#river of fire series
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chapter 4 | river of fire | d.t x reader x r.t
series masterlist | main masterlist | previously
a/n: so a major fuck up on my end, I had updated a chapter on ao3 but didn’t on tumblr so I wrote two chapter fives, that has been corrected to the time line. So sorry!
synopsis: the matter of visery’s marriage looms in the air when Daemon swoops in to cause more chaos and steals his late nephew’s egg
“The lanterns in the sky were beautiful, just two but against the dark sky they were everything. Rhaenyra will find peace, I pray she does, no matter how many burning hot baths and curt words she throws my way. She is there, angry and afraid. She is me at seven, I could hold her and tell her everything will be better I cannot. I can merely tell her that I shall love her always, I will be with her always.”
After many quarrels on Rhaenyra’s part, she had finally earned a seat on the Small Council and you have been tasked with a new job. The King’s Cupbearer. Most of the time you tried not to break into a fit of ill-concealed giggles if you met Nyra’s eyes. It was insightful for sure, you made Rhaenyra do your bidding once or twice, men for a clothing donation run and a few sanctions for diverse agricultural trades. You wanted jasmine seeds without spending nearly half of your pin money to do so.
Rhaenyra had been aloof for most of it, growing more defiant— it was adorable and yet concerning; she was dealing with her grief as best she could, for it had only been just more than half a year since Aemma passed. Though Daemon being dismissed from the court might have had a role in catalysing her loneliness, sure you were there, her love that she would kiss goodnight and unabashedly embrace at all hours of the day but perhaps only a dragon could understand a dragon.
“Why did you have to say it! Why!” Rhaenyra scolded Daemon. “You will be gone now too.”
“ The Heir for A Day. ” You oddly understood the humour behind it. You believed not that he had ill intentions when saying it so, but perhaps your admiration for him was so thick you couldn’t see past it.
Even Syrax grew petulant, refusing to hunt for herself, she grew fluffy around the edges but adorable nonetheless, she doesn’t waft her nostrils at you anymore. You would like to think the yellow dragon is friends with you now, however, you do not wish to stick your hand in its mouth to test out the theory.
The latest rumble, however, one only spoken without your or Rhaenyra’s presence was the matter of Viserys finding a new queen for himself. Barely half a year and attempts of forever shrouding Aemma already had set afoot, it is expected of him even with Rhaenyra as his heir, the prospect of a son would forever loom over the high towers of the Red Keep. The lords would like to believe that the lot of you were stupid enough to not realise but Nyra had already scoffed about the prospect of having a stepmother, she’d support her father but such warmth might never extend to her new mother.
“ What ?” You and Rhaenyra exclaim in unison, brows pulled as you drop your current activities to question your aunt, a sense of vile premonition crawled onto your skin as your eyes blew wide.
Oberya had been summoned by the Small Council along with Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys, all the women at court and they found it appropriate to paw around the home, though she suggested that the notion of marriage was brought upon by Lord Corlys to present his daughter’s hand in marriage to Viserys– poor Laena, but your name was dragged to the battlefield by Lord Lyonel to contest Otto Hightower’s complains of Laena’s age. Offering you, an auspicious and elder match, elder match by a year and un-flowered. You are but fresh thirteen, he is at least two decades older if not more. Another horrid chill shrivels down your back.
Beyond all that was said, you could feel Rhaenyra’s gaze bore holes in your face, she knew this day would come but not you, the thought so wildly macabre that the possibility hadn’t even graced her nightmares in the past five moons.
“And?” Rhaenyra asked, her voice sounding far more curt than she intended. You turned to her, widening your eyes at her tone towards your aunt, she shook her head still replying to an answer.
“The decision is up to you, they have written to Qoren but I doubt he’d say any differently.”
“No! I’m not marrying Viserys.” You say mildly repulsed, Hands flailing as you push your needlepoint patch away, a shrill shiver running down your spine.
“Then that’s that.” Rhaenyra sharply nodded, coming to sit next to you. Yanking your face towards her and pecking your lips, it wasn’t an affectionate gesture but one to seal your decision for good.
Oberya coughed, eyebrows raised “Still here, darlings.”
You smiled at her apologetically, “You are sure Qoren wouldn’t write otherwise?”
“Oh-“ she rolls her eyes “have some faith in your brother will you?” She scolds, finding your mistrust in him still unbecoming.
“And write to him, will you. It’s been months dærya,” she points out before turning to leave, shaking her head once again at Rhaenyra who was clinging to you like a milk-hungry babe.
You shook Rhaenyra off you, it was far too warm to have her clung to your back. Now all you could think of was Laena , Rhaenys would have thoroughly prepared her for this, you were trying to find some bright light within such a prospect but you couldn’t. Viserys was a wise king and a wonderful warden to you, but he was nothing like the knights in the books you and Laena shared, not by a far shot.
“How could they do this? To Laena.” You shook your head, sinking further into the chaise and resting your palms on your belly.
Such marriages weren’t unheard of but you had believed Lord Corlys to be more of the progressive sort. He never found differences between Laenor and Laena and raised them alike but to now thrust Laena up for the position to marry Viserys all for…power? Title?
“It is for Rhaenys,” Rhaenyra mumbles, “if not his wife then his blood.” She sounded bitter.
You frowned at her, sitting up to clasp her shoulder with the fire of heavy disagreement burning in your heart.
“You are his heir, you. Not some child he currently does not have. He wouldn’t choose another.”
“How it could be, duck.”
“Nyra?” You frown, this time climbing on top of her to make her look at you. “You are his heir.”
“He barely talks to me, you think I’m his heir?” She snaps, pushing you off her. She grunts. “Not once has my input held any weight in his court, you’re young, it isn’t your place. I am his heir as a stowaway. The day one of those wh— women birth him a son. I’d be nothing again.”
Therein lay the truth, the subject that had her irked so, you saw it in the folds of her frown but never understood it fully. Septa Marlow had hushed Rhaenyra thrice on the topic but couldn���t punish as she saw fit because Rhaenyra was now the heir. There never had been such strife about successions when it came to you, your brother inherited the seat while you were a pawn for political alliances, it made perfect sense but this, to be the only child in many dead.
“Have you spoken to him about this?” You calmly said, trying to ease her turmoil as you reach for her pacing frame.
“I would sooner die.”
You would have opened your mouth to say something incongruous, something that you were sure would do nothing to fix the situation but what were you to do. Sit here and let Rhaenyra drown in whatever turmoil was boiling within her? You were three and ten but many days you couldn’t see beyond the frivolities of court, the games— what games ? Beyond the simpering ladies, and the brooding knights, what games were there to play beyond blindly chasing each other in the courtyard.
Sona interrupted your line of thought as she approached with a tray of tea for the lot of you and a stash of letters in her hands, Enora too followed suit, eyeing Rhaenyra's sour look as she presented her with her letters.
“Would you know where Lady Laena is?” You asked Sona as she poured you tea, she looked to Enora and then stood straight.
“Promenading, princess.” She replied.
You perked up, looking at Rhaenyra with a performative smile “We could use one too, couldn’t we Nyra, pick some flowers— perhaps visit Syrax?”
“I— she is with the King, princess,” Enora added, making Rhaenyra turn to her and sharply place her stash of letters on the chaise.
“Leave us!” She barks, pacing even harder now.
You looked at them apologetically as you took the teapot from Sona’s hands. “Stay close please.” You whispered.
“What fortune, even if I wanted to hate her I cannot.” Rhaenyra rants, picking at her sleeves. “He will always be the king won’t he, always the king before my father.”
You sorrowfully nodded. “I’m here with you, I’ll always be your lady before anything.” You sheepishly smile.
Rhaenyra’s curt resolution cracks for a moment as her lips curl upwards, and she yet again flops down next to you.
“I love you,” she mumbles, words like honey, you blush, nodding before kissing her cheek. She sighs even harder before resting her head on your shoulder.
The matter of Viserys nuptials was still in the air, every time you’d make rounds filling cups of the men in his court, somebody would bring it up, it went on for an entire moon and you could see it weighing down on the King’s shoulders. He was so beyond the need to talk about it, he barely spoke when Nyra and you would take meals with him. You saw it as his vice but Nyra, it wedged a further divide between her and her father. Even Alicent believed otherwise when she would accompany you in the gardens or to the markets.
Somehow, perhaps that Alicent was older, she had far wiser words, once laced in her faith as she consoled Rhaenyra. Every word with meaning and understanding she was stitching the gashes within Rhaenyra, you were thankful for it— Nyra wasn’t so pouty anymore. Though sometimes you missed Alicent, you were sure with her growing up her father would have thrust more ladylike duties in her lap, she couldn’t join your expeditions in finding shiny bugs or artisan rocks anymore.
“Go on, say it.” Rhaenyra shakes you by the shoulders.
“She won’t listen.” You rebut, shaking your head and cowering behind Rhaenyra, still small enough to hide behind her shoulders, you peek through looking at Syrax eyeing the sheep.
“Oh come on, roll your tongue on the ‘r’ and command her.” She insists.
“ Dr — Rhaenyra I can’t.” You whine, looking at the poor sheep, it wasn’t even shaved. Does Syrax eat the wool too? That doesn’t sound appetising.
She turns to you, squishing your cheeks within her palms and boring her purple eyes into your soul. “She is hungry, now you say it. Or I will make you ride on her.”
“There is a dragon in you, uncle said it and I believe him.”
“Rhaenyra, I wasn’t even given an egg and my mother wanted nothing to do with them.” You huffed, reiterating again.
“But look how well you do around them!” Rhaenyra whines.
“Say it or we go riding— and I sleep alone tonight!”
Your eyes widen, horrified you turn to Syrax “ Dracarys .” You say quickly and meekly.
Syrax turns her giant head to her rider, unused to taking orders from anything small that wasn’t Rhaenyra, she nods to her mount. The yellow beast wastes no time and blasts dragon fire onto the sheep, the poor thing doesn’t even get a moment to bleat its end before it gets cooked, you pout at where the fluffy animal stood. Rest well, sheep.
Rhaenyra watched Syrax feast on her supper as you looked around the dark stone cave.
“Nyra?” You pull on her arm, “can I go see the baby dragons?”
She bothers not to look at you and nods, knowing you'll be safe in the hands of the Dragonkeepers. She looks to Oalth, a newly appointed, young dragon keeper and orders him to take you to the nursery.
You pad along behind him, following his glowing silhouette from the fire torch in his hand as he leads you to the nursery.
“Watch your step princess,” he cautions, holding your hand as you climb up the steep stone-carved steps.
The nursery is well lit, mostly for the comfort of the Dragonkeepers but also to not have any of the little hellions wiggle away from this part of the cave, a giant hearth is lit with many dragon eggs laying around its edges, eggs of gold, purple, red and blues. Some small and some big, all waiting to hatch one day in the cradle of their riders or perhaps in the glowing embers of the hearth, their magic swirling within the membranes of the egg, forever keeping them alive and warm.
This summer there had been eight dragons that hatched, without riders they almost never survive, and if they do they never stay here, choosing to live their lives as wild dragons at Dragonstone, or perhaps wherever their hearts pleased.
“Here they are,” Oalth huffs as he moves out of your way.
Four little dragons looked much like lizards curled against one another. Little rocks used as cushioning to rest their heavy tails upon. They looked frail, breakable to touch. Oalth broke into a smile, bending down to let a finger trace down the orange dragon’s tail, they roused flopping over to him, expecting food most likely.
“I thought there were six?” You pulled your skirts up to stop one from trotting itself under you.
He looked to you apologetically, the answer being only one. They didn’t survive .
“Who’s eggs?”
“Dreamfyre, her eggs hatch but rarely live past the year.”
You tut, letting the orange little guy climb up your arm, smiling at the little thing. Orange body with bright red membranes, you could see it in the green of its eyes, it was strong.
“She is a fighter,” Oalth muses, smiling at the dragon finding adventure in climbing your skirts.
“She? How can you tell?”
“Intuition, we won’t know until she is grown but she has the fury of a she-dragon.” He says, minding the other little dragons.
“Quba konīr iksis,” a dragon keeper pokes his head through the entrance, hissing at Oalth in Valyrian, a foreign song to your ears. Oalth’s shoulders immediately stiffen.
“Stay here, princess.” He cautions as he grabs his dragon glass spear, rushing behind the other keeper.
You frown at him leaving but return your attention to the little creature now sniffing your ear. You gently pick her up by pinching together her wings and dropping her onto your palm.
“You’re a girl huh? Of course, you are, look at you.” You whisper, watching her walk in circles in your palms and plop down. “No boy dragon is this pretty.”
Oalth was right, even in her frailty there was something about her, a will to fly, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. Just like the one Rhaenyra has when she finds some way to bother Septa Marlow.
“You will live.” You tell her “Grow ginormous and el— elegant, eat sheep and fly as high as you want.”
“ Dracarys .” You smile at her, already envisioning her pale orange body to be a beacon of the Sun goddess once she is grown, whatever rider would claim her would surely be an eccentric embodiment of her.
A swift shuffle however tears you from your gaze for adoration, you flinch, turning your head over your shoulder and looking around the nursery to find the intruder.
And found you did.
There stood Daemon, a shabby cloak pulled down, his glowing silver hair much longer and his charming smirk greeting you.
“Playing with fire, are you, little viper?” He asks with a smug grin on his lips.
“Daemon?” You chide, looking around the room once more before turning to him.
There was a small burst of joy in your chest, you missed him dearly, however, he shouldn’t have been here. He was banished from King’s Landing, if anyone knew he would be in so so much trouble.
“You shouldn't be here!” You hiss, placing the baby dragon back by its sibling.
“Pretty one you’ve picked, princess” he deflects, pushing himself away from the wall he leaned against.
You turn to the orange dragon, “She won’t make it they say.” You lament, so quickly forgetting how dangerous Daemon's little visit is.
He hums, approaching you to set his eyes on the dragon. “Name it.”
“I cannot do that?” You look up at him, eyes wide and shaking your head.
“Can you not speak?” His sarcasm doesn’t miss your ears as you tut.
“I'm a Martell.” You state the obvious, wondering if in the eight moons he had spent away from home, he had returned without his sanity.
He faux gasps “What would Daenerys say?”
A pang of guilt hit your chest, you looked nothing like your mother, so accustomed to your dark features you often forgot that there was dragon blood within you.
“I— she won’t make it anyways.” You shake your head, still looking at the dragon napping away.
“Name, princess.”
“Agni…?” You look up at him but flinch once more when this time Oalth comes back to receive you.
Daemon swiftly ducks behind the wall again, as you look at the young dragonkeeper.
“Your wheelhouse is here, the princess calls for you.”
You couldn’t shake off meeting Daemon again, how were you to keep such a secret in your stomach? He was here, he broke the king’s rules — not surprising at all but still, you were a part of whatever his plot was now. Your skin prickled in goosebumps as you made the rounds filling half-empty cups around the Small Council table. Lord Corlys as usual, stopped you from filling his, you would have insisted on just skipping him over but Septa Marlow said it wasn’t proper.
It was the day after and you still rose with such tussled movement within you, did he hurt someone, burn something, do people know you saw him but said nothing— bad girl? You nervously finished your rounds and set down the jug on the table before turning towards the meeting.
The doors opened to the Elder Dragonkeeper using his cane to bow and enter the council room, bile coated the insides of your mouth. You were in so much trouble.
You turned the other way, hearing the Elder speaking in Valyrian, damn you, you patiently listened for anything that might sound like your name, the syllables or the word dārilaros .
“Dārilaros,”
Mother Rhyone, don’t let it be me.
“Daemon sikio sīdas, eglivivys aōhys.” The Elder declared.
The room grew silent, as you turned around, mayhaps you weren’t in trouble at all. He didn’t take your name. You appeared confused at why Rhaenyra appeared angry, you thought she’d be happy to hear the return of her favourite uncle.
“Skorior drōmon Daemon laēttas?” Rhaenyra’s words sounded like a question.
“Dārilaros Baelon iderēptā se Drōmon Ēdrurzo iles rūs.”
Your head turns to Viserys and back to Rhaenyra to try and understand what has happened, but Viserys stands abruptly. Storming out of the rooms with Otto heavy on his heels along with Ser Westerling and the Kingsgaurd. Rhaenyra follows suit in the other direction, running up to her rooms.
The other lords shuffled up, Lord Beesbury and Lord Lyonel left the rooms next, leaving Lord Corlys to sigh and look at your rigid but confused form.
“You ought to return to the gardens girl,” he called out, breaking you out of your bewildered trance. “The jasmine, have they grown?”
“What has happened?” You blurted out. Looking at him this time.
“Prince Daemon has happened, an egg and a hatchling missing.” He shook his head.
You rushed out of the Small Council this tip, taking two steps as you rushed up Maegor’s Holdfast to your apartments. Daemon had once again shot an arrow straight at an already gaping open wound, you only worried about what Rhaenyra might do this time for she couldn’t just beat her fists on Daemon’s chest this time.
