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princesssszzzz · 1 year

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Agony & Amor Chapter 5

Rhaemond Harry Potter AU

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

“Merbun.” Garmund said the Valyrian word slowly and sounded it out for her. They had been going over common phrases for 20 minutes.

Rhaena paused to look at her notes before answering.

“Ok Merbun means....I’m hungry?”

“Correct.” the professor nodded his head before crossing out their last word for the day.

Thinking of endless possibilities to show off her new knowledge once she got back home, Rhaena was beaming.

“So, we’ll pick back up after our holiday break with locations.” Garmund smiled proudly before standing up.

Every now and then, Rhaena reminded herself to flutter her lashes at him. She had the man wrapped around her finger and it did wonders for her exam scores. Minor mistakes in her papers were ignored. The best part about it, he promised to send a letter to her father expressing how great of a student she was. But Rhaena’s glee was short lived when Garmund glanced behind her.

“Cousin!” Garmund exclaimed and looked cheerful while Rhaena turned to see Aemond with an irritated appearance.

“I was just finishing up with Rhaena. Did you need something?”

Aemond’s face didn’t budge and he stared at the both of them, looking angrier than usual.

“Hmm.”

Garmund excused himself to go into his office and finish up grading assignments. Rhaena sighed, understanding Aemond at this point and how he would conduct himself. She didn’t want to embarrass him, so she said nothing and waited. They stared at each other for what felt like hours, and Aemond’s expression almost gave away his disturbance that she didn’t shy away.

She cleared her throat and raised her head higher, trying to match the much taller man when he finally spoke.

“I’m sure you enjoyed the little show you were given.” Aemond squinted his eyes. He was watching her closely, trying to see if she would reveal any pleasure she might have thinking back to his mutilation being exposed.

She couldn’t help but feel bad for him.

“Aemond.” Rhaena paused before responding, thinking of what she should say. She could humiliate him, bring up what she saw and tell him how revolting it was to look at. That would be a lie on her part, but she wasn’t opposed to telling a tall tale if she had to. She could be the old her, fall to her knees and tell him how bad she felt. Rhaena could give Aemond all her pity and cry for him. But she decided to do neither.

“Did you need something?” She raised one eyebrow and cocked her head, anticipating his retort.

“This is what you do now? Debasing yourself because you couldn’t do it on your own volition?”

Rhaena smiled softly, not interested in hearing another one of his tirades or a morality lecture. “My dear beloved cousin, you couldn’t possibly be upset that my marks in this class could rival yours one day.” She made sure to finish with a heavy dose of lash fluttering. Not being too obvious when asking, she’d steered a conversation with Garmund towards him telling her the highest grade in the class. She knew it was Aemond’s.

His remaining eye opened wide, shocked that she dared to compare herself to him.

“Rivaling me? I could laugh at your audacity. You're whoring yourself around my cousin and gods knows what other professors. I know what you're up to.” He looked her up and down, not wanting her to miss his disgust and disapproval.

“Wait until I tell my mother about this and I can’t wait to notify your father. You know what you're doing Rhaena, and I’m sure my uncle will appreciate me informing him of his daughter’s doings. Your sister might think the best of you now but- ”

His voiced raised the more he spoke, and Rhaena moved to cut him off. She stepped closer, her head only reaching his shoulder.

“So, what happened to your eye?” She stood on her tippy toes to get a clear look at his disfigured scar. Rhaena’s nose almost touched his and Aemond staggered back. His irritated expression returned as he gathered himself.

“What are you doing with Garmund?”

She crossed her arms. “Why do you care? My class score is getting better. Shouldn’t you be happy I'm doing my part to uphold our family's reputation?” She looked down, feigning a somber face. “You wouldn’t want me to fail, would you?”

Aemond shook his head, annoyed with her theatrics. “I’m telling uncle Daemon Rhaena. You know he’ll be disappointed you couldn’t do it on your own. First you go to Hufflepuff and now you do this.”

“Ok, well go ahead and tell him.”

He gave her a curious look, wondering why she was testing him. Rhaena smiled, knowing Aemond, he would take the bait.

“When you tell my father about what I’m up to, then I’ll tell your mother that you lied about how you lost your eye.”

His brow furrowed and Aemond looked astonished, but surprisingly to Rhaena, he just laughed.

“What are you talking about?” He lowered his voice and Rhaena could only smile at his poor attempt at faux confusion. “That’s just bollocks.”

“I know you Aemond. You’ve gone around lying about losing your eye in some kind of quidditch duel.” She lifted her finger to trace the mark as she spoke. “I know you like the back of my hand. This clearly didn’t come from a quidditch incident and I'm sure a perfectionist like you couldn’t have been maimed like this.” Aemond grabbed her wrist, pulling her hand away from his face and they both ignored the sound of students piling into the halls. Any minute, Garmund’s 2nd year class would be entering.

Rhaena wanted to see who would break eye contact first and to her surprise, it was Aemond. He looked livid. “I don’t know what you're talking about.” He took a deep breath and let go of her hand, turning and leaving before she could say anything else. She couldn't help but think all he’d done was confirm her suspicions. Before Rhaena only had a theory, now his reaction let her know for sure that he lied to their family.

She decided to herself that for now, she would keep this to herself.

Daeron’s hand slammed down and Baela almost spit out her pumpkin juice laughing.

“You cheated!” Jace rolled his eyes, waving off his uncle. Every arm-wrestling contest he lost, it was always attributed to unfair play.

“Maybe stick to wandering around on your broom.” Daeron snorted before turning his attention to Corwyn sitting next to him.

Rhaena entered the dining hall, approached Jace and he rolled down his sleeve smirking at her.

“What’s that face about?” He raised one eyebrow, studying her.

“What face?” A mix of curiosity and the alarm of getting caught ran up her spine. While she enjoyed her recent activities, her siblings finding out was the last thing she wanted. No amount of explanations and tears would get her out of trouble if Jace told her father anything. Even if she had dirt on Jace the way she had on Aemond, she would never threaten him with it.

If he found out about Garmund, the worst would be the embarrassment. They were all under the impression that Rhaena was a goody two shoes and she needed it to stay that way.

She gave a shy smile when Baela scooted over, giving her room to sit. “Not making any face, I’m just thinking.”

They both stared at her, looking even more inquisitive and Rhaena yielded. Eventually, she or Aemond would have to explain their behavior towards each other. She might as well get ahead of it and keep them from sniffing her trail.

“Just a little spat with Aemond is all, not a big deal. You know how he gets in those moods sometimes.” They would know if she lied, so it was better to tell a half truth. She reached for the fruit on the table, pretending to be calm and distracting.

Jace gave up analyzing her, realizing she wasn’t going to continue with her explanation.

“Well, if he’s being a twat he needs to stop and be nice.” His words dripped with his familiar temperamental tone and Rhaena knew she would have to do more later to keep them tranquil.

“Exactly, he’s off his rocker if he wants to be cheeky with you, I'll just have to kick his ass”

Baela flipped her curls and stood, kissing her sister on the forehead. “I would hate to have to break his legs, that’s a real inconvenience for me.” Her laugh faded as she walked away from them, heading off to class.

Jace watched Baela leave, waiting until she was out of sight before turning back to Rhaena. The best of luck for her, he seemed to have quickly forgotten their discussion from seconds ago. He lifted himself up from sitting before tapping Daeron and leaning towards Rhaena.

“Listen.” They both looked ready to laugh at his dramatics when he whispered to them. “You see that girl over there?”

Rhaena turned to see a wave of students, and looked at Daeron who looked equally confused.

Jace shot them both a look before pointing a finger, “Look the tall girl over there.”

They turned again to find a slim girl with brown curls falling into her face. She was standing in the midst of Ravenclaw students chatting.

Daeron looked for a second before turning back to Jace. “What about her?”

With a mischievous smile, Jace leaned in closer before looking to the end of the table at Cregan.

His next whisper was even quieter, trying not to be overheard. “I’m gonna set them up.”

Daeron let out a snort alongside Rhaena’s giggle. “Who is she and why would you do that?”

Jace let out an exasperated sigh, frustrated at their lack of understanding.

“I’m going to practice later. That girl, Netty, I told her that Cregan fancies her and I’ll tell Cregan that she fancies him.” He glanced back towards Cregan, “You know how he is with girls, he wouldn’t miss a chance with a Prefect like her. He’ll ask her to the ball.”

Rhaena continued her giggling when she bit into an apple. She knew why Jace was so invested despite not being interested in the dance. To her, it was entertaining.

“Why do you even care who he goes with?” She decided to feign ignorance to keep the entertainment going.

Jace sat back down and leaned back with a serious expression. “I need him to stay away from Baela.”

After an eruption of laughter from Daeron, Jace got up grabbing his bag and parchments. “You can laugh and be the jester is you wish, but I’m completely determined.”

Rhaena and Daeron shared Jace’s master plan with Corwyn while they ate. The most amusing part was thinkng of all the ways they were sure Cregan would get rejected. Even with him being a Quidditch Captain and worshipped among Gryffindors, the other houses simply saw him as a jockish athlete.

They got up walk to class and Rhaena’s curiosity peaked when Corwyn spoke.

“Daeron, will you really not go to the ball?”

Daeron stared ahead while they were walking, but Rhaena could see a flush creeping up his face. He smiled softly and shook his head, wanting his wavy bangs to fall into his face.

“I told you already I’m not going.” He swiveled his head, looking around the halls and his eyes searching. Rhaena was always intrigued by Daeron’s mystifying ways. He was such a simple boy, but still she never knew what he was thinking.

“Come on cousin, don’t be a bugger. Don’t you want to have fun and listen to the crud band?”

“Nope.” He patted her arm, quickly walking away from them and down the hall. “Gotta go, I’m late to class!”

All she could do was shrug and move on. Rhaena and Corwyn headed back to their Ancient Valyria class, not wanting to investigate what’s going on with Daeron.

“What about you Rhaena?”

“What about me?” She knew he was asking about the upcoming ball, but she’d hoped he wouldn’t ask her. Corwyn was a comfort, a sweet guy but as much as she liked spending time with him, she wasn’t interested. Her thoughts drifted back to Aemond when they neared the class door, and stopped in the doorway when Corwyn turned to her.

“I haven’t heard that anyone asked you yet. Well, I was hopi-”

Almost as if Rhaena had accidently manifested or casted a spell on Corywn, he was cut off. His body was flung into the large door, head smacking loudly into the edge. Rhaena gasped, while she could hear the other students laughing at Corwyn’s mishap.

He grabbed the door to keep himself from falling and heaved a breath at being suddenly propelled. Taken aback, Rhaena moved to grab Corwyn’s arm and help him get his balance.

“Are you ok?”

He straightened, giving her a sheepish smile.

“I’m fine.”

She walked him to their seats and sat down, Corwyn still shaken. The lump already growing on his forehead was a dark red. Even worse was the redness already on his face from their classmates who stared at him, still giggling.

“You should go to the Matron and get that checked out, it could be serious.” She tried to reach for the wound but he waved her off.

“No, it’s fine really I’m just clumsy.” Rubbing his head, he opened his book to prepare for class when Rhaena reached over to shut it.

“Corwyn your hurt, go make sure your head is ok,” She gave him a warm smile when he nodded. Rhaena also secretly wanted him to leave the room, knowing that he was embarrassed from the students gawking at him.

He grabbed his belongings before going to the front of the class to inform Garmund that he was leaving. Rhaena could see the professor with a worried expression and nodding his head as Corwyn showed his head. Garmund wrote out a pass and handed it to Corwyn and he turned to leave class, passing Aemond as he scurried out.

Stalking inside the classroom, Aemond walked in wearing a self-satisfied grin. He twisted his head at Rhaena before smiling wider and looking back to where Corwyn had exited. She gaped at him, watching intently as he sat in his chair, greeting the other Slytherin students before glancing back at her. She wanted to pierce him with her eyes, but all should could do in stare at him in shock.

Rhaena never even had the chance to throw a biting comment to him. Instead, she sat, opened her book and waited for the lecture to start. Taking deep breaths to calm herself, she started wondering what spells she could use in retaliation.

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huramuna · 2 months

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banshee's lament - chapter 4.

aemond targaryen x stark ofc minor jacaerys velaryon x stark ofc masterlist prev | next

a/n: this chapter might be a bit slower. it's building some things up and i wanted to brush up on my combat writing. it's a bit scuffed but i hope you enjoy! aemond is kind of feral in this chapter.

wordcount: 4.2k

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings! no taglists right now, sorry.

content: smut, angst, fluff, disabled ofc, aemond being delulu & obsessive, major canon divergence, ofc has a service direwolf, i'm taking canon rules and putting them in a blender and taking a shot, arranged marriage, graphic depictions of violence, my terrible, terrible combat writing

story playlist

‘Little wolf spider’ Helaena had called her. She remembered Helaena’s incessant facts about them specifically– why, of all things, did she remember that? She remembered Helaena citing that they were excellent hunters with superb eyesight. They did not spin webs, most being wanderers without permanent homes.

It almost made her want to laugh. It truly described her well, didn’t it? Besides the eyesight part… and the hunting part– she was indeed, a little wolf spider– doomed to be alone and not able to make her own home, a rolling stone amongst the waves that threatened to drown her.

After the betrothal announcement dinner and subsequent breakdown of Shera, she stayed in her chambers for a few days, not feeling well enough to socialize, nor see the faces of people that would’ve heard her crying. Cregan visited a few times, bringing her a meal or two and forcing her to bathe– it was agitating her to be forced to do something she loved, something she wished to do alone.

