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dilatorywriting · 1 year

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Monster Mayhem: Donkeys & Dragons [PART 2]

Gender Neutral Reader x Malleus Draconia Word Count: 3.1k

Summary: Everything's all fun and games until everyone assumes you're just being a Horny BardTM when you have, in fact, actually been kidnapped by a dragon.

🌶️ Obligatory Warning for Mild Spice

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [EPILOGUE]

“Wow,” Ace whistled, long and low, and you fought a twitch in your jaw.

He and Deuce were certainly beat to shit, but not quite ‘hurled dozens of feet through the air and a roof’ level of shit, so your spell must have cushioned at least a little of the fall. The pair of idiots stood at the entrance of the cavernous room, shifting back and forth on their heels and faces twisted up in varying degrees of horror.

“I mean, I know there’s a stereotype about bards and whatever,” he continued, aghast. “But, really? Really?”

You grit your teeth. The pointed chin resting atop your head shifted and you felt claws flex at your hips.

‘My friends will probably be coming back here soon to find me,’ you’d entreated, not five-minutes prior.

‘Your friends?’ the dragon had repeated, slow, like the concept of comradery was something completely alien. And then his eyes had narrowed. ‘Ah. They intend to steal you away,’ he’d said with all the indignation of someone who’d clearly forgotten he had literally just proclaimed his intent to the do the exact same thing.

Sparks had shot out from between his teeth, and the already too-sharp black nails tipping his fingers had curled into talons—ashy darkness trailing up his arms like a seeping stain.

‘What? No,’ you’d lied. ‘They would never. I’m sure they’re just curious. Whether I’m still alive or not, I mean.’

‘Oh,’ he’d blinked, that venomous ire seeping from his gaze as if it’d never been there to begin with. ‘I suppose that does make sense.’

So when your loveable idiots had eventually stormed in—swords drawn, banners flying—you schooled your countenance into something as placid as possible. Something that perhaps conveyed ‘I would love for you guys to help me out here, but also I would really like not to see the three of us become tonight’s entrée. So like. Maybe sit this one out.’ But whatever expression you ended up making clearly wasn’t doing what you were aiming for if Ace’s first instinct was to accuse you of Horny Bard Shenanigans.

Or maybe your face wasn’t the problem. Maybe it was just the nearly seven-foot-tall, naked, dragon man draped across your shoulders. Who’s to say.

“This has nothing to do with that,” you snapped, ears burning.

“Do with what?” The newly dubbed Tsunotarou rumbled. He was pressed close enough that you could feel the worlds roll through his chest—annnnd you were going to stop yourself right there and focus very, very, intently on getting through this conversation alive.

“Human things,” you spluttered frantically.

“Ah,” he hummed, his chin shifting from the crown of your head to dip down and instead rest atop the curve of your shoulder. “You’ll have to explain it to me later, then. I do find our cultural differences very intriguing. You humans are so… new age.”

“Explain it to you later…?” Deuce frowned, and you could see the words zipping around behind his eyes to slowly put themselves together into a cohesive thought. He shot ramrod straight and whipped his arm out accusatorily. “You’re staying?!”

“Of course,” you said, with all the enthusiasm of someone with a knife held to their throat. You locked eyes as obviously as you could—hoping he’d get the message. “It’s in everyone’s best interest.”

You could see the pinched look on his face, the heavy weight of discontentment tugging at his brow. There was a war being waged in that man’s head—a battle between what lingering, frail, shreds of rationality and comprehension remained, and the desire to be a good friend and save our bard! Because mama said I should be good to my friends! You stared him down hard, silently begging, pleading, to just let it go. The fingers gripping his axe tightened and you could hear the leather of his gauntlets creak with strain. Tsunotarou hummed, something like amusement coloring the throaty rumble, and it tingled all the way from the tips of your toes to the cheek he was tucked up against. The claws at your side flexed—not deep enough to hurt, but firm enough to know that funny as the notion of a teeny, human, barbarian hurling themselves at a dragon was, it wasn’t going to be a good enough joke to earn said dragon’s mercy.

“Well, duh, you’re staying!” Ace interrupted slickly, sliding in front of Deuce and his burbling rage like a fox finally skulking from its hole. “Look at what a great new friendyou’ve made! You can’t just leave him here all on his lonesome, now can you?”

The low rumble skirting along your back melted into something that was very nearly a purr. Your eyes flickered to your captor’s face—or as much of his face as you could manage to make out, considering he had plastered himself to your side like an overgrown cat. His lips were curled back into that smug, contented, smirk—the tips of his sharp canines just barely peeked out over his bottom lip.

“We’ll come back and check on you, of course,” Ace continued. He waved his hand at the dragon, like they were old chums shooting the shit over a pint of ale in a tavern. “You know how it is. Gotta make sure they’re settling in all right—make sure you’re keeping with your honorable intentions and whatnot. How’s two weeks from now sound?”

“Two weeks?!” you wailed.

Tsunotarou grumbled, clearly also displeased. “I agree. That seems far too soon.”

“Two months?” the ginger countered easily.

“Ace!”

The dragon seemed to consider this new proposal quite thoroughly. You could feel his long lashes flick down against your cheek as his eyes went hooded, heavy—slipping back into his thoughts to ponder upon this newly proffered timeline. After a long, long, moment, he lifted himself from your neck and plonked his chin back down atop the crown of your head.

“That is acceptable.”

Deuce looked entirely unimpressed. You had a feeling you looked like you were about to shit yourself. Ace, naturally, seemed more or less content.

“Well then!” the traitor chirped. “We’ll see you when we see you then, yeah?”

You grit you teeth, but your gaze flicked to your other, kinder, friend and you bit back the slew of heinous insults brewing on your tongue. Deuce still looked more than ready to jump into the fray, consequences be damned. And you were not going to let your terrible, horrible, no-good, rotten luck end all his valiant attempts at redemption when he inevitably attempted to go toe-to-toe with the business end of a dragon.

“…Are you sure you’re gonna be alright here?” Deuce asked, face twisted up in distaste.

There was a pissy rumble from over your shoulder.

“Do you doubt my abilities as a host?”

“Of course he doesn’t!” Ace cut in, ever the bootlicker. “And besides,” he drawled, elbowing his companion in the ribs. “You know how bards are. I’m sure this is right up their alley.” He wiggled his eyebrows and Deuce went pale—then green. Ace turned on you with a smile that was all vinegar. “Right?”

‘I should not let them be murdered horribly,’ you repeated to yourself past the crimson rage leaking into your vision. ‘I should not let them be horribly murdered—’

“Righteo!” you forced yourself to spit. And if you somehow managed to survive these next two months, you were going to string that red haired traitor up by his pinkies and feed him to the crows that lived outside your window.

Your friends slipped away slowly, hesitantly—Deuce looking like he’d been struck down by a horrid case of food poisoning or something else equally as stomach churning. Once they were gone, Tsunotarou lifted his chin from your head so that he could crane his neck over your shoulder and look at you more directly. Not that he had to try very hard, seeing as he was gigantic, whether on two legs or four.

“What was the small, ugly, one referring to?” he asked curiously. “About your profession?”

Your life flashed before your eyes.

“Bards are known for their hearty curiosity and drive to experience new situations,” you repeated, verbatim, from the little adventurer’s handbook you’d been gifted by Lord Crewel all those years ago.

“Oh,” he hummed, nodding into your hair. “Of course.”

The first major hurdle cropped up barely two hours later.

“I need to use the bathroom.”

The dragon blinked slowly, as if mentally tallying through a list of human bodily functions to try and figure out just what on earth you were talking about.

