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fanficapologist · 1 month

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Of Dragons and Maelstroms: Aemond POV

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Five

When Aemond arrived back at the Keep on the eleventh day of the sixth moon, a strange sensation bubbled within him; an increased heart rate and warmth pumping through his veins. It was a feeling he hadn't experienced in quite some time, reminiscent of the thrill he felt when he first claimed Vhagar as his own.

He continued to chuckle to himself about his encounter with the woman at Harrenhall, admiring her for biding her time yet enjoying the likely possibility of her being wrong. There was no possible way Lady Maera of House Wylde would be in the Capital, especially on this day. A sense of satisfaction washed over him as he entertained the notion of cutting off Alys's head and proving that he was not so easily swayed by magical predictions and other silly notions.

Upon entering his rooms, Aemond shed is riding gear with a contented sigh and rang the bell, summoning a servant to assist him in preparing for dinner with his family. He exchanged the weathered clothes for more formal attire, opting for a black leather doublet adorned with the sigil of House Targaryen - three-headed dragons. His trousers matched the dark hue of his doublet, and he pulled on polished black leather boots to complete the ensemble. Allowing a maid to assist him, Aemond had his silver hair brushed back into its usual straightened look, securing half of it away from his face. With a nod of thanks, he dismissed the servant, allowing himself to gather his thoughts before facing his family.

Aemond reached into a box on his bedside and pulled out another eyepatch, this one made of sturdier leather and less weathered from riding. With reservation, he removed his old eyepatch, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His scar and sapphire eye stared back at him, and he couldn't help but feel a surge of disgust. Quickly, he covered it with the new eyepatch, hiding the reminder of his past injury.

Departing from his rooms, a sense of duty compelled him to visit his mother, the dowager Queen, before joining the rest of the family for their meal. However, an unsettling feeling gnawed at him, prompting him to pause in the hallway. He glanced out of the window, his gaze drifting over the expanse of the Keep Gardens, where the sun began its descent behind the distant hills. She wouldn’t actually be there would she? That would mean the whore at Harrenhall was right, and the chance of that being true was slim… Aemond knew there was at least an hour until dinner, so with a frustrated huff, he decided to go and at least check outside, unable to shake off the notion.

Descending into the Keep Gardens at twilight, Aemond found himself immersed in a serene atmosphere. The fading light cast long shadows across the lush greenery, painting the scene in hues of gold and amber. Flowers bloomed in vibrant colors, their sweet fragrance mingling with the cool evening air. The sound of birds chirping and the gentle rustle of leaves added to the tranquil ambiance. Finding a secluded spot, Aemond settled on the garden wall, positioned high up behind a tall tree. From this vantage point, he could observe the beauty of the gardens while maintaining a sense of privacy.

As the gardens gradually grew darker with the setting sun, Aemond became mindful of the approaching dinner hour and the need to not be late. Preparing to descend from the wall, he couldn't shake off the slight disappointment he felt at not encountering Maera. Yet, as he readied himself to jump down, the sound of footsteps approaching along the path below froze him in place. Looking down, he saw a flash of blue and gold, and a curly mane of brown and silver. It was her.

Watching from his elevated perch, Aemond observed Maera's graceful stride as she walked down the path. Her turquoise gown, adorned with intricate golden detailing, caught the fading light and shimmered with every movement. He couldn't help but admire the way the tight bodice accentuated her curves, highlighting her ample breasts and slender waist. It struck him how much she had blossomed into a woman since he had last seen her.

Leaning in to get a closer look from his elevated position, Aemond's gaze lingered on Maera's dark brown hair, styled in an elegant half-updo. A delicate braid encircled the crown of her head, allowing the rest of her locks to cascade down her back in soft waves. Amidst the brown strands, her distinct silver streak caught the fading light, serving as a visible reminder of her Targaryen lineage.

When Maera walked toward the garden wall to gaze out at the shoreline, Aemond felt conflicted. If Maera was indeed here, specifically on this day, it meant that Alys had been right. Perhaps there truly was such a thing as foresight. And if that were the case, what other implications could it hold? What was this supposed "divine plan" the witch had mentioned to him?

“The Jewel of Rainwood,” he murmured into the air, his words filling the silent surroundings of the gardens, watching the Lady’s reactions closely. He noted the slight panic in her movements, the way her gaze darted around frantically, searching for the voice. As she reached for what he assumed was a dagger concealed beneath her skirts, he couldn't help but smirk. The notion that she could ever pose a threat to him seemed laughable.

He decided to humiliate her by speaking the language of his ancestors. Aemond was now fluent and whilst he knew Maera was also learning when they were children, he was sure she had not stuck to it. She was a Wylde, not a true Targaryen.

“Sīr, ao emagon māzigon arlī naejot dārys tegorīr?” So, you have returned to Kings Landing? He asked her mockingly, observing the wrinkle of her nose and the squinting of her eyes as she gazed up to where he was hidden behind the trees. He smirked, “Mōrī jēda nyke ūndan ao istan hāre jēdri ag? Ao istan olvie vēdros rȳ issa mandia’s dīnilūks” Last time I saw you was three years ago? If I recall correctly, you were quite agitated at my sister’s wedding.

But the girl did not seem intimated. In fact, quite the opposite, maybe even irked. She removed her hand from dagger beneath her skirts and Aemond watched her stare up defiantly at his concealed figure. “Se mōrī jēda nyke ūndan ao, aōha ego ēdan mazverdagon hae rōva hae aōha zaldrīzes.” And last time I saw you, your ego had swelled to match the size of your dragon.

The Prince’s confidence wavered at her reply, causing his eyebrow to raise in surprise at her perfect wording and annunciation of High Valyrian. Clearly, she had diligently maintained her studies, and her proficiency was almost on par with his own. Almost.

“Issi ao māzis hen? Nykeā lua ruaragon inkot se tēmbi?” So are you going to come out? Or continue to cower behind the trees? She called up to him in a goading manner as he breathed out a chuckle. With practiced grace, he leaped down from the wall like a cat, landing elegantly on the ground below. Stepping out of the shadows, he turned to face her, a mix of amusement and curiosity in his single violet eye.

Gods, she had changed. Yes, her features remained very similar to those in childhood. But now she truly was a woman grown, and he struggled to maintain his indifference as he stalked towards Lady Maera. Her face, still round as it had always been, now boasted higher and more defined cheekbones. Her once button nose had transformed into a graceful slope, adding to her newfound allure. Her eyes, still the same unique shade of green, now held a different kind of depth and intensity. They seemed to pierce through him, stirring something within him that he struggled to contain.

As the Lady displayed a low curtsy before him, Aemond felt a tightening in his chest, his doublet collar suddenly feeling constricting. There was an undeniable allure in her submission, a tantalizing appeal that sent a shiver down his spine. When she rose, the pair walked side by side down the path, their conversation seeming cordial to any outsider, but in reality, it was far from pleasant. Each word exchanged between them was laced with bitterness, cruel jabs, and sarcasm. Aemond seemed to relish in their verbal sparring, pushing the boundaries further with each barb, determined to come out on top.

"Rumors are quite persistent, Maera. They say the eldest daughter of the Master of Laws is not as virtuous as her family would hope,” the Prince sneered at her, hoping his words would shake her to her core, that she would feel at his mercy.

Instead, she met his accusation with a smile. "If I were a lord serving my King, I could frequent the street of silk as much as I pleased. But whether I have been…deflowered or not, who I take to my bed is hardly any concern of yours."

When Maera did not deny her indiscretions, it struck a chord with Aemond. She had been sullied, tainted by her actions, much like his sister Rhaenyra had been in the tales recounted by his mother over the years. The difference was that Maera showed no signs of shame, meeting his challenges head-on with an admirable, albeit foolish, defiance.

Attempting to provoke Maera further, mentioning his sister Queen Helaena was the only instance where Maera visibly reacted. But it wasn't for the reason Aemond had anticipated. Instead, he could see that Maera still harbored a strong and fierce protectiveness over Queen Helaena. No matter what accusations Aemond threw her way, Maera's loyalty to her queen remained unwavering. It was clear that she simply wanted to be there for her queen, as her friend.

Ending their conversation, with each party agreeing to avoid each other, Aemond couldn't hide his satisfaction as he watched Maera walk away in a huff. And when she turned to look back at him, his smirk grew wider. The game of cat and mouse had begun, and now he relished the opportunity to make her life hell, just as she had made his when she abandoned him all those years ago.

As her form disappeared from his view, Aemond chose a different route back to the Keep. Instead of entering through the main doors, he navigated the secret passageways hidden within the fortress. These tunnels, overseen by his ancestor Maegor the Cruel, were well-known to every Targaryen born at the Keep, and Aemond had mastered them over the years.

Swiftly and silently, Aemond made his way through the narrow passages, his footsteps echoing softly against the stone walls. He maneuvered through the twists and turns with practiced ease, before finally reaching a hidden door concealed behind a tapestry. With a deft motion, Aemond pushed aside the tapestry, revealing the grandeur of the Great Hall beyond. He stepped through the doorway, his presence unnoticed by the occupants within.

The room was adorned with banners displaying the sigil of House Targaryen, creating an atmosphere of regal splendor. A long table was laid out in the centre of the hall, draped with rich fabrics and adorned with silver candelabras. Torches flickered along the walls, casting a warm, golden glow over the scene. Servants bustled about, laying out plates of food and pouring wine into ornate goblets. The air was filled with the tantalising aroma of roasted meats, freshly baked bread, and spiced wines.

At the head of the table sat King Aegon, his imposing figure commanding attention as he chugged his wine with gusto. To his left sat Queen Helaena, her delicate hands fiddling with her cutlery as she stole glances around the room. On the opposite side of the table stood Lord Otto Hightower, his tall stature imposing yet regal, engaged in conversation with Aemond's mother, Queen Alicent. The two conversed animatedly with their voices hushed, coinciding with the peacefulness of the room.

Aemond's stealthy return was abruptly interrupted by the King's booming voice as he spotted his younger brother, calling out to him from his seat at the table. "You move like a ghost, Brother! Where have you been?" Aegon inquired with a mixture of curiosity and amusement.

