#yellow gold cuff | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shortnotsweet · 3 months

Text

This technically applies to my Stepmother AU in which Alicent is around six years older than Rhaenyra, and occupies a wicked stepmother role as opposed to ex ‘friends-to-first loves-to-enemies’. Despite lacking the foundation of shared girlhood, both find simultaneous comfort and rivalry in one another, and undergo a gravitational pull. A young Rhaenyra’s eagerness to participate in swordplay and political affairs at a young is accommodated for, and she grows up with a sword in one hand and the weight of experience in another, which further helps pave her way to the throne.

Alicent’s Costuming

Alicent’s clothing is almost entirely bottle, emerald, or forest green. While there is layering present in her skirts and jackets, the accent should always be a darker green than the base color. The fabric is deep, rich, and retains an undeniably high-quality luster. Look to velvets and silks. Gold embroidery lingers around her sleeves, neck, and hemline to elevate the coloring.

Metallic embellishments should be almost military-like, and appear heavy. Contribute to the imagery of chains or shackles in addition to her status

Draws inspiration from historically accurate stiffness and Victorian shapes, with a tapered waist, imposing, puffy sleeves, and a high neckline. Despite inaccuracies, this shape is evocative of someone elegantly and conservatively feminine, repressed, and capable of exerting power over others. Reference a classic, trussed hourglass shape. Skirts should be notably heavy and full; may make noise in movement

The coloring and shapes remain relatively consistent but lack variation; this is to demonstrate a lack of freedom and exploration, as well as an adherence to conventional feminine roles

Despite these limitations, her costuming should always be put-together, coordinated, and unquestionably fashionable. Tight sleeve cuffs may be accompanied by a more traditionally medieval fan sleeve

Shoes should stick mostly to slippers, or flat designs

In this AU, her hair leans more towards a dark brown instead of auburn, as her show counterpart. This is mostly due to faux-book accuracy and to simplify the sketch process, since keeping her hair darker in comparison to Rhaenyra’s lighter hair translates more easily in uncolored renderings.

Keep her hair either in a tidy bun or pulled back and loose; avoid too many intricate shapes, braids, or styles. Occasionally, the hair will hang loose. Lean into medieval or royal headpieces, clips, coverings, etc.

Rhaenyra’s Costuming

Rhaenyra’s clothes are primarily black and red, occasionally accented or substituted with neutrals such as beige, white, or gray. Exceptions may include blue or yellow, but she generally stays in this color palette.

Strong focus is drawn to her shoulders and neckline, sometimes with embroidered or embellished detailing. She often has strong, angular shoulders in her dresses or jackets, occasionally theatrically pointed. Off-the shoulder necklines emphasize her collarbones and a certain broadness.

There should be decent variety in her clothing; there is a hypothetical outfit for every occasion and more (for battle, for riding, everyday, formal, feasts, everyday, etc.), and most should be composed of multiple pieces and utilize generous layering. This includes under-fabric, belts and corsets, jackets and doublets, draped fabric for aesthetic purpose, and even functional capes.

Most of her clothes should provide visual aid for movement; additional fabric to her skirts, for example. Her clothes should be highly stylized but still easy to move in. In riding and battle gear, it is presumed that she wears pants and boots under her skirts, even if they are not visible.

Shoes lean more into boot cuts, still practical but should have a sleek and uniform quality to them. When she walks, she should make some kind of noise. Shoes should usually be black or potentially red, the latter for decorative purposes.

Overall her style should be more contemporary and lean into the fantasy element. She’s not opposed to oriental details or showing skin, and her costumes should reflect both couture-height drama and period-reliant aspects. Longer lines and diagonal hems mean she is not as devoted to an hourglass shape, and her high collars should always be decorative in some respect.

Keep her hair long and mostly loose, sometimes pulled back. Small braids should be implied as incorporated. Occasional hairstyles feature complicated braids. With the exception of highly decorative braided styles, simple buns should be avoided unless accompanied with very high necklines.

Avoid headpieces that are not either a) her crown or b) ceremonial.

#rhaenicent #rhaenyra targaryen #alicent hightower #house of the dragon #hotd #rhaenyra x alicent #asoiaf #my art #thinking about how their character and costume designs are so communicative and are designed with each other in mind. for example havijg bc #the strong shoulders and embroidered necklines keeps them connected although imo they could’ve played around with it a lot more #I just have a lot of thoughts about them ok

1K notes · View notes

where-does-the-heart-lie · 8 months

Text

For @orange-artist ‘s ASL god AU DTIYS! (congrats on the milestone!)

This was really fun, I absolutely love drawing ethereal designs

Additional notes 👇

So i adjusted the original designs ... a bit... To draw in my style means that i have to make everything extra, sorry.

Ace:

I like the base design for Ace a lot! i looked at other posts to get more context to these outfits and i say this draping billowy pants design that i liked a lot more, so I used that instead of the ones he has in the picture.

I love his cute little star crown, i think it looks dope as hell. I wanted to bring it to other parts of him too, so I gave him an arm cuff with it, too! If i had drawn the front of him, you would also see that crown design around his waist as a belt, too.

i originally had him in a pose similar to the one he has in the original, but after i sketched out the other two poses i found he looked a little two flat, so i brought his hand out to the foreground.

I like the choice for his hair to gradient out to look like a comet! I had a lot of trouble trying to make it look Just Right, but i think I nailed it

Luffy:

I didn't change much about his design, I really just made him a little more yellow than he was before. Its hard to improve an already banger design. He's my ethereal silly guy...

I really love the idea of Luffy's scars looking like gold, that's really cool.

I wish I could've added that cold crown he has around his head, but i didn't know how to without it looking sloppy so i had to leave it out.

Sabo:

I changed so much about Sabo's design, i would like to send out a formal apology for it, I admit I went a little too ham. I had already completed the picture before i went back to look at the original post and saw the comments about how Sabo was supposed to look... discreet...... I... Did Not Make Him Discreet. In The Slightest. :DDD ehe

I needed help for Sabo's pose because i was having so much trouble with the hand, i called upon my good website friend JustSketchMe to get it right. I had this idea for the pose because i wanted the claw to look like a crescent moon, I think it looks pretty good.

I would've given him normal snakebite piercings too but i felt that the ring piercings looked more Crescent-like, so i went with that.

Moon belt. i want that moon belt. I have no outfits it would go with. but i still want it.

I love Sabo's whispies that he has in the original design, but when I put them in the art i had, it cluttered up the piece too much and I had to get rid of them. A moment of silence for the fallen whispies...

Noticing now I forgot Sabo's Cane..... oops.

General:

I shaded Luffy to be lighted by the sun, Sabo the moon, but i made Ace be the light for himself. There's some deep meaning to that, but I cant think of one right now.

I had a lot of fun drawing this, i hope i was failthful enough to the original designs even though i changed everything a lot :)

Drinking game: take a shot everytime I used the word "I", take a double shot each time i forgot to capitalize it, too. You will be Dead by the end of the post, though.

#my art #monkey d. luffy #sabo #asl brothers #one piece fan art #portgas d. ace #sabo the revolutionary #OP god au #asl au #@orange-artist #DTIYS

2K notes · View notes

attleboy · 2 months

Note

Oh my goodness I love love love the illustration of Pomni and Caine laying down on the grass!