“Ah,” he said after a moment. And then he began to melt away—limbs stretching and cracking, and porcelain complexion bubbling up with inky miasma so thick and dark it may as well have been tar. It was both horrifying and awe-inspiring to watch, like some great creature of old emerging from an arcane cocoon. And not two minutes later, a familiar, ebony, dragon was standing before you in all its glory.

He lowered his snout and nosed around your shoulders for a moment, snuffling and searching. And then he pinched your collar between his teeth and hauled you into the air.

You tried not to scream. Really, you did. But humans just weren’t meant for flying, let alone while suspended between the jaws of a beast that could swallow them whole. By the time you landed, you were so wobbly and windswept that you nearly collapsed to the ground then and there, bladder be damned. Tsunotarou warbled something deep in his chest, and you glanced up past the thin veil of icy sweat dripping into your eyes.

He'd placed you into a blown-out enclave that had probably once been a very nice hallway. And in the corner was the remains of what indeed looked like a bathroom. You straightened yourself as much as you could and began hobbling woozily towards what you hoped was a proper, enchanted, toilet and not just some block of stone with a bowl at the bottom.

There was an echoing thud from behind you and you jumped, startled, and turned to see what the ruckus was all about. Tsunotarou had sat his massive head at the entrance. And he continued to sit there. Watching.

“Uhm,” you mumbled. “Thank you.”

He stared, unmoving. You sighed and squashed your fingers into your temples.

“…We’re going to have to establish some boundaries,” you said. The dragon’s gigantic, neon, eyes closed and opened—like a question. “Boundaries,” you repeated. “Things that we do on our own.”

The beast’s lips flattened into a grumpy line and he grumbled something unintelligible at you, spitting loose sparks from behind his overly long canines.

However, mouthful of razor-sharp teeth in your face or otherwise, everyone had to draw the line between pride and self-preservation somewhere. And having to piss in front of an audience was apparently yours.

You waved your hands in a shoo shoo motion and those amethyst crests flattened irritably atop his skull. He settled in further, the structure of the terrace groaning beneath the weight of his scaly chin. You worried your lower lip between your teeth. It wasn’t exactly like there was a door or anything that you could just, like, shut in his face. And beating him off with a broom or something like a stray cat was out of the question—just out of sheer impossibility. You were going to have to get creative here…

An idea popped into your head and you leaned forward with a charismatic little smile that you’d unleashed on so many traders, and shopkeepers, and unsuspecting bakers that it ought to be considered a weapon in its own right. You’d practiced it in the mirror for weeks.

“I’ll tell you a story,” you offered, and his slitted pupils rounded a bit—intrigued. “That’s what I was before all this, you know. A storyteller.” You had his full interest now, those purple crests rippling behind his horns. “But you have to close your eyes,” you said. “It makes it easier to imagine that way.”

He stared you down curiously for a heartbeat or three, and then Tsunotarou’s gigantic, luminous, eyes slipped shut.

You sighed and plopped yourself down on the decrepit, stone, toilet.

“Once upon a time,” you began, sweeping your cloak out in front of you to give yourself at least a little bit more dignity. One of those crests twitched at the sound of swirling fabric, but his eyes remained dutifully closed. “There was a bard who made some very terrible life decisions—"

The next bump in the road came the following afternoon.

“People tend to wear clothes,” you said.

He canted his head at you. “I am not a person.”

Oh for fucks sake.

Tsunotarou was stretched out along one of the many, grand, banisters lining what you assumed had once been a ballroom—lounging in the dim light like a lizard sunning itself on a rock. Apparently, before your arrival, he’d very rarely, if ever, shed his wings and scales for this more compact form. And he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying spreading himself out across all the new surfaces that the change in size allowed him. Part of you would have thought it was a bit endearing—seeing this eldritch monster merrily falling into the ‘if I fits, I sits’ way of life. The other part was sick of nearly collapsing in cardiac arrest every time you caught sight of his very naked self reclining across some new piece of furniture.

“Yes,” you intoned, deadpan. “But you look like one.”

He blinked slowly, as if putting together a thought. “I see. The dissonance of observing a vestige of humanity which does not actually fit the mold of a human must be disconcerting to you.” He rested a knuckle lightly against his chin as he pondered. “In the same way I may feel uncomfortable if you took on the form a dragon with no teeth or tail.”

“Sure. Whatever,” you bemoaned. “Just. Pants? Please?”

He observed you quietly for a moment, amusement dancing across his features. And then he grinned, putting the pointed tips of those impressive canines of his on full display.

“Well I suppose if you’re going to ask so sweetly.”

He sat up with a stretch that was outright spitting in the face of your plea for modesty, and then spread his hands. His black-tipped fingers twisted gracefully, artfully, and the cavernous room filled with the scent of packed earth and ozone. Soft puffs of emerald light glided along his arms, and in their wake sprouted tendrils of sheer, silken, sleeves. Those dancing lights traveled merrily from his shoulders to his hips, and then back again—spinning magic into fabric like little, ghostly, seamstresses as they went.

The soft glow faded and the silk settled around him with all the delicacy of a cloud. It was stunning, certainly. A true work of beauty. With billowing sleeves that cinched neatly at his wrists, and swept into an open window across his front. The fabric wrapped itself snuggly at his waist and draped low enough to offer at least what should have been the bare minimum of modesty. It pooled across his shoulders, splaying out into a split cape that looked eerily similar to the wings he dawned in his other, scalier, form.

But this lovely new ensemble—as gloriously shiny and magical as it was—was still nearly fucking transparent. And yeah, the shadows curling along the spiraling silk did a decent enough job at obscuring what ought to be obscured. But at the same time, somehow this impression of cloth, of loose fabric that dipped below his collar bones and hung uneven and open across his pale chest, was worse than the outright fucking nudity. Scandalous. Like walking in on a seduction scene in a trashy novel.

“…maybe you should just do whatever makes you comfortable,” you managed to cough out, gaze slipping downwards of its own accord. And then more down. You gulped. “D-Don’t feel the need to change yourself on my account.”

He stared grumpily at his swanky new outfit. And then back at you. His lips pursed into a pout.

“You don’t find it pleasing.”

Your eyes rolled up to stare miserably, tormentedly, at the ceiling, and you began reciting every religious verse you could think of. Thou shall not steal or covet. In the name of the Mother, the Crone, and the Hallowed Throne. Head, shoulders, knees, and toes. Aye, Macarena—

“It looks perfectly nice. I just think that you have as much of a right to be happy in your skin as I do,” you reiterated. “I—I mean, you’re already keeping yourself human more often than not just so we can talk.” Which was true enough, but also mostly an attempt to make it seem like your concern was genuinely aimed at him and not your steadily rising blood pressure.

“…you’re incredibly strange,” he grumbled after a moment, his brow tugging low on his forehead. More pouting. “And impossibly frustrating to read.”

The heat radiating off your face like a fucking active volcano felt ‘possible’ enough to you, but what did you know.

“That’s why you’re keeping me around,” you reminded him.

Ten minutes later, he was sprawled out with his head in your lap, the ridges of his horns bumping your hips and inky black hair spilling over your thighs. Naked as a jaybird.

“Tell me another story,” he hummed, eyes slipping closed.

“Sure,” you agreed, gaze once again firmly locked on the hundreds of cracks in the ceiling. You’d probably have them all memorized by this evening, or at the very least have managed to count them all up a dozen times over.

You were halfway through some yarn about armies made of playing cards and worlds beyond looking glasses when Tsunotarou sighed, heavy and bone deep. Content. And then he turned to bury his cheek into the rough fabric of your traveler’s pants with a rumbling drawl that was not unlike a purr. His nose pressed itself into the inseam of your thigh and your brain fuzzed out like you’d been shot pointblank with a Wand of Lightning Bolts.