When you burst through her chambers she was already gone, the yellow gown she was wearing earlier discarded on her bed and her gloves and dagger gone. You groaned, falling onto her bed, wondering what trouble Rhaenyra was going to find herself this time, instead, you found a small rolled-up parchment along with her clothes.
“ I’ll return soon.”
You could cry from how frustrated and scared you were, why is it that these two always seemed to drag you into impermissible situations, where you must lie for them. You would again be in such trouble.
You paced back and forth at least a hundred times, your feet could have walked to Winterfell and back from how hard and how long you had been pacing, looking out to the setting sun and waiting for Rhaenyra to return home.
Every time a crow or pigeon flew by, you wondered if it was her. Come back, come back you insolent lover of mine.
“Princess?” Sona stood in your receiving chambers with an evening gown in hand, “it is time for supper soon.”
Supper with the king, my death.
Even dressed for supper in a longer gown, you began pacing once more, your boots thudding against the stone floor. Coming up with possible excuses you could give on Rhaenyra’s behalf, feverish, loss of appetite, poor absolutions— uh mayhap not.
When the sun just touched the horizon you began walking towards Viserys’s chambers, mumbling reasoning under your breath as Ser Darklyn followed behind you, he had been fed the story of Rhaenyra being tired, now you needed an elaboration. A sticky narrative with no questions, Ser Darklyn knocked on your behalf and then you were let in.
“Your grace.” You curtsied, waiting for him to receive you.
“Ah, come— come.” Viserys looked up from his pumice stone city.
“You’ve added another layer?” You ask the work was truly beautiful, with more cravings of dragons around the edges of the main wall.
“The Ānōgron, which is?” He quizzed.
“The blood mages workshops?”
He smiled, nodding at you.
“It is beautiful, my king.” You complimented, gently tracing your finger along its edge.
“Where is Rhaenyra?” He muses, still craving away with his dagger.
“She is feeling unwell, she had her supper early and chose to rest for a while.” You say quickly, toying with your fingers.
“Unwell? Pah, I didn’t think the matter with the egg would bother her so deeply.” he shook his head, wiping the tip of his dagger on a cloth. “Has Mellos looked at her?”
“I wouldn’t know, your grace. I spent the evening in the gardens.” Another lie. You twist the rings on your fingers even harder.
You awkwardly begin to walk towards the already set table for three, the aromas of deliciousness filling your nostrils, beyond everything today, you were starving for sure. Just as you settled yourself in, waiting for Viserys to join. The doors to his room opened once more with an attendant stepping in.
“The Princess has returned from Dragonstone.”
Viserys turns to you, eyes squint as he questioningly takes your name once more, your shoulders slumping in defeat and you glaring holes into the back of the attendant walking away.
You sat slowly eating your supper as echoes of arguing bustled from the antechamber, first, you would hear Viserys scold Rhaenyra, and then she would scream back in a rebuttal. It went on for several minutes, you finished your goose by then. Flinching every now and then whenever their voices would boom from the other chamber.
Eventually, everything went quiet, you wondered if this is what those two needed to finally have a proper conversation, one not laced with court propriety but one of a father and his daughter. You could still hear him speaking, and then her speaking. Softly, a fight grew to an endearing conversation by the time you began feasting on the lemon cakes. You slouched against the chair, this time sipping on— or trying to sip on some strong wine, which by all means tasted vile.
The doors then opened, and you abruptly sat straight, wiping the corners of your mouth and sheepishly looking at Rhaenyra. Both of them looked gleeful as they walked toward you.
“You alright sweetheart, you look ill,” Rhaenyra took a seat next to you.
You frowned this time, whisper hissing at her as you smack her thigh, hard. “I lied to the king for you, the king !”
Viserys then called for you. “Usually my court would have liars gelded, but I seem to have hordes of parchment to get through. Up before the Hour of the Rabbit, a King’s Cupbearer must not be late.”
#daemon targaryen x reader#daemon targaryen x reader x rhaenyra targaryen#daemon targaryen x rhaenyra targaryen#daemon headcanon#daemon targaryen fanfic#house of the dragon fanfic#house of the dragon edit#houseofthedragon#house of the dragon fandom#house of the dragon smut#river of fire series
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Okay so I was on TikTok and Game of thrones Historian had this video and it got me thinking and now I WANT & NEED
Okay so the new Dunk and Eggs series might have one Bloodraven aka Brynden Rivers and honestly I haven’t read that whole book so I didn’t even realize he was in it …. Further she proposed that they have a whole series based on him and his life and HELL YES ….plus if GRRM ever gets around to Fire and Blood part 2 we could get more of him !!!! I need more
Artwork ⬆️ Naomi Buttelo
Also who would you fancast as Bloodraven ?
#a song of ice and fire#asoiaf#Bloodraven#brynden rivers#house of the dragon#Hotd#house targaryen#dunk and egg series#aemond targaryen#my one eyed blonde lovers
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where is alys rivers where is alysanne blackwood where is nettles where is sabitha frey where is daeron targaryen where is jeyne arryn
#yeah i could ''be patient'' but i could also could also just complain#tbh i'm really impatient for the sapphic characters#house of the dragon#alys rivers#alysanne blackwood#nettles#sabitha frey#daeron targaryen#jeyne arryn#hotd#house of the dragon season 2#hotd season 2#hotd fandom#hotd spoilers#house of the dragon spoilers#tv show tag#tv shows#team green#team black#hotd series 2#house of the dragon series 2#hotd s2#house of the dragon s2#house of the dragon fandom#spoilers#fire and blood#fire and blood spoilers#fob spoilers#fob fandom
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I love twisted relationships / dynamics, so naturally I love Alys and Aemond ! But only in the sense that I get a kick out of the idea that she literally sent him to his death at the end... How I loved the dynamic or Jessica & Kilgrave in the Jessica Jones series, or Sandie & Jack in Last Night in Soho for seeing Jessica and Sandy kill Kilgrave and Jack. There is nothing like seeing a woman kill her abuser !
#jessica jones#fire and blood#kilgrave#jessica jones series#jessica jones show#last night in soho#sandie#jack#alys rivers#aemond targaryen#anti alysmond#grr martin#grrm#george rr martin#anti aemond targaryen#anti aemond stans
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I'm sorry but kinnporsche ep 6 was nothing short of an indie movie featuring two cottagecore gays
#they went fishing??#they bathed in river water??#slept in a van??#well truck really but like still#lit a fire??#kinnporsche episode 6#kinnporsche ep 6#kinnporsche the series#kinnporsche#kinn x porsche#thai bl#bl drama#apo x mile#apomile#apo nattawin#mile phakphum#porsche kittisawasd#vegas theerapanyakul
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Thinking about all the significant ladies of Harrenhal and their supernatural associations. Rhaena Targaryen, Danelle Lothston, and Alys Rivers were all considered witches to varying degrees, and then Arya becomes the Ghost of Harrenhal. Whether this means anything or is just a fun coincidental detail, I don’t know. My mind is preoccupied with it either way.
#ramblings#asoiaf#a song of ice and fire#rhaena targaryen#danelle lothston#alys rivers#Arya stark#sabitha Frey also held Harrenhal for a time but I don’t think she was ever accused of being a witch#anyways I wanna draw all these gals in another art series
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Minor Fire and Blood Spoilers Ahead to be safe!
Absolutely wild romantic comedy AU fic idea for my main Helaena x OC that flew into my brain
imagine it’s a world where the Greens win. Aemond comes home to my oc, Elayne, his platonic wife, and after explaining that he, Alys, and Elayne will just all be married, Borros Baratheon is like wait a minute, if you’re still going to have multiple wives, you still need to marry one of my daughters!
Borros, figuring it never really mattered which daughter it was to begin with, decides they are swapping Floris out for Cassandra, because Cassandra’s got that I will get shit done energy.
Cass spends like a week trying to seduce Aemond to marry her, but he’s just not interested.
Meanwhile, Elayne and Helaena are just vibing and being girlfriends and letting Cass vent (maybe Helaena’s not over her brother making her girlfriend go into a mental spiral thinking that her bestie abandoned her, so she’s open to hearing Cass’ rants while Elayne’s trying to smooth things over). After Cass catches the two kissing one day, she decides that the best way for her to join the royal family is by seducing her betrothed’s first wife and sister instead of her actual betrothed.
Cue weird hijinks where Helaena and Elayne can’t tell if Cass is joking, and the three slowly fall in love. Somehow the rest of the family remains totally unaware until Aemond’s like “okay how are we getting rid of the Baratheon Lady” and his sister and wife are like “what do you mean??? Get rid of??”
#y’all#I’m pretty sure no one on tumblr cares#but I don’t have time to write out an actual fic for this right now#series: neither snake nor dragon related#oc: elayne tully#cassandra baratheon#helaena targaryen#helaena targaryen x oc#cassandra baratheon x oc x helaena targaryen#I have written you down; you will live forever#abyssal stuff#hotd oc#hotd fanfic#house of the dragon spoilers#fire and blood spoilers#house of the dragon#aemond targaryen#alys rivers#the royal polycule
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#prime day#hotlaborsummer#amazon#amazon quartet#amazon woman#amazon warrior#amazon wishlist#amazon workers set to walk out for three days this weekend amid pay row#amazon web services#amazon ebook#amazon el libro despierten de la autora laura laura de gonzalez un aliento para las personas que buscan el verdadero despertar interno haci#amazon exclusive#amazon enhanced brand content#amazon echo#amazon reveals brand new bargain alexa devices starting from £45#amazon reboots beloved bbc series that ran for 21 series before shock axe#amazon rainforest#amazon reveals brand new fire tablet to rival ipad – and its their ‘biggest and most powerful yet’#amazon river#amazon the boys#amazon trio#amazon the power#amazon uk#amazon usa#amazon invincible#amazon influencer#amazon india#amazon original#amazon offers#amazon publishing
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The full Dragon series!! Each creature from a different biome… I had a lot of fun coming up with the different types of dragons and imagining what it would be like for these warriors to face each one. The fire dragon being particularly destructive. The night dragon near impossible to see coming in the dark. The ice dragons the size of mountains. The river dragon’s keen eyes. The sand dragon’s deadly poison. The mist dragons forcing the battle into the sky. The water dragon hiding in the deep. The garden dragon is chill though. Good lad.
Fire Dragon
Komodo
Mage / Staff
Night Dragon
Wolf
Samurai / Sword
Ice Dragon
Bearded
Viking / Axe
River Dragon
Crocodile
Thief / Dagger
Sand Dragon
Cobra
Archer / Bow
Mist Dragon
Eagle
Knight / Spear
Water Dragon
Eel
Sailor / Harpoon
Garden Dragon
Iguana
Healer / Potions
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Not Again
Azriel x Rowaelin Daughter Reader
Summary: Azriel has a bad habit of finding random females falling onto the River House lawn. This time, the female in question catches him off guard, and she seems to be even stranger than the last.
Series Masterlist
-Part One-
There was a shift in the air, so subtle that it could’ve been passed off as a breeze through a cracked window. He would’ve thought just that if it hadn’t been for the keen wisps of shadows at his shoulders whispering in his ears, outside, someone’s here, outside, here, here, here, here.
The room filled with his family was non the wiser as the shadowsinger shifted towards the door, all of them talking and laughing by the fire place. Feyre and Rhys cozied up on the loveseat, little Nyx nestled in his mothers arms. Nesta sitting on Cassian’s lap, the sisters talking about the recent books they’d read, his brothers admiring their mates. Mor sipped on her third glass of wine, listening to Elain talk about her blooming garden while she absently fiddled with her still full glass, Lucien sitting comfortably by her side, content to just listen to his mate talk. Amren was nowhere to be found tonight, Varian presumably in town.
Azriel found it easy to slip out the back door, ready to deal with the supposed trouble without disturbing his family’s peace. His shadows didn’t seem alarmed, persistent, but not noting any imminent threat. Despite their ease, he found Truth Teller in his hand, ready to deal with whoever he found if necessary.
It was dark outside, the brisk night air dancing over his fire warmed skin. Calm, no sign of that subtle shift, nothing but his shadows urging him towards the garden, towards whoever was out here causing the small disturbance.
He wasn’t quite sure what he was looking for, what he was expecting to find. Maybe a drunk who wandered to far from the main streets of Velaris, maybe a curious young fae who just wanted a glimpse of the inner circle. He’d dealt with his fair share of both, gently warning them away from the home.
But whatever he’d been expecting it certainly wasn’t what he found. A female laid on the ground, clothes and skin covered with dirt and blood, her body sprawled like she’d been thrown down without care. He could sent fresh blood on her coming from a wound on her head, the stream of it dripping down onto the stones beneath her. Her breathing was steady, her heartbeat strong.
Azriel clenched the blade’s hilt tight in his hand, drawing closer to her slowly. Her scent drifted towards him on a phantom wind, pine and snow, like the mountains of Illryia. Despite his resentment of the people who lived there, the scent reminded him of home.
His shadows curiously trail around the female, finding more and more injuries, a cut on her thigh, bruising across her abdomen. Whoever she was, she had seen her fair share of violence. She was high fae, her ears arched into delicate points, though he could not discern which court she may belong too. Her clothes were to disheveled to detect a distinct style, black leather pants and a long sleeved green shirt beneath a leather vest sheathed with knives like a bandolier. Clothes that could belong to any court, maybe even from the continent.
So busy examining her he didn’t detect the change in her breathing until it was to late.
The female launched up with such speed he was almost to slow to block the attack. She’d pulled one of those knives from her vest, it’s wickedly sharp edge to close to his throat for comfort. Truth Teller blocked the blade, the metal singing against her dagger. The female was quick to pull back, not lunging again like he thought she would but reaching for a smaller knife at her ribs, it was flying through the air faster than he could blink, aiming for his eye with remarkable accuracy, Cassian would be proud of a throw like that. The only reason it didn’t take his eye was due to a shadow darting out to grab the blade midair.
The female is a blur as she lunges again, going for the arm holding his blade. He dodges back, the strike missing him by a hair. She’s fast, faster than most fae he’s fought over the centuries. He catches her next strike, a blow to his side that could’ve left him bleeding out on the floor. She pulls back and retreats a few steps, her stance shifting back like she might jump at him again.
“Stop,” he snarls at her.
She hisses, baring her teeth at him, teeth with unusually sharp canines, and then she speaks, a language he’d never heard before. And that’s when the pieces start to click, when his shadows start to whisper, not of this world, another, another world, another, another, another.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he grounds out, “not again.”
The female only snarls, reaching for another of those small wicked blades. She flips it, pinching the sharp tip between her fingers.
“Wait,” he says, sheathing his dagger at his side, “just wait.”
Her eyes track his movements, the ice cold look in them enough to make him shiver. It felt like the air around them tried to freeze under her gaze, the wind no longer a soft breeze but an ice kissed howl.
His head cocked to the side, that was her, she was controlling the wind. The air swirling around them faster and faster, colder and colder.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said though he was sure she couldn’t understand him.
He held his hands up so she could see them, willing his shadows away so he could look as unthreatening as possible. When the last unknown female had landed on this lawn, she’d fallen right in front of him, he’d been able to get his blade angled to her throat before she had anytime to react, this female on the other hand, had managed to get the jump on him first, a fact that his brothers would never let him live down.
The wind bit at his wings, discomfort sooner turning to pain if it kept up like that. It felt like the moisture in the air was turning to ice, slicing into his skin.
She repeats her words, her voice hard and unforgiving just like the wind around them. A shield, he realized, a casing of wind to block all sound, to keep others out and to keep him trapped.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says again, hoping she can understand the plea in his tone.
Her head tilts, examining him from head to toe, a predator studying its next meal. In that moment, Azriel had never felt more like prey in his life. She had an intensity that rivaled Nesta and Amren, like she knew she was the most powerful creature in the room and she’d be happy to prove it. This female was dangerous, strong, fast, and from another world just like Bryce Quinlann, he could only hope she’d turn out to be an ally as well.
Blood still drips down her face, the cut on her brow deep and jagged, like it had been ripped across a dull object. The scent of her blood filled his nose, laced with that pine and snow, and something warm, like an ember drifting from a fire. Again, it smelled uncannily like home.
Those cold eyes flare wide, the frost bitten wind warming a fraction. Something in her posture shifts, no longer in fight mode, but flight.
“Stop,” he pleads, “hold on.”
Her voice shifts when she speaks, lighter and less harsh, he still can’t understand any of it. His confusion must be evident on his face because she scoffs, lowering the dagger to her side, still not sheathing it. The wind fades away, replaced by a warm gentle breeze that thaws his near frozen wings.
Azriel sighs in relief and she cocks her head at the sound. Her eyes take in his wings, noting the frost on them that slowly melts away. The air seems to get even warmer then.
“Thank you,” he says, bowing his head to show his gratitude, all while keeping an eye on her.