Can we get a closer look at your design for Caine? I like how you added black and gold accents to him :>

thank you!! and i'll GLADLY share a better look!!!! :D i'm very happy for an excuse to get out a solid reference for one of my more altered designs andddddd to yap a little hehehe i'll stick the "change log" so to speak under the cut...

added black and gold accents via epaulettes, cuffs and buttons as well as changing some pre-existing accents to gold (for pizazz and to really emphasize the ringmaster thing... makes him look a bit more "in charge"? also i really like yellow so i wanted more of that)

higher heels and more bowtie (just exagerrating design aspects i was fond of... stylish!! :))))

3d shirt collar that pops out (i felt like making this empty and "cut off" draws attention to the fact that his head is just a floating pair of teeth, which i think is jarring and i like that!! it's also just fun to draw)

in summary i wanted more pizazz, more of my favorite color, and more fun stuff to draw!! ^-^ very self-indulgent but that's what art is for i guess...

#the amazing digital circus #tadc #caine #my art #my fancy art #whoa short tags today... feels weird #ask response

408 notes · View notes

gemville · 6 days

Text

Ruby, Diamond and Yellow Gold Cuff by Kathaline Page-Guth Fine Jewels

Source: Kathaline Page-Guth Fine Jewels via Pinterest

#kathaline page-guth #rubies #diamonds #yellow gold cuff #ruby and diamond bracelet #ruby and diamond jewelry #high jewelry #luxury jewelry #fine jewelry #fine jewellery pieces #gemville

28 notes · View notes

delirious-donna · 2 months

Text

Expensive Taste [Extra Drabble]

Your best friend lets you crash at her place over the spring break since you have nowhere else to go. Little did you know that it isn't actually her place. Instead, it belongs to a tall (grumpy) hot guy who finds you in his apartment–her brother

an: I love added detail and I wondered what reader would get up to now she is aware of who’s bedroom she is standing in. If anyone is curious about the watch mentioned, the link to it is here for visual reference.

pairing: Nanami Kento x reader

warnings: none at all

Series Masterlist

“C’mon c’mon,” you muttered to yourself, listening to the incessant ringing in your ear. The line clicked over to voicemail. You cursed loudly, tossing your phone onto the plush bed. A bed that wasn’t yours, not even temporarily.

Your fingers tightened into the fluffy white towel fixed around your chest, a sense of guilt settling in your gut. It was ridiculous. You didn’t know you were in someone’s home. Blowing out a long breath, you spun on the spot. There were details you missed on first entering the room, and finding them now only made you feel foolish.

Set upon the right-hand nightstand was a black leather organiser with an expensive-looking watch displayed next to a retro alarm clock. You padded closer, bending to examine the timepiece without touching it and blinked rapidly as you came face to face with an Omega watch.

Shit, those were expensive.

You didn’t dare to touch the steel links, only admired the yellow-gold detail and navy blue face from a safe distance whilst telling yourself not to pick up your phone and find out just how much money these would set someone back. It wasn’t any of your business. None at all.

Dressing with little care, you hopped around the room to pull your leggings up and caught sight of yourself in the floor-length mirror. What a situation to be in. You couldn’t decide if this was the plot of some rom-com or a horror movie, at this point, it could go either way. Even knowing that your instincts told you to trust him. If he had wanted to cause you harm, then his best opportunity had blown right by.

Suppressing a smile, you remembered how mortified he had looked once the realisation had set in. The look of a man who did not have a clue what to do and that only endeared you to him despite the unsavouriness of the situation.

You fixed your hair into a loose ponytail, thankful that only the ends were wet with your untimely splashing session in the bath, and that’s when you spied the inset doorway to the left of the mirror.

Curiosity killed the cat, or so the saying goes.

Maybe it wasn’t a good quality of yours, this inability to resist temptation, but an open entryway wasn’t snooping, was it? You weren’t rifling through his drawers or looking at anything not openly on display. That was your argument, and you were sticking to it.

“Goddamn…”

For the second time this day, you spun a full 360 in what turned out to be an immaculate walk-in closet. Had you spied this earlier, there would have been no doubt in your mind that this place belonged to a man and a wealthy one at that.

The racks were neatly arranged into categories, with shirts of white, navy, black and grey hung with pristine creases highlighted in the sleeves and the cuffs and collars starched. Another housed trousers with matching jackets in the section next to them. You reached out tentatively, fingertips brushing against the thick expensive fabric. Just how much money did this guy earn?

One thing you noticed was that the area reserved for what you would consider casual attire was remarkably sparse. A few thin-knit sweaters hung with care. A pile of folded t-shirts stacked beneath and one pair of folded light blue denim jeans. Workout shorts and a few Under Armour compression shirts finished your perusal of the more than generous space.

Each item spoke of luxury, of an indulgence in the finer things in life but it did not necessarily strike you as excess. You gathered that everything in here held a purpose, be it to dress to impress at work or get the most from a workout. Nothing seemed like the kind of impulse buys that you were guilty of on the odd occasions you felt flush with money. Whether it was your place or not, it spoke to something within you, and you liked that he was indulgent where it counted.

You didn’t dare to open the drawers beneath, scared to death of what you might find—underwear mostly likely. Instead, you scurried back into the bedroom, terrified that he might return if you took too long.

It would be a lie to deny you were curious about him. He was far from old enough to be Karin’s father, a brother perhaps? You worried your bottom lip with your teeth, eyebrows pinched at the thought you might not know your friend as well as you assumed.

The man had an immaculate taste, but you very much got the impression that he was a workaholic. Even from the brief time you had spent together in the steamy bathroom, the fatigue was evident on his face. He could use a vacation most likely.

With that thought in mind, you went in search of the man in question. Several outcomes were jostling in your brain for attention, and all you hoped was that it wouldn’t end with you out on the streets with nowhere to go.

This Nanami Kento wouldn’t be so heartless, would he?

#delirious writes #nanami kento #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami fluff #nanami kento fluff #jjk x reader #jjk fluff

231 notes · View notes

tiyoin · 22 days

Text

part 2 | 📍part 3

floyd is staring at you.

he hasn’t stopped since last night.

all through out class his gaze never leaves you- not even when trein gives out an assignment, off handedly commenting about floyd’s ogling, but even then, trein seems to not his strange quietness.

the professor gives you a strange look, silently saying ‘what ever happened between you two should be resolved and fast. because a dead silent floyd is an eerie, unpredictable floyd.’

the only time floyd’s gaze seemed to falter was when trein snipped at him to ‘keep his eyes on his own paper.’ the moment that statement left trein’s mouth your eyes flicked up to floyd’s. there was a brief moment of eye contact, a brief moment where your breath caught.

floyd’s mismatched eyes slimmed down to his paper, magical pen hovering over the top left as it was your turn to observe the eel. he looked up again, mouth agape like he wanted to say something.

but like leaves twinkling through a spring breeze, you changed your course of attention as you were now focused on putting your name on your paper.

to you change it, or divert it? unable to listen to him after… that.

you could almost hear his frustration, since the distance across the room wasn’t enough to conceal his emotions nor was he too worried about the others catching on.

floyd leech was… tricky, like that.

he let people see what he wanted them to see but also had a loose grip on his emotions. he could bottle things up with a toothy smile when he wanted to, other times his body movements would leave him open him like a display book in the library. there for anybody to pick up, skim through, and decide if they liked it’s contents. deciding in that moment if they’ll check it out to read, or put it back in search of something… less floyd-like.

resting your heavy head in your palm, you sighed, trying to focus on the paper but you mind had other thoughts. like spell drive players on the pitch, your mind was racing, swerving, tumbling and zipping around as your thoughts seemed to allude you.

your brain was in so much distress everything canceled out, you felt so overwhelmed that there were no thoughts to overwhelm you.

it was a paradox that frustrated you greatly. made a dullness in place of that… anxiety take root in your chest. man, you just wanted to curl up and… simply? stop existing.