“Child of Man?” he huffed after a moment—one, neon, eye flicking open to glare up at you grumpily. “What happened then? To the cat that smiled too wide and the man with the mad hats?”

“R-Right,” you squawked. “Uhm—so as I was saying—”

You stared back at all those cracks and started counting again from zero.

#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Malleus Draconia x Reader #Malleus x Reader #Malleus Draconia #Malleus x Yuu #Dragon Malleus #Monster Mayhem #My Writing #Twst Fantasy AU #Monster Mayhem Malleus Part 2

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the-bi-library · 6 months

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Here is the part two of my bisexual BIPOC books posts!

Part 1 here

Books listed:

I Feed Her to the Beast and the Beast Is Me by Jamison Shea The Relic Spell: Book 1 of the Phyrian War Chronicles by Jimena I. Novaro The Warlock Snare by Jimena I. Novaro Highly Suspicious and Unfairly Cute by Talia Hibbert The Aurora Circus by Viano Oniomoh Rescues and the Rhyssa by T. S. Porter Far Sector by N. K. Jemisin and Jamal Campbell Xeni by Rebekah Weatherspoon Flip the Script by Lyla Lee A Scatter of Light by Malinda Lo The Space Between Worlds by Micaiah Johnson Shatterproof by Xen Sanders The Fall of Whit Rivera by Crystal Maldonado Scavenge the Stars by Tara Sim Zara Hossain Is Here by Sabina Khan When Tara Met Farah by Tara Pammi Royally Yours by Everly James For Sizakele by Yvonne Fly Onakeme Etaghene More To Love by Georgina Kiersten False Hearts by Laura Lam Babel-17 by Samuel R. Delany Tim Te Maro and the Subterranean Heartsick Blues by H. S. Valley Ace of Shades by Amanda Foody Becoming Dinah by Kit de Waal Caught in a Bad Fauxmance by Elle Gonzalez Rose The Black Veins by Ashia Monet Hearton by Amy Jo Cousins

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zeawesomebirdie · 4 months

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Brudick Co-parenting + Batfam Shenanigans Rec List

Thanks to @holybatmandickgrayson for requesting this, and thanks for your patience while I put it together!! (And paging @steine-druff as per usual!) Dick acting as the defacto second parent in the Wayne household is one of the best brudick tropes, and it has my whole entire heart. And the batfam dynamic itself has so much potential and is a joy to read, especially when the common goal of teasing Dick about Bruce is involved!

These are in no particular order, but I've tried to organise them into general categories. The titles to each fic contain a link to it. A lot of these are on the shorter end of the spectrum, but there's a few longer fics included too! I hope you find something here that you haven't read yet!

Co-parenting

1. Till You Find Your Dream by Kyele [@timeforalongstory on tumblr]; rated E; no archive warnings apply; 177,062 words; 31 chapters; complete

Summary:

“You know, my child, that the orphanage cannot continue to support you once you become an adult.” The abbess sighs. “There is one path that is always open to you. You may choose a holy vocation, and take orders. The Sisters of Perpetual Grace will accept you as a postulant if you choose.”

Dick had known to expect this. “Thank you, Reverend Mother,” Dick says respectfully, “but I cannot follow that path.”

The Mother Superior nods. He looks unsurprised. “Then perhaps,” he says, “you would be interested to hear of another opportunity.” From the papers on his desk, the abbess removes a single sheet. “Are you familiar with Captain Wayne?”

---

Dick accepts a position as governess to eight war-orphans, adopted by millionaire and WW1 flying ace Captain Bruce Wayne. The rest is inevitable.

Starting this list off with a bang, this fic is glorious! It's a The Sound of Music AU and A/B/O, and that sounds like a wacky mixture but truly this is one of the best co-parenting brudick fics I've ever read. It features beautiful sibling dynamics, Dick learning to function in high society at the same time as he's teaching the children to do the same, and the best exploration of gender and social roles I've ever come across. And the way the children come to accept Dick as their governess then protect him from being fired by Captain Wayne is utterly glorious!

2. The Fall of An April's Fool by Mysterious_Aud_Lou; rated M; creator chose not to use archive warnings; 3,967 words; 1 chapter; complete

Summary:

All it took was one mission, one week, one bed, and one very tired mistake for Bruce Wayne to realize that he was in love with Dick Grayson.... and then came the fallout.

Bruce and Dick just came back from a mission in which they were fake engaged, and during that short mission, Bruce got a little too used to acting as a couple. Of course, the rest of the batkids pick up on this immediately, but luckily Dick is great at improv, and so this one has lived rent-free in my head ever since I first read it!

Damian Playing Matchmaker

Because I have a very surprising number of recs with this exact premise! These also sometimes double as co-parenting fics with the other batkids besides Damian too :)

1. Covet by resurrectedhippo; rated M; creator chose not to use archive warnings; 16,059 words; 1 chapter; complete

Summary:

Dick Grayson is an extension of Bruce Wayne. If there’s no Bruce Wayne, there’s no Dick Grayson. They struggle to exist without each other.

The entire world wonders if they have ever been separate people.

This one is a little bit of both co-parenting and Damian being the one to force them together. It features Bruce denying his feelings for a million years, Dick helping to train each successive Robin, and so much mutual pining it hurts (affectionate). And of course, Damian calling a family meeting to announce that Bruce and Dick will need to be wed over the summer, much to the shock of every other person in the family

And I'm adding a cut here because this is getting long, but I've got more under the read more!

2. Better than the Sweetest Dream by shield_of_selene; rated T; no archive warnings apply; 15,089 words; 1 chapter; complete

Summary:

Damian accuses Bruce of failing his Valentine’s Day duties; namely, romancing Dick Grayson. This starts a chain reaction that leads to exploding heart bombs, forced imprisonment, and wedding bells.

I love a villain who can commit to the bit, and the Matchmaker, a Valentine's Day themed villain, does not disappoint! This fic also features Damian having a better grasp of Bruce's emotions than Bruce himself does, which is always a delight to see!

3. To Court a Grayson by Mysterious_Aud_Lou; rated T; creator chose not to use archive warnings; 3,285 words; 1 chapter; complete

Summary:

Damian Wayne has always gotten what he wants, and what he wants is his father to realize that Bruce will find no better romantic partner than Damian's beloved Grayson. So, armed with a briefcase and a carefully planned powerpoint presentation, Damian takes on the challenge of convincing his father that it's time to throw all other romantic entanglements aside, and begin to court Grayson properly.

Oh my goodness, where do I even begin with this one? The whole thing is just glorious, featuring Damian hacking into Bruce's work calender, Bruce actually sitting through the entirety of Damian's presentation, and one of the most delightful reveals I've ever read!

General Batfam

1. Old and New by junetangerine; rated E; no archive warnings apply; 5,241 words; 1 chapter; complete

Summary:

Objectively speaking, he knew the man wasn’t infallible or indestructible (heaven knew he’d picked enough fights over it, Bruce insisting on patrolling even when he could barely stand on his own), but the prospect that he might not bounce back into the brilliant steamroller of a man that Dick loved in more ways than was appropriate or healthy was terrifying.

Not as jarring as the Twilight Zone experience of having Bruce look openly delighted to see him.

“Dick!”

It was all Dick could do to remain frozen in place while Bruce crossed the distance between them and just kept going, right into Dick’s personal space and then closer, until his mouth was against Dick’s. It was short, just a firm press of lips, but enough to turn Dick’s world on its head.