Though she seems to be less hostile, he wouldn’t let his guard down for a second around her.
He felt it then, the gentle prying talons on his mind, ones he instantly let in. Showing Rhys exactly where he was and who was before him.
Not again, Rhys sighs.
That’s what I said, Azriel replies.
And then that night kissed power settles around them, the female’s eyes hardening back to ice, dagger already raised and ready to defend herself. Azriel was half tempted to tell her it wasn’t worth it, that there was little she could do against Rhys, but he kept his mouth shut as his high lord appeared before them. Giving the female that cool charming look that had most ready to eat out of the palm of his hand.
She didn’t have that kind of reaction, instead she lifted that dagger towards his high lord, a snarl on her lips, those vicious canines on display.
“Well that’s interesting,” Rhys says, coolly looking her over, “high fae, but not one of ours.”
She snaps at him, words he couldn’t understand but by the way she ground them out Azriel could tell they weren’t niceties.
“I’m sure that was her way of calling me a prick,” Rhys chuckles, “I’d recognize it in any language.”
Azriel eyes the two of them, he has no doubts that his high lord could defend himself against the female, but after the last encounter he’d had with a foreign fae he didn’t want to underestimate her. Rhys seems to agree, Azriel can almost see the invisible attack he launches, and he sees the exact moment Rhys hits a wall of pure ice around her mind.
His high lord hisses in pain at the exact moment a bright blue light flares from the female, a mark shining on her brow. The mark like those in the book of breathings, like the horn on Bryce’s back.
The female swears, free hand touching that mark as if she could will it back beneath her skin. Her dagger is aimed for Rhys, but her eyes dance between them both, watching for any movement from Azriel, ready to take both of them on in a heartbeat if it was necessary.
“Go get Amren,” Azriel says, “and bring one of those damned translators.”
Rhys is gone within a split second, and the female is angling that dagger at Azriel instead, a warning to stay back, she makes no move to fight nor flee, her frozen stare colder than before though the air continues to stay warm.
Azriel simply holds his hands in the air, “We mean you no harm.”
She responds in that soft swirling language, his shadows writhe in answer, almost like they could understand her. She frowns at them as they travel across the ground towards her, a soft snarl from her lips has them skittering back. Interesting, the way she seems almost familiar with them, he wonders if she’d encountered fae like him before, maybe like Quinlann’s brother.
Rhys and Amren appear in that night kissed darkness, the female’s attention snapping towards them. Amren curiously examines the girl, that mark that still simmers faintly in her brow.
“Are you collecting more strays?”
Azriel doesn’t respond to the jab, watching as Amren takes the small silver bean from her pocket and throws it towards the female without warning. She catches it with ease, glancing between it and Amren with a raised brow.
“Eat,” Amren commands, miming the action, taping on her mouth as she speaks, “to understand.”
Her eyes find Azriel’s, brow quirked in confusion. He simply nods, mimicking Amren’s actions. She seems to understand that, as she lifts the translator to her mouth and swallows it down.
And just like that she erupts, not with that ice cold wind, but with fire, hotter and stronger than that of the heirs of Autumn. Maybe even hotter than Beron’s himself. A shield from Rhys traps the explosion of power though he winces from the effort of keeping her contained. The fire rages, the earth below her turning to ash in an instant. She burns so hot that the flame around her starts to turn blue. She burns and burns and burns, so bright Azriel shields his eyes, so hot that the shield around her can barely contain that heat.
Rhys does not remove the shield until that fire stops its raging, until all that’s left is smoke and ash. She had collapsed on the floor, her dagger red hot against her skin yet it doesn’t burn her hand. That mark burns brighter as she glares up at them, vibrant blue that lights up the world around them.
“A little warning would’ve been nice,” she snaps, her voice tinged with that soft accent of her language.
“Hard to do that when we don’t speak your tongue,” Amren snaps back. “Who are you?”
Her ice cold stare is unsettling as it examines them all. She stands from the ground, that red hot blade lifting towards them, the air warping from the heat.
“My name is Y/n Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius,” her voice is steady, regal, “Crown Princess of Terrasen. And I’d like to know which one of you opened the gate that dragged me here.”
#this is so self indulgent#but I don’t care at all#Azriel’s shadows are cute little busybodies and I love them#acotar x reader#acotar#azriel#azriel x reader#rowaelin daughter#rowaelin
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chapter 6 | river of fire | d.t x reader x r.t | there is much to say
series masterlist | masterlist | previous chapter
a/n: so finally we pick up from where we left off, with some major changes, while I will always love the first original chapter of the brothel scene, i needed to do my girlie some justice
warnings: daemon being kinda gross.
synopsis: daemon returns to the red keep, to find a much grown version of his young cousin and his niece.
The court had finally come to weigh upon Viserys’s shoulders, three parchments, all borne by white ravens. One from the Stepstones, one from Storm’s End and the other from the Old Palace. The missed warmth and wrath were all returning at once.
One rebel posed as his brother, one nuisance his daughter and the other, his wounded pride— his ward.
“Preparations have been made your grace, at the cost to the crown, a feast seems appropriate given the occasion. The Targaryen seat brimming full again.” Lord Beesbury coughed out his accounting.
“In lieu, your grace. I don’t find a feast appropriate upon the way all three of them have disobeyed your wishes.” Otto Hightower interjected, “perhaps the costs could be levied elsewhere.”
“Nonsense! My family is together after many moons, we should celebrate, find a reason to indulge in cups,” Viserys chuckled, looking at Lord Strong for his support.
It was the truth, Daemon begun a war without the direct command of his King, aiding Lord Corlys in his excertions upon the Stepstones. Whereas Rhaenyra, dismissed an entire court of suitors, ending a very heftily paid for tour to an end; three moons and early— then there was you. Fleeing the Capital without the King’s consent, boarding a ship to return to your brother, the cause? Knew no one but one, Alicent and she too shielded the truth of the matter.
And thus the word spread, the dragons had come to roam the streets of King’s Landing again.
Rhaenyra was the first to return, anxiously awaiting the brunt of her father’s disappointment.
You must marry, it is your duty. You must bear heirs, it is your duty.
She had grown tired of what her possible duties would be when she herself couldn’t implement one condition at the Small Council table, a poser amongst the one’s with true power. She felt left out, unseen— and her father believed that marriage would fix her unmoving temper, like a man in her vicinity would make her womanly thinking turn to putty.
Not one, not one of those morons would come near to be a possible husband for her, but more so than that, she wished that her lover would understand so. That for her, you would forever be the true bearer of her unencumbered devotions, her unconditional love. Yet the weight of responsibility had weakened your shoulders too, for you heard the same but one less.
You must marry, you must bear children.
And thus the fight, a terrible arguement between two hearts that always beat as one.
“I would never be your wife! Ever.”
There had been copious tears and then a conspicuous letter, then followed silence and Rhaenyra’s tour.
Her heart wasn’t in this, she cared not if she ever loved her husband, she didn’t want one in the first place. Even beyond Viserys’s advise, a man? A man couldn’t be worth her happiness.
She is a dragon rider, the Heir to the Iron Throne. A measly being possessing a cock wouldn’t cut it.
Her ship’s sails had caught the wind, she stood on the deck, twiddling her thumbs as she laments of returning to a cold half of her apartments. Her ladies in waiting and plenty other friends to keep her company and yet she couldn’t muster an apology to make you return home. More than a year apart, without a word— the agony should have dwindled but it lingered, prickling around her heart every night as she slept alone.
Nyra held hope that she would catch a glimpse of your face once more, run her hands through your wild hair, feel the burning chill of your fingertips and the softness of your full lips. If the world around her was just quiet enough, she could feel it, a ghostly touch pressed to her lips— only to break her heart once more as she opened her eyes.
“Princess?” Criston Cole tore her attention from her wide eyed face staring down at the Blackwater.
“We should make landfall within the hour.”
She hums following with a nod, her lips part with hesitance.
“How do you think he will take it?” She seeks perspective, perhaps to find a lighter response of possibilities than the terrible ones that stirred in her head.
“Do you speak of how curtly you’ve rejected every suitor put before you or how you have abruptly ended the tour with three months remaining.”
Rhaenyra defensively blinks away, understanding the point Cole made but partly from the anxiety of it all, willing Syrax to fly to her and flitter her away to the Summer Isles or far up the mountains in the Vale.
She returned to the storm in her head, hearing the waves and the wind jostle by her ears, the smell of salt and fish in the air and chirping, wild chirping.
Her head bolted to the skies, a noise she hadn’t heard for years.
“Take cover!” Cristin Cole screamed, taking his princess down with him.
However Rhaenyra’s eyes were fixated upon the red creature that flew dangerously close to her boat.
Caraxes… Uncle Daemon.
The smell of this bustled city once again graced Daemon’s nostrils, the cheap mead of the people and the golden painted whores of his cherished brothels all celebrated the return of their beloved Prince.
Armour clad and crowned with his haughtiness adorned in his hip, he swaggered in the Throne Room, the familiar scent of pompous perfumed cunts made him sick and yet, the smirk of victory did not leave his face as he eyed down his brother.
Gods he looks sickly, gloved hands and his body weight leaning upon Blackfyre, a sword once meant to wield the firey might of House Targaryen was now diminished to be an old man’s cane. What had happened to him. They are but four years apart in age, and while one brother stood tall in posture and tore down enemies by the hundreds. The other a King, dressed in fineries to shield the dismantling resolution of his health— he reeked of illness.
He stops in front of his brother’s Kingsgaurd, arm outstretched with Craghis Drahar’s axe at the hilt of his palm, pointing it straight at Viserys’s face. A fine present that he drops by the King’s feet.
“Add it to the chair,” he blankly says before retreating, clutching onto the pommel of Dark Sister.
He could feel it, the plenty of gazes fixated upon the crown of bones and rubies placed on his head, there could only be one king.
While Daemon adored the amusing chaos he brought to court, the unpredictability— they all saw him a monster, he knew so. Defiant, vulgar and a rake through and through. He wouldn’t disrespect his brother, not in open court and not without reason.
Daemon knelt, head bowed as he presented his earned crown to his brother.
“There is only one true King, your grace.”
Viserys looked to Otto Hightower, the cunt, eyeing away at Viserys to reject Daemon’s honour— once more denying Daemon’s adoration for his brother to be a malformation of his envy or ambitions.
Viserys descended the steps, still eyeing his younger brother with contempt, or mayhaps doubt.
“Rise.” He ordered, patting Daemon’s shoulder.
Both of them stiff yet brothers once again untied, Daemon bowed his head, resting on Viserys shoulder as they embraced one another.
Daemon relished the embrace as the court around him erupted in an applause, he heard a distinct voice— whose eyes he had witnessed preening at him as he walked into the Throne Room.
rūs— Rhaenyra.
Daemon turns to her, leading himself out with Viserys as the court begins to disband. Viserys however shoots scorned look towards his daughter, a look Daemon frowned over, in Viserys’s eyes Rhaenyra could do no wrong. His curiosity caught a waft of tension and he wondered. What could his brother’s heir have concocted this time to truly face the wrath of Viserys’s rare occurrence of anger.
It seemed that his worries about him not being welcomed home had been for nothing, Viserys had already a feast awaiting for his brother in the Godswood. Wines and musicians, foods of his liking and women of his taste already lined the halls.
“No no, I will not hear it. You were always mother’s favourite!” Viserys chuckled as he reminisced stories of their shared youth with his young wife in presence.
A gauche scene really, and yet Daemon eyes seemed to have caught another serene sight entirely.
The head of silky silver locks, developing curves accentuated by the low hemmed cream gown and eyes that much looked like his, Rhaenyra, much had truly changed, and perhaps a salacious opportunity.
He wandered over to her, avoiding one droll conversation after the other.
“What have you done?” Daemon nudged her shoulder.
“Rejected every suitor in all of Westeros.” She hummed back, licking the sweetness of the lemon cakes off her fingertips.
“Well done!” He chuckled.
She looked to him, rolling her eyes, “well you have return, the prize of my father’s eyes.”
Daemon chuckled once more, shaking his head. His eyes finding a much familiar necklace adorning her neck, and just so— much had changed but nothing at all.
“You’ve changed.”
“As have you Princess.” Daemon looked around as the crowd in the Godswood dwindled.
“You seem calmer, more content perhaps.”
“You seem besides it.” Daemon countered.
“Well it seems my station provided me with ample— discrepancies.” She scoffs.
He sat there, in an odd sense of familiarity. Once again loved, not in the thrall-ish way he often seems to force it out of the common folk, but truly wanted. In the presence of his family, his only pride and at times joy.
Though one figure he registered had been missing all this while, a little dragon in viper’s clothing. The wild mess of dark curls and hesitant eyes— he’d have thought he’d see you first, and yet you were no where to be seen.
The air pulled against the loose wisps of your done up hair, you leaned against the barricaded balcony of your cabin, feeling the waves sway beneath as your ship sailed into the Blackwster Bay. The muddled dark colour of the ocean taking over the serene blue of The Sunset Sea, the murky waters leading it ugly way to once a place you dearly wanted to return to but were afraid too.
On the horizon you could see Rhaenys Hill, the gates of the city and the Bell Tower. Calling to you as you thought of all the possible earfuls of lectures Viserys was about to grace you with.
“How could you take off with my leave?”
Much had changed since you had left, both in reality and within yourself, you looked more a woman than a child, you had flowered. While showing to court in the robes you had on now would be just a little inappropriate. The Martell that you once pushed away, now towered with you with a spear in hand. Such was the Gods choosing you wondered, while your brother Qoren was the perfect portrait of Martell seed, leaving but just his olive skin a testament to your father. His brownish curls and striking purple eyes called to his Targaryen heritage even as he sat on the Martell seat to rule its lands.
You on the other hand, had paler skin than most of the Dornish kin, wide and expressive hazel eyes and ever since you flowered. Thicker streaks of silver that shone bright within the ample strands of your wild brown hair. A small token of your Valyrian heritage, of your mother Daenerys and her eyes. If one looked closely, a ring of lilac crowned the brown of your pupils.
Just this time as you returned, perhaps born anew to your role in the Targaryen dynasty. You were no longer timid, your tongue as sharp as the shot you could take with your bow and arrow and a mind far wise to irk the pompous men at court. Returning home did you good, as your people would call it. All though you were sure Septa Marlow would do naught but sneer at how mismanaged a young princess could become.
Fuck that.
Even as your ship anchored to a halt, with boats circling to receive you and your party. You couldn’t take your eyes off of the Red Keep. Would it have changed in the past year and half, would Viserys be healthier. You wanted to know this instant and yet no answers were brought to you.
Your old jeweled palaquin sat waiting for you, with four Targaryen guards at each pole hilt, you hiked your soft pink skirts to prevent any dirt staining the delicate fabric as you crouched to enter the vessel.
The city still smelled the same, perhaps worse— but it was home, your childhood. The swaying of the palaquin pulled you further into your thoughts, a sick anxiety twisted at your insides as you readjusted your dupatta.
There was barely a procession levied to your name as you stepped out to the courtyard, you heard Oberya scoff behind you; her arched brows scrunched to portray her dismay to the empty courtyard. You were a Princess after all, a name deserved the gathering of at least the Small Council if not the King himself.
“yahain vapis nahi ana chahiye tha rajkumari.” Oberya shook her head. We shouldn’t have returned Princess.
You sighed, hiking your skirts once more to walk behind the guards escorting you— no doubt to the Throne Room where you were certain you would hear an earful from the King himself or perhaps a monotone warning from Otto Hightower. A chill ran down your spine, imagining the steel purple eyes glaring down at you with the weight of his disappointments.
You stood by the door, reminding yourself to breathe, nice large huffs of breaths to fill your lungs and ease the sinking pit in your belly. You nod your head, letting your party and Oberya disperse to their own duties.
Your sweaty palm pushes against the massive heavy metal doors, the sound of creaking so loud against silent hallways it made your ears ring just a bit. The sight within was something you didn’t expect at all.
Empty, not a soul.
The gallery, the Throne and bleachers. Not a person here to watch you catch an earful from the King.
No one at all but one maid crouched by the statue of Jaehereys, scrubbing away with a sudded cloth.
“Where is everyone?”
She looked up, confused for a moment and then meekly replied.
“The Godswood, milady.”
You hummed, turning to the Throne once more before heading to the west doors.
You thought of all the reason’s as to why the entire court would have gathered in the Goswood, you wondered if Alicent was with child again. It couldn’t be though, when you left she had just announced the quickening of Haelena, it was too soon for her to be with child again.
Perhaps a marriage? Rhaenyra?
You prayed not, you had just returned. You didn’t think yourself capable to feel the burn of jealousy but you did, you imagined whatever lord hoped to wed her and then you imagined something untoward happening to him.
You stopped by the wooden doors, you could hear the bustle of the people in the gardens, the smell of meats and perfumes tickled at your nose.