He, thankfully, had maids do the actual washing part– but this still annoyed Shera to bits. She hated being touched, being fretted over by them as they looked upon her like she was lesser, like she wasn’t capable of doing things herself. She felt suffocated in a place that usually brought her peace, simpering tiny whines as they pulled at her hair.

I can do it, I can do it– just let me do it!

She wanted to scream and claw their wandering eyes out, then go and kick Cregan in the balls– this was his fault, his fault–

Finally, the maids left and she felt like a freshly plucked duck, ready to be roasted over the fire. Her skin was red and pink, emanating heat that she could almost see, steam roiling over her overwrought skin.

Moongeist whined at the closed washroom door– they had locked him out, the absolute fiends. She wrapped in a robe, pinning her hair up with a whale bone pin and opened the door.

“Come here, lovey,” she cooed, voice broken and hoarse still. “They locked you out– my poor bubby.” Shera pat his head, descending onto her knees. She was still weak from the emotional turmoil she’d gone through, bleeding into her physical state, but she would need to be bed bound before she would ever forsake Moongeist proper scratches. Her hands glided through his black fur and she pressed her face to him, taking in his familiar scent.

Everyone said he smelled like a dog, but that was simply untrue. He smelled… clean, he smelled like wolf– which was much different than smelling like dog. It was primal and heady, deep and warm like fir trees and pine nettles and all the things that were so synonymous with him. She scratched behind his ears and his leg thumped on the ground.

Cregan returned to her chamber, a plate of something sweet smelling in his hand. He put it down on the dining table. “Are you feeling better today?”

Shera’s mouth pursed into a thin line as she got back to her feet— with Moongeist’s assistance— and meandered to the table. “Define better.” she murmured, inspecting the plate. It was piled high with her favorite treat; sticky honey walnut cakes. Her mouth filled with saliva instantly and her brow raised to Cregan. Perhaps her brother was more considerate than she thought.

“Better as in you’d be able to walk the Keep— Jacaerys and I are going to be skirmishing in the training yard at noon.”

She all but scowled as she pilfered one of the pastries, biting into it without much decorum. It was a messy dessert, designed to be eaten with a fork and knife— but damn that, she would be sticky faced like a honey drunk bear if she pleased! She melded into the flavors, the nostalgia of it tampering her mood. “… I suppose I could watch.”

“He asked for you, you know.”

Shera’s brow raised. ‘He’ could mean a lot of people. “Who?”

“Jacaerys. He asked if you were alright and wished his condolences for your… illness.”

“Is that what we are saying it is now? An illness?” she muttered, taking another bite of the cake. Yes, how diminishing it felt to pass off her fragility of mind as an illness. Of course— how else could it be put? She was surprised that it wasn’t being spread as a ‘malady of woman’, or some other pompous innocuous name for whatever was really wrong with her.

“What would you call it then?”

She made a noncommittal noise and continued eating. After finishing, she let out a sigh. “Thank you for the cakes, Cregan.”

“I didn’t bring them— they were at your chamber door when I came back.”

She tilted her head. “They were just… there?”

“I didn’t even know you liked honey walnut cakes, Shera.”

She clenched her jaw, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “I’ll be at the yard at noon. I need to get ready, if you please.” she said, the nicest way of putting it. Leave, brother. You’re annoying.

–

Dressed in a lighter garment than usual, she descended the steps carefully. A light blue tulle train flowed behind her, rippling and waving in the breeze like the white capped crests upon the Blackwater. It was different from her normal style of muted, monotone colors— mayhaps it was a way to uplift herself.

It was a lovely blue and green hue, embroidered with filigree patterns. The sleeves were long, accompanied by a sweeping circular decolletage, exposing her soft collarbone and the faintest swell of breast. She had felt so confident leaving her chambers— she even went with a shorter veil than usual, the lace falling just past her jaw.

Walking down the hall, Moongeist nosed her hand to his head, as if to remind her of something. She felt… exposed. A bit too much for her liking. Her fingers glided over her wolf’s soft fur… and she remembered, swiftly turning around to grab her fur stole from her room. “Thank you for reminding me, sweet boy,” she hummed, snuggling into the comforting, familiar fur.

Descending down to the training yard, she fanned herself with an errant hand. Even with less layers than usual and lighter colors, she was still broiling under the sun. Moongeist panted near her, tongue lolled out in silent agreement.

“A parasol might do you well, my lady,” a bored voice drawled. “Your pale complexion does you wonders, but I wonder if you still flay in the sun like as a child.”

“Aegon,” Shera recognized the lazy, tired voice of the eldest child of Alicent. He had been one of her companions back in the day, but also one of her greatest foes– before the incident of course. “I’m surprised to see you outside. I’ve heard you’re solely a creature of the dark now.”

“I am full of surprises, dear Shera,” he caught up to her, looping their arms together all too readily. He had a dopey smile on his face, but it didn’t match the pure exhaustion in his eyes. Dark bags fell under those violet orbs like a dreary storm. “I happen to be coming back from… such nightly activities.”

Moongeist let out a growl as he touched her, but Shera silenced him. She didn’t believe that she had any reason to fear Aegon and thought him almost as pathetic as she. “Very well.”

“I heard about… the dinner. I’m glad I slipped out when I did, I knew it’d be a shit show,” he was fiddling with his rings on his free arm, all while stringing her along to the training yard. “Curious how Aemond said you were a bashed up mess under that veil of yours, and yet– he is challenging your betrothed and your brother to a duel?”

“How do you know that?”

“I have my ways– eyes and ears everywhere.”

“Helaena told you, didn’t she?”

“... mm. Maybe– even so, I don’t think it’s wholly terrible under there, is it?” he peered at her, a single hand lifting her veil to peek underneath.

She promptly slapped his hand away and wrenched herself from his grasp, followed by Moongeist giving a warning snap to the air. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? Sleeping off your night, mayhaps?”

“Well– yes,” Aegon backed up, putting his hands in the air in surrender. “I just wanted to catch up. Is that so terrible?”

“Yes.”

He patted down imaginary dust from his doublet, twisting his rings again as they reached the landing to the training yard observation deck. He leaned his head to look out and survey it for a moment before a devilish smirk perked at his mouth once more. “You are going to wish that it was me talking to you soon enough, Shera. Have fun, zokla.” Wolf.

Shera watched him jaunt off with an air of confusion, turning to walk onto the rampart. She saw Jacaerys there already with Cregan, talking and laughing with… Rhaena and Baela. Daemon was there, too, stalking in the background.

Fuck.

She took a deep breath, glancing to the dirt grounds where Aemond was sparring with Criston.

Cregan’s voice echoed in her mind. They’re not your friends, not anymore. She pulled her stole closer to herself, walking forward. I don’t have any friends here. Except for Helaena, it seemed. Steeling her nerves, she made her way to the small congregation. “Brother, Jacaerys,” she greeted first, dipping her head. Cregan seemed jovial and in good spirits– he always was around Jacaerys and vice versa. “Lady Baela, Lady Rhaena.” she spoke then, trying to keep her quivering voice even. They hadn’t spoken since Baela had slashed her eye and attempted to kill her. Shera took in her appearance best she could– she had grown up, as they all had, but especially resembled her mother, Laena. Shera remembers seeing Laena’s portraits in Driftmark– and her statuesque coffin depiction before she was pushed into the sea.

“Shera,” Jacaerys grinned, taking her hand– which she did not offer him– and kissed it. So gallant, so princely. It made her want to vomit. “It’s a lovely day today, isn’t it?”

Yes, it’s a lovely day, stifling hot in the hells. “... it could do with a breeze, mayhaps. But yes, quite nice.” she responded coolly.

“‘Tis my turn to spar Aemond next– apparently he has been here since the crack of dawn with Criston. Do you think he’s getting exhausted yet, my lady?” Jace asked, guiding Shera to her seat and handing her a fan. At least he noticed that she was positively broiling.

She leaned and looked over the rampart to the skirmishing ring, where Aemond kept up his pace. “Since dawn, you say?” she asked, raising a brow as she fanned herself.

Aemond was using a shortsword, which seemed to be his weapon of choice against all others. Ser Criston was wielding a morningstar with spiked barbs around it. Her lone eye was entranced on the prince’s movements as he danced around his teacher, footwork impeccable as if he were simply floating across the dirt, whipping up hardly any dust in his wake. Shera wished she was a bit closer so she could see it better, but his movements didn’t seem to be exhausted in the slightest– he was like grebe skimming over the water, in his element.

Criston raised his morningstar, twirling it before making his advance to the prince, to which Aemond did not move. Move, Aemond. Move! What are you doing? Shera clenched her fist in her lap and leaned forward even farther to try and parse exactly what Aemond’s plan was– certainly not to face a morningstar head on with a simple shortsword? She held her breath as he was within bludgeoning range of the flail, the chains clinking as Criston didn’t waiver– it was like they were in a real fight. Was he about to kill Aemond?

She rose to her feet quickly, startled by what she thought was about to be a murder– only to watch Aemond roll deftly out of the way as the kingsguard’s weapon stuck into the dirt, lodged a few inches in by the heft of his lunge. This was a clear opportunity for Aemond, one he calculated so carefully. He stuck the tip of his shortsword through the links of the flail, keeping it pinned to the ground and hovered a dagger at Ser Cole’s neck with his other hand.

“I yield, my prince.” Criston huffed, bowing his head.

“Very good,” Aemond grinned– but it wasn’t a grin of joy, this seemed to be a recurring theme with Aemond– he smiled but it was nothing of mirth. It was simply a reflex, like a snake opening its jaws to stretch its fangs, one might think it was laughing. “Who’s next?”

Shera realized the kerfuffle she’d made, her hand white knuckled against her chest as she stared at Aemond in abject horror, still not getting past the fact that she had been deathly worried about Aemond– even after the horrible things he had said. If Ser Cole’s flail had met the prince’s head, she would’ve jumped the rampart with Moongeist and mauled that sordid Kingsguard without a second thought.

She blinked, letting out a breath. Where did that come from? She was usually so well versed in her moods, as tumultuous as they could be. But this rage had snuck up on her, her blood boiling slightly. She glanced to her side, Moongeist was up and raring to go, as if sharing her sentiment.

Aemond wiped sweat from his forehead, finally looking to the ramparts. Their eyes met once again and he smirked. Smirked. It wasn’t a reflexive, mirthless smirk either. It was taunting, pompous. “Lady Shera,” he drawled, dislodging his sword from the ground and twirled it with ease, like it was an attachment of his own body. “You are dressed… brightly today.” he walked to the edge of the ring, looking directly up at her.

Shera looked behind her for a moment– the rest of the party was occupied with talking with one another. She pressed her arms on the wall and leaned down. “I am. You are not.”

“When have I ever been?”

“You used to like green.”

“Hm,” he snorted, wiping some errant dirt from his face. “If I were in a tourney, would you cast down your favor to me?”

“I thought you didn’t care for tournaments, my prince.”

“I don’t.” he responded coolly, his eye trained on her so intensely. He was looking at something– did she have something on her face?

She realized quickly the air coming up from under her veil, the shorter one she wore today, and her angle. She was looking… down at him, and the veil stayed in place. He could see her face. He was looking at her, studying her like a book. Shera let out a soft sheepish noise, pushing back from the rampart and sitting back at her seat.

She heard him laugh as he walked away to stow his weapon on the rack and pick another. He was laughing at her– surely because he thought her ugly. Wilting into herself, she adjusted her veil so that she might not have any more mishaps.

“Jacaerys, I believe it’s your turn,” she murmured, fanning herself again, then fanning Moongeist.

“Ah, very good. Wish me luck, my lady.”

“Good luck, Jacaerys.” she hummed. I do wish you don’t get your brains splattered in the pit by Aemond. I am not getting up again.

Cregan clasped Jace on the shoulder with such ferocity he almost knocked the prince over, walking down to the pit with him. Shera rolled her eyes and leaned back in her seat.

“So, Lady Stark,” Baela hummed, pulling her seat up next to Shera. Uncomfortably close. “Cregan is your brother, yes?”

“Yes, my lady.” she responded, trying not to sound annoyed.

“Forgive me– you two don’t look much alike, so I was just making sure.”

You cannot even see my face, how do you know we do not look alike? The last time you saw my face, you mauled it. “Cregan takes after our father more than I. I am more like our mother– or so I’ve been told. I’ve not met her.” she fiddled with her fur stole to ease her growing irritation. Add mother issues to the list of things I have wrong with me. Shera’s mother died shortly after her birth– all she knew is that she had copper hair. Their father had put away portraits and any semblance of her existence after– and never remarried.

Baela carefully sidestepped the issue of Shera’s mother, keeping her pressed about Cregan. “My stepmother says that mayhaps after you and Jacaerys are wed, she will propose a betrothal between Cregan and I.”

Oh, of course. Let’s have Winterfell all but indebted to dragons. “I hadn’t heard. Have you been North, my lady?”

“No– but I imagine it cannot be any harsher than the roiling tides of Driftmark.”

Fuck you. “Having been both places– they are very different, Lady Baela,” Shera knew she was being short and not doing well in containing her agitation at this whole situation, being in proximity to her would-be murderer. “The North is harsher than any tide and is not the best climate for everyone. I do not think dragons fair well in the North,” she paused to breathe, her pace of speaking beginning to burn her throat. She was fueled by disconcertment and barely contained anger alone. “... that is what I have heard. Vermax loathes the snow.”

