coldheartsbreakboys

[coldheartsbreakboys]

YOU ALREADY KNOW IM HERE PROFESSING MY UNDYING LOVE TO YOU MINI

as always this was fantastic and i love everything you write K BYE

The Harshest Winters (18+)

I - II - III - IV - V;

Pairing(s): Jacaerys x Reader x bookcanon!Aemond;

Warnings: We all know what to expect by now - sexual themes, obsessive and possessive behaviour, bookcanon Aemond, angst (there is no light at the end of the tunnel ♡), semi-spoilers (but not really) for Fire&Blood;

Word Count: 23k+ (yes. yes indeed.)

Author's Note: AND I HATH RETURNED!!

Only 3 more instalments to go - this feels surreal. As always, I would like to thank all of you from the bottom of my heart for still following Lady Tully's adventures, and for being so patient with my updating schedule (or lack thereof). Without further ado, please enjoy ♡

♡♡♡ Drop me a comment if you would like to be added to the taglist! And don't forget to reblog your favourite fic writers ♡♡♡

Paths that used to interwoven thread themselves with great uncertainty. When you're free to roam again, which road will you choose to take?

When Aemond beckoned his return, Harrenhal was basked in smoke. Vhagar shuddered low beneath him, letting out enraged, rogue roars. His guts hung low inside his midriff, his heart ached hard inside his chest… his one lone thought was of his Lady – of what became of her, of them.

"Ah – My apologies, Your Grace!" The muted hues of her blue dress obscured across his measured view. Thus Aemond hummed, dissatisfied, and merely moved his gawp ahead. His eye transfixed her for a moment, yet bore through her slighter frame. Nought of what he noticed then deterred him to even bow. To even offer her the courtesy that a highborn lady would receive. He had left their clash at that – with not a singular lax word exchanged, and not a singular exultant glance. He spared no reaction. No compact feeling. And the deep courtesy she offered him was met with deplorable impassiveness. Whether or not she had felt slighted, or passed across as less compelling, was of nought of his concerns. He heard her steps, although unwilling, move fast across the vacant halls – the mousy girl with straight long locks ergo dissolved through the thin air; and as if made of feeble matter, as if diffused whole by the soil, she shed herself briskly afore. Perhaps, he thought but for a moment, the paling shade suited her well. And as she skipped her trail all proper, through the obtrusive and abstaining lanes, her gown outcast a pleasant echo – the rattled bite of a spirited woman, a proof of presence, of fair existence. He made his strides long and decided, reaching towards the damp courtyard. And as he trained, breaking his stupor, the man had thought of her quick struts. Perplexed and quite unparalleled, he deemed the dress had worn her nicely. The girl was far from an alluring beauty, standing small and slight in stature. Still the brief sweep of her garment reached for the goal it had then bared – for the Prince thought of it, admired it, and thoroughly remained somewhat impressed.

He’d been a foolish boy back then, though he remained so as a man. A roguish Prince of one and twenty, far too absorbed by pain and ire to even care about the keep. Alys’ heed had been ignored, his lungs had been filled up with ash. His headlong steps urged through the hallways, desperate to reach for the one door that served so long as their shared chamber. He screamed her name from the base of his throat, so wildly torn and fraught forlorn, that his shrieks of anguish reached for the ears of the few maids and wenches left rooted in place, all hoarded outside and taken aback by his despondent outraged display.

But that wouldn't be the last he'd see her – and the chain of humdrum meetings would thereon constantly happen. They were both quite early risers, insatiable to the seductive waves of glaring rays of humid sunsets, and devotees of the peace and quiet brought across by the luminescence. Still the synopsis would repeat – he, far too preoccupied with the handling of putrid sticks; she, far too absorbed by her dashing knight of golden armour; the Waters brute, as they so styled him, who seemed to be rooted abreast her, eternally waiting for some command which rested readily atop her lips. Though she wasn’t one of his sister’s ladies – the smirking vixens with a lacking sense of pride –, she served as a ward under Lyman Beesbury, the old Master of Coin of his father’s late Small Council. Not the particularly quiet or specifically reserved young maiden, she failed to strike up the attention of any callow man at Court. She wasn’t one for idle chatter, or flamboyant dances at Soirees. Yet he would hear her voice each morning, as she bowed low to him and slithered away.

‘Good morrow, Your Grace.’

‘Greetings, Your Grace.’

‘Good day, Your Grace.’

His hands balled up to aching fists, as the grave callouses inside his palm slid across the piece of silk. Several slices of burnt meat adorned the ground he stood atop. The mess that was made of the bed they had once slept on and the tapestries behind the grate all but pointed towards one thing – that she had made her brash escape, and effectively deceived them all. The Crown Prince sucked in a breath, and turned his head towards a rattled and alerted Alys. What was expected was for him to scream. Trash about, around the room, until his blood would cease to boil. She was ready for that. On all accounts, she had prepared for that. What was most unexpected was the lacing calmness of his evened tone.

“I don’t suppose she morphed outside, waiting submissively by the guards.” Within the first half of a drawn-out breath, the older woman shook her head. “No, my Prince.” He nodded slowly, and expelled a weighty laugh, “She started a fire and ran away.”

“Yes, my Prince.”

“Did she take a horse, as well?”

“... I don’t kn–”

“Every man, woman and child in this stronghold knows by now. Did she take a horse, as well?”

“No, my Prince. I swear she didn’t.”

“How much of this was of your doing?”

Two years she stayed inside the Keep. Two years of residence, of life, of growth. Two years of incandescent worth, during which he could have acted.

Notice her.

Court her.

Marry her.

Cruel Fate had all but laughed at him – for two years she had lived below him, right within his steady grasp. In those two years he could’ve bedded her, he could have won her horrid heart. He could have fathered her her freckled children, he could have owned her House’s flags. He could have dressed her in the finest dresses, and ripped them off her every night. He could have seen her cross stark naked – then it would have been his right. He could have kissed her, touched her, fucked her… he could have made her love him back.

A fantasy. A bitter laugh. A pang of pain, and guilt, and wrath.

The Gods spoke of their directed favour – when the Whore of Dragonstone came forth home with her misbegotten son. When his bastard nephew set his eyes on her, on the nameday of his eldest brother. When he sullied her with his abhorrent probe, and when he danced with her throughout the night. The night of which he finally saw her, twirling in her auburn dress.

“My Prince, I’ve helped you find her before – I shall help you find her again…!” Her delicate fingers entwined together in a tightened and reluctant hold, which morphed the pose of a covetous and tattered statue; a ready vision of the Maiden, praying to absolve all sin. Her slit eyes widened to two round specs of emerald sheen, and Alys opened her mouth again, only to be stopped by Aemond. “‘Tis not your barren promises I want – rather, I demand something more palpable.” She quirked her head low to the side, and almost caught herself relax her shoulders; Endless thoughts surged through her head, each more humiliating than the next. If it was her body he desired, she would promptly let him take her – disputes of the flesh she’d handle, and face proudly with a stiffened lip. His wife was gone, and though lamentable, she could still surge him back in. Shake and wake the stifled feelings that he’d once relished her into, win his favour and his grace, save her and her unborn son.

But two blind steps he took towards her, and Alys finally understood.

“You watched your home burn to its core." Aemond's tone was light and leveled, "You must have gazed into the fires.”

It had been a truth universally assumed, that he wouldn’t even look upon her. Though a first daughter, she presented as a mere third child. Loved among her Lords, ‘twas true, but with a trivial, worthless last name, who’d be of little to no use to him, and honour him no less or more than a lease daughter of Pike or Ambrose. He’d scoffed back then, under his breath, as the two conversed so freely. The graceless children of low descent, so shamelessly engrossed in the raptures of the other’s company.

If only he had loved her then. For Jace wouldn't have walked away from Aegon's nameday scrape unharmed. How many things would have played differently, if only he asked her first to dance? ... But a lowbred with a bastard was a common sight to see. Aemond thus stood at his table, playing harsh tunes with his slim fingers, whilst knocking on the table’s wood.

His hand enwrapped at the base of her throat, moving languidly over the nape of her neck, and thwarting her forward with an exponential pull. The dying logs inside the fireplace still cracked with their dispersive strokes, impelling the air with charred ashes, and softened groans of sizzled smoke. Her cheek had touched a snapping flame – the arch of her enticing lip almost pressed firmly against it. The low sputtering of her ragged breath, the agonizing scream she’d let out, the fear that seeped within her bones; they deterred her to choke out worried, terror-stricken by his dwelling words. “My Prince, please, I’m begging you –” His silk-smooth baritone came out sullen by perpetually placid waves. A clementful element to the fear and trepidation swarming about the narrow place.

“I’m merely helping you reach a conclusion.”

Her body contorted in a desperate attempt to flee him, and her hands pushed instinctively into the fires, as if to cast aside their perpetual danger, and better protect her face from the raptures of the growing heat. Fellen sobs escaped her lips, rolling down and off her cheeks, hearthing right in the blaze. “Please, please, please–”

“Well?” He sighed, calm and taciturn inside her ear, sparing her no lessened hold. And she failed once more to answer him, opting instead to let out another shrill of strangled moans. Her vision blurred throughout with horror – her gaze cast forth the lingering effect of fear, and her body stiffened in anticipation.

“Perhaps you need more help, then.” His disquieted mutter churned her guts over with dread.

Her wails of anguish pierced through his heart – yet his grip didn't uncurl.

He’d be a liar to say he thought much back then of their light and foolish prancing. The shades of orange in her dress laced his eye with milky spots of irritation, and Jace’s laughter filled him with surfeited hatred. Thus he didn’t linger past the notion of a second, and when Daeron’s warm eyes met with his, he only hummed in discontent. “You ought to dance with someone tonight,” He reminded his elder brother through the musings of a quirked-up brow, “There’s plenty of handsome ladies here tonight.”

Strenuously he looked around, though at last settled his orb on the heaving and coveted form of the latter of Helaena’s ladies. Her very own shone bright with wonder as she listened to her nearby friend, which dispersed her hands about with adorning youthful bliss. She was laughing in good spirit, whispering her minor gossip; Still, when his gape was met with hers, her slight smile instantly falthered.

Five seconds it took for her to turn and flee into the crowd – and five more it took the Prince to work through the nearest cup, by fully draining it of wine, and allowing its sharpened sting to warm and breach his stiffened limbs. His deflation would be short-lived, and the ripe pierce of rejection heal itself in a moment’s heed.

“‘Tis not their looks I’m worried of.” He pensively added to his brother.

“She had a rather awkward smile.” The youngest tried to comfort him.

“Yet she still preferred to flee.” Though his tune carried no bitter candour, Aemond sharply turned around, “You’re wasting your time with me, brother. You fail to look where you’re supposed to.”

“Your Grace, I know – I know of another way!”

Confused by his elusive words, Daeron turned his head around. “Elanour Frey has all but thrown herself at you.” He clarified slightly amused, and when Daeron’s ears piqued through with red, the corners of his mouth quriked up. “Go take the fair cunt for a whirl. Enjoy her smiles and dulling company.”

“She’s a Lady, brother! It’s wrong of you to slight her so.” Despite the youth’s endless chastising, the boy still rose to kvetch an approach.

“The spell is not without its consequences.” She drew in through a shaky breath, “B-But I can make you see her by yourself. I know the Riverlands like the back of my hand. I’ll tell you where she’s headed.” It was a risky plan. Yet it had the potential to appease Aemond, and in the process, save her life. When his iron fist had loosened, she hastily convulsed away. Her words spoke of an old ritual, one she could avid perform – one that would show him his Lady, one that would reveal her whole. “I’ll need your blood – blood from the both of you. The fresher it is, the better for the enchantment.”

Aemond solely parted with the piece of cloth used for their wedding. When the notion of shared blood was uttered, he hastily dug for the sleeve, revealing the blotches which took the front of a maroon-brown colour. “It’s two days old.”

“It’ll work for her part. But I greatly urge you to spare fresher droplets from your own share.” Her heart beat frantically inside her chest. She prayed to her God to send her lease, to grant her mercy and forgiveness for that of which she would soon do. She nicked Aemond with the sharp end of a perusing tool. Drops of thick, red-bludgeon clot surged over her waiting hands, dripping in rapid slithers from his damaged shoulder. She forged a phoney incantation, muttering it slowly for the man to hear. She then waited, and waited, for the sphagnum moss to reach its peak. “Tonight is a half-crescent moon,” She explained brashly in a lulling tune, “I’ll throw the damp cloth into a fire and we’ll see where she is headed.” Why exactly she had lied to him, and continued to do just so, eluded Alys in her steep attempts to cast her spell. Perhaps it was due to her poignant state – as her condition would begin to show erelong, and Aemond had to be reminded of the care he held for her. Perhaps it was because she’d die if his wife of chestnut hair uttered to him that she’d helped with her escape. Perhaps it was because she’d learned to like the forlong and dismissive Lady, and saw within her the potential to prevail. Perhaps his loyalists had begun to matter – as she well knew the wrath and ruin that Aemond would bring upon the boys, were he to notice that they all survived the clashing flames, and not emerged with his sweet Lady. “... But we need to leave, Your Grace, and soon.” She ergo pleaded as she sewed him shut, “Daemon Targaryen reached the gables of Maidenpool. He’s to come for us, for all of us.”

“Yet another reason not to leave without my wife.”

Perhaps she’d seen enough of death, and felt the need to reach for safety – for the reclusion brought by Oldtown, and for the one she'd felt with Aemond. The lot of troubled knights be damned down to the Seven Hells and back. Criston Cole could meet the troops, take them to increase his numbers, and march on towards the Fields of Fire, to join forces with the Lannisters.

"There is a chance he's still unaware of your union. If that be the case, she’ll be safer without you taking her back right now.”

“Are you suggesting I leave her here? To be used by the Blacks as leverage?"

"– Twirled with two Princes in a night! Gods, and the most comely of the bunch, as well…"

"How lucky she must feel right now. Having two push for her hand."

"She's not that much of an exquisite beauty. And her sewing is quite crooked." With a loud huff to calm her nerves, the Lady dared to carry onward, " I wouldn't go as far as to proclaim something like that."

His wide step fathered on the course of the narrow and secluded hallway. The maidens’ voices washed over his form like whiplash, and Aemond stood hammered in place, whilst listening to their low chirping.

The latter lady of the two shrugged her shoulders in indifference, as she jabbed her slight companion right into her bottom ribs. Her painted lips sketched to a smirk, and her thin brows rose up in wonder. “Poor Dyenne,” She snickered briefly as she paused her idle gossip, “Imagine having the One-Eyed Prince glance at you with such a stare – reckon she’ll send out a raven and beg her father to return to Pyke?” The taller redhead looked around in grave and unmistaken panic, before setting her washed eyes on her giggling accomplice. Her hands wrapped around the shawl that she wore over her gown, and she sighed in discontent, as she weighed her words inside her. “Hush now, Talia!” She ended up conducting sharply, “You shouldn't dare to speak such words. Especially in the Red Keep!”

His hands formed into light fists, as the rousing sting of shame prickled across his pale-white skin. With his jaw now tightly set and a frown upon his face, the Prince cast his long gaze downwards – vexing himself for the impropriety of eavesdropping in the first place. He’d come to terms with his mien, well before he turned a man. With how he scared the finer ladies, with how they all deemed him a cripple. But to be such crass acknowledged as a ghastly and revolting monster, so coolly and without chargin, with such ease and nonchalance.... A bitter taste caught in his mouth, as aggravation dauntly surged him – for how dare those two low women speak so freely of his face?

The shorter girl huffed out expectantly, whilst her companion rained her chastation. Her face was hidden, protected onward by her loosened golden locks. But even so, by name alone, Aemond had apputed her; She was yet another one of Helaena’s hexing ladies. “Even if someone would hear me, certainly they'd feel the same!” With her nose held high and her back all straightened, the lassie added with a perfect diction, “I, for one, would never dance with such a brute. He could be the heir to the Iron Throne itself – I would still flinch at his touch. He is such a morbid freak.”

He could feel his cheeks catch on to a shade of putrid red. His probing and now heated leathers fell tightly on his heaving chest, leaving him appalled, constricted, and resigned in his dark space.

Black spots surged and filled his vision before he could extend his arm. Heinous pain stabbed through his heart, rushing through his mustered veins. The last he felt was of his shoulder, which throbbed in place with blazing heat.

***

“Aemond? Gods, Aemond, are you alright?”

The mere softness of her distant voice sent a pleasurable thrill within him. His lilac orb opened with stupor, gazing above him at the remnants of the littered candles, which flickered both across her face and at the sobriety of the dark room. His tenebrous brow rose in surprise, as her brilliant eyes met him with love, and her reddened lips broke to a smile.

“Thank the Gods you’re awake.” She whispered with a timbre of exhilaration, as her small hand came up to brush over the arch of his unfurrowed brows and against his tired face. Her touch was light and barely proded – and, for the first time since he’d truly seen her, a refulgent smile formed on her lips; caused by and bared out for him – in all its kind and gracious nature. His chest heaved once with every turn of his lungs’ deep and churning exhales, as her vivid and concisive image allowed for a heatwave of ardour to surge through his very being. The deep purple of his eye glimmered with abstained affection – the corners of his downward mouth all but quirked into a grin.

As if burnt by dragon fire, his body rose to a quick halt – propped upwards by his left forearm, and supported through the same. The wound that caused him ached discomfort all forgotten with the notion of her brightened and reclusive face. “But –” He began feverishly, whilst turning her head from side to side, “How,” He choked out with a desperate hiss, caressing her cheeks with his rough digits, “You left. You left me.”

A soft gasp lodged from her throat, as Aemond’s hands enwrapped her whole. Her own slim limbs entwined with his, running through his silver hair and over his unyielding jaw, resting on his raucous back and grazing over his resounding heart. The tension in his rigid shoulders eased with every gaudy touch. She wordlessly reached for his eyepatch, and yanked it off in a swift move. Her lips descended on his shoulder, moving upwards to peck lightly at his jugged and immersive scar, reaching for his poignant cheekbones, and pressing softly at his mouth’s high arch.

“How,” He whispered lowly once again, as her eyes met his with glee. "Foolish boy,” She kissed him slowly, whilst aligning her hips to his, “I came back for you. We’re man and wife now, you and I.” She added with a prompt elation, “I could never truly leave you.”

“Harrenhal, the Riverlands –” He grunted meekly as he insatiably chased her mouth. His wife bit over his lower lip, and swallowed down his grouchy growl. “Shh,” She subdued him back to calmness, “We are both in Oldtown now. All is well.” She nodded once to ease his nerves, “Your brother, Daeron, took care of everything.” Before the Prince could inquire anything less or more wanting, her leg prodded in between his thighs, widdling to pry them open. She moved her attentive focus to his red and swollen lips, and gently led his heated body back into a lying pose. The woman smirked at his perplexed submission, and flummeted a listless array of sensual and loving kisses down the curve of his adonis belt. Her knees plunged into the mattress that enwrapped him in a state of lust, straddling and guiding him as she considered at that time.

“Relax, my love,” She urged him gently, “I plan to take good care of you.” For but a moment, her movement stilled. And his wife rose up her head to kiss him in pleded benevolence. “I almost lost you. Never again.” She promised him with an elusive stare. The hardness in his hazy iris softened with her every word. His digits came to touch her own, and he entwined their hands together, taking her own to his mouth. Tenderly he kissed each finger, trailing the softness of her palms with the unquaint and possessed devotion of his flectuous and awaiting lips. She relaxed into his hold, and used her thumbs to graze his cheeks, rubbing faintly at the jarring redness that was forming on his skin. “I would burn the world to ashes if it meant possessing you,” He muttered lowly as he kissed her hands, “The Gods may curse me if they will it – but I would sooner kill a thousand men, and ravock against hundreds of armies, before I should see you leave again.”