The guards stood by the door appeared confused by the sight of you, your dressing extravagant enough for you to be a noble but they couldn’t quite place which one. You looked between the both of them as the hunched closer, whispering amongst themselves to place your identity.
“Princess Rhaenys?” One whispered.
“Does she look old to you?”
“It is the Princess of Dorne, now if you may.”
You flinched at the abrupt voice behind you, you turned to find Lord Strong looking down at you.
“Princess.” He greeted “We were not expecting you until tomorrow.”
“The winds were in our favour, I’m afraid.” You explained, smiling at the gentle favour of his hand.
The wooden doors opened as you were greeted to the blossoms of the gardens, many of which now thrived and grew from your efforts over the years.
Then it dawns the reason as to why the court had gathered, two heads of very prominent silver hair stood in the crowd.
You were frozen looking at them and everyone else was frozen looking at you.
In the surprise of it all, Alicent approached you first.
You in all regality, bowed on her approach. “My Queen.”
“Y/N!” She gushed, patting your shoulder as a formality when you’d rather embrace her. The warmth of her palm easing your nerves just a bit. You were home for now.
Daemon froze solid to the ground for a moment, a gentle tilt to his head as he registered who stood a couple feet from him. There were many stale bets he would have placed in his lifetime but he saw this coming from so far away.
Even as a little boy learning to spar over the summer and watching his cousin Rhaenys grow wisps of Targaryen silver with the black of her Baratheon head.
When he looked down at his niece, she shared the confusion he had— her head too finding answers to whatever this creature stood in front of them was.
The truth was in the blood, the magic that people sing about stood in person.
By the gods
The blue gowns changed for a soft summery pink, and the cut of that neckline— torture. So much to see but nothing at all.
You turned their way, eyes fixated on Rhaenyra for a moment and then around her before you turned to greet the rest of the Small Council members.
There was commandment, a tantalizing graze to how the shimmery fabric moved as you did.
It wouldn’t be appropriate, Rhaenyra knew it but her impatience grew as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.
A year and a half— too long, too fucking long.
She was waiting to hear every footstep coming her way, from the jangles of your payal. The sway of your skirts coming to a stop a foot away from her and Daemon.
“My Princess,” you acknowledged “My Prince.”
There stood a moment of awkward silence between you and Rhaenyra until you turned to Daemon.
“I must congratulate you for your valiant victory in the Stepstone, cousin. One can only hope the poets sing about it till the end of time.” You smile at him.
That’s when he sees them, twinkling against the soft glow of the sun, the purple hiding behind the brown of your eyes. He never could place it, even as he fucked false silver haired whores in brothels, the image of Targaryen seed trampling the viper blood in your veins gave him so much joy.
Rhaenyra still remains silent, pulling the strings in her head to conjure up words.
In the Common Tongue, in Valyrian— just speak please!
Viserys however interjects, Alicent following behind him “What joy, my family; whole again!” He smiles with his teeth barred.
The smile persists cheek to cheek as he looks at Alicent, then to his brother and then you. Though as her turns to Rhaenyra, his eyes fall to disappointment. Reminding Rhaenyra yet again of how much trouble she was in.
Alicent with much grace however, shifted the conversation.
“Perhaps Prince Daemon would like a tour to the tapestries gifted to you by Novos and Qohor?” an innocent suggestion.
Viserys’s face scrunches for a moment as he slaps his hand around Daemon’s shoulder.
“Tell me, would you like to see the tapestries?” He breaks in to an ugly cackle.
Daemon, though oftentimes expected to be the one devoid any manner contains himself for the sake of his young sister by law. He hated her father, not her.
“Well I, would love to see them.” Rhaenyra sheepishly chimes in.
“Well then you should not deprive yourself, daughter.”
The curt sting could be felt from a mile away as she hangs her head in defeat.
“I would love to see them, care to escort me cousin?” You turn to Rhaenyra, smiling at her with an arm extended.
The two of departed from the court, rigidly walking hand in hand to the galleries. She couldn’t say anything out fear that you were still angry at her and her uneasiness amused you.
When the doors to the Grand Gallery finally closed she turned on her heel hastily.
“Forgive me, everything I said. I take it back.”
You looked up at her, this time tilting your head to the side, eyes purposefully stern. You held her hand and began pulling her to the closest wall and pushing her against it.
“I’m sorry.” She repeats.
“Shush.”
You pressed your lips against hers, taking her aback as you grab at the cotton fabric around her waist as you pulled her closer.
She hums, relishing the taste of your lips before finding her footing and turning you around— pressed up against the very lovely tapestry sent by Essosi envoys.
Only painted eyes in witness as you took your liberties with your lover.
“A dozen chambers,” a sing song voice tore the two of you out of your trance.
A deep pit of fear flutters in your belly as you pull yourself away from Rhaenyra.
“Haven’t I taught you better?”
Daemon stood at the door with his palm questioningly pointed at the two of you. His mind found a new source of amusement and by the gods he was going to enjoy toying this time.
THE NEXT CHAPTER IS SMUTTTTTTT. Lemme know if you wanna be on the taglist.
Comments and reblogs are appreciated!!
#daemon targaryen x reader#daemon targaryen x reader x rhaenyra targaryen#daemon targaryen x rhaenyra targaryen#desiblr#daemon targaryen#house of the dragon#rhaenyra targaryen x reader#house of the dragon fanfiction#houseofthedragon#house targaryen#daemon targaryen x rhaenyra#rhaenyr#river of fire series#river of fire us
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The Disability Library
I love books, I love literature, and I love this blog, but it's only been recently that I've really been given the option to explore disabled literature, and I hate that. When I was a kid, all I wanted was to be able to read about characters like me, and now as an adult, all I want is to be able to read a book that takes us seriously.
And so, friends, Romans, countrymen, I present, a special disability and chronic illness booklist, compiled by myself and through the contributions of wonderful members from this site!
As always, if there are any at all that you want me to add, please just say. I'm always looking for more!
Edit 20/10/2023: You can now suggest books using the google form at the bottom!
Updated: 31/08/2023
Articles and Chapters
The Drifting Language of Architectural Accessibility in Victor Hugo's Notre-Dame de Paris, Essaka Joshua, 2012
Early Modern Literature and Disability Studies, Allison P. Hobgood, David Houston Wood, 2017
How Do You Develop Whole Object Relations as an Adult?, Elinor Greenburg, 2019
Making Do with What You Don't Have: Disabled Black Motherhood in Octavia E. Butler's Parable of the Sower and Parable of the Talents, Anna Hinton, 2018
Necropolitics, Achille Mbeme, 2003 OR Necropolitics, Achille Mbeme, 2019
Wasted Lives: Modernity and Its Outcasts, Zygmunt Bauman, 2004
Witchcraft and deformity in early modern English Literature, Scott Eaton, 2020
Books
Fiction:
Misc:
10 Things I Can See From Here, Carrie Mac
A-F:
A Curse So Dark and Lonely, (Series), Brigid Kemmerer
Akata Witch, (Series), Nnedi Okorafor
A Mango-Shaped Space, Wendy Mass
Ancillary Justice, (Series), Ann Leckie
An Unkindness of Ghosts, Rivers Solomon
An Unseen Attraction, (Series), K. J. Charles
A Shot in the Dark, Victoria Lee
A Snicker of Magic, Natalie Lloyd
A Song of Ice and Fire, (series), George R. R. Martin
A Spindle Splintered, (Series), Alix E. Harrow
A Time to Dance, Padma Venkatraman
Bath Haus, P. J. Vernon
Beasts of Prey, (Series), Ayana Gray
The Bedlam Stacks, (Series), Natasha Pulley
Black Bird, Blue Road, Sofiya Pasternack
Black Sun, (Series), Rebecca Roanhorse
Blood Price, (Series), Tanya Huff
Borderline, (Series), Mishell Baker
Breath, Donna Jo Napoli
The Broken Kingdoms, (Series), N.K. Jemisin
Brute, Kim Fielding
Cafe con Lychee, Emery Lee
Carry the Ocean, (Series), Heidi Cullinan
Challenger Deep, Neal Shusterman
Cinder, (Series), Marissa Meyer
Clean, Amy Reed
Connection Error, (Series), Annabeth Albert
Cosima Unfortunate Steals A Star, Laura Noakes
Crazy, Benjamin Lebert
Crooked Kingdom, (Series), Leigh Bardugo
Daniel Cabot Puts Down Roots, (Series), Cat Sebastian
Daniel, Deconstructed, James Ramos
Dead in the Garden, (Series), Dahlia Donovan
Dear Fang, With Love, Rufi Thorpe
Deathless Divide, (Series), Justina Ireland
The Degenerates, J. Albert Mann
The Doctor's Discretion, E.E. Ottoman
Earth Girl, (Series), Janet Edwards
Everyone in This Room Will Someday Be Dead, Emily R. Austin
The Extraordinaries, (Series), T. J. Klune
The Extraordinary Education of Nicholas Benedict, (Series), Trenton Lee Stewart
Fight + Flight, Jules Machias
The Final Girl Support Group, Grady Hendrix
Finding My Voice, (Series), Aoife Dooley
The First Thing About You, Chaz Hayden
Follow My Leader, James B. Garfield
Forever Is Now, Mariama J. Lockington
Fortune Favours the Dead, (Series), Stephen Spotswood
Fresh, Margot Wood
H-0:
Harmony, London Price
Harrow the Ninth, (series), Tamsyn Muir
Hench, (Series), Natalia Zina Walschots
Highly Illogical Behaviour, John Corey Whaley
Honey Girl, Morgan Rogers
How to Become a Planet, Nicole Melleby
How to Bite Your Neighbor and Win a Wager, (Series), D. N. Bryn
How to Sell Your Blood & Fall in Love, (Series), D. N. Bryn
Hunger Pangs: True Love Bites, Joy Demorra
I Am Not Alone, Francisco X. Stork
The Immeasurable Depth of You, Maria Ingrande Mora
In the Ring, Sierra Isley
Into The Drowning Deep, (Series), Mira Grant
Iron Widow, (Series), Xiran Jay Zhao
Izzy at the End of the World, K. A. Reynolds
Jodie's Journey, Colin Thiele
Just by Looking at Him, Ryan O'Connell
Kissing Doorknobs, Terry Spencer Hesser
Lakelore, Anna-Marie McLemore
Learning Curves, (Series), Ceillie Simkiss
Let's Call It a Doomsday, Katie Henry
The Library of the Dead, (Series), TL Huchu
The Lion Hunter, (Series), Elizabeth Wein
Lirael, (Series), Garth Nix
Long Macchiatos and Monsters, Alison Evans
Love from A to Z, (Series), S.K. Ali
Lycanthropy and Other Chronic Illnesses, Kristen O'Neal
Never Let Me Go, Kazuo Ishiguro
The Never Tilting World, (Series), Rin Chupeco
The No-Girlfriend Rule, Christen Randall
Nona the Ninth, (series), Tamsyn Muir
Noor, Nnedi Okorafor
Odder Still, (Series), D. N. Bryn
Once Stolen, (Series), D. N. Bryn
One For All, Lillie Lainoff
On the Edge of Gone, Corinne Duyvis
Origami Striptease, Peggy Munson
Our Bloody Pearl, (Series), D. N. Bryn
Out of My Mind, Sharon M. Draper
P-T:
Parable of the Sower, (Series), Octavia E. Butler
Parable of the Talents, (Series), Octavia E. Butler
Percy Jackson & the Olympians, (series), Rick Riordan
Pomegranate, Helen Elaine Lee
The Prey of Gods, Nicky Drayden
The Pursuit Of..., (Series), Courtney Milan
The Queen's Thief, (Series), Megan Whalen Turner
The Quiet and the Loud, Helena Fox
The Raging Quiet, Sheryl Jordan
The Reanimator's Heart, (Series), Kara Jorgensen
The Remaking of Corbin Wale, Joan Parrish
Roll with It, (Series), Jamie Sumner
Russian Doll, (Series), Cristelle Comby
The Second Mango, (Series), Shira Glassman
Scar of the Bamboo Leaf, Sieni A.M
Shaman, (Series), Noah Gordon
Sick Kids in Love, Hannah Moskowitz
The Silent Boy, Lois Lowry
Six of Crows, (Series) Leigh Bardugo
Sizzle Reel, Carlyn Greenwald
The Spare Man, Mary Robinette Kowal
The Stagsblood Prince, (Series), Gideon E. Wood
Stake Sauce, Arc 1: The Secret Ingredient is Love. No, Really, (Series), RoAnna Sylver
Stars in Your Eyes, Kacen Callender [Expected release: Oct 2023]
The Storm Runner, (Series), J. C. Cervantes
Stronger Still, (Series), D. N. Bryn
Sweetblood, Pete Hautman
Tarnished Are the Stars, Rosiee Thor
The Theft of Sunlight, (Series), Intisar Khanani
Throwaway Girls, Andrea Contos
Top Ten, Katie Cotugno
Torch, Lyn Miller-Lachmann
Treasure, Rebekah Weatherspoon
Turtles All the Way Down, John Green
U-Z:
Unlicensed Delivery, Will Soulsby-McCreath
Expected release October 2023
Verona Comics, Jennifer Dugan
Vorkosigan Saga, (Series), Lois McMaster Bujold
We Are the Ants, (Series), Shaun David Hutchinson
The Weight of Our Sky, Hanna Alkaf
Whip, Stir and Serve, Caitlyn Frost and Henry Drake
The Whispering Dark, Kelly Andrew
Wicked Sweet, Chelsea M. Cameron
Wonder, (Series), R. J. Palacio
Wrong to Need You, (Series), Alisha Rai
Ziggy, Stardust and Me, James Brandon
Graphic Novels:
A Quick & Easy Guide to Sex & Disability, (Non-Fiction), A. Andrews
Constellations, Kate Glasheen
Dancing After TEN: a graphic memoir, (memoir) (Non-Fiction), Vivian Chong, Georgia Webber
Everything Is an Emergency: An OCD Story in Words Pictures, (memoir) (Non-Fiction), Jason Adam Katzenstein
Frankie's World: A Graphic Novel, (Series), Aoife Dooley
The Golden Hour, Niki Smith
Nimona, N. D. Stevenson
The Third Person, (memoir) (Non-Fiction), Emma Grove
Magazines and Anthologies:
Artificial Divide, (Anthology), Robert Kingett, Randy Lacey
Beneath Ceaseless Skies #175: Grandmother-nai-Leylit's Cloth of Winds, (Article), R. B. Lemburg
Defying Doomsday, (Anthology), edited by Tsana Dolichva and Holly Kench
Josee, the Tiger and the Fish, (short story) (anthology), Seiko Tanabe
Nothing Without Us, edited by Cait Gordon and Talia C. Johnson
Nothing Without Us Too, edited by Cait Gordon and Talia C. Johnson
Unbroken: 13 Stories Starring Disabled Teens, (Anthology), edited by Marieke Nijkamp
Uncanny #24: Disabled People Destroy Science Fiction, (Anthology), edited by: Elsa Sjunneson-Henry, Dominik Parisien et al.
Uncanny #30: Disabled People Destroy Fantasy, (Anthology), edited by: Nicolette Barischoff, Lisa M. Bradley, Katharine Duckett
We Shall Be Monsters, edited by Derek Newman-Stille
Manga:
Perfect World, (Series), Rie Aruga
The Sky is Blue with a Single Cloud, (Short Stories), Kuniko Tsurita
Non-Fiction:
Academic Ableism: Disability and Higher Education, Jay Timothy Dolmage
A Disability History of the United States, Kim E, Nielsen
The Architecture of Disability: Buildings, Cities, and Landscapes beyond Access, David Gissen
Being Seen: One Deafblind Woman's Fight to End Ableism, Elsa Sjunneson
Black Disability Politics, Sami Schalk
Borderline, Narcissistic, and Schizoid Adaptations: The Pursuit of Love, Admiration, and Safety, Dr. Elinor Greenburg
Brilliant Imperfection: Grappling with Cure, Eli Clare
The Cambridge Companion to Literature and Disability, Barker, Clare and Stuart Murray, editors.