---

A head injury leaves Bruce confused. He seems to believe he and Dick are a couple. Dick doesn't have it in him to say otherwise.

Exactly what it says on the tin. This fic is a delight, featuring Dick being incredibly conflicted and Bruce trying to deny his feelings the moment he gets his memory back! Also featuring the various batkids accepting this new dynamic with surprising ease

2. Be Kind, Rewind by kleine_aster; rated T; creator chose not to use archive warnings; 2,138 words; 1 chapter; complete

Summary:

Batman always thinks of everything, except for erasing his old tapes when he really, really should.

This fic is very funny! I greatly enjoyed the dynamics between the various batkids as they processed what they were watching, and Dick's frantic reaction to being caught with Bruce

3. It's A Christmas Miracle (Or Not) by RandomMayhem [@randomlymayhemic on tumblr]; rated T; no archive warnings apply; 6,864 words; 2 chapters; complete

Summary:

With Harley and Ivy causing chaos in Las Vegas, Dick and Bruce must go on an impromptu trip to stop the unruly couple. Only, they aren't quite sure what exactly they're supposed to be stopping...

Waking up married wasn't in the plan, regardless. Not with Damian on the verge of pulling a Rumplestiltskin. So, there's no doubt about it - the holiday season's about to get a whole lot crazier.

In which Damian threatens Dick's firstborn child should they return home late for Hanukkah. This fic is very cute and very enjoyable, and the batfam's reactions to their impromptu marriage are a delight!

4. Truth or Dare by rnedagemacaroni; rated T; creator chose not to use archive warnings; 959 words; 1 chapter; complete

Summary:

This is why the Bat Family kids should not have free time.

Anything with the batkids actually getting to relax and have fun is an amazing read, and this fic is no exception!! Oh to be a fly on the wall during their games of truth or dare!

5. Wayne Family Adventure: the secret episode by Caroaimezoe; rated T; no archive warnings apply; 4,005 words; 1 chapter; complete

Summary:

Prompt: How will the Batfamily take discovering that their dad and big brother/mother have been in a secret relationship for years

I adore the sibling dynamics in this one, and Damian being smug the whole time is just SO cute! There's also so much that could be said about how valiantly Dick tries to keep their relationship secret only to fail so miserably, it's a true delight

And that's all for now! I hope you enjoy these!

#brudick #rec list #thanks again for your patience while i put this together!!#this was very fun to do <3

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incandescentlysomething · 2 months

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Lady of the Ashes: Chapter 2 P.1

House of the Dragon Season 1

Aemond x TargaryenOC

Chapter Word Count: 7390 (both parts)

She was his everything… For her…he would do anything.

From the moment of her birth, Aemond Targaryen swore himself to the protection of his niece Aelinor Velaryon. As the two grew up inseparable, they find themselves entangled in the Dance of Dragons, battling to stay together even as their families try to pull them apart.

A/N: Canon compliant but things change around. Currently cross-posting on A03. Will be approximately 12 chapters aligning with season 1.

Let me know what you think!

Masterlist A03

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 P.1 P.2

124 AC

Princess Aelinor loved the Dragon Pit. If she had been permitted to, she might have spent all day there, hiding from the world, perhaps with a book under her arm, in the company of the creatures she loved above all else. Even if she were sleeping on the straw, it still would have been perfect.

Well, Aemond would have to be there for it to truly be perfect.

She did love the dragons though, it was true, nearly as much as Aemond did. Her own dragon egg had hatched when she was only small, but had grown at a rate that surpassed even the dragon keepers estimations. She now had the largest of all her family’s young dragons. Darrax had outgrown Sunfyre, and based on his wing size the dragonkeepers expected he would grow even larger still. Aelinor had yet to fly on Darrax, though she had mounted him on several occasions.

Aegon said it was a pity that such a beast of war had been tamed by a little mouse, but Aelinor did not mind her meekness. She would much rather spend her days learning about and spoiling her dragon than riding him into battle. She was quite content to decorate Darrax’s pen with pretty wildflowers rather than battle insignia. Aemond was usually with her, though he focused more on the dragon than the decorations. Darrax, as an extension of her own heart, allowed Aemond into his company, even permitting the older boy to stroke his scales on occasion. Her dragon was fiercely protective, but he had good taste in character. She knew it meant a great deal for Aemond to be so close to her dragon, when he did not have one of his own.

“The Dragon Keeper said they shall soon have a saddle ready for you,” Aemond said. He was sitting on a rock in Darrax’s cave, studying the dragon with a careful gaze. “Perhaps this one will work better.”

“It is not the saddle that is the problem,” Aelinor reminded him. “But the reins. And I fail to see what can be done about it.”

Darrax gave a huff, as if in sympathy, and Aelinor reached up to pat his black scales. In the torchlight they glowed dimly, but she knew that if she were to take him up into the daylight they would shine a thousand shades of green and deep blue. It always reminded her of the heavy blue pendant that had not left her throat since she was four years old.

“Don’t say that, Lina,” Aemond protested. “You have a chance to fly, and you must give everything to take it.”

Aelinor shook her head, “Aemond, it is true that Darrax could bear me as a rider, but I will never be able to command him as a dragon rider should. My hand is—”

“Damn your hand!” Aemond shouted, jumping to his feet. Darrax let out a hiss in warning. “You’ll never be able to if you don’t try.”

She knew why it frustrated him so. Despite his best efforts, her uncle had never been able to claim a dragon, and his own egg had never hatched.The other boys teased him relentlessly, often driving him to riskier actions as he sought to have a dragon of his own. Aelinor could not bare to tease him over it, her heart being void of such cruelty, but she could see why it was hard for him to watch her settle for less.

Lifting her hand close to the torchlight, Aelinor sighed. “I can’t hold the reins, Aemond.”

“Then we’ll find another way,” he insisted. “Darrax will learn to respond to different commands, or I will—”

“Or what? You’ll ride with me? And you shall hold the reins while I give commands?” She was teasing slightly now.

“We’ll find a way,” was all he said, though his gaze had settled on her hand.

In the five years since her accident, Aelinor’s hand had never really improved. The wounds had closed, and she had spent many days on bedrest as the maesters tended to her. Throughout all of that, Aemond had stayed right by her side, and it had often seemed as if it pained him more than it pained her. She sometimes thought that he might even blame himself for her injury, though she never would.

“You know what I think?” She said, changing the subject.

“What is that, Lina?”

Aelinor smiled. “It is time for Jace’s lesson. Come we can go watch him fumble over his High Valyrian again.” She did not often tease her brothers, but their inability to master the tongue of their ancestors did make her chuckle. And she knew it made Aemond happy, if only slightly.

“Very well,” Aemond offered a curt bow to her dragon. “Until we meet again, Darrax. Come, Lina.”

She grabbed her leather glove from where she had left it, and carefully pulled it over the curled fingers of her left hand. The glove was itchy and uncomfortable, but she had only been able to handle a few months of mutterings about how unpleasant her hand was to look at before she gave in to Queen Alicent’s suggestion and began to wear a glove. Any chance she got to take if off, she did.

The two linked arms as they made their way up from the tunnels and toward the center of the Dragon Pit, Aelinor cheerfully greeting each of the keeps as they passed. In the past few years, the nine-year-old princess and the twelve-year-old prince had become a familiar sight to the keeps, more often than not attached at the hip. It was common knowledge that if Aemond Targaryen was sulking around the Dragon Pit, one just needed to guide him to the princess to drastically improve his mood. There was some hope among the more concerned dragon keepers that her influence might calm him from his relentless and reckless determination to claim a dragon.

“My mother should have had her baby by now,” Aelinor commented.

“And you did not wish to be there?”