Her giggle pierced his very soul, and that alone had been enough for him to free his damning urges. He pawed at her compressing bodice, and sucked with fevervour at the apex of her thighs and neck. “I am sick with the desire to have you. I am not a man to be tamed, my Lady; ‘tis with you and only you that I will submit willingly.” Poignant yet without a hurry, her fingers threaded through his silver hair, earning a salacious moan from the lips of the perturbed. Aemond’s eye was blown with lust, and a shallow but incessive pant ached within his naked chest. Desperate to hear her voice, and maddened by her ceaseless silence, the man drove on with upstrained force. “Tis only you who makes me whole,” He whispered as he shut his eye, “Your beauty is a curse that bound me since the first day that we met. No matter where I turn to look, I cannot escape your presence.”

“Say something – say anything. Tell me that I may – may I?” The desperate edge within his tone transpired over his extended hand. Tremulous and undecided, it touched the lacings of her back, itching to reveal her skin. “Please let me touch you. Please… I need you.” A reserved smile upturned her lips, and the woman trailed her hands over the appended width of his shuddering and throbbing chest. His every muscle tensed at the feeling of her cold and sanity hands – a downy sigh beleft his throat, followed by a swallowed whine. She leaned over to his ear, and trailed a long lick to his jaw. “I love you…” She subdued to his lax face, whilst letting out a brisk exhale. Her forehead came to touch his own, as she muttered once again, “I love you, Aemond.” The sluggish roll of her scant hips deterred the Prince to drone a curse. "Don't say that, my love," His breathing came to ragged pants, "I'm going to… spend… if you say that once more…" His hand came forth to grip her thigh, pausing slightly for a moment to ensure her disposition, before leading her into him with nuanced and languid movements. His brows furrowed in concentration, as his hazy and fogged over eye trailed across her freckled face. “To hell with keeping the bloodline pure,” He gulped as he relaxed into her, “Fuck principle.” His loins ached him with elation at the promise of release. The way she looked at him was too much. “Sīkudi nopāzmi, skori ao umbagon va bē hen issa…” His speech halted with the abstinence of another guttural growl, “Qrimbrōzagon, jorrāelagon, nyke jāhor tepagon ao nykeā gār trēsi.”

Very little he could say on the wild infatuation that he felt for the slight girl. He knew that he had well surrendered his will, his mind, and his whole being to the jolting peaks of madness – of love and lust and quaint desire.

He’d been a man bound by his duty. Prepared to marry his own sister and ensure their pure volition, should his brother prove himself more or less inapt to do it. Marry the Baratheon girl, concur with her father’s banners and one day sit at Storm’s End. But then he went against his mother – against the wishes of his grandsire, against the better of the Realm; he’d married her in disheartened haste, with no quaint or real regard over what would come of them. His extended family, the premise of his purpose as a simple second son, the scarce but mandatory expectations that were laid upon him since the first conditioned moments of his cursed and unwanted birth… they’d all have grown to account to nothing in the face of her lithe form. She was, by all righteous accounts, the one woman that the poets spoke of. The inviting and mistrusting siren that would lure tired men in, the innocent and stainless maiden that drove them all insane with need. His wife, His Lady – the only woman who could drive Aemond Targaryen wild with pure fervour. With every kiss on her pale skin, the falthered licks of true devotion cascaded from his parted lips – with every promise that he uttered in his olden mother tongue, too scared and afraid to claim them in a way she’d understand. For he was nought but a damn coward. A foolish man. One that was frightened. Frightened of the situation which he himself had put her under. Frightened of being rejected by his one true love again. Frightened of loving her wholly, as if but a single touch placed upon her skin would burn him.

Scared, that he would do anything it took to have her. Scared, that he would desolate his House, renounce his titles, give up his birthright – just to be allowed to stay quaintly over by her side. The tightness of his burdened sex deterred him to writhe and moan. His hands had worked throughout without him, undressing her with a light tremour – one that would have better matched a young and senseless stable boy, than a true and balanced Prince. His mouth latched on her heaving bosom, sucking its possessive mark along the low side of her collarbones. His right hand touched upon her thigh, and she immediately spread out her legs. “Se nyke jāhor jorrāelagon hen se tolvie mēn hen zirȳ.”

His trail of open-mouthed kisses faltered in their pushed longevity, as she offered her reply in kind. Her eyes washed over with confusion, and a quivering but dainty hand came up to rest over his scar. Her mouth opened as his closed, daring to utter but one question, after what felt like an eternity of eluding and punishing silence. “Is everything alright, my King?”

As if struck by a red arrow, Aemond countered her position – though he kept her tightly on him, his own chest touching with hers. “What did you say?” Following his own accord, the Prince wrapped a hand around her, “You do not speak High Valyrian.”

Not with this level of content.

“My love…” She strained herself to finally stay, whilst the Targaryen seized up her hand, “Aemond, my heart, what are you doing?”

“This isn’t real,” His voice cracked with dissolution, “This isn’t real.” His thumb trailed where her cut should be, across the soft mound of her flesh – though the only feel against it was her soft and healed-up muscle. In vain she tried to grip his face, and make him face her eyes again. In vain her face had gotten closer, urging him to probe her skin. “Aemond…” She tried her best to reel him back.

“You couldn’t have healed in two days' time.”

“I’m here, Aemond – I’m real. I am real just as you are.”

His thumb grazed her lower lip, trailing at her cupid’s bow. “No,” He muttered with a broken tone, “No, you’re not.”

Regret washed over her fair face – though whether felt or simply mimicked, Aemond wouldn’t dare to guess. Before he could swat her away, her hands gripped urgently at his loose shirt. The sick illusion stilled her movements, and merely pressed up against his form. “What does it matter if I’m not cut?” Her gaze softened as he pulled her nether, “This can be real,” She muttered meekly, as she trailed her smaller hand down the apex of his silver hair. Shyly she encouraged him to wrap a hand around her waist, and to rest his cluching chin on the nakedness of her small chest. “You and me,” She deterred further, “We can make this whole thing work.” She nodded fervently at her own words, as she unclasped the ready dagger that remained tied to his leg. Quietly she brought it forward, presenting it in her clean palms – and smiled at him encouragingly, as she pointed it to his big hands. “We can wed each other again,” She promised with a sweet allure, “And we can make it right this time.” Roaring anguish and relenting pain was all that Aemond found he felt, as her soft digits tried to trail over the sharpness of his jaw again. She raised herself back to her knees and straddled him with a shy look. “You know the words, Aemond, come on,” She coaxed him with a shallow grind, “Father, Smith, Warrior,” Her lips descended on his neck, “Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger…” A blinding array of wet kisses was panned insistently across his face. The cruel illusion pouted slightly, as her lost set of aching motions failed to be returned by Aemond. She stirred observantly in her found seat, and simply grazed his chest again. “I am his and he is mine…”

“Stop this.”

“From this day, until the end of my days.”

His hand had wrapped around her throat, holding her gently in her place – though firmly enough for her plump lips not to scoot a figment closer. His lone orb bore into her form, sending waves of apt vexation down the curve of her hicked bosom, “Enough.” He domineered his lady faintly, while swatting her off his heaving body. “Aemond,” She tried once more, thoroughly banished, and latched onto his extended arm, “Please,” Her tune had grown desperate in edge, “We can be so, so happy… I can be so good for you–”

But by then it’d been too late – for Aemond opened his eye, and was met with thorough light.

“Aemond.” A faraway voice called out for him.

His head was throbbing, his scar itching, stinging at his tightened skin with waves of blinding and deafening pain. His lips parted with the prying of a hardened groan, and the man hissed at the contact that the mattress made with him. “Shit,” He panted with a shaky exhale. The Prince’s lips pressed hard together, and a harsh frown scorned his features. As he glanced on at the man who’d dared perturb him in his sleep, his own surprise jolted him upward. “Daeron?”

As if motioned by his hiss of pain, the young Targaryen heathered closer, enwrapping his own slender fingers around his older brother’s forearm. Gentily he hoisted him better, making sure to shield his shoulder and press his back against the tall edge of his given bed. “You have slept for too long, brother.” He uttered in a sympathetic tone, “We thought that you might not wake up.”

“What happened?” Aemond jerked his whole arm forward, loosening his sibling’s hold. He winced at the grave discomfort, and Daeron breathed out a tut – though the two remained up close, even through Aemond’s conniption. Defeated or perhaps unnerved, Daeron straightened back his shoulders, broadening his slighter frame. He hummed towards him in slight admission, before resuming his known poise. “It’s good to see you, too, dear brother.” A sadenned smile played at his lips, before his eyes bore his again. “... The Riverlands have been secured two days ago by nuncle’s presence. I came and took you back to Oldtown.” His reply had been quite simple, yet Aemond’s blood surged through with ire. He almost jumped up to his feet, demanding for a hurried answer. “You mean to tell me… Harrenhal has been abandoned. The strongest keep in terms of rally.” His voice had grown huskier yet, as he strained his vocal cords to concur a neutral tone. A bludgeon red obscured his vision, as a palpable realisation hit – his wife had been abandoned, too. “The Lady of Riverrun –” He began with grave ferocity, yet Daeron’s voice befell his ears.

“What was once your prized war captive appears to have remained scot-free.” The deep purple in his eyes registered his wrathful face, “There was nothing we could do. Your shoulder blade was soberly infected. The girl could have been anywhere further South, and Daemon emerged up North with that vexing bastard filly.” As his speech came to a halt, the man expelled a briskened heave, “You’re lucky that you’re still alive, and that Ser Cole stuck out from Maidenpool to take over your share of men.” Aemond’s features turned impassive, as his bold and younger brother carried forward with his discourse. Recoil sprung inside his guts, densening his leaden body. Fury fought with better judgement, until the former struck its claim. “How long have I been asleep.” Though a poignant and illusive question, his words spewed out as a command, “How long has it been.”

“A little over three moon turns.”

“Three days,” The man spat out in disarray, “Three days,” He thus insistently repeated, as he fixed on the lowest point of the cranky wooden floor. His mind’s eye surged with hasty questions, with possibilities and made scenarios that could have feasibly played at her fate. She could not have gotten far. Walking through those fields on foot came near close to be impossible, even for the ones who worked them. She hadn’t stolen any horse, for Alys told him –

Alys Rivers.

The harlot witch who’d sworn before him that she’d find out where she would be.

“Where is the Rivers witch residing now?” Almost clearing through his trail of thought, Daeron’s body hindered forward. “Take it easy, Aemond, please. You have not yet healed your wounds.” The sharpened edge of his advice echoed through the dim lit room. “I shan’t allow your temper to recline your better health.”

“You listen here and listen well,” His wide stance dominated their reclusion, “I remain your Prince Regent until Aegon’s recuperation. You will tell me where that bastard is, or I’ll break this hedge to find her.”

“Do not make me choose between my man’s honour and my family,” Daeron sighed as he unsheathed his sword, “Lady Alys is under my protection. And no harm shall fall upon her.” A humourless laugh broke Aemond’s scowl, as a wild expression settled in. Her ongrowing popularity with younger men with silver hair hadn’t failed to irk him onward. “Ah, she’s shown you her loose cunny yet?” With two wide steps, he reached his brother, “You get the bull-tip of your cock wet and call that an act of honour? For agreeing to protect her whilst buried to the hilt inside her?”

Her deep-set eyes shone with uncertainty. The witch had bit over her lower lip, surging forward with her pleading. “I’m begging you, my Prince, Aemond cannot know.” Taken aback by her renowned persistence, Daeron merely nodded his head. “My Lady, you are well in Oldtown now. For saving my brother’s life as you did, I remain deeply indebted.” Though his stare had but ghosted over the appendix of her womb, the man frowned with laced dubiety. She followed his fixation vaguely, before bringing out a hand to rest over her emergent stomach. “Your brother isn’t a bad man – and he’s never wronged me, my Prince, however–” Her quaint unease shortened her argument. And alas, she’d lost her courage, lowering her arid stare. “However, I do not think it wise to spur him on with my condition.” With how her eyes avoided his, her kind admission of his resting brother might not have been all true and fair. Still he didn’t dwell on it; and merely chose to nod his head.

“He is certain to be mad at me.”

“You ought not to feel afraid, my lady. Any news of your condition will not come forth from my own lips.”

“Careful now, Aemond, you forget yourself.”

“And remain unarmed.” He gingerly agreed, “Did lord Ormund tell you how to be a man of honour? Was swinging your sword about in the face of your unguarded kin a lesson he’d formerly taught you? Or did you already possess such knowledge?”

“I do not wish to fight you, brother. Though you will stay your hand whilst here.” A damning silence cut right through them, clogging up their lungs with pressure and spiking up their avid hearts. Restlessness and grief filled Aemond, who only glanced in trepidation at his shorter and unmoving brother. The crackling fire of the room danced its flames across his face, thus distorting Daeron’s image of the fervour which he felt. “I’d tread lightly if I were you, brother. The Blacks did style me a Kinslayer.” Though filled with vehemence and zeal, Aemond had been smarter yet. With his small hum and low admission, he relaxed his back again. He took a seat near the small fire, and glanced at the boy again. His eye swirled with an iron glint, that merged into the biting flames of the red inviting blaze. His right arm rose in mocked surrender, though his sharp features didn’t lessen from their venomous display.

Despite his face being flushed red by his brother’s cruel last words, Daeron faced his flare with courage, and a straighter back than most, “Is it true?” He interjected, after a trifling plummet of silence. Though neither Prince required clarity upon the nature of his question, the younger lass protracted onward, as to secure Aemond’s reply. “Is it true that I should call the Tully girl my sister now?” The remnants of the aching fire danced across their heaving bodies. The avid churning of the olden wood dominated the wide room – two Targaryens singled each other, mirroring their counterpart in both elation and in stance. Aemond’s orb never once found itself leaving his face. Lilac clashed with spilling purple, until the latter of the two men moved.

“Yes.” Was all the Regent mustered to answer.

The oak floor creaked under the pressure of Daeron’s long and urgent steps. His hands sprawled over to the pine-wood table. His head lulled forward in a broken image.

In the nearing distance of the fertile fields of Oldtown, both Tessarion and Vhagar unleashed their frightening and unruly growls.

The Rushing Halls. The Half Calf’s Inn. Green Fork. Hag’s Mire.

Rushing Halls, Half Calf’s Inn, Green Fork, Hag’s Mire –

The North.

Words she whispered under her breath as she ran with a willingness unbent but strained. A ceaseless mantra of tied locations, that would hopefully bring forth her safety. Eventual peace within the Ream, to her family – and Gods be good, to the kindred spirits of all the souls she had selfishly left behind. She prayed and hung upon the last image that she got of Alys. Nought of what she said to her could be tested to be certain, and she might as well have sent her to an early and untimely death. She knew I wanted to march North, she'd ceaselessly remind herself, Could my own judgement be faulty?

Her legs had long been taken over by the blissful licks of numbness. And the soles of her silk shoes were long gnawed over by the pressure she had tirelessly put them under. Heaving breaths rattled her throat, and hot tears rolled off her cheeks. With a stupor which perturbed her greatly, the girl observed what had occurred.

She’d been crying. And for an awfully long time, at that.

Of exhaustion, of guilt, of desperation. Of feeling more caged than before, moving blindly like a pawn when bigger schemes were now at play – schemes that could have only been orchestrated by the Greens. Or the Blacks. Or the allies of those fractioned Houses. She could feel her heart emerge in the back-end of her throat. Her mouth dried up, although her tears quickened their flow into a heavy sheen of frightened spoil. The question in her mind remained – How long would it take until word reached the Blacks' most leal camps? Until Daemon or Rhaenyra found out about her bitter marriage, until her family – her real family – was used as bait to sway her heart?

They couldn’t know.

Would they believe it?

Would she be wrong to reach up North, in the hopes of peace and solace? Would she be caged and executed by the one Jace called his friend?

Her Jace. Her sweet and kind and perfect Jace.

His fingers threaded through her hair, as she sat across his lap. The padding of his calloused finger ran over her puffy cheek, prodding at her jaw affectionately as she read the book aloud. “Jace,” She hummed with contrary amusement laced within her tender voice, “However do you plan on learning all those words in High Valyrian if you can’t focus at all?” A boyish smirk spread on his face, which followed suit with a slight chuckle. Despite her chastising remark, the girl rose both eyebrows in wonder – she clicked her tongue in feigned dejection, but soon gave in to his strange joy. “Ah, but how can I be expected to concentrate on anything when you are so very beautiful,” Her Prince lowered his face to her, “And your lips look so inviting?” A myriad of little pecks descended on her face like rain, reaching wherever they could.

Three on her forehead, two on her brows, five on her nose and six on her lips.

A rather violent and aggressive turn stole the ground beneath her feet, and the woman found herself lying on the mudded earth.

Get up. Hurry and get up right now.

No matter how much she’d dare to try, she’d never be an avid runner. She’d never dare desert a post, but she’d never win a race.

Their giggles filled the blooming garden, as they both whispered their stale promises. “Avy jorrāelan,” He muttered right above her lips, “I swear that I’ll make you my Queen.” Her tiny gasps were soon all swallowed by the hunger of his mouth, “Avy jorrāelan–” She tentatively rolled the words in the back end of her throat, “That means ‘I love you’, doesn’t it?” The older boy let out a pur at her rightful and correct assumption, “My beautiful and smart betrothed,” He gently caressed her cheeks, “I love you,” He mustered up to say again, “I love you. I love you so, so much.”

“I love you more,” She strained herself to faintly exhale as she captured him again in an open-mouthed kiss.

She’d never seen love as a weakness, so she never felt the need to run. Although she’d never been the one to chase – always the last to eat her dinner, always the last to speak her mind. She was, in fact, a mere ground-holder. The one that always chose to stay.

“I’ll go with you,” Her weary eyes searched wide for his, “I won’t let you face the Triarchy alone.” Jace’s hands beckoned her hither, in a tight and chaste embrace. “You must stay here,” He softly uttered, “Your grandsire and brothers need you.”

“Not as much as you need me,” Her hands tightened their loose hold, “We’re a team. We’ve always been a team. I just–” Although the latter of her words were muttered, Jace still broke into a smile, “I just can’t let you go alone. I have a bad feeling about this.” He kissed the crown of her tied hair, and breathed in her daisy scent. “Stay,” He sighed in a low tone, “I did promise you, did I not?” His hawk-like orbs bore holes into her, “I swore to you that I’d return. I intend to keep my oath.”

Even when her shoes were laced, or when all her muscles tensed at the simple call of ready – she just wouldn’t move her legs. She was a stayer. Always the one to get up last.

“You shouldn’t be so taciturn,” Kermit’s voice rang through her ears. “Good things come to those who wait.” She dismissed him with a jab, and Oscar’s lips pulled to a smile. “In this world? In Westeros?” Her younger brother tightly questioned, “To a Tully? I don’t think so.”

Gods be good, her knees were bleeding from the sheer force of that fall. She blinked her eyes and panted loudly, trying to regain her vision. Dwellings on matters disclosed were the least bit of her worries. If she managed to escape her husband, then she could torment her soul.

The Rushing Halls. The Half Calf’s Inn.

Alys had at last been right.