The Capacity Contract: Intellectual Disability and the Question of Citizenship, Stacy Clifford Simplican
Capitalism and Disability, Martha Russel
Care work: Dreaming Disability Justice, Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha
Catatonia, Shutdown and Breakdown in Autism: A Psycho-Ecological Approach, Dr Amitta Shah
The Collected Schizophrenias: Essays, Esme Weijun Wang
Crip Kinship, Shayda Kafai
Crip Up the Kitchen: Tools, Tips and Recipes for the Disabled Cook, Jules Sherred
Culture – Theory – Disability: Encounters between Disability Studies and Cultural Studies, Anne Waldschmidt, Hanjo Berressem, Moritz Ingwersen
Decarcerating Disability: Deinstitutionalization and Prison Abolition, Liat Ben-Moshe
Demystifying Disability: What to Know, What to Say, and How to Be an Ally, Emily Ladau
Dirty River: A Queer Femme of Color Dreaming Her Way Home, Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha
Disability Pride: Dispatches from a Post-ADA World, Ben Mattlin
Disability Visibility: First-Person Stories From the Twenty-First Century, Alice Wong
Disfigured: On Fairy Tales, Disability and Making Space, Amanda Leduc
Every Cripple a Superhero, Christoph Keller
Exile and Pride: Disability, Queerness and Liberation, Eli Clare
Feminist Queer Crip, Alison Kafer
The Future Is Disabled: Prophecies, Love Notes, and Mourning Songs, Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha
Growing Up Disabled in Australia, Carly Findlay
It's Just Nerves: Notes on a Disability, Kelly Davio
The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks, Rebecca Skloot
Language Deprivation & Deaf Mental Health, Neil S. Glickman, Wyatte C. Hall
The Minority Body: A Theory of Disability, Elizabeth Barnes
My Body and Other Crumbling Empires: Lessons for Healing in a World That Is Sick, Lyndsey Medford
No Right to Be Idle: The Invention of Disability, 1840s-1930s, Sarah F. Rose
Nothing About Us Without Us: Disability Oppression and Empowerment, James I. Charlton
The Pedagogy of Pathologization Dis/abled Girls of Color in the School-prison Nexus, Subini Ancy Annamma
Physical Disability in British Romantic Literature, Essaka Joshua
QDA: A Queer Disability Anthology, Raymond Luczak, Editor.
The Right to Maim: Debility, Capacity, Disability, Jasbir K. Puar
Sitting Pretty, (memoir), Rebecca Taussig
Sounds Like Home: Growing Up Black & Deaf in the South, Mary Herring Wright
Surviving and Thriving with an Invisible Chronic Illness: How to Stay Sane and Live One Step Ahead of Your Symptoms, Ilana Jacqueline
The Things We Don't Say: An Anthology of Chronic Illness Truths, Julie Morgenlender
Uncanny Bodies: Superhero Comics and Disability, Scott T. Smith, José Alaniz
Uncomfortable Labels: My Life as a Gay Autistic Trans Woman, (memoir), Laura Kate Dale
Unmasking Autism, Devon Price
The War on Disabled People: Capitalism, Welfare and the Making of a Human Catastrophe, Ellen Clifford
We've Got This: Essays by Disabled Parents, Eliza Hull
Year of the Tiger: An Activist's Life, (memoir) (essays) Alice Wong
Picture Books:
A Day With No Words, Tiffany Hammond, Kate Cosgrove-
A Friend for Henry, Jenn Bailey, Mika Song
Ali and the Sea Stars, Ali Stroker, Gillian Reid
All Are Welcome, Alexandra Penfold, Suzanne Kaufman
All the Way to the Top, Annette Bay Pimentel, Jennifer Keelan-Chaffins, Nabi Ali
Can Bears Ski?, Raymond Antrobus, Polly Dunbar
Different -- A Great Thing to Be!, Heather Alvis, Sarah Mensinga
Everyone Belongs, Heather Alvis, Sarah Mensinga
I Talk Like a River, Jordan Scott, Sydney Smith
Jubilee: The First Therapy Horse and an Olympic Dream, K. T. Johnson, Anabella Ortiz
Just Ask!, Sonia Sotomayor, Rafael López
Kami and the Yaks, Andrea Stenn Stryer, Bert Dodson
My Three Best Friends and Me, Zulay, Cari Best, Vanessa Brantley-Newton
Rescue & Jessica: A Life-Changing Friendship, Jessica Kensky, Patrick Downes, Scott Magoon
Sam's Super Seats, Keah Brown, Sharee Miller
Small Knight and the Anxiety Monster, Manka Kasha
We Move Together, Kelly Fritsch, Anne McGuire, Eduardo Trejos
We're Different, We're the Same, and We're All Wonderful!, Bobbi Jane Kates, Joe Mathieu
What Happened to You?, James Catchpole, Karen George
The World Needs More Purple People, Kristen Bell, Benjamin Hart, Daniel Wiseman
You Are Enough: A Book About Inclusion, Margaret O'Hair, Sofia Sanchez, Sofia Cardoso
You Are Loved: A Book About Families, Margaret O'Hair, Sofia Sanchez, Sofia Cardoso
The You Kind of Kind, Nina West, Hayden Evans
Zoom!, Robert Munsch, Michael Martchenko
Plays:
Peeling, Kate O'Reilly
---
With an extra special thank you to @parafoxicalk @craftybookworms @lunod @galaxyaroace @shub-s @trans-axolotl @suspicious-whumping-egg @ya-world-challenge @fictionalgirlsworld @rubyjewelqueen @some-weird-queer-writer @jacensolodjo @cherry-sys @dralthon @thebibliosphere @brynwrites @aj-grimoire @shade-and-sun @ceanothusspinosus @edhelwen1 @waltzofthewifi @spiderleggedhorse @sleepneverheardofher @highladyluck @oftheides @thecouragetobekind @nopoodles @lupadracolis @elusivemellifluence @creativiteaa @moonflowero1 @the-bi-library @chronically-chaotic-cryptid for your absolutely fantastic contributions!
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Submit a Book:
#disability resources#disability#chronic illness#disability books#books#resources#book list#disability literature#literature#disability representation#disabled characters#information#informative#disability education#disability history#disability rights#please add to this#to be updated#long post
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i can't wait for when the casting news for hotd season 2 drops in (presumably) the next few months
#i mean they've cast cheese so that's cool!! i can't wait for the nettles daeron cregan alys sabitha & alysanne castings especially#house of the dragon#house of the dragon season 2#hotd season 2#hotd series 2#hotd spoilers#house of the dragon spoilers#nettles#alysanne blackwood#sabitha frey#alys rivers#daeron targaryen#cregan stark#sara snow#jeyne arryn#jessamyn redfort#hugh hammer#hotd#hotd fandom#fire and blood#fire and blood spoilers#fob spoilers#fob fandom#tv show tag#tv shows#team black#team green#spoilers
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What is Broken I (Aemond Targaryen x Pregnant Wife!Reader)
The war, the "Dance of the Dragons," as they have come to call it, is over. And yet, you are not celebrating. You have just learned that your husband, Prince Aemond, spent the last months of the war with another woman in his bed. Not only that, but his mistress is pregnant. Just like you...
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (third person, no use of Y/N), side Aemond Targaryen x Alys Rivers
Warnings: Angst, pregnancy and related symptoms, infidelity, some pushing and hitting
Author's Note: It's finally here! Sorry y'all, this month a) I found out my dog has terminal cancer, b) I got covid, and c) my laptop randomly went kaput in the middle of an episode of the West Wing. But it's finally here! As it says on the taglist, this will be a three-part series.
Taglist is done via reblogs
What is Broken
It was a lovely night in King’s Landing.
There was not a cloud to be seen for miles, and the stars were bright and twinkling. The waters of Blackwater Bay were calm and reflected the full moon as clearly as a freshly polished mirror. Even the wind seemed in a pleasant mood, carrying the sweet scent of spring on its back as it drifted lazily through the windows of the Red Keep.
Every bit of it grated on her heart like a whetstone across dull steel.
The worst night of one’s life should not be so lovely, she thought. It should be terrible. With storms and an angry sea, and perhaps even a raging fire somewhere in the distance.
If the night had been so, she would not have seen it when, only a few moments ago, a massive winged form landed in the fields just outside the city with a lowing wail, the last person she wanted to see strapped to its back. Thankfully, Aemond was far enough away that she could not make him out against the mass of his mount.
The people would cheer him in the streets as he rode toward the castle. The victorious Prince, returning after long months at war, having not only ended the war itself but avenged the deaths of his eldest sister, brother, and his little nieces and nephews.
Daemon Targaryen and his dragon had perished above the God’s Eye, the waters below boiling when their bodies fell into its depths.
With the Rogue Prince gone, the war was swiftly over. Rhaenyra was killed, her last remaining son taken as King Aegon’s ward, and the royal host returned to King’s Landing victorious. Even Cregan Stark had agreed to halt his advance South, redirecting to Harrenhal for peace talks.
Harrenhal. A cursed place, now to be the site of great diplomacy.
Even thinking about the horrible castle was enough to turn her stomach.
A letter detailing exactly what had occurred within those melted stone halls during the war, written by the late Prince Daemon himself, sat on her vanity. A final act of retribution against his soon-to-be killer.
She knew that her husband was only returning home because of the letter.
My dear Princess,
Despite the conflict between our sides of the family, I have always thought you a rather sweet girl. Therefore, it is with the deepest regret that I must now shoulder the burden of informing you of your beloved husband’s improper conduct during this awful conflict…
A pang of nausea shot through her stomach as she remembered the words.
A mistress… some Strong bastard… called Alys, my spies tell me… every night, without fail… from the very first week… another bastard babe in the whore’s witchly womb…
There was a pounding from within her, soft thumps and kicks as the life inside her own womb became unsettled by its mother’s roiling emotions. She laid a hand over her belly, whispering soothing words she did not believe to try and calm it – and herself.
Once, she would never have believed Daemon’s stories. But then word came that, after the final battle, Aemond returned to Harrenhal for less than an hour before he again mounted Vhagar and flew for King’s Landing. It was not like Aemond to make such swift decisions. Nor did it strike her as the action of an innocent man.
When she called for Ser Willis Fell, her heart had been filled with hope that the new Lord Commander of the Kingsguard would dispel her worries. That she had only allowed herself to consider the possibility of Aemond’s infidelity because her mind was addled by her delicate condition.
“My princess, I cannot, in good conscience, tell you a lie…”
She had screamed then. And cried. And possibly thrown things at the Kingsguard, but she couldn’t entirely remember.
All she could remember was how Aemond kissed her on the day he left for Harrenhal. Deeply and passionately. Until she could feel his love for her as clearly as her own heartbeat. Then he knelt before her and placed a single, tender kiss to her belly, to where they had only just learned that their babe grew.
Less than a moon’s turn later, he had taken another woman to his bed, and seeded her, too.
Now he was returning home – in haste.
He knew, then. That Daemon had let slip his secret. Perhaps it had even been the Rogue Prince’s last words. Spat in Aemond’s face in the seconds before his body tumbled into the lake below. Had she not been caught in the crossfire, she might have admired it for the masterful manipulation it was.
But in seeking to destroy Aemond, Daemon had destroyed her as well.
She was broken from her thoughts by the distant sound of people cheering. Aemond was making his way through the city more quickly than she thought. The streets weren’t as crowded as she hoped they would be this late at night.
It was late. Far later than she had become accustomed to. These days, she was often in bed and asleep not long after the sun had set, hoping that she would somehow find a full night’s sleep. Never to any avail.
For a moment, she thought of slipping beneath the blankets and pretending to be asleep so she would not have to speak to Aemond until the morning. But he would only crawl into bed with her, and then he would see when she inevitably woke…
That was not a conversation she wanted to have today. Really, there was no conversation she wanted to have with Aemond, only that which must be had.
She was resolved that Aemond would not find her weeping or stewing in heartbreak. No, she would not let him think he held such power over her, even if he did. He always had, even when they were young children.
So, she resumed her nightly routine as though nothing was wrong, as if she was entirely unaffected by his betrayal. Sitting at her vanity, she began to unbraid her hair. Her maids usually did it for her, but she had dismissed them the moment she read Daemon’s letter, not wanting to see their pitying faces for longer than she had to.
Since learning she was with child, everyone – including her maids – fussed over her constantly. It was not without reason, she knew. There was indeed very good reason why everyone was so concerned about her. But after six months, she was tired of it.
Just the simple act of taking her braids out and brushing through her loose hair by herself brought a welcome feeling of independence that she had not felt in some time. Perhaps ever.
That feeling slowly faded away as the cheering and celebration from the city came closer and closer, until she could hear gauntleted hands clapping in the castle courtyard below.
Aemond was here.
Her hand fell to cradle her stomach and was immediately met by three quick thumps against her palm. She knew the child did not understand what was happening and was only responding to the touch itself, much in the same way a cat arches its back when petted.
Still, it comforted her. It made her feel like she was not alone.
“Kirimvossi, rūhossas,” she whispered with a smile before resuming brushing her hair.
Her smile did not last.
Sooner than she had hoped, she heard the clanking of armor as the guards outside her door straightened, bowed, then retreated.
A shiver went through her, stealing the air from her chest while cold gathered in her heart and began sinking to her stomach. Dragging her brush through her hair suddenly took great effort, as did every breath.
Yet it was surprisingly easy to banish the tears forming in her eyes and school her face into tired neutrality. To glance only once at the figure now lingering in the doorway before turning away without acknowledging him.
She did not know if it was strength or cowardice.
He called her name, his voice rasping and low – desperate. “We must speak.”
She did not respond. She didn’t even look at him.
Aemond sighed, calling her name again. “Please, my love. Look at me.”
Still, she did not move.
“Ābrazȳrītsos,” he said, a hint of command slipping into his plea. Little wife.
He had always loved calling her little. According to their mother, the first thing Aemond did when he saw her as a babe was exclaim, “She’s so little!”
Ever since, he’d been calling her little.
First, she was simply hāedus. Little sister.
Whenever she tried to follow Aemond when he went somewhere she wasn’t allowed or did something she wasn’t allowed to do, he would gently scold her, “Haedus, you’re too little.” Inevitably, she would cry. About half the time, her crying was enough to sway him.
Then, she became zaldrīzītsos. Little dragon.
“You’re my zaldrīzītsos,” he would say when she hugged him tightly after Aegon or one of the Strong boys mocked him for not having a dragon. She didn’t have one either, but she never felt she needed one, for she had Aemond.
For a time, she was maegītsos. Little witch.
Aemond had dubbed her so when she came to visit him in the Maester’s tower while he recovered from the loss of his eye. The Maester would give her some “special leaves” so she could brew a “magic potion” to help Aemond get better. In truth, the potion was simply tea. But Aemond always pretended that the potion had indeed worked miracles, just to make her happy.
Once he was healed, she was again zaldrīzītsos.
Since he finally had a true dragon, she worried that he would not want her anymore. When she came to him in tears one day as he was leaving the Keep to see Vhagar, he hugged her tightly and told her, “You will always be my zaldrīzītsos.” Then he brought her with him to ride Vhagar. It was the best day of her life.
Or it was, until the day they were officially betrothed, and she became raqiarzītsos. Little darling.
It was what he would call her every morning when he greeted her with a chaste kiss on the cheek. How he would summon her to his side at court events. What he moaned when they kissed unchastely each evening before saying goodnight.
She had been so excited when she became his ‘ābrazȳrītsos.’ The first time he had whispered it in her ear at the wedding feast, she’d blushed so brightly that their grandsire inquired about her health. The next time he said it, Aemond made sure they were alone.
Little sister. Little dragon. Little witch. Little darling. Little wife.
Always little.
Once, the names had made her heart flutter with delight. Now, they only prompted another wave of nausea.
Aemond was everything to her – he always had been. She thought he felt the same way, but it seemed she was wrong. To him, she was just “little.”
She flinched at the sound of his voice, of that word. How he spoke to her like she was some frightened animal poised to lash out.
Yet at the same time, her heart melted to hear the voice she loved so dearly after so long an absence. Merely the sight of him in the mirror sent a feeling of warmth and belonging flooding through her.
She hated him.
She loved him.
She was angrier at him than she had ever been in her life.
She wanted nothing more than to run into his arms.
She could do nothing but continue to brush her hair and stare into her reflection.
Aemond sighed, finally stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him. “You won’t even look at me, ābrazȳrītsos?”
She gave no answer.
He whispered her name again, “Abrazȳrītsos, please,” Aemond’s voice turned quiet as he reached her and set a hand on her shoulder as if to turn her around by force, but she wrenched herself out of his grip, staring down at the floor. Though she did not look at him, she could almost feel the misery on his face. “Please look at me.”
“If I look at you, I fear I will be sick,” she explained weakly. “I don’t want to harm the babe.”
His irritation began to surge, she knew it even without seeing him. His breathing quickened slightly, and she could hear the creaking of leather as he rolled his shoulders and balled his hands into fists – he had been so hurried he had not yet taken off his riding gloves.
“You are my wife,” he huffed. She could hear him attempt to contain the sharp edge of barely contained anger in his soft voice. At least he was considerate enough to hide it. “You are my sister – my blood. You love me as I love you, and you carry my child within you. Yet you cannot even look at me?”
Fury roared to life like a surging flame within her. How dare he be angry with her when he is the one who ruined everything?
“Why did you come back?” she spat back, quietly yet viciously.
His stare continued to weigh on her through the mirror. “I promised you the day I left that I would return to you when the war was done,” he said, half-smiling at the memory. “The war is over, so here I am.”
She shook her head. “The war is not over.”
