frazzled, foreign woman on their decks as they sailed toward Skilliga. They made sure they were settled in the captain’s quarters and left them with a bit of water and berries before mentioning that, “Lord Willas hopes you will write to him when we arrive at Skilliga.”

The captain had the good grace to look a bit ashamed before excusing himself.

“Where’s Mama?” Rhaenys asked as she snuggled down into the well-worn blankets of the small bed.

“She is…visiting your grandfather.” The words were bitter on her tongue and she pulled the blankets a little higher to Rhaenys’ chin and kissed her hair. “Get some sleep, sunshine.”

“What about Aegon?” Rhaenys asked, eyes fighting to close.

“I will make sure he gets some sleep, too.”

Content with that answer, Rhaenys nodded and finally let her eyes fully close. And after checking on the little prince, tucked away in a bassinet made of a half barrel and a mound of blankets—a far cry from the golden crib he had at Dragonstone, she let herself cry.

Rhaenys was fond of how her voice echoed in the halls of her temporary home. She would laugh and sing and talk and just listen to it echo as little Balerion circled between her feet. And that gave Y/N a small bit of joy, to know that Rhaenys was still able to smile—even if she asked for her mother every time she work and every time she was tucked into bed. Even if the little princess still screamed with terrible dreams filled with fire and ice almost every night.

Aegon was a happy baby, content to be in Y/N’s arms and babble at the dolphins and sharks he could see from the fortress’ windows.

It was good to be home. Truly, it was. The sound of the sea and the scent of its salt were a balm to her fraying nerves but it was lacking something now—lacking Elia.

Every night, Y/N would pray to each and every god and goddess she could think of to keep Elia safe. To let her come back to her babies. To live the life she wanted to when this rebellion was over.

Every night.

But, again, her prayers were unanswered.

Hammond slipped into her room before the sun rose nearly a year since their escape from Dragonstone and gently woke her by rubbing at her shoulder, like he had done thousands of times before. He had been her father, her only parent, since her parents died of a simple sickness when she was twelve. And now, it seemed, it fell to him to be that parent again.

“I have to tell you something, Y/N. I am so sorry.”

The words rang in her head, echoing over and over again as he continued to tell her what had happened in Westeros. News had reached their little kingdom that Aerys was dead. Rhaegar had been beaten and killed at the Trident. Robert was King. And Elia had been murdered.

“A-are you certain?” She asked, the words strangling the breath from her lungs. “Surely it cannot be-”

“They said the Lannister men presented her body to Robert, rolled in a red curtain.”

A sob wrenched its way out of her throat as she crumpled back into her blankets. Gone. She was gone.

Her uncle let her cry for a moment, sitting on the edge of her bed like a stalwart guard until she caught her breath.

“But there is some strange news, too. It seems the Lannister men thought they needed to prove the Targaryens were dead. Two little bodies were presented to the Usurper too. They claimed they were little Rhaenys and Aegon.”

“What? What? I-”

“Only you, it seems, knew that Elia had come to the capitol alone. They must’ve killed a poor kitchen maid’s children, thinking they were the prince and princess.” His roughened hand gently wiped at her cheeks. “I sent you to that wretched kingdom in hopes that we could strengthen our alliance, grow our fortunes. I am sorry. I am so sorry.”

And Y/N could only cry.

It was only a handful of moons later that a servant came into Y/N’s rooms and announced that a strange man had demanded Y/N meet him on the small island off the shore of her family’s fortress, the only island outsiders could land on safely.

Y/N knew it was stupid to go. Knew it was stupid to kiss Rhaenys and Aegon on the crowns of their head as a nurse Y/N had hired watched them. Knew it was stupid to take the small boat she had carved when she was only eight out to the island by herself. But she did it anyway. She needed it.

On the little island, a small patch of tall, green grass surrounded by soft sand and sharp rock, stood a man she thought had died.

Arthur was standing there, his white KIngsguard cloak long gone and the armor missing as he held a small bundle in his grasp. And he was bleeding. Bleeding bleeding bleeding. But he trudged forward and pressed the small bundle into her arms and then he nearly collapsed to his knees at her feet.

“It is finished.”

She looked down at the bundle and gasped. A baby—there was another baby.

“What? Arthur? What is this? Who?”

“Rhaegar wanted to name him Vaemond. But Lady Lyanna…she kept calling the babe Jon before she even brought him into this wretched world.”

This was Lyanna’s baby. The baby Elia said she would love as her own. And so now, she must, too. Y/N huffed and the babe in her arms squirmed, full lips pulled into a pout. “Then Jon he will be.” Rhaegar had done enough damage to his children. “Where is Lyanna?”

“Dead. The childbed took her.” The words were punched out of him and his unfocused eyes looked at the babe in her arms. “You’ll care for him, won’t you? He’s innocent in all of this.”

“So was Elia. So are Rhaenys and Aegon.”

“So it is true then?” The hopeful gleam in his eye made her chest lurch. “You have her children? They’re safe? I thought it was just rumor that Elia had been alone when she arrived in King’s Landing. I thought she would never leave her babies…”

“She only left them to keep them safe. And, for now, they are safe.”

Arthur was quiet as Y/N looked down at the baby in her arms. Jon’s pudgy little arms reached out toward her and she adjusted her hold to let him wrap his hand around one of her fingers. And she was lost. He was a precious little one. Another babe for her to care for.

Arthur suddenly fell to his knees and Y/N hurried to try to keep him upright while still keeping little Jon comfortable. But Arthur pushed her hands away, leaving blood on her skin from where he had touched her so briefly. “Will she forgive me? When I see her…will she forgive me for helping her husband in this stupid fight for prophecy?” His purple eyes filled with tears and they slipped down his dirty cheeks.

Y/N did not need to ask who he was asking about. She knew. “Elia forgave you the moment it happened.”

Arthur nodded and hung his head. He was finished. “Thank you, my lady.”

“Rest, Arthur. You have earned it.” She placed her hand against his head, the closest she could be to him in the moment and, in the next few breaths, he was gone. His body slumped to the soft grass.

Y/N sighed and held Jon a little closer. Another one…another person she had considered a friend had been taken and she was alone again. And, she promised herself then. This would be the last time she cried. This would be the last time she lost someone.

This would be the last time.

AND ANOTHER BANNER BY MY BABY MARS @thesadvampire

A/N: Please let me know what you think. This is a bit of a slower burn so I hope you guys don’t lose interest. :) thanks for reading!

#oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell imagine #willas tyrell x reader #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones #asoiaf #oberyn martell #willas tyrell

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