Rolling his eye, Aemond responded nonchalantly as he walked towards his family, his steps echoing softly against the polished stone floor. "I had matters to attend to before dinner, your Grace."

Alicent, who had been engaged in conversation with Lord Otto, Aemond's grandfather, left her discussion and approached her son, planting a tender kiss on his marred cheek. Aemond welcomed the affection from his mother, hoping it meant she was not still upset with him.

The dowager queen smiled warmly before inquiring, “And Harrenhall?" she asked, her tone tinged with hopefulness.

Aemond hesitated, reluctant to divulge the grim details of what had transpired at Harrenhall. "We shall discuss it in detail tomorrow, Mother. But rest assured, I handled it," he assured her, choosing to leave the darker aspects of his mission unspoken for the time being.

Satisfied with her son's response, Alicent nodded understandingly and returned to her seat. Aemond followed suit, leaving a deliberate space between himself and Helaena, anticipating Maera's arrival. He relished the thought of confronting her once more, eager to continue his clandestine game with Maera from a more public stage.

“Lord Jasper, and his daughter, the Lady Maera of House Wylde,” one of the guards announced as the doors opened. When the Master of Laws entered with his eldest daughter on his arm, a hush fell over the room, all eyes locking onto the young Lady who has finally returned to court after many years away. Aemond's gaze remained fixed on her, his single violet eye tracing her every movement with a mix of curiosity and anticipation.

“Seven Hells,” he heard Aegon muttering.

Maera's entrance was as graceful as ever, her turquoise gown billowing around her as she scanned the room. Aemond watched as her gaze swept past the assembled guests, lingering on each face before finally landing on him. A smirk played at the corners of Aemond's lips as he observed the furrow of confusion that creased Maera's brow. He could practically feel the gears turning in her mind as she tried to decipher how he had managed to arrive before her.

The sense of satisfaction that washed over Aemond was palpable as he reveled in the feeling of outsmarting her. With Maera's presence at the Keep, their game of had only just begun, and Aemond was determined to emerge victorious, his fixed steely gaze silently daring her to challenge him further.

However his smug smile disappeared when Aegon rose from his seat with a gleam in his violet eye and a Cheshire Cat smile. It was the same look that Aegon wore when he indulged in his more base desires, like when he bothered the serving girls or took a particular interest in a Lady at court. A grin that Aemond found distasteful, especially in this context. Watching Aegon approach Maera with such boldness, Aemond's jaw clenched involuntarily, his grip tightening on his goblet. He couldn't help but feel a surge of emotion, a complex mixture of indignation, frustration, and something else he couldn't quite put his finger on.

Seeing Aegon embrace Maera, his hand boldly placed on her waist, Aemond felt a pang of discomfort. His gaze narrowed as he observed the interaction, the uncomfortable look on Maera's face only adding fuel to the fire raging within him. It was a sensation akin to a primal instinct, a territorial instinct, but Aemond refused to acknowledge it as such. Instead, he attributed it to his protective instincts over his sister, the Queen, and his disdain for Aegon's lack of propriety in his wife’s presence.

When Maera locked eyes on the table, Aemond couldn't help but notice the slight huff of annoyance as she realized her allocated seat was uncomfortably close to him. He almost chuckled at her reaction, finding joy in her discomfort. As she passed by him to take her seat, Aemond caught a whiff of her familiar scent, a blend of vanilla and rainwater that stirred something within him. Despite his resolve to remain unaffected, he couldn't deny the uplifting effect it had on him.

Throughout the meal, Maera seemed to ignore him, focusing instead on her food and the conversation around her. Aemond took this as a victory, feeling a sense of superiority in their silent battle of wills. However, when Aemond looked up from his plate, his anger flared at the sight of Aegon's continued leering at Maera from across the table. In their childhood, the girl had never tolerated Aegon’s distasteful behaviour, and Aemond was disappointed to see her acquiescing now, even though he knew she couldn’t really protest because Aegon was the King.

Despite his anger towards the young Lady of House Wylde, Aemond noticed the positive effect her presence had on the atmosphere in the room. Helaena seemed more animated, reminiscing with her old friend, her violet eyes sparkling with joy. Even Aemond's mother, the dowager Queen, was seen laughing, a rare sight that brought a sense of warmth to the room.

"And do you still train with the sword, Lady Maera?" Aemond heard his grandfather ask her, causing his ears to prick up. Memories of their childhood training sessions, before societal expectations had stifled Maera's freedom, flooded Aemond's mind, and he could not help but be curious as to what her answer was.

However, before Maera could answer, her father, Lord Jasper, interjected, cutting off the conversation. A flicker of annoyance crossed Maera's face, swiftly masked by a forced neutrality. Aemond observed how she quickly composed herself, casting her eyes down as if to remind herself to behave and not cause a scene. This did not seem like the behaviour of the girl he once knew.

Refusing to let the moment pass, Aemond swiftly interjected, "The Hand of the King was addressing Lady Maera, not you, my lord." The one-eyed Prince turned his head towards Maera, seeing the look of confusion and suspicion on her face at his interruption, as well as something else. Gratitude maybe? "Lady Maera, I believe my grandfather is awaiting an answer,” he declared, his eye locked on her.

Aemond relished in the discomfort evident on Maera's face as all eyes turned to her, a faint blush painting her cheeks with embarrassment. However, when Maera looked straight at Lord Otto and revealed that she, in fact, still train with a sword, Aemond couldn't suppress a hum of acknowledgment. Despite his disdain for her, there was an admiration for her continued skill. It was a testament to her resilience and determination, proving that she hadn't succumbed to the role of a helpless Lady as he had assumed.

“Such behavior hardly befits a lady who aspires to find a suitable husband, no matter how beautiful and witty she may be,” Aegon commented with a smirk, seemingly trying to humiliate her.

Maera, undeterred, replied with a retort as quick as lightning, “Perhaps it's time that the lords of Westeros alter their attitudes, so that I might find one worthy of my time and affections.”

Aemond felt a smirk tug at the corners of his lips, though he quickly suppressed it with a clearing of his throat. This was the Maera he remembered from their youth – fierce, honest, and unyielding.

The Prince was aware Maera's attentiveness to Helaena's emotions, her offer to escort the Queen to her rooms earning a grateful smile from his sister. Despite his irritation at the prospect of Maera's presence in the Keep, he acknowledged that Helaena would benefit from her friend's company. As Lord Jasper took his leave some time later, Aegon wasted no time in taking the vacant seat next to Aemond, launching into a conversation filled with lewd and exaggerated remarks.

“Gods, did you see that arse, brother? And those huge tits?! Holy Father, how I would love to-“

“Aegon, that's enough!” Alicent's stern voice cut through the room, her disapproval evident as she scolded her elder son. Aemond, of course, had noticed Maera's physical attributes, but he maintained a facade of indifference, refusing to engage in Aegon's lascivious commentary. He was above that, after all.

"You constantly used to call her fat and ugly when we were young," Aemond reminded his brother. But then, with a smirk, he added, “Let us not forget, she would not tolerate your vile behaviour either.”

Aegon grinned in response, unfazed by the reminder of his past humiliations. "But the ugly duckling can turn into a beautiful swan, Aemond," he retorted, his gaze drifting towards the door through which Maera had exited. "Very beautiful indeed." Aemond could feel the weight of his mother and grandfather's disapproving stares, but he knew they wouldn't challenge the King's behavior. After all, who dared to defy a monarch?

Aegon stood up, stretching dramatically. "Well, I'm positively exhausted. I think I shall retire," he announced, his tone dripping with faux weariness.

Aemond arched an eyebrow, skeptical of his brother's sudden desire for an early bedtime. "You never go to bed this early," he pointed out, his suspicion evident in his voice.

"Being King is exhausting, brother," Aegon replied with a smirk, placing a patronizing hand on Aemond's shoulder. "How fortunate you are to never know such a burden." Aemond clenched his jaw, suppressing his frustration at Aegon's jab. He watched his brother leave the room, his resentment simmering beneath the surface. However, there were more pressing matters at hand, and Aemond knew the true reason behind Aegon's early departure.

“Aemond…” Lord Otto's voice cut through the tension, a silent plea in his tone.

"I will see to it," Aemond declared, standing up with determination. With a curt nod to his grandfather, he exited the Great Hall, intent on finding his brother and ensuring Maera remained safe from his clutches.

The one-eyed Prince wandered the dark corridors, his steps heavy with anger as he searched for Aegon. His older brother's actions brought shame upon the family time and time again, his reckless behavior and disregard for propriety tarnishing their name. It frustrated Aemond to no end that Aegon faced no consequences for his actions, especially his mistreatment of women, which was widely known within the court.

As the ever-dutiful second son, Aemond felt compelled to clean up his brother's mess for the sake of their family’s honour. He couldn't help but feel disillusioned by the notion of an elder brother, someone meant to be looked up to and followed, especially considering Aegon's status as King. Yet, Aemond couldn't deny the bitter truth: Aegon's frequent disappointments had only reinforced Aemond's belief that he would be the better choice to wear the crown and lead the realm.

Aemond's heart pounded in his chest as he listened to his brother's hushed voice in the distance, drawing him closer with every word. Peering around a stone pillar, he watched in horror as Aegon stood close to Maera, her back pressed against the cold stone wall. The sight of Aegon brushing a stray strand of hair behind Maera's ear ignited a fiery rage within Aemond, like a volcano on the brink of eruption.

His horror turned to disbelief as he witnessed Maera seemingly play along, her fingers tracing a flirtatious path across Aegon's chest. Aemond growled under his breath, feeling betrayed by Maera's actions. He had always suspected her of being a harlot, a manipulative snake seeking to advance her own agenda by cozying up to the King like so many others. But to see her reciprocate Aegon's advances was a betrayal that cut him to the core, igniting a fury within him unlike any he had felt before. As Aegon and Maera leaned in for a kiss, Aemond's anger reached its boiling point.

“Ooof!”

The one-eyed Prince’s rage was replaced by astonishment when Maera suddenly drew her fist back and delivered a powerful punch straight to his brother's stomach. The force of the blow sent Aegon staggering backward, collapsing onto the floor with a groan of pain.