“Well,” Baela kept a smile on her face. “Cregan is handsome, don’t you think?”

“I cannot say, my lady. I don’t really see him in such a manner— I am not a Targaryen, after all.” Shera said back, finally regaining some control in her voice.

She heard Daemon laugh behind her. She fought the urge to turn around and sneer, focusing on the melee happening in the pit. It was well on its way and Jacaerys was… faring. She didn’t know how he was faring, but he wasn’t knocked out yet.

Aemond was circling him like a wolf upon prey– a totally different technique than what he had done with Criston. He had let Criston come to him, rather than facing him head on. It was almost sickly how he was playing with him before the slaughter. There was a dangerous glint in Aemond’s eye that only Shera seemed to catch– did he mean to kill Jace? She remembered a similar glint in his eye when he raised the rock to Jacaerys’ head in the tunnels under Driftmark–

Aemond surged forward and steel met steel, their swords clashing together. Jace had chosen a shortsword as well, parrying his opponent’s thrust– barely. He knocked the white-haired prince back slightly, catching his breath.

Once again, that sickly smile spread across Aemond’s face. “Tired already, Jacaerys? We’ve barely begun!” he continued his walk around his nephew, twirling his sword.

“Hardly, uncle. All you’ve done is dance around me. How about an actual fight, ey?” Jace quipped back.

Shera had to give him credit where it was due. Jace was brazen. Taunting an already unhinged Aemond and being mayhaps a bit stupid– but brazen nonetheless.

“A swordsman knows how to pick his fights and when to wait, doesn’t he?” Aemond’s eye flicked to the ramparts where Daemon was still looming. “Has your stepfather not taught you that?”

“You’re both talking a bit too much for my liking,” Cregan grunted, his hand itching on his own sword, which he had already unsheathed. It was the Stark’s ancestral weapon, a huge greatsword aptly called Ice. Cregan handled it with ease– Shera wouldn’t even be able to lift it. “Go on, Jacaerys.”

“Go on, Jacaerys,” Aemond taunted in a similar tone, his hackles raised. He looked slightly manic in the moment. “Let's see what your stepfather has taught you– if anything. I thought you were supposed to be strong.”

Jacaerys raged forward, spurred by his rising anger. Their swords clashed again with such force that sparks flew from the metal. Aemond thwarted him off, pushing him backwards into the dirt, shrugging his shoulders.

Despite being pushed down, Jace still got up, coming at Aemond again and again, each slash more sloppy than the last, but fueled with spite. His uncle continued to parry him, to push him, to sweep him aside with ease– it was a game to him.

“Keep your attacks focused, Jacaerys,” Cregan commanded. “He’s getting tired, I can see it.”

“I can go all day, Stark!” Aemond barked, his violet eye pierced solely on Cregan now as he thwarted Jacaerys’ heavy-handed blows without even looking at him. “Let’s make a wager, shall we? If your… pup here wins, I’ll personally pay for you and your troops to have a trip to the Silk Street– the best brothel. If I win– I get to take your sister for a ride on my dragon.”

Ah, fuck. Cregan’s hackles rose and he shoved off his fur cape. “Don’t talk about my sister, you beast,” the vein in Cregan’s neck throbbed and Shera knew it would come to blows between the Warden of the North and the One-Eyed prince. “You wouldn’t know a real fight if it hit you in the face.”

“Oh, please– now give me a moment so I can pummel your little pup into the ground and show your sister a real dra–” Aemond’s voice was cut off as Cregan punched him squarely in the face, right in his nose. Blood dripped from his nostrils and he then raised his sword to Cregan. “Fine.”

Their bodies tensed and Jacaerys saw the opportunity to walk away, thoroughly exhausted and not wanting to get in between the two of them.

They were about to clash swords once more in a very real manner and Shera stood up from her chair hastily, opening her mouth to say something– but she was cut off.

“Aemond!” an authoritative voice called from the rampart. It was Otto Hightower, hand of the King– and Aemond’s grandsire. “Forgo your petty spar and meet me in the Tower of the Hand. Promptly.”

The mania in Aemond’s eyes and aura faded, snuffing it out once more– just like his rage at the dinner. “Of course. Good fight, Jacaerys,” he nodded his head to his nephew, then looked to Cregan. “Stark.” he uttered before spitting blood onto the dirt, wiping his bleeding nose with the back of his hand. He didn’t even look at Shera as he ascended the steps and followed his grandsire.

“I notice you did not greet me, Lady Stark,” Daemon hummed as he loomed behind her. “Am I not worthy of your respect?”

“... you were quite far away, Prince Daemon. I simply cannot project my voice that far, forgive me.” she droned, blinking profusely at the turn of events.

“My nephew said he would’ve taken you on a ride upon his dragon– care to enlighten me what that might mean?” he continued, tapping ringed fingers on the stone barrier.

“I presume he would take me on a ride on Vhagar,” she muttered, edging away from Daemon. “He would find it hard to get me upon his beast, even if he won the bet.”

“I’m sure he would. Your brother has a temper when it comes to you, it seems?”

“All men have tempers when it comes to women in their lives, do they not?”

“That’s true.”

“I don’t imagine you would wish your daughter,” she cleared her throat, eyes looking to Baela, who was speaking to Jacaerys off to the side. “To be absconded to the North. Nor do I imagine you’re entirely pleased at the prospect of more Andal blood tainting your line.”

“An apt observation, wolf. Though, I am not sure the North is meant for northerners, either. Some people just do not belong anywhere, it seems.”

Fuck off, old man. “I wish you a good day, prince Daemon.” Shera whispered, bowing her head, careful of her veil placement. She could feel his gaze on her, leering at her, trying to figure out what was beneath.

“Cregan– I am going to lunch with Helaena,” Shera tried to call down, but her voice didn’t project. He was caught up talking very animatedly to Jacaerys and Baela– Rhaena was off to the side, not saying much.

Shera let out an errant puff of agitation and left the training yard. She stopped at her chambers before going to Helaena’s– she took off the errant piece of flowing fabric from her outfit and put it on the desk.

–

Aemond returned to his chambers hours later after being thoroughly chewed out by his grandsire for ‘behavior unbecoming of a prince’. Is this how it felt to be Aegon?

His nose ached and he was sure that northern beast had broken it. It mattered not, it will mend. Most things do in time.

He began to unlace his jerkin as he noticed a piece of cerulean fabric on his desk, pinned with a note.

My favor, for you.

There was no signature to whom had written it, only a crude drawing of a wolf. He rolled his eye, picking up the fabric. It was soft between his calloused fingers and smelled heavily of lavender and rosemary. It smelled of her– he could absorb it even with his broken nose.

A tiny smile perked at his lips for a moment. ‘Twas a real one.

#aemond fic #aemond x oc #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #house of the dragon aemond #prince aemond #aemond one eye #hotd fanfic #aemond fanfic #aemond fandom #my writing #banshees lament #aemond targaryen smut #aemond smut #hotd #house of the dragon #aemond x original female character #aemond x ofc

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pessimisticpigeonsworld · 4 months

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Look at this....☠️ https://www.tumblr.com/bohemian-nights/737003196544958464/fuck-rhaenyra-fuck-the-writers-with-this-sapphic?source=share

Fucking hell.

First off: I find it interesting the anon doesn't acknowledge that Laena x Daemon is also incest. Sure, she's not his niece, but she is still related to him. They love projecting their insecurities about their ship onto daemyra.

Second: yeah, HoTD choosing to make the Velaryons black then sidelining them massively is shitty and, sure, could be interpreted as racist. However, how is that Rhaenyra's fault? She didn't make Daemon marry Laena when he couldn't have her neither did she kill Laena. Condal and Hess chose to write out Laena's relevance (which already wasn't much outside of being Daemon's wife and Baela and Rhaena's mother) in order to give Alicent more screen time. But again, that's neith Rhaenyra's nor Emma D'Arcy's fault, stop blaming them (also Emma is good at playing Rhaenyra as she is written, the only issues are the writing, which aren't their fault). Op also chose to ignore the fact that Daemon actually is confirmed by GRRM himself to have loved Rhaenyra the most.

Moving on, once again the Rhaenyra antis are bringing up how Rhaenyra isn't "feminist". Literally no one in F&B is feminist by our modern definition. Visenya and Rhaenys are probably the closest, and even then, they aren't writing feminist manifestos (which apparently Rhaenyra is expected to for some reason). Alysanne, the most proactive queen regent, still enforced arranged marriages on her daughters and granddaughters. Rhaenys didn't advocate for Laena's right of succession in the book and in the show refused to support Rhaenyra long before Laenor's "death". Her antis hold Rhaenyra to unfair and unrealistic standards while making excuses for or ignoring other characters who don't meet them.

In that same vein, I still can't get over how Rhaenyra antis will say that TG aren't the conservative group. They say Rhaenyra isn't a feminist and that TG, the ones who are obsessed with male primogeniture and believe being gay, a sexually liberated woman, a child born out of wedlock, or not adhering to the equivalent of the Catholic Church make someone subhuman are the "progressive" group. It's delusion at its finest. Alicent and the greens are misogynistic and, because of them, women's rights in Westeros ended up more repressed than ever.

The fact that the op says that Visenya and Queen Rhaena are acceptable shows they have no understanding for TG or F&B. First off, TG would never support either woman. Visenya was hated by the Faith and most of the Lord's of Westeros, she was a warrior accused of witchcraft and dared to interfere with the misogynistic customs alongside Rhaenys. Rhaena was gay, something she wasn't allowed to live fully because the Targaryens chose to conform to Westerosi ideals. She was also robbed of her inheritance, even Jaehaerys acknowledged that Rhaena was the rightful heir, just as Aegon acknowledged Rhaenyra was.

As for the racist allegations, those come exclusively from Mushroom, someone who is far from a reliable source. Mushroom invented an entire woman to try to add "spice" to Jacaerys' story: Sara Snow. A woman of whom there is no record of, even though she was raised in Winterfell and supposedly married Jace. If Mushroom is willing to make up a whole ass woman to make the story more dramatic, why should we trust anything he says?

Yes, Rhaenyra ordered Nettles' execution, but that was because of her rumored relationship with Daemon and Rhaenyra's paranoia which had grown massively since Hugh Hammer and Ulf White's betrayal. Was it just? No. Was it racially motivated? According to Mushroom, maybe, but looking at Rhaenyra's character, it doesn't make sense.

Moving on, what exactly does op mean by "she's done too many things to claim she's been wrongly framed by the narrative"? By the time Nettles comes along, Rhaenyra hasn't done much that could be considered reprehensible. Op seems to have an issue with Vaemond's death, which Rhaenyra did order in the book. They seem to think that Vaemond "rightfully called her out" and was wrongfully killed.

She ordered Vaemond's execution after he declared her sons bastards in order to challenge Corlys' decision regarding succession. Keep in mind, Vaemond in the book is Corlys' nephew, not his brother, which moves him even farther down the line of succession. Vaemond not only was putting Rhaenyra and her sons in danger but was also trying to usurp all of Corlys' line, including Baela and Rhaena, who op seems to like a lot.

Yeah Rhaenyra is much harsher in F&B, but that hardly makes her evil and irredeemable. Queens Visenya and Rhaena were both harsh and even cruel sometimes, yet op doesn't think they're irredeemable monsters.

I do agree with op's anger over the sidelining of the Velaryons, as I said earlier, but taking it out on Rhaenyra is completely uncalled for. Rhaenyra wasn't a monster, anyone who believes that has frighteningly little reading comprehension. Rhaenyra's reign would have greatly helped women's standings in Westeros and pushed along gender equality. Ignoring that fact and blatantly saying the greens aren't supporting the repressive patriarchy is delusional and idiotic. The greens' actions were damaging in every way. Vaemond was far from an innocent victim, he was power hungry and misogynistic in both the show and the book. Keep your angry focused on the right people, don't take it out on a woman who had her whole life destroyed by the patriarchy.