“She said it would frighten me,” Aelinor wrinkled her nose. “But how should I know what frightens me unless I have seen it?”

Aemond could not claim to have seen the horrors of childbirth, but he could vividly remember that day in Princess Rhaenyra’s chambers all those years ago, when he had seen a silver-haired babe while servants mopped blood off the floors. No, he did not think Aelinor should have to see all that.

“Do you know what I’ve heard?” He decided to distract her.

“What?”

He nodded toward her good hand, which was playing with the sapphire that hung on a gold chain around her neck. “I heard that it is the fashion for ladies to wear matching rings and earrings and all the like. Now, I don’t know much about jewels, but I worry you are falling out of fashion.”

Aelinor gasped. “Aemond!”

He gave an exaggerated shrug. “I shall have no choice but to remedy the situation on your next nameday.”

She shook her head. “Don’t you dare. You already give me too much. Besides, I don’t like jewelry. I just like this.”

Aemond felt his heart warm a little at that. “Alright, Princess. Then let’s go watch our brothers make fools of themselves.”

“Yes, let’s!”

An hour later found Aemond still in the Dragon Put, watching as Jace tried and failed to tame Vermax. The princes’ arrival had brought the news of a new little brother for the Velaryons, and Aelinor had been excused for the day to go and greet the new arrival.

Aemond tried not to mope, but being left in the company of his nephews and brother, all of whom had dragons, was less than ideal. Not when he knew that he would be so much better at this than all of them. Aelinor was the only one other than him who truly understood what it meant to be a dragon rider, but because of her damn brothers, she would never be able to reach her full potential. And he would never get to fly at all.

“We have a gift for you, uncle,” Luc called out to him.

Aemond looked up, disbelief etched on his face. “You? A gift?”

“From all of us,” Aegon wrapped an arm around Jace, who still looked a bit dejected by his pathetic failures. “Found, in a cave off of the Narrow Sea, and brought here especially for you.”

He knew better, or he should have, but he still felt something like hope stirring in his gut. Was this his chance? Was he finally going to have a dragon of his own?

“Behold,” Luc walked backward, and Aemond followed him like a hopeful idiot. “The Pink Dread!”

Aemond’s hopes crashed to the ground when they leapt to the side, revealing a fat pig with wings strapped to its back.

“How could you? You—” the word bastards hung in the back of his throat, but he didn’t say it. Instead, he just returned to his corner to sulk, bitter at the world. Of course Aegon, his own brother, had to join in with them. It wasn’t fair, none of it was.

After her mother had retired to her chambers, Aelinor had set up at the large writing desk in front of the window. The only other source of light in the room was the blazing hearth, which was currently going at full strength to keep her mother and the baby warm. But as it was the very same hearth that had horrifically scarred her hand, she did not like to sit by it unless she had to.

Aelinor did not have the dexterity needed for needlework, or many of the other ladylike pursuits, though she was very fond of dancing, but she had always been an extraordinary patient child. Her grandfather, the King, had in the weeks after her injury taken the time to show her how to paint his figurines with one hand. He carved them himself, very carefully as he too had only one good hand (now he was missing an arm entirely), and so he had set his youngest granddaughter to the task of painting them. His model of Old Valyria grew increasingly colorful with each of her contributions.

Currently she was applying silver paint to a statue of the Valyrian god Vhagar, taking care to apply each stroke of paint in very thin layers.

“Did you see his face?” Her brothers came bursting through the doors, and she quickly moved to secure her painting. It had happened on more than one occasion that their rowdy behaviour ruined one of her projects.

“Be quiet, you two,” she hissed. “Mother and the baby are sleeping.” The baby, Joffrey, had been wholly uninteresting to Aelinor, but her mother was exhausted, and she was determined to preserve that peace.

“You should have stayed, Lina,” Luc came up to her side. Of her two brothers he was the more mischievous, having latched onto Aemond’s nickname for her as a way to poke fun. She loved him, of course, but gods he could be irritating. “Our trick worked perfectly.”

“Trick? What trick?” She wiped her hands on her apron.

“On Aemond,” Luc laughed. “We had a pig, with wings on it! I thought he was going to cry.”

Aelinor saw red. “You did what? Why can’t you both just leave him alone?”

“It was Aegon’s idea,” Jace said quickly, probably just because his sister was upset, not because he genuinely felt sorry for Aemond. “And we didn’t ask him to go down into the pit. That was all him.”

She felt a twinge of worry. “Is he alright?”

“A bit singed, and embarrassed. But alright.” Jace assured her.

Aelinor frowned, turning back to her painting. She hated that their families could not just get along, and she hated that the boys teased Aemond over something she knew hurt him so deeply. This wasn’t the first time it had happened, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. The knowledge of that was the only reason she did not run to Aemond immediately, as she knew he would have done for her. He would be embarrassed, and he did not like for her to witness his humiliation.

Tomorrow she would go to him, and everything would be alright.

Aelinor spent the next morning sitting on the floor of Helaena’s room, listening to her aunt’s description of a centipede that crawled through her hands. Her aunt was harmless, but Aelinor was certainly not a fan of the bugs.

“Running, running through the dark.” Helaena let the centipede twirl around her wrist. “But never fast enough.”

Aelinor was bored. More than that, she was worried. She had not had a chance to speak with Aemond that morning, and now she knew he would be out in the training yard with Aegon and her brothers. She wanted to make sure he was alright, but she couldn’t do that from in here.

“You may go,” Helaena said.

“What?” Aelinor was started to find her aunt staring directly at her.

“I won’t keep you apart. Others will, but not me.”

Aelinor blinked. “Uh, thank you?” Her aunt was very strange.

Helaena didn’t look up as Aelinor stood and brushed out the lavender velvet of her dress. “Blood and bars and iron.” Helaena sang.

Aelinor was a little embarrassed at how quickly she fled the room. She never quite got used to Helaena’s oddness, and her words always left a chill on Aelinor’s skin. Something about it was just…wrong.

When she emerged into the training yard, she stepped into a chaotic scene. Ser Harwin Strong, her mother’s Kingsguard, was being restrained by three other guards, while Ser Criston Cole taunted him. The boys lay scattered through the mud. She went to JAce first, who had blood running from his nose. “What on earth has happened?”

Jace just shook his head. “Things you wouldn’t understand.”

That answer annoyed Aelinor. Why couldn’t she understand? Just because she was younger than him? It wasn’t fair, and she gave him a shove. “You’re so mean, Jace.”

“What’s wrong?” Aemond appeared beside her, having seen her grow angry at her brother.

“Of course you’re here,” Jace scoffed.

“You were….” Aelinor looked between them, confused. “You were all training together. Why do you look like you’ve been fighting?”

“Just go play with your stupid prince, Aelinor. Since you don’t care about your real family.” Jace gave her a dirty look, before grabbing Luc around the arm and pulling him away.

Aelinor was at a loss. “What did I do wrong?”

“You didn’t do anything,” Aemond promised. He still didn’t fully understand what had happened here either, between Ser Criston and Ser Harwin, but he knew it had been serious. “Everyone is just angry today.”

“And you!” Aelinor whirled to face him, remembering why she had sought him out. “Are you angry? Because I heard you went into the Dragon Pit by yourself again.”

Aemond floundered for a response. “I…they had a pig and it…”

“You can’t, Aemond! Just because you don’t have a dragon doesn’t mean you can be stupid.”

For the first time in his life, Aemond felt himself growing angry at Aelinor. What did she know of his suffering? She had always had a dragon, and she would never have to fight for her place. Everything was just handed to her, often by him, and yet she thought she could tell him what to do with his own life. It was absurd.