“that will be all for today- make sure” without waiting to hear his thoughts, you bolted up out of your seat like it had burnt you and hurriedly collected your belongings.

‘get. out.’ was the only thing you thought as your rapid thoughts turned into one unified message. a single voice that made the hair on your nape stand.

“y/n-“ you heard ace next to you speak, but the moment your head lifted to across the room, a flash of wolf grey and electric yellow flashed in your vision. blinking, the image of his haunting eyes weren’t right in front of you, staring through you as it picked apart your entirety…

no, they were across the classroom. and while they weren’t as close they were still watching your every move. his movement seemed to mirror your own as you raced to beat the eel out the door and into the safety of the crowd.

you gasped, floyd visibly flinching from your reaction. swinging your head to your right, you examined your shoulder, a pale hand resting comfortably, ebony sleeves covering everything past their wrist- even the brown freckles on the person’s arm were covered in the fabric.

your eyes traced the seams of the jacket, your eyes quickly going back down to the cuff as you noted the white undershirt- a minor over sight you let yourself have as you were too focused on trying to figure out the stitch style.

something you have no prior knowledge of, yet an eye for nonetheless.

you stayed on the cufflinks. a proud, royal gold that had tiny raven’s encrusted in them.

“y/n” the voice commanded. but you couldn’t look at him. at ace. looking everywhere on his face but his eyes. it felt too much for you. too.. intimate of an action at the moment.

“let’s go” a voice on your left whispered- ‘must be deuce,’ you wondered. because where ace is, deuce is not far behind and vice versa.

nodding automatically, your fought the temptation of sneaking a glance at floyd. stopped yourself from focusing on the sound of footsteps and rustling papers, forced yourself to not try and figure out where he was or what he was doing.

into the tunnel you go.

having your friends guide you down the row and down the steps, through the door and into the bustling hallway. the hand on your shoulder never leaving, only changing as three footsteps turned into two.

…you should be thinking about your friends, about… the leeches. but all you could think about in the moment was how this is what it felt like to be in shock. you think.

not hearing anything yet hearing everything, not feeling anything yet having an uncomfortable prickly feeling where the heavy hand laid. how you could sense things you previously made yourself blind, deaf, and mute to.

your body felt heavy, like an anchor dragging through the sea floor.

you felt every emotion, and yet you felt deader than a freshly buried corpse.

so like leaves in a spring breeze, you let the arm now hung across your shoulders and the hand that gripped your tricep guide you through the weaving hallways and sea of students. letting the figure take reign over your autonomy as you blocked the world out for a second longer.

everything seemed to blend together. notable black outs as you went from the indoor hallways, to the outside corridors, from the court yard to main street.

rapid knocking awoke your from your dream- nightmare? or just another unwanted memory? you’d judge that later as you focused on trying to life your limbs. you arms seemed like lead weights everything you tried lifting yourself upright. your eyes, just as exhausted couldn’t open more than just a squint.

swift knocking on the dark oak door seemed to spur you from slipping back into unconsciousness.

stretching with a groan, you felt your hair. you don’t remember taking a shower last night, and even if you had your hair would’ve been dried by now.

you sighed, choosing to ignore the knocking as you shifted to the other side of the king bed. burying your face into a crack between the pillows, you forced yourself to listen.

your heart, once a raging beat in your chest slowed down with each measured breathe, up until you escaped back into unconsciousness. hoping that this time, you’ll have a dreamless slumber and not revisit the days of youth.

i’m attempting to think of a name for this mini series cause i don’t think ‘you’re such a dick floyd leech’ is a good one el oh el

i also think i made this chapter too short, sigh

unedited and not proofread cause we die like men!! 🏇🏇

taglist:

@hopefully-not @dmiqueles @ryuuisthecutest @kiwibirdmother @nico707 @iwillrisefromthefire @itslucieen @tyellowcardinal @snowgirlhd @chlousp @chikitasmol @faethornss @dotster001 @anxious-chick

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #tiyoin 🔎#floyd x reader #floyd leech x reader

177 notes · View notes

axelsagewrites · 7 months

Note

Hey there just m back again with a request where it’s cerisi and roberts daughter who’s married to Robb. Can it be it’s after the red wedding she survived and she spent her time hinting those who participated in the red wedding but she gets brutally killed and somehow like whoever did it brings her corpse to Cersi and her reaction and maybe Tyrion reacting to the news too as he was quite close to her

Robb Stark*Don't Die For Me

Pairing: Robb x Baratheon!F!Reader

Word count: 3638

Warnings: the red wedding, robb dying, cat dying, reader dying, description of war/injuries, pregnancy, angst

Masterlist Here

The gown was made from thick snow-white wool, trimmed with a soft grey wolf fur with streaks of black. Stag horns were embroidered along the cuffs, yellow gold fastenings holding it together. Lannister red hearts were hand stitched by Myrcella around the hem of the dress. It was warm and thick and span out like a dancer’s dress whenever you twirled.

People gasped when they saw you enter the gods wood, arms linked with your father as you approached your husband. Robb wore simpler clothes with a heavy fur cloak over his shoulders that he would soon drape over your frame.

Sansa watched the wedding doe eyed and Catelyn felt her eyes grow wet at the sight of her son, smiling down at his betrothed as they made their union promise. The king tried to look stoic, clearing his throat umpteen times to keep his tears back. Tyrion stood front row, much to your mother’s dismay and wearing the beaming smile you would have expected from a mother.

Your mother stood stoned face as she watched, smiling when looked at by anyone but you. she gave you a knowing look. “He will be your husband. Nothing more. He will share your bed, but you will have separate chambers. he will tell you how to act. You must listen when he is there. You must choose your battles and the most important ones will be what comes out between your legs,” her lessons rang in your ears when you had met Robb for the first time.

You knew she wanted to protect you the way she thought she needed to. To her Robb was a stranger, a threat, the captor of her daughter, the thief in the north, the unknown. What she did not know was the way Robb softly stroked his fingers over your cheeks when he held you or how he rubbed his hands over yours to warm them.

She didn’t notice how he would let you walk in front and was happy to follow behind. She didn’t notice how grey wind went to protect you when someone stepped out of line. She didn’t notice the lingering glances or the way his hands held yours a moment too long once the dance had stopped. She didn’t notice. She didn’t want to hope.