A chuckle escaped Aemond's lips as he shook his head in disbelief. It seemed he had underestimated her. Despite his initial suspicions, she had not succumbed to Aegon's advances, but had instead stood her ground and defended herself, just as she had done when they were young. It was a reassuring realization, and Aemond found himself feeling a newfound respect for Maera's strength and resilience.

As Maera hurried away, Aemond emerged from the shadows, casting a satisfied gaze over his fallen brother. He felt a surge of vindication, knowing that Aegon had received the retribution he deserved. Looking up, Aemond caught Maera's gaze as she glanced back over her shoulder.

At first, he saw a flicker of fear in her eyes, but when Aemond demonstrated his indifference, and even pride for what she had done, it quickly shifted into something else—a mixture of determination and relief. There was an unspoken understanding between them, a silent acknowledgment of shared sentiments and shared enemies.

Their eyes locked for a brief moment, conveying volumes without a single word spoken. Then, with a nod from Aemond, Maera turned away and continued on her path back to her room. Aemond watched her retreat, a sense of respect a flicker of their old camaraderie shining through

“Do you believe me now, my Prince?”

Aemond returned to Harrenhall a few weeks later, not only to check on the progress of the guards, but, as a man of his word, he freed the witch. The Prince couldn't shake the feeling of being unsettled by her ability to foresee events, especially when her words had proven to be true. And yet, if she proved to have the power of foresight, what else did she know and how else could it benefit him?

The crackling hearth cast flickering shadows across the room, illuminating shelves lined with jars and ointments, giving the space a cozy yet mysterious atmosphere. Facing Aemond, Alys sat with an air of quiet confidence, her catlike green eyes sparkling in the warm glow of the fire.

"I understand it is difficult,," the witch began, her voice calm and measured. "To accept that there are things beyond your understanding."

Aemond's brow furrowed, his expression hardened. "There were many known ancient mysteries of Old Valyria," he countered, his tone sharp with skepticism. "House Targaryen and its descendants are the only people in the world who can bond with and fly dragons.” He paused, before leaning forward to emphasise his point. “I can assure you, what you tell me is not beyond my understanding."

Aemond's patience began to wear thin, his jaw tightening and his hand clenching into a fist at his side. He couldn't shake the disdain he felt for the situation—here he was, entertaining notions of magic and prophecy with a mere bastard of House Strong. The memory of the last encounter with a Strong bastard, ending in death, lurked in the back of his mind, casting a shadow over the present moment.

With a frustrated sigh, Aemond stood from his chair, pacing around the room with his hands clasped behind his back. "You say that I want her, but you could not be more wrong," he declared, his voice tinged with bitterness. "She occupies my thoughts because she is the bane of my existence. I cannot stand her, and she in turn, cannot stand me."

Alys watched him intently, her gaze unwavering. "And yet you are bound," she declared confidently. "It is fate, my Prince, foretold by the Gods."

"The Gods tell you this themselves, do they?" Aemond asked, his voice laced with sarcasm yet tinged with curiosity.

"Or they show me," Alys replied, her tone calm and confident, accompanied by a serene smile.

Aemond's skepticism was evident as he approached her, looming over her seated form. "You mentioned a divine plan the last time I was here. The least you could do is tell me," he demanded, his gaze piercing.

"Why would I do that, my Prince?" Alys countered, her head tilted slightly inquisitively.

The witch’s disrespectful tone only fueled Aemond's growing irritation. Despite her lowly status, the witch seemed to believe she held the upper hand in their exchange. But Aemond was determined to change that. His gaze hardened as he met Alys's eyes, silently asserting his authority and refusing to be belittled by her insolence. "If you wish to return to the executioner’s block, just say the word," he sneered with a smirk.

Alys, not so easily intimidated, rose from her seat, meeting his gaze fearlessly. "But then you would not know what the Gods have in store for you," she pointed out. "I volunteered my knowledge for free last time. But since this is somthing you are now requesting personally, it requires payment.”

Aemond scowled, feeling a sense of unease creep over him. "What kind of payment?" he inquired, his voice betraying a hint of reluctance.

The witch's grin widened, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. "Since this is something you want to know, the payment must come from you," she stated cryptically, her gaze scanning him intently. Finally, she settled on a suggestion. "A lock of your hair, perhaps?"

Aemond scoffed at the seemingly trivial request, finding it absolutely ridiculous, but the thought of uncovering more of the witch's insights compelled him to comply. Unsheathing his dagger, he deftly severed a small strand of hair from the back of his head. He presented it to Alys, who accepted it with a gracious nod, her eyes alight with satisfaction.

The witch twisted the lock of hair around her fingers, her eyes closed in deep concentration, reminiscent of Helaena's meditative muttering, Aemond observed. Though he couldn't discern the words she murmured, he was taken aback when she suddenly cast the silver hair into the fire.

Impatience gnawed at him, prompting Aemond to break the silence. "Well?" he demanded, his tone edged with frustration.

The witch turned to face him, a serene smile gracing her features. "Your brother, Aegon, is now the King, as is his right as Viserys’s firstborn son," she began, her voice calm and measured.

Aemond's irritation flared at the mention of his brother. "Yes, I know that," he hissed, eager to get to the point. "What is your point?"

Alys's smile remained, almost unnervingly sweet, as she delivered her revelation. "His reign will last no longer than two years," she declared cryptically, forestalling any immediate questions from Aemond. "Yet the King of Kings will be born directly from your blood."

Taken aback by her words, Aemond furrowed his brow, his curiosity piqued. Before he could inquire further, Alys continued, gripping him by the hand. "You need her. The eye of the Maelstrom is a nest for the dragon," she proclaimed, her words laced with a sense of urgency. Aemond attempted to pull away, but the witch's hold remained steadfast. "You will ascend the throne. And she will be your Queen."

Ambition warred with morality as the Prince grappled with the implications of her words. The thought of ascending to the throne enticed him, fueling his desire for power and recognition. But the cost weighed heavily on his conscience—his dear nephews, Aegon’s sons, would have to meet a grim fate for him to claim the crown. Despite his ambition, Aemond couldn’t bring himself to wish harm upon his beloved nephews.

The mention of Maera’s involvement in the prophecy added another layer of complexity to Aemond’s internal turmoil. Despite their mutual animosity, the notion of Maera as his Queen seemed improbable, if not outright ludicrous. The enmity between them ran deep, and the idea of uniting with her in such a significant manner felt like a cruel twist of fate.

Aemond withdrew his hand from her grasp abruptly, his gaze fixed on Alys with a mixture of bewilderment and confusion etched on his features. Before he could articulate his barrage of questions, Alys forged ahead, her voice steady and unwavering."You will sire many children. But it is the union of a son and a daughter that will produce the greatest King of all," she declared, her words laden with gravitas.

Aemond's cautious inquiry followed. "My children? With her?" he asked, his tone tinged with uncertainty.

Not being entirely direct, Alys pressed on, her eyes seemingly fixed on some distant horizon. "I have heard the beat of his dragon’s wings across the world. Not only will he be King of Westeros, but he will unite the North, South, East, and West into a single Kingdom," she prophesied, her voice resonating with conviction. "And his rule will be a great one, with a dynasty of dragons to follow."

Aemond shook his head in disbelief. "Impossible. Lady Maera is of a minor House and would never agree to a marriage. I am promised to a Baratheon also. My nephews…it cannot be," he countered, his voice tinged with skepticism.

Yet Alys remained steadfast, her proclamation resolute. "The path the Gods have set for you is magnificent. And when you tread it, I will be at your side to guide you. For the sake of your House, do not desecrate their vision, my Prince."

Notes: I’ll be uploading main ODAM after this now sorry, I’ve been hyperfixating on the Aemond chapters 🤣

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Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

#maera wylde #aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #aemond fanfiction #chapters #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #house targaryen #house wylde #hotd helaena #odam #house of the dragon season 2 #house of the dragon #hotd season 2 #hotd x reader #aemond x original character

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victoria-daydreams · 2 years

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The Hare and The Tower

Chapter One: Of Butterflies & Sketches

AN: I am very happy to see that I am not the only one crushing on the schemer that is Otto Hightower. Thank you to everyone who liked and reblogged this story! I swear to god this app hated me while writing this chapter because it was constantly crashing on me. Also, I finally decided on House Clarick’s sigil, it’s a hare, hence the title. I am attempting a semi-slow burn pray for me.

Trigger warnings: age gap

Word Count: 1.5k

Taglist: @riviaborns @newandykes

Summary: Jesmyn discovers that personal happiness often comes with a cost.

Chapter Two: Heart’s Desire

113 AC, Westeros

Within three short months, Lord Hightower had requested the pleasure of Jesmyn’s company one day a week at sunset for a stroll, unless his responsibilities as Hand called him elsewhere. At first, Jesmyn had been nervous, uncertain, even. That was until, weeks turned into a month, and then into three. Surprisingly, Jesmyn found herself and Lord Hightower had grown to become close companions. Their long walks around the palace gardens had been a welcome escape from the unpredictable world they lived in.

Jesmyn took pleasure in spending time with Lord Hightower, more than she thought she possible. Before, she only exchanged pleasantries with him due to being friends with his daughter, Alicent. Other than those interactions, she rarely paid him any attention. Now, she held a genuine affection for Lord Hightower, a man full of wisdom and complexity all wrapped in one. With every day that passed, Jesmyn found herself hanging on his every word. It was a little surprising to her that she had as much of an interest in him as she did. For it was quite obvious how big of an age difference there was between them. Still, she could not deny the feelings that stirred in heart because of the older man.

Dusk had soon become Jesmyn’s favorite part of the day. It was during this time, she could speak her mind freely without disapproving looks and patronizing tones when it came to serious matters that plagued the realm. On some issues, Lord Hightower would disagree with a few of her progressive views, his mind still firmly holding onto more traditional ideas. However, he still respected her intellectual mind. They could talk with each other till the sun retreated below the horizon and the stars began to sparkle dimly in the sky.

On one particular evening, Jesmyn and Lord Hightower walked side by side through the maze of the palace gardens before he challenged her to a friendly game of cyvasse under the arbor.

“Lady Jesmyn, do you paint portraits?” Lord Hightower asked, moving a piece on the cyvasse board.

