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annikin-annotates · 4 months

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Tear you Apart - Chapter 2

Hello my loves! I’m back with my first post of the year! This one wasn’t supposed to be the first post of the year, but here we are. I have lots of fics planned for the coming months so keep an eye out!! Before we get into this chapter I would like to take a second to tell you that this fic deals heavily with trauma, emotional abuse and the effects that come with that. So if this isn’t your thing, please keep the above in mind.

Take care darlings!

Content warnings: Trauma, coercion, A rather nasty bite scene, the Spawn in this isn’t our mans Astarion (He is making an appearance soon, I promise!).

Word Count: 2,648

Na-Mara’s Pov

While she had been afforded comfortable lodgings by her ever generous master, her captor, whose name she came to know was Fintos, most of her time during the day was filled with seeing that his needs were met. She did so with well disguised chagrin; he couldn’t know of her true intent in letting him do the things he did. The rest of her free time, which wasn’t usually much, was spent reading or resting from the previous night’s activities.

It became her nightly routine to be paraded about the establishment like a prized show horse, to entertain whomever her master wished her to. By then, the night’s intended target would be begging her for a chance to see what other services her body could provide. Na-Mara was never allowed to refuse and they never declined.

That brought her to where she was now, lounging scantily clad across the deep purple settee in her master’s office reading a book. While it was near unbearable to be around him, she found an odd sense of satisfaction bubble within her whenever he called on her; his infatuation with her only made her job easier.

Her plan was to allow him to fall for her, to make him think that she was eating from the palm of his hand. She would not allow herself to forget his transgressions against her, she would use it as a driving force to get what she wanted: her pelt back. She would do what she needed, and if that meant playing the role set out for her, then so be it, her pride be damned.

The last few months had been torturous, always pandering to the wants and whims of others and never herself, she was in a near constant state of exhaustion. Though quiet moments like this allowed her a momentary reprieve, to allow her mind to drift off to a kinder place. A place where a dashing prince would sweep her off her feet and take her far away from here, just like in the stories her master would read aloud to her.

She would often think of home in these quiet moments, reminiscing on how salt and sand would cling to her skin after laying on a beach all day; or how divine tearing apart a fresh kill felt. Her life was nothing like that, not anymore at least. There would be no dashing prince that would rescue her nor a fairytale wedding to celebrate; the only way she saw this ending was in blood. Either Fintos’ or her own, she wasn’t sure, and she wasn’t desperate to find out - not if her current plan was to work.

—

She had been dressed in silver chains adorned with gems and pearls that glittered and shone in the setting sun of the late afternoon. Two large slits sat high in the dress, exposing the entirety of each of her legs. The softness of where her legs met her torso on display, the chains connecting the front and back of the dress felt so thin that she was sure they would break if her pace was more than a saunter. Her hair was braided away from her face, small pieces too short to be neatly tucked away intricately formed into waves on her temples.

Dressing in attire like this had become part of her daily routine; she would bathe and dry herself and then be subject to hours of looking at herself in a lookingglass. Though by the time her ‘helpers’ - other unfortunate souls Fintos had abducted and then forced into servitude - were done, she hardly looked like herself.

Na-Mara felt that was easier in a way, it separated her from what she had to force herself through each night; the woman being paraded around night after night wasn’t her - but a caricature. It was easy once she got the hang of it, her job was to pander to the patrons - whatever that was, singing to small groups or entertaining them with small parlour tricks. All to make them feel comfortable; comfortable enough to loosen their purses, and their tongues. But nothing worked as well as listening to them, other than using her body, of course.

The simple fact of the matter was that drunks talked a lot, and the more they consumed - the more their tongues wagged. She would listen to whatever they had to say, more often than not they would offload their burdens onto a pretty thing like her without much pushing. Most of the time all it took was a brush of her slender fingers across their chest and it was over before it even began; it was all too easy.

Na-Mara’s first target of the evening was a pretty young woman with hair that reminded her of the setting sun, deep orange woven with gold and red. She was dressed beautifully, almost too nicely for the establishment; she wanted people to know she was wealthy. With her velvet dress in a shade of green so deep it looked black under the dim light, a sage green chemise peeked through the lacing of her sleeves. She was dripping in gold, gold bands and shiny gems adorning each of her fingers, she wore several necklaces layered around her neck; a silk ribbon choker, followed by a longer chain with a diamond encrusted emerald pendant.

Despite her frivolous fashion sense, she proved to be quite shy; all fluttering lashes and tinted cheeks each time Na-Mara smiled in her direction. It was quite the welcome change of pace, it was nice to not have people tripping over one another vying for her attention. Na-Mara waved her over with a delicate hand gesture, a sense of satisfaction bubbling in her stomach as the starry eyed woman jumped at the chance to bask in her light.

“You seemed lonely over there by yourself, I thought you might benefit from some company that isn’t a man,” Na-Mara smiled as the young woman spoke, sidling up to her. Na-mara signalled the barkeep for two glasses of red - the expensive stuff, her master was paying afterall.

“I suppose you’re right. Terribly dull creatures men are, once you’ve met one; you’ve met them all,” she half joked as two glasses of wine were placed in front of them. Na-Mara took the fine crystal into her hand, sipping the liquid inside - if there was one thing she had grown fond of while on land, it was wine.

The woman blushed a pretty shade of pink, looking down to the red wood of the bar before following Na-Mara’s lead and taking a sip of her drink. She was a pretty woman, round faced with beautiful blue eyes that looked at her through dark lashes, freckles dusted her entire face - each one of them a love letter from the sun. It almost made her feel bad, it truly was a pity that Na-Mara had a job to do.

She followed her routine to the letter; she was kind and inviting, nodding and smiling in encouragement watching as the woman in front of her became more dishevelled. Her words had begun to slur quite some time ago, on her third glass of wine while Na-Mara had still been sipping on her first. She had finally put a stop to her master's sick game when the poor woman could no longer stand straight.

“Goodness, are you alright?” she asked, worry lacing her voice. She wrapped her arm around her waist, tight enough to steer her, but not tight enough to cause alarm.

The woman laughed heartily. “Oh I am fine! One too many glasses is all,” she smiled, the pink tint on her skin darkening. Na-Mara laughed lightly, forgetting for a moment that she was the cause of this, she was the harbinger of this woman's death.

“Well, let’s get you some place where you can relax for a moment, shall we?” she asked, leading her down a secluded hallway towards where her captors' lackeys would no doubt be waiting to wring whatever information out of her they could.

No sooner had she delivered one woman to her demise, she was scooped up into the arms of her captor - he had another job for her. It wasn’t another target, simply a request from a patron with a rather peculiar appetite.

Na-Mara’s blood ran cold as she looked pleadingly at Fintos to take back the order, he only urged her forwards, his dark brows raised expectantly. He tipped her chin towards him, his face dipping to hers, “You will do this pet, remember our deal,” he chided, his breath fanning across her face, the bond tugging between them. She nodded hesitantly, he was right, they had a deal.

Her breath shook as she took a moment to compose herself, the air around her thick with incense becoming stuck in her throat, nearly choking her. The fear on her face was replaced with an easy smile as she sauntered forward, jewels and delicately strung pearls that hung from her outfit glinting in the candlelight. She was a delicious sight, she had no doubt, her dress made from fine silver chains doing nothing to hide the peaks and valleys of her body.

Her new client - a vampire spawn, had requested to feed on her; to see if she tasted as sweet as she looked, according to her master. A disgusted shiver danced across her spine as she made her way to him, he sat in a plush armchair with a crystal glass filled with a thick red liquid, she hoped was wine.

He smirked over his glass at her, taking a sip of the dark liquid before shifting in the chair. Her eyes narrowed into a sultry stare, one that she had honed into a weapon, her supple body her armour in which she wore into battle each night. And with the power that both provided, she could bring any man to their knees, singing praises and prayers alike.

He had pulled Na-Mara into his lap unceremoniously, a surprised squeak leaving her lips as her back collided with his chest. His fingers laced tightly into the bottom of her braid, hair pinching and pulling painfully as she tried to turn her head to meet his gaze. Her heart beat furiously in her chest, like the wings of a bird trapped in a gilded cage. All she could think about was how much she didn’t want this, and how much it would hurt, of that she had no doubt.

Though she had no choice but to push through, to let the fear course through her, to let it turn her whole being bitter. She hoped that she tasted like rot when she hit his tongue, she hoped that whatever sick pleasure he got from splaying her out like this - for all to see, turned to ash in his mouth. She hoped that it would make them all think twice before their calloused hands reached out to bruise.

His cold breath fanned out across the juncture where her shoulder met her neck, he was centimetres from her now. She could smell the distinct tang of blood on his breath - she wasn’t his first meal of the night, she prayed that he wouldn’t take more than he needed; and if he did, she hoped he at least would finish the job.

Na-Mara relaxed in his grip, allowing him to position her wherever he felt most comfortable.

She secluded herself into that sweet place in her mind, where neither pain nor sadness could lay their claws on her. Resigning herself to the fact that yet another piece of her would be torn from her, to live eternally in the body of another instead of being buried - at least one part of her would be free.

She felt his tongue slide across her pulse point, gauging the best place to sink his teeth into, she steeled her nerves; forcing herself to stop trembling in his grip. It took every ounce of her strength not to shy away from him, to not will the ground beneath her to open and swallow her whole. His teeth sank into her without warning, a choked cry falling from her lips as pain radiated from her neck. She could feel him pulling the blood from her body, his fangs pressing deep into her jugular.

The whole ordeal was over before it had truly begun, as a warm liquid splattered across her face and body. She was promptly pushed from the Spawns lap, she looked at him through bleary eyes trying to make sense of what just happened. His face was incandescent with rage - like he had been given the poor end of the bargain.

“She tastes like salt water and rotten flesh!” he hissed, gulping down the liquid in his glass, trying to rid himself of her rancid taste. She couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation; he bit her, a creature born amidst the salt and sea - what did he expect her to taste of? Her captor was by the spawns side in seconds, smoothing the situation over by offering the neck of another one of his pretty little puppets, it seemed to quell the spawns temper slightly.

Her captor's quick action allowed for one of his other employees to scoop her up, and lead her upstairs to her chambers. A moon toned Drow woman with hair the colour of spun silver and a voice that reminded her of her home, it was soft and sweet like summer rain. She held Na-Mara close to her chest as they walked, not caring about the blood that was staining her dark attire.

It took for her to sit in front of her mirror to realise that the warm liquid spat on her had, in fact, been blood - her blood. She scrunched her nose in disgust before reaching for the pitcher and basin by the vanity, a rough linen cloth hanging from the bowl's edge. Only to have the cloth gently taken from her hands, each speck of blood dabbed away with kindness she had not known for many months.

Na-Mara found herself tearing up as she stared at the puncture wound in the mirror, two ugly caverns forcefully torn into her flesh. The young Drow laid a soft hand on her cheek, thumb tracing her cheek bone as she made eye contact with her in the mirror. “Will it scar?” Na-Mara asked, her voice sounding smaller than it ever has.

She nodded in response, “It will,” she started, “But do not let its pain darken your heart, there is so much sweetness in the world; so much left to keep fighting for.”

Na-Mara bit the inside of her cheek, how could she not let it darken her heart? She had been taken from all she has ever known and loved, forced into servitude and made to suffer a new horror each night. She wanted to scream until her voice gave in, until her throat and lungs were bloody and raw, to expel each moment of humiliation and pain she endured. But she couldn’t, it would jeopardise everything she was working towards, but she could manage to articulate some of it."It's so hard to forget pain, but it's even harder to remember sweetness. We bear no scars for happiness, we learn so little from kindness."

The Drow, whose name she had learned was Nym, left shortly after to return to her clients down stairs. And when she was certain that nobody would bother her for the rest of the night, she poured more water into the basin and scrubbed herself raw. And then she did it again, she still felt dirty, Na-Mara could still feel his hands on her, could still hear that starry eyed woman’s laughter ringing in her ears, she wanted to peel off her skin and set it ablaze.

She was so tired.

A big thank you to @arcielee for beta reading for me and @azperja for sitting through countless snippets of this, I appreciate you both so much!

Reblogs are greatly appreciated! it really helps get my work out there!

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion romance #astarion x female reader #baldurs gate 3 fanfic #baldurs gate astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion x oc #astarion x reader #baldurs gate 3 #dark fic #dead dove fic #dead dove do not eat #dark content #baldurs gate

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annikin-annotates · 4 months

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Happy New Year everyone! Sorry for drawing Astarion for 4 months, it may continue for another 12.

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annikin-annotates · 4 months

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tHe ThInG tHaT wIlL dEcIdE mY fAtE fOrEvErMoRe

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annikin-annotates · 5 months

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my worth is not dictated by numbers my worth is not dictated by numbers my WORTH is NOT DICTATED by FUCKING NUMBERS

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annikin-annotates · 5 months

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Family Ties Part 2

Hi hello my loves! I'm back with another installment of Family Ties, I hope you enjoy it! But before you continue I would like to take a second to thank everyone who has commented and reblogged, it really brightens my day!

TW: Suicidal ideations, Tav languishing like a Victorian era widow, Astarion being an asshole (again), Ascendant Astarion.

Word Count: 2.7K

The silver moonlight streamed into her chambers as she sat perched at her paper covered desk, hands covered in charcoal stains. She had been sketching long enough for the candles around her to burn down twice over, one of her husband's ever dutiful spawn were always quick to come and replace them.

She pulled herself from the trance she had entered to look over the sketches she had produced. She had excelled with art when she was human, and now that she was immortal, she never had to worry about dying before her next muse would come to her. Her muse had been the same for over twenty years now, Juniper.

Each sketch was different in some way, some had Astarions curls and angular face while some had the softness of her cheeks and her smile - what she could remember of it, anyway. The thought tugged painfully at her heart, she couldn’t even remember her own face, much like her lover all those years ago. Though one defining feature remained the same, a patch of silvery white hair nestled in her dark curls.

Would she even recognise her daughter?

Sometimes in the quiet of the night she would find herself with too many thoughts and not enough to keep her occupied. She didn’t want to think, she didn’t want to feel anymore, she had far too much time to do those things - she just wanted peace. But when she drew her sunlight, it all seemed to melt away, for a time there was no anger or anguish, just calmness.

Peace only came in the form of her daughter, as there was not a day that went by where she did not think about Juniper. About the type of person she grew into, was she all the best parts of them? Was she cunning and kind, did she have her determination and Astarion’s sharp wit?

Or did she grow into her namesake, would she wreak death, destruction and chaos just like her father. Even if she did become the embodiment of death and shadows, who would dare blame her? What chance did she have when she was an unholy amalgamation of a Vampire Demi-God and a Hellspawn? It would only solidify her name in the history books, the daughter of a tyrant and a spineless hero.

Missing her made her wonder if Juniper missed her too, if she ever yearned for a mother that she never knew. Or if she wondered if her mother didn’t love her, why her mothers hands never picked her up when she fell, kissing her wounds better, or why she was never carried to bed. She hoped that Juniper didn’t think she just passed her onto the first person who would care for her - the thought made her heart ache, she did this because she loved her. She loved her more than she could put into words, she loved her daughter like she loved the ghosts of her past.

Like she loved him.

There was some part of her, buried deep down that regrets giving her to Wyll; if she hadn’t perhaps she wouldn’t feel so lonely. She forced the thought down. Juniper was an innocent who didn’t deserve to suffer at the hands of a cruel father and a mother who could not offer her the love and protection that she needed.

Wherever her sunlight ended up was a much better life than the one she would have had with her, and she deserved that much. She hoped that Juniper grew up knowing only joy and laughter, that her life was a never ending stream of sweetness. She liked to imagine that Wyll had taken her to a grove, far away from civilisation - away from the vampire ascendant's influence.

A place overflowing with greenery and wild flowers, where the sun always shone and birdsong roused her from her sleep each morning. Where she never had to worry about the dangers that lingered in the shadows, nor the pull of power and all that it promised. Juniper would not repeat the sins of her father.

She remembered the terror she had felt when Astarion had pieced together the reason for Juniper’s disappearance. It hadn’t taken him long, a week at most, but she will always remember the cold sweat that broke out over her body when he opened the doors to their shared chambers, accusations spilling from his lips like poison.

“You’re the reason for Maitenirr’s disappearance,” it was a declaration, it wouldn’t matter what she said to him, regardless of it being true or not, he had made his decision - she was guilty.

There were two options before her, she could lie and try to placate him with whispered praises and sweet nothings. Or she could tell the truth and suffer the consequences of her actions, it did not matter what happened to her - her child was safe. That’s what mattered.

Her silence had only proven her guilt in Astarion’s eyes, and he closed the door behind himself, locking it. Her teeth ground against one another, her body screaming for her to run; every fibre was alight with fear, and yet she remained rooted to where she sat on the chaise. “Astarion please, I loved her. How could you think that of me?” she asked, tears beginning to brim her crimson eyes; she didn’t know if they were from fear or sadness.

“Do you take me for a fool?” he asked, brows raised in query - a challenge.

He strode towards her, stopping a few feet from her his arms behind his back, as if he was holding himself back. "I ask again, Tav; who did you give our daughter to?" He asked, voice cold and sharp like a blade, a familiar tingle prickled the back of her neck - he was charming her, compelling her to tell him what happened.

She tried to fight it, to struggle against the heavy chains that wrapped around her mind; it made her shy away from him and bile rise in her throat, she couldn't fight it. She dropped from the chaise to her knees as the feeling lapped at the edges of her mind as he tried to force the truth from her. Gods why couldn't she fight it? Why wasn't she stronger? It came tumbling out of her all at once "Wyll!! I gave her to Wyll!" She cried, chest heaving as he rescinded the charm.

"There we go, that's a good girl, let it all out,” he cooed. She looked up at him, eyes blurry from the tears, she could feel him smirking down at her, bastard. Astarion crouched before her, snatching her face with his hand, the softness of her cheeks dimpling in his hold. “I will teach you what it means to obey, I will not forget this,” he spat.

“You are lucky I love you. I have sent spawn into the sunlight for less,” he hissed, letting go of her face. Astarion was right, he had been crueller for far less - she was thankful for his mercy, but this was not love; not anymore. This was something far darker, an inkblot spreading across paper, tainting everything it touched, possession.

Astarion stood once more, brushing himself off - as if touching her had made him dirty in some way; her stale blood simmered in her veins. “No matter, I can always sire another,” he said flippantly, though she could tell that the conversation was far from over, his tone betrayed by the darkness that his eyes held.