#rhaenyra targaryen #team black #anti team green #house of the dragon #asoiaf #anti rhaenyra antis #anti ryan condal #laena velaryon #daemon targaryen #nettles #hotd critical #anti laena stans

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howyouloveyourdragon · 1 year

Text

Taglists & Series'

you can comment down below or sneak into my ask box to be added to any so long as you type out for which series you want to be added to

if your name is in italics and bold, that means i couldn't tag you, you will need to check your settings

hotd taglist

Only Fair (on hiatus) pairing: rhaenyra targaryen x reader alternate universe: a/b/o but can be interpreted differently summary: After exchanging letters for the past year, Rhaenyra takes her half-sister Y/n to bride but what do their divided families have to say about it? warnings: a/b/o themes, incest, smut, pregnancy, age-gap pronouns: she/her (afab) parts: 1, 2, 3, 4 /? taglist: evattude, missclove, arielj, thatkinkylesgirl1, alicentswhore, darkened-writer, lexiegogo, nylevea, wrendermedone

Jessie (Jace)'s Girl (on hiatus) pairing/s: Jacaerys Velaryon, Aemond Targaryen, Aegon Targaryen x reader alternate universe: modern band au summary: Aemond has only ever had his eye on one girl, however she just so happens to be his brother's best friend and dating their nephew warnings: minor violence, eventual smut (skippable) pronouns: (afab) parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, /? taglist: joliettes, f4ll-for-you, lavendermayonese, schniiipsel, minttea07, i-killed-ramsey, ghostheartbeat, wrendermedone, n4tforlife, introverbatim spinoffs: jace, aegon, aemond, helaena

Sugar Mommy Rhaenyra (Headcanons & One-Shots) pairing/s: Rhaenyra Targaryen x reader, Rhaenyra Targaryen x reader x Alicent Hightower (spinoff) alternate universe: modern au summary: Rhaenyra finds herself wanting something her husband can't supply, her eldest son has a friend in need of help and in her opinion – in need of spoiling warnings: smut (skippable) pronouns: they/them (afab) parts: 1, 2, 3 /? spinoffs: pearls taglist: chompchompluke, its-actually-minicika, harrenhalhottie, imarimon

The Prince and His Corpse Bride pairing/s: Jacaerys Velaryon x reader alternate universe: corpse bride 2005 summary: Jacaerys went to Winterfell for one reason and one reason only–the support of the only true friend he has ever had but now he needs to return regardless of his desires, and amongst his presence he must also bestow the ring of Valyrian steel so carefully curated for his betrothed. warnings: character death, minor gore, minor violence, angst, arranged marriages pronouns: she/her parts: 1, 2/? taglist: chompchompluke, its-actually-minicika, paranormal-fairy1984, ntlycnrgl, hopelesswritergall, cookielovesbook-akie, arraxesfire, madame-fear

In Vows of Old (pending) pairing/s: Jacaerys Velaryon x reader x Cregan Stark alternate universe: corpse bride 2005 summary: warnings: pronouns: she/her parts: 1, /? taglist: chompchompluke, its-actually-minicika, paranormal-fairy1984, ntlycnrgl, hopelesswritergall

Mastermind (on hiatus) pairing/s: Rhaenyra Targaryen x reader alternate universe: modern au summary: Rhaenyra, eldest child of Viserys Targaryen who is leader of one of the strongest businesses finds herself enraptured by a pretty reporter warnings: none pronouns: she/her (afab) parts: 1, /? taglist:

Heartbeat (on hiatus) pairing/s: Rhaenyra Targaryen x reader alternate universe: summary: The rumble in her heart feels wrong as she stares at the new dragonrider, something she has not felt since she met her husband. She needs to learn whether it is of wariness or besotting warnings: age gap, infidelity? (daemon has left with Nettles but technically not mentioned yet but they're still married so it depends on your definition of cheating and imagination), smut (skippable) pronouns: she/her parts: 1, /3 taglist: nylevea, evattude

Some Thread of Time (on hiatus) pairing/s: Aemond Targaryen x reader alternate universe: summary: warnings: pronouns:she/her parts: 1, 2 /3 taglist:

#series #taglists #fics #thea's fics

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bohemian-nights · 1 year

Text

Moonglow

Word Count: ~7,818

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Nettles

Warnings ⚠️: Age gap relationship; minor smut

Description: Chronicling the events of how the Rogue Prince, Daemon Targaryen fell in love with a small unlikely dragonrider named Nettles 🐑🐉

AN: Requested by anon 👤

—————————————🐑-———————————

130 AC-Maidenpool

She had tired herself out. They had spent most of their day riding upon Sheepstealer and Caraxes, scanning the Riverlands landscape below. Looking for signs of his traitorous nephew. The boy had hidden himself well enough.

She hadn’t even bothered to make the appearance of leaving his bed chambers tonight. Or rather last night he supposed. His Netty had simply collapsed into his lap once the maids cleared away their dinner. He had to carry her to their bath. Wiping off the grime and stress of the day from their flesh. His sweet girl.

They lay a pile of limbs in the center of his beds now. As naked as their name day. The late autumn night breeze from the open window he had thrown open cooled their once-heated forms. A thin sheet made from silk from Qarth lay draped across them. Leaving little to the imagination. The pale moon glow reflected off dark coils.

They’d have to awaken in a few short hours. Take to the skies to renew their hunt. He could wake her now. Take her again as she had him. His insatiable girl. Having done so twice now. It was he now who had a craving for her. A craving to wake her from the land of dreams to slack his desires.

The old prince reached a hand down to her heat. Resting his hand, one calloused from too many battles to name, upon her thatch of curls. Her sensitive bundle of nerves peaking out among them. She was still wet from their lovemaking earlier in the night. Slick mixed with his seed.

Some of their combined spend had leaked out onto the sheets below. The maids would no doubt gossip amongst themselves when they saw the state of his sheets. Exchanging giggles over their chattering.

Netty fidgeted in her sleep at his touch. He shushed her. Placing a kiss on the top of her black mane. Resting his lips there and stroking a hand down her spine which seemed to quiet her. She nuzzled deeper into his neck. Spoiled thing. His sweet girl needed rest. She had more than earned it.

He was proud to say that Netty had developed quite an appetite. On that, he had stoked. She had come to him a timid little thing. Oh, she was quick to point out his faults, but she was still a girl.

An ill-used girl who had to grow up before she was ready. The streets of Driftmark, of Hull, and Spicetown were less than kind to the innocents of her ports and lanes. The naive and pure-hearted against a world of depravity. Quick to remedy the former.

If she had been another woman, another person mayhaps it would have broken her. Lost to the world around her. Become like the rest. Mindedness and numbness or sinked to their cruelty, but she was Netty. She had her will. She had survived it and found her way to him. A light in the sea of darkness.

She had come to life under his patient tutelage and her inherent curiosity. Weary at first. Not scared, no. She was braver than most. Fearless and cautious. A lifetime of disappointment had taught her to be so.

Cautious of him. He remembered how she avoided him. Back at Kings Landing. It felt as though it were half a century ago, but less than half a year had passed since then. Since their fates had been tied to one another. Or some would call it that, but they were firmly attached. That could not be cut without harming the other. That they would not wish to break.

You would not make much note of her. Baela’s letter arrived from Dragonstone to Harrenhal. Detailing the result of Jacaerys' experiment. His war effort. From that ghostly ruin, the old prince had his first glimpse into her existence. His first taste of her. Salvation comes in the strangest of casts.

An odd choice in a friend, but his eldest had lacked sisterly companionship since her twin had been sent to the Vale. While Netty was not a replacement for Rhaena, Baela had found a kindred spirit in the young dragonrider.

She's a small dark thing with quite a mouth upon her when need be. It is like she sprouted from the earth. You’d not think that she would be able to claim a dragon, but she’s tamed Sheepstealer. She’s guarded, and reserved, yet her face can not tell a lie. She is the most wonderful company father. He had tossed the letter under a mountain of others and put aside the contents in preparation for battle.

Daemon had indeed landed from one battle to the next. The first time that he laid his eyes upon her was atop Visenya’s Hill. Perched on dragonback overlooking the swamp of King’s Landing. She appeared well within her element on her brown mount. Amongst the smoke and ruin of a city under siege. A beacon.

Upon a closer inspection, his eldest had been true in her assessment. Nettles was a ragged foul-mouthed girl. She had not used her blood to claim her skinny dragon. Not with the blood of old Valyria, she had not one drop of it. That much was clear. Her skin was the color of the earth. Her hair an inky midnight of ringlets. Her eyes were as dark as obsidian. As rich too. She was not a dragonseed, yet that had not stopped her.

No, Netty had claimed her wild mount with her own cunning. Like all the children from Driftmark to Dragonstone, she had heard the tales of the first dragonriders and put them to use. Except, unlike the Rogue Prince's ancestors she had not used whatever perversions and acts of vulgarity they had.

A cleverness lacking in the rest of the dragonseeds, or at least not thought of for they had blood. Nettles had to make up for her blood deficiency, but she was more than her lack. One could blind themselves into thinking that there was nothing else to her. That on account of her birth she was tainted. Lucky in that she had claimed a dragon where others even with the blood of the dragon had failed. Or rather she had made her own version of luck.

No matter how much cleverness she possessed, it was no match for a dragon. Blood was the only payment. Blood or some trick. Some sorcery. That had to be the answer. How else could she claim and take such a wild beast?

One could not be deceived by her common looks. At least, that was all anyone would think. All they would see. All they would look for. For her bastardly nature. For her low ways. All that the sordid prince himself had seen and thought. Not looking for the maiden in plain sight.

A girl. Scarcely older than Baela and Rhaena. A young woman. Shown so little kindness yet her heart was not frozen over. Who managed to carve out some life for herself with her persistence. Who deserved more than what she had been handed.

She beguiled him. Stirred his blood. Invoked his curiosity. Enraptured him in her spell that she did not know that she cast. Swept away by her very being. Why wouldn’t she? She was a rare stone. Lost at sea to land upon his shores. No one had dared open her. It was an unassuming rock. So very small. Easy to miss, but if one were to catch sight of it, if they had taken the chance, dared to, they would find inside that rock a jewel.

It was hopeless not to notice her. Black hair in a sea of silver, blondes, and browns. Brown-eyed and brown-skinned. Sporting a scar across her nose from what one would think was some ill-gotten misadventure. A marker of her previous life. An impossible girl. She stood out from court. A court that was morbidly fascinated by her.

Her presence commanded it wherever she went on account of her visage. Of her abilities. It was not in admiration. No, she was treated as a pariah. A spectacle. An oddity. Something to be poked and prodded at. Her existence was a contradiction to everything they knew. She should not exist and yet she did. A worrying feat to those at court and beyond.

The small brown girl shied away from it all. Apart from the newly appointed heir of the Driftwood Throne, Addam of Hull turned Addam Velaryon, who she had seemed to form an attachment of some kind with, the girl kept her distance from those at court. From him. She did not miss his gaze among the nobles and royalty of court. A prince's gaze. A rogue prince. His reputation preceded him.

A girl like her, Nettles was well within her rights to be wary of him. Had every right to be. Of what it meant to be the subject of his interest. He was always watching her. An oculus of violet meeting brown a million times over. Within the training yard where she seated herself on a bench to watch. Occasionally taking up a bow or some throwing daggers to practice herself. Never a sword. She disliked the feel of them.

In the Great Hall during those days of endless feasts to celebrate their taking of the capital he sat two seats from her. Throughout the halls of the Red Keep he would find her. She was always the first to turn away from him. To walk past him without a word. Not out of shyness, but for what was her own good. Preservation. Guarding herself. It was what she knew best. The only way she had known until then.

He ventured into her domain. Try as he might, Daemon Targaryen could not get her from his head. She haunted him. Day and night. Waking. In his dreams. A siren call without her meaning to.

“I’m not your bastard.” It was what the small dragonrider insisted, even though she need not say it, when he trailed after her. Joining her during a mid-morning visit to Sheepstealer. The early days.

They had not said a word to each other until her skinny beast had been fed. Unlike the other dragonseeds mounts who took to the confines of the Dragonpit without fuss, the wild dragon had to be kept in an open field that once housed Vhagar. He attracted quite a crowd of peasants, children in particular, who both rider and dragon alike happily entertained.

Daemon watched Nettles slit a lamb's throat with Dark Sister. The prince had wordlessly offered up his sword for her use. He did not know what possessed him to do so. Only a curiosity to see something, his sword, in her small brown hands. Something of his to be a part of her. Even if he had forgone naming the outright need to see such.

She hesitated. Her plump little mouth parted. Revealing the slightly crooked set of white teeth residing there. All too soon accepting his offer. No words came. Her lips locked, forming a thin line as she reached for his outstretched offer. The tips of their fingers briefly collided. A mere brush of pale battle-hardened skin upon young supple flesh. A small spark that lingered. Imprinting itself on his skin. Left to wonder if she had felt it too as he cleared his throat.

It was a simple act. Clean in its barbarity. Most certainly not witchcraft. Natural. Calming Witnessing the bond between rider and dragon as the small girl softly spoke in the common tongue to the beast.

Neither paid him any mind. One could get lost in it. Forgetting about all their problems if only for a moment. A sight Daemon could not say he had witnessed till then. One that would not leave him as the moons waned.

“I’m not one of you.” She was the first to break the spell that fell. “I’m no one from nowhere. My ma as well.” Her warm brown eyes hardened by a margin. A speech well rehearsed. “Whoever spilt his seed inside her wasn’t more than a common sailor.” Nettles turned around to face him.

She held her head high. Craning her neck up to him. Her gaze could never quite turn to stone. A glimmer of something else lay beneath it all, but a determination was written on her sable face streaked. “I know who I am. I know what I come from and I know where I’m going. I won’t be your whore, my prince.”

It was his face that went sour as if he bit into a lemon. Setting to stone. “You need not worry girl.” He sneered down at her. Daemon could feel his face heating and wondered if its color reflected his irritation. If she could see how she rattled him. “I am not in the business of taking ill-mannered children into my bed.” Overreaction born from a blow. Nettles had figured him out with one dark glance. Unlocked truth's bitter taste. She could not tell a lie and snuffed them out equally.

Netty had not meant to be cruel for the sake of cruelty only for her mere protection, but shame to say Daemon wasn’t a man well accustomed to frankness. Most certainly not from someone like her. Narrowing her eyes she wordlessly dropped his now crimson-stained sword onto the earth. She wasted no time climbing upon her dragon's back and commanding Sheepstealer to take her into the skies. Leaving him in that field red-faced and ablaze.

When his annoyance evaporated the encounter served only to embolden him. Resolve him. He had gone to her with the intention of possession. Wanting to take her and rid her from his mind, but that was no longer possible. He would not be able to crack her by mere possession. He would not wish to, for there would not be a Nettles if he did. She embedded herself into him. He would not be satisfied until he had her.