“Not often my lord,” Jesmyn answered, contemplating her next move. “I’ve always found myself gravitating to landscapes,” she explained, moving her own cyvasse's piece as sensible as she believed to be. “Did you have someone in mind, Lord Hightower?” she wondered, looking up from the board.

“You,”

Jesmyn’s breath hitched as her eyes widened, surely she was dreaming. Heat seared underneath her face, and suddenly Jesmyn felt unbelievably warm in the lightweight material of her dress. She was glad that Lord Hightower couldn't see just how flustered he had made her. Bashfully, she tucked her chin into her neck, avoiding his stare.

“Please, don’t be cruel Lord Hightower,” Jesmyn said, shaking her head. “I do not wish for you to be subjected to viewing my shoddy work of an attempted self portrait. It would ruin your opinion of me,” she jested, belting out a breathy laugh.

“Stop that,” he demanded softly, which made Jesmyn lift her eyes to meet his. There was a tenderness in his tone which was new to her. “I have without a doubt, your splendor will be equally reflected on canvas,” he added, gazing intently at her and rekindling the warmth in her cheeks.

Her mouth curved upwards, a gracious smile on her face, “Then, it shall be done Lord Hightower,” she agreed, with a nod. “Your kind words inspire me with confidence,” Jesmyn informed.

~~~x~~~

A week later

“My mother will have my head once she gets a whiff of me,” Jesmyn complained, tugging off her gloves.

Riding Syrax with Rhaenyra was an exhilarating experience for Jesmyn, however she couldn’t be happier to have her feet solidly back on the ground of the dragon pit.

“What for?” Rhaenyra asked, mirroring her movements. “You did tell her what we were doing, right?” she remarked, with an amused huff.

“I told my mother that the Princess invited me to go riding with her,” Jesmyn replied, shoving her gloves into the belt of her tunic “I didn’t specify what manner of creature it would be,” she explained, a half smirk on her lips.

“Being crafty are you?” Rhaenyra teased, as they entered inside the Red Keep.

The two of them strode through the winding and large corridors of the castle, both of their coats flowing behind him. Servants left and right lowered themselves close to the floor and bending their heads to Rhaenyra as she passed them in the wide hall. Acknowledging the servants with an appreciative smile, the two girls continued on their way to Jesmyn’s quarters, the sun gleaming through the pillars of the castle every step of the way. Just as Jesmyn went to turn down the hall where her quarters were, Rhaenyra gently grabbed her arm and stopped her.

“Jesmyn, before you go,” Rhaenyra began hesitantly. “There’s something I wish to discuss with you,” she said, her cheery attitude inexplicably gone.

Jesmyn’s brows furrowed at the change of demeanor from her friend, “Of course Rhaenyra,” she answered readily.

Without resistance, Jesmyn let herself be escorted to the balconies. Rhaenyra dropped down onto the bench against the wall in an unladylike fashion, resting her head against the wall. While Jesmyn opted to stand, leaning on the balcony railing.

“What troubles your mind Princess?” Jesmyn questioned.

“Is it true what they say?” Rhaenyra asked bluntly.

“Is what true?” Jesmyn repeated, feeling a frown form again.

“There have been whispers about you and Lord Hightower,” she stated, her stare unflinching. “It seems you both have been enjoying each other’s company as of late,” she said, with an undercurrent of disgust.

Jesmyn's eyes darted to the row of arches open to the of inner courtyard which overlooked it. The bustle of the castle below was abuzz as the occupants went about their day on the warm sunny afternoon.

“Princess Rhaenyra, I didn’t take you as a gossiper,” Jesmyn said evasively.

“Except, it’s not just frivolous court gossip, is it? Not if Lady Redwyne has anything to say about it,” she commented, and Jesmyn could envision her rolling her eyes.

Slowly, Jesmyn looked back at Rhaenyra, “It is true,” she admitted. “We have walks in the garden and we converse with each other, but it’s harmless,” she said unconvincingly.

“Harmless?” Rhaenyra repeated, a bitter laugh leaving her. “The King’s Hand is anything but harmless!” she snapped, her glare intensifying.

“I know you have your reservations about Lord Hightower, but he’s a brilliant man Rhaenyra,” Jesmyn assured, turning away from her to look down into the courtyard, her head leaning against the arch. “He is wise, clever, and…” she trailed off dreamily, her eyes zeroing in on the Small Council walking through courtyard and speaking amongst themselves.

Immediately, Jesmyn recognized Lord Hightower’s figure engaged in conversation with Lord Strong. The conversation between the two men was abruptly short when another member of the council pulled the Master of Laws away to discuss another matter. Lord Hightower’s eyes happened to flit upwards to the balconies where she was standing.

Jesmyn felt her heart stutter as brown eyes met deep blue ones, his face shifted in a blink from fierce concentration to vaguely relaxed. Lord Hightower gazed at her, not smiling, however his eyes softened as they held her stare. He gave her a slight nod in acknowledgement and a warm smile adorned her face.

“And what?” Rhaenyra asked impatiently, startling Jesmyn from her reverie.

She glanced off to the side, finding it was increasingly harder to divide her attention from Lord Hightower to Rhaenyra.

Jesmyn reared around, “And, he takes an honest interest into my hobbies and my thoughts. He respects me,” she finished, placing her hand against her chest.

“Harmless, you said?” Rhaenyra repeated sardonically. “I think you’re more fond of him than you realize,” Rhaenyra said, with a small scoff.

“Would it be that bad if I were, Rhaenyra?” Jesmyn asked curiously, tilting her head. “Soon, I will be eight and ten,” she reminded. “My father has been a patient man, but he made abundantly it clear to me. He will have me married off come next spring,” she stated, moving away from the balcony.

“And so you chose him?”

“I didn’t choose him, it was happenstance,”

“Does she know?” Rhaenyra questioned, and Jesmyn knew exactly who the ‘she’ in question was.

“I am not sure,” Jesmyn replied honestly. “I have to assume she has, if you’re hearing whispers then surely she has too,” Jesmyn reasoned, interlocking her hands behind her back. “Although, she hasn’t confronted me about it. Then again, she was never one for confrontation. The worst that could happen would be her forbidding me to see her father, she is The Queen after all,” she joked, making Rhaenyra’s scowl deeper. “My apologies, I shouldn’t have been so flippant. It’s understandably still a sore subject for you,” Jesmyn said quickly.

Rhaenyra rose from the bench, gripping her riding gloves tightly.

“Best head to your bath, Lady Jesmyn,” she suggested. “I wouldn’t want the smell of dragon to spoil your walk with The Hand,” she remarked coldly, brushing past her.

“Rhaenyra, don’t be like this,” Jesmyn pleaded softly.

The Princess came to a stop and turned on her heel.

“Lord Hightower is courting you, I do not know why you deny it to my face,”

“What would it accomplish, Rhaenyra!” Jesmyn said exasperatedly. “Your disdain for him is evident,” she commented. “You are my friend,” she stated, taking a hold of the younger girl’s hands. “And I need you to understand, if Lord Hightower pursues his courtship with me, it would change everything for me, for my family,” Jesmyn explained. “House Clarick would finally have standing in this court—”

Rhaenyra snatched her hands from Jesmyn’s, a mixture of betrayal and disgust painted on her face.

“Of course, that’s all you care about,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s what everyone cares about in this damned court,” she accused, backing away from her.

“No, Rhaenyra that’s not what I meant!” Jesmyn said, reaching out for her.

It was too late though, Rhaenyra had already took off running.

#house of the dragon x reader #game of thrones x reader #otto hightower x reader #black!reader #black!oc #game of thrones imagine #house of the dragon imagine #game of thrones oc #house of the dragon fanfiction #game of thrones fanfiction #otto hightower x oc #house of the dragon #game of thrones #got x reader #hotd x reader

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vantaesfairie · 1 year

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𝔳𝔞𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔢𝔰𝔣𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔢 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱

hello! i am atlty. my dms are always open if you want to purchase anything. welcome to my blog!

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my tarot, spell, and sigil services [ open, dm ] and HERE

i offer tarot, spell, and sigil services. see here. we will discuss through tumblr dm. i only accept paypal upfront, and will send you your tarot reading through email. i get the final say. i expect FEEDBACK from you.

here are a few of my testimonials: 1 2 3. i collect testimonials for my paid readings, so for any testimonials please send them directly to my inbox!

my pick a card readings [temp. hiatus] :

what is hot and appealing about you (w/ cadecastelis)

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when will you meet your next lover (valentine's special)

the first impression of the next person you will date

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signs that things are going your way

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clear yes or no for your question in mind

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about the karma on your desired person

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let me describe your vibe to me

their late night thoughts about you (romantic)

all about your next relationship

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random things about your next 3 months

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pls comment / reblog a link to my pac if i miss one in my masterlist

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𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔨 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔳𝔦𝔰𝔦𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔪𝔶 𝔟𝔩𝔬𝔤! 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢 ;)

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hyperfixations-and-hecticness · 2 years

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MC who’s the boss of the Minions

CHAPTER 16 SPOILERS

Being a villain was a lot of fun. There was stuff to steal, joyrides, police cars to vandalize. But most of all, there were tiny little yellow creatures called Minions obeying your every whim as ‘the most evil villain’. Which didn’t seem right but you weren’t one to argue with cheap labour. Until, one day, you were transported to the Devildom.

- ‘What the hell is this place?’ The demons were shocked at the human’s audacity. But Mammon did like the yellow gold jewellery you’re covered in.

- Levi thinks it sounds just like that anime ‘Super Cute Villain and their Squad of Just As Cute Henchmen Committing Crimes’! And you’re the villain. But wait, does that make him the hero who’s alter ego you fall in love with?

- Satan doubts that little old you could be the evilest person alive. That being said, an army to join the A.L.L could only be a help.

- Mammon does enjoy hearing the stories about the minions but he’s somewhat doubtful they exist. I mean, even if they did, how are YOU the evilest person to exist? Though an army helping him commit theft and building his collection of riches sounds loads of fun.

-Meanwhile the minions are worried out of their mind. Where the hell did you go? Thankfully a giant sigil had been burned into the floor where you disappeared. They’d been researching for days straight. Where was Boss?