Rage floods her, how could he say that? How could he carelessly disregard the child that he helped bring into the world - that he made her bring into the world. The anger that had been quietly simmering under her skin for two decades ignited, a small spark that had become something biblical. She could kill him; she was going to kill him, if it was the last thing she did.

She couldn’t stop herself. “You wouldn’t dare,” she spat, standing abruptly from the plush carpet of their shared chambers. Her eyes were alight with all the fury of a woman scorned, of a spurned lover - a threatened animal backed into a corner; of a mother.

“You do not get a choice in the matter,” he said matter-of-factly as he examined his finger nails, as if the fight was already won, as if there was never really a fight to be fought to begin with. And she supposed there wasn’t; arguing with him would only prolong the inevitable and prolonging the inevitable only ever turned out terribly.

But she argued anyway, for the sake of her and her daughter’s dignity. Or perhaps he would get frustrated enough to kill her himself - gods know how many times she’s thought about walking into the sunlight just to escape him, to escape this. “How dare you speak about our daughter like that!” she hissed, her whole body was coiled like a viper ready to strike. “She was all that was good in the world, and you disregard her like she is nothing!” she continued, tears pricking the corners of her eyes.

Rage flashed in his eyes as a viscous smile tugged at his lips “It would do you well to remember what happens to people who overstep their station. You may be Consort, but you still answer to me,” he replied, his voice chilling her to the bone. “She is nothing, merely a complication to the larger plan, I have eternity to create another,” he was threatening her now, to see how eager she was to bite the hand that feeds.

She was more eager than most.

“Are we resorting to threats now, Astarion?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest as she stood, her velvet dress sleeves catching slightly as she did so. She could feel herself trembling but she was steadfast in her stance; she would not bow to him, not this time, not when he speaks of her daughter.

He chuckled darkly, closing the space between them, his thumb and forefinger tilting her chin; he was inches from her face, “It was a promise.” A chill danced down her spine as he pulled away, smoothing out his doublet before continuing as if nothing ever happened. “We will discuss this later, I have a dinner to plan. You are not to leave this room until I call for you.”

She grimaced at the unspoken connotation of the statement, both an order and an omen.

—

Fear. Fear and loathing.

It wasn’t enough for Astarion to take the stab, but he had to twist the proverbial knife and then salt the wound when he was done. By bringing Wyll into The Crimson Palace, he has not only spat in her face, but opened Wyll up to immense danger, which he no doubt knew and was most likely the purpose of doing so. And while she did not doubt the Blade of Frontiers, he wasn’t a Warlock anymore; he was an ageing mortal man.

A mortal man in a den of vipers.

Once again, she had nobody to blame but herself. She scoffed, just more innocent blood on her hands she supposed - gods she was tired of this. Tired of the fighting, the clawing and biting and clinging, clinging to the shell of a man who sat at the head of the table, clinging to the idea that there was still good in him. That there was still a man capable of kindness. She closed her eyes - Astarion wasn’t capable of anything but brutality, just like his predecessor. And all it took was a spark to light the flame.

Her heart began to thrum in her chest, starting a new painful rhythm as it slammed in her rib cage, bruising her lungs. The evening had begun rather calmly, it almost felt like a dinner party between friends, but it had been so much more than that. No matter how well Wyll had hid his weariness beneath that charming diplomatic mask of his, she could smell the fear, and there was no doubt that Astarion could too.

They were completely and utterly fucked, to say the least. All she could try to do was keep the peace, and if he was to strike someone - she hoped it was her. After years being subject to his ever changing moods, she knew that she could take it; she hoped for one night that Wyll would set down his chivalry and just survive this dinner. But Astarion wasn’t going to make this easy for either of them; he would push boundaries and prod sore spots, like he always has.

She wasn’t entirely sure how it escalated to this, Astarion had slammed his fist on the sturdy mahogany table, rattling the silverware and crockery as she mindlessly pushed the food in front of her around the plate. She had jumped at the sudden noise, her brain and body reconnecting once more. “If I wanted a child at the dinner table, I would have requested our daughter,” he hissed, that vicious glint in his eyes catching the candle light.

She gritted her teeth, knowing better than to rise to his provocation, “My apologies, my love. I was leagues away,” she replied, clearing her throat and reaching for the glass of wine before her. Her eyes caught Wyll’s gaze; he had, for the most part, aged quite gracefully. His braided hair was speckled with grey, he had crows feet and laughter lines, it made her happy that at least one of her companions had gone off to lead a happy life.

That was all it took for the spark to catch, like a match to turpentine, viciously clawing at anything in its way. His eyes flicking between the both of them, “Clear the room,” he ordered, watching as the spawn who were lingering in the shadows filtered out of the room. She shifted, readying to leave her seat as Astarions gaze snapped to her. “Not you,” his charm forcing her back into her seat.

Fear licked at the base of her spine; she knew what was coming, deep down she knew all along. This was either going to end in spilled blood or with her giving into his whims once again, she would not have Wyll’s blood stain her hands nor conscience. He stood from his seat at the head of the table; she cringed as it scraped across the marble floor, the sound reverberating off the walls. Astarion always knew how to hold people’s attention.

He raised his glass to the both of them, a smirk toying at the edges of his lips, as if there was a joke that the two of them weren’t privy to. Perhaps that was the joke, maybe he would kill them both, drain their blood and leave them to rot in the dungeons with the rest of the corpses; simple and painless, all she would have to do is let go. Then, as he began to speak, it dawned on her that her death was going to be anything but simple, or painless. No, he intended to take her from this world, kicking and screaming.

“Tonight I have chosen to surround myself with the finest company in all of Baldur’s Gate,” he began, tipping his glass to both of them. Her fingers gripped the arms of her chair, knuckles turning white as she looked towards Wyll, who was sitting ramrod straight in his seat. “I would like to congratulate my Darling Dark Consort for being a truly duplicitous woman. You put even me to shame,” he grinned, wanting to take his time indulging in his theatrics.

“And to you, my dear travelling companion, for playing your part in her plan so faithfully. Let us drink to your best laid schemes,” he finished, raising his glass. Astarion’s eyes narrowed as neither of them moved. “I said; drink,” he repeated, as both their bodies began moving of their own accord. The wine burned her throat as she took one gulp, and then another before draining her glass entirely, she watched Wyll do the same, grimacing as he set the glass down on the table.

The silence between the three of them was deafening, punctuated only by the gaudy grandfather clock ticking in the parlour across the hall. What exactly did Astarion want from them? He already had her admission of guilt and proof of Wyll’s assistance. She closed her eyes and sighed softly, stomach twisting at the realisation; he planned to interrogate Wyll, to glean information on the whereabouts of her daughter.

Halsin, Juniper was with Halsin.

----

Thank you for reading! Please take a moment to comment or reblog my work, it brightens my day and makes sure other people see it!

Beta read by the lovely: @arcielee and @amiraisgoingthruit

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annikin-annotates · 5 months

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Family Ties

Hi hello, good morning friends. I’m giving you a steaming serving of Ascended!Astarion x Spawn!Tav to soothe (or anger?) your souls. I hope you enjoy this one shot as much as I did writing it. With that being said, I’m not paying for ya’lls therapy bills. I don’t think this one is too traumatic, if anything, it’s tame.

TW: Gore, Recapping of the ritual, Ascended Astarion being his bastard self, brief mentions of birth and pregnancy, having to give up a child (for their own safety).

Word Count: 2.6K

‘I’m doing this for you, too, you know. To make sure we are both safe, forever.’

She watched on in silent horror as the scene played out before her. “No, no. No healing sleep for you. Wake up!” Astarion hissed, as he ripped Cazador out of his coffin, his body splaying out awkwardly on the floor.

“Get your hands off me, worm,” Cazador spat indignantly as he pushed himself from the floor to a kneeling position, still reeling from the force of being thrown.

Astarion laughed heartily. “Hah! I’m not the one in the dirt,” his eyes darkened, a smirk curving the corners of his mouth, for the first time in two hundred years he held all the cards, he had the upper hand; and it felt good. He stared Cazador down, his body coiled like a snake ready to strike. “I am so much more than what you made me,” he looks to her, a silent plea in his eyes, “I can do this, but I need your help.”

There was no question that she would help him, she would have done whatever he had asked her to do, “All right, what do you need me to do?” she asked him, her fists clenched at her sides. Gods, she would have set the world ablaze if only to see him smile.

“I need your eyes,” he paused for a moment, the air was so still around them that it was almost suffocating. “Use the parasite - link your mind to mine so I can see the scars on my back and copy them onto his.”

“You would not dare!” Cazador seethed, though his voice betrayed him - that self-righteous air he had traded for something more human, fear.

“I would, and I will,” his voice was laced with fury. Two hundred years of suffering surfacing, she could see it in the way his hands shook as they held the knife. His eyes softened as they found hers again. “Help me do this, please.” Astarion looked to her pleadingly, crimson eyes glassy and full of desperation - he needed this. He needed her.

They recoiled slightly as their minds melded together, becoming one as the pain subsided and the world came back into focus once more. The weight of the dagger felt heavy in his hand, she could feel his fingers shifting nervously along the hilt. She could see Cazador from his perspective, cowering on the floor before Astarion, his hands raised in front of him; as if a pleading look would put the pain of the past to rest.

She could feel how Astarion hungered for power, and it was all within his reach, wealth, power, freedom - it was intoxicating. She trusted him, trusting him was the right thing to do - helping him achieve the only thing he wanted was the right thing; if it was the right thing to do, then why did it feel so wrong? Why did standing idly by and watching a man be carved apart to feel the pain that he inflicted upon so many feel so wrong?

And so the cycle would continue.

—

He was not hers anymore, that much was clear; Astarion had changed beyond recognition. While yes, he looked like Astarion and most certainly sounded like Astarion, he was not him, not in the way that mattered. Loving gazes now traded for looks filled with hunger and thirst, for both more power and blood. The man she had fallen for on her unexpected journey was as good as dead, a colder - crueller thing having taken his place. No, the Astarion she loved was nothing if not merciful.

For a time she had lulled herself with a false sense of hope that once the power became less novel, he would return to her. That his softness would begin to peek through again, he would smile again, that’s all she wanted. He had become a monster disguised as a dashing prince, but he was the very thing that mothers warn their misbehaving children about. The dark shadow that stalked pretty maidens and handsome young men down dark alleys, draining them of all they are - of all they could be.

With the same hands that gave him freedom, he sentenced her to a fate worse than death, an eternity of servitude. The worst of it all was that she did it, she helped him with her own two hands, she allowed him to ascend. And when his greed came again, all hungry eyes and jagged teeth; she gave herself to him, and he took from her, hungrily and without mercy, the choices she could have made, ripped away.

He hid her true position with flowered words, ‘My Dark Consort,’ his honeyed voice would whisper to her in the cover of darkness. The words sounded as wrong now as they did back then. Though she supposed it didn’t matter now, the die was cast and she had no choice but to lay in the grave she had dug.

And what a grave she had chosen.

She was glad she could not see herself in the mirror, what would she see? The sadness that clung to her eyes, or the bloodthirsty beast that now wore the skin of a woman long gone. She wasn’t sure she would even recognise the person staring back at her, a hollow husk of what she once was. She had sharper reflexes, eternal life and beauty, all the jewels and dresses she could want, and yet there was an ever growing emptiness that made home in her.

What good was eternal life if you couldn’t live for yourself?

—

Silence usually blanketed the palace, a quiet so thick it felt as though no creature could break it. The sort of quiet that told you to run and never look back, that made your ears ring, a bone chilling, deafening silence. A blood curdling scream tore through the stillness of the palace, the usual quiet that the night brings becoming forfeit.

Her hair clung to her forehead as she hissed and groaned through the pain, bringing life into the world felt as painful as taking it. It felt as though a wild animal was fighting to stay within her, its claws digging into her, like it knew the type of environment it was being brought into. She couldn’t blame it, though it did not have a choice. She gasped as relief washed over her, chest still heaving from exertion.

That eerie stillness came crashing back down on the palace, hanging in the corners of the room like an unwanted voyeur. With the quiet came a familiar feeling that wrapped its claws into her heart and squeezed, dread. There was no noise coming from her child, why was it not crying? Her baby should be crying, there should be an ear splitting wailing filling the room; her eyes began to water, a lump forming in her throat.

She could not bear to put another loved one in the ground.

A shrill cry tore through the room, forcing the silence back into exile once more, as if the small thing now in her arms had heard her prayers. It was a little girl, a daughter, and she was perfect in every single way that mattered: ten fingers, ten toes and a beating heart she could feel thrumming beneath her fingers.

Had she always been this cold? Is this what she used to feel like to Astarion? Warm and soft, and so fragile.

She held the babe close to her chest, taking in every inch of her; her sweet, sweet little girl. Her finger shakily stroked the softness of her cheek, her breath hitched in her throat as her little eyes opened - two green irises stared back at her. Her long, dead heart fluttered in her chest, tears pricking the corners of her eyes; those green eyes were his, a little piece of the man she loved. From that moment on she vowed that no harm would befall her little girl, her sunlight.

It was hours before Astarion entered their shared chambers to meet his daughter, the bed sinking slightly the only thing that pulled her from her loving trance. She angled her body slowly towards him leaning into his form, she felt him go rigid at the contact - she did not care. She couldn’t take her eyes off the sleeping child in her arms, this tiny thing gave her eternal life new meaning. “Meet our daughter, my love,” she whispered, softly brushing the edges of the soft blanket she was swaddled in away from her face.

She tore her gaze away from her world to look at Astarion, whose eyes had softened a small bit; before turning steely once more. “A daughter? Does she have a name?” he asked with raised brows, his voice too loud, too cocksure. He reached for the child, taking the babe from her arms before she could protest. Little brows furrowed and she let out a small whine of disapproval before settling into her fathers arms; she could have ripped his throat out for disturbing their child’s rest.

She shook her head. “No, but I think the name Juniper suits her,” she paused for a moment, imagining what her life would have been like if none of this had happened. Would she have returned to the grove where she grew up? She cleared her throat softly, “It reminds me of the berries that grew by my home as a child.”

Astarion scoffed at the suggestion, it made her blood boil with contempt for him - a feeling that had become all too familiar over the last two decades. “My dear, my - I mean our daughter needs to be named something strong, fearsome, something like…” he paused for a moment, looking deeply into the eyes of their daughter. She hoped that when he looked at her that he saw the ghost of himself, she prayed it would make him rethink the person he had become. “Maitenirr. Now that’s a name fit for an Ancunin, isn’t it my darling?”

A scoff threatened to fall from her lips, she swallowed both the anger and vitriol that rises in her throat. How dare he? How dare he snatch her child from her arms and name her. How could he not see that he held the sun in the crook of his elbow? Did he not understand that the small bundle was hers and hers alone? She nodded in agreement, a smile that didn’t reach her eyes tugging at her lips. She knew better than to go against his judgement. “Of course my love, what a lovely choice.”

Astarion had taken the privilege to name their daughter, it made her heart twist to hear a name with such a dark meaning put to a child. Bringer of Death, he told her that she needed a name that was as strong and as fearsome as the family she was born into, the throne she was now heir to. But her child was the embodiment of the sun, if holding her was as close as she would get to feeling the sun's rays on her skin, then that was okay with her.

With each passing day, she wondered how someone like Astarion managed to have a hand in creating something as perfect as their daughter. She could see so much of him in her already, they had the same noses, they shared pointed ears, she smiled in her sleep like he does; like he used to. The more she grew, the more she realised they had the same mannerisms too, always quick to fuss and even harder to soothe.

The more Maitenirr grew, the more things became apparent about her; she loved the darkness and it seemed to like her too. She would reach out to shadowy corners while in her mothers arms, babbling away to them like they could hear her - like they were sentient. It was a secret best kept between herself and the shadows, for as long as possible.

She couldn’t keep Maitenirr’s ability away from her husband for much longer, she had begun to conjure things - beings not of this world, from the shadows. She needed to devise a plan to get her daughter to safety; she would never forgive herself if her guiding light was dimmed by her fathers hands. She would protect her child if it was the last thing she did, from everyone; including Astarion - especially Astarion.

If she was to expedite her daughter somewhere safe, she would need to be cunning about it, she would need to outfox a fox. It consumed her every waking moment, numerous plans scrapped; she almost thought about calling in a favour with Raphael of all people. There was one person in Baldur’s gate that she could trust to get her Juniper to safety, she prayed that they would do this act of kindness for her.

—

"Please, take her. Take her to safety, do not tell me where. If he comes to me I will have no choice but to tell him. Please, he will ruin her if he finds her gift," she pleaded, pushing the bundle into his arms. Giving Juniper away felt like ripping her heart from her chest, exposing the softness of a person long dead, Juniper was a weakness she couldn’t afford to have exploited.

“You don’t understand what you’re asking me to do,” he told her, taking a step back, his hands coming to gently push the child away. She could smell the fear that came off him in waves; she could see it in his eyes.

She looked at him, her eyes full of terror and sadness. “I do, Wyll. Of course I do, but it needs to be you. If he looks for her, which he will; I cannot know where she is. I will be the first person he comes to,” her voice shakes. “I know I ask a lot of you, but please, protect my daughter. Give her a fighting chance, Wyll.”

He sighed, taking the child into his arms. “I will make sure she gets to safety, you have my word,” he swore, his voice solemn. The moment he took Juniper into his arms, she had to fight the urge to snatch her back from him, it took everything in her not to scream: she is the only good I have found in this world, please don’t take it from me. She blinked back her tears, no, this was better. She would not sit idly by and watch another innocent suffer at the hands of a monster that she created.

“Thank you, Wyll. you have no idea what this means.” Her child would have a fighting chance at a life untainted by cruel hands. She turned away slightly, drying the tears that had begun to spill. Now was not the time for tears, she would have eternity to shed them, now was the time to dig deep - to be strong, one last time.

“Her name is Juniper, if there is one thing from this life that I can give her - it's her name,” she added, backing away from the both of them. Small hands reached out towards her, a dissatisfied grunt tumbling from tiny lips. She looked around nervously, she didn’t have much time, she rushed to the child one final time, pressing a kiss to the patch of white amongst the rest of her dark hair. A small piece of him.

“Your mother loves you, more than you will ever know. Giving you up is my greatest sacrifice, I love you, my Sunlight,” she whispered into her hairline before stepping back several paces, she looked to Wyll once more. “Get her out of here, Wyll.” She made her way up the main staircase, away from the door, she dared not look back.