The Rogue Prince's watch continued on, but his growing fondness for the small brown unlikely dragonrider was not the sole occupation of his mind. State matters clouded his days. Council meetings became a disagreeable affair. Ideas were spouted out that would incite riots, discord, and discontent. The appointment and reward of men that were unfit to hold what they gained. They had won the city, but they were far from winning the war or the hearts of the people low and high.

Opinion held high sway when there was another to claim the throne. An army and three dragons. The days of his brother's council and court had been more orderly than these proceedings. An ordeal in which he could find neither joy nor amusement. Leaving them in a foul mood.

His mood was fed by one Addam of Hull. A laugh. He had made her laugh. A laugh that never ended. Clutching at her belly as she placed her other hand on the boy's pale bicep to steady herself.

If he were to go to her. To place his hands upon her cheeks he knew he would feel their warmth. Her elation. She reveled in his company. Free and open to express the range of her emotions. Her smile was crafted by him.

In the blink of an eye, Daemon found himself before the happy pair, sword drawn in one hand. Knocking the boy face down into the dirt. A tan hand clutching at his bloody nose. Broken by his fall. He curled into himself as he was pummeled in the ribs by Dark Sister’s heel.

The sound of her voice resounded across the yard. Pleading. Begging him to stop. He was deaf to her cries. To his ears, it sounded as if she were calling out to him from underwater. He saw red take the form of a boy. It took Corlys and three other men to pull him from the bastard.

Nettles stormed from the scene. Her mask of indifference towards him had turned to horror. He followed after her. His blood was up as he grabbed her arm. Sheltering them in a dark alcove before bending down to envelop her in a kiss. Pouring himself into her. Dragging her into his depths. Netty. He breathed the pet name into her honey mouth. She was too sweet, far too saccharine to be named any other. No, she was his.

She had almost given in. Receiving his passions until his right hand wandered from her cupped face. Traveling under her skirts. Desperate to find her waiting core. The caress was returned with a bite. Forcing the Rogue Prince to release the grief-stricken woman. He had finally managed to extinguish the light from her eyes. Her palm reached up. He had been struck, but she breathed as if she had run clear across the castle. “Mayhaps I’m not worthy to warm your bed, but I pity you, my prince.” The sting of her words long outlasted the slap. “You are a bastard, but I believe even you are capable of more than the cruelty you show.”

Daemon conceded that then and now it was a dangerous game of cat and mouse he played at. Endangering her. Making her a party to his wants. Far too dangerous. Especially when her person and his interest in her person did not go amiss from two pairs of violet orbs. A queen and her mistress.

Rhaenyra was a covetous woman by nurture. Pampered from a young age. Raised to sit upon the Iron Throne despite her sex and the trouble which she found herself in on account of her impetuous nature. Over indulged by himself and Viserys. She was not familiar with compromise. Or one not in her favor.

He had not visited his niece-wife’s bed in an intimate capacity for moons. Long before the messy business of this tiresome war. She had given birth to a girl. Their daughter. Her long-awaited daughter. The babe never drew breath. She had named her Visenya. More dragon than a child.

Another blow was served in the shape of his bastard stepson, Lucerys death at the hands of his ill-tempered nephew. Then Viserys their youngest boy. Swept away in the chaos. Aegon was left traumatized by his escape and his younger brother's capture.

Jacaerys followed his younger brother to a watery grave in the Battle of the Gullet. Another impediment was removed by intervention without the prince’s hand, but Daemon no longer had the taste for such plots. To mourn for one child and lose several others in a manner of weeks was a tragedy in the highest measures, but his wife pushed through.

It was not like Rhaenyra to not rally her spirits even in the face of grief. She had a war to fight. Her losses had served to strengthen her resolve. However, it had served little to strengthen their relationship.

One could not blame their lack of intimacy all on the children. Or the strain of battling for the throne. That would most certainly not be the truth of their situation. Even before the tragedies of war, whatever passion for the other had long since faded.

Theirs had never been a great love, at least not a great romantic love. No, it was not a great passion that brought them together nor kept them, but they had a common cause. A cause that suited them and himself well. One he had admittedly lit inside of her when she had been but a girl. When his brother’s affections and favor had been bestowed on her.

That had held them. That had sustained them, but it became increasingly clear as the war progressed the folly of their relationship. Born only from an eruption long ago set by the pains of a second son. A hunger. One that had overtaken everything in its path. Careless. If there ever was a way to prevent this folly mayhaps they both would have been better off, but there was no way back now. That road was a broken thing. He had doomed them from the start.

They made their concessions to each. A way forward into the murky waters. Rhaenyra not minded that he had rekindled his relations with Lady Mysaria. She would not say a word against the woman to whom she owed a great debt. The Lyseni whore was brought to court for both their benefits. The queen gained a mistress of whisperers and he a mistress. One trusted far more than she needed. Some things are better left in the past.

The Rogue Prince bitterly regretted his decision to bring the White Worm to court and his bed from the moment she arrived. There was no love lost between them, however, she expected his complete confidence. Something he was no longer able to give.

Where his wife was entirely a vain and vapid creature, Mysaria was an overly observant worm. In particular when it came to his activities and his lack of enthusiasm during their time together. Another folly to his ever-growing list of misdeeds. He had wanted relief from his torment. The very same comfort she had provided him when he last had known her.

This time she had only brought misery. For that is what she had truly become. The years had not been kind to her, nor was she quick to forget the past or her tenuous position in his future. Her presence only served as a reminder. A reminder of what he truly desired.

“Does my prince wish for another to join us?” My prince. The endearment, if one could call it that, whispered in his ear from the wrong pair of lips. The wrong cadence. All the more apparent when Daemon recollected the words uttered by another tongue. No matter how clipped her speech was, the Rogue Prince would prefer it over any.

“A raven-haired girl? Young? Non-Valyrian? Dark? The look of Naath or the Summer Isles perhaps would please you.” A smile was plastered on her white face. Her eyes told another story. They were cold. Devoid of any life. “Netty is a pretty thing Daemon. An exotic feral beauty, but she is intoxicating.” A dagger to his underbelly. Grazing his flesh. Twisting its edge.

She had offered him his spread of whores before, but they were no good either. He had difficulty performing following that kiss. He thought of her taste. Her lips. Her pert little mouth. He thought of what the rest of her might taste like. Another set of lips. Her cream. Pulling himself from the whores cunt. Taking his cock in hand. Imagining her soft little hand in replace of his.

In a few short tugs upon his member, he emptied himself on Misery's pale backside. Relief eluded him yet. Picturing her once more. Hardening with a strained groan at the thought of what his sweet girl might look like painted with his seed.

There was no way to hide it even if he hadn’t made himself look like an old fool. She would know. In some regards, the whore knew him better than his own niece-wife and he knew her. That smile chilled him to the bone. He threw her from his bed. Ordering her never to return to it.

Reckless. It was his way. His temper had served him well in the past, but his hot-blooded nature would only serve to endanger her. Nettles. A bastard girl with common blood. A girl who had survived the streets of Driftmark to claim a dragon. A girl who had barely lived. Tis her head that would be mounted upon a spike outside the Red Keep with one wrong move.

Rhaenyra was a self-absorbed woman but even she could be roused from her slumber. The old prince had seen the looks his niece-wife had thrown the young dragonrider. The tight-lipped smile at the feast to celebrate the dragonseeds. The way she and her imp sniggered at the sight of her. The way her pale eyes darkened when she thought no one was observing her. One word. One whisper from a worm. One order from an envious queen and, Netty, his Netty would pay for his sins.

A private meeting was called to mule over her fate. Past the endless drivel of political appointments. Brought forth by the mistress of whispers who took pleasure in his agitated state at the proceeding.

“She is an intelligent sort of creature.” Netty was referred to in a manner as if she were cattle. He had to bite his tongue to withstand cursing at the lot of them. “More so than Hugh and Ulf.” That at least could not be denied. The two were arrogant as they were low in wit. “One like her has to be, I suppose.”

His dear wife placed her pudgy hand upon his. Daemon placed a pat on said hand in placation before shaking her off. Slipping out from her grip, a set of violet eyes that matched his own blinked to keep from embarrassment. Her complexion and disposition betrayed her

Her words dripped with distaste. “But one has to ask the question, Lord Hand, who would marry her?” Rhaenyra’s tittering resounded around the room. Echoed by Bartimos Celtigar. Her fool would have joined in on the jape, but the dwarf was noticeably absent from council. “We’d have an easier time marrying her beast off than her.”

Another round of sniggers could be heard before proposals were put forward. The girl needed to be married. Some phantom lord would have her for his wife. Netty lacked the proper breeding, even he would not argue that, but she was young and no doubt fertile. In possession of a dragon. What she was deficient in could be made up for in other areas.

One of Celtigar's runts mayhaps take her hand in marriage. They had always been in want of a dragon even if it came with a stain. Addam Velaryon was put forward by the Sea Snake himself. He would not soon forget his outburst in the training yard as he eyed the slightly younger Valyrian man. He had long since apologized to the heir of the Driftwood Throne, but suspicion played behind the old lord's jovial veneer.

Addam was a decent young fellow in truth. He would not harm his Netty and the two might even find some felicity in the union, but his status as heir of his “grandsires” seat was a precarious thing. The remainder of Corlys’ nephews were not likely to give over their ancestral seat to a bastard no matter if they shared blood, much less two bastard whelps, one of which would further pollute their noble house.

The most unfortunate of them all, Dalton Greyjoy was added to the hoard. Rather gleefully by Mysaria. Echoed by the queen herself. The Red Kraken. A bloodthirsty savage. Little more than a butcher, but he had served their cause well and had merited his reward.

Dalton Greyjoy. A raper with twenty-two salt wives. Each despised him more than the last. He would not object to taking Netty for his bride. He would not mind even if she were not a maid. Nor her bawdy tongue. She would be his lady wife if he accepted.

She would be the one to bear his children. To warm his bed. He would fill her up with his rotten seed and she would birth him son after son until her body gave out. He and that fetid set of islands he called home would snuff out her light. The thought of it, the images his mind conjured, boiled his blood.

“The girl is little more than a child.” Daemon interrupted the council's musings. Inaction would no longer do. The violet eyes of old Valyria turned to him as countered their proposal. A worthy excuse. One that no one would think anything of. What better than the truth to tear apart their dreadful suggestions?

“She isn’t fit to marry anyone. Lest you wish to find her lordly husband burnt in his bed and her off to the Gods knows where or her beast in the hands of the likes of Dalton Greyjoy.” Celtigar, Gerardys, and Corlys were in reluctant agreement with him. The girl was too wild. Untested. A bastard girl with no ties to them. Too important to just hand off to some lord. There was no telling what she may do or what purposes her new groom might use her for.

No voices of descent were heard from any others present. Not even Rhaenyra nor the mistress of whispers could reject it. The matter was put to bed and another put forth. Maidenpool. A job for two dragonriders.

His late brother's spawn had become a plague upon the Riverlands. Razing hellfire. The dragonseeds Ulf or Hugh were proposed to accompany him in the defense of Lord Mooton’s seat. Thick as thieves the pair were. Bastards in nature as well as name. Dull brutes. Dull company. There was merit in splitting the two, but he would not leave her.

Abandon her in the capital without a soul to advocate for her. Care for her. True she would have Corlys. The Lord of the Tides seemed to have some regard for her, but his loyalty lay with his blood. If Nettles ever became a danger to himself or Addam’s position, he would not hesitate to cease his protection. Kings Landing as always remained a den of vipers.

There was of course the option to send Nettles away. To send her home, but she had neither a home to return to nor would she ever be allowed back to what was left of Spicetown with a dragon in tow. Unsupervised in the middle of a war or otherwise. There could only be one course of action.

He went to her. The first time in a fortnight to that open field. Reviving the ritual of the lamb’s slaughter by offering his blade. She snatched the sword from his outreached hand, remaining mute. He could take her anger, but he would need her to understand.

Daemon was the one to break the strained accord. “We leave for Maidenpool on the morrow.” Netty was not a fool. She made her protests known. The other dragonseeds mounts were larger than Sheepstealer. She had spirit, but in a fight against a skilled swordsman and the largest dragon in the known world, neither she nor her mount would be much help to the old prince and his blood wyrm.

“I can not leave you here.” He would not mince his words. This was not solely for his benefit. This was first and foremost for her safety. “I know that you are fond of Addam Velaryon,” she made no move to contradict him, “and he of you, but he can not protect you. Neither will Lord Corlys. He will abandon you the moment his protection becomes an inconvenience for him.” He had done so with his young foolhardy nephew those years ago. A bastard girl left in his care would fare no better.

“And you, the Queen’s husband, will protect me?” The girl had turned away from him. Taking an interest in Sheepstelers hide. Her eyes were downcast. She thought him no different. No better than the others. Worse in fact. His loyalties were in conflict with one another and he had not done anything to recommend himself. To suggest that he would defend her. Protect her.

That he saw her as little more than a useful distraction. A lustful prince who whispered sweet hollow words in dark enclaves and desolate fields. He would have his fun and toss to the side afterward. That was the face he had shown her. “I would not become a burden to you the same as any other lord?”

“I would let you feed me to your beast if it meant your safety Netty.” The truth. Daemon Targaryen had resolved himself to his duty. He did not care if he sounded like an old fool. If he was one for her, he did not care. He had made his bed for her. He would keep to it even if she did not join him.

She laughed. A belly ache of a laugh. Her face a light. Shining brighter than the sun’s glow. “Sheepstealer wouldn’t like that I’m afraid.” Still clutching her belly. Wiping a stray tear with the back of her hand. “He isn’t very fond of the taste of pig.” He joined her in jubilation. A much-needed moment of levity.