- Somehow the minions figured out how to get down to the Devildom. Demons were cowering as a huge influx of tiny yellow beings swarmed through RAD emitting a war chant of ‘BOSS! BOSS! BOSS!’. Lucifer, Diavolo and Barbatos were particularly concerned. They’d heard the myths of these creatures, horrible monsters, and records of their evil deeds and worse masters were scattered across the millenia.

- ‘Eyyy! Minions. Hey little dudes.’ You greeted. You were immediately mobbed by the army, Bob looking especially glad they found you. Bedtime was at nine and you hadn’t been able to tuck him in.

- ‘MC? You’re the master of the minions?’ Asked Lucifer, shocked at the fact the exchange student he picked had presumably an entire double life he was unaware of.

- Asmo absolutely adores the minions. They get him so many likes on Devilgram and he loves dressing them up! He absolutely uses them as little mannequins. The minions have never been so well dressed!

- Mammon adores the minions. He now eschews ‘sleeping in his birthday suit’ to help you tuck the minions in. It’s so cute, like they’re your kids. Not that he likes the idea of having a family with you! Gross, no! You’re just a pathetic human. But his older brother instinct really kicks in.

- The minions go absolutely ballistic when Belphegor kills you. He’s shocked by the influx of yellow blobs that beat at him with their tiny fists. For once, they’re not going to the evilest person. You were a bad guy, but he’s a bad guy.

- After the minions get over it, with plenty of reassurance from you, Belphegor just uses them as plushies. They take a while to warm up to him but after a while they can just go to him when it’s naptime.

- The minions eventually start to help out all the bros. I mean, there’s a lot of them.

- Beel finally gets his own pet chefs. It’s the best thing that’s ever to happened to him. He also helps the minions reach high places. The minions adore him and the feeling is mutual. They activate his brother instinct.

- They help Mammon rob places and also work for him so he can earn money through legitimate sources. He feels a bit bad about making them work for free (although he’d never admit it) so he often gets them stuff and helps look after them. Thankfully their taste isn’t super expensive.

- Levi loves hanging with the minions. They help him queue for concerts and now he always has partners for multiplayer games!

- Satan develops a habit of reading to the minions. He reads Bob bedtime stories. The stories are not suitable for children.

- The minions even help Lucifer! Sure, paperwork isn’t their forte but they help organize things for him and do a lot of secretarial work.

- Luke likes having them around. It makes him feel less short.

- The minions do not like Solomon. He keeps trying to use them as lab rats.

- Diavolo LOVES these funky little dudes. Like straight up throws parades for them. The little Ds hate them. They’re the cute lil guys around here, dang it! Bit of rivalry between them and the minions.

AN: Literally ONE person asked for this (@allebasijmm2008) and I have so much to do but I do not care. I got the idea from @helloimamistake. Obligatory reminder that requests are open, comments are appreciated and I have an event on.

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the-irken-pony · 1 year

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Okay but. A THSC/Inscryption crossover is So Cool and has a LOT of potential. Like Henry could 100% fill Luke's role with ease, he's the kinda idiot to go do that shit but SURVIVE actually. Alternatively, THSC characters filling the Scrybe roles? *chefs kiss*

Ooooh, YES

I just have this idea of a post-T4L thing like

Reginald goes missing without any sign of what happened, and Henry and RHM spend months trying to find him. Then someone makes a comment about how “last time I saw him he was heading to the computer room to play that weird game”, and Henry and RHM start to wonder if the game is at all connected to Reginald’s disappearance considering they found it through dubious methods (same way Luke did).

As it turns out the floppy disk is still in the computer after all this time. Since the Right Hand Man is a cyborg, the two of them decide to upload his consciousness into the game to try and look for Reginald (listen their designated brain cell went missing).

So, RHM takes the role of the player character and has in-game control, Henry takes the role of Luke and has outside control through menus, and because RHM’s body is still outside they’re still able to communicate. No one takes the role of Amanda because the Toppat Clan isn’t dumb enough to tell anyone that they stole something.

Because of the nature of Inscryption being a deck builder game, the two had some difficulty. By which I means multitude of deaths. RHM’s cybernetics have some pretty hefty antivirus and firewall software, so he’s protected from in-game death (being how he remembers everything and still has the camera roll. He can still make death cards though (even if they all look the same) and he and Henry have fun making the most busted cards they can.

After the first death, when Leshy introduces bones, he gives them the opossum card. In the following battle, they discover this to be another talking card. Yes, this card is Reginald. Same stats as the death card, but in the Opossum card rather than a death card (two bones rather than three + no sigil). The stoat gives him shit for being cocky and Reginald finds its nagging and nitpicking annoying. It’s through this exchange that Henry and RHM find out what exactly happened to Reginald in the first place (finding himself trapped in the game and losing a game to Leshy).

Things progress mostly as normal from this point on for act 1: they try to figure out how to beat Leshy, hoping that doing so will solve their problems. Meanwhile all Reginald can do is talk to the other talking cards & RHM.

But then Act 2 hits and they realize there's more to deal with.

Reginald is briefly missing but he's found easily enough (and is actually himself this time), and tags along. He can't play the game himself like RHM and Henry can but he can give commentary here and there. He wanted them to collect as many Mox cards as possible in the hopes that they could take their gems back to the real world, to which he got a "look" from RHM.

Act 3 comes around and Reginald becomes a talking card again, this time called Copperbot, with the Cowardly sigil (whenever an enemy would attack he moves into an empty space, if the option is available). RHM is strapped to the table for the first bit and is unable to leave the game until he's released.

No one dies at the end but they're eventually able to get Reginald out and the three of them all have a long nap afterwards skjfhskjf

Uhhhh fuck I don't have more ideas from this point on but here's what all I have, I'm a little bit insane about it

#HI THIS IS LONG BUT TAKE IT #putting all of them in my mouth (affectionate)#reginald copperbottom #right hand man #henry stickmin #the henry stickmin collection #thsc #leshy #inscryption #crossover #ask #the-starry-inkwell #mine #long post

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asoiafreadthru · 9 months

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A Game of Thrones, Bran I

“Lord Stark,” Jon said. It was strange to hear him call Father that, so formal. Bran looked at him with desperate hope.

“There are five pups,” he told Father. “Three male, two female.”

“What of it, Jon?”

“You have five trueborn children,” Jon said. “Three sons, two daughters. The direwolf is the sigil of your House. Your children were meant to have these pups, my lord.”

Bran saw his father’s face change, saw the other men exchange glances.

He loved Jon with all his heart at that moment. Even at seven, Bran understood what his brother had done.

The count had come right only because Jon had omitted himself. He had included the girls, included even Rickon, the baby, but not the bastard who bore the surname Snow, the name that custom decreed be given to all those in the north unlucky enough to be born with no name of their own.

Their father understood as well. “You want no pup for yourself, Jon?” he asked softly.

“The direwolf graces the banners of House Stark,” Jon pointed out. “I am no Stark, Father.”

Their lord father regarded Jon thoughtfully.

#a game of thrones #bran i #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #bran stark #jon snow #eddard stark #house stark #direwolf #direwolves #robb stark #sansa stark #arya stark #rickon stark #the north #bastardy #bastards

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shroomtime00 · 1 year

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Hoodwinked - chapter 1: Blight Meeting

“Hah!” Edric laughed as you cheekily put down a plus four card directed towards Emira. His grin fades as Emira grins before putting down another plus four.

“I won’t do it! I will never win in uno!”

“Do it or Batric sleeps outside tonight.”

The midnight eyed bat squeaks before flapping into Edric’s emerald hair, burying himself amidst the green.

Before your brother could respond, the door slams open, to reveal Amity, carrying a huge stack of books.

“Sorry guys, am I late?” she asked anxiously, and the books floated to the ground, piling up neatly. Now without the books hiding her face, you could see her mint-green hair disheveled and dark eyebags gracing her face.

“Titan, what happened to you?” gasped Edric, pointing at her face. “You look like a zombie!”

“Do you need a face mask, Mittens?” you ask, laughing a little as you throw her a selection of face masks. “Join the club.”

Amity’s eyes shift from your face to Emira’s to Edric’s, each one adorning a different face mask. She sighs, yet a grin on her face.

Amity unties her half-ponytail and plops herself on the ground, surveying the game you were playing. “Who’s winning?”

Emira raises her hand.

“What’s all the books about, Mittens?” you ask, grabbing the top book.

“Oh, you know, abomination books. Complex Abominations, Ten Ways to Summon, Abominations: Rise. I’m studying for Emperor Coven tryouts—they’re two months away only!” she stresses, “And I’m already old enough to try out.”

“Ew, a coven?” you feign a disgusted look. “That’s for losers.”

Amity raises an eyebrow. “What coven are you joining, then?”

“None,” you shrug, “I’ll be a Wild Witch!”

Emira snorted, placing down a card. “As if Mom’ll let that happen.”

“She won’t know! Edric will make me a fake sigil, won’t you?”

Your brother grins at you, pulling a thumbs up, “Hell yeah!”

As Emira places the golden face mask on Amity, you take it upon yourself to skim through the pages.

“Woah, Mittens, this is really complex shit!” you exclaim, showing Ed and Em the equations for….the seven properties of Abomination Goo?

“Are you even planning to sleep tonight?” Ed jokes, ”Come on, relax! You’ve got two months still.”

“Two months only.” She corrects him, prying the book from your fingers and placing it back on the pile. “And no, I’m spending the night in the library, reading up on equations.” she compiled the books, summoned a small abomination, and laid them on it. “Just wanted to check up on you. Good night!”

And with that, she ran out of the room.

You three exchanged anxious glances. Em was the first to break the silence. “I’m worried for Amity, honestly.”

You nod, “She’s been overworking herself a lot lately. These studies have been taking a great toll on her.”

Edric’s smile drops, and Batric hops off of his head. “I know. I’ve tried lightening her up, trying to convince Mother to let her relax. Nothing works.” he shook his head and sat up, Batric in his hands. “Nothing works.”

Emira collects the uno cards and begins to shuffle them. “It’s all their fault. Mother and Father’s. They’ve implanted this idea that she needs to work all the time and achieve something great, and that she's useless without. It’s dumb.”

You sat, quiet, while you considered these words. It was true, no doubt.