The vipers fangs have bared, she must protect her brood.

Thank you for reading, Please take a moment to comment or reblog my work, it really brightens my day and gives me the boost to keep creating!

Beta read by the lovely: @arcielee and @amiraisgoingthruit

#astarion x reader #astarion romance #astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion x female tav #astarion x female reader #astarion my beloved #baldurs gate astarion #ascended astarion #astarion x tav #ascended astarion x reader #f!reader x astarion #baldurs gate 3 fanfic #baldurs gate 3 #astarion ancunin

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annikin-annotates · 6 months

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❥ feeling things , a sentence meme .

what are they called again ? emotions ? ugh . ( taken off of pinterest )

❛ you were dead. yet, here you are. ❜ ❛ speak your mind even if your voice shakes. ❜ ❛ you inspire me to be nothing like you. ❜ ❛ every day i wake up more tired than i’ve ever been. how long will i stay like this? ❜ ❛ fuck you’re cute. ❜ ❛ don’t get attached. ❜ ❛ i am fire. i am hatred. i am consuming. ❜ ❛ there is a certain amount of truth behind everything that people do. everything they do tell you a little something about them. ❜ ❛ i wanna fucking date you, stupid. ❜ ❛ which is it? are you in love with a person or an idea? ❜ ❛ you will get better. maybe not today, but someday. ❜ ❛ there’s a reason i never told you all of this. ❜ ❛ let’s get drunk and tell each other everything we’re afraid to say sober. ❜ ❛ i wanna see what happens when i don’t give up. ❜ ❛ yeah you’re cute but are you good for my mental health?? ❜ ❛ … and then i just snapped. ❜ ❛ i still repeat the things you said to me in my head. ❜ ❛ your hands are scarred from murder, and yet i trust them completely. ❜ ❛ shit. i think i have feelings. ❜ ❛ i believe in annoyed at first sight. ❜ ❛ what did it mean to you? any of it? ❜ ❛ can someone please be proud of me? like fuck, i’m trying. ❜ ❛ i sometimes wonder if things only get better so that they can get worse again. ❜ ❛ hey, sometimes you gotta kill a guy. ❜ ❛ i broke my rules for you. ❜

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annikin-annotates · 6 months

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Tear You Apart - Chapter 1

Hi hello, back with another chapter! This chapter deals heavily with SA trauma, so if that isn't something you feel comfy reading; please take care of yourselves first, love ya'll.

Content warnings: Non-con, Cannibalism as a metaphor for love, Smut, Dom/Sub, BDSM, Choking, Antagonist is NOT Astarion, Collaring.

Word Count: 5,282

Sunsets were always gorgeous this time of year, when the waters became frigid and the pack moved on to warmer waters. She would always spend the last night watching the sunset from the mouth of the Chionthar. The deep gold of the setting sun waning to hues of purple and blue, broken up by mottled clouds of violet and gold. It sent the waves around her shimmering with the last moments of sunlight as it dipped below the horizon, giving way to the moon.

She had always found great comfort in these moments, the tranquillity of being surrounded by nothing but the ocean and all those who lived under her protection. Her pack had found safety and protection beneath her waves for centuries, each generation more fearful of the surface than the last. They had every right to be terrified, humans had hunted them to near extinction for the sake of their own selfishness and curiosity, sentencing them to a miserable life on land, forever longing for the touch of the sea.

Another head surfaced from the depths of the water, slitted eyes and familiar dark tresses spreading a smile across her face. “Decided to brave the surface, have you?” she asked her friend, her eyebrows raised as she watched her sink below the surface again and popping up closer to her.

“No Na-Mara, I’m here to tell you to hurry up. Everyone is leaving,” she huffed, feigned annoyance crossing her delicate features as she rolled her eyes.

“Oh come on Muir - Who knows how long it’ll be before we see another sunset like this. I mean, look at it, it’s gorgeous isn’t it?” she countered, grabbing her friends shoulders and angling her towards the sunset, the hue changing almost entirely over the course of their short conversation. The light blues and violets traded for deep indigo, the seemingly endless expanse beginning to sprout stars that glittered like jewels.

Her eyes scanned across the cityscape, watching shadows pass by windows in houses and lovers walking along the boardwalk arm in arm. She couldn’t deny the pang of jealousy that shifted in her, digging its claws into the pit of her stomach. What a delight it would be to walk among them, to enjoy the sunshine and cool breeze as a human.

Muir sighed and rolled her eyes before agreeing “Yes, I guess it is somewhat enrapturing,” Na-Mara couldn’t help but chortle. Both of them floated idly, resting their heads on one another, taking in the scenery before it would become nothing but the endless expanse of deep inky blackness of the ocean.

Creaking of a ship pulled both of them from their daze, it was a sound she had heard many times before, and yet this time was all the more harrowing. The shouting and pointing of the crew alerted them to the fact that they had been seen; a pit settled in her stomach. Na-Mara turned her head towards her friend, “They can’t catch us both, get out of here!” she shouted.

Muir shook her head furiously, her wet tresses skimming the water, “Not without you!”the panic rising in her voice as a net was tossed over the side, ensnaring Na-Mara.

“Go Muir! Get out of here! Save yourself!” she begged, hoping her friend would find the bravery to flee. One of them had to make it out alive, one of them needed to live; it had to be Muir, she was sweet - new to the world and all of its cruelties. Muir looked up at her in horror as Na-Mara was lifted from the water and onto the ship, before diving back beneath the waves to the darkness below.

She landed on the deck of the ship with a wet slap, a dry gasp tore through her as the air was knocked out of her lungs, her back colliding with the hard wood of the deck. The worn rope net was thicker than what she had seen normal fishermen use, which indicated that they weren’t out here fishing - they were hunting something, and with the way several people descended on her, Na-Mara figured that it was her kind they were after.

She lashed out with a swipe of her talons, though it only caused her to become more tangled in the net. Voices overlapped all around her as her body became heavier and heavier, her willingness to fight dwindling. This was it, she was going to die. She was going to be slaughtered on the floor and thrown back into the ocean, all for the sake of a pelt.

In her final conscious moments she casted her mind to warm memories of the life she had lived - however short it was. Her mother would weep for her, they all would - she would no doubt be the source of insurmountable grief to her family for centuries to come. She regretted not embracing her mother before she left, she wished she could tell her not to worry, and that she loved her. Blackness danced at the edges of her vision, a sign her end was nearing, she used the final breath she had in her lungs to let out a bitter laugh.

Fucking humans.

The rocking of the sea pulled her from her forced slumber, waves lapping against the worn hull of the ship. A yawn escaped her as she tried to stretch her arms and legs, only to be met with the resistance as she did so, the rope groaning as she tried to slip from the bonds.

Her heart began to thrum in her chest: Why could she not move? Why could she not see? Why was she bound? Why was she still alive? The memories of how she got there were foggy at best, whoever had captured her did not want her to escape.

Capture?

She felt cold. Colder than she had ever been, the type of cold that reached the very marrow of her bones. Her skin pulled taught over her trembling fingers, flesh groaning each time she flexed them. She tried to focus on any prominent sounds she could hear, she could see naught but darkness, unable to see her fingers if she held them directly in front of her face - the bastards had taken her eyesight from her.

Her head swam with thoughts, all of them screaming over one another to be heard, You fool, why did you stray so close to the harbour? The only thing you have gained from this is your obituary, the voices spat. How could she be so stupid? Hot tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, Gods, the last thing I want to be before I die is a crying maiden.

“Where’s my pelt?” she asked out into the expanse of nothingness that surrounded her, feeling the air in the room shift as someone new entered.

“I am sorry, truly, but I cannot tell you,” he replied, almost sounding remorseful, though something in his voice told her that it wasn’t the first time he had done this, and it wouldn’t be the last.

“Please, I’m begging you. My pelt is important to me, I need it to get home!” she cried, desperation becoming clear in her voice. Her pelt was the key to get home, she was nothing without it.

—

Time passed in a haze of blackness, without the use of her eyes she could hardly tell up from down, never mind how long she had been…well, wherever the hells she was. But she could feel that she had been placed on a bed of straw and if she focused hard enough, she could hear footsteps overhead. Every now and again she could hear soft voices and clinking glasses, though even with her hearing she couldn’t make out what they were saying.

There were chains around her wrists that pinched and nipped at her skin when she moved, anchoring her to an unseen point in the room. Her knees pressed to her chest as she tucked herself tightly into a ball. Rocking herself back and forth softly, emulating the ever changing push and pull of the ocean; her only source of comfort.

Gods, if you can hear my prayer, please offer me a kind hand. The prayer rolled around in her head, spilling from her lips away from the safe confines in her mind, like a snapped string of pearls tumbling away never to be seen again. Something shifted beside her, causing her to press herself against the cold stone wall backing as far as she could from the noise.

“I-Is someone there?” a male voice asked softly, she could taste the fear in the question. She nodded, though she was unsure if he had his sight taken like she had.

“Yes, I am here. What is this place?” she responded, back still pressed firmly against the wall.

Silence hung between them for a moment, both of them too terrified to acknowledge the fact that they didn’t know, the fact that they were on borrowed time. “Do you know where we are?” she pressed again, panic beginning to thrum in her veins. More silence followed.

“What’s your name?” she asked suddenly, surprising even herself, it seemed like such a personal question - given the circumstances.

“It’s uh…” he trailed off as if lost in thought, “I don’t remember,” he replied after a moment; he sounded sad.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to dredge up anything painful,” she said, scooting closer towards him, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “My name is Na-Mara,” she added softly.

“Na-Mara,” he repeated softly, “I like it - it suits you.” There was a solemness that hung in the air, as if the entire place was steeped in pain and terror. She opened her mouth to speak again, to ask him if he knew anything about where they were, or who was keeping them here, the words had hardly formed on her lips before he was shushing her.

“Sh! They are coming,” he hissed, she went to bite out a reply when shuffling came from her left, thudding boots upon creaking stairs sending her heart thrumming from her chest. The footsteps landed heavily on the stones, multiple by the sounds of it, all of them branching off in different directions. Clinking of bottles and creaking of opening crates, perhaps they were not here for her or her friend just simply gathering supplies before moving back upstairs.

There was silence for a few moments after that, then movement along her chains. She had opened her mouth to begin pleading with her captors when the air was taken from her lungs, being forcefully thrown over a strong shoulder. She wriggled and writhed in their muscular grip, though there was nothing she could do - he felt as though he was made from stone.

They ascended the stairs again, the hinges of the cellar door groaning as it opened. The room they entered was well lit, though she couldn’t see the light, she could feel the warmth of the candles.

The world shifted around her once again as she felt solid ground beneath her feet, “Ah, there she is lads, isn’t she a beauty?” a hand gripped her cheeks between his thumb and forefinger to get a proper look at her.

“Give me my sight back!” she hissed, though with the days without water, it came out hoarse and barely more than a whisper.

There was a chorus of gruff laughter, it sounded as though it was coming from everywhere, “What was that? You’re going to have to speak up darlin’ -”

A smooth voice cut him off, the air in the room changing as he spoke, “Come now gentlemen, surely you have something better to do than to terrorise my merchandise?” he asked, even though he wasn’t looking for an answer. Candlelight seared her eyes, her hand coming to shield them as the blackness ebbed away. She scanned the room, there were three men to her right, she assumed they were the ones who had brought her upstairs.

The man in front of her - by all means - was attractive. Half of his wily chestnut hair was tied back in a bun, the rest hanging loosely over his shoulders, stopping at his mid chest. His eyes were a stunning shade of green, almost glowing in the light of the room. Long healed scars puckered the skin along his chin, cheek and eyebrow, though it did not distract from his beauty.

He stood a foot above her, enough to stare down at her as he began to speak “I apologise on their behalf, they are not used to handling such…pretty merchandise.”

She tried to keep her tone as even as she could, ignoring the hummingbird that had taken up home in her heart. Anger began to simmer in her veins, her temper getting the better of her before she had the chance to control herself, “You abduct me from my home, take my sight - which I don’t much appreciate by the way - and then you have the gall to call me merchandise?” She laughed incredulously.

In that moment, as the tall form stalked around her, tracing the curve of her cheek with a softness unbefitting of what was to come. She pulled away from him, a grimace clear on her face. “Do not touch me,” she spat, venom dripping from each syllable. He merely stared down at her in response, a lightness in his eyes - he was amused. She swallowed thickly as it dawned on her, she was no longer the predator - she was the prey.

She was moving before she could process it, running through hallways, blindly pushing her way through disgruntled patrons of whatever establishment this place was. She turned a sharp corner, colliding with a silver tray full of crystal glasses, the sound ear piercing as they shattered on the floor. Jagged shards sliced open the bottoms of her feet, causing her to cry out as she continued to run, leaving a trail of blood in her wake.

“Run child, you cannot hide from me forever,” he called after her, the lilt in his voice sending fear coursing through her as he trailed her through the halls; like one would walk through a park with a lover. She pushed down the urge to cry out in fear, as she continued to rush down the long hallway. The hum of chatter broke the ever flowing stream of fearful thoughts, relief flooded her body, its soft warmth leading to a sigh of escaping her.

“Please, someone help me! I am not meant to be here, please!” she cried, the patrons did nothing but stare at her for a moment before continuing on as if she didn’t exist. Her teeth ground together as she searched the room for an exit, she didn’t have much time before her captor would descend upon her. A door! Her thoughts cried out, she twisted and weaved through the patrons to cross the room, she could taste her liberation - it smelled of salt and petrichor.

She pushed the door, the chill of the rain flooding around her. She had her freedom, only for it to be snatched away from her at the last moment. An arm wrapped around her middle, heaving her away from the door, away from her freedom. She struggled in his grip, kicking and twisting to escape the vice that only seemed to tighten.

“Let go of me you beast!” she hissed, trying to jab her elbows into any soft flesh she could find. Her nails bit into his forearms hard enough for small droplets of blood to well on his skin, like rubies on a string.

“Well aren’t you just adorable,” her captor chuckled, like she was a petulant child asking for a sweet before dinner - an inconvenience and nothing more. The room followed suit with laughter, she screamed in frustration, still kicking and twisting in his arms as he carried her back through the halls.

“Please! I beg of you, let me go!” she begged, a broken gasp escaping her lips as he dropped her unceremoniously on the floor, the hardwood sending a jolt of pain up her spine.

“You sound so pretty when you beg, pet.” he crouched in front of her, reaching out a finger to lift her chin to look at him, she bit down on the ring clad finger without hesitation, hard enough for his blood to flood her mouth.

She wasn’t sure what came first, the crack of his knuckles connecting with her cheek, or the sting of her lip being crushed between her teeth. The crack reverberated through her body, both his and her own blood intermingled with saliva, dripping from her maw in long strings. She must have looked like a vicious animal.

Good.

She hissed at him, a guttural sound she didn’t even know she was capable of making, blood splattered across his face he recoiled from her. A silence hung in the air as they stared at each other, she glowered up at him as he stared down at her, hungrily. Her assailant lunged at her as she tried to shift away from him, trapping herself between him and the bed. His hand wrapped around her wrist, pulling her forcefully to her feet, soft skin dimpled under the harshness of his grip.

“Come now, love, surely we can enjoy each other’s company for a while?” he whispered, she could feel the hotness of his breath fanning out across her face, she shook her head.

“I want to go home,” she begged - if he could just see reason, perhaps he would let her go and she would be free to reunite with her family. Maybe he would find it in his heart to take pity on her, or see the error in his way, to see that what he was doing was wrong.

His eyes darkened as he backed her against the bed. “You are not going anywhere. I am going to devour you, again and again, until there is nothing left of you,” he hummed into her ear, a nip punctuating the sentiment.

“Then I hope I rot in your stomach,” she gritted. If she was going to die, she might as well go out with a fight.

He chuckled again, the sound off putting, sending her stomach heaving and twisting painfully. “Oh my dear, sweet girl, I’m going to have you wishing for death.”

Fear enveloped her.

There was nothing more bitter than betrayal, but to be betrayed by one's own body was something else entirely. She couldn’t fight the feelings that washed over her, waves of pleasure lashing against her like waves upon a shoreline. How could she enjoy this? Why was her body doing this to her? She didn’t want this. Disgust had begun to take root in the pit of her stomach, making home within the darkest depths of her being. She just wanted it to stop.

Please Umberlee, if you can hear my plight, I beg of you. Please do something - anything, I will give you my flesh and bone as recompense, anything you ask of me and I will do it. Please, just make him stop.

There were no gods that answered her plea, nor did any passerby acknowledge her cries for help. All she could do was let fear consume her, to let it ravage her from the inside out. Like a wild animal clawing at the soft confines of her body, she was too soft, too young, but maybe this is what she deserved. Maybe this was her penance for her stupidity. She cuocooned herself within the confines of her own mind, residing herself to the fact that she would have to bury part of herself tonight, but on the morrow she would emerge changed.

A metamorphosis.

—

She awoke to the cold darkness of the cellar again, though now she had been afforded the ability of her sight back. It was the very least that monster could do after what he did to her. Her skin rippled and hissed as though she had been set alight, pain encompassed her whole body in its shroud. She sat up with a groan, rubbing her eyes and trying to piece together what happened the previous night.

She saw flashes, fingers tracing her skin, kisses that were all teeth and tongue, and pain, pain, pain. A sob wracked her body as she pulled the tattered linen of a dress she wasn’t sure how she got towards her mouth, desperately wishing to breathe life into it; desperately wishing for comfort. For her mother.

Her mouth was dry and her lips were cracked, her tongue darted out to relive it only for her to realise that it was dried blood. He had struck her when she bit him, she recalled, touching he had to her cheek hissing from the tenderness. There was tightness around her throat that wasn’t present before, her hand instinctively came to rest on her neck to find a thin silver band around it.

“Are you alright?” she jumped as that same gentle voice from the night before broke the silence in the cellar. She could see him now, a large red tiefling, his horns curling around his head in a regal crown, his hair was as white as fresh snow and his eyes as blue as the summer sky.

Fresh tears bit the corners of her eyes, “A-ah, yes I am fine, do you know how long I’ve been sleeping for?” she asked, trying to change the subject. She just wanted to forget that the night prior ever happened.

She could see him shrug slightly, eyes beginning to get used to the light once more. “You have only been returned to the cellar a few hours ago. But you were above for a day.”