You however had noticed his affection for you. you noticed how his cheeks tinged pink when he helped you on your horse or how he laughed loudly at jokes he barely understood. You noticed he would reach for his sword when a stranger approached or how he smiled when you walked in the room. The same dopey smile he wore when he swore to protect you.

The ceremony had been beautiful, done in front of the heart tree as you pledged to the old gods and new. When you arrived at the feast it was already filled with excitement as the south and north began to mix. You danced first with Robb then each of his sisters then his brothers, including Jon who had been nervous to take the floor with you, but you had insisted.

You danced with your father who choked out a teary piece of advice. “Never forget you are my daughter. When you need me, you’ll have me,” he told you privately on the dance floor. While he trusted ned with all his heart you knew he would miss you.

You danced with your siblings, even convincing Joffrey to join you. Your mother stayed sat in her chair all night, but you made sure to talk to her even if you could see the nerves behind her eyes. Your uncle Jamie gave you a tight-lipped smile but not much more while your uncle Tyrion was only two drinks down and already very excited.

“My little niece has gotten married,” He proclaimed loudly as you approached his table and laughed at his state, “Oh how my heart breaks. Stolen away by some northern heathens,”

“Now, now uncle,” you said as you sat down at the table, stealing a glass of wine, “You can’t get rid of me that easy. You shall visit me,”

“Shall I?” he fakes pondered as he poured himself a fresh drink, “The north is too cold for me sweet niece,”

You hummed a laugh as you clinked your glasses, “I’m sure I will find you a warm enough room. After all I am your favourite,” you grinned making him laugh as you continued the festivities. You however had no idea the next time you saw your uncle it would be on such a sour note.

It was only the week after your wedding that Bran had fallen from the window however you knew he hadn’t fallen from the look on your mother’s face alone. As soon as the Queen had left you told Robb your suspicions, but they fell on deaf ears. You tried to ignore the growing pit in your stomach the day your father had left, Ned joining him in the south, but you just knew. You just knew.

The war came quick, and it came hard. The only reason Winterfell had so quickly rebuilt their supplies was at your instruction. Robbs men had suggested you stay behind to guard Winterfell, war was no place for a wife, but when you told Robb you wanted to come, he agreed with no hesitation. He’d seen the way you could shoot a bow and was even frightened when he saw how you swung a sword.

You had been trained by the hound after all amongst many other swords masters. Barristan Selmy had even given you a few tips. Your father had arranged the lessons, insisting no daughter of his would go down without a fight. Your mother had taught you other lessons. Poisons and daggers and knives disguised in rings. You knew how to survive. You knew how to fight.

Maybe you should have stayed behind. It was a thought that plagued your mind the moment you left and cursed you when you released what Theon had done. Robb assured you it was not your fault. Catelyn had said no one man could hold a castle by themselves. But what if you could have?

Walder Frey was your next big problem. He tried to convince Catelyn your marriage was just an inconvenience to a new alliance, but a Stark keeps their oath. Soon you had to break the bad news to Edmure Tully of his pending nuptials to a Frey girl.

Despite everything you had hope. Not once had you lost a battle. Not one. You charged in on horseback, Robb leading the front and you fighting with those at the back. Grey wind charged into battle first, but it did not take long for you to spot him on the battlefield. However, Robb had insisted on one thing.

Each time you joined him on battle you were dressed as a man with a helmet covering your face. He couldn’t risk Tywin knowing you were on the field. After all, if your siblings were bastards that made you the rightful queen of the seven, now six, kingdoms.

“I just have a bad feeling about this,” you told Robb as he helped lace you into your dress before Edmures wedding.

Robb sighed as he finished up the ties before turning you to face him, “You know I would never let anything happen to you,” he said, his fingers stroking over your cheek.

You kissed the palm of his hand, enjoying his touch for just a moment, “I know but I worry,”

“We can worry tomorrow,” Robb said, kissing your forehead as he held your face softly in his hands, “but for now we can take pause. Even a Frey would not defile guest rights,”

When grey wind refused to enter the Twins, you almost dragged Robb away right then and there. However, Cat and Robb insisted everything would be alright. You believed them. Well, you wanted to. You tried to believe them.

“My king has married, and I owe my new queen a wedding gift,” Walder began to say as you stood from your chair, a practised smile on your face as you moved to stand beside Robb. Before you could reach him, chairs scrapped against stone floors as Cateleyn slapped Roose Bolton.

“Robb,” she cried as Roose climbed from his chair. You tried to grab Robbs hand, to grab him and run, your hand already reaching for the dagger you had hidden. However, before you could grab its handle you felt a hand wrap about your wrist, yanking you back harshly.

Your fingers were just brushing Robbs hand when you were pulled back into the chest of Roose Bolton, his arm trapping you to his chest. Your nails sunk into his wrist, desperately trying to pull yourself out of his grip as Roose picked you up and began to drag you away to the side.

“Robb,” you cried out. You felt your heart racing, your eyes searching for where Robb was stood as arrows got set loose on the Stark men, your men. You tried to pry yourself free as your men were slaughtered by crossbows and daggers.

When the first arrow hit Robb you screamed, a guttural scream that pierced even your own ears as you felt your stomach lurch. You twisted in Rooses grip, turning your head to sink your teeth down onto his nose making him cry out in pain. he let you go out of instinct, and you quickly ran to where Robb lay as an arrow hit cat in the shoulder, knocking her to the ground.

“Run,” Robb said, his voice low almost a whisper as he tried to pull himself to his feet, “Don’t stop for me,” he said through gritted teeth, but your hand reached for his. “Go!” he almost yelled but you could see the pain in his eyes, “its too late for me,” he grunted, and your eyes fell to where he was looking.

You felt yourself grow sick at the sight of an arrow tip sticking out his stomach. It had gone through between his ribs, and you could see the thick blood dripping off its end onto the stone floor. “I can’t leave you,” you whispered as you stood, pulling him with you.

Your eyes scanned the room. There was no where to go. No bargain to offer no clear way to run. Your eyes fell to Catelyn who had crawled under a table nearby. You could see the fear in her eyes. Your own eyes turned to Robb who tried his best to stand. “Go,” he begged, “Don’t die for me,” he whispered, a tear rolling down his face as he pushed your hand away, but you clung on tighter, “I love you too much to see you die,”

“I love you too,” you tried to say but it came out as broken whimpers, “Theres no way for me to run,”

“Lord Walder!” Cats voice was the only thing to drag your eyes from your husband as you watched his mother hold a knife to a girl of no more than twelves throat, “Let it end, please. he is my son,” she begged.

You could see Robbs skin start to sweat, the colour draining from his face. You felt a tear fall down your cheek when you realised, he was dying. Robb had realised it too as his clammy hands moved to softly hold your cheeks as you kneeled together on the ground. Your hands reached for his face, stroking your thumb over his cheek.

“Take me for a hostage,” Catelyn cried, “Take her. she is the princess. Think of how much you could get!” she cried as Robb shuffled closer to you, his head moving to lean against yours. you ignored Catelyn’s pleas, ignored the way she tried to trade you for her son. You would have offered yourself too for Robb if not for the blood you could see at the corner of his mouth.