“Do you wish that Addam of Hull was in my steed?” His thoughts had turned to the round of laughter she let out in the training yard in his company. The lightness of their conversation dimmed somewhat.

Daemon Targaryen was and would always remain a possessive man. He would never apologize for that. It was infuriating that the bastard boy from Hull caused her unadulterated elation, but it was a pretty sight. A sight it seems the prince was capable of bringing on. Tenfold judging by the way she beamed seconds ago. Something he yearned to see more of. He supposed he was growing overly affectionate in his old age. He did not mind it. Not for her.

Netty shook her head in reply. Taking her bottom lip between her teeth. Her gaze traveled back to Sheepstealer who seemed as restless as his rider. “Do you wish for your wife to be in mine?” Stuttering as she swallowed down her nerves. “Or a younger version of her-”, he pulled her to him. Leaning down so that they were in each other's eye line. He could see every freckle. Every mole that dotted her little face. Whatever she had to say quieted.

They stood there for a spell. The wind howled around them. Just them. Drowning out all the rest. Whatever storm awaited them, they were shielded from it in each other's arms. “No.” A single word. It can have more power than a thousand. An action told more than it all.

She looked so very small in his hold. So very young. Wideyed. Reminding him of her youth and his years. He could see her reasoning. On the surface at least. They were both determined willful women, but that was where their similarities ended. The two were as alike as fire and earth and Daemon was glad of it.

“No Netty.” The affectionate nickname slipped from his lips. She did not correct him this time. Simply nodding her head. Nuzzling into his touch as he began to trace the scar that marred the brown skin across her button nose. “I wish for your company.” Just yours. Only your little company will do for me.

The first moon that followed at Maidenpool could be described as being on the very edge of felicity. The pressures of the capital dissipated. Contentment reigned. They had fallen into a painstakingly crafted routine. Broken only by Lord Mooton. The meddlesome fool.

They had spent every waking moment with each other. Days and evenings alike. Dinners, riding upon dragonback scanning for the half-blind prince, accompanying him to the training yard, or meetings. He ventured to teach her some words in Valyrian after he had found she was literate in the common tongue.

“Madam disliked dolts.” She imparted little on her girlhood, but half pictures. The manse where she grew up. Where she escaped seeking more than a life of degradation. “My girls are better served literate Nettles.” Her voice grew low when recollecting her earliest memories. Not ashamed of her circumstances. For she couldn’t help what she was born in, but they were not fit for a child with so much light in her. The old prince welcomed the chance to give his Netty new memories. To give her everything she had not yet should have.

Where he went, she went. Where she moved, he followed. Netty was at his side in sky and in castle. The only time they spent apart was when they rested their weary heads for the night. Separated only by one mere door. He requested that the lord place them in adjoining bed chambers. Thankfully the man hadn’t given much thought to their sleeping arrangements, but their host and his household were a prying lot.

The lord could not keep from giving his own opinions. Fulfilling his own curiosity. A question. Why had they not split up while searching for Prince Aemond? They would cover more ground if they rode apart. Surely they could be back in King's Landing triumphant if they did. A much-needed victory.

Surely his wife was in need of him. They had a war to win. Surely the Rogue Prince was needed back in the capital. Back to his queen instead of wasting his time here. Let the matter be done with so that he may return to her.

An innocuous set of observations, but a bitter reminder of why they had come here. Why a prince had brought one bastard girl with him. A reminder of what they could not be to each other. Why did he waste his time with her? Why when this would all end? It was just a bit of fun. This was all a farce and Nettles wanted no part in it.

She was halfway to where their mounts rested when he caught her. Flying would be the death of her in that state. Neither would the weather be helpful. Storm clouds gathered overhead. Breaking into a drizzle mirroring her clouded-over glower. “Netty.”

His Netty had made a valiant effort trying to outrun him. Going so far as to chuck her new leather boots at his head, but he caught her with ease when she was slowed down by the damp earth. Sweeping her in his arms. Shushing her as she began to kick at him. Determined to ride out the storm with her.

“I am not a plaything for your amusement Daemon!” Daemon. The first time she had spoken his name and she wanted to run from him. Netty would have thrown herself on the ground or found the nearest object, a rock, to hurl at his head, but she remained firmly in his grasp. Keeping her from hurting him or herself.

“Let me go, you old man. I’m not yours to keep!” He turned her around to come face to face with a frightened child. His Netty gone. Replaced by a girl who had kept her safe when no one else had. “I don’t need your protection. You have a wife and your brood of children. Go to them! Go protect them!” He called out her name, but she refused to calm down. “Leave me be. I don’t need your pity!”

“I do not pity you.” He shook her lightly to stop her babbling. Taking her hands in his so that she could not claw at him. “I could split us up and we can be back in King's Landing by the end of the moon.”

Daemon had stalled. He would not lie to her. Yes, it was in part for Netty’s safety, but he had grown weary of the war. Of the endless council meetings which provided more complications than solutions. Of Rhaenyra and her stubborn conceit. Of Mysaria and her endless weed of deception.

Here at Maidenpool with this small brown dragonrider, this impossible girl, he had not known such contentment. Not since he could recall. Not even in the early days with Laena. In Pentos with her and their girls.

He had been well satisfied. Away from the schemes. With a morsel of bliss. Of love, but a taste wouldn’t do. The old prince knew that he would not find this again for he never had before.

She too bloomed in his company. Her shy smiles had been replaced by laughter, mirth, and merry. Regular meals and proper rest had done well. A glow affixed to her brown face. Her old rags were long discarded. The cut of her new garments accentuated her shape nicely. No longer hanging off her slender frame.

They breathed freely. Spoke freely. They held nothing from each other. Slowly Daemon was finding himself unable to go on without her. He had and could not go back to a life without her. What good was mere blood or a name? An empty life chasing after an iron throne that did little but rot its occupant’s away.

“Say the word and we can be rid of each other but I do not wish to part from you.” If it was up to him they would remain in each other's company. With no end in sight to speak of. “Neither do I believe that you wish to leave my side.” Netty managed to squeak out a small no in affirmation. Still, she wriggled in his hold. He pressed on. The pads of his thumb caressing her wrists to calm her “I am where I should be.” They were well past the point of half-truths. There was no point in lying to one another or themselves.

“You are not my plaything. I do not wish for you to be my whore. I love you. I am in love with you Netty. I love you, you wild thing.” She quieted. Stopped her squirming. Her dark eyes went wide. He was able to bring his forehead down to hers. “Every day when you are not in my arms I am in agony. That is why I keep you.”

He had left her mute when he finally pulled a fraction away. Stunned to silence. Having to carry her back for she had gone limp in his arms. All Netty was capable of was staring at him with red-rimmed eyes. Half scared, half something unnameable.

Dinner that evening was spent in solitude. A morose affair. Netty had locked herself inside her chambers once she had been deposited back into the safety of them. No sounds came from the other side of the door as he sat gazing into his chamber's fire. A silent taunt. The old prince wondered if she would sneak from her bed to take flight. Away from Maidenpool. From him and off into the unknown.

In truth, he did not know how long he sat there with his thoughts. His conviction, however, strengthened in the flames. He would not let her leave. Away from here. Away from him. He wouldn’t let her. She was something entirely his. Not the realms. Not belonging to someone or something else. His.

The old prince would play out Rhaenyra’s war, but he would not give up what he had found. He would not lose Netty. He would be lost without her. Above all others, his first duty had become to her.

Daemon made to go after Netty. Lunging from the chair. The knob of the heavy oak door turned. Stopping the prince A brown little face appeared. A figure clothed in her nightgown and the dark robe he had gifted her. She closed the door to lean against it. Not moving. Still. Merely resting. One brown hand upon the knob while wringing the other. Their eyes met. She opened her mouth a dozen times before he took the first plunge.

“Could you not sleep?” A silly question, but she granted him with a reply, a nod of a head. Lovely dark coils covered half her face. The light of the fire reflected off of them. Casting her head in a halo. A pretty sight. A sight he would never tire of.

He motioned for her to join him by the hearth. She made her ascent. It was not a long walk for she broke into a run. Leaping. Netty pulled herself into him as he caught her. Tugging him down so that their lips met. Her little hands were greedy as they roamed his person. He was no better. They could not resist.

By the time they were finished with one another, they had become a warm heap in his bed. Bare skin against skin. Her pebbled nipples against his chest. Connected at their cores. His half-hard cock still tucked within her sopping heat. Her cunt spasmed around him, sending the most delicious shockwaves of pleasure up their spines on occasion. Radiating throughout their love-worn bodies.

She would not have him leave her and he was in no position to argue. His silver head rested upon her dark coils. A hand gently stroked up and down the arm she had thrown around his middle.

Soaked. Satisfied. Mouthing at the pocket marketed red scars on his neck. He did not know where he ended and she began. “I love you too, old man.” Breathed into his skin as she began to drift off. He thought about taking her again then, but he let her rest. Joining her in dreamland. Well rested for the first time in moons.

It was a hard battle won, but well worth it. His most worthy fight. For her, for his impossible clever girl, got his netty he would fight a thousand battles. Again and again. Not for blood nor for title. For her.

For a day more with her. For something as unassuming as an hour can feel like a hundred years if it is spent in good company of one’s choosing. The moons spent at Maidenpool certainly felt as if they were an eternity. Theirs. Entirely so.

The old prince was drawn back to the present by a little whimper. He should let her rest, but he would not. Rest was for the penitent and the patient. Daemon Targaryen was neither of those things. Not in the least. Not when it came to her. Not at that very moment. Not with his impossible girl.

He could not resist her. He would never deign to try. Nor pass an opportunity to ensnare her into bliss for she deserved that and more. Planting another kiss into her hairline. A pale calloused hand renewed its descent between her damp curls that framed her cunny. Drawing slow circles into her little pearl.

His lovely girl began to stir. Burying herself into the battle scars of old that lined his neck to enjoy the warmth of him. Her brown eyes fluttered open with a breathy moan of his name. Waking from dreamland to hazy pleasure. Melting into his touch as he replaced his fingers with his length. Sinking into her. Capturing her lips in the most tender of embraces.

The hunt as well as sleep could wait for there were more pressing matters to attend to. He broke their kiss. Netty whined but he soothed her with a thrust that rendered a cry of ecstasy. A whisper played upon his lips. One that would usher them into the ardor that awaited at dawn's doorstep. “Nyke emagon jorrāelagon hen ao issa ōños.” I have need of you my light.

Ao3 Link:

#daemon x nettles #nettles #prince daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x nettles #nettles x daemon #daemon targaryen #nettles f&b #hotd fanfic #hotd fic #house of the dragon #houseofthedragon #hotd fanfiction #bnhotdfic

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aemondslefteyeball · 10 months

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Sic Transit Gloria Mundi (5)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

[Modern!Aemond x Fem!Reader]

[Warnings: Gallows humor, implied death by suicide, gore, reference to parental abuse]

[Summary: Girlhood is dancing around a pyre with your besties]

(Ngl I was expecting to write two chapters then get no feedback and leave it to rot. I'm gonna try to put out another chapter tomorrow since class starts next week and it'll probably be down to 1 to maybe 2 chapters a week. Thank y'all for reading ily)

Word Count: 5.9K

Chapter 5

The tinny sound from the speaker bounced off the old walls of the cabin. Bumping your hips into Baela’s, you gave her a mischievous smile before gesturing to Jacaerys. Spinning around each other lip-syncing the lyrics, you slipped your hand onto her back and pushed her toward him before she had a chance to protest. After third-wheeling yourself, you meet eyes with Barba. She moved freely, her glossy black hair cascading over her slim shoulders. Offering her hand out to you, you sink into an exaggerated curtsy before the two of you start dancing with each other. Her hands moved to your hips as if grinding, and you turned back to see her jokingly donning the face of every guy who takes himself way too seriously at a club. The two of you laughed and kept dancing until the sound glitched out. “Aw come on…” You stepped forward, picking up the sputtering speaker before handing it over to Sabitha.

“Here. You’re an engineer.” On the receiving end of perhaps the most long-suffering look you had ever received, Sabitha held out her hand impatiently.

“Not how that works, like at fucking all. If you guys ever stepped out of a lab you’d know that,” Sabitha knocked the speaker against her hand, shrugging. “I don’t think hitting something has ever really made it work.”

“Works preeetty well for my Mom,” You sucked in a breath through your teeth at Nettles’ remark despite her light tone. You overheard her mother screaming at Nettles over the phone in public more than once. None of you asked questions when she all but moved in with Myrielle.

“Bitch, that’s how we’re going to be found,” Mumbling through a mouthful of deer jerky that had been dried in the sun earlier, Myrielle waved the rest of the piece around. “She’s going to bust in the door and kick your ass for not texting her we crashed.” Nettles laughed at that, and the rest of you soon joined in, Myrielle chewing the rest of her jerky and then flashing the goofiest smile she could muster toward Nettles. Her mouth was full enough that she looked like a gerbil, and when the laughing shifted to that… or rather just laughing for the sake of catharsis was when the creaking sounded. “Ms. Plumm?” Myrielle called out, expression frightened but clearly trying to lighten the mood. The joke didn’t get more than a soft laugh from Rhaena, who quickly stopped after looking around.

“Um, what the fuck was that?” Nettles's gaze shifted to the ceiling as Aly rolled her eyes.