She scoffed in disbelief. A whole day? It only felt like hours. “Thank you for telling me, I do not remember being away for so long,” she apologised. It was a lie she wished that she could believe, she remembered more from that night than she wished.

More silence hung between them, only their breaths, the near constant dripping coming from somewhere in the cellar and the low chatter coming from upstairs.

—

Time seemed to pass differently in the cellar, perhaps it was the lack of natural light or the fact that she had been so thoroughly distraught from being plucked from her home. She had just begun to settle in again, eyes growing heavy, the little patch of hay feeling more comfortable by the second.

Light spilled into the cellar from the opening door, sending her heart pounding once more, feeling the throbbing in her ears and fingertips. Fear prickled the base of her spine as heavy footfall came down the flimsy steps, making her way towards herself and her tiefling friend. For a brief moment she had hoped they were there for him, to take him up to do gods knows what - just anyone but her, she couldn’t bear it.

Once again her prayers fell on deaf ears as the man in front of her unlocked her chains and hoisted her to her feet. “Come on, get up,” he replied gruffly. She looked pleadingly towards her friend, or perhaps the better term was cellmate, his eyes suddenly finding the mason work far more interesting.

The moment her feet touched the soft carpet, she was ushered onto a raised wooden stage, the thin tattered linen of the dress doing nothing to shield her from prying eyes. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he started, making a show of turning around and addressing the people in the room. “I would like to formally introduce you to our newest attraction. Our gorgeous little Selkie,” he hummed, lifting her chin with his thumb and forefinger to look him in the eyes.

The delicate fabric of her dress was torn away from her, she gasped in shock, unsure of why she was now naked in front of all these people. She could do nothing but stare out into the crowd, looking at them with pleading eyes, her cheeks aflame with both fury and embarrassment. She had been abducted from her home, placed in shackles, sold into slavery and now stripped bare in front of a room full of people who now ogled her like some oddity - like she wasn’t real.

Her captors arms snaked around her waist, inching towards the apex between her thighs. “Let go of me!” she hissed, trying to free herself from his iron grip. He clicked his tongue disapprovingly at her outburst, hand encircling around her throat hard enough to elicit a gasp from her. A choked cry fell from her lips as he placed more pressure, blackness beginning to dance at the edges of her eyes. “Please…” she wheezed.

Air rushed back into her lungs with a gasp that tore through her, sending her stumbling forward a few steps as he released her, while the crowd murmured with various tones of approval. What kind of awful place is this? I just want to go home. She scanned the crowd again, looking for any sign of sympathy, any form of guiding light to lead her home. She turned to her captor again, her eyes wet with unshed tears. “Please,” she begged, “I just want to go home, please let me go home.”

“You have no choice in the matter. I have your pelt - I own you,” he hummed, that ever present predatory glint in his eye catching the candlelight. Anger boiled in her stomach as she took a step towards him, her teeth bared in a hiss, he only raised his eyebrows at her before holding his hand up, stopping her in her tracks. A humming surrounded her, so overwhelming in its volume that it forced her to her knees with a surprised cry. Hushed voices circulated around the room, their eyes bulging and gawking at her, vaguely reminiscent of fish.

“And look at that, a perfectly subservient Selkie,” he turned to face her again. “Now, was that so hard, pet?” he asked her, his tone indicating that he found her childlike - less than.

“I hope you fucking rot!” she hissed, spitting in his face. A quickly hidden grimace crossed his features, his dark eyes clouding with something sinister.

“Now, now, is that any way to speak to your betters?” his voice like poisoned honey, “I think I deserve an apology. What do you think ladies and gentlemen?” he was making a show of it, making a show of her. And whatever was to come, she had no choice but to take it.

Another hum surged through the crowd, scrutinising eyes looking down their noses at her. He tapped his chin in mock thought, “I want you to beg, I want to hear those pretty lips beg for forgiveness.”

The air crackled around her, every bone in her body bent to his whim as she leant forward onto her forearms, head resting at his feet. The words came clawing up her throat and spilling from her mouth before she had the chance to force it down; they tasted sour on her tongue. “I am sorry,” she gritted her teeth, a desperate attempt to stop the words from pouring out. “Forgive me.”

He clicked his tongue disapprovingly, “Hmm…I think that performance was a little lacklustre, shall we give it another go?” Every muscle in her body felt poised to strike, to launch at him and rip out his throat; and yet, she could not move, he would not let her move. She was still in that meek and mild position - the very picture of subservience. “Though this time, I would quite like for you to address me as master,” he added, she could hear the smirk in his voice as he spoke.

This time she could not stop the words that flowed from her, though they were words of subjugation, they were laced with vitriol. “I apologise, master - truly, from the bottom of my heart, I am sorry. Please forgive me.”

—

They had hauled her back to her captors office after her stunt on stage, she had no doubt that her disobedience would be swiftly punished. The side door of the room opened, and her captor sauntered in with all the satisfaction of a cat who had dined on cream for dinner, a wide smirk across his face. Instinctively her shoulders moved upwards to her ears, if she could make herself small enough perhaps she would disappear into the fibres of the carpet beneath her.

He rounded his desk, leaning against the intricately carved wood, looking her up and down again, surveying the peaks and valleys of her body - it made her skin crawl. Without warning he began to speak, jolting out of her disgust, “I want you to work for me,” he stated simply, examining his cuticles as he spoke.

She cut him off, taking a step forward as she shook her head. “No,” she started, steeling herself. “I will not do it, do with me what you will. I am as good as dead anyway,”

“You will work for me, you lure in patrons with that exquisite voice I know that you have. You will tend to every need that I may have and you will do whatever I ask of you,” she felt him tug on the invisible bond that connected her to him, a reminder that this was an order, not a suggestion. He sighed longingly, as if evaluating the situation. “In exchange I will give you everything you could ever want; gold, jewels -”

Desperation laced her voice, she was scared. “I want water, I need water.” She felt disgusted, she had to beg him for something as basic as water, her life’s blood - the thing that keeps her alive, she couldn’t help the shiver that ran up her spine.

“You will find that given your rather precarious predicament,” he started, placing emphasis on the last two words. “That you won’t have a need for it, but as I am benevolent, you may have what you ask for. I will allow you to think it over, I shall await your answer on the morrow,” he replied, leaving her with her thoughts.

That felt entirely too easy, she thought as she was ushered down the hall by one of the many servants he had bustling around his establishment. She couldn’t fight the sinking feeling in her stomach that screamed at her: You have made a deal with something worse than a devil, much, much worse.

—

She had been pacing for hours at this point, eyes tracing the grain of the wood in the simple room she had been afforded. She needed to come up with a plan as she would not survive long if she kept going the way she was. They would keep her alive as long as she was useful, so she needed to find ways to continue doing so. She hadn’t had water in weeks and she was growing weaker by the hour, she wouldn’t last long like this.

If she agreed to her captors terms then she would be forced into servitude, luring poor souls just like her into this monster's grip. But what choice did she have? The bastard had her pelt, she was already his slave.

She knocked on her door and stepped back, waiting for it to be opened from the other side. It cracked just enough for another elf to poke his head into the room with a sneer. “What do you want?” he snapped.

“Tell your bastard master I accept his terms,” she replied, returning his tone in kind, before the door was closed and locked once again.

And so it begins.

#astarion x oc #astarion ancunin #astarion #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate #baldurs gate 3 fanfic #astarion romance #astarion x female reader #dead dove do not eat #dark fic #dead dove fic #please mind the tags

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annikin-annotates · 6 months

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Tear You Apart

Hi ya'll, I'm back from hiatus with a completely new brand of bullshit. This is my first try at a dark fic, so things are going to get...well, dark. So if that's not your thing that's perfectly okay, feel free to skip this, I will have more Astarion content coming out in due time!

Content warnings: Non-con, Cannibalism as a metaphor for love, Smut, Dom/Sub, BDSM, Choking, Antagonist is NOT Astarion.

Word Count: 2,025

Prologue

He could pinpoint the exact point in time when he became fascinated with Selkies. He was young, no older than ten; he had been playing on the beach with a few friends when they had stumbled across a woman lying on the sand, he had been shoved forward by them to approach the woman.

He could still recall even the most minute details of her, the way her dark hair fluttered in the sun, how it took on a deep red hue when the light caught it just right. Or how her lashes fluttered against her freckled cheeks to reveal the most striking eyes he had ever seen - or would ever see again. Deep in his heart he knew what she was, a Selkie. It was evident in the way she sat up abruptly, having realised she had been found lounging on the sand, enjoying the warm summer sun.

Things were blurry past that point - all he truly remembered was that sound of a hauntingly beautiful song lulling him into a trance, guiding him across the sand and into the tide. Salty water filling his mouth and lungs as he tried to scream out for help, opening his mouth only allowed more water to flood in. He remembered how much it burned - his eyes mostly, the salt and gritty sand scraping against them.

He remembered blackness, and then waking up in his room. At first he thought it had been a dream, but when his mother - who had been sitting dutifully at his bedside - realised he had awakened, she began to lecture him about the dangers of Selkies and venturing too close to the water's edge.

—

Selkies were incredibly powerful, and though Baldur’s Gate had no shortage of magic users, a Selkie would allow him to seize control of the docks entirely. He already had the Harbour master under his thumb, but securing a Selkie would all but ensure that it would stay that way. Their mastery of water was something every journal, book, and tome he could get his hands on mentioned.

All of them had the ability to lure men and women to their deaths with just their voices, and the ability to shape and change the currents of the ocean. It was a powerful tool for him to have, with the help of a Selkie, nothing would enter or leave Grey Harbour without his say so. He knew in order to procure such a rare oddity, he would have to call in a few favours from people in high places.

The elven steel chain glinted in the flickering candle light of the room, as if taunting him, reminding him of his failures. He sighed longingly, his attempts to call in favours had all been fruitless. The search for someone brave, or perhaps stupid enough, to aid in his search for a Selkie hadn’t proved fruitful either. Though he had heard tell of a colony that would pass through the Chionthar to head for warmer waters for the winter.

A cocktail of feelings coursed through him; excitement, relief, lust. The letter he held in his fingers depicted that his search for the Selkie had finally come to a close, years of his life had come to a rather satisfying crescendo. The parchment crinkled under his fingertips as he scanned the letter, again and again, searching for anything he had missed, any inkling of deception or trickery.

The Harbour Master had required his immediate attendance at the docks, that the matter was urgent and could not wait. He stood from the plush chair in his office and made for the door, clicking his fingers at the two guards outside, “You two, with me - we have business to tend to,” as he brushed past them. They crossed the threshold of the establishment, patrons either too enveloped in their own business to notice, or too fearful to look up - he smirked.

When they arrived at the harbour, it had begun to rain, the large droplets collided with the creaking wood of the dock's warehouse. Stagnant air and ocean water assaulted him as he slid the door open enough to walk comfortably through, but not enough to reveal the wares that were inside.

“Show her to me,” he ordered, gesturing for the Harbour Master to lead the way.

He simply nodded, taking him down a series of high shelves, overflowing with prohibited goods he had collected over the years. The group descended a set of stairs and followed down another hall, before they reached a door, the Harbour Master unlocked it before stepping aside, leaving him to open it himself. He couldn’t believe the sight in front of him, a Selkie, all tied up for him like a gift.

She was beautiful, lying peacefully in his arms, dark tresses spilling over his arms like tendrils of shadow; moonlight hit her skin in such a way that it glowed, shimmering shades of green, purple and blue. “Here, boss. Let me carry her,” his companion said, reaching for the woman in his arms. He took two steps back from him, angling her away; she was something to be coveted, he didn’t want her tainted by anyone else just yet, not when he hadn’t had her to himself yet.

—

He eyed her hungrily as he circled her like a predator rounding up its kill before it pounced, fear making the flesh sweeter. The scent of fear was unmistakable, it came off her in waves - she was drenched in it. She was weak and powerless, and he could take what he wanted from her, exact whatever fantasy he wanted and there was nothing she could do about it. He would start with a gentle touch, lul her into compliance, and if she did not comply; he would have no choice but to resort to more unsavoury methods.

She ran. Oh how he enjoyed it when they ran.

His darling Selkie had made quite the show in front of his patrons, all her kicking and screaming only adding fuel to his hunger for her. He had her exactly where he wanted her, huddled on the floor between his feet, cowering in fear, the notion had sent a jolt of electricity through him; he could not help but relish in it, this creature that nearly caused his demise all those years ago.

He crouched down to her, thumb and forefinger poised to gently tilt her chin towards him, “How pretty you sound when you beg, pet,” he cooed, his voice rich like honey. She had almost leaned into his touch, only to have his hopes of this being easy, dashed as a white hot pain radiated from his hand. She had bit him! He had been nothing but gentle with her and this is how she repaid him?

An unstoppable anger boiled up from deep within him, the back of his hand colliding with the supple flesh of her cheek. An animalistic hiss tore through the silence of the room, warm blood splattering across his face and fine clothes. He couldn’t help but find the allure in the wild and blood covered thing in front of him, vicious and waiting to be tamed and brought to heel.

A moment of silence followed as they stared at each other, sizing one another up; there was no way he would let her leave the confines of this room, not until he was done with her. She knew that as well as he did, and yet she tried to push herself to her feet, he could admire her determination. By the time she had gotten to her knees he had her by the wrist, the softness of her skin dimpling beneath his grip.

“Come now, love, surely we can enjoy each other’s company for a while?” he whispered, staring down at her, her eyes screwed shut.

“I want to go home,” she begged, oh how sweet the sound was falling from her lips. He would have her begging for him and not her home soon enough.

A malicious grin spread across his face, eyes darkening as he backed her against the bed, “You are not going anywhere. I am going to devour you, again and again, until there is nothing left of you,” he hummed into her ear, the flat of his teeth grazing the flesh of her neck, punctuating the sentiment.

“Then I hope I rot in your stomach,” she gritted as he wrapped a hand around her waist, pulling her flush against him, long fingers splaying across the small of her back.

“Oh my dear, sweet girl, I’m going to have you wishing for death,” he crooned, delighting in the fear that continued to permeate through her body, despite the brave front she put on. He looked forward to breaking her down piece by piece.

She yielded to his advances, feeling her melt into his body as he set her down gently onto the bed. She felt so good against him, the warmth of her body ebbing into him, everything about her was so utterly enthralling, so…delicious; the way her eyes were lust filled, her pupils blown wide, the way her breath hitched as he nipped at the sensitive flesh of her neck. He brought his face down to her, catching her lips with his own in a searing kiss that only spurred his lust filled actions further.

She wanted this, he told himself. She wanted this as much as he did.

She was completely bare for him, all soft curves and saccharine sweetness, practically begging for him to take her. He wanted to take her apart piece by piece, to sink into her flesh and become one with her. He began to shift once more, trailing kisses down her throat towards her collarbones and then to her breasts. A smirk crossed his lips, feeling her back arch into him as he took one of her nipples into his mouth. His kisses became more ravenous and possessive the closer he got to her core.

His hands trailed her skin as if mapping out uncharted territory before coming to rest at the underside of her thighs, pulling her harshly towards the edge of the bed. He dove into her without warning, the flat of his tongue licking a bold stripe across her bare cunt. A salacious moan tore from her lips as she buried her fingers in his hair, talons biting into his scalp, urging him to dive into her once more.

“That’s it my love, don’t fight it,” he encouraged, feeling her core tighten around his fingers as they worked her, feeling her become more pliant to his touch. The combination of his deft fingers and tongue sent her over the edge, lips crying praise and prayers alike. An unmistakable surge of pride coursed through him; she was being so good for him and he would drain her of every drop of goodness she had.

He had her exactly where he wanted her, she was an unbroken beast waiting to be tamed and bent to her master’s will. The way she looked up at him with her eyes that swirled like a thunderstorm on the horizon, told him that she was his, body and soul. A frenzy over took him as she batted her pretty eyes at him, her head loling back into the softness of the sheets.

He was a ship sailing in unknown waters, and she was the tempest that had come to drown him. Her body would serve as the rocks he would be dashed against, he closed his eyes in bliss as he sank into her, savouring the feeling of her talons at the nape of his neck; he finally had everything he could ever want.

He had waited until exhaustion had taken her, to dress her in a thin shift to protect her modesty, she was only for him, only him, that dark possessiveness within him growled. He opened the box that had long sat untouched in his office, slipping the necklace around her delicate neck, pausing for a moment to admire the mottled bruises that had begun to bloom. She was truly his now.

Let the games begin.

A big thank you to @arcielee for beta reading for me and @amiraisgoingthruit for sitting through countless snippets of this, I appreciate you both so much!

Reblogs are greatly appreciated! it really helps get my work out there!

#astarion #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x oc #astarion ancunin #baldurs gate #baldursgate #baldurs gate 3 fanfic #bg3 tav #astarion bg3 #astarion x reader #astarion romance #astarion x female reader #dead dove do not eat #dark fic #dead dove fic

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annikin-annotates · 8 months

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AAAA YOU'RE TOO SWEET!! I HOPE YOU LIKE IT!!

Within a Wing Beat - Homecoming

Hi lovelies, another chapter hot off the press. I hope ya’ll like it, please let me know! Please reblog, it helps keep my fanfiction alive!

Pairing: Aemond x Winged!Reader

Warnings: PTSD, Poor conversational skills.

Word Count: 9,199

Cluethael

Cluethael had returned from the mountainous ranges of Valkyrie Village in the late hours of the night, the sky still as black as the Strangers cloak. Her mother and sister would no doubt sniff her out soon enough, so for now she roamed the halls of what once was her home. The only ones who had been alerted of her arrival so far were a pair of guards, and a ginger mousing cat. The sudden flash of auburn gave her a start as it darted in between her legs, sending her back to that frost bitten forest, back to the screams.

Draghiem did not seem as bright or cheery as she recalled; the whole castle felt as if it was covered in a heavy shroud, it's only goal being to suffocate her. She was not the same person as she was when she last walked the halls, she was nothing more than a little girl playing at womanhood. For her, it seemed that girlhood was a matter of growing the sweetest fruits from a bittersweet poison.

“Cluethael!” A familiar voice cried, she turned around to see both her mother and sister rushing down the high arches of the hall, their house coats billowing behind them.

“Mother! Emerie!” she cried out in delight, rushing up the hall to meet them, and they gathered in a tight embrace of tenderness and effervescence.

“I’ve missed you both so much,” she sighed, savouring the warmth and inhaling the smell of Emerie’s patchouli scented hair oil mixed with her mothers ginger and cardamom perfume.