The rest of the night was spent in silence.

You open your eyes and the early morning light spills across your face. You yawn, still slightly tired from the all-nighters you pulled with Ed and Em.

You pull Em's arm away from you and glance around.

You notice a lack of your younger sister, and your suspicions rise again. You pull yourself out of the covers and sneak out the room.

The hall is quiet, save for your muffled footsteps against the carpet. You notice Bernard, an abomination maid, cleaning the flower vases with a duster.

Alright, here’s the problem: Bernard’s got a program on his face that notifies Mother when you walk by him. And Mother hates it when you try to drag Amity away from her studies.

And that’s what you’re about to do.

Okay, use your super-sleuth skillz-with-a-z, (Reader)! Your eyes turn into little (e/c) slits as you analyze the situation before you.

You can’t crawl through the vents as they’re way too small, so that’s off the list, and you can’t kill the abomination, because that’ll notify both Mother AND Dad, causing you to have to sit through a thirty-minute earful from the both of them.

Can you tell you’ve tried this before? Multiple times. Each one ending in a different disaster.

There is one solution, though. It might get you caught, but who cares?!

You ready a fire spell, aiming it at a light opposite of the place where you’ve got to go. The flames burn a bright violet as you release it, and the fire spell goes up and up—

Landing on the light, it broke. You grin in triumph as Bernard perks up and goes to investigate the broken light.

Good thing you’ve got long legs, because you’re at the end of that hallway in three seconds flat, and then you’re at the library’s door!

Distractions. That’s the only thing you seem to be good at, but it’s really the only thing you have to be good at, anyways!

You twist the handle, and your face is promptly slapped with the smell of coffee and old books.

You pull a face as you glanced around the library. You stepped in, and once you shut the door you called out, “amity? Amityyy?”

Amity’s white cat palismen, Ghost, appeared outta nowhere and purred at you. You grin down as you picked up the cat.

“I know you’re here you know. Ghost ratted you out.”

A groan.

You grinned, following the sound. You navigated through stacks of books covered in purple slime, coffee stains, until you found your sister.

“What’s up, mittens?” You ask cheerfully to the girl with deep eye bags. Your eyes widen as you notice her tired frown. Woah, are you okay?”

She nodded, although a little delayed.

“So…studying about abominations, have you?”

She nods again, and then turns her attention back to the book cracked open in front of her.

“Have you taken a break?” You asked her lightly. She shakes her head no.

“Well, come on then.” You tug at your sister’s arm, but she is stubborn to stay on the chair.

“Can’t. Coven tryouts—“ her sentence is cut off with a yawn, “—two months away.”

“You won’t make it to two months if you don’t eat,” you warned her.

Suddenly you heard the doorbell echo through the halls. Curious, you walk towards a window and peep out.

There, standing right out the door, is a tan girl with her dark hair styled in a pixie cut. She was wearing an indigo-and-white shirt, and was carrying a plate of cookies.

“Oh no.”

You turn around to see Amity gawking at the window. “Luz. I forgot she wanted to go grab some breakfast.” She turns to the books, “But—“

You grab the book, placing a bookmark on the page and then shutting it firmly.

“Nuh-uh!” You said, tiptoeing as Amity tries to grab the book back, “you need this, Amity. Now, go dress up, I’ll distract her.”

Amity glares at you, though you can tell she’s a little grateful.

Then, her shoulders slump in defeat. “Fine.”

You look down at Ghost, who cocks her head at you, curiously. You smiled at the cat and whispered, “mission success!”

Then you turned back to the window. “Now to that human.”

“Oh, hello, (reader)!” Luz said excitedly when you opened the door. “Is Amity there? She promised she’d go eat breakfast at the owl house!”

“The owl house, huh?“ you raised an eyebrow. “Hmm. Is my sister eating well?”

She nods enthusiastically. How does she have so much energy at seven in the morning? “Yup! I make her cookies, her favorites are red velvet,” her caramel eyes trail to the red and white cookies on the plate. “Me and Eda spent all night making these! I left most of them at home, but I think Amity won’t mind if she tastes some of them early.”

You now realized why Amity liked hanging out with Luz. She was like a ray of sunshine, and you couldn’t help but smile at her excited nature. “How about coven tryouts? Did she tell you about that?”

Luz’s grin falls, only for a split second. “Yeah. She’s super stressed about it. I’ve been helping her find some books in the library, though—me and Gus and Willow. She really doesn’t want to disappoint her parents—-“ she slapped a hand to her mouth, guilt rippling through her features, “Sorry! Wasn’t supposed to say that!”

“Say what?” A new voice from behind you, and you see Amity. Her hair was back in a half-ponytail, and she wore her black dress with purple leggings underneath.

“Amity!” Luz’s tone brightens, “I brought you cookies!”

“Oh,” red tinges her cheeks as she notices the cookies on the platter Luz was holding. “Um, thanks, Luz.”

“No problem! Ready to head out?”

She nodded. “Bye, (reader).”

“Bye.” You say, watching absentmindedly as the two girls walk away. Luz gives you a final wave, but you can only think of one thing.

Fuck your parents.

#toh hunter x reader #the owl house emira #edric blight #toh amity #luz the human #chapter 1

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x-neurotoxin-x · 17 days

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im sorry, but the autism won, and i gotta info dump fear and hunger shit to you bc i think you might find it interesting.

in funger 2, there is a character named Daan. he also goes by Daniël, because his parents each would call him by one of those names, so he doesn't actually know which is his real name.

when daan was a toddler, his parents joined a cult to that world's god of love, healing, and fertility called sylvian. the cult calls themselves bunnymasks, and daan was used to seeing his parents naked and wearing only rabbit masks as they'd leave him to go to the meadows. we know from the first game that the bunnymasks engage in one giant orgy, and if you participate, you can get a full heal.

it's also said that his parents tried to pass on the healing gift of sylvian onto him. which is healing sex magic. so. a lot is implied there just in that sentence. but his parents would mostly just leave him behind to go to their religious orgy since they cared more about it than him.

when daan was 13, his parents never came back. so he was on the streets. so a kid who was raised in a nomadic lifestyle, who normalized seeing sexual acts since he was raised around it, is now on his own.

in the game, when you pick a character and go through their backstory, you can pick certain things that give that character certain skills or items. for daan, one of the choices is to become a pickpocket or to try and live an honest life.

if you chose pickpocket, it's said that he wasn't good at it and had to turn to something else to make money. so he turns to healing people with sylvian's magic. if you chose this option, daan learns the healing spell, loving whispers. so he didn't know any healing spells from when his parents tried teaching him, but he raised his affinity with sylvian enough to learn the spell by healing people for money. you raise your affinity with sylvian by having sex or masturbating. so it's kinda implied that he did sex work when he was on the streets.

if you pick live an honest life, daan becomes an apprentice butler for a baron. if you chose the first option, the baron seeks out daan when he's 15 after hearing about his healing magic and takes him in to make him an apprentice butler.

the baron has an interest in the occult. he's also a doctor. so, he teaches daan modern medicine in exchange for knowledge about sylvian and her rituals. which is sex magic.

fuck this is longer than i thought, but it should be good enough. most of the fandom, from what ive seen, seems to accept that daan has csa trauma from his parent’s cult. in fan art, some people draw him with sylvian's sigil branded into him, which is so fhrhdjsjjsjs

k im done

Thanks for the info dump :)) the lore of these games sounds so interesting omg

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kokorowoutsu · 3 months

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-- RP: @pokemon-experiments

pokemon-experiments:

He chuckled when she was amazed by the softness of his paw pad. He was about to remind her when she began to drag him along until the came to a cave and met Whimsy. "Greetings Whimsy. And is indeed nice to meet another steel-type." He was about ask how they can stay in a place like this until he got dragged along to the back of the cave. He was impressed by the set-up they had. And it seemed like they were working on all kinds of things that the ranch needed. Treating it with something he could really see until the got to the end of the cave. There he would look to Tinkerbell and bow his head. This was her home and he was going to show her the respect that he velieved she deserved. "I am. As for why I came, she's my niece. I needed to make sure that the path was safe, and that she was not being taking advantage of." He hoped the explanation was good enough for the, he assumed, leader of this group. "And you lot are fairy-types." That explained why the energy had become so dense with fae energy. But they were also steel-types. They were working with the oil that Morgan made. The same oil that he treated his legs with. "But I'd like to know why you wish to keep hidden from Ashe. Especially since it seems that your group is connected to her mother." This is what made the least sense to him. If Morgan knew about this group than why would it be an issue if Ashe knew as well.

"Unkwool! I'mma go see the o'hers!" She pointed at the forge nearby which was now officially on break since they had visitors. With that, Willow was off, pulling something out of her bag and speaking to them in Fae as they gathered around which contained berries and books that had been... borrowed on mechanics and things that Willow didn't understand but these pokemon did. Happily cheering, they soon wheeled over some books that Willow stuffed back into her bag, thanking them. It appeared they borrowed the books for ideas and then gave them back after reading.

[ It's because we're steel-types that we keep hidden. ] Tinkerbell started, eyes on Willow and the fire-types and fellow underlings of hers. [ The little one is only a quarter fae and at most just sneezes every now and then around us. She's not at risk of allergies. ] She pauses and sighs. [ There's a misunderstanding though that we choose to keep from the little one, believe it or not, to make her think she's got a secret to keep. We were told secrets are sometimes good for kids as tests. ] She shrugs and goes over to pull out something from underneath some rocks. Bringing it over, she hands him the Grandcrest Sigil. [ We were given this by her mother. She brought us here since we were displaced from our home in Paldea... that and we saved her and her team from a hot spot of trouble. ] She wouldn't go into that story though.

[ Everyone on the ranch knows about us... it's just a game for the little one to teach her about secrets and to teach her, in her mother's opinion, and mine, a vital life skill. She'll need to know to keep her mouth shut at times as it were. ] She shrugs. [ In exchange for letting us live here, the Boss asked us to make things to help and repair around the ranch. The Fluffy Man comes by with his pack to pick up things and in exchange he brings us berries as well as fresh steel-types. ] She looked to her own hammer in particular. [ The only rules we got are we can't tell the little one about the arrangement and we can't kill the Corviknight that her mate has... no matter how tempting it is. ] She huffs.