“Look, it’s probably just a branch.” Setting her hands on her hips, Aly’s eyes immediately shifted to you in a look that said don’t.

“Inside? On the floor? Her tone was incredulous, Nettles ran a hand through her curls to push them back.

“A fucking squirrel then I don’t know!”

“What if it’s…them?” Myrielle stepped in.

“What, the dead guy and the other two?”

Myrielle rolled her eyes at Aly, crossing her arms over her chest. “Um, yeah.”

“You know what it was?” Baela’s voice crept up. “The bodies’ dead fingers crawling around trying to make it,” You shrieked as a finger ran down your back, hitting Baela in the side as hard as you could. “Back home.” Scrunching up your shoulders and catching your breath, you locked eye contact with your best friend before joining in on the roaring laughter.

“Do you really have to encourage them?” Aly demanded.

“Okay, but you have to admit it did sound like it was coming from inside.”

“Could still be a fucking squirrel.”

“Okay, well, if it’s an insomniac squirrel running around up the-” Sara’s voice was cut off by your shush, your eyes raised to the ceiling as Aly groaned and complained.

“Listen.” You commanded. Barba, Sabitha, and Myrielle raised their heads.

“Okay.” Ser Criston clipped. “That’s enough. I think the ghosts decided it was time to get some sleep.” Shifting his crutches to support his weight, he stood. “We should do the same, yeah?”

You woke up in the morning feeling like absolute dogshit. Your shoulder was maybe a week away from being out of a sling, but the familiar pain in your abdomen was what caught your immediate attention. Groaning, you sat up and tapped on Baela’s foot. When her cranky gaze met with yours, you knew she was undergoing the same thing. “We’re gonna need to deal with this.” Rising and grabbing a pile of clothes, you tossed a few to Baela and the two of you set to ripping them up. Barba had woken up before the rest of you and lit a fire in front of the cabin. A few hours later two separate stations had been set up. One for laundry, the other breakfast. Baela and you had already eaten and were in the process of stirring makeshift pads through boiling water with a stick. “Fuck this country.” You mused, Baela letting out a barking laugh.

“You literally married my cousin so you could live here.”

Donning a wounded expression, you put a hand to your chest dramatically. “Do you have to be right so loud bitch? Damn.” The two of you laughed before you continued “I was younger and dumber!” You exclaimed, the back of your hand moving to your forehead as you mock fainted and fell into her side.

“Okay, yeah, speaking of people who shouldn’t be unconscious right now.” Baela shrugged you off with an eye roll, putting her hands on her knees before rising to enter the cabin.

Baela came out a minute later and shot you a look that let you know exactly how tired of Sara she was. A few minutes later, the princess herself arrived and immediately walked towards the pots with breakfast boiling. Myrielle moved to cut her off before she could though, shoving a pail into her arms. “How about getting some more water?” She sniped. “Breakfast isn’t going anywhere.”

When Sara finally returned with the water pail, she dropped it down with a curse. You and Baela exchanged a look, Floris immediately rushed over to Sara. “Hey, need a hand?”

Sara sighed as if the weight of the world was on her shoulders, pouting before offering “No, it’s okay.” Rolling your eyes and looking away, you went back to your work.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day, Aemond woke up and performed his usual routine. When he finally got to his desk, he sat for a moment. Staring at the black screen in front of him. For the first time in years, he simply did not know what to do. Aemond Targaryen had his life decided by the time he was twelve, and had mostly achieved what he set out for up to that point. His adolescent mind couldn’t have ever predicted the circumstances he would come to find himself in, but neither could his adult mind. He had once given Aegon a black eye for going into his room and taking a note from a girl he liked. Now, he was invading the privacy of his estranged wife for his own sick pleasure. Fuck, he didn’t even know if you were interested in men. The terms of your relationship were made clear before you were even married, and he had only ever seen you with Emerson. He had seen some flag hung in your room, but he didn’t know any by name beyond the basic pride one. Aemond snapped himself out of his train of thought and booted up his computer. Hours passed with him working robotically. When a notification dinged on the upper right hand of his computer screen, he looked over briefly before ignoring it. What little there had ever been to his relationship with Alys was deteriorating as the search lingered on. By this point, the news cycle had moved on to troubles reported between some shit with Norvos. Curiosity growing in him once more, he pulled up Google before seeing if there was any news on the search. A sigh escaped him, but he knew better than to be disappointed. At this point, every link was purple, even the stupid BuzzFeed ones about Sara’s tiktok career. There were no articles on your schooling, or whatever you planned on doing. In the media, you existed as an accessory to the blonde. You were her exotic friend, the one who made her seem more worldly. She didn’t even care about you. He couldn’t stand you, but he also didn’t pretend to be your friend. Shaking his head, he buried his nose back into his job. It was just one of many other shitty decisions you made.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The day passed, and more gross shit had to be done. One bucket of deer entrails had been hauled and tossed off the edge of a nearby cliff that became an unofficial garbage chute. Anything that could be retained, was. But even that could only do so much. Halfway back to the meat shed, you came across Jacaerys sitting in the dirt. He looked deep in thought, but you recognized that expression anywhere. It was the same face you saw in the mirror months after your Dad’s passing. “It cool if I pop a squat?” Jace nodded, but you weren’t quite sure if he actually heard what you said. “I know how you feel.” Jace’s head snapped to you at the whisper, his expression angry.

“You don’t know shit.” His voice was foreboding, and he dropped his eyes away from yours to meet the scrub again.

“My Dad died when I was fourteen.” Despite how many times you had told people about it, it never got any easier. The brunette nodded silently. You shoved back the tears that pricked at your eyelids and looked back at Jace, who had started to sob.

“He wasn’t even my fucking Dad.” Everybody had known, but usually, people had the good sense to pretend their eyes were lying to them. “And he even sucked at doing that.” You reached a hand out to rub along his shoulder, softly shushing him as his chest wracked.

“Look, you have a really shit deal.” Jacaerys’ stiffened, wiping his nose when you finally spoke. “You have to deal with being stranded in the fucking woods on top of your grief. I’m really sorry you have to deal with this.” Gathering the courage to say it, you made eye contact with him. “But… Luke needs you.” Jace brought a hand to his face, rubbing it over his jaw as he stared off into the distance. “I can’t ask you to do it for us, because that’s really not fair. But Luke…”

“Yeah, I fucking got it.” You moved to sit next to him for a moment, slinging your arm around him as you pulled his head towards your shoulder. Seeking comfort, Jace rested his head there. The two of you stayed that way for a few minutes of comfortable silence.

Jace pulled away from you, turning his head to look at you. “What happened?” You sighed for a moment, eternally dreading the topic.

“Officially?” His eyes met yours in confusion for a brief second. “His sidearm went off while he was cleaning it.” Tears brimmed your eyes and you pulled your lips over your teeth for a brief moment before looking away. Your throat felt suffocatingly tight, but you took a deep breath.

“Officially? Wouldn’t the gun have bee-” The first tear fell as you turned back towards Jace, raising your eyebrows. Realization dawned on his face, “Oh shit.” He reached a hand out to rest on your shoulder. “I’m really sorry.” He parroted your earlier words, but you knew it was because he just didn’t know what to say. People usually didn’t.

A dry laugh escaped your lips as you drew your knees into your chest, arms coming to wrap around them. “Yeah.” Fingertips dug into your calves, nails leaving marks you wouldn’t remember inflicting in a few hours. “That makes two of us, I guess.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Every day Aemond thanked the Gods that as shitty as his eldest sister was to him, was as kind as Helaena was. The blonde was shoving groceries into the fridge when his sister walked in with a bag of takeout. Noticing him putting away food he had no plans on eating, she shot him a look. “We’re worried about you.” Aemond froze for a second as he put the zucchini in the spot it always sat in. “You’re losing weight.” She insisted.

“You and Mom worry too much.” Completing his chore, he shut the refrigerator door harsher than intended. His sister shot him an empathetic glance again, pausing before she spoke.

“Aemond, even Egg is worried about you.” He knew better than to assume that his father would ever worry, but Aegon’s concern was legitimately shocking. “I mean, you’ve been doing this every week.” She gestured to the fridge as he tossed the empty grocery bags in the trash. A sudden defensiveness seized his mind and he turned to give Helaena a look to not continue. Calling his bluff, she knit her eyebrows together, “Throwing out her groceries, then going to the store and buying the same things to put in the fridge.” Aemond could always rationalize his actions when it was unspoken, but he hated the attention being drawn to them.

He slammed his fist down on the counter, ignoring the scared look on his sister’s face. “When she gets back she’s going to want the things that make her comfortable.” Silence hung like a veil after that. Helaena moved to hand him his food, and they simply ate after that.

When his sister noticed he had finished, she looked down at the table, voice quiet as a mouse. “Have you considered talking to somebody?” Aemond immediately answered the idea with a scoff, looking at her with an expression that said ‘Seriously?’. Gathering herself once more, she made eye contact with him. “Five sessions.” Stated as an order, Aemond turned his head to smile, wondering exactly where she got the nerve. “Aemond.” The Mom-voice kicked into gear as she spoke again. “I have never asked you for anything. Five sessions. And if it’s still a waste of time you can lord it over me at every family dinner forever.” Knowing that Helaena wouldn’t drop it, he simply looked back to the corner of the dining room and let out a soft ‘Mmm.’

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You felt half dead yet simultaneously lighter after your talk with Jace. Operating on autopilot, you carried the gutbucket back to the meat shed. Floris crouched in front of the pail you had set to catch the blood, doing something or another with it. When a twig broke underfoot, she snapped up instantly. Her raven hair swung around as she moved something behind her back, expression panicked. You two stared at each other for a brief moment. You had obviously witnessed something you shouldn’t have and moved to break the tension. “Sorry I was just-”

“Oh, no, it’s fine.” She interjected with a nervous smile. Keeping your face as neutral as possible, you turned to watch Floris as she scampered away. The bucket clanged onto the ground before you grabbed the next one.

After the last bucket of entrails had been tossed off the cliff, you washed your hands off in the lake before returning to camp. Letting out Grandpa noises while lowering yourself to sit, you looked across the camp to see Sara fucking with her phone. After the speaker died everybody had agreed to use them as little as possible. There was no signal out here anyways, and they were far more useful to the group as flashlights. Swiping from what you assumed was song to song, she groaned while holding the cell up towards the sky. Floris approached the camp, eyes cast down. When she approached Sara she held up a stained cloth, rolling her eyes. “Thanks for jinxing me.” You looked down at your boots, digging your toe into the dirt. You didn’t know what the fuck was going on with that, but it wasn’t really your place to interject either. Especially not in a group setting.

Sara scoffed, pulling one earbud out. “What says friendship like a couple of pals bleedin’ together?” Floris laughed, but you didn’t miss the way her hands shook. “Come talk to me when you’re ready to shake Rhaena down for some Midol.” You moved to look at Sara, her constant whining getting really fucking grating. “Ugh, there’s no fucking signal!” Finally setting her phone down in front of her, Sara slouched over. Nettles shot her a look, Myrielle turning over from the stock she was cooking to give the blonde a ‘really bitch?’ expression. While Sara remained oblivious to her growing unpopularity, Floris glanced around before grabbing her friend by the wrist.

Rising onto her feet and quickly pulling Sara’s other earbud out, she held out a hand. “Come on.” Ignoring Sara’s protests, she flexed her hand expectantly. “You’re coming with me.” Aly scoffed from the laundry line after the pair left, various words of agreement uttered by a few others.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The office was tucked back into a little strip mall. The bricks were aging, and the neon signs on the nail salon next door were half dead. Despite his entry into the backrooms, Aemond loomed into the office. Five sessions and Helaena would leave him the fuck alone. The therapist seemed polite enough, for somebody who made a living off of pretending to care about others’ problems. He waited for her to break the silence, crossing one leg over the other as he sprawled across the couch. When she finally did, he grunted as if interrupted doing something more important. “So, the first session isn’t really about diving into your feelings.” Mustering as much boredom as possible, he landed his gaze on the older woman. “It’s more about what you want from therapy, and how the course of therapy goes.” The blonde remained silent as much as he could, absentmindedly nodding as she explained different programs. “Are there any in particular that you feel you’d benefit from?” Aemond let out a haughty chuckle at the question, finally meeting her gaze. “I’m going to level with you, my sister made me come here and I’m only going for as long as we agreed.” Dr. Greenwood nodded, her expression thoughtful for a few brief moments. “Well, I think we should make use of the sessions we do have. Cognitive behavioral therapy is the most common type, and it’s pretty straightforward.” She split her attention between him and a printout she proceeded to place across the desk. Aemond looked at it as if she set down a dirty diaper. Grief: It’s Okay That You’re Not Okay.

Aemond’s fists clenched as his lips pulled back into a snarl. “Is this what you’re being paid to do?” His eye bored a hole into the therapist’s face, her expression calm. “I’m not grieving, because my wife means nothing to me.” Aemond stood up and walked out of the room, slamming the door shut on his way out.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Myrielle ran out of the cabin screaming, shaking her shirt while yelling “Get it off!” on a loop until Floris and Nettles came to help her.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know!” Her hands moved out in shock, still squirming against her friends’ hands. “I was standing under the trapdoor.” She struggled still against the hands that searched her. “And something crawled down my shirt.”

Floris took a step back, squatting down to be at eye level with Myrielle. “There’s nothing there, Myri. There’s nothing there.” She grabbed the other girl’s hand, “It’s fine.”