“Get up and walk out,” Catelyn begged Robb but he ignored her. you weren’t sure if he could even hear her. his face shuffled forwards, his lips softly brushing against yours. you tried to ignore the metallic taste as his blood tainted your final kiss. Tried to ignore Catelyn’s cries. Tried to ignore the feeling of Robbs skin growing cold beneath your fingertips.

You screamed when he was ripped from your arms. When your eyes looked up through the tears you saw Roose Bolton holding Robb, blood dripping still from where your teeth had sunk in. Robb looked to Cat, “Mother,” he mumbled making her let out a sob. His eyes turned to yours, looking down at your filled with regret, “Wife,” was the last word that left his lips before a gasp when Roose Boltons dagger sunk into his chest.

“The Lannister’s send their regards,” you heard him whisper and you lunged for him only to be pulled back by yet another one of the Frey men.

“Take her to the kennels for the night. Her mother wants to see her,” Walder Frey called out as one of his sons dragged you out the room.

You let your body go limp as you listened to Catelyn’s scream echo the once happy hall. You let yourself be dragged, acting as if you could not walk. Tears streamed down your cheeks, but you didn’t have to pretend to let them flow.

However as soon as you were the only ones in the corridor your fingers felt for the hilt of your dagger, your fingers wrapping around the black leather. Your eyes glanced up to the distracted Frey man. You glanced forward, making sure the corridor was empty before slamming your head back into his mouth making him cry out and drop you.

This time you were ready though as you spun around, your dagger sinking through the side of his throat. When you pulled it back, he collapsed to his knees, blood squirting out his neck as his body fell lifelessly to the ground. You didn’t have time to watch the light leave his eyes as it had Robbs.

Your hands reached for his belt, undoing it quickly before tightening it around your own waist. Next was his cloak. It was too long but would work for now you thought as you put up the hood before taking off down the corridor. Your hands squeezed the pouch on his belt as you ran, and you sighed of relief when you could feel coins through it. his sword was heavier than you’d like but you knew you could handle it. before anyone knew what had happened you were already at the forest edge on the back of a Frey horse.

The next couple of weeks were possibly the worst of your life. You wanted to mourn, to curl up in a ball and sob. You wanted to die. However, you couldn’t. you had to live. Robb wanted you to live. As you walked the forest you often felt your hand hover over your stomach.

Baby Robb you thought. Or Catelyn for a girl. Your bloods hadn’t arrived for little over three months. At first you thought it was the stress of war but as you stood on the forest edge, listening to the faint sounds of your men being slaughtered as you escaped you knew. You knew you were pregnant, and you wondered if Robb would’ve run if he had known.

If you had not come across the brother hood without banners you wondered if you would have survived much longer with such a large bounty on your head. Soon though your mission became less about surviving and more about getting revenge.

When you sunk an arrow into the chest of the first Frey you came upon you remembered your anger and soon it almost became like a sport. It wasn’t hard to find a Frey to kill and they rarely put up a fight. It was the Lannister’s that were harder. Though many knew you and thought they could convince you to return to your family’s side.

You made sure to stab they ones twice. You never stabbed to kill, however. You enjoyed watching them crawl away, desperate to find help, but knowing they’d bleed out before finding any. But revenge is not a survival tool you soon learned.

You had been washing your face down at the stream near where you and the brotherhood had chosen to set up camp. It was almost peaceful here. The birds were chirping, deer walked around with no care in the world. Feeling the sweat wash off your face as your splashed yourself with the cool water was the best feeling you had had since the wedding.

For a moment, a single moment, you tried to forget it all. You let yourself enjoy the stream, your fingers hovering in the water, enjoying how the water flowed around them. You looked up across the stream, smiling at the stag that stood across the water from you. Dad. The idea pained your chest. Everything was so much simpler before.

When the stag began to kick you squinted, moving to stand to help the creature when you felt a hand grab a chunk of your hair. You tried to scream, to reach for his hand, but the ice-cold water entering your mouth made it hard to even move. You tried to thrash but you did little but make the water splash. You could hear muffle voices from atop the water but with no clue who they belonged to.

Your eyes stung as you tried to look up. You managed to turn your head just enough to see the stag out the corner of your eye. You wondered if the wolf that had pawed its way up to stand by the stag was real. It almost looked as if it was smiling down at you. your hands slipped away from your attacker’s grip as your body grew stiller. Your eyes stayed on the stag and wolf. When you need me, you’ll have me. Your fathers’ words echoed in the water. I love you too much you could hear Robbs voice whisper before everything faded to black.

“Where is she?” Cerci demanded as her apparent cousins she’d never heard of stood before her throne. “You said you had my daughter,”

“Yes, my queen,” the man bowed before turning to signal for a crate to be brought forward, “We have her right here,”

“Are there air holes in that box?” Tyrion asked, walking down the stairs from the throne to the crate the mountain had sat down with less than grace.

“Why would we need airholes my lord?” the man’s words even made cerci stand from her throne as Tyrion began to pry the crate open with his dagger, “Your grace we were told she had committed treason. She murdered my father your grace, your cousin. She was dangerous I’m telling you my grace you have to believe me,” the man pleaded but it fell on deaf ears as Cersei approached the crate.

Tyrion slowly pried it open, his eyes peeking inside before gasping, slamming its lid shut as he backed away, “What is it brother?”

“Don’t look in there” Tyrion begged as cerci approached the crate, “Don’t look in there! Any of you,” he screeched.

Cercis eyes were cold as stone as she looked from the crate to the mountain then to her cousin. The mans eyes widened in terror as the mountain carried him out wordlessly, “Please your grace. I thought this is what you wanted,” he screamed.

“Get out,” Cersi muttered, “All of you out!” she screamed making everyone, but Tyrion flee out the room. Her eyes were locked on the crate, “Is she-?” she tried to ask as Tyrion stood from where he had keeled over on the floor.

His feet scraped the ground as he walked over to stand by his sister, “She’s dead,” he said, his voice cold but tears streaked down his cheeks, “They killed her,” Cersei’s hand reached to open to crate, but Tyrion shuddered as he turned around, “Do not make me look at her,” he begged.

“I have to know,” she murmured as she took the lid off the crate, her eyes wound shut till she heard the lid clatter to the ground. Cerci opened her eyes, expecting to see her daughter asleep in a box but she gasped when she saw the reality. “No,” she gasped, her hand clutching her heart as she stepped towards the crate.

“Look what you’ve done,” Tyrion said through gritted teeth, “Look at the girl you had killed!”

“I never- I didn’t mean- I didn’t want her to die,” cerci said as she reached out to stroke her daughter’s hair but when Tyrion saw out the corner of his eye, he slapped her hand away. “I- “

“You do not touch her!” he screeched, “She is dead because of you! all of this is because of you,” he yelled at his sister before noticing a new horror reach her eyes. Tyrion choked back his tears, trying to hold his stomach steady as he peered back into the box, “Oh my gods,” he whispered as he backed away from the box.

“I didn’t know,” Cersi whispered, her eyes unable to move.

“You killed your own grandchild,” Tyrion whispered, venom dripping off his tongue as he backed away from his sister, “Your own daughter! Your flesh and your blood!” he began to yell once more.