“Hey, boy! You, from over there!” Her breathless callings were soon answered with a frail and slight refrain.

“Greetings, traveller!” The man instilled his horse to stop, whilst turning his face towards her. “You seem to be in a big rush.” Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. Her breathing came as short and laboured. “Aye, I am,” The girl agreed with a forced smile, whilst focusing to stop her pants. She glanced atop the horse’s rider, and merely nodded up ahead, “See, I was planning to go to High Heart – take the Gold Road back to Silverhill.” As she winced at her attempt to recall the map of Westeros, the nervous Lady of the Riverlands shrugged her shoulders in dismay. She swallowed deeply for a moment, and prayed to whatever God would listen for the man to be convinced. “But, uh,” She took in a shaky breath, as her lungs burned up her insides, “I didn’t realise the lands would be so muddy.” She chuckled as the boy relaxed, and aligned his horse to face her, “Not from these parts, are you, Lady?”

“I’m afraid I’m here in passing. My own family awaits in Appleton.”

If until then the lass had treated her with piercing and perusing distance, his facade had broken down, in the singular and stellar moment when her words mentioned the Reach – the modest castle of King’s Road where some lower lords resided. Immediately his shoulders slouched, as his eyes widened with joy. “You’re from Appleton, Lady?” Without awaiting for an answer, the boy shook his head and clarified, “My good mother comes from Appleton – she used to take me there in summers, since I was still in my cradle!” He dismounted his small horse with a feverished, good-willed felicity, and approached the waiting girl, “‘Tis good to see another lowborn of the Reach! My name is Dalron. Dalron Flowers.” As he proudly spoke his words, the Dalron bastard of the Reach leaned into a profound bow.

Another bastard of the Reach – this was starting to become a theme.

The amusing thought that reached her mind hindered the girl to suppress a laugh. Still, her eyes darted in focus to the side of the road, and she faltered a moment to plunge back into her words.

“I’m Sara Webber.” She lied without a single tick, and smiled crookedly when the man tripped over his better words, “M’lady!” He forthwith spat out his flattery, “Forgive me, m’lady, I hadn’t realised I was talking to a – well, uh, ah, a highborn lady.”

Relieved that her lie had worked and that her new identity had stuck so well – for she was painfully unaware if such a Webber even existed in the lands of Coldmoat Keep –, her hands came briskly in the air, as she waved them both good-heartedly. “It is I who should apologise, ser – I don’t reside exactly in Appleton. Though I share the enthusiasm: it is a rather beautiful place." Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, and her stare focused on the tiny horse; how very perfect it would suit her in the joncture of her little trip.

“I struck up a conversation to inquire about your horse. Would you ever think to sell her?"

“She's not truly a horse, my lady, but a half mule –”

Alys.

"Still, she's as good as any purebred! And she can last for a long distance."

“She must be quite valuable and dear, then!”

The lanky bastard nodded with a smile upon his lips. His eyebrows furrowed shortly after, as he patted the old yerdle on her boney and emblemished back, “Aye, m’lady, dear she is – but I must say with honesty that she can’t carry much weight.” A shy quirk befell his lips, and the boy dared to look away again. His black eyes ran over the hills she’d pointed – and he shook his head whilst thinking. “But with just you on her back, m’lady,” His yellow teeth showed for a moment, “I’d say she could take you to Appleton.”

Her dirtied hand dug through her breeches for the remaining coins from Alys. After but a hissed-out curse and a sheepish smile thrown at him, her unclenched palm revealed both silvers, and a carefully polished ring. “It’s not much, I must confess,” Her breath staggered with an inept swallow, “But it should be of enough value to at least make up for her.”

The way his face switched brash emotions made her squirm within her place. She filled her lungs with putrid air, and merely drove on ahead, “Of course, I’d deal you with these clothes, as well.” She humorously jabbed at Dalron, “If you could tell I was a lady, then my job wasn’t done right.”

The rags the bastard wore in daylight contrasted her shirt and braise. And Dalron looked at the two silvers, and at the stone caught in her ring.

In those unparalleled moments of quiet, the Lady smiled at him with patience, but prayed upon the Seven Heavens that the man accept her offer.

***

The mule’s strides were long and hearty – filled with more determination than the girl ever expected; swift and agile on her scrawny, although weirdly elongated feet.

The girl noticed, although dumbfounded, that her shoulders had relaxed. Her lips pressed into a tight line, as her back turned stiff again.

Such a fool’s role she was playing, disassociating from her nimble body, daydreaming with her eyes wide open, when she hadn't yet found shelter. She could not afford missteps – not another hurried movement, or another close miscall. Relaxation was a dreaded feeling.

Her, overcome with confidence in her own wit and reason, on her slim chance of escaping and her margin of enclosed direction could not have brought good news with it. And that bastard boy she’d left, wearing all of Aemond’s clothes…

She’d smiled at him in a faint manner, and fooled him to dress in her garments.

When quietness set in the fields, and all the birds ceased with their loud humming, the tired Lady of the Riverlands wondered if she’d killed the lass – if somehow, although unwilling, she’d condemned him to his death. Would he be found out by Aemond? Or by one of his unchanged supporters? Would any woman from his town recognise the three-faced dragon on the back-end of his shirt, and denounce him as a traitor, style him someone who plotted against the betterment of the Black flags? … Would he know her true identity? Had he figured it all out from the moment that he saw her, and only bargained with her money to suck her dry of all she had?

She was Elmo Tully's daughter. The granddaughter of mighty Grover. Kermit's sister–

Aemond's wife.

Both her brothers were well-liked, known and welcomed with great reverie on North to Kingsroad and South to Ashford. Surely then the boy won’t talk.

… But what if he were made to talk? Tortured on and on for hours, seemingly without an end? He’d seen her take to Wayfarer’s Rest, so if he’d give them those directions, then at least they would be wrong.

The mule was panting, hard but slow. Her feet had started giving out.

“Attagirl,” The girl encouraged, patting her on her slim neck, “Hold on for me. Hold on, sweet thing – we have to walk for a while longer.” The half-breed puffed through her pink nose, and merely grunted in her slight retreat. “I promise you, we’ll stop real soon.” Had she turned fully insane? Overcome by grief, fatigue, and so desperate to talk again?

Human company couldn't be traded with the one of a small horse. But conversing with the mare was better than not cackling at all.

A lousy crack of a felled branch unsettled both the mount and owner to the heights of deep hysteria – but only the former jolted and curdled out a high-pitched shriek.

“Shh, shh, attagirl – calm down, sweet thing, calm down.” The Bliss of Riverrun commanded gently. Her hands were shaking, still holding up the yearling’s bridle. She exhaled once through her straight nose, and tried to calm her aching nerves. “I got scared, too, but it was nothing.” Though darkness ate away the forest, her avid eyes searched through the shadows – and her own hand rested quite stiffly, palming at her thigh to ground her. “See, it was just a stupid bird. The breeze. A noise.” Her own breathlessness surprised her.

In olden days, she'd laugh at that. For she always teased the children that were still scared of the dark.

Droplets of sweat coated her forehead, tickling down her dirtied cheek. The girl didn't feel like laughing. The girl felt the need to scream.

Should Aemond venture out to find her, she’d be well aware of that. And no amount of greenery would mask Vhagar’s laid out shadow. The dragon’s roars had made her ears bleed – they would be louder than a measly crack.

As she looked up from the bushes, the girl's big eyes filled up with glee; for there it was, up on the hill – the unkept and deformed Hag’s Mire.

《"You'll go towards the Rushing Halls and buy yourself a mule from the Half Calf's Inn." As the younger Lady nodded feverishly at her late advice, Alys clasped her cheeks with her hands, and brought her head further towards her. "You'll keep a straight line to the Green Fork. You won't stop to eat or drink – you won't stop until you reach Hag's Mire.》

Alys told her she could stop there. And Alys had been right before; why would she be lying now?

Maybe she should stop about. Allow her mule the rest of night, eat something hot, starchy and fat.

She still possessed her golden pendant. And she could trade it for a meal, and a high stable for her tired mule. Her heart picked up with faith and hope, as her own lips parted with gratitude.

Thank the Gods for Alys Rivers, she compelled within her thoughts.

His eyes looked far into the distance, matching shadows to their forms. The grey within his tired iris faltered over with light languor – and a quaint sigh left his lips, as the man straightened his back.

“And so quietness enwrapped the Realm.” Her satin voice enveloped Cain, and whilst he turned his head around, he returned her smile with grace. His fatigued limbs chastised in protest, yet he still bowed in his reply. “Lady Arryn,” He echoed slightly, announcing the woman's presence. The night’s air flogged at his pale skin, leaving forth their angry marks at the apex of his hollow cheeks. “The hour’s grown quite late, my Lady.” Instead of an outright reply, the woman nodded in effervency, as she walked on by to sit near the stones he rested on. She turned her stare to the vast distance, and sucked a breath with a light tut. “When my ancestors built the Vale,” She began with a small hum, “They said it was impenetrable.” Her hands rested in her lap, playing with her golden rings.

“Why are you here alone?” The quaint recoil of her tone matched the weariness of his low stance. “Apologies, my lady. I hadn’t meant to abandon my post.” Though he tried his hardest to level out his prickled throat, the words he uttered maintained their shaky undertones. The subtle feel of her wool shawl surrounded Cain with love and warmth. Her hands had draped the silky felt over his unyielded back, and she rubbed long, soothing circles in the thick of the material. Twice she had patted his shoulders, before gently letting go.

A wordless colloquy was thus exchanged. “It’s really cold.” She hushed beside him.

“But I’ve always found their logic to be lacking in that sense.” Jayne transfixed Cain with her blue eyes, “No one's tried to break us in. But I'm certain that some could." She paused a while to maul her thoughts, before she carried on her speech, "Just because something looks to be untouchable, that doesn't make it rightly so.”

“It doesn’t quite inspire men to go to arms, either, my lady.”

“Yeah…” The knight chocked-out an affirm, “It is.” Her eyes pleaded silently with his, and the five and ten year old lowered her head over her knees. “You talked to him.” She merely sighed, as he quickly shook his head. “He reached out to me,” Cain muttered simply, “I was in the training yard when he showed up out of nowhere.” A wobbly hand came to wipe his tears away, and the lass scratched himself with the callous ends of his rough digits. “Said we needed to talk. I thought that… Gods, I never allowed myself to hope, my lady, but for once I–” The fever in his growing tone wantonly shredded his heart. The anguish in his gape was evident, but the girl lest found herself transfixed by his iron gaze – so close to being blue or green, so close to turning milky white. “Is he…?” She asked him with a reserved pitch. “His twin brother.” Cain huffed out, as a bitter laugh slipped past his lips. “Tyland was just there to make sure I wouldn’t yelp. His brother’s too much of a coward to address his son his questions.”

Lady Arryn forced a smirk, yet agreed with the tall knight. “Every coward seems courageous in the safety of the crowd.” She murmured through a marginal chuckle, “And bravery can be contagious when the band is playing loud.” Her tense gaze drowned him like a river – and the swirl beneath her eyes let the man know of her wide plan. “To be led by the force of example can be a very tricky thing.” Cain exhaled through his nose.

“Is that why you cannot find sleep?”

“Was he worried you would say something?” Her drawn voice laced with the cobwebs of uncertainty, “What would you have to gain from calling yourself a Lannister’s bastard?”

“A whole lot, Tyland thinks.” The corners of his mouth quirked upwards, “For one, Jason doesn’t have any sons.” Her eyebrows rose from perplexed to intrigued. “Even rumours of an illegitimate one could very well ruin their thread of succession.” As the two friends pressed on forth with their treasonous exaltion, the younger girl lowered her head. “But you don't want it. You don’t want Casterly Rock.”

“No.” His own body had become a vessel, a means to chain his most protruding thoughts. The corners of his mouth had watered, as his vision turned unclear. Gods forgive him, and Gods be good – but how he wanted it as his. He wanted to sit on that damned chair more than presidency would allow. He wanted to feel the weight of that ridiculous and pompous cape upon the broadness of his shoulders, he wanted to know what it would be like; For but a moment, he wanted to know their power. To know what it was like to be seen, quaint regarded as an equal, and not as a produce of lust. “No, I don’t want it.” His head surged clear with a response. The world was yet to make a man who lacked the much needed ambition to climb the ladder to the heights of power. The impulse he felt had made no difference – what he wanted and what he was owed were on the two sides of the same coin.

His shoulders tensed, much like that night. “I feel…” He strained himself to give an answer, “When I faced the Kinslayer in that dark, secluded cave," His diction halted for a moment, as he thought on what to say, "I felt more than prepared to die.”

“But you didn’t die.”

“No, I didn’t.” His shame slid down his throat with ease, “I survived; and in the process of that, I failed her.” His stare threaded with the winter’s sky. And when he dared to speak again, his voice hung low with deep uncertainty. “There’s nothing to say I won’t fail again.”

“Nothing makes a man so bold as a woman’s smile, and a hand to hold.”

The redness in his cheeks had deepened, and though his mouth opened in protest, quietness ensued a while – He would have avidly denied her musings, swearing on the Gods above that what he felt for his fair lady was nothing but a lasted friendship.

I owe my very life to her, he might have been endowed to say, When no one else believed in me, she was the one who gave me hope. And the right purpose to uphold.

Only when he turned her way, did the knight realise that he was tired. Tired – but tired up and far beyond the constrictions of the mind and flesh. The only sound that left his lips was a faint sigh of refrain. Everyone inside his life abandoned him or ran away. How cowardly it was of him to wish to do the very same.

His weary and incessive shoulders stiffened with the gentle breeze.

A single tear rolled off his cheek, and Cain swallowed back a curse. “I always lived under the impression that fathers grow to love their sons.” The silence that swaddled the gardens exceeded deafening amounts. Crickets nestled in the grass, opening their wings to fly to the delicate petals of flowers in the raptures of the night. A gust of wind prodded her vision, swaying forth her longer hair. The young girl’s eyes closed shut in focus, as her lips parted instead. “Jason Lannister is an idiot.” She ended up concluding then, “He doesn't deserve to call you that.”

A steadied breath escaped Cain’s throat, and her wide orbs softened in pain. Her gaze moved forth to the green bushes, and her smooth hands twitched in her lap. Suddenly and without thinking, her palm enwrapped his shaking fist. “I’m glad he’s not making you live with the shame of being his first male offspring, you know.” Although her moody tone of voice snapped right through the orchid garden in a patronising way, the Bliss of Riverrun made use of her free remaining hand; digging through her gown’s loose pockets, searching for a piece of cloth. They emerged not moments later, holding up the handkerchief – which she brought up to his face, to wipe away his trail of thought. “Fuck him.” She disclosed with a sure frown, “How something so defiled and ugly managed to mend such a good and patient boy should be studied by the Citadel.”

“You should go back to the feast, my Lady. Your grandsire will be very mad once he notices you left.” Though his gentle tone of voice tried to lead the girl away, his calloused thumb stroked tenderly at her palm’s inner soft flesh. She gave his hand a caring squeeze, and aligned her grasp with his. “I’m not going to leave you.” Her eyes spoke the honest truth, “Not when you’re hurting like that. What kind of friend would I be then?”

A small smile formed on his lips, pulling them upward in a comical but quite strained fashion. All his blood surged in his ears, and the tall and blonde young knight wished to tell her how he feels. He wanted to at least say ‘Thank you’, but the words escaped his clasp. His weary eyes were set upon her – upon the small curve of her nose and the wide curls of her soft hair. His tongue felt tied inside his mouth, and he was glad she’d smiled instead. “Besides,” The young girl spoke to fill the silence, “I don’t think I’ve ever attended a more dull and stale soiree.” Though his tears had long dried up, her hand stayed rested on his cheek. “The smallfolk starves so the Lannisters can stuff their faces, and congratulate each other for being so stupidly wealthy.” She threw her hands up in the air, peeking at her sole companion for one of his amused reactions. Sure enough, the boy was grinning – and that lone and simple notion made her all the more excited to upkeep cheering him up. “They must think we’re stupid,” She hummed in a degreeing voice, “I swear to you – they’re taught one dance, and one dance only. They just slightly change the music in the hopes that we won’t notice.”

By then his laughter echoed like pure crystal through the otherwise deserted grounds. Her own smile broadened with elation, as her curious and searching eyes reached up to his jolting shoulders. The youngest child of great House Tully crooked her head to the left side. “Hey,” She called out for his attention, “I just had the best idea.” Her dire lips pressed up together, before she went on with a smile. “Do you want to do something fun?”

If not for Jayne’s inessive stare, and the lethargy he felt throughout, Cain might have bothered to deny her brazen, yet affitely laid-out assumption. Orbs of forged steel fought to maintain the stare of ones tempered in frost – yet still the man shifted about, landing both his muted eyes on the ventured meadowed cliffs. Defeat swarded up his chest – sieging his brain and better reason, making him almost lose his temper. The greenery before his eyes coveted a single truth; more than six moons had passed between them. From the last time he’d seen his friend.

Alone at night he often questioned whether she’d at least survived. He prayed flaringly without a fault that she’d end up safe and about – protected and abstained from harm, and from the swandering of the Kinslayer.

“But all alone his blood runs thin.” He swallowed back his lost refrain, finally answering the waiting lady. “Then doubt comes – doubt comes in.”

He’d seen her Septas teach her Prayer. He listened to their wilted teachings, to the encouragements she’d be swarmed by. It was shameful and disruptive – his need to bite his tongue so hard, that he’d draw blood inside his mouth. Laughing would be crass and vile, he’d repeat inside his head, when her weekly call to “Grace” led them to the striking Sept. Faith can be encouraging, he’d reason, Not all of us are dealt bad hands.

There was no mercy to be had once fate fell into Their harsh hands. Bastard boys knew it too well, and so did every man and child who’d go to bed without their supper. Survival had to come by first – and faith would take the back-end stroll, until the former be assured. No, Cain had never prayed before. For there was no amount of prayer to be whispered by his lips that would possibly bring forth reclusion and relief to all he’d lost. It was the Gods who took his mother. It was the Gods who made him so. It was the Gods who made him feel like the sombrest in the world. But in a twisted and deformed way, it was the Gods that gave him comfort – for it was easiest to blame them so, for all the slights which he had faced.

Cain had never prayed before, but how he prayed for his friend now.

“Place your hand upon my waist, like so.” Her tender voice led with an instruction.

“I don’t think this is…”

“Whatever are you scared of, Cain? I’ve not seen you so tense before – not even in jousts or tourneys.” Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, as her brows fixed in concentration, “And you faced knights there that were twice your age.” Defeated by her lack of presidence, the boy let out a shaky sigh, and focused on his burning stare on the forming trees ahead. His gape bore long and cutting daggers to the entrance of the gardens, and with each passing momentum, his back turned all the more stiff. Such an intimate position would have ruined any lady, were she caught with a high lord – and all the more vexing it’d be if she’d strayed with a sought bastard. His ears caught with a rosy tint, as his mouth parted with a forming protest. “My Lady–” The Waters boy had tried again.

Mayhaps sensing his mistrust, or simply carrying her own joke further, his lady rose her left hand up and swatted him with a slight grin, “See? You’re already a natural at it.” The music of the Great Hall carried to their small corner of the keep. And the Tully nodded once to encourage Cain to move. “Septa Harlow says it’s important to upkeep your stare,” She muttered as she twirled with him, “When dancing with a fellow lord, it is improper for a lady to look at anything below the brows.”