“Just shut up, Aelinor. You’re too little to get it.”

Aemond gaped at him, hurt etched across her face. “Aemond…”

He stormed away, leaving her standing alone in the training yard.

Aelinor liked to think that she was too old to be weeping at every little thing, but the thought of fighting with Aemond, of him being angry with her, was enough to have her sobbing all the way back to her family’s chambers. She hadn’t meant to make him angry, only she was so very worried about him. Why couldn’t he understand how important he was to her?

When she stepped into the parlor, her mother looked up from her seat by the fire. The baby was nowhere to be seen, but several maids were bustling around, packing things in wooden crates.

“Oh, my sweet,” Rhaenyra reached for her, and she went easily into her mother’s embrace. “They’ve already told you?”

“Told me what?” Aelinor’s voice was muffled by her mother’s shoulder.

“That we’re leaving, darling,” Rhaenyra tried to wipe her tears. “On the morrow, we leave for Dragonstone.”

Aelinor gasped. “What? Why?” She had never been to Dragonstone, but it sounded very far away from King’s Landing.

“It is for the best,” is all her mother said. “We’ll be leaving before sun-up so that we have most of the day to settle in.”

“Before sun up?” Aelinor shook her head. “Mother, can I stay here? With Darrax and Aemond and Helaena.” She might think her aunt odd, but she was her closest female friend, and Aelinor found she did not want to be without her.

“No,” Rhaenyra’s voice was harsh. “Darrax will come with us, but it is time that our family was left alone, and I know Aemond and Helaena’s mother will want the same.”

Aelinor didn’t much care what their mothers wanted. All she could think about was that she would be leaving tomorrow, without Aemond. “Can I go and say goodbye?”

“It’s late, darling. “You must sleep, for we have an early day and much preparations to do.”

“But—”

“No arguments, Aelinor. Go to your chambers and help the maids pack your things.”

Had Aelinor been stronger, or had she not been in some kind of shock, she might have argued more. But she was a tired little girl after a very trying day, and so she obeyed her mother. And when the sun was barely peeking over the horizon, she let her father bundle her in her cloak and carry her to their ship. It wasn’t until King’s Landing was a speck in the distance that she began to cry, for she hadn’t been able to say goodbye.

Aemond woke early, with a heart filled with regret. The sun was shining through his window, heralding a new day, though he could not find any joy in it. He had been cruel to Aelinor, when she had done nothing to deserve it, and he must make it up to her. Remembering her refusal to accept more jewels, he resolved to collect some fresh flowers from the gardens. She often liked to braid them into her hair (and sometimes his as well), and today he would allow it. If he groveled enough, he could probably retrieve some lemon tarts from the kitchens as well.

His mother was pacing in front of her window when he entered, planning to inform her of his intentions for the day.

“Is something the matter, mother?” He asked, noting the tension in her mouth.

“Oh, everything’s a mess, Aemond,” she sighed, giving him a sad look. “The Princess Rhaenyra and her family are to remove themselves to Dragonstone at once.”

Aemond froze, horror flooding through him. “They can’t!” He couldn’t bear for Aelinor to be all the way on Dragonstone. It was only a short flight by Dragon, but he did not have one, and Aelinor could not fly. “I shall go stop them!”

“It’s too late, sweet boy,” Alicent sighed. “They have already left.”

Aemond shook his head, tearing from the room, but he only needed to reach the base of Maegor’s tower to see that it was true. Tapestries and carpets and trunks were being carried down the steps, to be packed onto the next ship to Dragonstone.

And Aelinor was already gone.

Some Time Later

Daemon Targaryen was her father.

The moment Aelinor first set eyes on him, standing across from her Aunt Laena’s casket, she knew it to be true. She could tell from the set of his mouth, which seemed so similar to her’s, as it had never been to her mother of…Ser Laenor’s. She knew it from the violet of his eyes, which shone with the same brightness as her own, so much more wildly than her mother’s.

And most of all, she knew it from how he stared at her. She could not tell if he was attempting to mask his grief with boredom, but his gaze had been leveled on her since the moment Ser Vaemond began the eulogy.

It wasn’t as though no one was looking their way. Especially as Ser Vaemond took the opportunity of the funeral, and the immunity it provided, to cast thinly-veiled insults at her family. They had all but fled King’s Landing for reasons she still did not understand, so it was not a surprise that they were an object of fascination. But Prince Daemon’s gaze was not one of curiosity. It was….more. She wasn’t quite sure why it unsettled her so.

Aelinor was almost embarrassed to admit that she had ben excited to go to Driftmark. Not to mourn her Aunt, who she had admired deeply despite having never met, but because Aemond, Helaena and her grandfather would be there. She had longed to see them all in the months since they had departed King’s Landing, and she had so much to share.

And now…she needed to speak to Aemond.

But he wouldn’t look at her. There had been no chance to talk upon arrival, and she had not been able to catch his gaze throughout the service. He just stood next to Aegon, who was looking predictably bored, and kept a serious expression on his face.

The first chance she had, she would pull him aside.

Aemond couldn’t look at her.

She was so close, so much closer than she had been in months, just standing on the other side of the casket, and he couldn’t work up the courage to look at her. He could feel her eyes on him, but he couldn’t do it. He didn’t deserve it.

Not when she stood there, wearing a dress of black velvet and a matching cloak, her silver hair in a neat plait down her back, and her sapphire pendant hanging at her throat. She was still wearing it. By some miracle, Aelinor was still wearing the sapphire he had given her, even when the last thing he had said to her before she had left had been cruel and harsh.

The past months had been an agony to him. Without Aelinor around, there was little to lessen the overwhelming feeling of being an outsider in his own family. He had thrown himself into his training, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. No matter how many times he let himself get walloped with a practice sword, or the few times where he managed to strike back with any skill, it was never enough to distract him from the fact that at the end of the day, he was alone. And any time he had asked his mother or his grandfather for permission to write to her, he had been turned away. Their reasons changed constantly, from wanting to give the Princess Rhaenyra her space, to more snide comments about keeping their distance.

He knew the real reason, of course. After the Princess’ family had left, rumors had abounded about the parentage of her three children, and his mother had not hesitated to capitalize on them. He did not mind so much when people criticized Jacaerys and Lucerys, not when they so obviously looked like Strongs, but Aelinor was…Aelinor. She might not have been her father’s daughter, but she was still a Targaryen, as much as the rest of them. As much as…him. She wasn’t like the rest of her family, overrun with scandal. She was just Aelinor.

She was just….his.

Aelinor had meant to find Aemond as soon as the funeral service was over, but as soon as she emerged into the courtyard, having left her cloak with one of the maids, her gaze landed on a long figure overlooking the ocean. She saw her mother out of the corner of her eye, met her gaze and saw Rhaenyra shake her head, but ultimately she was helpless to stop herself as her legs carried her toward Prince Daemon.

“Which one are you?” Daemon didn’t turn to look at her.

He was quite tall, with broad shoulders and a serious profile. He was not as pretty as Ser Laenor, but she supposed there was something appealing about the harsh lines in his face. That was not enough to keep the rest of the guests from avoiding him as if he were the plague.

“I am Aelinor,” she declared. “And you are my father.”

He didn’t look startled by her declaration. “You put that together, did you? Perhaps there is some hope for you after all.”

Aelinor didn’t quite know how to take that. Instead, she said, “Your wife died.”

“She did,” his jaw clenched.

“Then if you are sad, I am sorry,” she offered a small smile, even though he was not looking at her. “And I hope I shall come to know you, and your daughters.”

Bobbing a curtsy, and feeling as though she had satisfied whatever insane urge had demanded she speak to him, she moved to leave.