“I didn’t mean to- “Cersei tried to beg, tears falling from her eyes as she backed away from the crate.

“That doesn’t matter,” Tyrion said coldly as he glared up at his older sister, “She is dead because of you. and I hope that haunts you till your last breath,”

Taglist: @clairacassidy @valeskafics @nyotamalfoy

#robb stark #robb stark x reader #robb stark imagine #robb stark angst #robb stark x you #robb stark x y/n #game of thrones #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones angst #baratheon daughter #robert baratheron x daughter reader #got #got x reader #got imagine #got angst #asoiaf #asoiaf x reader

602 notes · View notes

humanpurposes · 4 months

Text

We're Born At Night

Chapter 1

Lady Rhaelle Targaryen of Runestone travels to King's Landing to plead for her sister's life, though the King she must bow to is a kinslayer three times over, and the very man who slaughtered her father

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x Rhaelle Targaryen (OFC)

Warnings: 18+, eventual smut, politics, mentions of death and war

Words: 4.3k

A/n: a self-indulgent post-dance fic and I'm excited about it :)

She rocks with the carriage as it rolls over the cobbled streets of King’s Landing. Bricks and tiles in dull shades of red, yellow and browns move past the window, and the air is thick with dust and all sorts of unpleasant smells.

Her heart sinks at the absence of greenery, like the forests and fields that surround Runestone, the sounds of rivers and streams, the bright bursts of colour in the wildflowers. The Red Keep overlooks Blackwater Bay, she remembers that. She loved rising early to watch the sunrise, to see the waves glow red and gold. She loved going down to the beach below the castle to feel the warm summer sun on her face and dip her toes into the cold water.

It is autumn now. Grey clouds dull the sunlight and there is a chill in the air.

Daena sits opposite her, tugging at her sleeves and the collar of her travelling cloak. They are in matching gowns of dark green velvet, newly made for their visit to court; a cheap play for the King’s favour, but she needs all the help she can get.

Her younger sister’s constant fussing is irritating, but Rhaelle cannot blame her.

“You look beautiful, my lady,” says Morra, Rhaelle’s handmaiden who sits beside her, a sharp and observant young woman.

Daena’s harshly violet eyes glare up at her. She gives a small huff and drops her arms into her lap. “I look better in red,” she says.

“Careless talk like that will cost you your tongue the moment we’re through the castle gates,” Rhaelle warns.

Daena tuts and turns her head towards the window. “What an awful place,” she says.

Rhaelle pulls back the thin curtain with the tip of her finger. Miserable faces, crowds of bodies, market stalls, bands of mummers, and an endless array of buildings pass her by. She has prayed to the old gods and the new that their visit to the Red Keep will be short, but that is wishful thinking and she has never been much of an optimist.

Ten years ago she had been hunting with her late mother’s cousin, Ser Gerold, when a raven appeared over the hills, headed for Runestone. It had filled her with an inexplicable dread and she could not understand why until she returned to the castle to learn of the death of Laena Velaryon, her step-mother. Daemon had summoned his eldest three daughters to Driftmark to see her laid to rest and mourn alongside two sisters they had never met. In a matter of days, Ser Laenor was dead too, Daemon had married Princess Rhaenyra on Dragonstone, and had plans for three more marriages.

Their oldest sister, Alyssa, and Prince Jacaerys were married at the Red Keep little more than a month later, she being sixteen and he a boy of ten. Baela was betrothed to Prince Lucerys, and Rhaelle was betrothed to Prince Joffrey, only a babe at the time.

While Rhaelle and Daera had returned to Runestone, Alyssa had remained at Dragonstone with her husband and so her fate had been sealed.

They come to a gatehouse made of red stone, where the banners of House Targaryen loom proudly over the walls and flutter in the breeze. The sight sparks a memory Rhaelle had forgotten she had, and suddenly it feels like she never left this place at all. Her family’s sigil, the three-headed dragon, should be more familiar to her than it really is. She finds more comfort in the colours of white and bronze, black pebbles and the ancient runes of her mother’s house.

She looks down at her own sleeves, at the runes embroidered into the cuffs with golden thread. The right reads the words of House Royce: We remember. On the left though, is a saying far older, so old that no one can truly say where it came from, only that it has been passed down in proverbs amongst those who carry the blood of the first men. Now they are written in books and scripture, carved onto tombs, whispered in prayers said before a weirwood, spoken to her by her mother: Learn to die.

Did those words pass the lips of Rhea Royce when she fell from her horse and cracked her head open on a rock? Did they echo through her mind when she lay in her bed, either unconscious or incoherent for nine days?

Does Alyssa utter them to herself in the darkness of the Black Cells?

The carriage comes to a stop. Rhaelle takes a deep breath, checks that her hair is neatly pinned back, that her gown sits right and that her boots are spotless. There can be no room for weakness here, not where people will judge every move she makes, note every word she says and stare into her eyes as if to read her very thoughts.

The door is opened for her and she steps out into the courtyard clutching the hand of one of her household guards.

Lord Corlys is waiting to greet them by the steps to the castle, dressed in fine robes of sea green and silver. On his collar she spots a gleam of gold, the pin that marks him as the Hand of the King.

When she had last seen Lord Corlys he was the Seasnake, a naval hero who carved out his own legacy and built his seat of Hightide to fill with the trophies of his victories. Now Hightide is nothing more than ruins buried in ash and Lord Corlys is an old man leaning on a cane, with long silver locks, a thick white beard and a tired look in his eyes, the look of a man who has seen his last war.

He offers her a small bow of his head. “Lady Rhaelle, what an honour it is to welcome you to the Red Keep.”

Daena follows her and greets Lord Corlys with a perfect curtsey. He smiles and notes how much they have changed since he last saw them, but they were girls then, young and sweet, only grieving their first loss.

Morra takes their travelling cloaks before Lord Corlys leads them inside, followed by their household guard. The halls are quiet and solemn, the colours she remembers from childhood somehow duller and she wonders if it is because she is older.

Eyes fall to the sisters easily and whispers echo wherever they walk. She hears a faint whisper of “traitor” as they come to the great stairwell in the very heart of the castle. She looks around her and above, up into the cavernous space overhead where faces peer down from balconies and galleries, made hazy by smoke and heat from the braziers.

Traitor, the accusation clings in her stomach and throat, until Daena’s hand gently wraps around her wrist and urges her to walk on. But perhaps the whispers are right. She is the daughter of a traitor, the sister of a traitor, perhaps it is in her blood and she cannot escape it.

They are shown to their chambers in the west wing of the castle. A small reception room joins two privy chambers and two bedchambers beyond that. It is a pity, she would have liked a room where she could see Blackwater Bay or the Kingswood to the south.

Her bedroom is a little smaller than her own bedchamber at Runestone, decorated with tapestries, furnishings and details in green, gold, red and black. She looks from the window, over the towering walls of Maegor’s Holdfast of her lavishly decorated prison, a thought which she immediately reprimands herself for. She will not allow herself such pity, not while her sister is a prisoner.

Alyssa had stayed by her husband’s side through the war, donned a widow’s veil when he fell in battle and decided that she would stay on Dragonstone when Rhaenyra took King’s Landing.