He could feel his hands get clammy, and his limbs turn firm and heavy. Though her words had eased him in, the boy remained brittle and set. “Boring, right?” She questioned with a tiny laugh, “As I told you – you didn’t miss much. That’s nothing else that people do there.”

As the music caught incentive, her feet stopped into their track. She mocked a deep bow at her partner, and slowly rose her gentle eyes. She turned around without a warning, and started running up ahead. “Keep up, Cain!” She yelled before her with a zeal that filled her heart, “I have a better idea than just staying here – but we’ll have to really hurry!”

The witty Lady of the Vale shifted on the cold, wet stones. She turned to fully face the bastard, and offered him a knowing nod. “The only time a man can be brave is when he is afraid.” Her azure eyes looked at his hand, and at the bandages that covered it. “To lose two fingers at three and twenty, to be unable to move your arm, or to fight as you’ve been used to,” The older woman spoke to him, “It’s a misfortune that’s more than daunting.” Her slighter frame approached his crouching and recoiled in body, choosing to stand next to him. “You’ve managed to hang onto life when everything else seemed to be lost.” She muttered lowly, as if taken by surprise by the man’s pure strength of spirit.

“I failed her.” He whispered back in spat disgust.

“You didn’t fail anyone.” The lady interjected swiftly, “From the very beginning, you’ve been sent on a death mission.”

His loosened locks of golden hair fell upon his ample shoulders as he marginally shook his head. “Oscar was right,” Cain murmured plainly, “In between the two of us, she should have been the one to get here.” His body twisted towards the older woman, as his brows furrowed in pain, “I failed her.”

“If she knew you were alive, leading troops to save her homeland, I think she’d be ample proud.”

Despite the empathy she felt for him, the small brunette hardened her stare, “‘Tis not about what Oscar, or Grover, or Elmo think – ‘tis not about what your Lady thinks.” Her hand took hold of his good shoulder, giving it a toughened squeeze, “‘Tis about what you do now, with the resources that you were given.” The leal fire in her eyes caused the man to straighten up from the slouch that bent his back, “I expect you to be nervous. I expect you to be scared. I’m asking you to go back there, and risk your life all over again for the sake of something that we’re losing.” As her speech came to a halt, she gnawed harshly at her bottom lip, reddening her paling mouth. “If you go back there, you might die. Forget about holding your sword the right way, or about fighting with honour – you might face dragon fire, and dragon fire doesn’t spare even the most able of men.”

Though her words were scarce and prudent, Cain waited patiently for her to finish. Slithers of shame gathered in the low pits of his stomach. How could he have lost his nerve when his Lady hung onto him? With so many lives at stake, whom all readily lent to him?

“We’re counting on you, ser Waters.” Jayne continued her trail of speech, “We’re counting on you. But can we truly do that?”

If he chose to fight again, it wouldn’t be for wealth or glory. It wouldn’t be for great renown, or to prove something to others. Even if he lived it down, no applauses would be heard like at the end of a big tourney. He’d emerge a new man, changed, lacking of some of the scarce qualities that he felt he had that day. But what would happen to him – inside of him – mattered not to the young knight. Once again her kindred eyes came across his spinning view. And he knew, once and for all, that he’d throw his life away, if only to shelter her own.

His peer had mended to determined, and he swore upon his honour that he’d see his deed go through.

Allyn Swann. Lady Jayne Arryn. Four thousand men and (Y/N) Tully.

All the people that believed in him. All the souls that trusted him.

Just like on that autumn night, when he and (Y/N) ran away to see a circus in Flea Bottom, the heavy-lidded cavalier felt his words die right on his parted lips. But he came forth with a swift answer – one which he truly believed in.

Her gentle voice seeped in his ears. ‘You’re the only one who understands me, Cain.’

“I swear it, before the Old Gods and the New – upon Faithkeeper, upon my honour. I’ll return your trust tenfold.”

A true smile formed upon her lips, at the near end of his pledge. “Do come with me, Ser Cain,” She instructed with a leveled tone, “I have a gift prepared for you.”

Fuck the Gods. Fuck Alys Rivers. That lying, scheming, filthy whore.

To think she almost prayed for her, and thanked her feverishly inside her head. Her trip ensued without a hitch – and so she let herself believe in her, and nearly bumped into the Redwynes. The lousy troops that gathered up and swarmed the entrance of Hag’s Mire. Had she not spotted their banner, she might have set her foot inside. And that ostentative and golden dragon, which she despised with her whole being, served as her only decent cover against their clumpy eyes and ears. Her mule had come free of her bridle before she could hide any better, and advanced without her forth into the crowd of foul usurpers. ‘You fucking traitor…’ Her soul was screaming, as a Green soldier gripped her small saddle, ‘I give you that damned red apple, and you go to feed from them?!” Her jaw was clenched, as were her muscles. She couldn’t bolt. She couldn’t run.

“Where is that useless boy we paid for?!” The high-pitched scream of an old woman reached for her tense and prodded ears, “This is the last time I let you deal with the stupid boys of bloody Ramsford!”

Her eyes darted to the source of noise, and her mind surged with an idea. It would be risky. She could well die. If Darlon Flowers had found her out, then the haughty and sullen madame would see right through her flimsy scheme. But she had no other choice. Hurriedly and with great ardour, she dug her hands in the fresh mud, and scraped its contents on her face, smearing them wildly about. “A-Apologies for being late!” Her hoarse voice echoed through the clearing. She mildly coughed inside her hand, and tried her best to engross her timbre. “I never went further than Oldstones, ma’am–”

“I care not for your excuses, lad!” Her antsy wording cut her off, “You were to be here for a good five hours,” Her hand enclasped and tugged her wrist, “So take your mind off being paid today!” Her hazy irises bore daggers in and out the Lady’s heart, and her nose scrunched in daunting wonder at both her face and dirty garments. “Gods be good, they sent an animal. Are you clean of spreading warts?”

“I-I, uh–”

“What about catching diseases? Are you simple-minded, boy? Address me when I speak to you!”

Her wrinkled hand prodded above the laced-up waistline of her linen breeches. Were she not to open her mouth, the madame would have no shame to check and see her parts herself. “No – no, ma’am. I’ve no disorders left in sight. N-no warts, no yellow cough,” Her face contorted with abstained tension, as her hands rose into the air, “Nor any other spreading disease, I can assure you well of that.” With a loud snort and a dismissive hand, the aged madame turned to the wench, “You take this Ramsford boy inside and help clean up his grisly mug.” Her glacial tone waved with intent, “Then back to work, the both of you!” The younger girl nodded her head, shaking off her loosened braids, “Y-Yes, madam, of course! I’d be glad to help him out!”

“Well?” Her cutting question sucked all the air from the blonde girl’s arid lungs, “Don’t just stay there and look stupid – now!”

***

The lost blonde girl was called Mariah. A jumpy but dexterous cook, more used to the blazing heat provided by the kitchen fires than the cool air of the airy inn. She’d awkwardly handed the Lady the much-awaited handkerchief – and merely played with her plump fingers as the girl wiped off the mud that hadn’t yet fully dried up. And although her nose scrunched up at her resistance to a watered cloth, she failed to do anything wanting besides pushing her towards a closed door. “You-you’re going to be their attendee tonight. They don’t like women overhearing their stories or their spoils of war… so it’ll just be you in there.” Her green eyes widened to two round specs, “O-oh, of course, well – it won’t be just you in there, since you’re serving a table full of men, but – I-I meant that you’ll be the only servant there.” The words that followed her expansive ramble turned from stutters to incentive murmurs. And the Lady nodded weakly, whilst trying to decipher them. When her speech near loomed its end, the girl coughed loudly with insistence, and offered Mary a small smile. “Thank you, Mariah. I’ll handle it.”

Her burning eyes interwovened with alight uncertainty, “J-just be careful,” She confided through the notion of a fragile sniff, “They tend to scream when they get angry… A-And they got angry quite a lot.”

Ghastly and impending savages – that is what the soldiers were, as they laughed and drank and scarfed right into their mead and ale. The short remnants of her hair brushed across her cupid’s bow, falling straight over her view and narrowing it to the front. Her breathing turned to short and laboured, as she turned her back to them – and her hand enclasped the wine pouch with a faint but thrilling shudder. She’d seen men get drunk before, and she knew how they could talk. How the pints of liquid courage pulled the truth from their loose tongues, how their vision and their temper simmered them to gentle hearts.

Wine and ale made men more placid, but they also riled them up.

Her fingers brushed across the table, and she crouched close to the surface, seemingly inspecting it. Although her ears and head were pounding, she’d have to play her cards just right.

The well-known shrill of a low voice sent a shiver down her spine. “The Targaryens have all extended their lines,” Arlow Redwyne spat out bitterly, and all eyes turned back on him. Her own head jerked upwards in wonder, as she sucked in a harsh breath. “And now that summer’s over, the Blacks will have a harder time keeping their men and horses fed.”

“Summer or no, they can’t even call that an army,” A haughty voice echoed amused, “What was it – six hundred men from our dear Tullys, and a couple more from close to Sherrer?”

Now her eyes had been blown wide. Six hundred men. That was all they could afford. Were six hundred starving men all they had left of their home?

“Those searing leeches, along with the Freys, understand the woes of winter better than we ever will. The cold won’t beat them. As for the Northerners…”

Her guts hung lowly in her midriff. She’d recognised the last man speaking – the infamous “Bloody Mance” Pyke: a lesser lord under House Greyjoy, one of the few who’d known her brothers in an up, ‘personal’ manner. He’d visited their home in Riverrun, and saw the little Lady grow. How much of her he would remember was a query without answer.

“The Starks have no interest at play here.” A bitter voice shook through the room, “They haven’t been involved thus far. Cregan Stark won’t risk his forces for a war that never reached him.”

“Our spies,” Lord Pyke snapped tartly, “Report growing discontent among the northern and south-western lords. The latter wants to return home and gather the harvest before the crops turn. The former has sent word out to gather an army.” His amber eyes rose to Lord Redwyne, who merely let out a hum.

He licked his lips off the sweet ale, and whistled lowly at the Lady to refill his empty cup. She briskly moved to his direction, and poured him in a hefty cup. “And I’m sure if those same spies snuck into our own encampments, they’d report growing discontent amongst the southern lords.” His own flat tune disconcerted any worry from his sons’ long freckled faces, “This is war. No one’s content. And the northerners might take years to even gather half a regiment. The conditions make it such that any message travels slowly; before the Boltons and the Banfields, and House Mormont from the West manage to defrost their troops…” His heavy hand dismissed the girl, “The battles will be long well-ended.” A cutting silence reigned the room, as Lord Mance Pyke drowned his tall cup. He shifted lowly in his wooden seat, and signed for (Y/N) to grant him a refill.

She approached with her chin down, chewing on her bottom lip.

Gods be good, let him not notice me. Gods be good, let him not see me.

“We’ve underestimated the Tully boy for far too long.” One of the soldiers dared to mutter, “He has a good mind for warfare, his men worship him.”

'The Tully boy,’ She exhaled slowly, Would that be Oscar or our elder brother?

“As long as he keeps winning battles, they’ll keep abstaining for Rhaenyra.” His voice had come to shake with fervour, “We’ve been waiting for him to fail, he is not going to fail. Not without our help.”

“Then think, Ser Wylde, exactly what would make the lass break.” Arlow Redwyne interrupted when his fist landed on cutlery. “What is the one thing a Tully cares for more than anything?” Lord Pyke surged forward with the burning but evasive question.

The blood had run from her slim face, making her seem pale and sickly. Though the mud masked her quite well, the Lady arched her shoulders forward, trying to appear unbothered. A rattle of contented laughter turned the men’s whole disposition. “Family, honour and duty.” A black-eyed boy mocked the lords’ distinctive dictum.

“You stupid fuck,” Another wheezed right next to him, “It’s ‘Family, duty, honour’ – at least say their calling right.”

“The point still stands,” Mance ushered with ascendence, “There is nothing a Tully cares for more than family.”

It was as if a punch had been directed at her carved-out chest. The air immediately left her lungs, and her fingers gripped the pouch. She’d take a knife to all their throats before she’d let them harm her brothers. In his seat, Arlow deflated. “Of course,” He puffed through his broken nose, “And how, exactly, do you plan to reach such an impressive feat?” His callous digits jerked a march over the corners of the wooden table, “You forget mayhaps, good ser, how both Grover and that Oscar rest somewhere in Baelish Keep. The girl disappeared near Hayford–”

So Kermit was still fighting out there… and they thought that she was dead.

“‘Heard our Prince made her his wife.” The searing words befell the chamber. Ser Wylde had captured their attention, and even the men drunk out their minds rose their heads to listen better.

The unhealed flesh of her soft palm stung her over the long cut.

"If he had, he never would have left without her. And more than enough rivermen thanked the Gods when they saw Vhagar heading towards nought else but Oldtown.”

He left…?

She had lived the past three days in excruciating paranoia. And her ‘husband’ simply left her? Confusion, anger and relief all surged into her pulsing heart. He’d given up on finding her. She’d finally see both her brothers. And with any ounce of luck, their paths would never cross together. She should have felt elated. She should have felt relieved. She should have tried to mask her happiness, the smile that pulled at her fair lips – yet all she felt within her soul was a plentifully bitter feeling.

May he rot in the darkest pits of the Seven Hells, she exhaled briefly, Both him and his damned witch.

A lousy snort bounced off the walls that sealed the chamber of their council. And Lord Redwyne's youngest son shook his head with a deep frown, “Don’t you find it rather strange,” he asked, “How he left in such a hurry?”

“‘Tis not for us to safely say.”

“Yet even so!” His youthful face churned with suspicion, “He kept us wholly in the dark.”

The only thing that truly mattered was that Aemond had abandoned Harrenhal.

“And what are we to do now? Daemon lurks with that strange lassie – that’s two dragons against none!”

“Aemond won’t abandon us.”

“Open up your eyes, ser Wylde!” Bowen Redwyne rose his voice, “He might just as well have done that. He left with Daeron to hide in Oldtown, and burnt Harrenhal to the ground.”

Her breathing hitched inside her throat. Not only were they aware of the stronghold’s current state – but they thought Aemond had burnt it with the aid of trusty Vhagar. It had been three days of running – the word surely traveled fast.

“He left us with no defence–”

“Enough!” The mighty roar let out by Mance silenced the forfeiting room. “We’ve gathered here to speak of war. Not gossip like fishermen’s wives.”

Where did Aemond’s army head to? Oldtown was a place secured. So had he left because of Daemon?

《"Going out to face two dragons is a death sentence." His deep voice rumbled through the silence of the chamber, "I can't afford that risk anymore with you involved. We'll have to move from Harrenhal. You'll get to meet Daeron in Oldtown."》

The plan was to leave for Oldtown – why was she acting so surprised? Why did she care whether or not he’d made it safe? Whether or not his wounds had healed? Why was she somehow weirdly hurt by the fact that he just left her? Her trailing thoughts and inner conflict came to a halt as Mance addressed her. “Drain that pouch of any wine, boy.” He commanded with a rumble to his stern and cutting timbre, “And bring out water. We’ll be here for quite some time.” As she turned her back whilst nodding, the lanky Lord heaved out a sigh. “Can you read, Lord Edmure Rosby?”

“I-I beg your pardon?”

“Can. You. Read.”

The Lord of Cornhill met his stare with a blacked-out and confused expression. “Y-... Yes, my Lord, I can.”

Just as Edmure answered his question, the Lord of Pyke let out a chuckle. He wiped his hands off the cooked supper, and reached his breeches for some paper. “This letter,” He clarified to the slow lordling, “detailing our infantry movements was meant for Lord Quentyn of House Marbrand.” After a slight egregious pause, his droopy eyes fell on the man, “It was sent to Lord Marlin of House Qallister.” The young Lord Rosby sucked in a breath, and allowed his orbs to trail to the stones of the hedged floor, “My apologies, my Lord, I must’ve–”

“Boy?” Mance called out to the working Lady Tully. “Fetch me The History of the Greater and the Lesser Houses.” He pointed forward with his finger, “It’s the second one on the side.”

Her feet might have given up on her, were it not for his stale order. She’d never been addressed before, and that alone made her breath hitch. Her eyes shut close in concentration, and a small curse beleft her lips. She could feel the break of sweat crown her forehead in round droplets, but she calmed her rabid breathing with a small roll of her shoulders. Her hands rose to grab the book, but wavered on for just a moment – touching up the edges of another heavy leaflet, before picking up the right one, and carrying it to her chest.

“Even this cupbearer can execute commands better than you,” Mance scolded the sitting lord, as the girl laid out the tome. “To whom does House Qallister owe allegiance?” He questioned with a honeyed tone. The frail lass rose up timidly, pointing forward to the laid-out scriptures, “My Lord, I…”

“To the Tullys of Riverrun!” His enraged scream and cutting look arose the silence of the whole commandment. “And who, pray tell, do the Tullys of Riverrun owe allegiance?” His fist came into contact with the freshly laid out table, “To the Blacks, to the Usurpers, to the Whore of Dragonstone and her bunch of bastard cunts!”

The Bliss of Riverrun remained hammered in her weary spot – somehow still holding her breath, in spite of being overlooked.

“I judged you might be good for something more than brutalizing peasants.” He exhaled slowly through his flared-up nose, “I see I overestimated you–”

A timid knock at the locked door caused the girl to jolt upfront. She caught her lip into her teeth, and chewed with tremor at its bottom, as the loud gates opened wide, to reveal a pale Mariah. “M-My lords…” She began with a light pause, “M-My mistress would like to ask you… when you’ll… p-pay… the charging fee.”

Bowen Redwyne smiled politely, bowing his head in return, “We must have overstayed our welcome.” He whispered mirthly to his brother.

Lord Redwyne glanced at the girl, mirroring his son’s refrain. “You can go announce your mistress that we will be done here shortly. Tell her to bring the written tax for the food and for the shelter.” As Mariah curtsied deeply, shutting the door in her departure, the old man turned to his sons, and to the lesser lords at present. “All of you except Lord Pyke – leave. Boy, clear this table.” Runceford’s even and dispersive voice rang right through her nimble body. She offered him a brisk ‘M’lord’, and hastily got up to work. As tiny Edmure rose as well, the lord of Old Wyk grabbed his arm. “We are not done with our talk.” He hissed in his petulant ear.

***

“We cannot allow this impunity to go on.” Mance spat out in a rough tone as the door closed in on them, “No matter what has been discussed today – the Tully boy remains a problem.”

Her dirty hands wavered a moment, ‘till they resumed their hurried task.

“His clever move near Redglass Field nearly cost us all the Capitol. We will not fall for that again – we look like fools and they look like heroes. That’s how Kings fall.” Runceford agreed with a small frown.

For a while, the only sound that thus emerged in their secret and concisive council was the clank of all their plates. “I want him dead. I want every last one of them dead.”

Her small, albeit stiffened fingers clasped over a sharpened stake knife.

“Killing them isn’t the problem. It’s finding them.”

If you kill them both right now, no one will know how to alert your brothers. The word will spread that they had butchered you – and then they’ll both come for revenge.

Her focused eyes softened at once, as her steel grip loosened the blade.

“Have you gone soft, Lord Pyke? I always thought you had a talent for violence – and an eye for weaknesses, as you so put it at this dinner table.” The iris of his tired eyes clashed with his protruding amber, “Burn the villages, burn the farms. Aemond might have left the Reach, but that doesn’t mean that the smallfolk will get a break. Let them know what it means to choose the wrong side.” With one last nod and a small bow, Mance and Runceford left the room.

In less than a moment’s notice, her upstrained feet gave out before her.