“Of course, it is. Daemon and Rhaenyra are dead, and – ”
“The fighting is over,” she corrected. “But the war is not finished. Peace must still be brokered. As Prince Regent, that is your responsibility. Yet you are here rather than with the rest of the soldiers and politicians at Harrenhal. Why?”
She wanted him to be the one to say it.
Aemond sighed, raising a hand to touch her, then pulling away. “Is it so hard to believe that I missed you and simply couldn’t stand to stay away a moment longer?”
She was moving before she could process what she was doing, standing from the vanity and turning to face Aemond, her hand raised and ready to strike.
But he caught her arm by the wrist, stopping her moments before her palm could impact his cheek – his scarred cheek. His eye was wide, filled with sadness and shock in equal measure. He turned to look at her hand as if it was some kind of curiosity he had never seen before, like he couldn’t understand how it could ever be raised against him.
Tears were spilling down her cheeks when he turned back to her, and his expression gave over entirely to despair. Aemond opened his mouth, but words failed him.
He lowered her hand gently, bowing his head slightly to the right to give her an easier target.
It broke something within her.
She dove toward him, wrapping her arms around him as she cried into his chest, clinging to him as if he were her the only thing keeping her anchored to the ground.
But the moment Aemond moved to return the embrace, she shoved him away. It only moved him a step back, still within her reach. He did not move closer, and when she began to pound her fists furiously against his chest, he didn’t try to stop her.
“Why did you come back?” she demanded as she pushed him once more. “Why did you not just stay in Harrenhal with your whore and leave us alone?”
Aemond did not respond. His mouth hung open, but he said nothing. He could do nothing but stare at her, his eye flitting between her belly, where his child had grown –so much he could hardly believe it – in his absence, to her eyes.
Those eyes. A warm, rich brown that shone with gold in the firelight. It was Aemond’s favorite color. For whenever he saw it, in her eyes or their mother’s, he knew he was home.
But now those eyes he loved so dearly were filled with tears of his own making. He wanted nothing more than to see them dry and sparkling with love once more.
“Abrazȳrītsos, you must know I will always return to you,” he begged, stepping forward and cautiously placing a hand on her belly. Almost immediately, he felt a stirring within her, and a weak pushing against him.
His child.
Was it reaching for him, or pushing him away?
Before he could truly ponder either answer, his wife pulled away from him, her arms curling protectively around her abdomen.
He had to say something. Something to take her pain away, to make everything well again so he would have the chance to hold her and the babe. Even if it was a lie, he would say it if it made her forgive him.
“Raqiarzītsos,” he started, only for her to take another step away and scowl at him. He sighed as the realization of how deeply had hurt her truly sunk in. He softly called her name, “My love, it was one mistake. One moment of weakness, I swear –”
“Liar!” Her voice had grown rough with her fury, and Aemond flinched at the sound. He had never heard her shout like that, not even when she was a babe herself.
She saw his discomfort and reveled in it. Seeing him suffer a fraction of what she felt gave her a sinful spark of joy, one that she felt no need to beg forgiveness from the Seven for. She turned away from him and retrieved the letter from Daemon, panting as she looked over the words once more.
“A mistress now lies in your husband’s bed. She was a wetnurse at Harrenhal, some Strong bastard. She must be something truly special, for she is the only Strong – trueborn or bastard – to have survived Aemond’s rather thorough purging of the bloodline. I suppose it is now clear why. I have not been able to learn much about her. She is called Alys, my spies tell me.”
With smoldering eyes, she turned to Aemond and began to read aloud. “She reports to your husband’s chambers every night without fail, as she has done from the very first week he arrived at that cursed place. One of my spies even reported that he calls her to him after each battle or razing of some poor Riverlanders, as well as anytime he feels frustrated. It is no surprise, then, that there is another bastard babe in the whore’s witchly womb. Your brothers do have a fondness for seeding unsuitable women, don’t they?”
When she looked up from the letter, she found Aemond’s face set in anger, his fingers curled as though they were aching to grip his sword and run someone through. His eye flew from the letter to her face, the rage burning there only softening for a moment.
The left corner of Aemond’s mouth twitched upward involuntarily, and he jerked his head to the side to try and hide it. “You would believe Daemon’s word over mine, abrazȳrītsos? After all he has done?”
She let the letter drift back to the table. “If all I had was his word, I would not have believed it,” she explained. “But it is not only his word.”
Aemond exhaled slowly, looking away from her. Incensed as he was, he would not make her the target of his ire. Never her. “Will you tell me who else?”
“No,” she answered, shaking her head slightly. There was a dark glint in his eye that promised violent retribution upon whoever she would name. No one deserved torture, or perhaps even death, for telling the truth.
With a nod, Aemond closed his eyes and bowed his head. He would not press her further, though she knew he would likely still try to find out who it was by other means. But in that moment, she could not bring herself to care.
She was so tired.
She had anticipated a long fight, and thought she was ready for it. In the hours she waited for Aemond’s return, she had carefully tended the spark of her anger so it would burn only when she commanded. But the moment she saw him, it escaped her grasp and became a wildfire in a dry grassland. It was fierce, quick, and lethal. In an instant, it had consumed every bit of her strength, leaving only the barest smoldering remains in its wake.
After a few more silent moments, Aemond again opened his eyes and looked down at his wife.
“I will not insult your intelligence by trying to deny it any further,” he said, clenching his fist to stop himself from reaching for her, “and I know there is nothing I can say to excuse what I have done. But my love, I truly am sorry. For what I did, and for the hurt I have caused you.”
She stared at him, trying to detect and hint of insincerity. She found none.
“I love you. I know I have given you ample reason to doubt that but…” he swallowed thickly. “I do love you, abrazȳrītsos. I always have and I always will. I know in my heart that the gods made us for each other. And if they had fated us to others, I swear I would have defied their will and ripped them from the heavens so that I could love you.”
He licked his lips and removed his gloves before offering her his shaking hand.
Perhaps it was the result of the weariness pervading her entire being. Perhaps it was the tug of an unborn babe reaching out, somehow knowing its father was near. Perhaps it was the sliver of her soul that had always belonged to Aemond beckoning her to rejoin him and become whole again.
Whatever the reason, despite the protestations of her aching heart and her rational mind, she put her hand in his.
It did not fit as well as it used to.
If Aemond noticed, he did not acknowledge it. He raised their joined hands to his lips to kiss before resuming his plea. “I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, and I will understand if you do not give it, but for the sake of my heart and the love we share, I must ask it. Abrazȳrītsos, can you ever forgive me?”
The world fell silent, and so did she.
If she focused, she could hear her heartbeat, along with two others, thumping out three different rhythms. It was discordant, yet somehow comforting. She listened to it for a moment, trying to hear a melody within it. But there was nothing.
She turned her attention to her hand in Aemond’s grasp. There was a welcome heat where his skin touched hers, but also a tingling numbness. A slight discomfort, akin to wearing new gloves before they had softened and molded to her hands.
Then, she looked at Aemond. At the face that was more familiar to her than her own. It had changed in the last six months – more so than she would have expected. The color of his skin had deepened from so many days spent in the sun, and there were new blemishes that had not been there before. The shadows under his eyes, the roughness where it once was smooth, and the new smudge of a scar above the corner of his right brow.
All of it was strange. Known, yet unknown. Question, but no answer.
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
“What…” Aemond’s lip quirked again as he cupped her cheek with his free hand. “I don’t understand, what don’t you know, my love?”
She winced slightly at the foreign sensation of his hand against her skin. He had callouses now he didn’t have before. “I don’t know how to forgive you, or if I even want to. I just feel… tired.”
Aemond nodded, bowing his head once more to hide the disappointment he could not keep from his face, and looked at her belly. “Of course, you are tired,” he said, “I am sorry, I did not consider how late it was.”
She caught his eye flicking towards the bed – their bed, or at least, it used to be. A cold coil of panic began to wrap itself around her heart. He could not sleep here. He could not see…
“I would prefer if you slept elsewhere,” she said hastily before he could ask otherwise. “For tonight, I would like to be alone.”
Tears shone in Aemond’s eye for a moment, but he did not let them fall. He gave her a tight smile and again kissed her hand. “If that is what you wish, I will obey, but may I ask one thing?”
It would be foolish to say yes. Foolish to give him the opportunity to persuade her at all when she knew how easily he had always been able to sway her with his sweet words. Foolish to do anything but send him away immediately.
And yet…
“What would you ask?” she whispered, betrayed by the foolish little part of her heart and soul that was still and would always be his ‘hāedus.’
“I ask only for a few moments, and then I will leave, as you wish. But it has been half a year, abrazȳrītsos, since I have seen you, or heard your voice, or held you in my arms.” He squeezed her hand, drawing her attention to his face, open and earnest and pleading. “So for only a few moments, please, allow me to hold you again.”
His softly spoken words were like a siren’s song, and she began to feel faint as she struggled to resist falling under its spell. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, begging her mind to calm and think clearly.
“I promise, I will do nothing more than hold you,” he said, running his hand delicately over her cheek. “I just want to hold my wife.”
He did not deserve it, she knew. Nor did he deserve to be touching her as he did now, though she did not push him away. He did not even deserve her consideration of his request.
But it had been half a year for her, too.
Half a year with no one to kiss her good morning or good night. No one to carry her to bed when her legs and back ached. No one to hold her hair and whisper soothing words when she was sick.
She’d had her mother, her sister, and her maids. Even a Maester, at one very low point. But that was not the same. It was not the touch of a beloved husband.
Despite her anger, she was aching to be held by him.
“Just for a few moments,” she whispered through trembling lips. “Then you must leave.”
She did not have time to regret her decision before Aemond pulled her forward and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her forehead as he thanked her. And before she could pull away, he was turning her slowly, so her back was pressed flush against his chest.
“It’s alright,” he assured her when she made a soft noise of confusion. “Trust me, abrazȳrītsos.”
His hands skated down her arms, his touch featherlight and yet searing. She gasped as he began to cradle her belly, her head lolling back into his shoulder. If given one more breath, she would have pushed him away, but then…
He laced his fingers together and took the weight of her belly into his own arms.
It was a rapturous feeling, to have the burden of it lifted from her and her eternally aching spine, even for a moment. She sighed in relief and leaned back further into her husband. Gratitude flooded through her, and her hands flew to rest over his.
“Oh, Aemond,” she breathed into his neck.
Gods, she had missed him so much. Everything would have been so much easier if he’d been here to hold her like this. He had always known been able to help her, she should have known that even with their first child, he would somehow know what to do…
Her eyes snapped open, and her blood ran cold.
This was their first child, but it was not Aemond’s only child.
He had another, far away, within a different mother. A mother whom he had been there for as she grew, Who, thanks to her role as a wetnurse, would be able to teach him exactly how to help.
“Did you hold Alys like this?”
Aemond stiffened behind her, and his grip tightened. “Abrazȳrītsos…”
“Don’t lie to me, Aemond. Not anymore.”
Silence, then…
“Yes, I did.”
She seized his hands and ripped them apart, tearing herself out of his grasp as quickly as she could, heedless of him reaching for her. Stumbling, she crossed the room before turning back to him, eyes blazing through new tears.
“Do not ever touch me like you touched her,” she spat. Her rage had reignited, the barren grassland now an endless field of flame.
Aemond’s mouth hung open as he looked to her in despair, his arms held helplessly in front of him. His voice broke as he said her name – a plea. “I just wanted to hold you. To help you.”
“And you did. For a few moments, just as you asked. Now leave, as you promised.”
He was looking at her like she was a wild beast, primed to lash out should he make one wrong move. But she didn’t mind, for that was exactly what she felt like. He had made her feel that way, and she hated him for it.
Aemond just stood there, and she could see his mind working desperately to figure out what to say to placate her. She would not give him the chance.
“Leave!” she screamed, her voice ripping its way out of her throat, burning as it went. She could not help but wonder if that was what dragons felt when they breathed fire.
Lowering his arms, Aemond nodded. “I will leave, abrazȳrītsos. Just as I promised. I am sorry.”
“I don’t care.” She meant it. His apology meant absolutely nothing to her raging, broken heart.
She watched him carefully as he turned and walked through the door, ready to rage at him again if she needed to. Perhaps she would actually breathe fire the next time.
Aemond did not try anything to soothe her or convince her to change her mind. The warrior prince knew when a battle was lost. But she knew he had not yet ceded the war.
That much was clear when he paused in the doorway, looking back at her in determination. “I love you, abrazȳrītsos, and nothing will ever change that.”
Then he closed the door, and was gone.
But she could not stop crying, for she knew he would return.
Worse, she knew that as angry as she was, she loved him, too. And nothing would ever change that, either.
-
#aemond#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond fanfic#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond imagine#aemond fluff#aemond one eye#aemond smut#aemond the kinslayer#aemond x reader#aemond x you#aemond x y/n#aemond x fem!reader#hotd#hotd aemond#hotd fanfic#hotd smut#hotd imagine#hotd x reader#house of the dragon#house of the dragon fanfic#ewan mitchell#what is broken
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Traffic/Life series roster as dinosaurs
A lot of these don't make for very good hybrids unless you wanna get into freaky territory or full on centaur but... Hope it's a fun scroll nonetheless!
Grian - Novialoidea
A small birdie... The name also means "New wings" which I find fun. New lives and death games to be part of, new wings to accompany him... (Honorable mention to "Shuvuuia" the "desert bird" who unfortunately is not a pterosaur (doesn't fly)) (Yes we're including pterosaurs! Just using "dinosaur" as a conveient blanket term)
Tango - Aratasaurus / Pyroraptor
Fire raptor! Either works just fine and Tango as a skittery little raptor is perfect for a creature like him
Scar - Apatosaurus
"Deceptive Lizard" harkening back to Scar's scamming tendencies. Though I've always liked the idea of him being some larger gentler animal in any hybrid scenario and a long-neck fits the bill well. He can poke his nose into people's conversations easily to start marketing something useless to them and swishes his tail to ward off anyone who's about to stop him
Impulse - Nasutoceratops
Ren - Regaliceratops
Horns. COOL horns. I don't know what else you want from me ceratopses are just way too awesome. Nasutoceratops is a wicked cool dinosaur for having its horns point so forward much like a bull and I for one can jive with some Impulse bull symbolism. Bulls are often viewed as strong, sturdy and loyal, traits also assigned to Impulse a LOT of the time. But though he IS intensely loyal in many cases (+ Ceratopses are also known for how they defend their own!), and he's not very outward about the following traits, he can get quite petty and bitchy and hold grudges. Still, you don't think of that when you look at him and he seems to agree! Eg him feeling like he should be accepted into Cleo's alliance in 3rd life without actually proving himself when Cleo was rightfully hesitant, at which Impulse more or less rolled his eyes. And him proclaiming "betrayal!" when killed by Bdubs when their alliance was as firm as a rat's tail
(And I feel the need to point this out too just in case: "bulls are also known for their temper" yeah but they're not like that! Bulls like many animals become defensive when exposed to aggravating behavior or movement! Which you could work into Impulse's grudge holding and intense loyalty...? I don't know enough about him sorry but do with that what you will)
Regaliceratops! Regal!! Crown shaped frill!!! Need I say more?
Gem - Therizinosaurus
Theris are so bad bitch coated to me and I would love to have one as my wife I mean um I couldn't decide on a less generic specimen so Gem can just be a Theri! A herbivore - often associated with the belief that herbivores are gentle passive creatures, but far from it, especially with Gem! She bares her claws like it's no one's business
Martyn - Stygmoloch
A Pachy with a tough head and a tendency to bonk people - I think it fits Martyn's tendency to perpetuate drama haha. The Stygmoloch's name though more or less translates to "demon of the styx river", the river of the underworld representing loathing of death. To me this makes sense with all the watcher lore (that I have a hard time understanding but whatever!!) especially with how Martyn became in LL. The watchers themselves don't loathe death (??) of course. They're death games. But someone within the game trying to stay alive and win? Probably loathes the idea of themselves dying. I have no clue what Im saying
Pearl - Carnotaurus
Ok maybe a hot take not to make her into a pteradon or even a raptor with wing-like features but those just didn't fit that well in my opinion. Rather I wanted her to have some kind of horn motif in place of her wings as visual symbolism for her character. I'd like to imagine her having fine horns, to then have them damaged (one broken off) and simultaneously the other more grown out. Think of how domesticated goats for example have their horns trimmed. I think human hybrids with horns would do the same to keep them from becoming a bother but Pearl would neglect to after her heartbreak in DL. I was heavily considering the Diabloceratops for this, especially because of the name (Devil horned face - good ostracizing material) but Pearl strikes me a lot more as a carnivore and there are only two horned carnivores out there so... Carnotaurus it is haha. And even now I'm making her horns unrealistically big but.... We can suspend some belief
BigB - Oryctodromeus
"Digging Runner"! I've already talked plenty of why BigB is very rabbit behavior to me and my reasons for assigning this burrowing dinosaur to him are similar. Tldr he is fidgety and cautious yet clever and constantly buries himself underground
Lizzie - Anurognathidae
I don't even fucking know man it made me think of Lizzie and then I wasn't able to assign anything else to her. Lizzie often claims to be confused and if any dinosaur looks to be in a perpetual state of confusion then its this one. I know a lot of people like to portray Lizzie as a butterfly also so there you go, wings!!! And it's quite cat-like too for those who like to draw her as a cat
Mumbo - Leinkupal
I really struggled with Mumbo... So many different dinos fit him imo but I figured it should be at least something moderately large (so "Technosaurus" was out of the question lol). Then I rediscovered this dinosaur whose name translates to "vanishing family" and then I thought about LL and SL and how Mumbo went out quickly after the initial death/s and left a very felt absence in someone's alliance and then I became really emotional and forgot what I was doing
Joel - Nodocephalosaurus
Bdubs - Psittacosaurus
"Knob Headed Lizard"
Joel as an Ankylosaur has been stuck in my head from day one of assigning dinosaurs to the Lifers and I'm frustrated that I can't truly explain why. You'd view an Ankylosaur as a slow and docile creature, even compared to other herbivores, but...