“Aelinor, was it?” She froze.

Daemon spun to look at her, and she was once again struck by the startling resemblance between them. She thought she might have seen the slightest softening in his eyes, and if he saw some of himself in her as well. “Do you have a dragon?”

“I do,” she lifted her chin defiantly. “He is called Darrax, and I can ride him now, but not for long.”

This seemed to satisfy him, for he jerked his head in a nod. Taking that as a dismissal, Aelinor moved around the edge of the party. Her brothers stood with their cousins, Baela and Rhaena. She wanted to go and talk to the girls, offer her condolences and welcome them into the family, but she had been somewhat at odds with her brothers since they moved to Dragonstone. She knew they were mourning Ser Harwin Strong, differently than she was. He had always been a comforting presence for her, closer to an uncle than a guard, but she knew that he represented a lot more to her brothers, and she was not without sympathy. But she could not escape the feeling that it was somehow their fault that she had been forced to leave everything behind. This sentiment was wrong of course, but as she was only nine, it was easiest to point fingers at things she understood.

Her brothers and cousins would have to wait, however, for she spotted the person she had been most anxious to see waiting by the stairs.

The urge to run to him was strong, but she managed to contain herself, nodding politely to her grandfather as she hurried toward him.

“Aemond,” she breathed as soon as she was next to him. “You’re here.”

She was close enough to touch. Aelinro was standing right there, a warm smile on her face, though her happy expression faded with every second he didn’t return her joy.

“Aelinor,” he nodded. “It’s good to see you.”

She deflated. “It’s good to see me? We haven’t seen each other in months. Darrax has grown and I—”

The urge to interrupt her, to spit that he didn’t care about her dragon nearly overcame him. He had been conditioned from the months of fending off his brother’s taunts, of feigning indifference in order to get by.

But this was Lina, and the truth was, he did care. He cared too much.

“Why don’t you hate me?” he asked. “I was cruel to you.”

Aelinor blinked at him for a moment, before an easy smile settled across her face. “No silly. You were mean to me. And you were mean because you were sad. You could never be cruel to me, you’re Aemond.” She said it like it was enough, as if being Aemond was some sort of testament to his character. But she was only nine, and he was twelve and so things seemed much simpler than they were.

“No, Aelinor. I should never have been mean to you, and then you were gone and I—”

“But I’m back now,” she grabbed his hand. “And I don’t want to waste any time, alright?”

There were a thousand other things he wanted to say, most of all that he agreed. He didn’t want to waste any time because who knew when they would next get to see each other. The sun was already setting, and he had wasted most of the day being sullen and bitter.

A dragon roared in the distance, and they both turned their heads.

“Vhagar,” Aelinor said sadly. “She must be lonely.”

The idea struck Aemond like a thunderbolt, and once it was in his mind, he could not forget it. He knew what he must do. It was clear as day in front of him, clearer than anything had ever been in his whole life.

“Lina,” he said quietly, watching as she beamed at his nickname for her. “Can we go for a walk? I need to ask you something.”

“You don’t need to ask,” she giggled, looking behind her. “Come, no one notice that we’ve gone.”

No one looked up as the two children slipped away, their hands intertwined, For Aelinor, it felt almost like hold times, with her and Aemond in a world of their own, She didn’t know where they were going, or have any idea of what might happen next, but she was happy.

But the boy next to her, even as he helped her down the last step and they moved out onto the beach, couldn’t help but be consumed with something between ecstasy and dread. Like it or not, he was about to decide his fate.

And Aelinor would be with him, every step of the way.

Aelinor could tell that something was wrong. Aemond wasn’t speaking, not a single word had escaped his lips since they slipped away from the party, and she was starting to suspect that it was more than his usually sullen self. She longed to tell him about Darrax, about how they had finally figured out a way for her to hold the reins and that she had gone flying for the first time, but he just seemed so…distant.

“Where are we going?” She asked, as they approached the sand dunes. “It’s very late.” Only the light of the moon kept it from being pitch black, and still Aemond moved forward. Her feet slipped in the sand, the silk shoes she had worn for the funeral not suited to climbing through tidal pools and mucky sand.

Aemond stopped suddenly, pausing to listen for something. “Do you hear that?”

A little perturbed that he had ignored her question, Aelinor huffed and tried to listen. At first she couldn’t hear much other than the sound of the wind and the waves crashing in the distance, but soon another sound broke through. It was a low, rhythmic rumble, that she recognized to be the breathing of a very, very large dragon.

“Vhagar?” She gasped. “Aemond, we should go back. This is dangerous.”

“It is,” he agreed. “Which is why I shouldn’t have brought you here.” He pointed toward the cliff face a short distance away, where a dim orange glow could be seen from one of the tunnels. “Go hide over there, I’ll be right back.”

“What are you doing?” She grabbed his arm. “Don’t leave me out here!”

“You’ll be safe, and I’ll be right back.”

He considered lying to her about his motivations. It would be easier to lie, for him to surprise her with his triumphant return, and not have to face her if he failed. But he could not be dishonest with her, especially about this. No one — no one — understood him better than Aelinor.

“I’m going to claim Vhagar,” he told her. “Or I’m going to die trying.”

These were very frightening words for a nine year old, and for Aelinor they were even more terrifying. She had just gotten Aemond back, and she couldn’t imagine ever losing him. But she knew he wanted a dragon more than anything else in the world, and she knew how hard it had been for him.

“Shouldn’t…” she fumbled for an argument. “Shouldn’t Baela have first claim? Vhagar was her mother’s dragon.”

“And she was Visenya’s before that. She belongs to the Targaryens, and we should all have equal claim,” Aemond saw that she wasn’t convinced. “Please, Lina. If I fail then the chance is Baela’s, but I have my chance, perhaps my only chance, right here. Please let me take it.”

Let me. Like he truly wouldn’t do it if she refused him.

“You could get hurt,” she whispered.

Aemond nodded. “Please.”

This was an impossible thing to ask of her. She was only nine years old, and things like life and death still seemed so far away from her. She didn’t want to risk losing Aemond, but she had also never been denied something that she had wanted. He had always made sure that she wanted for nothing. How could she now stand in his way, when he was all but begging her to stand aside.

Aelinor sighed, a shaky breath that was part fear and part exasperation. “You paid attention in our lessons, you have as good a chance as anyone. But please be careful.”

Aemond breathed a sigh of relief.

“I will,” he promised. “Can you just…keep watch? In case the others wake up?” He wasn’t sure what others he was expecting, but he knew it would cause a commotion if he were to claim — or be eaten — by Vhagar.

“They’ll be angry,” Aelinor shook her head. “Aemond, never mind Baela and Rhaena, my brothers will—”

“You’ll just be keeping watch, Lina. and you don’t have to. You can go to bed, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

They both knew that that wasn’t really an option. She would never be able to sleep without knowing if he was alright, and it was unlikely that he would be able to pull this off without someone keeping watch.

“I’ll do it,” she said quietly. “Please, please be careful, Aemond. I can’t lose you.”

He wanted to wrap her in a hug, but he knew that if he did he would probably lose his nerve. “I’ll come back to you Lina, I swear it.”

Knowing that he had never broken a promise to her, she took a deep breath and nodded. “Go. I’ll be by the tunnel when you get back.”

Aemond forced a smile, not letting it slide from his face until she had disappeared into the shadows at the base of the cliff.

And then he started his climb.

Aelinor thought she might faint. She had no idea how much time had passed since Aemond had disappeared over the sand dune, and she was fighting every instinct to run after him and stop him from being so foolish. Her fingernails had cut into her palms from the nerves, and she felt like she was close to tears.