***

Not a single nearby lord cared enough to look at her. Not a single drunken soldier gripped her shoulders or her arm. She had slipped by unobserved, written off as less than cattle. In her time spent in that stiff room, she found of Aemond’s long departure. She knew now the North was angry, that the Rogue Prince beckoned hither – that her brothers and her grandsire were still on the loose. Alive. No matter her conflicted feelings. No matter all the new-found worry that she had for the Kinslayer. She was still breathing and living – her shortened breaths and anxious tears felt like proof enough of that. She found herself growing with purpose – to relive her climb up North. To alert both of her brothers of the Greens’ most jarring thoughts. To find what happened to her father, since his mention had been scarce and worn.

As she turned to leave the alcove, her eyes caught her in a nearby mirror. Her silky locks, darkened by mud and chopped inaptly by that dreadful shard. The black-rimmed circles underneath her foggy globes, the lone dictator of her sleepless ventures. Darlon’s garments were made to fit loosely – but even she could may well tell that she’d lost a lot of weight. Her sodden cheeks that cracked with dirt, and the way she stood preleened… it was of no immersive wonder that she hadn’t been spotted or seen.

A gust of hope picked at her skin – at her left leg, her forming scars. She trailed her palm with a smooth digit, and felt the ridges closing in. The dragon glass had cut her smoothly, and it was feasible the war did, too. Time heals all. Time mends scars well. Perhaps she could hope again.

What if this war could still be won – by the Blacks, by her, by them? Would she cling enough to life to see such a far-out feat?

And if she managed to live…when the slight girl watched herself be so changed by it already, could she ever tell herself to go back to how she was? The laws of men made it as such that she would never dare forget – any or all that had transpired in those years of grief and anguish. Her abatement would be short and minimal. She’d never dare forget her Jace, or sweet Cain, or loyal Beesbury. The almond eyes of baby Luke, or the laughs she’d shared with friends. Friends she’d never see again. Friends who all died long ago.

Desolation and resentment were not new to the young Lady. And she swore it to herself, as she glanced into the mirror, that she’d never ache again. For the betterment of her brothers. For their mother. For either father or their grandsire – she would make it so she’s useful. Strong. Contented. And reliable. No Hightower would make her kneel. Their time was spent and since ran out.

Fuck the Gods. Fuck Alys Rivers.

She would leave that inn at dawn.

***

At dawn she said, and dawn it was.

“Enjoyed your pats from those Green scum?” She asked the mule with a raised brow, as she untied her from the stable’s pole. “I hope you rested well last night. The real journey has just begun.” 

Almost as if she understood her words, the half-bred mare shook her black mane, huffing through her tinted nose. “I don’t like how that sounds, either.” The girl sighed in a spent tone, “I never thought I’d get to say this, but the more distance I put in between me and my home…”

The road was quiet. All too quiet. The Redwyne company left way before her, as the hooves that trailed towards south indicated half as much. It was bold and quite peculiar – that those pompous Green supporters were so close to their Green Fork. For both The Twins and Castle Seagard were unwavering, leal to Daemon. To the one true heir and Queen.

It had been too long for her – since she felt the rays of sunlight. And if those treacherous and shifty lords felt so at home existing North, then both strongholds must have been emptied. The Trident’s lords were scattered somewhere, fighting in some vacant halls. Even so, it was too quiet. Not a single man in sight.

Perhaps allowing herself to glance behind was the girl’s biggest mistake. Or mayhaps it was stagnating, as she let her mule rest up.

“Haaaalt! Halt right there, lassie, don’t move!” A faraway, salacious scream deterred her to jolt straight up. The tenseness of her stiffened muscles ceased as her eyes prodded onward, setting on the crest above them – made of a bird, and of a seahorse, and two dragons. An even more attentive glance let her know of their bronze armour – of their brown hair and mousy faces.

Freys, she laughed inside her head with glee, An actual Frey company – marching South from the Twins’ gates.

“Good day to you, soldier. It seems we serve the same leal camp.” She greeted him with a bright smile, but as she tried to move up forward, the sharpened edge of six steel blades pointed at her nape and neck. She swallowed thickly, but kept her temper, and rose both hands up in surrender. “I yield,” She tried to jest with the tall men, before speaking up toward them, “I’m (Y/N) Tully. I believe I have a right to be here.”

“(Y/N) Tully’s dead,” One of the more suspicious knights ushered at her from the back, “She perished near Hayford’s lone bridge – every man, woman and child heard the story a thousand times.”

“Oh, you better be joking,” She hissed through an acrid breath, as she let out a small curse, “I know I may not look the part, but I am (Y/N) Tully.” Her wanton orbs searched for the soldier’s, who only weighed her with conceit. “‘Course you are,” He answered crassly, “And I’m the Lord of Bastion Keep.”

She offered him a blithted smile, although not one that reached her eyes. “I can’t catch a single break, now can I?” The Lady murmured to herself, “Very well,” She spoke out clearly, “I suppose you are commanded by your good lord, Forrest Frey?” Whilst her tone was domineering, a subtle smirk graced her pink lips, “Call him over, see for yourselves. He will tell you who I am.”

“Look, girl, it’s gettin’ cold and we’re quite busy. So, you know.” One of the men shrugged his broad shoulders, “Best fuck off. Either that or stop your lying.”

“Tell your lord his niece is home.” She betted onward once again, “You wish to know who it is I am, and I wish to wash my hair. So call for your lord. And be done with all this bother.”

“Lord Frey’s too busy to waste his breath on you. Just like us.” His short patience had been running thin, as for his hand – awfully cold, “So for the last time – fuck right off, and state your business.”

“Maybe we should just detain her.” One of the more lithe men suggested, “Tie ‘er up, resume our marching.”

“Should you value your good hands, you won’t touch a hair of mine.”

“Careful now,” The fourth boy muttered, “We’re enjoying you here, lassie, but don’t think you’ll make demands.”

“You would harm an innocent, because you’re too lazy and stupid to call for your own lord?” Her latter comment set him off, and he jumped off his starving horse to come to grip her by her loosened shirt. “Now listen here, you dirty fuck–”

“What appears to be the matter here?” A hardened voice commanded swiftly. Slowly and without much heart, the younger boys broke off the circle, as they readied their report. “My Lord, as you can see–” The one who seemed to be best-spoken tried to give out his account. 

But no more words ever escaped him. For the wide and gentle Frey spurted out with a burst of solid laughter. He made great haste to debark his stallion – to reach with fervour for the small girl’s shoulders and to ruffle her short matted hair. “Well, I’ll be damned,” He exhaled shortly, “I would recognise those shrew eyes everywhere.”

“Uncle,” She greeted him with forming tears, “It’s good to see a well-known face.

Aemond had been right, he thought. In spite of their pleasant small talk, Evelynn had latched onto him. Laughing at his every word, even if he wasn’t joking – gripping down onto his thighs when the odd pair had sat down. He had been courteous and kind to dance with her two tamer waltzes, but even the boldest one of the confined Targaryens couldn’t possibly stomach another. When his deep stare started avoiding her, boring holes throughout the hall, the man noticed his escape, and thanked the Gods before his fall. Seated not one yard away, in a dress that matched her hair, rested Elmo Tully’s only daughter – a quiet child, not five and ten, which appeared fully engrossed as she talked with her tall friend.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?” Daeron’s voice shook the whole room. As he turned his head around, his incessant stare bore daggers right into his brother’s throat, “What this decision makes of our political agreements?” His body was steadied and tense, taut and rigid, at attention – the implications brought on over by Aemond’s ill and thought-out match made his pulse readily quicken, and his whole soul seethe in anger. When he glanced over at him, not a single trail of shame registered on his sharp face. “We gain nothing from an alliance with the Riverlords,” Daeron desperately tried to tell him. “She's a comely girl, I'll give you that, but we’re at war, and she’s ill-favoured!” Finally, his dire words seemed to spark up a response – for Aemond took in a sharp inhale, and readily rose from his chair. “You will speak no more of her.” He deterred out in a deep growl, “Whom I marry is my business. I will not have you rebuke me.”

“I should not have questioned you,” The lone boy had swallowed thickly, as he met his brother’s eye, “Evelynn is… nice, ‘tis true. However…” His comforting and handsome face shifted with bitter intent, “I don’t know how to discourage her.”

Aemond smirked in deep amusement, drumming his fingers on the pine wood table. “Have you lost her in the crowd?”

“Momentarily,” Daeron surged forward, “But there are only so many men with short white hair inside this room.”

“I will question your decisions if they put us all at risk.” The youth spat out in a quick warning, “And your wrong choice to marry her will ruin every deal we had with Borros.” Daeron had fought to keep his voice down to a levelled plane of field, but even he cracked underneath Aemond’s lack of mournful interest. “I heard from mother of your obsession,” He breathed in a staggered breath, “But I never thought you foolish enough to marry a lowborn riverlander–”

The circumstances were not ideal, and he’d acted like a little boy – but he managed to desert the Frey and acquaint himself with the Riverrun girl. “I’m afraid I’ve two left feet, my Prince,” She granted him a small apology, as she ducked his offered hand, “There hasn’t been any time for me to practice my dancing whilst confined to the Red Keep.”

“Truly?” The corners of his hawk-like eyes glimmered with jocund distraction, and the young man tried once more, though his hand had then been lowered. “But the Red Keep swarms with banquets. Have none of my elder brothers taken you to dance before?” The Tully girl let out a laugh, and a faint pink caught her plump cheeks – and whether that was from frustration, of being irked by Daeron’s presence, or flattered by his light attention, the boy would find out soon enough. “As I said,” She smiled at him, “I’m afraid I’m a poor dancer.” Her almond eyes swirled with deep mischief, and she bit her lower lip to stifle down a roaring laugh. “If you wanted to escape my cousin, you should have checked in on the further right.” If his face hadn't been red, then it surely caught in pigment when she uttered her last words. “I assure you, my dear Lady, I had no such ill intent.” He clarified with a bent smile, but shook his head in grave embarrassment when she quirked up her shapely brow. “I shadn’t pressure you to dance with me.” He bit over his lip, defeated, “But I beg you to give me a chance.”

Her eyes softened at his request, and she gave her knight a nod. She mouthed him something intangible, and turned to face Daeron’s advances. “I will step on your feet, you know.” A loud laugh rattled his insides, “You may not believe it, my lady, but Tessarion once placed her entire weight on them.” She tutted lightly in reply, and merely entwined their hands, “My Prince…” She let out a tiny snort, as she gingerly laughed by herself. “You don’t believe me,” He feigned offence, as he spun her twice around. “You should know then, Lady Tully, that I scarcely ever lie.”

“Oh, I would never even dream of styling your good Grace a liar.” Her voice softened to a murmur, lowering in false sobriety. Almost as if they’d been conspiring, her youthful face leaned near his shoulder. “But you can’t be cross with me when I say I don’t believe you.”

Before either one of them could register Daeron’s last words, the lithe Targaryen grabbed his green collar and pushed him up against the wall. “You and I are family.” He rumbled out in a low tone, “Speak one more word of the one I have with her, and you’ll regret not dying sooner, during that raid of the Three Towers.” Daeron’s head shook with uncertainty, pounding in his ears from pain, and the young lass pressured him onward, as the blood tickled his tongue. “Did you go through with it, then?” He asked him through a gasping wheeze, “Did you bed her?”

The quietness that washed them both forced the boy to curse again.

“I take it that your charms have failed you.” Aemond hummed inside his goblet, as he looked at the small girl. “She’s talking with her brute again.”

“If only Evelynn wasn’t her cousin.” The boy laughed in miscontempt, “The Lady may have two left feet, but even then it was exaggerated how many times she stepped on me.” Their purple eyes set back on her – and Aemond was the first to stop. “I wouldn’t be distraught, dear brother.” His upturned mouth broke to a smirk, when Jace’s laughter seeped with hers – drawing long stares from the room and pulling whispers from lax mouths, “She seems to have an affinity towards bastards.” His good eye focused in on him, “The odds were truly set against you.”

Daeron’s face mirrored his brother’s, though the former tried to hide it. “Careful, Aemond. The Blacks are listening.” He pointed forward with a simper, to where their half-sister was sitting with her pompous and elusive smile. “I don’t think there’ll be a problem,” The One-Eyed Prince addressed his sibling, “She is quite taken with our father.”

His smaller hand scratched up at Aemond’s, endeavouring to put an end to his strong, unyielding grasp. “Brother…” He tried to word out in a plea. His tightened hold loosened a moment, and Aemond let his brother breathe. “I have lain with her before.” He asserted with a levelled timber, “The marriage was consummated.”

“Gods be good.” Daeron exhaled, as his hand ran through his hair, “What did you do?” He asked once more, as he pressed his back again right onto the jagged wall. “This doesn’t just put us in danger. Your wife’s a target – now more than ever.” He concluded after a while. “Lord Borros is too involved to annul our misalliance. But if word reaches the Blacks –”

“Which is why I must go find her.” Aemond gritted through his teeth. “So take me to that damned witch, and send word to the dragon keepers to fetch some bulls to cater Vhagar.” Daeron’s brows twisted in bafflement, creasing his face and his ravishing features. “You cannot mean this. She could be anywhere. Your shoulder hasn’t even healed.”

“I will tear down every castle, and every town, and every home that she could ever hide within.” Aemond’s eye was blazed with anger. The noble lines of his fair countenance bore the marks of his pursuit – disentangled to his face, his hands, found in every forming scar and in every galling crease. A bitter longing and a hopelessness interwoven in the need to find her – to hold her to his chest again, to feel her breathing hitch against him, to feel the pulse of her warm heat. The raw intensity of her brazen and uncaring kisses, the delicious and erotic sting of the one slap she had given him.

“Whether she wants that or not, I will have her by my side.”

All of this to feel her near. To own her essence. To drink her screams. To wake up and see her body lying consciously with his, to feel her eyes follow his movements and her warm, plump lips on his.

She must have hoped for this arrangement when she was betrothed to Jace – a life of comfort and of safety; a life where she would be The Queen. And for her, Aemond would do it. He’d subside his sister’s children and he’d sit the Iron Throne. He would place his crown atop her and bend to her every whim. “And she can try to break her chains a thousand times – over and over. There is not a single corner of this world that she can run to. I will always find a way to reclaim that which is mine.”

“Well then,”

In spite of the relief she felt to be parted from the Redwynes, Lady Tully’s restless mind seemed to be somewhat estranged.

"Which one of these fat ugly cunts tried to lay their hand on you?" Forrest’s voice plummeted through the small camp they had laid out. Strenuous licks of fair amusements pulled the corners of her lips, and the woman smiled contently, as she shook her head in earnest, “Please, uncle, there should be no need for that.”

“There should and there will!” His silk smooth baritone came out definitive, “No man will hurt a niece of mine and get to live to tell the tale.” Although his words were rough and final, the gentle furrow of his brow revealed the lord’s attempt to bluff. She laughed once more, in lifted spirits, and took a stance alongside his. Her eyes glossed over with incertitude, and the girl hummed, lost in her thoughts. “It would be quite a shame, you know,” She muttered lowly to her uncle, “For this fine army to be slain before they even set off to war.” Though he laughed at her poor joke, the Lord of Green Fork sighed in exhaustion, “Sometimes I think it’d be a kindness.” A bitter pause cut his lungs’ air, until he deterred out a breath, “None of these boys are ready for war.”

“I don’t think anyone is.” She muttered slowly by his side, “We think we are… we train for it – with jousts and tourneys and in combat yards.” Her latter thoughts had turned to Aemond, and how he’d train each daunting morning whilst she lived in the Red Keep. It was a somehow sacred ritual – a clash of swords, of wit, of power. It was a way for men to ease their stress, and wash away their stale frustrations with breakages of blood and sweat. It was a way to prove themselves, an easy way to become envied by the gossiping and gathered masses. Throughout their short acquaintanceship, she’d never once figured it out; whether or not Aemond was training for other people to admire him.

His mornings were moments of solitude – for scarcely anyone would gather hither. The nights and eves were for the lordlings – who slithered forward as he sparred Ser Criston. As proud as he ever was, she thought, everyone yearns for approval. And who else would need it more than the crippled second son.

Her cheeks reddened with slight colour, as her lips jolted a tremor – she could no longer think of him and remain listless and passive. With each and every chance she’d get, her trailing thoughts would reach for him – to the bump of his big nose, to the sharpness of his eye.

Had he reached his brother yet? Did he take Alys with him? Was his shoulder blade still healing?

Stop it.

Morbid curiosity is what killed the restless cat. What she now felt towards her captor was nought else but forced attachment.

But was he safe? And did he miss her–

She knead her hands in one another; both hidden by a pair of gloves. Realising that she’d been too quiet, she blurted out the next of her words. “... But no one is truly ready for the horrors that it brings.” Her chest felt hot. Her breathing ragged. Had she grown to care for him?

“Has your father ever told you how you sound just like your mother?” He breathed out through a soft exhale, “She hated war. Thought it was dumb.”

“‘Tis good, then, that she’s not here to witness it.” Though both of them had started walking, neither one let out their thoughts. Her clothes were clean, her hair was dried – she told him with a staggered breath what she’d gathered of the Redwynes, of the Targaryens and of the Greens. In return, Forrest confided her with her grandsire’s location – telling her Oscar was fine, that Kermit oft’ communicated by sending them concisive letters. “Thank the Gods,” She breathed out, with a hand upon her chest, "So my father is alive."

… But what of Cain? And what of Jace? What of Lord Beesbury and her dear cousins?

Suddenly she felt ashamed that she ever thought of Aemond.

“Where will you be heading now?” She asked her uncle with a shaky but consistent voice. “To meet your brother at Lakehore, of course.” Forrest responded with a growing smirk, “We won’t allow those mudded fuckers any further Crownland passage.”

“He’s near the God’s Eye?!” She stopped abruptly, whilst widening her tired eyes. A passing shadow of a smile lit the girl’s quivering lips, and she fixed the nearby stones as she tottered out a laugh. “To think that if I hadn’t ran, I might’ve met up with my brother.”

To think if Aemond hadn’t left, he would have met his in-law brother.

“But Harrenhal has been cleared out,” She turned abruptly to her uncle, “There’ll be no battle to be fought. The Pykes and Wyldes and Redwynes think that the stronghold is a waste – my fire has made sure of that.”

“Kitchen fires can’t melt stone.”

“... But the Greens would know that, too.” She gnawed at her bottom lip. Her eyes closed in concentration, trying to recall Hag’s Mire. She had been too scared to listen – truly listen to their tales. But a slight echo surged forward, as she rummaged through her brains.

《“He left with Daeron to wait in Oldtown, and burnt Harrenhal to the ground!”》

“They were arguing that Aemond had left them defenceless. That he took off to Oldtown and burnt Harrenhal to nothing.”

“But that was you.” Forrest Frey regarded her with an awfully twisted look.

“Not necessarily.” She mauled it slowly, “With age, dragon fire grows stronger. I’ve seen both Vermax and Vhagar burn open fields to ash and smoke.” Her orbs came into clash with his, and the man swallowed intently, gesturing her to go on, “There is a vast difference between those acres. The aftermath of Vermax was… closer to searings caused by people, than the inferno of a dragon.” As she pressed her lips together, she exhaled a deeper sigh, “But Vhagar…”

“I’ve seen that fatted lizard go to work.” Forrest agreed with a light hum, “Over at Mummer’s Ford; Gods, if I hadn’t grown up in the region, I wouldn’t have known there was a town at all.”