“We have missed you more than you know, my sweet girl,” her mother cooed, running her ringed hand over Cluethael’s braided hair; she had no idea how much she had longed for her mothers touch.

“You must be exhausted sister, please rest, we shall all talk in the morning,” Emerie offered. ever the matriarch, Cluethael thought to herself, a smile cresting her lips as she nodded.

They led her to her room, as if she had been away for so long that she had forgotten where it was. She left them both with a kiss on the cheek and wished for a night of full rest as she closed the door. She stood at the threshold of her room, still filled with the clutter of childhood, of a little girl who was no longer her.

She undressed herself, slowly peeling off the layer of leather that had become a second skin and replacing it with a soft cotton chemise that no longer fit as it used to. Though she did not mind, it was soft and the very antithesis of what she had become used to.

She climbed beneath the goose down cover and sunk into the mattress, the softness leaching away all those years she spent in a cot. Cold slowly ebbing away the longer she was beneath the covers, she was bone weary but thankful to be in a place where she could finally rest.

It was then, in the quiet moonlit calm of her old chambers, beneath the covers that she began to cry. It felt as though the weight of the world had finally been lifted from her, she felt as though she could finally mourn all that she had been through.

Cluethael had been up for hours before the sun's rays began to pierce through the thin curtains of her chambers. She had already dressed herself in a light cotton tunic and the trousers from her leathers with boots that stopped at the knee. She found her old spot by the windowsill, the scratch marks from her wings etched into the wood, like she could almost see the ghost of her past self.

Breakfast had been laid out on several trays, the smell of fresh baked bread wafted through the room as she went to sit down in her usual chair, only to find a pair of large round eyes staring back at her. Cluethael blinked in surprise at the child before she knelt down on the cobble floor, sitting eye level with the dark mop of curls.

“And who might you be?” Cluethael asked with a slight lilt, her eyebrow arched. The girl stared back at her quietly, simmering on the question as if it held the key to all the world’s unanswered questions.

“My name is Saelira, and I’m a Princess, who are you?” she snipped, it made Cluethael snicker in delight. This one was going to drive her mother absolutely mad, she thought.

“Well, Saelira, I am also a Princess, who also happens to be your mother’s sister,” she remarked with a grin.

“Sister? My mother doesn’t have a sister!” she bit. The response caused Cluethael to pull back, the pang in her chest apparent. Did her sister not speak about her?

“She absolutely does,” she grinned.

“Does not!” Saelira replied.

“Does too,” Cluethael countered, the whole kerfuffle beginning to take an eerily similar route of her and Emerie’s arguments. Cluethael sighed dramatically, pressing a hand to her forehead in faux hurt.

“Perhaps when your mother arrives, we shall settle this debate, until then Princess, I bid you farewell,” she replied, bowing her head, taloned hand rolling slightly.

“You’re funny,” Saelira giggled at Cluethael, her small freckled nose scrunching in delight.

She stood once again, sitting beside Saelira, making sure to check the chair before seating herself, a smirk inching onto her face. It wasn’t long before Emerie rushed into the room, red in the face from huffing, though her shoulders relaxed when she laid eyes on Saelira.

“How many times have I told you not to venture off like that, Ñuha Byka Jorrāelagon,” she sighed, scooping up the writhing tangle of wings and limbs.

Cluethael muffled a laugh as she served herself, taking a small piece of almost everything on the table, a chunk of pheasant, a slice of bread layered thick with salted butter and jam, a bowl of oats sweetened with sugar and spices, a whole apple and some salted pork.

“Where is mother, won’t she be joining us?” She queried, mouth half full of bread.

“Firstly, if you’re going to speak with food in your mouth, be sure to fill it all the way up first,” Emerie shot at Cluthael, the corners of her mouth quirked. “Mother sends her apologies, she has some pressing business to tend to,” Emerie continued, her mouth setting in a hard line; something about the way Emerie said pressing business screamed trouble to Cluethael, she intended to find out why.

Cluethael took as much time as she could to eat her breakfast so as not to raise suspicion, taking large, but manageable bites of bread and jam. Surely the largeness of her bites could be contributed to her finally getting to eat something other than gruel and hard tac. She had sorely missed the softness of bread and the salty sweetness of butter and jam as it melted from the steam.

There was a long silence between the two, only the sound of cutlery clinking against the crockery, that was, until Saelira broke the silence.

“Mama, who is this lady?” she asked, porridge dripping down her small chin.

Surprise flashed on Emerie’s face as her eyes flitted to Cluethael, who intently stared back at her sister, a wry grin tipping the corners of her mouth.

“Yes, Princess Saelira and I were having a rather riveting conversation about my parentage before you interrupted,” Cluethael remarked slyly.

“That’s your aunt, Cluethael, she has been away for a very long time,” Emerie offered. Saelira’s eyes narrowed at Cluethael, evaluating every word her mother told her.

“Where did you go?” she asked, her porridge now long forgotten. Emerie looked at Cluethael pleadingly, she gave her a small reassuring smile - leave out the bloodshed, understood.

“Well,” she started, setting down her cutlery. “When I was young, I decided that I wanted to go on an adventure. See, I had read so many books about dragons and creatures from the beyond, that I decided that I wanted to find some,” she said, offering a tight lipped smile.

“Did you?” she asked, her eyes taking on that childlike gleam. Cluethael couldn’t help but smile at her sweetness, a true smile, one that exposed the sharpness of her fangs.

“I did,” Cluethael nodded, “But those are stories for another time,” she added sternly.

“But why?” Saelira countered, her little arms crossed in front of her chest. Cluethael looked to Emerie, unsure of what to say.

“Come now, Byka Perzys, we should get you dressed for the day,” Emerie sighed, lifting Saelira from the chair and setting her on the floor, heading towards the door. Her older sister turned her head to Cluethael and mouthing ‘thank you’, before exiting the dining room.

Cluethael waited until Emerie and Saelira were out of earshot before she exited, now she could figure out what that ‘other business’ that mother was attending to was. She assumed that her business would be taking place in one of two places, the throne room or her personal solar. She made her way through the high stone hall’s to the antechamber of the throne room, the sound of muffled voices growing louder as she drew closer.

She nodded to the guard stationed to let her pass, assessing the situation as she strode towards her mother and sister; they were standing on the dias with her uncle Eriling. She gave him a polite nod in greeting, but not before she bowed to her mother and Emerie; Lord Eriling stood at the foot of the dias, looking up to her mother as he continued to plead his case.

“Do you not think that your duties lie elsewhere? Your daughter has just returned home from what was surely a gruelling experience. Is it right to deprive her of the maternal figure she needs?” He asked, looking from his goodsister to Cluethael, she pushed down the urge to roll her eyes.

“That is quite the bold accusation, Lord Eriling. You assume that I cannot run a kingdom and be a mother, have I not been doing so for two decades?” Her mother spoke in that same calm and even tone that she always had, she was open to criticism but had the iron fist of a monarch to snuff out treason.

“I-I assume no such thing, but does your heart not yearn for something…befitting of your station?” He stammered, beginning to crack under the burning gaze of three royals. Rage bubbled up into Cluethael’s throat, acidic vitriol threatening to spill from her, she looked to Emerie, who was already staring at her with a look of warning in her eyes.

“Be mindful of your next words, for the words you speak are seditious,” Emerie’s voice taking on a cold edge.

“It is not seditious if it holds truth,” Eriling responded. “It is always the same with you women, insult their ability to rule and you come crashing down, just like your mother before you,” he continued, grinning like a cat who had dined on cream for dinner. Something snapped in Cluethael, it was one thing to insult her mother, but a different thing entirely to disrespect the dead, her teeth ground together in disgust.

“And you assume Lord Eriling, that you are more fit for the role? What is the reasoning that you would come here and ask my mother, quite boldly might I add, to renounce her throne? Do you think that being my father’s brother protects you from being charged with treason?” Cluethael hissed, unable to hold back the floodgates any longer.

A stunned silence filled the room, all three heads snapping to Cluethael, her eyes wild and wings flared in frustration. Lord Eriling scoffed and shook his head, but backed up a few paces as Cluethael took a few steps towards him, placing herself between him and her family.

“You will learn, one day, that a woman is not fit for the throne,” he hissed, turning for the door. Cluethael opened her mouth to retort, only to have a taloned hand grab her arm, the claws digging in painfully.

“You have done quite enough,” her mother said, using that same calm and regal voice on her as she did mere seconds ago with Lord Eriling.

“Well, Cluethael, one thing hasn’t changed since you’ve been gone. When there’s a pot of shit boiling, you know how to stir it like it’s the god’s work,” Emerie remarked, releasing the iron grip on her arm and shaking her head in annoyance.

She fled the throne room after Eriling left to hide her embarrassment first and foremost, but also to avoid lashing out at her mother. She was only doing her duty, allowing him to air his qualms before her, as is the right of any subject of the crown.

Cluethael had spent the rest of the day tucked away in the library, her nose pressed into the pages of a book. She tried to ignore the blood that still simmered in her veins as she read the words on the page before her. She was sure she had read the same eleven words at least twelve times and still could not retain it; she bit the inside of her cheek in frustration.

Princess Nymeria fled the Valyrian freehold with her people aboard 10,000…

Her focus began to deviate once more and she threw her head back, a sigh escaping with the motion of it. She couldn’t shake what her uncle had said to her, you will learn, that a woman is not fit for the throne. The mere sentiment made her stomach churn, was it not decided near a century ago that women would sit on the throne? He had no idea the burden that each woman that came before had faced, he was no different than any of the other men she had met, all hungry for power.

It was not her mother’s, nor her grandmother’s fault that they would bear the crown, the same duty bound burden her sister would carry, and then in time little Saelira too. The choice was taken from them in the same way as a child not choosing when to grow up, to put away childish things and by the time they notice, it is often too late.

Cluethael supposed it was the same for her in a way, it wasn’t her choice to marry the Targaryen Prince, it was a matter of duty. And like it or not, her time to fulfil those duties was fast approaching, she would spend the rest of her life in a far off place away from her family and the comforts of her home, all for the sake of duty.

It was well into the hour of the owl when Cluethael returned to her chamber, only to find a small lump in the centre of the plush mattress. For a split second her heart began to race, her first instinct thinking it was a creature that had come to claim her. It was only when she drew closer to the bed that she noticed the small wings buried into the thick goose down.

Saelira sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and looking to the doorway, the flickering candlelight streaming into the room. Judging by the state of the hearth, which was nothing but embers, Saelira had been in her chambers for a while, she made for the edge of the bed, closing the door behind her.

“What’s the matter, Ñuha Dōna?” Cluethael asked, her voice laced with worry.

Saelira looked at her for a moment, her eyes beginning to glaze over with unshed tears before leaping into her arms. Well this is certainly a change from breakfast this morning, she thought, but wrapped her arms around her niece regardless. Saelira felt so small in her grasp as she held her close, rubbing small soothing circles on her back.

“I - I had a nightmare,” she cried into Cluethael’s arms, her tears beginning to seep into her linen shirt.

“Sh, sh, sh,” she hushed, lifting Saelira into her arms, toeing off her boots and climbing beneath the covers. Saelira nestled into her Aunt’s arms, still sniffling as Cluethael smoother her hands over the small head of curls beside her “Mirre iksis sȳrī, ñuha byka prūmia. Daorun kostagon ōdrikagon ao kesīr,” she spoke in a soft, honeyed tone.

“Would you like to talk about what you saw, Little Spark?” Cluethael asked her softly, curious to find out what stirred her so much to seek out her Aunt’s comfort.

Saelira took in a shaky breath, trying to formulate her sentence, “I dreamt that there was a big scary monster that tried to take me away, I called for my muña but she didn’t come. I felt so scared!” she sobbed. “And then I woke up and I couldn’t find my muña, and then y-you weren't here either!” Saelira continued, she could just about feel the poor girl's heart beat through her chest.

Saelira whispered, her voice sounding so small. “I thought everyone had left me,”

“Oh Byka Rhaperzys. It’s okay, the monster can’t hurt you. I’m right here, and I’m sure your muña isn’t far away, she is just with Mumuña,” she soothed. “But for now, you can stay here with me,” she whispered, running a delicate finger from Saelira’s forehead to the tip of her nose. It was the same soothing motion her sister would do for her when she would rouse from a bad dream.

Cluethael repeated the motion for several minutes as she hummed softly, watching Saelira’s eyes grow heavy with sleep. Never in Cluethael’s life had she taken care of a child, and yet here she was, taking care of Saelira like she was her own babe. She looked upon the now sleeping child, her heart filling with a feeling she couldn’t describe, her own eyes growing heavy.

—

Cluethael could hear bards tuning their instruments in preparation for the grand celebration that her mother was holding tonight, a celebration for the safe return of her second daughter. That brought her to where she stood now, being fussed over by no less than three handmaids, all tasked with different things.

The dirt had been meticulously scrubbed from beneath her claws and the dew talon that stood proudly on each wing was filed. Her hair was washed and brushed through with spicy smelling oils, it seemed her mother thought that she was not capable of cleaning herself. They had scrubbed her skin so harshly that it was pink and raw by the time she emerged from the water. A thin cotton sheet was placed over her body to both dry her skin and protect her modesty as she sat on the stool in front of her vanity.

Her wings had been cleaned and dried with gentle hands, she could feel them cringing at each scar they crossed over. She hated being treated as though she was so fragile that she may break, she was not made of glass, but steel. Deft fingers braided the tresses that curled down her back, settling between her membranous wings, small beads of water clinging to the ends like diamonds. It was then that a knock came from the door, the three handmaid's parting swiftly, like waves, as though she was some sort of deity cutting through an ocean.

“Come,” Cluethael called, her eyes trained on the door through the haze of the mirror. The door inched open, just enough for a familiar dark head of hair to peek through, the hinges groaning in protest. She was elated when her eyes met the familiar gold-toned eyes of Alia, as she pushed the door open to enter the room, dismissing the three girls.

“I can continue from here, thank you,” she remarked as they passed, closing the door as they left Cluethael’s chambers. A giddy grin spread across Cluethael’s lips, fangs just peeking out from underneath her top lip, a gentle reminder of the killer she had become, she shook away the thought. Alia placed a gentle hand on Cluethael’s shoulders, a soothing balm on her battered soul.

“I have missed you dearly, Alia,” she smiled, trying to force down the urge to lean into her touch.

“The castle has not been the same without you,” Alia replied, giving her shoulder a gentle pat before she began unfurling the braid in her hair, clearly displeased with the work of her underlings. “Never send a girl to do a woman's job,” she muttered, Cluethael suppressed a giggle. It had been far too long since she had laughed, it almost made her look forward to the celebration her mother had planned.

Festivities that she had come to know were not as frivolous as the ones she had grown up with, libations were never strong enough and the music always reminded her of war cries. To hear a lute that had been properly tuned and to taste wine that didn’t remind her of urine would be a welcome change.

Alia had worked her magic on Cluethael’s hair, she had pulled all of her dark curls away from her face, her horns on full display. Two braids ran along the top of her head, and one more braid on either side of her temple, all four of them converging at her nape where they were weaved together in the same fashion a basket would be. The rest of her hair was left to hang in its natural curl, slowly spiralling as it dried.

She stepped back from Cluethael and moved to the chest at the end of the bed, pulling out an arm full of silver fabric. The dress fit her like a glove, a silver-grey gown with flowing, near floor length, sleeves of soft opaque fabric shimmered like starlight. Two triangular pieces made up the decolletage, forming a deep ‘V’ shape that accentuated her comely figure and broad shoulders, before it fell gracefully to the floor, a small train forming behind her.

It cinched dramatically at her waist with a diamond shaped cut of soft brown leather layered with braided silver threading that tied it together. The back of the gown was left almost completely open, save for the straps that ran across her shoulders to keep the sleeves from falling, and a thin silver chain with an onyx stone that ran the length of her spine.

—

The roiling in her stomach did not seem to quell no matter what she did. Alia had let slip that the Targaryen-Hightower branch of her betrothed’s family would be in attendance at tonight's celebration. With each step she took down the spiralling main staircase, she too began to spiral further. Insidious thoughts snaked their way into her head, their poisonous fangs piercing deep into her heart; an unspoken whisper that she was no longer good enough, no longer a viable match for the empire the Targaryen’s had built.

No. She was as much the blood of the dragon as they were.

She was nothing if not worthy, she was everything she could have hoped to be, skilled in combat, intelligent and cunning with a wit that was unmatched. Cluethael was nothing if not the culmination of all who came before her, learning from their follies and making sure that she would not suffer the same as her predecessors.

She reached for the tarnished seven pointed star that Aemond had gifted her all those years ago, she remembered the argument that led to the gift as if it had happened only yesterday. Her thumb and forefinger passing over it, the feel of the fine threads of gold a comfort she had not always been afforded. And yet, even with the knowledge she possessed, she did not know how to make people see her as anything more than a second daughter.

A sacrificial lamb.

All eyes were fixed to her as the grand doors to the hall were opened, the music ceased as she gracefully descended the steps. Her eyes searched for her family as she cut through the sea of people, all of them bowing their heads in respect as she passed. They had been perched at the dias, the three thrones had been substituted for a long table to accommodate both her own family, and her new one.

Music thrummed throughout the entirety of the castle; she watched on as people danced together, smiling at the sea of colours before her. She had not seen a party so lively since her thirteenth name day celebration, which had ended in a long list of horrors that she would rather not think about right now.

Aemond’s Pov

The last time he had set foot in this room he was hardly old enough to tie the laces on his shoes, and now six years later he stood outside its doors once more. His mother stood in front of Aegon, desperately trying to fix his mussed hair and crinkled doublet, smoothing it over with her hands as he tried to push himself away.

“Mother, please. I am a man grown,” Aegon huffed.

“A man grown would allow the servants to help him dress,” she replied, exhaling from her nose, eyes fluttering in frustration. Aegon had opened his mouth to retort as the ornate oak doors began to open for them, his mother and grandsire took the lead as they descended the steps, followed closely by Helaena and Aegon, and lastly, himself.

It hadn’t changed at all since he had last been inside, the same large misshapen stone tiles made up the floor, and the same candelabras stood dripping with tendrils of melted wax. Above him was the same Sept-like expanse of wood and stone that steadfastly held the roof above their heads.

The thrones atop the dias had been shifted, a long table now in its place, suspended above it was an arrangement of flowers so large it almost entirely blocked the circular stained glass window behind it. It was a mass of ferns, feathers and ivy, flowers of red, black, and grey intertwined with the greenery; its spindly branches hanging so low they almost skimmed the wooden table.