[ ... We're pretty sure the icy one knows too as well as her mate but they choose not to say anything. The Lady of the Wood -- the Boss mom -- she gave us the oil you saw. We apply it to everything we use ten times over. We're learning to make it ourselves... but i'm rambling. What brings you two by? ]

#pokemonexperiments #willow ;; ic

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swoomoo · 4 months

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I had an idea to post about my current VTM game from the perspective of my character in diary format so I want to do that here. For those of you who do not know, my character's name is Amare Belmont and is a Lasombra whose concept it protecting another vampire played by @informaltorching. Session 0 November 1st, 2023 We went to Niccolo's museum opening tonight. It was supposed to be a Gala but was closer to a Masquerade. Niccolo wanted to officially hire us to gather some specific artifacts he believes to be of capable of supernatural cainite power. Specifically three paintings in a set. Vesper and I were the guests of honor along with another cainite name Vincent. Vincent seems to be an infant in our world but happily announces he has killed a wight. I call bullshit but I suppose only time will tell. Another cainite showed up unexpectedly, having broken into the Gala. They wanted to speak to Mr. Giovanni and he was happy to comply but I think this makes him look weak. I hope he disciplined the fool that let him in. I spoke to a Toreador representing the Camarilla named Alice Summers. She invited me to her own Gala starting in a few nights. She has one of the three painting Niccolo is searching for. There was one more thing of note that happened. A strange individual dressed in full robes with moving sigils on them spoke to the Nosferatu representing some of the Anarchs. I overheard them speaking and discovered this was likely a Tremere. One of the only 5 still in London. I had the shadows follow their conversation and discovered a plot by them to target specific elders around the city. One feral Gangrel and the other was a Malkavian being hidden by the Anarchs. The Nosferatu was dominated and forced to forget after this exchange.

#Amare Belmont #vtm oc #lasombra

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dujour13 · 1 year

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For the new kiss prompts, "an abrupt , heated kiss during the middle of a fight" is something I think I'd like to see for Siavash and Woljif 👀

A little bit of a spoiler for one of my favorite moments in the Azata path. Some dialogue adapted from the game.

“Nope. I’m puttin’ my foot down this time, chief. It’s them or me.”

Siavash’s mouth hung open in stunned silence.

Mirroring him, the mimics too sat with their lids agape.

Knight-Commander Siavash got up and went around the command table to get a better look at them, wondering if he hadn’t just made a mistake. Rows of triangular, serrated teeth lined their lids. Large purple tongues lolled within the open chests, thin ropes of drool hanging down their sides.

“This is indeed unusual,” mused Early Sunset, his graceful azata features in a moue of disgust. “In fact I cannot recall being this horrorstruck in the last thousand years.”

“If I knight you, you can’t eat Crusaders. There aren’t many rules, but that’s one I’m sticking to,” Siavash told them. “And you especially can’t eat Woljif.”

The one that appeared to be their leader, an ornate creature with a gold griffon design etched into polished obsidian on its front, bobbed in assent. “We’ll be cultist beds, not Crusader beds.”

“Look!” said another, morphing into a wardrobe with the sigil of Baphomet inlaid into the fine wood of its doors. “Pretty good, huh?”

“Anybody who opens that wardrobe is looking for trouble,” said the leader. “No Crusader would wear what’s in there, am I right?”

“No eating Crusaders, even morbidly curious ones,” Siavash insisted.

The mimics bobbed in agreement. “All right, boss. Cultists only. And demons.”

“Yeah, those little crunchy demons, what are those called?” one mimic whispered to its neighbor.

“Babaus.”

“No, those are the spicy ones. I mean—”

Siavash turned to Woljif, who had backed into the farthest possible corner of the command room, keeping the table between himself and the mimics, shaking his head furiously. “Nope. Huh-uh.”

Siavash’s brow creased as he thought for a moment.

“The other rule is,” he said, “you need to stay up on the island, at the Court of the Lark. If you come to Drezen there’ll be trouble.”

“More and more rules,” grumbled one mimic. “I thought this was the cheerful sort of Commander.”

“It doesn’t make me very cheerful to think my people might get eaten by accident. Or that they might mistake you for monsters and hack you to bits.”

“Hm. He does have a good head on his shoulders,” murmured another.

“Fine,” said the leader. “We can have two rules, as long as we get to join the Merry Crusade.”

“Is that what they’re calling it?” murmured Early Sunset, even more dumbstruck.

“Very well,” said Siavash. “Consider yourselves enlisted. I dub you Sir Wardrobe, Sir Cultist’s Bed, and Sir Footstool.”

“Sir Ottoman,” corrected the last.

“Sir Ottoman.” Siavash bowed. The mimics tilted in his direction.

“Hooray!” cried Aivu, joyfully running circles around them. “Be a fluffy pillow! No, be a table full of cookies! I know, a canopy bed with flounces! A toy dragon, but a big one! Pink!”

Chattering excitedly, the mimics were ushered out of the command room, leaving Siavash to face the expression of furious betrayal on Woljif’s face.

Anevia and Irabeth exchanged a glance. “We’ll leave you,” said Anevia, tipping her head meaningfully at Early Sunset, who didn’t get the hint at first and had to be escorted out.

“Chief, no.”

“Woljif, before you say anything—”

“Nope, I’m packin’.”

“Stop being silly. They agreed not to even come down to Drezen. You’re perfectly safe.”

“It doesn’t matter, I gotta be able to sit down sometimes. Sleep in a—”

In frustration Siavash grabbed him by the belt and pulled him out of the corner and planted a firm, reassuring kiss on his open, protesting mouth.

“It’ll be fine,” Siavash said cheerfully.

Woljif flushed, his expression softening by a tiny degree. “All fun and games until somebody gets munched,” he muttered, inching around to put Siavash between him and the nearest chair.

#thanks for the ask!!#poor woljif #turbulentpumpkin43 #siavash x woljif

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fanficapologist · 8 months

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Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Silver platters and ornate serving dishes hold a dazzling array of foods. Roasted game birds, their golden skins glistening, are surrounded by mounds of freshly harvested vegetables, their colors vivid and appetizing. Plates of succulent meats, carved to perfection, promise a culinary delight to all who partake. Goblets and chalices, crafted from fine metals and adorned with gemstones, hold a variety of wines, from deep reds to sparkling whites. The rich aroma of aged wine mingles with the tantalizing scents of the feast, creating an intoxicating bouquet in the air.

As the lords and ladies gather around the table, the atmosphere is one of conviviality and celebration. Laughter and animated conversation fill the hall as guests take their seats. Maera approached the table, her eyes scanning for familiar faces. Her father, Lord Jasper Wylde, sat three seats away from King Aegon, who was already in a boisterous mood, his booming voice carrying down the table. Aemond occupied the seat immediately to the left of the King, leaving a space for Maera between him and Lord Jasper.

Her gaze was soon drawn to Aegon's face, and she stifled a gasp as she noticed the bruise on his cheek, similar shades of black and purple that still adorned her arms and neck. It was clear that Aemond had indeed made Aegon regret his actions. The thought of Aemond punching Aegon for the sake of her sent a wave excitement and nervousness flushing through her body. As she took her seat, Maera looked at Aemond, her expression a mix of surprise and gratitude. He smirked at her, taking a casual sip from his goblet, and she couldn't help but smile in return, a silent acknowledgment passing between them.

“The Jewel of Rainwood! Mayflower, you look exquisite.” The King called across to her, smirking as he took in the sight of her in her shining turquoise and gold leathers, her deep brown hair pinned away from her face.

“Your Grace,” Maera muttered, granting him a respectful nod. The anger within her still burned bright from Aegons attempted assault. Noticing the King’s eyes roaming her body made her muscles tense, her demeanour now catching Aemonds attention as well. Aegon caught his brothers eye before quickly looking away, turning his attention back to his goblet.

A few seats remained empty opposite the Wylde’s, causing a delay in the feast. Maera mingled with the guests surrounding her, a lord from House Tyrell and a Lady from House Lannister, exchanging pleasantries and compliments on attire. There was a movement around Maera as she continued her conversations, the final few vacantseats being filled. Aegon greeted the new arrivals, commenting to Maera, with an air of amusement, that he believed Maera and the new arrival had already crossed paths. Maera, her fingers subtly tightening around her goblet, raised it to her lips as she turned to meet the person's gaze, nearly choking on her wine when she saw who it was.

It was Ser Reginald Penrose, the very man she had rejected years ago and the one who had spread those baseless rumors about her maidenhood. He had aged since she had last saw him four years prior. His steel-grey eyes carried the same seriousness, ahead of deep black hair, neatly cropped at a medium length, framed his face. He dressed in well-maintained, polished armor that reflects the colors and sigil of House Penrose, two white feathers crossed against a background of red. Maera’s face remained composed, but turmoil raged within her.

This was Aegon's scheme, she realized—to embarrass her publicly. Maera forced herself to offer a brief but polite greeting to Ser Reginald, who replied with a curt nod. She couldn't help but glance at her father, who seemed on the verge of fury, his fists clenched around his cutlery. Aemond, on the other hand, appeared cool but had a noticeable tension in his clenched jaw. Then, her gaze shifted to Aegon, who sported a smirk that betrayed his satisfaction. He was relishing this awkward entertainment, and Maera knew she would need to tread carefully during this feast.

As the food began to be served, Maera made a concerted effort to divert her attention away from the pain and anger that having Ser Reginald seated across from her ignited. Instead, she scanned the hall, observing the other guests and their sigils. She recognized the emblems of Houses Peak, Swyift, Blackwood, and others adorning the attire of various Lords and Ladies in attendance.Despite the initial air of celebration, the atmosphere remained thick with tension. Conversations hushed as King Aegon directed his attention squarely at Ser Reginald, setting the stage for an uncomfortable exchange.

Aegon's voice, laced with a twisted amusement, cut through the silence. "I believe, Ser Reginald, you were intended to marry Lady Maera," he proclaimed, his tone dripping with sly condescension.

Before Ser Reginald could respond, Lord Jasper Wylde interjected, his voice firm and resolute. "The match was not deemed advantageous enough for my daughter, my King, so they were never promised to each other," he declared, defending his decision.