“So what if Aemond did burn Harrenhal?”

“He definitely had the time.”

“It doesn’t take long to yell out ‘Dracarys’.”

Their simmered dialogue had turned to whispers – and their small council reached an agreement. “Lakehore remains a strong location,” Forrest offered up his hand to her, as they passed the flowing river, “Even if Harrenhal should be no more. We’ll meet up there and ride towards East.”

“Will you meet up with the Arryns, then?” Her last refrain dumbfounded him, and the man stopped on the small path. “The plan is to take you there. Reunite you with your family.” His searching stare mended with hers, and the girl’s uncle quirked a brow. His mouth pressed to a thin line – a hereditary trait, it seemed –, and he shook his head again. “... You seem conflicted and obscured.” He muttered, whilst awaiting her reply.

“I am closer to the North than East.”

“No. I cannot let you go alone. Your father would strangle me for it.”

“So don’t,” The self-assured and poised young Lady now agreed with him wholeheartedly, “I’ll give you my mule if you give me a horse.” Her eyebrows rose in confirmation, “That way I won’t go alone.”

Although his face rattled conflicted, the older Frey gave her a nod. He paused to look at her thick gloves, and faltered on his mouthed reply. “You’ll need warmer clothes to survive their ever-winter.”

“And ink and paper before I go, so I may send out some letters.”

As he laid his preparations, Forrest Frey turned to his niece. The wide corners of his lips had twisted to an outline of a subtle grin. “I suppose you’d need an envoy for your grandsire and brothers.” He agreed before she could, as he rummaged through his vest and breeches for his House’s patterned seal.

***

“I cannot possibly accept this.”

“Given that it’s yours, ser Cain, I must urge you to reconsider.”

And so it was – sturdy Faithkeeper. His oldest and most trusted sword, and the one gift he got from Allyn as he departed all those years ago – to the grounds of the Red Keep, to the new home of his fair Lady. The blade remained as he had known it – with its intricate design of leaves and tender words carved on red iron. Though his mentor told him nothing when he handed him the gift, there was no avid denying of the nature of the shiv; A family heirloom with unmeasured value, and a kindness he could never repay.

“I cannot take it.” The boy had uttered, looking at the greying white-cloak.

“You can and you will.” The older man pointed a finger at his vest and heavy armour, “I am not having a conversation, boy, I am stating an order.” Though his eyes were rough and rigid, a coil of softness interwovened in the creases of his face. His wrinkled hand reached for his back, to give it a small squeeze of farewell. “You do good now.” The man instructed, furrowing his bushy brows, “I want no report to come through from any raven of King’s Landing telling me you’ve gotten lazy.”

“I swear to you that I’ll protect her.”

“Of that, I have no doubt, my boy.”

Upon throwing it a better look, the man remained engraved with shock. Both the handle and the hilt of it had been replaced to suit his needs. Sculpted by acquitted silver with a slight hole for his hand, and a velvety but silk-like ribbon to enwrap around his arm. “We thought the minor adjustments would prove useful when in battle.”

Almost too preoccupied to inspect its sharpened edges, Cain’s eyes snapped away from it at the inkling of Jayne’s voice. “We?” He repeated her words slowly, whilst raising his brows in stupor. His bewilderment would not live long, as the Lady of the Vale keenly offered him an answer. “The sketch for its newer hilt does come from the youngest Tully.” Upon his silence, she continued, as she spared a patent look, “I have reason to believe it’s his way of saying sorry.”

“Lord Oscar has no reason to apologise to me.” Though his words pondered definitive, a content arch pulled at his lips. His stare soon turned back to serious and his back awfully stiff. “I… wouldn’t know how to thank him.” Seemingly losing his face, the Tully’s sworn shield bowed to Jayne deeply, “Or you, my lady.”

“There is hardly any need for you to thank me, Ser Cain. It is us who should bow to you for your willingness to keep us safe.”

When her hand beckoned him onward to return to his wide stance, the woman faltered for a moment as she looked at his grey eyes. A look of startled but conclusive shock spread across her older face.

“Have you no shame, you stupid boy?” Tyland’s low hiss was followed suit by his stinging and petulant words, “You have a lot of nerve to show up here.”

“Ironborn?” She asked her question, as her features smoothed over.

“I wouldn’t be able to say, my lady. My mother died after my birth.” By all accounts, he’d been quite truthful – he knew who his father was, as it had been awfully clear when he glanced at his twin brother. He’d find lost remnants of himself as such, and questions of his build or hair had been answered with a single look. His mother was a simple woman – a merchant’s daughter, as he was told, once very beautiful and fair and honest. He didn’t know the way she looked, though he assumed that his eye colour came from her, and not the Lannisters.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m sure you are, you foolish bastard.” The words that tumbled from his lips reddened the tips of Cain’s big ears.

The sheer aversion in the man’s slim face sent a shiver down his back. Confusion laced with grave recoil, as a small curse beleft his lips – Gods, let this not be how he finally got to meet his dad.

When the boy stayed lost in silence, the younger Lannister pushed him again. “Doesn’t loyalty mean anything to you?”

He did desperately hope that he looked like his good mother; and sometimes, during the night, he would pray that she would guide him – prayed, but prayed not to a faceless God, but to the memory of her lost image. He would pray that she should guide him through his avid quests for glory; through his cluttered and entangled life path, through his hardest and most straining choices. There was something rather comforting in imagining his eyes were hers – that they looked like hers so much, that she’d still somehow live through him. He hoped that the Gods left an homage to the sole fact she existed. A silent proof that she’d not gone without leaving her own mark behind. That she had made him in her image, that he somehow held her inside. That men would glance right at Cain Waters and know that he was Wynne’s son.

“Loyalty means everything to me.” He spat out in a lowly tone, despite his evident confusion.

“Yet you show up here, threatening to ruin everything we’ve set in place.”

“You?” Cain’s face contorted to a deepened scowl. He shook his head in half-regret, and merely swatted Tyland’s hands away. “I haven’t shown up here for you.” His light-grey eyes shone forth with grief, “Don’t worry. I’ve no desire to be recognised.” The colour from the old man’s cheeks drained itself from his stiff face, “Not that anyone would believe you.” He muttered fast and quietly, “You cannot threaten us with this.”

“Of course not,” Cain interjected with a rattled and bemused expression, “I am just another bastard. I’d sooner die than see myself legitimized as one of you.”

“I am truly sorry to hear that.”

He leaned his head in a swift bow, as he spared her a small grin, “It is quite possible she was from Orkmont.”

Her expression shifted upward to a placid but elusive smile. Nodding once at his picked words, the lady shifted in her place, quirking up a thin blonde brow. “If you ought to be in search of Oscar, he should be near Longbow Hall.”

***

Angry, reckless, non-deserving; with an unquenchable desire just to prove himself as worthy – Oscar had been a wild child, and remained so as an adult. Always quick to take offence, always ready for a brawl and always willing to show off; despite the fact that he’d never won a joust or tourney in his life, and most lordlings of the Riverlands failed to give him credit’s due.

Restless, loyal and headstrong. Those were words that well-described him. Even in the crack of dawn, he was spotted in the training yard, walking miles in aching circles, practising with his great sword.

Family. Duty. Honour.

For the better part of his young life, Oscar had lived pledged to oath, to upkeep his House's words.

He’d go to war with his brother, he’d avenge his sister’s honour and take every man who ever helped tarnish his homeland through the judgement of his bitter steel.

Oscar Tully loved his family. Even when it was much smaller – when it was just him, and Kermit, and their loving and ambitious Mother. He swore to himself to always enact as a pillar to them – to turn responsible, reliable and trustworthy. And when his mother died, leaving behind his only sister, he promised himself to always protect her. When they were but small, lithe children, very rarely did they not bicker and argue like a bunch of wildings – yet when push came to shove, and either one of them stole one too many jam tarts to not go unseen, it was always one or the other who jumped to the rescue of their misbegotten sibling.

Oscar Tully was certain that he’d always fulfil his promise. He was the fair image of a future lord of the Trident – honour drove him to oblige his duty, and his one duty was to take care of his family. He was a second son, and as such, he served as a spare to his brother. Taught in the same way that he was, although with less vigour and effort by the thousand swarming maesters that took rest in Riverrun. He was only four and ten when he watched his whole world crumble; and his closest blood relations scatter through the lands of Westeros. He helplessly obeyed his grandsire, when he was sent away to squire under the greying Lord Tyrell – perhaps in the hopes that the Reach would temper him, or that he’d fall madly in love with his slight and sickly daughter. He watched as his sister was taken, away from the comforts of home – sent to the Capitol as a ward to elderly Lord Beesbury. All alone in shitty King’s Landing, to learn the mannerisms of a proper Lady, and to find a husband that would be competent enough to keep her and her offspring safe.

Dreadful, he thought it then, and awfully unfair deal now. For years he’d been unable to see his siblings, his father, and his grandfather – and when the war finally started, and alliances were formed, he lost his sister to the wrath of that sick freak.

The One-Eyed Kinslayer. The One-Eyed Prince.

《The boy scoffed at the knight’s attempt to pardon and explain himself. He nodded affirmatively, and scrutinized Cain with his piercing gaze. "You returned with an empty hand, Ser Cain. You failed: miserably." His back straightened in an attempt to appear bigger, and the hot-headed lass rose from his chair in a hurling daze. "Because of you, my sister is in the hands of that cycloptic freak. Because of you, we don't know anything about her whereabouts. She could be tortured, enslaved, sullied – worse!"》

He’d lost his temper. In his attempts to ground himself, he himself had failed his grandsire – who not only had to worry for his own son and House’s future, but for his two grandkids, as well. His blue eyes closed in concentration, as his lips parted in an exhale. He wondered if he had done right, to alter Faithkeeper like that.

Cain Waters was akin more to a beast than to a man. Seemingly fearless and focused, big as a mountain and wide as a bear. His pride had stung him when his grandsire chose him to rescue his sister, but even he had to agree that Cain had been their only choice. He just made sense, the lass agreed, as he watched him lead and point over Jayne’s numerous troops. Still, his mind remained unchanged – if only he had been allowed to, he would have seen his sister home. But he was the second son. The son whom nobody had wanted, the one who wasn’t even needed. Elmo and Kermit were thousands of miles away to fight; and he had begged them both to join them, but to no righteous avail. He just wasn’t skilled enough. His duty bound him to the Arryns. To taking care of his grandfather.

“Do you not feel forced to fight?”

“Forced?” Grover Tully’s husky voice echoed through the marbled walls.

“Pushed by your free will to do it.” Oscar sucked in a big breath, “I’m one and twenty. It is expected that I go out there.”

“It is expected that we do… all it should take to survive.” The older man hummed in admission. His piercing gaze cut through the boy, before his head turned to the sky, “Your lousy father and reckless brother are away to fight for a cause we don’t believe in. In the best case for your sister, she’s been taken forth as prisoner.”

“Which is why I should fight, instead of hiding like a coward behind these stupid walls.”

“Which is why it is imperative that you should stay here to remain alive.”

His face contorted to a painful scowl, as his legs carried him to the edge of his viewpoint.

“I’m afraid I do not follow.”

“I will not let those damned Targaryens put an end to my own House.”

“So you would let your own son perish? You’d let his heir go down with him?” By then their voices rose to screaming. “People die at war, my boy – good people, bad people, people who only did their part. Should I not word the possibility that your own brother might be killed?”

“You should not say it with such ease – you should not see your only family as some fucked pieces on a board!”

“I am trying to protect our family! Preserve our House, our heritage! By keeping one male heir alive – even if it brings the scorn of others!”

Oscar was the second son. The spare. The one who had to sit behind and watch how his remaining siblings struggled on their own to make it.

“My lord,” The gruff echo of Cain’s voice deterred him to turn his head. Tempered eyes were met with grey, and the young man nodded deeply in a stiff but poignant greeting.

“... Ser Cain.”

A small nod was shared between them, followed by an ushered silence.

"I believe we need to talk."

╒══════╕

Translations:

“Sīkudi nopāzmi, skori ao umbagon va bē hen issa…” = “Seven Hells, when you stay on top of me…”;

“Qrimbrōzagon, jorrāelagon, nyke jāhor tepagon ao nykeā gār trēsi.” = “Fuck, my love, I would give you a hundred sons.”;

“Se nyke jāhor jorrāelagon hen se tolvie mēn hen zirȳ.” = “And I would love each and every one of them.”;

╘══════╛

[coldheartsbreakboys]

instead of bitching why don’t we all just be thankful ao3 doesn’t have ads xxx

[coldheartsbreakboys]

ill start this by saying i understand @its-actually-minicika said the matter with @blackdreamspeaks is over and done but i literally cant let go of some things she said.

((also english is my second language so im sorry if i make mistakes 🤡 i will put this under the cut but i really think people should read this))

here is the problem. she said that she, takes the blame for what happened but she posts this after not even a full day of calling out that she did something wrong

there are no multiple sides to this story girl like none at all. it is literally the fact that you took content from mini/mina without credit and after you apologised you didnt even own it uppp. you said it was a coincidence and that you maybe took inspiration from her from the unconcious which is such a dumb excuse.

yesterday i sent you an ask with screenshots of compared writing from mini that she posted 2 months ago and stuff you posted 2 days ago. and it was clear you took the sentence from her without even an edit. you also used the same insult she used with hw aemond for your aemond. which is again really shitty and so clear because only she uses it.

i didnt compare everything you wrote in your update to hw because it is very long and i think that even those two things are enough to prove this point. it is not fair that you took from mini but then not even apologise in truth. you cant say this was a coincidence. you cant say this isnt done with intent. she is a very nice person and she deserves a real apology where you actually say that, yes you copied from her but that you re very sorry.

i waited for you to at least answer my ask if you were actually sorry and assuming your blame. because i wanted to give you the benefit of doubt and let you prepare your answer. sadly you never replied but i still have the screenshots even after your edit.

>

so this one is yours.

>

and this one is from minis series.

there was also the insult as i said but i didnt take screenshots of it before you edited. but the insult was 'whithered cunt' which mini wrote in the first part of hw and that was a long time ago.

you guys can cancel me if you want and whatever i honestly dont care because i am a small blog and i tbh dont even post. threaten to doxx or send me mean dms I fr dont careee

this is a post that i made for both mini and me because she deserves a real apology and you didnt give her that and also because i am honestly very angry. i think most people also dont know what happened because you never released the screenshots in my ask and you never actually said what you took from mini. because yes!!! you took from mini. there are no sides to this. there is the right side and that is mini. you play the victim too much and that is not okay. you are 21 and you should know better.

i end this by saying i understand you talked to mini and you say she is okay with everything now. she didnt say anything to any of her followers to do. she actually told me and someone else to not bother anymore with this drama. but i am bothered. and you are very frustrating. what you did is not okay at all

so girl bffr and take the blame. it isnt that hard. i might be back to edit this or to add stuff i think is important but these are the most important things that i can think of right now. i will post with the tags for hotd because people need to see this and i don't have many followers.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #aemond x y/n #aemond the kinslayer #aemond x wife reader #aemond fic #aemond fluff #aemond x lucerys #aemond one eye #aemond smut #aemond angst #jacerys strong #jacerys valeryon x reader #jacerys x reader #jacerys targaryen #jacerys x y/n #aegon ii x you #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii fanfic #aegon the elder #aegon x aemond #modern aegon #prince aegon #aegon targaryen x reader #young rhaenyra #rhaenyra targaryen #fanfiction hotd

[coldheartsbreakboys]

beautiful!

Titanic AU

Synopsis: The year is 1912 and the Titanic is setting sail on its maiden voyage. You were too incredibly broke to buy a ticket but luckily won yourself a ticket in a poker match. Aegon has unluckily lost his trust fund and is being forced to marry a wealthy girl and move to America. Both of you got on the ship for different reasons, both of you came from vastly different backgrounds, neither of you planned on finding love but fate had something else instore for you both.

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x Reader Warnings: It's literally a Titanic au sooo fluff, smut, sinking ship, love affair (cheating), rich v poor and a whole lotta falling in love. Word Count: 12k Note: HI BABY THIS IS FOR YOU @daddyissuesinwesteros this is my twist on your cruise ship request, I really hope you like it<33 Since i deleted my acc and have to restart I'm going to use a bunch of tags I'm srry. Tags: @its-actually-minicika @aemondwrites @annikin-im-panicin @princesssszzzz @ohitsthemaster

The year was 1912 and a newly finished ship was set to sail from Southampton, England to New York City, United States. RMS Titanic was the largest ship at the time and was considered to be unsinkable. People from all over the world rushed to get a ticket for the maiden voyage. The boat carried some of the wealthiest people in the world, as well as hundreds of emigrants from Ireland, Scandinavia, and elsewhere throughout Europe, who were seeking a new life in the United States.

The first-class accommodation was designed to be the pinnacle of comfort and luxury, with a gymnasium, swimming pool, libraries, high-class restaurants, and opulent cabins. The lower-class accommodations were nowhere near the same, however, were far better than the majority of ships. They were spacious and had several large public rooms and elevators for passengers to enjoy. 

It was by all means the most important and eagerly awaited voyage for many years, but nothing is ever as good as it seems. 

-

You had heard of the Titanic sailing to America just last week. It was completely out of your budget as a nurse in training and there was little to no hope you could board. Except, you weren’t ever planning on getting on the ship by paying. You dressed as a newspaper boy and headed down to the tavern outside the shipyard. 

One talent that always kept you fed was your ability at gambling and right now they were playing poker for tickets. It was four people in total playing the silly little game that would change your life in ways unknown to you. Two gentlemen spoke nearly no English and your closet companion had been nervously shifting the entire game. “You bet everything you have?” He whispered nervously as he eyed his own cards. You leaned over, “when you got nothing, you got nothing to lose.” 

Unlike the fellows around the table, you didn’t mind playing dirty. They had no clue what they had gotten themselves into. You switched around some of your cards while they weren’t looking. “Moment of truth… someone’s life is about to change.” One by one everyone sat down with their cards. Olaf had by far the worst pullout of them all. You turned to your friend, “I’m sorry you’re not gonna see your mother for a very long time.” He stood up and began cursing your ear off, “because we’re gonna go to America! Full house boys!” 

Your friend stood up and started screaming his head off. Olaf the Russian bastard yanked you by the collar and eyed you up and down, “woman?” The realization sent fear down your spine, you winked and dipped out of his grasp. 

“The Titanic leaves in five minutes, boys.” The bartender shouted over at you. “Oh shit!” You grabbed your friend by the collar and went sprinting in the direction of the ship. You shoved your way through the crowds, through the entrance, through the lower deck, and finally to the top of the ship. There were hundreds of people screaming goodbyes at you and you couldn’t help but wave back… even if you were excited to go home.  

-

The crowd to get inside the ship was suffocating by all means. Luckily Aegon’s mother had forced them to all leave extra early. The ship was meant to travel the entire to America and many were beside themselves in excitement. He didn’t care much for the ship or the trip, there were other things on his mind.

Since his father’s company had become so successful his family was able to sit on the upper deck in their own personal rooms. Though his own mother had to pay for his ticket… Aegon wouldn’t think about that situation right now. 

His tuxedo was suffocating him, and it was becoming clear his fiancée was exasperated. Of course, who wouldn’t be angry at an arranged marriage where love isn’t involved? The marriage aside, they were being forced into this ship in close quarters assuming they would “bond”. It was about to be an all-around miserable affair for everyone involved.