Sitting proudly at the head of the table was the Taloned Dowager herself, her face was stern, her eyes hard as she watched them descend into the room. Aemond could feel her eyes piercing into his skull, as he found his seat at the end of the table, a large black feather hanging above his head. It was only then, after they had found their seats did she stand to address the gathered assembly of numerous lords and ladies, from both Westeros and Draghiem.

Silence fell with a simple movement of her slender hand, “I welcome all those who have travelled far and wide for this special occasion. After many years away, my youngest daughter has returned home to us, to her rightful place,”

There was a hushed murmur that ran through the crowd, Westerosi lords and ladies alike exchanging strange looks with one another. Aemond couldn’t help but notice the slight against his family, to her rightful place, he repeated in his head. The marred golden scars on the Queen’s wings glittered and glowed in the candlelight, a flamboyant display of their pedigree.

His mother thought they were all mutts, but his grandsire said that they needed them.

“But that is enough for now, let the festivities recommence!” she declared before returning to her seat.

“What a wonderful ball you have hosted, your Grace,” his mother complimented, a tight expression across her features.

The Taloned Dowager nodded, her fingers locked tightly around a chalice of wine “Thank you, your Grace. It is not very often we have such… esteemed guests,” her smile did not reach her eyes.

Aemond had never been one for balls or festivities, he had always found them to be a hunting ground for desperate lords and ladies to auction off their children to the highest bidder. It reminded him entirely too much of the court back home, to Lord Borros. He took a sip from the chalice he had been nursing, before looking back out over the crowd and tuning out the overlapping chatter around him.

That’s when the doors to the hall opened once more, revealing a face he had not seen in quite some time; Cluethael. The once lively hall ceased all activity as she entered, everyone's eyes fell on her, including his own. She was beautiful in the way a storm was, harsh and frightening like the streaks of lightning that crackled across the sky. Her horns wrapped around her head like a crown made of bone, each talon at the tip of her fingers glinted like a blade, both a warning and a testament to anyone who challenged the Draghiem’s power.

Aemond followed his mother’s lead as she stood gracefully from the table, followed by his sister, brother and finally his grandfather. There was something in the way the numerous lords and ladies in attendance parted for her, their heads bowed, that made his skin heat. His eyes never left her as she ascended the dias, stopping on the other side of the table to curtsy. It wasn’t as graceful as some, but it was better than he expected, she was always one to choose her duty as a warrior over that of being a princess. She was exactly who her mother raised her to be, what they were all raised to be - vicious killers.

He listened intently as she participated in pleasantries, but he did not miss how her eyes would find his own. “Princess Cluethael,” Aemond greeted.

“Prince Aemond, it is lovely that you have attended, it has been far too long,” she smiled politely, dipping her head in respect. Her voice was deeper than when they last spoke, honeyed and melodious.

“Indeed it has,” was all he could manage. But with his extensive education, surely he could have come up with more than that. She indulged him with a half laugh, before excusing herself to sit by her sister, who now had a brood of her own. He found his seat once more, resisting the urge to shrink back into it.

He studied her from afar as she conversed with her sister, as she fussed over the child grabbing at her arm, no matter where Cluethael would roam, his eyes stayed transfixed on her. She had matured a great deal since he had last seen her, in the ways most women do as they age, but there was something dark about her, simmering just below the surface. Aemond noted the sharpness in her smile and the presence she commanded, like a general commanding a battalion.

They locked eyes with each other across the room, she gave him a small nod in acknowledgement - an unspoken greeting. They had yet to speak a word to each other other than pleasantries, neither of them wanting to stand from their seats.

“ - As stupid as a basket,” Aemond had caught the tail end of his misbegotten brother's sentence as he sidled up to him.

“What?” his response to Aegon was curt, frustrated that he had been pulled from his thoughts.

“I said; The ladies at court are pretty, but they are as stupid as baskets compared to Draghiem’s court,” he repeated.

“It is not as though you have an interest in intelligence, brother,” Aemond huffled back, trying his best to keep track of Cluethael and act like he is listening to his brother.

“You would do well to retrieve your jaw from the floor, brother,” Aegon jested. Aemond rolled his eyes, unamused by his brother’s jest. Was it that obvious? He shot Aegon an incredulous look, the glare that took over his singular lavender eye still sharp enough to cut deep. As much as he wanted to continue the delightful conversation his brother roped him into, drowning out the story he was now telling about his recent visit to a whore house.

Instead he found his mother staring at him, her slender brows rising slightly, flicking her eyes from himself to Cluethael, who sat oblivious at the other end of the table taking in her surroundings. Aemond gracefully rose from his seat once more, before they had entered the hall his mother had asked him to share a dance with Cluethael and much to his chagrin, he agreed. It was not as if he couldn’t dance, quite the contrary, he just did not like to be seen as anything less than the stone walls he had built around himself. But by the time he had summoned the courage to take the first step towards her, Cluethael had been whisked away from him once more.

She had been taken by her sister, the both of them smiling and conversing with one another as they went through the motions of a dance he had never seen before. Aemond’s eyes tore from her to look around the hall, people were laughing, talking and embracing their children as if they had not seen them for a while. The room hummed with an energy that he couldn’t quite place, relief possibly?

It was then that Cluethael’s mother stood from her chair in the middle of the table, it was the first time he had taken the time to notice the wings of the monarch, how marred and filled with scratches they were. The hall's energy lowered from crackling with a feeling he couldn’t place, to a low hum as Cluethael’s mother began to talk.

“I would like to take this moment to honour those who were lost in this year's Blood Rite, it is a pain that no parent should know. I send my deepest sympathies, may the Boreas take them,” she started, a solemn silence taking the hall.

“But I send my gratitude to both the old gods and the new for bringing a lucky few back to us, may we now hold the moments we have with our children all the more dear,” his eyes found Cluetheal, “For on the wings of victory they shall soar!”

He had found his way to the balcony overlooking the sheer drop into the thrashing ocean below, it held the same isolation that Dragonstone or Storms End had. A person quietly sidled up to the railing on his left side about four paces away from him, their head tilted upwards to the sky. He turned his head abruptly, to tell Aegon to leave him be, only to find Cluethael leaning on the railing, her eyes trained on the sky.

“It’s beautiful, is it not? It’s so vast, I wish more people could see its beauty,” she hummed, her head turning to face him before returning to the sky.

He hummed in agreement, “It is, there isn’t much else as beautiful as the night sky, my lady,” he replied, doing his best to ignore the nervous prickling at the base of his spine.

“My lady, would you do me the great courtesy of saving your next dance for me?” He was just as surprised as she was when the question, which sounded more like a statement, came from his lips.

A grin crossed her lips as she nodded, “Of course, my lord,” was all she afforded him before returning to the warmth of the hall, that damn stone glinting in the moonlight.

Cluethael’s Pov

If there was one thing Cluethael was absolutely sure of: Aemond had become every bit of the Targaryen dragon lord he had desired to be. His menacing stature alone was enough to have the servants avert their eyes from him–not that he paid them any mind–he looked far too focused on the stone wall behind her. Despite his stoicism, Cluethael found him quite attractive, as he really did grow into his features.

They had a less than enthusiastic reunion after so long of seeing each other, perhaps a sliver of that little boy she knew still lived in him. He had not spoken to her at all besides the pleasantries he awarded everyone, which was nothing more than a short, ‘Princess,’ and a bow. She had no idea why the interaction disgruntled her so much, as she was not entitled to any more attention than any of the other maidens in attendance.

It was somewhere between the sixth and seventh course when she began to grow tired of the eyes on her; the room began feeling far too closed off despite its spaciousness. She politely excused herself from the table before making her way towards the large balcony that overlooked the rolling ocean.

The night sky here was beautiful; stars glittered in the sky by the thousands, each of them a testament to the gods' creativity, to allow us to gaze upon something so magnificent. She only realised that she wasn’t alone when a head snapped towards hers, a scowl on their face, silver strands fluttering in the ocean breeze. Her body released tension she didn’t know she had been holding when his face began to relax, taking notice that it was her.

Cluethael wasn’t sure how she ended up with her body tucked closely to the Targaryen Princes’ but there she was, her slender taloned hand clasped in his. The whole thing felt awkward, she would admit, the tension that hummed between them as they glided around the slate floor. She needed to do something to break the barrier between them, anything to break the silence as they twirled between couples.

“I love this dance, it is traditional to Westeros is it not?” she asked, near groaning as the statement left her lips. After all the lessons in conversational etiquette, this was the best she could do? At the very least, her embarrassment could pass for being flushed from dancing.

“Indeed, it is most invigorating. The dance hails from the Vale I believe,” he replied. His voice sounded far off, like he was relying on muscle memory to guide him through the conversation, stiff silence hung between them despite the moment and music.

“It is your turn to say something, My Lord,” she urged, taking charge of the conversation. “I spoke about the dance, it is your turn to remark about the slightness of our Great Hall or the number of couples,” she tried her best to smooth the frustration in her voice. She could hear her mothers words echoing in her mind: Do not let them know how you feel, keep your emotions tucked close to your heart.

“I am perfectly happy to oblige, please advise me on what you would like best to hear,” he remarked, a flash of something she didn’t recognise glinting in his eyes. She had finally gotten the chance to look at him closely, taking in his features, a strong jawline and a defined aquiline nose. There was no denying that he was every bit the blood of the dragon.

“Perhaps it is best we remain silent,” she replied, rolling her eyes. Another wave of silence followed for a moment, Aemond broke it this time.

“You talk as a rule while dancing?” he asked her, a scarred brow raised as they spun, their hair fanning out around them, like the night encircling the moon.

“No, I prefer to be brash and unsociable and taciturn, makes it all so much more enjoyable, don’t you think?” Cluethael quipped, a smile dancing on her lips.

Maybe things would not be as bad as she thought.

Blinking herself out of her trance, her brain reconnecting itself back to her body, she stood in front of the long mirror in her chambers. She ignored her racing heart, instead observing her out: the fine travelling coat of deep green, its sleeves long and soft against her arms.Underneath the coat was light leather armour, it made her feel secure; it was her little piece of home she wanted to take with her.

She played with the gold necklace Aemond had given her all those years ago before tucking it under her coat and armour. A thin brown leather belt hung on her hip, a marvellous silver dagger set with a ruby on the hilt, and her rope dart; looped neatly in its holster. Her hair was braided in a traditional Targaryen style, two large braids at the top of her head, hanging at her back. Startled by the knock on her door, it swung open as Saelira rushed at her, she bent down to capture her in a tight embrace.

"Hello my little love!" she greeted, kissing her repeatedly on her cheeks causing a chorus of giggles to ensue, she pulled away to stand and look at Emerie.

"She came to see her favourite aunt off," Emerie smiled, pulling her little sister - who was not so little anymore - into a bone crushing hug. She returned the favour by hugging her sister tighter.

“I’m her only aunt,” She quipped. Cluethael didn’t miss the smile that ghosted her sister’s lips, before the same solemness set in her features once more.

"Mother wishes for us to see you off; He is here," Emerie whispered to her, she pulled away from her sister instinctively. The words that he had written on the letter swirling around her head I shall return for you. She shivered involuntarily, a physical manifestation of the building anxiety, she nodded letting out a slow breath to soothe herself, casting her gaze down to her nieces

"Let's go meet our new friend shall we?" she asked the two doe eye girls, feigning excitement. They both nodded eagerly, practically dragging her by her travelling coat.

The hallway to the grand hall felt longer than it was, the doors opened to reveal her mother in all her regal pride in a dress of the prettiest blue. She took off in a run to pull her mother into a teary hug.

"Oh my darling, how beautiful you look," she sniffled, taking in how much her daughter had grown. The queen had not realised how much her youngest had changed in the past six years, she was a young girl no longer; but a woman grown.

They both stepped back from each other as her sister and her children took their place beside them. "Send the prince in,'' her mother commanded. The doors opened once more as a familiar tall, silver haired prince stalked forward like a wild cat hunting his prey. He wore a simple riding coat and a black doublet and britches, his boots stopped at his mid calf; a sword and an all too familiar dagger hung at his side.

She stood steadfast and tall, even though she wanted nothing more than to shrink herself down to the size of a pea. Seeing him was different when she knew that she would not see her family on the morrow. His gaze tingled across her skin, and Aemond bowed to the small group as they stood in front of the dias.

They returned the respect in kind, dipping their heads in a silent greeting. Cluethael had lost track of what was going on around her, the pleasantries exchanged fading into a soft hum, flashes of the last year repeating in her mind. The familiar tingle of fear prickled the base of her spine as they moved through the courtyard, a firm hand grasped her by the shoulder.

Her mother had only embraced her in such a way twice before, the morning she left to become a Valkyrie and the morning she returned. It pulled painfully at her heart to always be the harbinger of such sadness, if she were to have it her way, she would never leave the confines of the kingdom if it meant that she could stay.

“Oh my sweet girl, it feels like you had only just returned and now you are being taken again,” her mother lamented.

Cluethal nodded. “I know mother, I did not wish to be away again so soon,” she blinked away the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

She reluctantly let go of her mother, reaching out to Emerie, who embraced Cluethael tightly, resting her head on top of her little sisters. Cluethael basked in the farewell she had with her mother and Emerie and her nieces. When she turned back to Aemond, she saw he had taken a few respectful steps back so she could say goodbye.

Mae, the quieter one of the two, grasped her at her hand tightly, making her stop. She turned to the young girl and bent down to her level, her dark wild hair hanging at her shoulders.

“Where are you going?," she asked, her eyes beginning to water; Cluethael’s own lip trembled, her carefully built exterior cracking for a brief moment.

"I’m going on a new adventure!” she began, putting on a wide smile, “Perhaps when I am settled your mother will allow you to visit,” she reassured, standing up again. Cluethael took several steps back from them, making her way toward Aemond. She looked back at her family again from where they stood on the steps of the castle; they looked complete, even in her absence.

They walked together in silence, the path they walked all too familiar. Neither of them wanted to break the silence, that was until they stopped at the clearing. A gasp escaped her lips as she smacked his arm in delight, Aemond's lips quirked at the sound. To say the beast before her was large was an understatement, deep green scales marred with scars covered its body.

"Her name is Vaghar,'' he said, making his way to the beast, his hand carefully placed at the small of her back. Vaghar's body shifted as her rider and his companion came closer, her yellow eyes snapping open, pupils narrowing into slits. Aemond brought her to Vaghar's head and placed her hand on her snout, his hand placed firmly on hers.

She could feel the callouses and small cuts on his hands from training, unprompted she began to speak "Kesan daor ōdrikagon zirȳla, iksan iā raqiros,'' simply letting her know that she meant no harm and was a friend. Vaghar let out a low grumble in acknowledgement; the air released from the dragon's throat and out her nostrils blew her hair back.

Aemond looked at Cluetheal in quiet amazement, though he didn't say anything, only made his way to mount the large beast. Aemond stepped to the side to allow his betrothed to climb the rope ladder before him. Instead of climbing the tattered looking ropes that hung from Vhagar, she flapped her wings to lift herself to the dragons’ back.

Once both of them were mounted, Aemond let out the command for Vaghar to fly, the movement of her body sending thunderous shockwaves up her spine. Vaghar's wings opened as they sped up into the air, that delightful feeling of the world falling away beneath her feet.

It gave the Princess just enough time to look back at Draghiem, the view of her family home and ancestral seat had never looked as grandiose as it did now. Its high spires and towering Grand Hall almost reaching for her, pain tugging at her heart. Vhagar banked to the side and continued out over the ocean, her home fading from view.

From where she was on her perch behind Aemond on Vhagar’s large saddle, her hand placed loosely around his waist. She could see the sky beginning to shift colours, the warm orange-red hues becoming maroon and indigo. It had been so long since she had seen the sky free from obstruction; she had not flown since her journey home and her wings ached for it, but for now she would settle for the view on dragon-back.

It was a calm night, the sky was crystal clear, and while the conversation was sparse, the long silences were not awkward or uncomfortable and for that, she was thankful. They hadn’t spoken a word to each other in hours, she had gotten so used to noise that she had almost forgotten what silence sounded like.

She turned her head back to the scenery around her, not realising her thoughts had led her so far away from her own body that she had been staring at the back of Aemond’s head for several minutes. In the time she had been submersed in her own thoughts, the sky had grown dark and heavy with storm clouds, the flashes of lighting had put her on edge.

There was roaring rain and rolling thunder from the clouds beneath them, she could feel the crackle of electricity in the air before it struck the sea thousands of feet below them, causing the hairs on her body to stand up. The sudden crack of light through the air as thunder crashed around them made her flinch, sucking in a sharp breath through her teeth.

Her heart raced, desperately trying to claw its way out of her throat she could feel the panic thrumming through her veins. Cluethael did her best to calm herself, the embarrassment of being ten and eight and still scared of thunderstorms heating her cheeks. Aemond shifted in front of her, a large hand snaked around to her thigh, a silent grounding presence.

Only then did she realise, as the wind whipped around and thunder shook her bones, of how warm his touch was.

They spent most of the night in a comfortable silence, the sky had once again begun shifting colours to herald in the oncoming dawn. The deep blues and violets of the darkness changed to an intricate painting of soft blues and pinks, the golden warmth beginning to crest over the horizon.

Aemond extended a finger to point in front of them, to the patch of land slowly appearing over the horizon. Two large buildings stood out to her immediately, one made entirely of red stone, four tall towers that she could just make out. While the other building seemed to be a large dome, a gold spire glinting in the orange glow of dusk.

"The building towards the ocean is the Red Keep,” he directed his finger once more to the domed building.

“We are making our way to this one,” he said, pointing out the domed building.

A grin overtook her mouth, only offering a curt nod before she untied the rope keeping her in the saddle and let herself fall from Vaghar. Entering a blissful freefall towards the ocean, letting out a happy yell as she opened her wings and shot back up past Aemond, coming to glide above Vaghar’s massive wing.

He looked at her incredulously, loving that mischievous glint in her eyes. It was the same one she had back in the clearing all those years ago; his Wildflower: He drank in the visage of his betrothed in flight, her hair whipping around her face wildly, the light filtered through the thin membrane of her wings highlighting the knicks and scars on them.

She looked every bit lovely than he remembered, her upturned nose and high cheekbones, she looked free. The closer they got to the Dragon Pit the more nervous the princess became, her stomach had not stopped bubbling since she mounted Vhagar yesterday.