1. Maybe not so much nowadays, I don't know what non-dino nerds think, but I feel like ankylosaurs were largely believed to be HUGE back in the day, much like velociraptors, when in reality they're not that big. The Nodocephalosaurus is especially small even among other ankylosaurs. But, well, we all know what Joel loves to say about himself
2. Joel is or likes to make himself look well in control, just as ankylosaurs have little to worry about as far as predators go. Especially in earlier series where he was content basing mostly by himself. It's always when things get dire and he enters his red life that he becomes very impulsive and erratic like an ankylosaur flipped on its back
3. I know there's a distinction between Traffic Joel and Empires Joel and whatever other Joel but... Even in death games his more charitable traits shine through here and there. He really becomes a dangerous rascal for a large majority of the time and he's very good at it, he's not putting on a mask or anything, but I like to remember that underneath that tough spiky armor is gentleness and caring. His care towards Lizzie and Pearl and Etho etc etc
4. The image of Joel as a hell of a spiky creature is just really fun to me. Yet heavy and blunt ones! And someone once proposed the idea of him having a club tail but having chiselled it to be sharp to mirror him being a menace. (Added benefit also that it's lighter that way haha) To me he's always been an obvious heavy hitter rather than stealthy or particularly creative etc. Him as a carnivore just doesn't work as well for me
The name bares no fitting meaning but when I look at Bdubs I think of Psittaco. All other species close to it in looks are already ceratopsians and we have like... 3 of those already lol. Im sorry Bdubs you look so stupid
Cleo - Lythronax
There's so few predators in this roster lol oops, but Cleo deserves to be an apex one! The name translates to "Gore King" because you know, zombies... and you know, Cleo is very king so true. If any of the Lifers should be able to boast rows of razor sharp teeth to gore others it should be ZombieCleo
Scott - Theiophytalia
I've been really struggling with Scott but how about the dinosaur whose name translates to "Belonging to the garden of Gods". There's only one known specimen of this species and it's an Iguanadon looking dinosaur which I think a lot of people would regard as the most basic, possibly boring type of dinosaur (if it weren't for the Allosaurus which already takes the title of "basic straight white guy") but that further fits Scott imo. It's always been a strong point of appeal to me how MUCH there is to his character that so often goes under the radar or unexplored, and how he's very often portrayed as just some handsome looking guy as opposed to a hybrid etc. He's not at all extravagant yet has mastered his craft of bending fate in his favor, he so often has things perfectly under his control just as he wants them, etc... reflective of the name "Theiophytalia" even if you wouldn't think such a dinosaur to sport one of the most prolific names a dinosaur can have. Also garden something something flower husbans. Basically whatever Bree's take on Scott is lol. I don't wanna blab for 5 paragraphs about that blue mf here but. I hope this makes sense
Jimmy - Yinlong
I struggled with this mf the most because he's another very hashtag deep character. I felt really bad to remove his bird motifs completely because the canary is so essential to him, but a raptor nor a pteradon fit my image of him at all. I spent so much time looking into various species but it just aint it, but Yinlong was possibly quilled and we can still cover him in feathers, even if he has nothing close to wings haha... BUT ANYWAY. Yinlong is a small kind of pathetic looking dinosaur, and Jimmy definitely isn't small but he'd sure be made to feel that way. Yinlong translates to "Hidden Dragon" however, a rather thought-provoking name for such a dinosaur. Given his character, it sure does feel like there's a soul of a dragon laying dormant somewhere in him, buried by all the self deprecation and curse labels. Honorable mention to Tianyulong, a very similar dinosaur who was named after a museum, but "Tianyu" also translates to peace and content. Something that Jimmy can't yet but deserves to be
Etho - undefined raptor
Already made a loong post about raptor Etho haha which I assume yall have seen since the support towards that post is the only reason I'm even making this post
Skizz - Olorotitan
"Titanic Swan" close enough to an angel right. I feel the whole angel thing is a bit overdone when Skizz can become a malicious little creature every now and then, but swans much like angels do get viewed as beautiful and taken as symbolism of love. Much like Skizz is largely viewed as an angel and often as someone who can do no wrong. But mostly I wanted Skizz to be a hadrosaur/duck-billed dinosaur, because those are dinosaurs known for their speculated vocalizations. And what is Skizz good at? Talking and voicing his love and appreciation? Yeah? Yeah... I'm so sorry Skizz btw this hybrid idea does not work out
Again, a lot of these don't work so well as hybrids... Some like the long-neck ones I cant imagine to have more than a spiky spine back and a tail, but! These picks aren't based on hybrid potential but rather what I think genuinely fits. I did really work on this all day looking through a bunch of dinosaurs and research haha, but I do love dinosaurs a lot... If you disagree with any hey thats cool! Feel free to give me your opinions if you've any and I hope this was fun to scroll through regardless
#oh boy here we go with the tags#grian#tangotek#impulsesv#rendog#I feel bad tagging these Im not gonna tag them all alright forgive me#zombiecleo#joel smallishbeans#geminitay#ldshadowlady#ok thats more than enough forgive me traffic gods#trafficblr#but also blabber?#rendog is my fave... and Joel but I have ankylosaur bias#ankylosaurus best animal sorry to every other animal#oh and Gem of course haha....... Theris are so cool man#second best animal#tubby art
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The Arrangement (6) - Broken
Chapter summary: A long overdue conversation is finally had and things take a turn....
Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav
Warnings: 18+. Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Mentions of past trauma.
Word count: 5.7k
Series Masterlist . Ao3
If you could have it your way, you'd immediately cast Mage Hand and shove Ava through the deepest pits of the Underdark, all the way down to Grymforge and until she was faced with molten lava rivers coursing below her.
Whether you'd drop her or not would entirely depend on a set of answers you intended on squeezing out of her – quite literally, if possible.
You crossed your arms, watching as the woman dressed in a burgundy red dress made her way inside, holding that nauseating and overly sweet smile of hers.
She came bearing a satchel, which she handed to Astarion as soon as she stood before him.
“Are you well?” she asked, holding his free hand momentarily.
He gave her a dramatic sigh. “Within reason. It's hardly an ideal scenario, but I'll manage.”
She rubbed her thumb across the back of his hand, nodding with supposed concern on her face.
Something about the way she looked at him made you want to gauge your eyes out.
Ugh…
It took an inhuman amount of mental fortitude and no less amount of restraint to keep yourself from scoffing.
Gale gave you an inquisitive side-glance, but remained silent.
“Who's this? Your playmate?”
Ah.
Lae'zel's bluntness could render many speechless and rabid at worst or slightly taken aback at best.
It seemed that Ava fell under an unexpected third category: sheer amusement.
But it was Astarion who spoke for her, “Ever so direct, Lae'zel." He let out a dramatic laugh. "Charming as always."
"I do not care for such frivolities."
His face dropped with an eye-roll. "It was a joke."
"You're the only one laughing."
You had to hold back a chuckle.
Astarion merely glared at her.
Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “So, who is she? Your hairdresser?”
“This is Lae'zel – a githyanki extraordinaire. Fierce in battle with her sword and off the field with her words, as you can tell.”
Ava extended an arm out to her, earning a scoff from Lae'zel who refused to return the courtesy.
You beamed in joy at her antics.
Astarion moved to your side and Ava immediately spoke up before he could, “Oh, we've already met.”
“Ah, yes. At The Blushing Mermaid?” he said, tapping his chin.
“More than once.”
You scowled. “A single encounter would have been one too many.”
He glared at you, squinting his eyes inquisitively.
“Feisty . I like you already.” she said with a pout.
You considered hexing her right there and then.
Just like with Lae'zel, she extended a hand out to you.
You crossed your arms instead, earning a narrowed glare from Astarion.
Ava's overly sweet smile only widened.
Astarion then waved dismissively at the only person in the room he had yet to introduce.
“Oh - and that is Gale.”
Unlike you and Lae'zel, he moved to take one of Ava's hand in his own before planting a kiss on the back. “Gale of Waterdeep. What a pleasure to meet your acquaintance, madam."
Gale!
The betrayal had you shooting invisible daggers at him through your eyes.
Ava brought a hand to her chest. “What a gentleman.”
Your patience now spent, you moved towards her. “Where did you go after I ran into you at The Blushing Mermaid?”
Ava turned to face you. “A rather intrusive question, dear.”
“Answer it.”
Astarion was scowling already.
“No. I don't think I will.”
You felt the familiar tingles of fire magic spread along the palm of your hand.
“Where were you when we got arrested, then?”
Gale seemed utterly confused and Lae'zel's face twisted in amusement.
Ava's smile didn't waver once. “She's adorable, Astarion.”
“You little-”
Astarion was already on you before you could lunge forward, rooting you in place.
“Would you excuse us for a moment?” he swiftly interjected, effectively silencing you.
Before you could voice out a protest, you felt him tug at your hand until you were pacing in front of him before bringing both hands to grip your shoulders and prevent you from deterring off the intended path.
“Hey!” you huffed in annoyance.
“Do make yourself at home, darling,” you heard his sweet voice behind you.
“I shall.” Ava chirped.
Your temper exploded from their exchange.
“Actually - don't!” You shouted over your shoulder only to earn a warning squeeze from him.
Astarion pushed you rapidly along the corridor until you were being guided into your own room, door slamming closed behind you.
You immediately jerked away from his grip, turning back around with an indignant growl.
“What in the Nine Hells has gotten into you?” he asked through gritted teeth.
Oh, you were so ready to blow up.
“Me? What is she doing here?”
He quirked an eyebrow at you, crossing his arms. “Is this another one of your jealousy tantrums?”
You gasped at his nerve, outrage nearly blinding you for a split second.
“What – no! I am not jealous! I just dislike her!”
He nodded. “Stating the obvious, but why?”
You groaned in exasperation. “Why what? ”
“Why do you dislike her this much? Surely there must be a solid reason – other than jealousy, that is.”
Insufferable and impossible man!
For a moment, you pondered your answer, not wanting your disdain for her to come across as unwarranted.
But you failed.
Miserably.
“She's… icky! There is something really off about her,” you said, sounding far too exasperated to your liking. “I think she…”
You paused briefly, and Astarion furrowed his brows, waiting for you to go on.
Well.
Maybe you should just voice out your suspicions.
“I think she had something to do with us getting arrested - or that man dying. Maybe both.”
He glared at you in silence for a few seconds before bursting into laughter.
“Oh, aren't you just cute?” He said with a click of his tongue. “Ava would gain nothing from such an ordeal.”
You were fuming at his antics, but tried to rein in your temper. “What does that mean?”
“You'll just have to trust me on this.”
What?
“Are you being serious?”
He tilted his head. “I fail to see how my private affairs are of your concern.”
You placed both hands on your hips, glaring at him with perplexity. “You brought her to my home, so it starts being my concern.”
“Please – as if I want to be here in the first place.”
“Then leave.” You immediately suggested, pointing to the door.
He scoffed with a grimace. “Alright. I will.”
“Great.”
“Wonderful.”
He turned to leave, but suddenly halted as he glanced at the covered window to his right.
You crossed your arms, raising your brows. “Well?”
He twirled on his feet, giving you an artificial smile. “Could it perhaps wait until nightfall, darling? I'm afraid ‘burning to ashes under the midday sun’ isn't quite an invigourating activity to indulge in.”
Your shoulders slumped as he disarmed you with his words.
A wave of sickening guilt took hold of you.
Shit.
What a ridiculous thing to have suggested to him, and even more ridiculous that you two just couldn't seem to be on the same page for more than a few hours at a time.
“I'm sorry.”
He waved a dismissive hand. “Think nothing of it.”
“I'm really not jealous,” you said with a sigh.
It was true.
For the most part.
“I just worry.”
His features softened and the room plunged into silence.
Astarion eventually broke it with a sigh. “She used to be a monster hunter.”
You arched an eyebrow in disbelief. “A monster hunter?”
He nodded.
You had seen your fair share of monster hunters throughout your travels, and if there was one thing you knew for certain was that Ava did not look the part at all.
“And you trusted her word?”
He snorted. “Kind of hard not to with a stake pressed to my chest.”
Your eyes widened in horror. “She did what?!”
“Do calm down. I was just as skeptical when I first met her, so I foolishly asked for proof,” he said with a shrug. “Let's just say my doubts were put to rest.”
Your mouth dropped open in sheer perplexity.
So Astarion had been meddling with someone who hunted his kind for a living.
This was a whole new level of… derangement. Even coming from him.
You found your voice once again. “And you trusted after that?”
“Yes.”
You blinked. “She hunts… vampires!”
“You never listen to me properly, do you? I said she ‘used’ to be one. She practices Alchemy now.”
A lump rose in your throat. “So…. you and her…”
“Let's just say that we found a sweet spot in between and we each provide something useful to the other.”
You gave him a level look. “An arrangement?”
“I suppose you could call it that.”
Another one? Was Astarion hoarding these? First you and now… her?
And what could she possibly provide him?
And then it was as if your body was engulfed in ice shards.
Wait…
“So… what are the terms?”
Did you even want to know?
He seemed to be wondering whether or not to reply, but eventually spoke, “Well, she helps me feel more at ease in terms of being close to others... intimately.”
Your heart sunk into the deepest pits of your core.
“What?”
Now he looked rather impatient, rolling his eyes. “Do not jump to conclusions. She offered a helping hand once she realised how I... severe this was."
Oh.
“When you walked in on us the other night with her naked by my side… nothing had happened.”
You remembered him telling you this.
“Nothing ever does,” he continued, his words sounding slightly bitter. “So I take comfort in her naked form, but only so that my body can get used to it. Nothing more and nothing less.
A pang of discomfort ran through you and you suddenly felt like an idiot.
The rage you felt towards her dwindled rapidly as you understood the true nature of their arrangement.
Ava was merely helping him out with his intimacy.
“Oh.”
“I suppose ‘oh’ covers it.” he said nonchalantly.
“And what does she get in return?”
He shrugged. “My blood.”
What?!
He had to be joking.
You felt the scalding flames of rage for Ava take over your entire body all at once.
Your jaw dropped and you were at a loss for words.
“You – idiot! ” you growled in a fit of pure outrage, smacking his arm. “A blood merchant?! ”
He was scowling so deeply the lines on his face sank tenfold. “Do you think of me as a child?” he spat, suddenly towering over you. “I treaded this world long before you were even thought into existence.”
“Oh – please do tell me more, you ancient… tree! ” you blurted out, nearly wincing at the weak insult you had just hurled at him.
He snorted. “Your flattery needs working as usual.”
You ignored his taunt. “A blood merchant? Seriously? ”
“She is not one!”
“Then what does she want with your blood?”
“She is doing some research. That is all you need to know,” he ground out between gritted teeth.
Before you could retort, a soft knock on the door was heard.
“Astarion? Ava is leaving,” Gale spoke.
He threw one final scowl at you before heading out.
“Judging from the murderous look on your face, I imagine the conversation wasn't all that pleasant, my friend.”
You clenched your fists tight, brushing past Gale to follow Astarion.
By the time you reached the ample room, you were met with Ava giving his shoulder a tight squeeze.
She gave you a final glare, that sickening smile of hers still dancing on her lips. “I'll be seeing you soon.”
Then she turned to leave as Astarion exchanged a tense look with you.
You felt a gentle hand on your arm and flinched.
Shadowheart.
“If it's of any comfort to you, I am also suspicious of her aura,” she said with a grimace. “Although I can't say I'm surprised he would surround himself with such company.”
Heaving a deep sigh, you sank on the nearby cushioned chair.
She lowered herself at your side, offering you an all-black vial.
You raised a brow. “What is this?”
As you had come to expect from Shadowheart, she gave you the warmest of smiles. “Lavander extract mixed in with some herbs. It is said to keep the worst terrors of the night at bay,” she said, giving your forearm a gentle squeeze. “The apothecary did mention it is only a temporary fix. You must address the root cause of these dreams, friend.”