Nestled just outside the mouth of the tunnel, she was sheltered from the worst of the night wind. She was fairly sure that the chill seeping into her skin had nothing to do with the temperature, and everything to do with the terror flooding her veins.

All of a sudden, she heard a great stirring of wind. Peeking out into the moonlight, her mouth dropped open as she watched Vhagar take to the skies, Aemond on her back.

And then she was sobbing.

He had done it! He was really flying!

Clasping both hands to her mouth to keep from crying out, Aelinor jumped up and down. He was doing it! Soon they would be able to fly their dragons together, and everything would be perfect.

She could hear Aemond yelling, hopefully from joy, before Vhagar circled back down.

#house of the dragon #hotd #aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #aemond fanfiction #fanfic #game of thrones #got

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the-idle-woman · 1 month

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Black Wings at Midnight

Shyly sharing my first Hannibal fanfic: a reimagining of Seasons 1-3 set during World War II in Britain. It comes complete with vintage-style illustrations and links to suggested listening (ranging from Handel to 1940s' swing).

See below for the summary, and under the cut for an extract.

When former detective Will Graham is pulled away from his intelligence work at Bletchley Park in 1942, to consult on a hauntingly familiar crime scene, he feels alive for the first time in years. But when his life begins falling apart, he finds himself thrown into a complex dance of trust and suspicion with the man assigned to help him: an aristocratic Lithuanian flying ace and peacetime psychiatrist, whose intentions are anything but clear…

If you do decide to give it a read, I hope you enjoy it, and would love it if you took the time to leave a comment. Hearing people's expectations and thoughts as they read has been the most enjoyable part of sharing this online. Thank you all, and sending hugs from London.

From Black Wings at Midnight: Chapter 3

‘May I come in?’

The voice is deep, with a warm lilt of an Eastern European accent. Crawford’s eyes brighten and he rises from the desk with what Will considers unseemly haste.

‘Aha! Now here’s a familiar face. Come in, come in, old chap. Pull up a chair. This is Will Graham, who I mentioned on the phone. Brilliant mind. Brilliant.’

Will scowls at the praise and turns in his chair, prepared to be combative. He has no great love for the airmen of the RAF. They are nothing more than overgrown public schoolboys, with their chummy nicknames and their maverick flair. In their presence, Will feels his carapace stripped away, exposed as an awkward provincial with a clumsy accent, a different breed from these sauntering gods of the sky.

The newcomer does little to dispel his prejudices. The flattering RAF uniform makes most men look good, but this fellow seems to have stepped straight out of an advertisement. J.C. Leyendecker in the flesh, Will thinks bitterly, feeling short, and dark, and rustic.

Nothing about this man is rustic: dark blond hair parted with almost surgical precision; a broad chest and shoulders beneath the blazon of the RAF wings; trousers ironed to crisp perfection; tie perfectly centred. Everything about him screams money, from the scent of his cologne to the small gold signet ring just visible on his little finger.

After spending long hours digging into the minds of the Nazi commanders, Will can’t resist a snort. Good God, how they would love you!

Light brown eyes linger on Will for a moment, already looking amused.

‘Good afternoon, Mr Graham. I apologise for interrupting your colloquy, but Jack is an old friend. I was delighted to hear he was visiting us. May I?’ He gestures to the unused chair before the desk and Will raises a shoulder minutely, neither inviting nor repelling. He settles for glaring across at Jack. He doesn’t wish to spend any longer here than necessary, and he certainly doesn’t want to play third wheel to some back-slapping reunion.

‘Will,’ says Jack, ‘this is Flight Lieutenant Hannibal Lecter – or should I say Dr Lecter?’ The two men exchange a twinkle of camaraderie and Will stifles a desire to stab the table with his pencil. ‘We met before the war,’ Jack continues. ‘Dr Lecter has a private psychiatry practice on Harley Street, and helped us with a profile for the Bethnal Green Killer in ’38.’

Will remembers the case. It wasn’t long after he’d been signed off, still gathering together the shreds of himself in the nursing home. He allows himself a glance sideways.

‘Strange to swap the comforts of Harley Street for a wet field in Hampshire, Dr Lecter. Get tired of listening to rich old ladies?’

‘I “got” patriotic,’ Lecter says gently. ‘My country was invaded last year. Lithuania,’ he adds, for Will’s benefit. ‘I have not lived there for many years, but old affections still linger: a sense of duty, if you will. I learned to fly when I was younger’ – Of course you did, thinks Will bitterly – ‘so why not put my skills in the service of my adopted country?’

‘And he’s become quite the terror,’ Jack says cheerfully. ‘Give him a Spitfire and he’s absolutely fearless. They say Göring’s offered a bounty to anyone who brings him down.’ He dismisses Lecter’s gesture of modest denial and turns back to Will. ‘When I heard he was stationed here, I thought it’d be helpful to have his thoughts – and his support too, of course.’

‘Convenient,’ Will says under his breath, studying his fingers. He feels Lecter’s eyes lingering on him with something that’s uncomfortably close to satisfaction. For a moment he entertains himself, wondering whether he loathes fighter aces more or less than psychiatrists. It comes out as a balance. The airmen are more irritating, but he has bitter personal experience of his own with psychiatry.

‘Come now, Jack,’ Lecter says, ‘you are not being completely honest with Mr Graham.’ He leans a little closer, offering Will a lungful of his expensive cologne, and his voice drops, as though this is a secret to be shared between them. ‘Jack has asked me to have a few conversations with you before you start on this case. Just to help prepare your armour for the field of battle, as it were.’

Will’s eyes snap up to Jack Crawford, who has the grace to look embarrassed.

‘Will, I’ve read your files. It’s my job to make sure you’re fit for duty. I want to help you in any way I can.’

‘I don’t find it helpful to be covertly psychoanalysed!’

‘This is not psychoanalysis,’ Lecter says placidly into the awkward silence, ‘merely a common interest. You have nothing to fear, Mr Graham. Besides,’ he adds, straightening his cuffs, ‘I am not a psychoanalyst. Freud may have some interesting principles, and Jung has made many valuable insights into my field, but I do not ride under their banner. Biological psychiatry is very different from asking you to tell me your dreams.’ Dark eyes dart up and catch Will’s just as he makes the mistake of looking up. Something coils in the pit of his stomach. ‘Though I have no doubt your dreams must be a fascinating place.’ …

‘Just a conversation,’ Will hears himself say.

‘But of course.’ Lecter shrugs in a Gallic fashion. ‘And we can give dear Jack a good night’s sleep. Just a conversation or two among friends.’

‘Associates,’ Will snaps back. Lecter laughs as if he has said something delightful.

‘God forbid we should become friendly. Come with me to the mess, Mr Graham. Let’s get some tea.’

Will feels wrong-footed. He wants to prod; to offend; to get under Lecter’s skin and force him to feel even the faintest echo of Will’s crippling discomfort. He feels like a parcel passed from Jack to Lecter, a fragile curiosity to be wrapped in cotton wool and discussed in lowered voices. He feels lonely and patronised, and because, to his deep-seated disgust, he finds himself wanting Lecter to like him, Will lashes out.

‘I doubt we’ll be friends, Dr Lecter. I don’t find you that interesting.’

A hand falls on his shoulder. To Jack, frowning in his chair, it’ll look comradely, a way to show that no offence has been taken. To Will, the touch is unsettling: part warning, conveyed through the grip of fingers far stronger than he’d anticipated; and part protective caress. I don’t, Will repeats doggedly in his head, find you interesting.

‘Ah,’ Lecter says softly in his ear, ‘but you will.’

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