She knew that when she arrived that she was on their ground not her own, if training with the Valkyrie taught her anything it was that she needed to be careful. She left the safety net of Vaghar's wing and dove down towards the water, she lent her hand down revelling in the warmth, the icy chill of winter finally receding.

Once Vaghar had landed outside the Dragon Pit, it was in the cover of darkness once more; they both made their way into the large domed building, she had never seen something like this in her entire life. Its roof had to be eighty feet tall, arches carved out of sandstone lined with candles, she was brought back down to earth when she saw two people at the far end of the pit by the enormous doors.

The closer they came the more she could make out the figures, one was Queen Alicent with her hands clasped tightly in front of her beautiful green dress, opulent gold jewellery seemed to drip off her. The other body standing beside her was tall and had a beard of sandy brown on his chin, he had crows feet at the corners of his eyes and crease marks on his forehead showing that he was a seasoned thinker. And then a third figure in amour that shone like the moon, a familiar face that she took to more kindly then the previous, Ser Criston, dipping his head as the royals approached.

He stood proudly beside the queen, his hands resting behind his back, Alicent stepped toward her son pulling him in for a hug and thanking the seven he returned safely. She smiled at the princess fondly, "Oh my dear girl, how you've grown," she marvelled at the girl who stood before her. Her broad shoulders and body built for fighting was not something often seen in Westeros, nor were the awful things attached to her back. Cluethael returned the polite smile and dipped her head in respect, but she would not bow.

"Thank you, your Grace,'' she responded with a well rehearsed curtsey, wearily eyeing the man beside her. He stepped forward and bowed his head.

"Lord Otto Hightower, Princess," he re-introduced himself, before stepping back once more.

"It is a pleasure to meet you again, My Lord," she said, the words tasting sour on her tongue. She could never understand all the needless titles and pleasantries of the court. “It would be a great honour if you would call me Cluethael.” she added, watching them take a sidelong glance at each other.

"I am sure you both are exhausted from your travels. Shall we return to the Keep?" the Queen suggested, glossing over Clethael’s request entirely, allowing Lord Hightower to take the lead out of the Dragon Pit doors followed closely behind by his daughter and grandson, with Cluethael begrudgingly bringing up the rear with Ser Criston.

The royal chambers she was given were comfortable to say the least, She shed her riding coat and belt before diligently untying her armour, letting it fall to the floor in a heap. She was fortunate enough to have a few dresses and nightgowns afforded to her on arrival, she picked the simple floor length linen one that struck her fancy. She stopped when she realised there was a back on the dress, they were not accustomed to having someone like her here.

She sighed before taking the night gown in her hands and ripping the back open, it slid over her wings after that. Her scalp ached as he undid the tight braids from her head and brushed the knots from her head slowly, the repeated motion relaxed her. She stood up once more and looked at the room, red stone walls and a lovely balcony, a copper tub behind a modesty screen, a small table and chairs sat behind a large settee.

One thing stuck out to her; the bed was not large enough to house her. But there was no fixing it, she blew out the candles in the room one by one and crawled onto the bed, her wings hanging so far over the bed they almost entirely laid on the floor. A sigh fell from her lips as she welcomed but rather uncomfortable sleep.

Taglist: @cyeco13

I’d like to give a quick thank you to both @sylasthegrim for the lovely chapter header and @arcielee for being my beta reader and suffering through my 2,000 “If this is a semi-colon and not a comma I’m gonna scream” comments.

Translations:

Byka Perzys - Little Flame

Ñuha Byka Jorrāelagon - My Little Love

Ñuha Dōna - My Sweet

Mirre iksis sȳrī, ñuha byka prūmia. Daorun kostagon ōdrikagon ao kesīr - All is well, my little heart. Nothing can hurt you here.

Byka Rhaperzys. - Little Spark

Mumuña - Grandmother

Kesan daor ōdrikagon zirȳla, iksan iā raqiros - I will not harm him, I am a friend.

#lovely moots 💕

35 notes · View notes

annikin-annotates · 8 months

Text

Within a wing Beat - The Other Sister

Pairing: Aemond x Winged!Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 7,845

It was the early hours of dawn when Cluethael awoke, the sky was still dark but the stars had disappeared. The covers whooshed past her as she tiptoed out of bed, the stone cool under her feet; she picked up a loose shirt from the night before and put it on, as well as a fresh pair of britches and her boots. Once everything was properly laced, she braided her hair into a tight braid around her head and made for the window.

The view out her window was breathtaking, she took a deep breath and leapt, the sheer drop from the window to the violently thrashing waves below. The ocean and jagged rock below were fast approaching when she opened her wings and took off in flight, her wings cutting through air like a knife through butter. She carried herself higher and higher seemingly feeling lighter with each flap of her leathery wings, she breathed in the air feeling it become colder with each breath she took.

The beating of wings and the rushing wind was all her ears could hear as she soared ever higher into the headwinds, the clouds leaving cool wet residue on her skin as she passed through them. The vast expanse of the ocean that seemed never ending, contrasting with the soft pinky orange hue of the oncoming dawn was something that never failed to take her breath away.

Flying had always soothed her, she couldn't imagine not being able to just take off for a while, throwing duty and caution to the wind. Though in a way she never got to do that, for her mother was a queen and she was a princess, duty was a heavy burden she would always have to carry. And she was raised to do her duty and keep her family safe; a sudden twist in her stomach that she had never felt before broke her thought. It felt like someone had released butterflies from a cage into her stomach.

'Home' she thought, 'It's time to return back home'.

She had just made it through the window when her older sister burst through the door with an excited cry, "Today is the day my little love! How are you feeling?" she beamed, rushing the young girl who had been mere seconds away from being caught. Her mother thought her 'Too young to fly without a chaperone' , she thought it was stupid, she was ten and two now, she was practically an adult! She thought bitterly.

She nodded in acknowledgement to her sister "Yes, today is the day, I do not understand why everyone is so passionate about it. I will not marry a prince and spend the rest of my days in a castle!" Cluethael huffed, crossing her arms. Her sister sighed and sat down on the settee across from her.

"I know, I understand. I felt the same way when I had to marry my own husband. But remember through adversity grows strength, and it is not so bad; truly." her sister tried to gently break the news to her that sadly, there was no wriggling her way out of it this time.

She looked back at her older sister, Emerie was everything that she wanted to be, she was a lady commander of her very own legion of warriors, how could she know? She didn't want to live the life of a Westerosi princess, she wanted to fight and die on the battlefield and live a life that her kin will tell stories about through the ages. Her sister came and left as quick as an autumn breeze, she opened the door and turned around grinning as she did so, "You know, you would do well to close your window after you leave, you never know who might come in while you are away," and with that, she left.

The sun had just started to appear in all its golden glory in the sky, the ocean getting that almost iridescent colour to it as the sun beamed down, and on the horizon she saw a ship with large black sails and an emblem she couldn't make out just yet. That feeling came back to her again, this time it settled like a heavy stone in her stomach, 'maybe it'll be heavy enough that when I move I'll stay stuck to the sill forever' she thought.

The comfortable silence she had found herself in was broken by a knock on her chamber door, she knew it would have been a handmaiden her mother sent for today.

"Come," she said softly, watching the door open from her perch on the window sill the handmaid smiled.

"Good morning My Lady, the Queen has sent me to dress you," she said in a tone that reminded her of honey. With a heaving sigh she popped down off the window sill and let her handmaid work her magic. She wasn't overly fond of dresses, she didn't like the way they restricted her arms. Her stays felt entirely too tight, her shoes were uncomfortable and nipped her heels every time she took a step.

All of this made her feel like something she's not: A Lady. And if this is what proper ladies went through every day then perhaps she should have been born a man. Her handmaid, whose name was Alia, sat her at the vanity and began combing out the crown braid in her hair to begin a new style. Alia spent what felt like hours winding and weaving and brushing the wild curls out of the head of hair, as she sat in front of her.

The young girl found herself once again sailing away with her own thoughts, it paid to be a daydreamer nowadays. The handmaid stepped back and gave her a curtsy before promptly leaving the room, and she stood from the vanity to look at herself in the long mirror. She did not even look like herself, they had tied, pinned, tucked, and shoved each piece of her into a persona that was not her’s. Her hair was in a gaudy Westerosi style, twisted and braided onto the top of her head, and the dark emerald silk gown felt like she was carrying another human on her back.

The thunderous rushing of blood was all she could hear as she and her older sister Emerie walked into the grand hall. It was borderline cavernous in its spaciousness, with high ceilings that mimicked the ones she read in books. Three large iron chandeliers hung from the ceiling and tall stone pillars lined each side of the hall, candelabras that had wax trails oozing from them.

Though nothing was more lovely than the stained glass window that sat above dais, letting in an almost ethereal glow hit the three chairs that sat atop it. Emerie grabbed her younger sister's hand as they walked, exchanging little more than looks before meeting their mother at the dais and sitting down on each side of her. Her mother gave the youngest daughter a warm look, one that made her daughter release tension in her body that she didn't know she had. And with that the great hall doors opened.

"The King and Queen of Westeros, Alicent and Viserys Targaryen," the Major-Domo announced. She felt the colour drain from her face, her skin began to feel clammy but also far too cold all at once; all she could do was watch in ill concealed horror as they entered their hall with three children in-tow.

'This cannot be happening, my mother has got to have rattled something loose while sparring yesterday. She can't sell me off like a prized mare to these people!' She thought, frantically trying to rein in her anxiety as well as her rising anger. Her mother ushered her down the dais to meet them where the steps ended, the closer she got the more her nails bit into her palms.

"Welcome to our home, this is my eldest daughter Emerie and my youngest daughter Cluethael," her mother greeted warmly, bowing her head in respect, both daughters following suit. The Targaryen Queen stepped back, to make room for her own children who she ushered in front of her.

"These are my children, Aegon, Helaena, and Aemond," she smiled, though the conversation after that was muffled, she was sure she was in shock. Her three children all looked the same, that icy white hair and the piercing violet eyes, the taller of the two boys looked like he would rather be anywhere else but where he was.

The younger girl was fidgeting with her hands, and keeping her gaze directed at the floor, while the youngest boy had a stony look in his eyes, he stood straight, his icy hair barely grazing his shoulders, half of it tied back out of his face. Both daughters gave a curtsy, her mother once again broke her youngest's train of thought.

"I'm sure you all have had a very exhausting journey. Our servants will show you to your chambers and food will be brought to you if you so wish, you need only ask," she smiled warmly watching the group lead away from the grand hall. She was still rooted to the floor when the youngest Targaryen turned his head back to her and gave a small wave, she waved back without thinking. Her mother had dismissed both her and Emerie for the rest of the day, and she made her way out of the hall as quick as she could in those god awful shoes, though once the door was closed she kicked them off of her feet and raced back to her room to change once again.

After a quick change of hair and clothes, she was ready to head out once more; the warm breeze from the open walkway made the bare skin of her back tingle, due to her people being winged creatures they had shirts that were wide cut and plunging at the back for ease of wing movement.

The clanking of steel and thundering steps of people was music to her ears as she made her way to the training yard. Her shoes made for the steps when a familiar and much welcome voice called out to her.

"There's my favourite student! How did it go Princess?" her sword instructor Kylan asked with a wide grin.

She shot him a pointed look, "I would rather be swallowed by the ground than talk about it," she huffed. "I would like to train though if you would oblige your favourite student," she continued, making her way to the weapons table and picking out a sword. Kylan quickly followed behind her.

"I do not think you are ready for live steel just yet, my Princess. Let's work on our stances and hand to hand combat once more shall we?" he suggested, though she knew it was more of a statement, and she nodded. Kylan made his way around her, assessing her stance; he tapped her wings with the back of his hand and kicked her feet out wider.

"Wings up, keep your knees bent and your feet apart, you don't want to be knocked over during a fight, its key to be light on your feet but stable at the same time," he instructed. She found herself doing the same thing for hours, all she would do is fix her stance, fight hand to hand - lose, and repeat.

The young Princess was becoming overwhelmed, and Kylan bid her farewell for the day, leaving her to her own devices for the rest of the afternoon. She made her way to the library to rest a while before she would no doubt be called down for a feast with her new found family.

If she could bottle the smell of old books she probably would, the smell wafted around her as she entered the family library. She picked out her favourite book and went to sit in her favourite place that overlooked the training yard, as well as the land beyond, only to find it filled by another person. She coughed awkwardly, making the young boy jump and close his book in surprise, she couldn't help but smile a little at his reaction.

"Hello," he spoke in a soft tone.

"Hello," she responded.

"You know, you're supposed to say, ‘my Prince’," he replied.

She tilted her head in confusion "Why? We are both royalty are we not? Surely both titles would cancel each other out," she shot back, causing the boy's lips to curl. She made her way towards him and sat on the other end of the long window seat, propping her feet up on a pillow.

"What are you doing?" he asked in surprise.

"I'm reading, this is a library after all," she said, opening her book to where she left it last time. He didn't respond to her; he only opened his book once more, both of them reading in comfortable silence. Though the young Princess found herself not being able to take in a single word of what she was reading, she could feel two eyes burning holes into her head.

"A-Are they heavy?" he asked her, closing his book once more and crossing his legs, she closed her own book and sat it down beside her.

"Is what heavy?" she questioned, he shot a look behind her.

Oh.

She shook her head. "No, they're not. I supposed they would be for someone who hasn't had them since birth. You kind of get used to the weight," she answered. She had never been asked that before, though it doesn't surprise her; he has more than likely never seen wings on a human before.

She leant forward a little.

"Would you like to touch them?" she asked with a grin, he nodded his head slowly as she stretched her right wing toward him, his fingers grazed the thin soft leather on her wing. She felt heat rise to her cheeks as her hairs on her arms stood on end.

"It feels soft, I expected it to feel much like a dragon wing," Aemond said almost to himself, and she raised her eyebrows.

"It's not very becoming to call a lady a dragon, my Prince," she giggled.

"How long are you staying here for?" she asked, tucking her wing back behind her. His lips quirked into a smile once more. 'My Prince' sounded much different coming from her than it did anyone else.

"My mother mentioned that we would be here for a few weeks,” he began. “While my mother and father are discussing arrangements with your mother before we head home."

The two jumped suddenly at the door to the library being opened, a tall man with dark wavy hair and tanned skin was on the other side.

"Princess, my Prince,” the man greeted before speaking directly to the small blonde across from her.

“Your lady mother requests your company in her chambers," he opened with a bow of his head. Aemond scooted off the bench seat and made his way to the open door.

"Until later, my Princess," he said, the man with him closing the door behind them both.

My Princess, oh, perhaps she could get used to that after all.

Her feet dragged at a slow pace down the open hall, watching the stars twinkle and the sheer curtains flutter softly in the breeze. She did not wish to go to the banquet, so she decided to simply take her time making her way there, no harm in being late.

Besides, it was borderline treason to not take in the lovely night sky, who knew when she would be able to appreciate it again. There was no denying that dawn was beautiful, but there was just something about night that was different. It was like all the wildlife ceased making sounds to appreciate the starry sky alongside her. A heavy sigh escaped her lips, knowing that if she did not look away she never would, reluctantly tearing her eyes away from the sky and pressing onwards to the hall.

They would be waiting on her, no doubt. The banquet hall was closed behind large, oaken doors, decorated with dark wrought iron filigree adorning each side, with two guards in light leather armor, flanked on both sides. A sharp breath entered her lungs as the doors opened to let her in, the hall was a grand one, cobblestone walls towering over her.

Wooden arches held the roof up above their heads, with chandeliers of antlers hung from each beam, bathing the whole room in a flickering orange glow. High windows let the moon light stream in, casting shadows of their frames on the hall's floor; she released the breath she was holding and took several steps forward and into the room.

The table was laden with breads, cheeses, fruits, roast vegetables, multiple roasted beasts and many sweets. She made her way across the floor, dodging servants and taking her place beside her mother on her left side, giving her a nod. She pulled the chair out and sat down, but not before Aemond stood from his own chair and pushed it in for her; her and Emerie shared a look.

"Thank you, my Prince," she said softly as he sat back in his own chair.

"It's quite alright, princess," he responded, she shifted her wings to hang comfortably in the dips in the back of the chair. 'Who would have thought winged creatures would need different chairs,' Aemond thought to himself as he watched her shift, smiling as she met his gaze.

She scanned around the table, the King was at the head of the table at the opposite end to her mother, the Queen sat to his right, Aegon sat to his left, Emerie sat to the right of their mother, her husband beside her. Helaena sat beside the queen and Aemond beside his sister, which meant she was sitting beside Aemond, her mother’s doing no doubt.

Lively music was playing in the hall; everyone in attendance seemed to be enjoying themselves, both Queens chatting, Emerie regaling her stories of war to those in attendance. Servants made their way between guests, filling cups so they would never empty. She could see that Aegon was taking full advantage of the sweet wine being offered, falling into his cups rather quickly after sitting at the table.

The clattering of cutlery on plates would not have irritated her so much if it wasn't for Aegon's eyes continually looking her up and down. She stopped chewing and stared at him, her teeth grinding in irritation. The Prince drained the rest of his cup before speaking.

"You know, Princess. You would be quite beautiful if it weren't for those ugly things attached to your back," he grinned.

"Aegon! We are guest's here! Why would you say such a thing?" Alicent chastised. "Do not believe a thing he says my dear, he is far too drunk,” giving the serving girl a look as she went to refill Aegon's cup. She gave a tight lipped smile to the queen, though she could feel that her wings had dropped from their proud position, now pooling on the floor behind her. The divide now felt even greater than when she first walked in, until a small soft hand held hers under the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze, she squeezed it back, not being able to contain her smile or the prickly heat that spread across her cheeks.

The hall's musician began playing a lively song filled with fiddles and singing. Her sister gave her a knowing look before pushing her chair back and pulling her husband to the space beside the table to dance. She looked to Aemond, who was already out of his chair and offering her his hand, as they made their way to the dancefloor along with Helaena.

The three of them held hands and danced in circles and spun each other around for what felt like ages. Aemond did not care much for dancing but to see both his sister and his betrothed eyes light up and the smiles across their faces as they danced together was nothing short of happiness.

He found himself looking at his betrothed and how when she spun, her hair fanned out around her, the candlelight hitting it just right; it gave her a halo aura. And how her eyes were alight with fire, and something else she couldn't quite put his finger on. The three young royals made their way back to their assigned seats, flushed and out of breath, and chatted more amongst themselves at dinner.