Your eyes immediately landed on Astarion who was busy emptying the contents of the satchel Ava had brought him.
Shadowheart followed your line of sight and gave you a knowing nod. “The two of you speak but neither listens, and I care too much for you to watch your light dim for him.”
You swallowed hard.
She was right.
Of course she was.
You took the tiny vial in your hand. “Thank you, my friend.”
She nodded curtly. “I shall keep an eye on him lest he does something foolish to you.”
And you knew she meant every single word.
How many times had you counted to twenty? You'd lost track of it already.
Maybe increasing it to thirty and repeating it many more times over would help you muster the courage to do this.
You kept on rasping your knuckles softly against the door to his room, but not soundly enough to provoke a knock.
It was becoming unbearable.
You felt as if something was constantly gnawing and clawing at you from the inside out.
“I can hear you breathing, you know.”
His voice startled you, your heart skipping a beat.
Taking a deep breath for added courage, you gripped and turned the doorknob, swiftly pushing the door open.
There he was.
Sitting by the windowsill, bathed in moonlight as he flipped through a book that lay pressed against his thigh.
He looked positively… ethereal.
The candles scattered across the room, made it feel more homely and inviting.
“Sneaking up on a rogue? My, my… feeling bold tonight, are we?”
Your heart faltered momentarily.
He didn't lift his head to meet you, and you were thankful for this.
You were having a hard time keeping yourself together. Beads of sweat pooled in the palms of your hands and you tried your best to keep your breathing as even as possible.
But this needed to happen.
And depending on the direction of this conversation, you might just leave his room feeling even more heartbroken than before.
“We need to talk.”
That caught his attention, and his crimson eyes met yours.
He arched an elegant brow, pressing the book shut. “Go on.”
Suddenly, you felt cold.
No… freezing .
As if the weight of his stare steadily drained the warmth from your body, even with your robe tightly wrapped around you.
You mustered all the willpower you possibly could.
“Why her?”
A crow's foot of amusement appeared by his left eye. “You'll have to be more specific, darling.”
You heaved a deep sigh of frustration, considering the idea of simply walking away.
Why was this so hard?
But a small sliver of determination kept your focus. “This arrangement you have with her… I…” You paused for a moment, struggling to find the right wording to this. “I just want to know why her.”
Why not me?
Astarion shifted to stand gracefully on his feet, leaving the book on the padded chair.
“Why not?”
Answering questions with more questions was a sure way to frustrate you, but he excelled at this dance.
“Please answer me…”
He took a few steps in your direction, his eyes studying your face as if trying to strip you bare.
“Because it's easier.”
“Than what?”
He didn't answer.
You waited for him to go on, but were far too impatient to hold back.
So, you tried again.“Is she the reason why you're so distant from me, then?”
He tilted his head. “And how did you arrive at that conclusion, I wonder?”
Another question for a question.
“You've been distant from me for a while now,” you said, trying to rub the sweat away from your hands. “And I can't help but think she's the reason why.”
He straightened ever so slightly before closing the distance between you two.
“What I have with her is merely transactional.”
Ah. Well…
You did know all too well of transactions with Astarion…
After all, you had been pushed into one from the moment you had gotten together with him at the Tiefling celebration, even if unbeknownst to you.
“Seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you'd never turn on me…”
His words of confession still echoed through your mind from time to time.
“Like what we have now?”
“It is nothing of the sort." he immediately said.
For better or worse?
“How so?”
His proximity had you suck in a sharp breath. “She's not you.”
A cold chill ran through your body.
“That is what you want to know, isn't it? Why I never asked that of you.”
Astarion could be too perceptive for your own good. It was as if he could easily read you like an open book.
You slowly nodded.
“Because you're – well… you're you ,” he said,his face softening. “And as selfish as I am, I could never burden you with this. Not you.”
His words carved into your chest like the sharpest daggers.
Even after all this time, he still regarded himself as a burden to others. That what he had been through had tainted him beyond repair.
But…
“Is that why you push me away?”
He was too close now.
Close enough to throw you off balance with his imposing demeanour.
“How can I not?”
That stung.
Hard.
“Have you any idea how much I envy those who have never met you?”
Your heart dropped.
And then dread took over.
“Or how I envy those who have yet to meet you?”
This had been exactly what you had feared coming into his room.
The confirmation that he was ready to move from you.
That all that was left of your bond with him was this arrangement and the empty shell of what used to be something that resembled a friendship.
Even after he had comforted you last night.
How much of that was truly genuine?
“Do you want to know why?” he asked.
Did you?
“... why?”
Then you felt his icy fingers on your cheek, jolting from the sudden shift in temperature. “Because they get to know you for the first time. They get to experience all of you,” he went on, brushing his thumb across your skin. “In another lifetime, we would have met without the manipulation and hurt and pain.”
You froze in place and your mind went blank.
“You would have met my unbroken self, and I would have adored you unconditionally, because how could I not when everything about you is so easy to love?”
Somehow, this made everything even worse.
Your stomach twisted in knots and you were left utterly speechless.
You had promised yourself not to shed more tears for him, but it was proving to be a challenge as his words seeped into your core like poison.
It was the painful realisation of what could have been.
“And even through all the deception and lies, you could never bring yourself to loathe me. Even when it was decidedly the wisest thing for you to do,” he said, voice steady and calm. “You never loathed me. Not then and not now – maybe not ever .”
Your lips quivered as he spoke every word of truth.
You then swallowed the thick lump in your throat and met his gaze. “You're not broken.”
But it was evident he didn't believe your words.
“And it is not fair that you get to make my decisions for me,” you said, pulling his hand away from your face. “You could have told me all of this, Astarion. We used to have sincere conversations before. What changed?”
He looked away, and you could feel the vulnerability creep into his features.
“Everything.”
You placed a hand to the side of his face, wanting him to meet your gaze once again.
He resisted at first, but eventually succumbed, soft eyes meeting yours.
“Do you regret not going through with the ritual?”
He winced under your touch as if you'd just burnt him.
“A few days ago… that conversation in the cell…”
Astarion didn't look willing to pursue this matter at all.
You inwardly cursed at yourself.
Fuck… you've pushed it.
“Do I wonder what it would be like? Yes – can you blame me for it? To live again without being reduced to a vampire spawn? To tread the lands freely and with so much power that no one would dare cross me?” He paused abruptly as if snapping out of a dream, eyes narrowing at you. “This Wish spell nonsense is dragging, and I feel my chances are slimming with each passing day. We take one step forward and two steps back.”
You felt for him. You truly did.
It seemed that the odds were ever against you, but you also had faith in Gale and your own abilities.
“We'll figure it out. I promise.”
He scoffed. “Do not make promises you can't keep.”
His face looked sour and it pained you.
“You're still the same man I…” fell for…
But you let the final words die in your mouth, not wanting to take it too far.
He stared expectantly at you and, in that moment, you were sure that feeling had never truly left.
You were still foolishly in love with him.
And the confirmation that it could be perhaps reciprocal to an extent was tugging at the frayed ends of your sanity.
“You could have anyone you desire,” he said, with a slight hint of pity in his voice. “From artisans to noblemen – they would all crawl for you.”
It was tempting to accept his praise, but it frustrated you that it felt like he was merely deflecting.
And the trace of pity truly gnawed at your nerves. Why did he pity you? For still having feelings for him?
You snorted. “Well, they're not you.”
Hurling his own words at him had him pressing his lips together.
“I don't know if I can give you anything real. I simply don't know how…”
You caressed his cool cheek. “We can start by rebuilding our friendship.”
He leaned into your touch. “I rather like the sound of that.”
You offered him a reassuring smile.
To be honest, you were more than perfectly fine with that prospect.
Even if a part of you craved more than a friendship, you were also aware that some wounds took longer to heal.
His wounds.
Your wounds.
And the ones you shared together.
So long as he didn't push you away with no solid reason, you would be fine.
And so would he.
Then you came to the conclusion that…
He didn't need her.
He didn't need Ava at all.
You were there for him.
There was no need for him to meddle with strangers when he had you as a friend.
“You don't need her.”
His eyes widened slightly. “What do you mean?”
“You don't have to resort to her for intimacy,” you said carefully, waiting for his approval. “I can help, if you so wish, of course.”
Much to your dismay, he scowled rather deeply.
“I have already stolen too much from you.”
You shook your head, gripping the lace near your collarbone, tugging gently. “You cannot steal that which is freely given.”
And you meant every word.
You then gripped the string of your robe. “May I remove this?”
He silently nodded.
As you undid it, the silk fabric began to slide down your arms, leaving you to stand only in your nightdress.
His eyes dropped from your face and roamed along your frame.
He took a few steps in your direction until he was standing close enough that you could feel the coldness of his skin.
“You don't have to do this.” he said.
You gave him a reassuring nod. “We can stop if you don't feel comfortable.”
His eyes found yours. “Can I look at you? Bare?”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Slowly, you unravelled the first lace at the front of your nightdress.
Suddenly, Astarion's hand gripped yours as you moved to the next one further down.
You took a deep breath, fearing you had overdone it.
That he would stop you.
Only… he didn't.
Instead, he picked the string in between his fingers, giving it a tug until it came undone.
His eyes never left yours and you felt shivers prickling at your skin, as he exposed more and more of your skin.
You felt another tug and the fabric loosened.
“I do wonder…”
Another one.
You bit down on your lower lip, holding his unwavering gaze.
And another one.
Your chest heaved more rapidly as your heart hammered in your ears.
This time, his eyes dropped as he worked on the last strings.
“... do friends do this?”
A chill ran down your back as it dawned on you that there was a contrast to this.
Just a few hours ago, he had been tying the very same laces to preserve your modesty in a moment of vulnerability.
But now, you had been the one to initiate it, and he had undone each of them until your front was fully open.
“It depends…” your voice was but a whisper.
He pushed the fabric aside just enough to expose a hardening nipple.
“On what?”
You couldn't bring yourself to provide a decent reply as you felt his thumb ghost the underside of your breast.
Then he flicked the sleeve from your shoulder, until it draped down your arm.
“Are we really just meant to be friends?”
Heat rushed to your face at his bluntness and you looked at him dazedly as if drunk on his words.
“Is that why I plague your dreams at night and your thoughts during the day?”
Astarion had a gift for words and he could almost make it seem like he could easily make love by using them, if he so desired.
Or completely make you crumble under the weight of his words.
You couldn't bring yourself to answer any of his questions, as you felt the burden of the truth weigh down on you.
“You are beautiful.”
His sincere praise almost drew a gasp from you.
You had the other sleeve sliding down as well, until the nightdress slipped along your body, pooling at your feet.
For the first time in what felt like forever, you were standing fully naked in front of him.
There was familiarity in it, but that wasn't what had your heart fluttering.
It was how he silently glared at you as if awestruck.
“So very beautiful…”
This time, his words of praise made you feel too self-aware and far more exposed than simply being naked.
Reflexively, you brought your hands to cover your bare chest.
You had always felt undeserving of his attention.
Astarion was what some might call the epitome of physical harmony.
His body was a work of art and his beauty unmatched.
“You don't ever have to hide from me,” he said softly, taking one hand in his. “Come here.”
He slowly guided you towards the window, the full moon up high casting its pale glow down on you.
“Look at the window.”
You did so, watching your lonely and washed out reflection show up on the clear glass.
Fleetingly, you wished you could see him, too, as he came to stand behind you, placing both hands on your shoulders.
But there was no one there but you.
You stood alone, but felt his presence all the same.
“You are a sight to behold,” he said in a whisper, his lips close to your ear. “Do not ever doubt it.”
“So are you…”
He chuckled, placing one finger under your chin, and tilting your head towards him.
You suddenly felt your knees buckle under you as his lips ghosted over yours.
“May I kiss you?”
Oh.
That startled you and your eyes widened. “Are you sure?”
His brows furrowed lightly. “We don't have to, of course.”
You wanted to.
More than anything.
But this wasn't just about you.
“Maybe we should take it slow?” you suggested, the coldness of his lips nearly touching yours.
He drew back slightly.
“Is that what you want?”
“Maybe it's what you need.”
He hesitated at first. “I think… I need this.”
Doubt flared inside you like a wildfire. On one hand, you feared he was rushing things once again.
On the other, he seemed rather at ease with the prospect of going further.
So maybe…
“You need to let me know if it's too much.”
He inched closer once more. “I will.”
Your heart clenched hard before rapidly doubling its pace.
You fully melted into him as he took your lips in his, keeping you still by gripping your chin lightly in between his fingers.
This kiss was familiar.
It was measured and controlled.
This one felt and tasted like… home.
It was reminiscent of the last kisses you had shared before Moonrise Towers. When both of you had gotten so comfortable with each other, it felt like second nature to be so intimate.
This wasn't driven by lust like the one you shared at The Blushing Mermaid only a few days prior.
It was driven by yearning.
Longing.
He pressed down on your chin with his thumb, parting your lips for his tongue to slip through, and your eyes quickly fluttered shut.
How you had missed this… tasting him as he completely overtook your senses.
His cold touch set your skin alight and you had to grip the hardwood shutter by the window to keep yourself from melting away.
You broke from him to let out a soft gasp when he pressed himself against you, his growing erection nudging at your lower back.
As touch starved as you were, you still held back, not wanting to overstep any lines.
He trailed his tongue along your lower lip, and you slowly turned to fully face him, cradling his face in your hands never parting from him.
The kiss morphed into something more urgent and primal, as if he had waited an eternity for this moment.
Your body was now fully flushed against him, and you heard the faintest growl emerge from his throat when you pressed into his bulge.
He suddenly broke the kiss, causing your eyes to fly open.
“Too much?”
“Yes.”
Astarion slowly tore himself away from you body, his face tense and his eyes avoiding yours.
For a split second you felt panic take over your mind at the fear of having hurt him.
“Astarion…”
But he quickly straightened himself, offering a reassuring smile.
It felt genuine and you allowed yourself to relax.
“Are you well?”
His face seemed blank for a moment. “Of course.”
Your heart dropped at the realisation that his words, once again, did not match his body language.
“Maybe we rushed it…”
As if your voice had snapped him out of a trance, his eyes finally met yours. “It's hard not to do so with you.”
The impending sense that he was trying to compensate with words began to loom over you.
He swiftly circled you and moved back to help you slip into your robe, careful fingers tying it snugly around you, yet you felt more exposed than ever.
“Astarion, I didn't mean for-”
He pressed his forefinger to your lips. “I was the one who got carried away. Do not take the blame for that. Please.”
You felt relief slowly settle deep within you.
Astarion's words did match his body language this time.
You then heaved a big sigh as he dropped his hand.
“Do you wish for me to stay? We can talk about it…”
He closed the space between the two of you and pressed a light kiss to your forehead. “Not tonight.”
You nodded understandingly, enjoying the tenderness.
“Will you still seek out Ava?”
He pulled away to meet your gaze. “I might indulge in some of her words of wisdom, yes.”
“And will you still give her your blood?”
“I believe so.”
You felt the beginnings of a frown settle on your face. “You don't have to…” … not anymore .
“You also don't have to give me yours, yet you willingly do so,” he said, arching an eyebrow. “As do I.”
“But it's different with us… I can easily withdraw my consent.”
“Correct.”
You hesitated for a moment. “I just worry that she might take it too far…”
A genuine smile of amusement tugged at his lips. “Ava is not someone you should worry about.”
Well, it was easier said than done.
There was still an unsettling feeling about her brewing within you. You couldn't quite place your finger on what it was, but it was still there…
“If she tries anything to hurt you-”
He immediately cut you off. “Oh, I am quite sure you would bestow upon her a curse so great that historians all over Faerûn would rush to document such an event in their books.”
Your outer shell of toughness cracked open and you chuckled.
“I would hope they do that.”
“A cautionary tale, if you will,” he nodded with a sly grin.
“And I will gladly do that to her should the situation call for it.”
It wasn't an empty threat.
He nodded. “I don't expect anything less from you, darling.”
You stared at each other in silence for what felt like an eternity.
It felt… comfortable.
Your heart felt full from finally having had a heartfelt conversation that was long overdue.
There were still edges to polish and fears to keep at bay, but, for now, it felt enough.
“Have a good night, Astarion.” you offered a sweet smile.
He returned it. “Dream of me – well, the satisfying kind, I hope.”
“So do I.”
“And if not, you know where to find me."
His words of comfort wrapped around you like the warmest blanket.
You nodded, snatching your nightdress from the floor to exit his room.
With a final glance over your shoulder, you found that his smile had wavered ever so slightly, and did your best not to overthink it.
And as the door to his room clicked shut, you shook your head and held it up high, determination setting in your mind.
You were going to talk to Ava.
TBC
#astarion x reader#astarion smut#astarion x female reader#astarion x tav#astarion x female tav#astarion x f!tav#astarion x f!reader#astarion fanfic
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