His mother, Alicent, quickly shuffled them into their surprisingly posh rooms… perhaps it would not be so miserable. As Aegon was unpacking his bags he pulled out a few paintings he had picked up during his time alive. His fiancée peaked over his shoulder and scoffed, “are those by… something Picasso?” She paused for a moment, “you shouldn’t waste your time with them, he’ll amount to nothing.” Aegon was reminded that this journey was about to be absolutely dreadful.

-

You and your friend finished tossing your things in the below-deck rooms meant for the poor. Two large bunk beds took up most of the space and you learned rather fast you would be sharing with some mildly unsavory characters. No matter, you planned to spend the majority of your time running around the massive ship anyway. 

The front of the ship was massive and was built at an angle. You ran around basking in your luck at being able to steal- you mean win tickets. Your feet carried you to the front of the pointed ship and you climbed up the rails, “I’m the king of the world!” You shouted in a gleeful voice. Your friend ran up behind you, “you’re a woman, idiot!” You paused for a moment… “I’m the queen of the world!” 

-

Aegon took his few moments to explore the ship. He wandered around aimlessly observing the people and the view of the sea. It was a rather dull view, nothing but open water for miles on end. At this time his head was also swirling with thoughts that drained his energy. 

He was being forced into an unwanted marriage, his father had removed him from the trust fund, he was being sent to America to work and his family all hated him in one way or another. The biggest disappointment in the Targaryen lineage thus far.

 In the giant crowds on the deck, he felt completely alone. Everyone around him seemed happy, they filled his ears with laughter and cheers and yet Aegon felt nothing of the sort. This ship was leading him to an unknown future laced with more sorrow. Does he even have reason to live now? 

You were sitting on a bench doodling on your sketch pad when you first saw him. He had beautiful blonde hair and a chiseled jawline, he looked to be one of the posh people on board. However, his big blue eyes were laced with only sorrow. He did not smile nor join in the happiness around him. It gave you an idea for a new painting, a lonely soul amid a crowd. 

“Don’t even think about it, he’s out of your league.” Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, “I wasn’t thinkin’ bout nothing.” Your friend took a seat next to you and pursed his lips. “Mhm, that's why you're already trying to draw him?” The audacity of some people, you thought. You slammed your sketchbook closed and sat up. “Ain’t your business!” 

You turned your head to get one last glimpse, but he was gone as quickly as he appeared. A little knot formed in your stomach thinking about how he was out of your league. Most rich people are cunts anyway it shouldn’t matter to you… Maybe, you would just admire him from afar. 

-

At dinner, Aegon’s feelings didn’t get any better. As he sat with his mother and fiancée all he could think about was how pointless his life truly was. A few offhand remarks by the women didn't ease his depression either. Why did he always ruin everything he touched? Why couldn’t he ever be enough? Why was he forced to live such a meaningless life?

“Aegon,” his mother called out to him as he stared lifelessly into his soup. “You’re embarrassing me in front of everyone… no wonder your father disowned you.” His fiancée whispered in his ear. He had more than enough encouragement to rid this world of himself and this was the final push.

Aegon excused himself from the table and stormed out of the dining area. His destination was the ship deck so he could throw himself off. Hopefully, he would freeze to death, or a shark would eat him before anyone could rescue him. Tears slowly dripped down his face as he walked outside. The wind cooled his tears enough they burned his skin.

You were out there trying to paint the sky when he returned. Though, he was a complete mess this time around. You watched him climb up the railing and over the other side. The crazy bastard is trying to jump! As a nurse in training, it was your job to act first.

“I wouldn’t jump if I were you, mister!” A gentle voice caught Aegon’s attention from behind. He furrowed his brows and whipped his head around at the sound of his voice. “Stay back! Don't come any closer!” The tear tracks on his cheeks were gleaming in the faint glow from the stern running lights. 

“Take my hand. I'll pull you back in.” He immediately snapped back, “No! Stay where you are. I mean it. I'll let go.” you rolled your eyes, “No you won't.” He loosens his grip on the railing, “Don't presume to tell me what I will and will not do. You don't know me.” 

“You would have done it already. Now come on, take my hand.” Aegon is confused now, he couldn’t see her very well through the tears, so he wiped them with one hand, almost losing his balance. “You're distracting me. Go away.” You approach the railing slowly, “I can't. I'm involved now. If you let go I have to jump in after you.” Aegon turned around to finally get a glance at you. He was shocked to see how beautiful you were, the moon outlined your silhouette like a guardian Angel. “D-Don't be absurd. You'll be killed.”

You took off your jacket, “I'm a good swimmer.” You move to unlace your shoe and he speaks up, “the fall alone would kill you.” You glanced down, “It would hurt. but to be honest mister I'm a lot more concerned about the water being so cold.” Aegon looked down. The reality of what he was doing started sinking in. “How cold?” You start taking off your shoe, “it’s the Atlantic so a little above freezing.” You take off your other shoe, “Ever been to Maine?” Aegon was completely perplexed, “No.”

“Well, they have some of the coldest winters around, and I grew up there, near Wells. Once when I was a kid me and my father were ice-skating out on Lake Wissota... ice-skating where you get on frozen ice–“ He scoffed, “I know what ice skating is!” You raise your hands in defeat, “Sorry. You just... you look kind of like an indoor guy. Anyway, I went through some thin ice and I'm tellin' ya, water that cold... like that right down there... it hits you like a thousand knives all over your body. You can't breathe, you can't think... at least not about anything but the pain.” You slowly take another step forward, “Which is why I'm not looking forward to jumping in after you. But as I said, I don't see a choice. I guess I'm kinda hoping you'll come back over the rail and get me off the hook here.”

“You’re crazy.” He was completely distracted by you, and Aegon forgot about what he originally intended to do. “That's what everybody says. But with all due respect, I'm not the one hanging off the back of a ship.”

You slid one step closer, like moving up on a spooked horse. “Come on. A pretty boy like you shouldn’t die like this.” Aegon stared at this madwoman for a long time. He looked at your eyes and they somehow suddenly seemed to fill his universe, “Alright.” He unfastened one hand from the rail and reached it around toward you. You reached out to take it, firmly. “I'm Y/N.” Aegon smiled, 

“Pleased to meet you, Miss. Y/N.” All seemed well until his foot slipped on the water that was coating the edge. He let out a less-than-manly scream as he almost dragged you over with him. Your grip tightened and you bit your lip while trying to pull him over. Damn, he was fucking heavy.  

He kicked his feet against the edge hard enough you could pull him up over the railing once more. The force was a bit much as he landed on top of you. There was a brief moment of silence where you stared up at him. This was a pathetic lunatic for sure but a very beautiful one. 

A group of crewmen disrupts your moment of admiration by dragging him off of you and pulling you to your feet. They began yelling at each other as one struggled to pull handcuffs out of his pocket. You tried to explain but they weren’t listening to your pleas. Two women came barreling out onto the deck screeching about what had happened. “Let go of my son, son,” his apparent mother shouted. “What has my fiancé done?” 

Ah, it was too good to be true after all. He had a beautiful posh fiancée waiting for him. “We saw him assaulting this woman!” One of the men shouted and Aegon immediately denied it. The woman’s eyes were a mix of confusion and subtle rage. “It was a misunderstanding! I came up here to admire the view and nearly fell to my death before he saved me!” You weren’t exactly sure why you were lying to a stranger, but something told you they didn’t need to know the truth. “It’s true! I was out here for a smoke when I saw her.” 

“You heard the girl! My son is no rapist.” The men glanced at you asking for confirmation, and you nodded your head in response. One of them let out a sigh as they uncuffed him. Aegon mouthed a thank you as the crew walked off. “Thank you for defending my fiancée,” she smiled at you. “Of course, Miss.” Aegon seemed to roll his eyes at her own voice. 

“Would you like to join us for dinner, dear? As a token of our appreciation?” His mother said in a way that sounded more like a demand than a request. You wouldn’t deny an all-paid-for fancy mean though. “If it would be alright.” Aegon smiled to himself as they bid you goodnight. Your luck seemed to be far from running out.

-

Aegon woke up early the next day; he prepared his clothes the night before and was sure to wear his best casual attire. He was more than excited to spend time with you before the eminent dinner with his family. That part didn’t excite him, his family was hard to deal with as you will soon find out. Plus, his fiancé would ruin any chance he had with you. 

It was wrong of him to think about cheating on her but once again it was a forced arrangement. Perhaps you could be his way out of it or maybe a way to distract him. At this time, you were playing a dull game with your two bunk bates. You kept thinking about him, his pretty face, and his madness all throughout that day… too bad he was to be married.

“Hello Y/N.” Your two friends are absolutely floored by his arrival. It's like Cinderella's slipper fitting Cinderella. “Hello again.” Aegon glanced around, “Could I speak to you in private?” You stood up nervously, “Uh, yes. Of course. After you.” He motioned you ahead. Asgon glanced over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised, as he walked out with you leaving a stunned silence. 

You both walked side by side onto the deck. You passed people reading and talking in steamer chairs, some of whom glanced curiously at the mismatched couple. You felt completely out of place in your rough clothes. You were both awkward, for different reasons.  “So, you got a name by the way?”

He shuffled next to you, “Aegon. Aegon Targaryen.” You snickered, “That's quite a moniker. I may hafta get you to write that down.” There was an awkward pause and you felt like throwing yourself off the ship now. 

“Miss. Y/N, I-” you cut him off, “Y/N.” He took a breath, “Y/N... I feel like such an idiot. It took me all morning to get up the nerve to face you.” You smiled, “Well, here you are.”

Aegon began playing with the rings on his fingers, “I... I want to thank you for what you did. Not just for... for pulling me back. But for your discretion.” You patted his shoulder, “No problem at all.” 

He turned to you. “Look, I know what you must be thinking! Poor little rich boy. What does he know about misery?” Aegon was beyond embarrassed he made such a fool of himself in front of a pretty girl. Normally, he would be more nonchalant, but you had done something to him. “That's not what I was thinking. What I was thinking was... what could have happened to hurt this man so much he thought he had no way out.” 

He let out a sigh of relief, “I don't... it wasn't just one thing. It was everything. And I was trapped in it, like a dragon in ice.” He started speaking too fast to fully make out, “I just had to get away... and then I was at the back rail and there was no more ship... even the Titanic wasn't big enough. Not enough to get away from them. And before I'd really thought about it, I was over the rail. I was so furious. I'll show them!”

“Uh-huh. They'll be sorry. 'Course you'll be dead.” He lowered his head, “Oh Gods, I am such an utter fool.” You raised a brow, “That chicken last night, is she one of them?” The penguin was his fiancé who was dressed in red feathers. “Chicken? Oh, Y/N/N! She is them.” You cocked your head over to look at him, “So you feel like you're stuck 'cause you're marrying' this chicken.” Aegon finally smiled brightly, “Exactly!” You thought to yourself, there was a pretty obvious solution. “So don't marry him.” He scoffed, “If only it were that simple.”

You hummed, “It is that simple.” He furrowed his brow, “don't judge me until you've seen my world.” You smirked, “Well, I guess I will tonight.” Aegon got mildly flustered once again for reasons unknown. He started looking for another topic, any other topic, and he indicated your sketchbook. “This? It’s just some sketches.” He reached his hand out, “May I?”

The question is rhetorical because he had already grabbed the book. He sat on a deck chair and opened the sketchbook. He noticed each one was a random picture of different people. An old woman’s hands, a parent and their child sleeping on a bench, a couple dancing in the street… It was like the condition of humanity. “These are quite good.” 

You smiled, “I just seem to spew 'em out. Besides, they're not worth a damn anyway.” You picked up two loose pages and tossed them. He laughed, “You're deranged!” No

He turned a page and well… He had come upon a series of nudes. He blushed, Aegon was completely transfixed, they felt... almost uncomfortably intimate. It wasn’t like he was one to shy away from the human form just didn’t expect it from… A woman. “Where were these drawn from?” Your smile grew wide, “Paris! Lots of people are willing to take off their clothes to be a part of art.” 

His eyes narrowed towards one, “You liked this man. You used him several times.” You giggled, “Nah, he had beautiful hands.” Aegon raised a brow, “I think you had a love affair with him…” You shoved his shoulder, “No, never! Just with his hands.” Aegon looked up from the drawing and into your eyes. They were laced with sincerity and something else… God, he was too handsome to be wasting time with the likes of you. “You have a gift, Y/N. You see people.” You were talented, kind, and beautiful… How did he stumble upon someone like you? “I see you.” There it was your piercing gaze that went right through his universe. “And...?” You smiled, “You wouldn't jump.”

“You know, my dream has always been to just chuck it all and become an artist... living in a garret, poor but free!” You laughed at him, “You wouldn't last two days. There's no hot water, and hardly ever any fancy food.” He faked an angry face, “Listen, missy... I hate fancy food! And I'm tired of people dismissing my dreams” You patted his head. “I'm sorry.”

“I just hate all of these duties that I have. I feel this way. I don't know what it is, whether I should be an artist, or I don't know... a dancer… a nude model… or a moving picture actor!” Aegon grabbed your hand and ran, pulling you along the deck toward-- He pulled you into the midst of filming and began pretending to be a part of it. 

-

You had spent the entire day with him accidentally. Maybe you told him a little too much about yourself, but it didn’t seem to matter. He enjoyed listening to your stories about your travels and your failure in nursing school. Aegon was the opposite of what you imagined a rich person to be. “So, then what, Miss. Adventurer?”

���Well, when housing cost too much, I went down to Los Angeles to the pier in Santa Monica. I sketched portraits there for ten cents apiece.” His mouth gaped sarcastically,

“A whole ten cents?!” The sarcasm went right over your head, “it was great money... I could make a dollar a day. When it got cold, I decided to go to Paris after a while and see what the real artists were doing.”

Aegon seemed to get lost in his head staring off into the distance. “I wish I could be like you… free from everything.” You turned to him, “We could go there, sometime... to that pier.” He grinned, “we're going. We'll drink cheap beer and go on rollercoasters until we throw up and we'll ride horses on the beach... right in the surf.” You laughed, “A woman riding a horse? Do you mean one leg on each side? Scandalous!” He turned to you and the sunset perfectly framed his face. His eyes brightened, “if you’d like.” You grinned, “I think I would.” 

-

A woman by the name of Molly came to your rescue. Apparently, she didn’t appreciate Aegon’s family very much and gladly gave you all the things you needed to show off. Molly lent you a very posh dress for the dinner and taught you a few especially important manners. You didn’t quite remember them all but that would be okay… you think. 

You stood awkwardly on the staircase looking for the family you were meant to dine with. A few men approached you and so you decided to practice your manners with them… They snickered under their breath at your daftness. Before you could open your mouth to snap back, Aegon finally arrived at your side. “Miss, y/n.” He picked up your hand and placed a firm kiss on it. 

You couldn’t help it; you were sure your face turned ten shades of red. He stuck out his arm urging you to take it… the manners of the rich confused you. “You look very posh.” Aegon leaned into your ear. You forced a smile as you approached his family. “It doesn’t suit me.”

“Mother, y/n/n, I’m sure you remember miss y/n.” They turned with shocked expressions, and his fiancé smiled brightly, “y/n- you could almost pass for a lady.” You nodded at her, “almost.” You wanted to slap that grin off her face as soon as possible. 

They strode off into the crowd of people and Aegon pulled you along with them. He tried to list off the names of everyone attending but you couldn’t remember. He even tried to introduce you to someone, but he was obviously suspicious of you. You were nervous but you never faltered. No way would you let these rich folks make a fool of you. 

Alicent was the first to speak to you at the dinner table, “What is it like in steerage, I hear they're quite good on this ship.” It was an insult disguised as a question. You smiled politely, “Fantastic ma'am. Hardly any rats.” Aegon motioned for you to take the napkin off your plate. What was with all of these rules? 

His fiancé spoke up, Miss. Y/N is joining us from the third class. She was of assistance to my fiancé last night.” She turned to you and spoke as if she was talking to a child. “This is foie gras. It's goose liver.” You dug your nails into your thighs and tried to hide your obvious anger. A soft hand brushed against yours catching your attention away from the sudden whispers about you.  Aegon regretted bringing you here already. “How do you take your caviar, Miss?”  

His fiancé answered for you, the cunt. “Just a soupcon of lemon… it improves the flavor with champagne.” You nodded, “No caviar for me, thanks… I never did like it much.” You looked at Aegon, proudly, and he smiled back. “And where exactly do you live, Miss. Y/N?” Alicent asked. “Well, right now the Titanic. After that, I’d like to travel to America.” 

Salad is served, you reached for the fish fork. Aegon gave you a look and picked up the salad fork, prompting you with his eyes. Damn, why the need for different forks? Alicent spoke again, “You find that sort of rootless existence appealing, do you?” You ignored her tone and decided to answer honestly. 

“My father was always talking about going to see the ocean. He died in the town he was born in and never did see it. See, my folks died in a fire when I was in nursing school, and I've been on the road since. Something like that teaches you to make each day count.” Aegon smiled, “Well said, Y/N.” Alicent, annoyed that you had scored a point against her, pressed further. “How is it you have the means to travel?” You smiled, “I work my way from place to place. I do nursing jobs on the side… actually I won my ticket to get on here.” 

Aegon smiled to himself, a very lucky win indeed. The rest of the dinner went by rather smoothly. You kept quiet most of the time trying to not barf at the taste of the food. When dessert was finally over Aegon spoke to you directly for the first time that night. 

“Next it'll be brandies in the Smoking Room.” He whispered slowly, “Now they retreat into a cloud of smoke and congratulate each other on being masters of the universe.”  You nearly laughed but were interrupted by his fiancé. “Joining us, Y/N? You don't want to stay out here with the men, do you?”

Actually, you do, but... “No thanks. I'm heading back.” Alicent stood up. “Probably best. It'll be all business and gossip; it won't interest you. Good of you to come.” The women took their leave, and you stood up to go as well. “Must you go so early?” You winked at Aegon, “Time for my coach to turn back into a pumpkin.” 

He leant over to take your hand. Aegon noticed the piece of paper in it and you nod at him to take it. You say a quick goodbye before you scurry off to your usual quarters. Aegon opens the note below the table. "Meet me at the clock". 

He smirked to himself then got up to politely excuse himself. You were the complete opposite of any of the women he was forced to be around, and he found himself fancying you more than he should. Aegon should thank his father for disowning him and getting rid of his trust fund because that’s exactly why he was able to meet you. 

You were staring at the giant clock in the middle of the staircase. You looked beautiful even from behind. You turned and caught him staring, “Want to go to a real party?”

-

The below-deck crowd was led and alive with music, laughter, and raucous carrying on. An unknown band was gathered near the upright piano, honking out lively stomping music on fiddle, accordion, and tambourine. People of all ages are dancing, drinking beer and wine, smoking, laughing, and even brawling. Aegon was completely amazed by the scene; he could get used to it. 

Your friend handed Aegon a pint of stout and she chugs it. You patiently waited for him to finish his newfound alcoholism and dance with you. When you get impatient you grab him by the collar and drag him into the middle of the floor. “I don’t know the steps!” You giggled, “just follow me!” The music started and you were off. He was a little awkward at first, but eventually, he’s the one leading you. 

Aegon has the brightest smile plastered across his face as he spins you around the crowd. He stares at you with flushed cheeks, and your sweat glistens perfectly on your skin. You truly were an angel sent for him and only him. 

-

“Come to Josephine in my flying machine. And it's up she goes! Up she goes! In the air, she goes. Where? There she goes!” You both drunkenly stumble over the words and break down laughing. You’ve walked Aegon all the way back to first-class before anyone can notice his absence. Though he doesn’t leave right away and instead leans onto the rail. 