Aly had her arms crossed over her chest, face unamused at the situation unfolding. Not being able to resist the urge to be skeptical, she spat out “Must have been the ghost.”

“Hey, leave her alone.” Aly shot you a weary look in response.

Myrielle’s face turned from embarrassment to indignation. “Don’t say that.”

“Wh- Guys!” Sara threw her hands up excitedly, moving toward the center of the group. “I just had a brainstorm.” Yeah, that’s probably the most work you’ve actually done today. “We should have a seance.” She smiled, dimples forming.

Aly laughed deridingly, shifting her weight to her right foot. “That’s a terrible idea. Also, we’re not in middle school.” Sabitha met her gaze with a reassuring nod and a small smile.

“But remember how fun that shit was?” For the first time in a while, you found yourself actually agreeing with Sara. You suddenly regretted your earlier thought, reasoning that maybe she was still adjusting.

“We cannot play around with the occult.” Barba’s posture was still, her icy blue eyes landing on Sara.

“It’s not the occult, Barba. It’s a game.” Barba just set her jaw in place, not blinking until Sara caved first. Looking at Floris like a parent needing help with a child, Sara gestured for her to speak up.

“Well, do any of us really have anything better to do? Besides.” She paused, smiling at Sara briefly. “Maybe they can give us some life advice. Sabitha chuckled before nodding, turning to Aly afterwards.

“So, it’s settled. Tonight we meet in the attic and bridge the veil between our two wooorrrlldddsss.” Sara waved her hands, wooing and imitating a ghost. Barba shook her head in disbelief and stormed off.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Aemond was in the bathroom gritting his teeth. He had never wished so much to be like his brother, always reneging on his promises. Seething as he stopped leaning against the paper towel dispenser, he looked in the mirror once before stepping back out of the bathroom. Aemond opened the door to Dr. Greenwood’s office and sat down as if nothing had happened. She was paid to deal with his shit, so he didn’t feel the need to apologize. He still refused to look at the printout that remained on her desk. Dr. Greenwood looked at him for a moment, clearly pondering something before she moved past it and continued speaking. “Now, the aim of CBT is to help you recognize negative thought patterns…” Aemond half-listened as she elaborated, glad that this first session was introductory bullshit. Only four left to go.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Oh keeper of this wild and hidden place.” Sara dipped her thumb into the bowl, moving it towards Floris’ forehead and painting it into an X. “We anoint ourselves with blood and earth.” Floris kept her face still, eyes covered by a makeshift blindfold. Sara moved over to Jacaerys, who recoiled when offered the bowl. Sara rolled her eyes. “It’s just dirt and deer blood. Classic witch recipe. Be Strong.” Jace’s gaze was venomous as he grabbed the bowl, tracing the same X onto his forehead before giving Sara a pointed stare when she tried to sit next to him. The bowl passed onto Baela, “Oh spirits, we offer our sister as your instrument. Come to us and speak your peace.”

“It is I, Larys.” Dropping her voice an octave, giggles emerged at Floris’ impression. Hearing Sara sigh, Floris cleared her throat, “Larys. Ask your questions, and the pendulum shall answer them.”

“Okay.” Sabitha cleared her throat, raising her hands as if in prayer. “Dear dead child murderer… Did Viserys do it?” The room broke out into laughter. Baela and Rhaena might have a blood relation to the aforementioned but seemingly nobody but Rhaenyra was fond of him. Rumors had been circulating within your social circles for years that he had something to do with the mysterious death of his first wife. Nobody could prove anything, but he refused to talk about her after that. And he had enough influence that nobody else talked about it for fear of their livelihoods.

“Come on guys, real questions.”

Floris lifted her blindfold to show one eye. “The veil is thin between our two planes, ask what is in your heart.” Pulling it back down, she held the makeshift pendulum back out.

“I’ll go.” Aly shot a sardonic look around the room. “Dear dead cabin guy, we pray to you for guidance.” She set her hands on her crossed legs as if in meditation. Her tone was as mocking as possible, making sure to lock eyes with you more than once. “Some of us do not understand the repercussions of blood magic.” She locked eyes with Myrielle next, who crossed her arms and looked at Nettles. “We must change them, we must cleanse them.” You snapped your head around to Aly, wondering where her sense of humor was suddenly coming from. “With or without the use of knives.”

Sabitha broke out laughing, throwing up a hand towards her. “Aly, Seven fucking hells.”

“Was it a human sacrifice?” Alysanne raised her arms as if offering praises to the heavens above. She paused for a moment, leaning one ear to the side. The pendulum stayed deadly still, where it had been moving moments before. “Dead Bundy?” A purse of her lips happened next, “I asked you a question.” At this point you didn’t really mind if she was making fun of all of you, the levity was welcome. “If the answer is yes, make it rain lizards.” Laughs broke out across the room among even the most diehard believers. “If the answer is no, make it rain men. If you can’t remember whether it was or not, make the wind clap.” Sabitha smacked Aly’s arm and doubled over. Silence fell for a brief moment, Aly looking towards the ceiling. “Show yourself!” Myrielle’s smile started wavering at this point. She shot a worried glance over towards Nettles. That was the exact moment Jace let out a singular clap, cackling as Myri shrieked in response.

Nettles shot Jacaerys a weary look before turning back to Myrielle with a smile. “Cabin guy! If we didn’t crash would we have had a good time in the Eyrie?” When the pendulum swung horizontally, boos started to ring out. Fate was apparently opposed to the idea of you ever relaxing. Luke walked into the attic a few minutes later when you were all swapping rumors about Dr. Lannister. He moved to sit next to Jace, shrugging off his older brother’s remark about staying downstairs.

When the time came for the next question, Rhaena raised her hand. She was rocking back and forth excitedly, exhaling before she spoke. “Dear spirit, I need to know the truth. Does the person I like like me back?” You held back the full-body cringe that enveloped you for Baela’s sake. Sabitha and Aly shared a soft look for a second before the group noticed the pendulum swinging in a circle. Sabitha wolf-whistled while you mourned for whatever Ser Criston was about to experience.

“Okay, next question!”

Luke raised his hand and then slouched over. “Are we all gonna die out here?” Jace slapped his younger brother on the arm as soon as he finished. Silence fell in the attic as the pendulum swung in a loop. Nettles laughed nervously.

“What’s an eight supposed to mean?” Sabitha asked before you shook your head.

“It’s an infinity.” You adjusted your arms over your legs, turning towards the window suddenly. Sabitha’s remark didn’t register, as a chanting whistled through the wind. You screamed the last thing you remembered being a deafening buzzing in your ears.

She kept wailing before she rose. The window clattered open and the incoming breeze blew the candles out, smoke rising ominously.

“Who has the matches?” Myrielle demanded as Y/N hyperventilated.

Y/N’s emotions shifted turbulently, her shriek turning into sobs. “It wants… it wants…” Baela reached out to hold Y/N, hands softly rubbing over her upper arms.

“Y/N?” She questioned.

“What does it want?” Sabitha blurted out, ignoring the disapproving look from Aly.

“Please don’t encourage this.”

“It wants!” Y/N called out, her hair falling over her face messily, eyes lost in a thousand-yard stare.

“Y/N, if you’re fucking with us!”

“I think she’s like, possessed.”

“Y/N, Y/N. Sweetie, what is going on? What is it?”

Her head snapped to meet Floris’ gaze, her expression entirely too eerie. She cried out again, desperation in her voice. “Hungry.” A low growl underlay the whisper, her hands coming up to weave into her hair at the temples. The sorrow upended into joyous laughter, her tone ominous as her gaze landed on Floris. “Shh, it’s already in you.” Her hands reached out to brush along the taller woman’s arm as Floris jumped back.

“Y/N knock it off, this isn’t a game.”

That’s when Y/N smiled ecstatically and began to speak. “Istia rughagon ānogar.” A euphoric tone offset the malevolent timbre of her voice. “Jaelza ao naejot rughagon ānogar.”

“Is that Valyrian?” Sabitha questioned. Shooting her gaze over to Baela, she widened her eyes. “Since when does Y/N speak Valyrian? Sara, wasn’t she in your class?”

“Yeah, but she fucking sucks at Valyrian!”

“Well, what’s she saying?”

“I don’t know! I suck at Valyrian too!”

“Well damn it, Sara, try not to!” Sabitha yelled.

“Jaelza ao naejot rughagon ānogar. Jaelza ao naejot rughagon ānogar.”

“Uhh..” Sara stuttered, splitting her attention between the group and the chanting girl. “He… It? No, it wants… something?” She shrugged, leaning her right ear closer to Y/N.

“Jaelza ao naejot rughagon ānogar.”

“Uhh… blood?” I think she’s saying the word blood.”

“Not the word I want to be hearing right now!” Myrielle squeaked.

“Istia rughagon ānogar.”

“Uhh… More blood stuff?”

Y/N stood and careened towards the window that had swung shut while the commotion happened. “Kesīr.” She insisted, tapping on the pane of glass. “Kesīr.”

“Here? Here. She’s saying here.”

“There’s blood where Y/N?”

Aly shot the redhead a frustrated look, “Do you really have to be encouraging her, Sab?”

“Blood here, or out there?”

Y/N panted, her reflection on the glass ghoulish as she traced a pattern with her finger. “Istia rughagon ānogar. Iā addemmagon” She pulled back, turning towards the group with a rapturous smile. “You must spill blood. Or pay.” Y/N put her left hand on the sill and slammed her forehead into the glass without a second thought.

Gasps rang out, “Y/N what the fuck are you doing?” Baela yelled out, immediately rushing to her best friend’s side. Y/N wiped the blood off her forehead and started wailing after observing it on her hand. Baela called out Y/N’s name and reached out to hold her while the girl bawled. Sabitha, Baela, and Floris moved to hold her hair and pat her back, shushing as her laments continued to ring through the air.

Barba burst up from the opening to the attic. “The Old Gods compel you!” Barba shrieked out, having run towards Y/N with a metal weirwood pendant in her hand. Having absolutely no effect, Barba tried once more. “Y/N!” She screamed, before throwing the pendant directly at her face.

The first thing you felt was metal bumping against your nose, and you fell back, Sabitha’s arms reaching out to support you. “Ow.” You raised your gaze in confusion, “What the fuck, Barba?”

“Seriously?” Myrielle cried out, her breath starting to slow. You wondered what the actual hell was going on, and why everybody was acting so weird around you. You didn’t feel like you fainted, but your body was heavy. “What the motherfuck just happened?” You just moved to wipe a trail of blood off your face. Barba couldn’t have hit you that hard with the pendant, could she?

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Aemond figured that since he was only going to be there for five sessions, and since it fell under patient confidentiality he might as well be fully honest. He told the therapist everything, while she nodded and typed. Well, about the grief she claimed he had. She didn’t need to know details outside of that. Certainly not what he has been doing in your room. “So I’m hearing that you’re feeling a lot of anger.” Her tone level and the clicking of her nails against the keyboard stopped. “Until next week’s session…” She pulled out a sheet of paper, sliding it over to him. This one was decidedly less offensive, but he looked away to roll his eyes before taking it. “I want you to focus on what thoughts you’re experiencing when your anger starts to get above a five.” Aemond looked down and smirked at the columns on the sheet of paper, one for multiple stupid categories that read like something out of a G-rated movie. And here he thought he was done with homework after graduating with his finance degree. He tossed the paper onto the passenger seat during the drive home, silence weighing heavily in the car to the point of him turning on music just to focus on anything but his thoughts. When he got home he looked at the sheet of paper once more before grabbing it and taking it inside begrudgingly. He felt perfectly fine yet showered and went straight to bed. But he wasn’t angry. Nor was he grieving.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You woke up with a start, shooting up on your makeshift mattress. Silence fell over the cabin from hushed whispers, and you cringed at the sight of it. It had been years since people last looked at you and stopped talking. A sudden bolt of humiliation struck through you, and you grabbed your blanket wordlessly, walking to the attic from there. After setting up your blankets on the wooden floor, you lay down to stare at the ceiling. You felt nothing, aside from the dull throbbing in your forehead. The cut wasn’t bad, but it would scar, Rhaena had said. Fingers spun the plastic bracelet on your wrist, and you lay like that for a few more minutes until the uppermost stair on the ladder creaked. White-hot terror rushed through you before Floris emerged with an awkward smile. “What are you doing?” Floris was one of the people you hadn’t known too well before the crash. You had a few classes together so she was automatically invited to the Vale but after thinking about it the two of you had never actually spent one-on-one time together. You regretted your tone, wondering if it was too harsh.

“I was just gonna keep you company.” She shifted her weight from one leg to the other, squeezing her pillow against her stomach. “If that’s okay.” You nodded, before mumbling a quick thank you and laying back down while she tossed her blanket down next to you.

When she finally settled, you opened your mouth and took a few seconds longer to let the words come to you. You closed it before sighing and looking back towards the ceiling. “How far along are you?” Your voice was so hushed you weren’t quite sure you even heard it, but the silence from Floris told you everything you needed to know. You turned to look at her again. “You are pregnant, right?” She turned to look at you, pulling her lips into a tight line.

“You won’t tell anyone, will you?” You shook your head firmly. You had once heard your aunt talk about how one-fifth of pregnancies ended in miscarriage. It was morbid, but…statistically speaking... Regardless, it was her business until she was ready to tell everybody.

Trying to find a nice way to summarize your thoughts, you turned to her and offered the best smile you could. “Well, we’ll just have to hope they get us out of here sooner rather than later.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @chainsawsangel

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