Ser Reginald, his demeanor gruff and unapologetic, retorted, "I am glad the Gods intervened so that I could continue my search for a more suitable, purer woman to take to wife."

Maera couldn't contain her own response, her voice edged with a mixture of irritation and sarcasm. She spoke out, her voice carrying a trace of icy composure, "I'm not surprised, Ser Reginald, that you remain unmarried if this is how you handle rejection."

Ser Reginald, perhaps fortified by the wine, took a long gulp from his goblet before adding with a smirk, "Whatever feelings I had for you, Lady Maera, are long gone... as has your Maidenhead."

The room seemed to still as Lord Jasper, unable to contain his anger any longer, rose from his seat, fists crashing onto the table. King Aegon couldn't help but revel in the chaos he'd orchestrated, a snicker escaping him from behind his goblet.

Maera, keenly aware of the dangerous path this conversation was taking, urged her father to sit back down, her voice laced with frustration, "Father, please, sit down."

Reluctantly, Lord Jasper complied, the weight of the situation and the King's presence compelling him to control his rage. Maera's resolve, however, remained unbroken. She emphasized to Ser Reginald, "A feast in front of the King is hardly the place for such discussions, Ser Reginald. My father will deal with you later for your insolence."

Aegon seized the opportunity to mockingly interject, his laughter nearly choking him, "Tread carefully, Ser Reginald. As they say, 'The Seven Hells hath no fury like a woman scorned.'"

Maera's eyes blazed with anger, a retort at the tip of her tongue, but her father squeezed her hand in her lap, a silent plea for restraint. Reluctantly, she bowed to her father's unspoken request, casting her gaze downward in a defeated acceptance of the night's circumstances.

A small, barely audible hum emanated from beside Maera, and she turned to find Aemond fixedly staring at Ser Reginald, his jaw clenched, fingers rhythmically drumming against the table.

Aemond's voice sliced through the tension, his words confident and unwavering. "This feast seems to be the perfect place to discuss such matters," he declared, directing his piercing gaze at Ser Reginald. Maera's eyes remained locked on Aemond, her expression a mixture of confusion, surprise, and a growing curiosity about his intentions. What was he up to?

The One-Eyed Prince addressed Ser Reginald directly, his tone demanding answers. "Who, Ser Reginald, in your learned opinion, took Lady Maera's Maidenhead?" he inquired, his voice carrying a weight of authority. Maera's heart pounded, unsure of what Aemond was attempting.

Ser Reginald responded swiftly, his tone mocking and filled with malice. "It was Ser Olyver Trant," he retorted, his words dripping with disdain. "He clung to Lady Maera as if she were a bitch in heat.” The laughter of some of the men around him filled the air, and Maera's anger surged, threatening to erupt. But then she felt it—another firm squeeze on her hand, but not from her father, from Aemond. The touch sent a confusing jolt of emotions coursing through her. It was a gesture that, in the chaos of the moment, paradoxically comforted her. She took a deep breath, steadying herself, and decided to trust Aemond's judgment, whatever it might be.

Aemond wasn't finished. He continued his inquiry, shifting the focus. "When do you believe this incident occurred, Ser?”

Ser Reginald's response was swift and assured. "It happened between the time Lady Maera received a letter from her brother Dermot, about his arrival in Volantis and the moment my proposal was rejected by her father, Lord Jasper."

“And you are quite certain of this?” Aemond pressed the knight once more. Ser Reginald's response resolute.

"I swear by the Old Gods and the New, my Prince," he affirmed. There were quiet conversations happening amongst the spectators of Lords and Ladies at the table, who were watching the awkward situation unfold.

With a satisfied nod and still holding Maera's hand, Aemond called across the table to Lord Larys Strong, the Master of Whispers, who sat on the opposite end. "Lord Larys," Aemond inquired, "can you tell us how long Maera's brother had been in Essos before he wrote that he was in Volantis?"

Larys replied promptly, "Seven moons, my Prince. "

Aemond continued his line of questioning. "And how long had Ser Olyver Trant already been in Essos after Maera received that letter from Lord Dermot?"

Larys responded, "Four moons."

A triumphant smile graced Aemond's lips as he thanked the Master of Whispers for providing clarity on the matter. His gaze returned to Ser Reginald, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he demonstrated to the other party guests that the story the knight had spun wasn’t exactly adding up. With the pieces of the puzzle falling into place, the table buzzed with murmurs as Ser Reginald's body began to tense at the unwanted attention.

The web of lies that had ensnared Maera for so long were now being meticulously unraveled before her very eyes, a sense of relief washing over her. The truth, like a shining beacon, was finally being revealed, dispelling the darkness of false accusations. With her hand still firmly held by Aemond, she used her other hand to seize her goblet and took a deep sip of wine, savoring its taste, a triumphant sweetness that mirrored her newfound vindication. Maera glanced toward King Aegon, who continued to drink from his goblet, seemingly delighting in the unfolding drama.

Aemond turned his attention back to Ser Reginald, his words like a tightening noose around the man's deception. "It appears," Aemond remarked coolly, his tone dripping with disdain, "that there might be some discrepancies in your story, Ser." Maera watched as Reginald stammered, his fumbling words betraying his guilt, attempting to concoct a response, only to be swiftly cut off by Aemond's piercing question.

"Are you either a simpleton, muddled in your own tale, or so embittered by your rejection that you've woven lies to harm a decent Lady’s prospects?" Aemond inquired, his voice carrying across the table with an air of challenge. Around the table, the lords and ladies couldn't help but react to this revelation, a mix of chuckles and gasps filling the air. Maera couldn't contain her satisfaction as Aemond's words penetrated the falsehoods that had plagued her reputation.

Ser Reginald, however, was not one to take this humiliation lightly. He shot up from his seat in a belligerent stance, prompting the Kingsguard surrounding the table, including Ser Arryk, to swiftly unsheathe their swords and step forward, a silent but imposing warning to Reginald to yield. After a tense moment, he reluctantly returned to his seat.

Beside Aegon, his Hand and grandfather, Otto Hightower, voiced his disapproval. "This is ludicrous," he remarked, turning to Ser Reginald. "Do you have any evidence to substantiate your baseless claims, Ser Reginald?" After a pause, Reginald admitted defeat, stating that he did not. Otto did not mince his words, condemning Ser Reginald for sullying his own honor and House's reputation with malicious lies born from a bruised ego. Turning to Lord Jasper, Otto made it clear that the fate of Ser Reginald Penrose was in his hands as it was his daughters reputation that had been disgraced by the lies. Maera watched her father, her expression resolute, ready to see justice served.

“Do you have any other words, Ser?” The Master of Laws addressed the knight.

Ser Reginald, clearly unnerved by the weight of the moment, swallowed nervously and cast an imploring glance towards Maera. His voice trembled as he addressed her directly. "Please forgive me for my actions, my Lady, my Lord. "

Lord Jasper shifted his attention to his daughter, seeking her guidance in how to proceed. "You have been affected by these falsehoods the most, Maera. How would you like to proceed?"

Maera's emerald eyes, filled with a mixture of gratitude and contemplation, turning to Aemond for a brief moment. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze before releasing her own, propping her elbows on the table and leaning her chin on to her hands, staring Ser Reginald down. She pondered her options for the treason he had committed. Maera could ask for him to be stripped of his titles and sent to the Wall, something she was sure would be approved by her father. She could ask Ser Reginald to compensate her years of no marriage with coin, an arrangement the Master of Laws would certainly not object to. But then she thought of her mother, and what she had taught Maera about forgiveness and the Gods serving justice without the need for earthly intervention.

With a sigh, she finally spoke with a composed but firm tone. "There is a war. And with Ser Reginald being such a skilled fighter, it would be a shame to waste his talents that could be better used serving the realm." she declared, now looking around the table at the other Lords and Ladies. “My late mother, the Lady Gael of House Targaryen, instilled in me the Mother’s compassion, and to put our duty of serving the crown above all else.”

Maera looked at Aemond, who was also watching her speech, his violet searching hers, waiting for her next words.

“I forgive you, Ser.” She proclaimed, watching Ser Reginald release the breath he had been holding. "I will pray to the Father and Mother to protect your soul, and to the Maiden, to shield your sisters and any daughters you may sire, from the same fate I have endured for years."

Lord Jasper stood and raised his cup in a toast to her, commending her for handling of the situation. “My daughter had demonstrated that the Mother’s mercy flows through her. But I believe that it is the Targaryen blood, which she shares with the Crown, that has allowed her to endure this torment with grace. My late wife would be proud.”

The other nobles at the table followed suit, a jokester amongst them shouting “which one?” In relation to Jasper ‘late wife’ comment, causing the table to erupt in laughter, Maera and her father included. Sensing he had outstayed his welcome, Ser Reginald promptly left the banquet, taking his two squires with him. Good riddance, Maera thought, sipping from her goblet.

Unexpectedly, even King Aegon stood, obviously now thoroughly drunk, his bruised cheek exposed to the sunlight. He raised his cup in agreement, his voice echoing across the gathering. "My Lady Mayflower, you have proven yourself over a number of years of intermittent service, to be a loyal servant to the crown, to my wife the Queen, and to my children.” The King hiccuped, before continuing his toast. “Whichever Lord wins her hand in marriage, and does eventually claim her maidenhead, will be truly fortunate." Aegon winked at Maera as some of the guests chuckled at the King, causing her to bite the inside of her cheek to maintain her composure.

Aegon then his attention to Maera’s father. “My Lord Wylde, you are a valuable ally to the crown, as is your eldest daughter. It would be unwise for a King to freely give away such an irreplaceable asset. It would mean a great deal to me and my family for Lady Maera to stay within Kings Landing indefinitely.” His speech earned the approval of onlookers and a grin from even Aemond, as he subtly raised his cup to his brother.

But Aegon had not finished, as he had one more proclamation to share with the crowd. “To encourage her future husband to allow Lady Maera to fulfill her duties to the crown, and as thanks to you as well, Lord Wylde, for your many years of service, the suitor who wins her hand in marriage shall also earn a seat on my small council as the Master of Coin.”

Maera's jaw dropped in utter astonishment, and she saw the smile from Aemond's face promptly disappear to Aegon's unexpected announcement. T he banquet table erupted in applause and cheers for Lady Maera, leaving her overwhelmed and uncertain of what the future might hold.

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