She found out that Helaena had a common interest in all things creepy crawly and that Aemond wished to train while he was here, in hopes to pick a few things up before heading back to King's Landing. She invited him to train with her and Kylan on the morrow. The night went smoothly after that, both mothers sent their children off to bed not long after dessert was served, they had ginger cakes, her favourite.

The princess was escorted to bed by her personal guard, apparently the presence of the Targaryen's heightened her mothers already protective nature so now she had a person who would trail after her all day. Her guard opened the door for her and closed it behind her when she entered. She stood alone for a moment to take in the quiet of her room before getting ready for bed.

Her dress feeling heavy and her shoes tight, why did her dear sister send for these awful shoes? She sat at her vanity slowly unwinding the intricate artwork that Alia had done. Brushing the tangles out softly, before re-curling each piece with her pointer finger. She rubbed the tint from her cheeks and lips, and replaced the dress she wore with a light night dress.

She let out a giddy giggle as she threw herself face first onto her bed. The downy mattress squished under her as she flopped onto the large bed - large for any normal young lady, her hair covered her arms like a blanket as she laid on her stomach. The heavy weight of her wings was a great comfort as they lay outstretched on the bed. She found sleep quickly that night, a deep sleep that was full of merriment and wonder at what her life may become.

The warm sunlight streamed through the open window, birdsong pulling her out of her sleep, rolling out of bed and stretching her body in a feline manner. Before dressing herself in her training garb, her heart fluttered at the thought of training with Aemond as she quickly braided her hair and made her way down to the training yard. It was a warm day thankfully, the sun hanging like a fiery pendant in the azure sky; warming everything it touched. Kylan and Aemond were both already in the yard.

Kylan was giving the young prince tips on his stance and how he moved without thought. Kylan sent the young prince for a break, his gaze shifting to the steps where the princess stood.

"Ah! Princess, I wondered when you were going to arrive. Prince Aemond arrived in the early hours of the morning. I've been showing him how Illyrian soldiers fight" he grinned, meeting the young princess halfway across the training yard.

"Have you now? Surely you are smarter than to give away trade secrets dear Kylan," she shot back, her brows raised. "Am I finally switching to live steel today?" she asked, pensively shifting her weight from her heel to the balls of her feet.

He chuckled and shook his head, "Ever the one to be ten steps ahead, but no - today I want you to spar with the young prince here". Both children's heads snapped to each other and back to Kylan.

"I can't fight her! She's a girl!" Aemond exclaimed “Why are you even doing this?”.

Her head snapped to Aemond “It’s every high born girl's duty to train with the Valkyrie the day after their thirteenth name day” she said with a huff. Surprise flashed in Aemond’s eyes, it had already surprised him that she was even allowed to train, never mind the fact that she would be sent away to do so.

“I still do not wish to fight you,” he said, his arms coming to fold in front of his chest.

"And why is that, My Prince? Afraid to lose?" she grinned haughtily, watching in delight as Aemond's face flushed a ruby colour; that was far too unbecoming for the silver haired prince.

Training that day flew past in a flurry of half hearted smacks and laughter, Aemond surprisingly picked up the fighting style quite quickly. Though his opponent was quicker and seemed to anticipate his every move, countering him before he ever got to land a strike. Not that he wanted to strike her. She kicked his legs out from underneath him, sending him toppling to the ground with a hearty thud.

"No fair! I wasn't paying attention!" he cried out as he took the hand she offered him to pull him up.

"Well pay attention, you might be able to catch me then" she giggled. Kylan clapped his hands to bring their attention to him.

"I believe that is enough for today, I will see you on the morrow, Princess, you are also welcome to join us again, my Prince." he said, giving them both a warm smile and nod before leaving them in the yard. They stood in silence for a second before she took Aemond's hand in hers and began pulling him away from the yard towards the tree line of the Woodlands.

"Where are we going?" he asked in a hushed voice.

"I have a surprise, you will like it!" was all she said, continuing to pull him deeper into the trees.

It seemed that the trees cleared at their thickest revealing a clearing full of wild flowers of almost every colour she let go of his hand and ran into the clearing, daring him to give chase. Though he only plods along stopping at the spot where she stood, the hills rolled for as far as his eyes could see, bees buzzed from flower to flower drinking in their nectar like he drank in her presence. She was his wildflower, and it seemed that the more he was around her the harder it was to be without her.

"What are you thinking about?" her voice broke his thoughts.

"Nothing" he said in response; she knew that wasn't true but she didn't want to pry. Instead she sat in the soft luscious grass pulling him to sit down with her, they sat in silence a while staring out at the scene before them. He felt a chill spread across him, he looked up to see her wing blocking out the sun beating down on him, he looked back at her with a quizzical look.

"You were squinting" was all she said in retort. They found themselves quietly enjoying the other person's company, they didn't exchange many words, just sat in comfortable silence.

"What is your family like?" she asked softly as she moved to lay on her stomach, her wings stretching out either side of her and her head resting comfortably on her arms. He moved to lay on his back, his face looking up at the clouds as he thought for a moment on how to answer the question. His family was far from perfect as was anyone's he assumed.

"You have met my brother and sister, I love my sister dearly. But my brother can be a bit...much" he phrased carefully, as much as his brother grated on him his mother told him that it was his duty to put on a united front on the outside. He sighed heavily before continuing:

"I also have a half sister, her name is Rhaenyra. She never much cared for me or my siblings, and her sons; my nephews. Seem to like to bully me every chance they get''. She looked at him with furrowed brows. She couldn't think of a single reason to want to bully such a sweet person.

"Why?" she asked, "They think less of me because I do not have a dragon, and now I suppose you do too." he answered sharply. He softened when he saw her flinch at his sharpness, like she had been cut with a blade, she thought for a moment - formulating her response. But he began to speak once more.

"My brother and nephews lured me to the dragon pit once, under the guise they had found a dragon. But when I got there they gave me a pig with parchment wings, they mocked me and called it 'The Pink Dread'." She gasped in shock, her hand coming up to cover her mouth.

"They did not! How horrible! If I am ever to see them they should be very afraid," she said, still processing how family could do something so foul. Aemond smiled a genuine smile.

"Indeed they should," he mused, looking at how the sky had darkened considerably in the hours they had been talking.

"Perhaps we should get back," he offered, getting up and holding out his hand for her to get up.

She smiled at him and took his offered hand. "Aemond," she started, and he turned to face her. "Would you like to fly home?" she asked with a wide grin, to which he heartily agreed in response. She hooked her arm under his knees, the other moving to support his back, he was smaller and more lithe than she was, and almost a head shorter than her "You may want to hold on!" she laughed as she shot up into the sky.

There was a fit of excited laughter that erupted from Aemond as she glided just above the trees of the forest, he took in the sights and heard the rushing air in his ears. Aemond could see where the sky met the earth in a slight curve, the sky surrounding them a beautiful clear blue. Beyond land and out into the ocean hung large grey clouds heavy with rain, the sky around them a deep green. His feet barely brushing the tops of tall evergreen trees, he had never been this high up before - neither Helaena nor Aegon had ever done this for him before. Though it did not last long; it would be a fond memory he would have forever.

It was unusual for an Illyrian to choose to fly another person around, as most of her people were born with the ability to fly. If anyone was to see her doing this it would be greatly frowned upon and mother would surely scold her, but she knew it would make Aemond happy; so she did so anyway. She had no idea as to why she wanted to impress the scrawny blonde currently cradled in her arms, she owed him nothing. But something in the giddy laughter or the bright eyes and infectious smile made her feel a fluttering in her stomach that she never wanted to go away.

They made it to the castle as the beginnings of rain fell from the sky, she took a deep breath trying to get as much of the scent into her lungs as possible. Both children raced inside to avoid the large droplets. "Meet back at the library at noon?" she offered as he nodded eagerly, they both went their separate ways to change and take lunch. The princess decided to take her lunch in her room, kicking off her boots as she passed the threshold of her room, sighing at the cool stone underfoot.

By the time she had reached her room, there were a few small plates of different breads, cuts of cured meats, fruits and cheeses waiting for her on the small table in her room. She sat down and picked at a few strawberries and a few slices of cheese before ultimately figuring out that she wasn't hungry at all.

She sighed and sunk down into the chair, she wanted to get both Helaena and Aemond a gift since they became such fast friends. That's when an idea struck her. She bolted upright and immediately made her way to the chest at the end of her bed, she sifted through the underclothes and old boots when she pulled out a long wooden box, Yes! She thought.

She also had the perfect gift for Helaena too, she had a pinned butterfly that was framed in a small glass box; she thought that both gifts would be amicable. She smiled to herself and placed both boxes on the end of her bed, she would give Aemond his gift first and then the next time she saw Helaena next she would give her the butterfly.

She found herself aimlessly wandering the halls of the castle to fill in time, this afternoon she opted for a light linen dress in the prettiest shade of lilac, it reminded her of Aemond's eyes. It had a square neckline and short sleeves, though a white bell sleeved chemise covered most of her arms; the wooden box clutched tightly in her hands.

She found herself standing outside her mothers solar, about to knock on the door when she heard several voices coming from inside. "I apologise, your Grace, but that is not possible; she will remain here until her duties are satisfied," her mother bit, Cluethael could only assume that the Targaryen queen was on the receiving end.

"So you wish to raise her to fight and gnash her teeth like some kind of wild animal?" Alicent shot back, she cringed at the queen's words. It was only last night that the queen defended her from her own son, did she not truly mean what she said? Her mother sighed, no doubt pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration.

"She will remain here with her family until she fulfills her duty, as is her birth right. You will not be taking her to ward." her mother answered in as neutral of a tone as she could manage. It was Alicent's turn to pinch the bridge of her nose now.

"Fine, but in six years time when her duty is fulfilled, she will be sent to King's Landing to us and will be married to my son within the same month" a frustrated sigh escaped both queens lips. The oncoming footsteps coming towards the door pulled her out of her thoughts as she scrambled back from the door and down the hall towards the library.

She saw the double doors of the library and ripped them both open. She nearly ripped them off the hinges in her panic. Her chest felt tight and she could feel the hot pin pricks of tears brimming her eyes as she began to hyperventilate, she did not bother to look for Aemond she only sat on the floor in the far corner that was covered in comfy pillows and furs wrapping her wings around herself in comfort.

The rain was angrily falling outside, the once clear sky now painted a deep green from the clouds. If she didn't feel like she was breathing through a straw she may have actually enjoyed the vantage point she had.

The library door creaked open, Aemond's silver haired head poking around one of the large bookcases, he let out a soft gasp as he saw a leathery winged lump sniffling in the corner. He raced to her and dropped to his knees on the soft pillows, watching attentively as she wiped the tears from her face.

"What's happened? Tell me sweet girl," he spoke softly, taking one of her hands in his and rubbing it softly with his thumb. Cluethael took a minute to compose herself before speaking though it didn't work.

"I overheard our mothers talking and your mother wants to take me to ward," she cried. A wide smile broke out across his face. Why was she crying? This was the best news! She would get to live with him and his family, they could read and train and play any time they wanted.

"That's great! Aren't you excited?" he asked, moving from a kneeling position to a sitting one, she shot him a look so sharp that he immediately leant back, as if distance would fix the situation.

"Do I look happy? And besides, my mother will not let that happen anyway," she snapped.

It was Aemond's turn to be angry this time "So what? Do you intend to live like a wildling fighting like a common sell sword? With no knowledge of how court works?" he said, each question harsher than the last. She visibly cringed and ripped her hand away from him.

"Your mother said the same thing, perhaps we are not suited to each other after all," she bit, standing up; taking the box with her. She turned to him and held it out.

"This was supposed to be a gift-"

"I don't want your pity gifts," he cut her off.

She gritted her teeth and turned on her heel, placing the box on the small table by the window before exiting the library and slamming the door so hard that the hinges rattled. She made her way back to her room, the vicious lighting and rumbling thunder reflecting the roiling cocktail of emotions that sat in the very pit of her stomach.

She did not dare look at her guard and she entered her room, her sniffling giving it away to him that her joyous day had gone very much awry he patted her on the shoulder "All will be well My Princess," he said softly.

"I hope so," was all she whispered in return as she closed her door.

The young prince felt his blood run hot, the anger in his vein still boiling, he stood up with a huff to leave when the wooden box she had clutched tight to her chest was sitting on the small table. His curiosity getting the better of him, he gingerly opened the box to reveal a dagger, it had a straight blade but along the flat of the blade was what looked like a mountain range and the moon hanging above it, just outside of the mountain tops reach.

The pommel was a blue sapphire set into a hilt of gold filigree, it was a truly stunning blade. It was a little too big for his hands but he was sure he would grow into it, he held the blade parallel on his pointer finger, it was perfectly balanced. He went to place the dagger into the box once again when he let out a shaky breath when he saw a hand written note tucked under the blade.

'To my dear Aemond,

Thank you for accepting me for who I am, I shall not forget it. I wish to give you this to remind you to protect yourself, you never know when you may come across a Dragon.

Forever yours'

The words panged painfully in Aemond’s chest, as he placed the note back with the blade and closed the box, picking it up and taking it with him. He had meant to tell her that he was to leave tomorrow, as his Aunt had passed and they had to leave for Driftmark. But after things went awry he didn't think he had the heart to tell her; he did not wish to risk seeing her upset again, nor did he want to swallow his pride.

So instead he tucked the box under his arm and headed back to his room, unsure of what would become of the friendship between him and the princess, he wasn't so sure he would see her again, considering the vitriol they spewed at each other not thirty minutes ago. Aemond rounded the corner to his chambers Ser Criston's familiar face flanking the left side of the door, he scanned the young prince raising his eyebrows at the box.

"The princess gave it to me," was all he divulged before he entered his chambers, and closed the door behind him.

Much to Aemond's dismay the princess did not attend supper so he instead found himself blindly playing with the leftovers on his plate. He was quite happy to stay in his own world, but Aegon had other plans; his older brother leant to him, his breath heaving with wine.

"Has the princess tired of looking at you already?" Aegon slurred. Aemond slammed his fork down on his plate, making an awful clatter, before shooting up out of his chair and storming out of the room and back to his guest chambers, Ser Criston following diligently behind him. He passed the threshold of the room and slammed the oak door with all his might and threw himself onto the bed face down so he could scream and thrash.

He had no idea why his brother could never close his mouth. He soon found his eyes beginning to droop and grow weary from the challenging day, he did not try to fight the on coming fitful sleep. Meanwhile the young princess fought sleep, all of her terrible feelings and thoughts and the moment he snapped at her when they fought interchanged with all the happy times she had when she was with him.

She threw back the covers with an exasperated sigh and tumbled out of bed, the storm was still raging on the other side of her window. The rolling thunder shook the panes of glass every time it boomed, she curled herself on the low backed settee in her room and stared out the window. She couldn't see much, just the inky expanse beyond her room until lightning struck outside her window, it lit up the sky and the ocean.

The raging ocean slapped and bubbled below her, she jumped out of her skin as the roar of thunder rolled overhead. She couldn't help but laugh at herself and the fact that she was almost grown and was still terrified of storms, she shifted to lay on her stomach, her wings hanging on each side of the settee and settled her head into the crook of her arm. It was there she found a fitful sleep of her own.

The sky was a dull shade of grey when she woke, mother nature seemingly reflecting her own emotions as she sat up and stared at the droplets of rain that patterned on the window. The fur blanket from the night before pooled at her feet as she got up to dress, she was determined to talk to Aemond about what happened yesterday. To tell him that even if he was prideful and spiteful, he was kind and he made her laugh and… She thought that she was in love with him.

She did not bother to change, only throwing on a dressing gown and ignoring the shoes that sat haphazardly discarded as she hurried to the library. She flung open the doors, her shoulders dropping as she saw he wasn't in the spot that they shared. She felt her heart begin to pound, she raced down the walkway towards the dining hall. Gods, she hoped he was there, someone, please be there; she begged internally to any gods who will hear - sadly, they did not heed her prayer.

None of the royal family was anywhere to be seen, that's when she collided face first into a chest she closed her eyes in hopes she had ran into the king or the queen just anybody, she opened them to find Kylan staring back at her with raised brows "Looking for someone?" she asked, his arms folding over his chest in delight. She gave him an incredulous look.

"I'm looking for Prince Aemond, I have to talk to him" she admitted, her hands fidgeting nervously. Kylan sucked in a sharp breath, she knew the game was up. "He is gone… Isn't he?" she asked softly, her wings drooping in sadness. A beat of silence followed.

"Afraid so princess, they left early this morning. Though I'm sure you will see him again," he said desperately trying to keep the tone light, it wasn't working. She said nothing in response, only brushing past her trainer to return to the library, her safe space.

The hinges on the door creaked, no doubt due to the abuse they had faced the last few days she felt her resolve begin to crumble as she turned to close the doors. Fat tears begin to fall and leave salty track marks in their wake, she looked out the window out towards the sea. She so badly wanted to follow him but she knew she was needed here; it was her duty to stay here.

Her eyes fell to the table where she expected the box to be only to find it replaced with another one, it was a small box of sturdy dark wood she gingerly opened it to find a necklace laying on a dark velvety cushion. A gold chain sat inside the box and a charm hung proudly from it.

She inspected it closely to see a finely crafted seven pointed star glinting in the fire light of the library. She gasped softly, it was beautiful. She pulled the necklace over her head and let it hang from her neck; she would never take it off. She looked at the box again, to find a little note poking out:

'To my Wildflower,

May luck be ever on your side in the coming years. I shall return for you.

Your Prince, Aemond'

She began to cry again finding herself missing a piece of her now she knew he was gone, for now at least. She knew it was silly to be attached to someone she hardly knew but it felt different, it felt hard to breathe, like she had been stabbed in the stomach; or how she thought being stabbed would feel at least. Huffing and wiping her tears, she did not want to cry anymore.

She was more than how some silly boy made her feel she was worth more than that. Stalking the aisles of the library looking for the 'V' section Ah! There it was! Pulling out the decaying book and scanning the cover, it read 'Introduction to High Valyrian', she would do anything to feel closer to him.

She grabbed the two thicker following books on the language and headed back to her chambers to learn, she would not be caught uneducated so she would learn all she could, and train harder than she had ever done before. She did not understand why the prince ignited such a raging fire in her, but she liked it; she would use it as her driving force for the years to come. To fill the void that he left her with.

She would not be caught vulnerable again.

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