The war went on. Alyssa's letters stopped abruptly. Word came that the commonfolk had revolted against Rhaenyra, and her own betrothed, the boy Joffrey, was slain in the fighting.

Then came the raven from King Aegon. Rhaenyra was dead and their remaining siblings had been taken captive: Little Aegon, Baela, Rhaena, and Alyssa. She can still the words scrawled onto the parchment: “She has been treated with no unnecessary cruelty.”

Aegon wouldn’t have dared lay a hand on Baela and Rhaena, not with Lord Corlys on his small council. Alyssa had no such protection, not with their father rotting alongside the corpse of the dragon at the bottom of the God’s Eye.

And now the man who slaughtered him wears the crown.

Lord Corlys has invited her to dine with him, in his chambers in the Tower of the Hand. Daylight fades swiftly into twilight as she crosses the courtyard that her bedchamber overlooks, past the lowered drawbridge of the Holdfast. With winter approaching, the days are growing shorter.

A servant of Lord Corlys’ leads her up a single flight of stairs, through a reception room and into a small dining hall. The table is set with fine silverware and glass cups, lit by flickering flames of candles and a blazing hearth. Lord Corlys sits at the head of the table and rises to meet her. She offers him her hand, and he presses his lips to her knuckles.

“Is your sister not joining us, my lady?” he asks.

She smiles politely. Daena fears for Alyssa’s life as much as she does, but she is not meant for the delicacy of a negotiation.

Her place is set to his right and as she sits he pours her out a glass of wine. “From the Summer Isles,” he says. “I could never understand why anyone would bother with the stuff that comes from the Arbour.”

“We are lovers of ale and cider in the Vale,” Rhaelle says, “but I trust your taste, my Lord.”

They raise their glasses to each other and take small sips as two servants bring in plates of beef, bread and butter, and roasted vegetables. They move like shadows between the candlelight, their footsteps light, their movements gentle and unobtrusive. They are gone as quickly as they came.

When the door is shut, Lord Corlys leans forward with his elbows on the table and his hands clasped together. He says quietly, “I intend to put your matter to the King in the morning.”

Rhaelle places her glass down on the table, her hand lingering on the base. Sadness suddenly strikes her heart. “You mean you have not spoken to him at all?”

“I have told him you seek to improve your position, and the position of your younger sister, of which he has been supportive.”

“But what about the matters we have discussed?” she asks.

His eyes are distant, settled on nothing in particular. He reaches to take a roll of bread from the table, but he does not eat it, he simply places it on his plate. “Lady Alyssa is an admirable woman, truly. She reminds me much of Baela–”

“Not admirable enough for you to appeal on her behalf,” Rhaelle says sharply. “I only wish to see her returned to her home, to Runestone.”

“In the eyes of the King, she is a traitor to the realm. She challenged the true line of succession.”

“As did you,” she says, “at the start of the war, you pledged your support for Rhaenyra.”

“Aye, I did, for the good of my family, and the cost was great.”

“Greater than siding with those who killed your wife?”

Corlys looks to her with a grave expression. “And Aemond killed your father, but you have come to his court, in the hopes of lobbying him, to plead for his mercy and his favour.”

But that’s different, isn’t it? Her father was a rare presence at Runestone, his name hanging over her head like an unspoken secret. He did not come to lay his first wife to rest, but he had tried to claim her inheritance and had no difficulty condemning their daughter to a marriage that would tie her to a war.

“I just want my sister to be safe,” she utters.

“I want that too,” Lord Corlys says and she can almost believe him.

“When can I speak to him? When will he release her?”

He takes a slow breath. “We must approach this matter with caution,” he says, “and it will be worth your while. Many say Aemond is a far more reasonable man than his brother was.”

“You served them both. What do you have to say on Aemond’s reason?”

A sad look falls over his face. He looks the way he did the day his daughter was buried. “Aemond is just, in his own way, but the Targaryens have always ruled with fire and blood, and he is no exception.”

When she returns to her bedchamber, she finds Daena curled up on a chaise by the dying hearth.

“She wished to see you after your dinner with Lord Corlys,” Morra mutters as Rhaelle fetches a blanket from the bed and drapes it over her sister. “It has been a tedious few months, and I do not doubt she is tired after the journey from Runestone.”

As a child, Rhaelle often wondered if she and her sisters had been born cursed. They had inherited nothing of their father’s looks save for his violet eyes; three Targaryen girls with dark curls and the stern face of their mother. Daena has always had a softness that she and Alyssa never had, a fuller face, a smaller nose, slight but pouted lips and large eyes. She looks like a doll, even in sleep.

She smooths her hand over Daena’s head, lightly so she will not disturb her, like she used to do when she was a babe. Daena makes a small humming noise in her chest but does not rouse.

She wishes her sister could rise from her sleep well rested, to a world where she would never know fear or uncertainty. Such a possibility seems close; in her heart she chases it like a hare, a flash of movement through a forest. She need only draw an arrow and strike her target.

Rhaelle is awake before dawn. By the time Daena will have started to stir, Morra has her bathed, skin scrubbed with sugar and honey then scented with lavender oil, dressed, then adds the finishing touches to her hair. She takes the top half and braids it around Rhaelle’s head like a crown, the rest falling freely down her back. With no Queen, the ladies of the court are said to follow the fashions of Princess Rhaenyra and Queen Helaena. If she is to be a lady of Aemond’s court, a Targaryen, she must appear the part.

She breaks her fast in her privy chamber. Servants bring in jugs of cherry juice, bowls of sweet stewed oats, platters of blackberry tarts and slices of apple dusted with sugar and cinnamon. The sun rises over the courtyard and a pale shade of red shines through the window where the light reflects from the red stone of the Holdfast.

Daena bounces into the room like an excitable child and takes a blackberry tart before she has even taken a seat. She will need to work on her table manners before she dines before the King and his court, Rhaelle notes. Her hair has been brought into one thick braid that falls over her shoulder and her gown is black, like Rhaelle’s, but detailed with silver rather than gold.

“What did Lord Corlys say to you last night?” she asks, following her pastry with a sip of cherry juice.

“He said that he means to put our cause to the King, and that we must employ patience.”

Daena scoffs, “patience?”

Rhaelle shares a pointed look with Morra, standing by the table. “We have no other choice,” she says, “and you will mind what you say, even in private, even when you think we are alone.”

“I thought the Master of Whispers had been put to death, or does Larys Strong still manage to spy on the Kingdom without a head?”

“And will you continue to slander the King if I find a smith to wrench out your tongue?”

Daena glares at her, then pouts her lips to stifle a giggle.

They finish their meal in relative peace and when they are done, Rhaelle is left with a pleasantly sharp sweetness on her tongue from the fruit. Morra adorns her with jewellery, all gold and set with rubies, a chain about her waist, earrings and a necklace. For the final touch she dabs tinted rosewater on her cheeks and lips.

“They say he’s terribly dull,” Daena says, patiently waiting her turn.

Rhaelle frowns at her through the mirror. “The King?”

“Tyland fucking Lannister– yes, the King.”

Prince Joffrey had been far too young to be her escort to the wedding of Alyssa and Prince Jacaerys. Aegon was already betrothed to Helaena, and so on the day of the festivities Rhaelle had been presented with a sombre looking, silver-haired Prince. He frowned constantly, which she did not doubt had something to do with the cut through his left eye. The wound and his skin was red, held together with stitches. He often had his hands balled into fists, breathing deeply through his nose as though he was in pain. He tried to talk to her about his studies, and asked her about the histories of Runestone and House Royce. He led her through one dance after dinner before he retreated to his chambers. She had despaired with Alyssa the next day that she hadn’t been allowed to be escorted by any other young man of the court. That boy is a man now, and a kinslayer thrice over.

“Better a dull King than a drunk King, I suppose,” she says quietly.

“Who’s a slanderer now?” Daena says with a wicked smile.

There are less clouds in the sky this morning. Sunlight bleeds through tall windows and floods the halls of the castle. It is more lively now, servants hurry about with baskets of food and fresh linens, men and women in all their finery walk through courtyards and galleries, though most are gathering at the throne room.

Rhaelle and Daena stay arm in arm, until they reach the entrance hall and the great oak doors that lead into the great hall.

“These carvings are new,” Rhaelle wonders aloud. The stone is cleaner here than it is in the rest of the castle, images of dragons carved into walls, pillars and archways.

She hears the ominous hum of voices on the other side of the doors. She can picture them, the staring faces like a pack of wolves eager to sink their teeth and claws into the daughters of Daemon Targaryen.

And she can picture the Iron Throne, where her uncle once sat with the golden crown of the Consolidator atop his head.

Daena leans in close to Rhaelle’s ear, tightening her hold on her arm. “But he was a dragonrider, and a warrior, surely he cannot be so dull.”

She tries to imagine that boy from the wedding feast, his serious expression, his round little face, a single sad blue eye darting around the hall. Then she imagines a killer, a bloodthirsty monster with fangs for teeth and talons for hands. She cannot place them in the same body.

“They say he has a sapphire set in the empty socket, but that he wears an eyepatch so as not to frighten the ladies at court.”

She has heard of this story, like Ser Symeon star eyes. “How considerate of him,” Rhaelle adds, glancing over her shoulder but no one seems to have heard them. She clenches her jaw and takes slow, steady breaths in the hopes that it will calm her nerves, just enough to get through this ordeal.

“I wonder if he is handsome?” Daena adds.

He’ll be wearing the Conqueror’s Crown, Valyrian steel and set with square rubies, the same worn by his brother, by Maegor the Cruel. She has only seen it in history books.

“There were awful rumours about Aegon, but he has his own now, doesn’t he?”

He will surely have Blackfyre by his side too, unless he managed to claim Dark Sister from their father’s hands once he was slain. Would he take it as a trophy of war? The thought makes her stomach churn.

“The Harrenhal whore,” Daena hisses.

This tale she is also familiar with. Aemond had marched to Harrenhal and left King’s Landing undefended. When he arrived at that cursed castle and heard the news that he had lost the capital, he slaughtered all of House Strong for treachery, save for a bastard woman, some kind of servant who he took as a bedmate. “He made her Lady of Harrenhal,” she adds, much to the ire of the realm’s Lords.

"A generous patron then," Daena chuckles, and then she falters. She lowers her voice even further till it is scarcely a breath against Rhaelle’s ear. “Will he kill Alyssa too?”

A familiar feeling of fear strikes her in her chest, squeezing on her heart and lungs. She can make no promises, not before she hears the sound of wood creaking as the doors are swung open and the voice of Ser Willis Fell calls, “Lady Rhaelle Targaryen of Runestone, and her sister, Lady Daena Targaryen!”

She drops Daena’s hand on instinct and takes a step before her like a sworn shield. The hungry faces stare up at them but she looks ahead, to the Iron Throne, to the man who sits amongst the mass of swords.

He is too distant for her to make out the details of his face, but they become clearer as she walks through the hall. If there are any whispers of “traitor,” she does not hear them.

The crown sits proudly upon his head of silver hair, long enough to pass his shoulders and fall to his chest. He is dressed all in black with no other distinguishable colours other than the silver buckles on his jerkin, and wears an eyepatch over the left side of his face.

She stops at the base of the steps leading up to the throne, knowing Daena is lingering behind her. Now she sees more of him, the line of his scar, the sharp angles of his face, his jaw, his cheeks, his nose. Most of all her attention is drawn to his mouth, to the curve of his lips, the way they settle in an expression that could almost be amused, were it not for the look of fury and hunger in his remaining eye, which is violet, like her father’s, like hers.

Lord Corlys stands by his side, but she keeps her eyes on the King and curtseys as deeply as she can. She feels her legs trembling under her skirt, her hands shaking by her sides no matter how she wills them to stop. Aemond stares at her all the while, not sparing a glance for Daena who will be following her lead.

“My King,” she says, only to find her jaw is trembling too. She dare not take her eyes from Aemond, should he take it as a sign of weakness.

She knows the words she must say, Lord Corlys had been very specific, but there’s a thick feeling in her throat, a reluctance that she never had before, now that Aemond’s one eye is boring into her very soul.

She allows herself a breath. “My King, my sister and I have come to renounce the pretender, Rhaenyra, and all those who supported her treason, including our late father–” her eyes fall to the ground before she can stop herself.

“You have come to ask something of me, cousin?” Aemond says. His voice, hauntingly gentle, draws her eyes back up to him.

“We have come to beg your forgiveness, and pledge our undying love and fealty to you,” she bows her head once more, “the one true King.”

Relief lifts a weight from her body but fear creeps under her skin like a fever, burning and chilling all at once. Murmurs fill the air and she hears Daena let out an exhale of breath, further away than she had expected her to be.

She keeps her head down as she sees movement in front of her, as the murmurs die down and the sound of tauntingly slow footsteps approach her where she kneels.

“Rise, my Lady,” Aemond says.

She does as she is instructed, straightens her body, her neck, and the last thing she lifts is her gaze.

There is something sinister in the intensity of his eye as it moves about her face, the care he takes in reaching for her hand and pressing an achingly light kiss to it that lingers on her skin, but then he does not let her go. He holds his hand firmly over hers as if to keep his kiss there. “You shall be an honoured guest in my court, Lady Rhaelle.”

She cannot tell if this is kindness or a butcher calming a lamb before the slaughter.

He goes to Daena and kisses her hand, but he does not hold her the way he did Rhaelle.

“Those of my blood who are loyal shall always have a place at my court,” he says to the hall and is met with a cautious applause.

Rhaelle meets Daena’s eye as they turn to face the crowd. Her sister frowns innocently, wide eyes begging for an explanation. Why should they trust him? Why should they have to appeal to him when they played no part in the war, when they did not challenge his brother’s inheritance? Why should they beg for forgiveness from a kinslayer King?

Aemond looks over his subjects with his head held high and his hands behind his back. He carries no sword, just a knife tucked in on his right hip. He does not regard his people with the warmth of King Viserys, instead he watches them like he’s looking for fear, like he thrives in it.

And he is so utterly captivating.

Tags (comment to be added)

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria @lacebvnny

Series taglist: @adragonprinceswhore @persephonerinyes @gemini-mama @aemondzyrys @snh96 @magnificentdelusionr