“They're such meaningless people... my crowd. They think they're gods on earth, but they're not even dust in the universe’s gaze. They live inside this little, tiny glass bubble... and someday the bubble's going to burst.” You leaned on the rail next to him, your hands barely touched his, but it was enough to fluster you both. It is the slightest contact imaginable, and yet it’s the only thing either of you could feel. 

“You're not one of them. There's been a mistake.” Aegon looked at you confused, “A mistake?” You smiled, “Uh huh. You got switched at birth or something.” Aegon laughed at you, “I did huh?” You stood there in silence until you spotted a long streak of light in the sky, “Look! A shooting star.” He smiled, “Aren't we supposed to wish on it?”

Aegon glanced at you and realized that you were suddenly very close together. It would be so easy to move another couple of inches, to kiss you. Your eyes told him he could if only he took one more step. "What would you wish for?” You stepped back and forced a smile, “Something I can't have. Goodnight, Aegon. And thank you.” You took off in a hurry, any more time spent in the same vicinity as him would mean you making a grave mistake. No falling for an engaged man, no falling for someone in a different class than you. 

“Y/N,” Aegon moves to follow you, but his attention is caught by people piling out of the first-class entrance. What did he do wrong? 

-

His mother had berated him the entire night for what he had done. He was caught dancing with you and for some reason, that was the end of the world for her. Aegon was tired of constantly being forced to do his parents' bidding. The only reason he was engaged to this girl was that she had money and he didn’t. Once Alicent was finished scolding him he took off towards the deck. 

The ring

The damned ring he was going to give her with the blue diamond in the middle. He could chuck it into the ocean right now and not care anymore. That wouldn’t do, it was too expensive for such a faith. So, he locked it in a safe and decided to forget about it completely. He was done being a pawn for those around him. 

Aegon couldn’t handle rejection, nor could he handle being away from you for this long. He had no idea what had gone wrong, but he was desperate to fix it. He snuck below deck the next day where you were playing a game of poker with your friends. 

The sound of a knock on the door caught the group's attention. Who the hell knocks down here? You opened the door and your mouth gaped. “Can I talk to you...,” he peered over your shoulders, “…alone.” You turned to your group of friends, and they looked just as shocked as you. “Prince Charming came back,” Tommy snickered. “Go on, Cinderella,” Bjorn yelled at you.

You let out a sigh, “fine.” Aegon smiled and you walked into the hallway with him. Before you could get a word out, he grabbed you by the shoulders. “You're no picnic… you know that? You’re a broke, low-class girl with no manners but under that, you're a strong, pure heart, and you're the most amazingly astounding girl I've ever known and–“ You were completely caught off guard, “Aeg- I-”

He cut you off, “No wait. Let me try to get this out. You're amazing... and I know I don’t have much to offer you anymore. I know that, but I'm involved now. I jump, you jump, remember?” You could feel the tears coming to your eyes. Aegon was always so open even though you barely knew each other... not like anyone you had ever known but he was also a rich boy with a fiancé, it wasn’t possible to be with him. “You're making this very hard.” 

“They have me in a glass jar like some butterfly, and I’m going to die if I don't break out. Maybe not right away, 'cause I’m spiteful. But sooner or later the fire is going to go out and… and I need you with me.” Your lip pouted, “only you can save yourself. I’m just me.” He smiled, “You're wrong. You are everything to me. Just please think about it, Y/N.” 

He pulled you forward and placed a quick kiss on your forehead before taking off. You were left completely dumbfounded and your thoughts swirling around your brain. 

-

Aegon was standing at the place where you first met. He was letting the wind hit his face and calm his mind while he impatiently waited for you to come to him or forgive him or anything really. He was getting exceedingly desperate for anything from you. 

“Hey, Egg,” He whipped his head around and a big smile blessed his face. “I changed my mind.” Aegon smiled at you, his eyes drinking you in entirely. Your cheeks were flushed by the cold wind, and your eyes sparkled more than the sapphire. “I asked around and they said you might be up–” He grabbed your hand before you could finish speaking. “Shh. Come here.” Aegon wrapped his hands around your waist. It looked as if he was going to kiss you. 

“Close your eyes.” You were too flustered at first by the sudden contact but after a deep breath, you willingly shut your eyes. Aegon moved your hips, so you were facing forward, and he pressed you gently to the rail. It was getting too intimate, and you could feel your skin turning several shades of red. 

Aegon took your arms and raised them until you were standing with your arms outstretched. When he lowered his hands, your arms stayed up... like wings. “Okay. Open them.” You let out a small gasp. There was nothing in your field of vision but open water. It's like there is no ship under you both at all, just the two of them flying. You could only hear the wind and the hiss of the water 50 feet below. 

You giggled, “I'm flying!” You leaned forward, arching your back. Aegon put his hands on your waist to steady you. He started singing the tune from the other night softly, “come Josephine in my flying machine…” You smiled dreamily, then leaned back, gently pressing your back against his chest. Slowly he raised his hands, and they met yours... fingertips gently touching. Then he intertwined his fingers with yours.

Aegon leaned his head forward into your hair, letting the scent of you wash over him until his cheek was against your ear. 

You turned your head and noticed his lips are near yours. You lowered your arms and your eyes fluttered shut until his lips met yours. As Aegon wrapped his arms around your hips you completely surrendered to him, to the emotion, to the inevitable. You kiss slowly and nervously, and then with passion. 

-

Aegon snuck you into his room which was filled with beautiful woodwork and satin upholstery. You say your sketchbook and drawing materials are on the marble table. It was far too fancy for you; you couldn’t help but feel out of place here. “Will this light do? Don't artists need good light?” You faked a French accent, “ Zat is true, I am not used to working in such 'horrible conditions,'' you turned and saw his collection of paintings, “Hey... Monet!”

Aegon smiled, “Isn't he great... the use of color? I saw him once... through a hole in this garden fence in Giverny.” You watched him fiddle with a lock on a box, CLUNK! He unlocked the safe. He glanced up and smiled at you and tossed you a ring, “What is it? A sapphire?” He shook his head, “A diamond. A very rare diamond called the Heart of the Ocean.” You gazed at the wealth beyond your comprehension. “Why- why are you giving this to me?” 

“Draw me like one of your French boys and it’s all yours.” Your mouth visibly dropped at the realization. Of course, you would happily oblige. 

-

You carefully laid out your pencils like surgical tools. “The last thing I need is another picture of me looking like a doll. As a paying customer, I expect to get what I want.” Aegon took off his robe revealing himself and you assumed you looked completely shocked.

“Tell me when it looks right to you.” He pulled a blanket over his… parts. Aegon tried to mimic the guy from your drawing as best he could. “Uh... just bend your left leg a little and... and lower your head. Eyes to me…. Uh yeah.” 

His abs were perfectly defined, and his skin was a gorgeous milky white. He looked like one of those famous Greek statues in a museum. You started to sketch but your nervous hands made you drop the pencil. He stifled a laugh, “I believe you are blushing, Ms. Big Artiste. I can't imagine Monet blushing.” You were obviously sweating, “He does landscapes.”

Despite your nervousness, you drew with sure strokes, and what emerged is the best thing you had ever done. His pose is languid, his hands beautiful, and his eyes radiate energy. It helped that Aegon was the perfect customer, he barely moved an inch and kept his eyes on you the whole time. 

-

“Date it, Y/N. I want to always remember this night.” He leaned over your shoulder in his robe and peered at the drawing. Once again, you do everything he says because you are too flustered to do otherwise. He meanwhile scribbled a note on a piece of the Titanic stationary. He gladly accepted the drawing from you and shoved it in the safe in the wardrobe. 

Once he got fully dressed you felt like you could breathe again. There was a noise, almost like a key being placed in a lock. Aegon grabbed your hand and ripped you up and yanked you through the bedroom. 

He led you quickly along the corridor toward the B deck foyer. You were halfway across the open space when the sitting room door opened in the corridor and his mother came out. The valet sees you and runs after you. 

“Come on,” Aegon shouted in a whisper. You break into a run, surprising the few ladies and gentlemen about. Aegon led you past the stairs to the bank of elevators. You run into one, shocking the hell out of the people inside. 

“Take us down. Quickly, quickly!” Aegon motions to the operator. He even helped him close the steel gate. The valet ran up as the lift started to descend. He slammed one hand on the bars of the gate. Aegon flipped him off with a large grin causing the operator to gasp. 

They escape to the boiler room filled with fans. You both leaned against a wall and began laughing. “Pretty tough for a valet, this fella,” you grinned. “He's an ex-Pinkerton. Y/N/N’s father hired him to keep her out of trouble... to make sure she always got back to the hotel with his wallet and watch, after crawling through the less reputable parts of town.” Aegon smiled. “Kinda like we're doin' right now-- uh oh!” 

The valet popped up out of nowhere and charged toward you. Aegon took your hand once more and dashed into a blind alley. There was only one door, marked CREW ONLY, and Aegon flung it open. You entered a roaring fan room, with no way out but a ladder going down. Aegon latched the deadbolt on the door, and the valet slammed against it a moment later. Aegon grinned at you, pointing to the ladder. “After you, m'lady.” 

-

You came down the ladder and realized this place looked like hell itself, shadowy figures moving in the smoky glow. You ran the length of the boiler room, dodging amazed stokers, and trimmers with their wheelbarrows of coal. Aegon shouted over the noise, “Carry on! Don't mind us!”

You rush through the open door into BOILER ROOM SIX. Aegon pulled you through the hot alley between two boilers and you wound up in the dark, out of sight of the working crew. 

Aegon stops you and kisses your face, tasting the sweat trickling down from your forehead. You raised your chin up to him and pressed your lips roughly against his; you kiss passionately in the steamy, pounding darkness. 

-

After you both gained some self-control, you ran into a new storage room. This time you stumble upon a brand-new touring car.  You climbed into the upholstered back seat, acting very royal. Aegon jumped into the driver's seat, “Where to, Miss?” you grinned, “To the stars.”

You climbed into the back seat and reached your hands out to pull him over the seat into the back. He landed next to you, and his breath seemed loud in the quiet darkness. Aegon gazed at you and saw you smiling… It was the moment of truth. “Are you nervous?” You nervously smiled, “Au contraire, mon cher.”

Aegon gently stroked your face, cherishing every feature. “Touch me,” you whispered. He slid himself on top of you and pressed a gentle kiss against your lips. 

Your heart raced as he kissed down your neck. You moaned softly, feeling the heady rush of excitement fill your body with desire. The lustful longing for this man consumed you, there was no turning back now. As his lips neared your breast, you pulled him closer and felt his soft hands caress your skin.

His mouth engulfed one nipple and began to suck it. Your moans were muffled by his hot breath and tender kisses. His hands groped your hips and tugged them up so that he could take your other breast between his teeth. His fingers curled around the hem of your gown and slowly rolled it up above your waist.

You gasped when his hand cupped your cunt through the thin fabric of your undergarments. He moved quickly to free you from them. Aegon slid his hand down to swirl around your throbbing clit. You let out small whimpers as he moved his fingers, 

Aegon moved his lips back up to yours as his fingers dipped lower, so they rubbed outside your entrance. You arched your body towards him and sank your nails into his back. A low moan escaped his throat as he pushed two fingers inside you. You bucked your hips into his touch and closed your eyes. Aegon's fingers moved faster and slipped deeper inside you. His thumb found your clit, rubbing it rhythmically.

He suddenly stopped moving and leaned in close to whisper, "I love you." You trembled at his words. They made the fire within you burn brighter than before. You looked up at him and nodded, " I love you too."

His fingers began to move again, swirling and teasing. You cried out in pleasure as he plunged his fingers deep inside of you. Aegon's lips returned to yours as he kissed you passionately. His fingers thrust inside of you harder and faster until you came undone. Your legs quivered and shook uncontrollably as waves of pleasure coursed through you.

You kept your lips connected to his as you moved your hands to undo his belt. “Are you sure,” he whispered into your mouth. You nodded furiously causing him to smile. He quickly unbuttoned his trousers and slid them off his hips. 

Aegon lifted your ass up and placed your thighs on either side of his waist. He ran his cock along your soaking cunt, preparing to slide inside. The tip of his manhood nudged against your slick opening. You took a deep breath as you waited for him to push forward. When he finally slid inside you, you let out a sharp cry.

You felt the heat of his thick cock spread inside of you. His length stretches you tightly and fills you completely. He lowered his head onto your shoulder, so your cheeks were touching. As he thrust in and out of you, he placed gentle kisses along your shoulder and neck.

"Aegon," you whimpered. The sound of your voice drove him wild. He pumped his hips faster while whispering sweet nothings into your ear. Gods, you were so beautiful underneath him. He loved the way you shuddered and shook because of him. 

The car was filled with the sounds of your breathing and their skin slapping together. You raised a hand and hit the glass window leaving a mark on the condensation. You moved your hips with him, grinding yourself against him.

You moaned loudly as he bit down on your shoulder. He held your hips up with one hand while the other was squeezing your tits and doing circles around your nipple. Your cunt clenched around his shaft and squeezed each time he moved.

Aegon started to softly moan as he thrust inside you. They sounded absolutely heavenly in your ears; better than any orchestra you’ve heard. "I'm going to cum," he whimpered. You tightened your grip around his neck and pulled him down into another searing kiss. You tilted your pelvis up to meet his thrusts.

"Cum inside me," you begged. He slammed his hips against your thighs, and his cock exploded inside of you. You could feel him pulsing inside of you as he lost control. When he stopped pumping his seed into you, a warmth flowed throughout your entire body.

Aegon covered you both with his overcoat. You’re both huddled under it, intertwined, still mostly clothed. Your faces were flushed, and you looked at each other wonderingly. You rested a hand on his face as if making sure he was real, “You're trembling.” Aegon smiled.

“It's okay. I'm alright.” He moved to lay his cheek against your chest, “I can feel your heart beating.” You held his head to your chest and just held on for dear life. 

-

After you cleaned up, both of you headed up to the ship deck. The entire time his eyes barely left you. “When this ship docks, I'm getting off with you.” You laughed, “This is crazy.” He nodded, “I know. It doesn't make any sense. That's why I trust it.” He pulled you back to him and kissed you fiercely. 

The boat suddenly hit an iceberg causing it to bounce backward. Both of you slid back and into the nearby wall. You gave each other a worried glance and took off toward the front. You both leaned over the starboard rail, looking at the hull of the ship. Behind you, a couple of steerage guys were kicking the ice around the deck, laughing. “Looks okay. I don't see anything.” He furrowed his brows, “Could it have damaged the ship?” You were practically pushing yourself in fear right now. “It didn't seem like much of a bump. I'm sure we're okay.”

-

You were so tragically wrong; you both took off in opposite directions to go warn your own friends and family. That’s when the chaos erupted, and the alarms began to blare. Aegon had to drag his mother and fiancé out of their rooms in mere pajamas all the way to the deck. It became painstakingly obvious there weren't enough lifeboats for everyone and oh… upper-class women go first and you… you wouldn’t even make it onto a life raft! 

“Goodbye mother,” he yelled as he took off towards the lower deck. His fiancé grabbed him from behind, “Where are you going? To give up your life? For her? Is that it? For your whore? For that gutter rat?” Aegon ripped his arm out of her grasp, “I'd rather be her whore than your husband.” 

The lifeboats began to lower, and, in the distance, he could hear his mother and ex-fiancé screaming hysterically. The boat began to sway, and he struggled to keep his balance and was rushing to go find you. 

-

Meanwhile, you had just been handcuffed to a goddamn pipe. There was something about you stealing a coat that wasn’t exactly wrong but why now of all god-forsaken times. The valet apparently snitched to his mother who then snitched to the captain who then sent a policeman after you. This was before they knew of the dire situation, of course, now you were all but forgotten in the chaos. 

 The pipe wouldn’t budge, and you could hear gurgling sounds of water starting to flow. You pulled harder and began to cry out, “Help!! Somebody!! Can anybody hear me?!” The water poured under the door and rapidly spread throughout the room. You worked against the cuffs until your skin was raw, this was no good. “Y/N? Y/NNNNNN??” 

You were hopelessly pulling on the pipe again, straining until you turned red. You collapsed back on the bench. realizing you’re screwed. Then you heard him through the door. 

Aegon was running aimlessly through the lower deck until he ran into your frantic friend, Tommy. Thank God Tommy cared the least bit to tell him that you had been fucking arrested. He rushed to the master at the arms room which held you captive. Aegon desperately called out your name as he tracked through the water. “AEGON!! In here!” 

He spun on his heels and ran back, locating the right door, then pushed it open, creating a small wave. He splashed over you and put his arms around you. “Y/N, Y/N, Y/N... I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.” You both were so happy to see each other it was embarrassing. “Don’t worry about it now! See if you can find a key for these. Try those drawers. It's a little brass one.“ He kissed your face and hugged you again, then started to go through the desk. 

“So… you don’t care I got arrested?” He turned to look at you, “don’t worry about it now!” He mocked your words from earlier. 

You force a smile then he went back to ransacking the room, searching drawers and cupboards. You saw movement out the porthole and looked out. Another lifeboat has just landed in the water… too few lifeboats.

“There's no key in here.” You look around at the water, now almost two feet deep. You have pulled your feet up onto the bench. “You have to go for help.” Aegon nodded, “I'll be right back.”

You watched him splash through the water and started to realize this might be the last time you see him. This might be the last time you breathe air. Oh fuck, you have the worst luck in the world. 

-

Aegon splashed down the hall to a stairwell going up to the next deck. He climbed the stairs and moved his way through the empty corridors. “Hello? Somebody?!” He turned a corner and ran along another corridor in a daze. The hall sloped down into water which shimmered, reflecting the light. The margin of the water creeps toward him. A young man appeared, running through the water, sending up geysers of spray. “Help me! We need help!” He doesn't look back; it was like a bad dream. The lights flickered and went out, leaving utter darkness. A beat. Then they come back on. He finds herself hyperventilating. That one moment of blackness was the most terrifying of his life. 

He turned around and saw a glass case with a fire-axe in it. He breaks the glass with a battered suitcase which was lying discarded nearby, and seized the axe, running back the way he came. 

-

When he reached the stairwell, he looked down and gasped. The water had flooded the bottom five steps. He went down and had to crouch to look along the corridor to the room where you were trapped. Aegon plunged into the water, which was up to his waist... and powered forward, holding the axe above his head in two hands.  You have climbed up on the bench, and we’re hugging the waterpipe. The water was beyond fucking freezing, and you lost hope anyone was coming… Until Aeg waded in, holding the axe above his head. “Will this work?”

“Fuck yes!” You were both terrified but were trying to keep panic at bay. You pulled your hands back, so the short chain was exposed… No time for any practice swings. You winced, bracing yourself as he raised the axe. “You can do it, baby. Hit it as hard as you can, I trust you.” Your voice cracked and you closed your eyes tightly. The axe came down, K-WHANG! When Aegon opened his eyes, he saw you grinning with two separate cuffs. 

“Nice work, there, Paul Bunyan.” You hopped off the bench and swam towards him. The water taking all the air out of your lungs, “Shit! Excuse my French. Ow ow ow, that is cold! Come on, let's go.”

-

“Fabrizio! Tommy!” Your friends turned to see you two approaching and ran to embrace you, “The boats are all going.” You glanced around, “We gotta get up there or we're gonna be gargling saltwater.” Tommy had his hands on the bars of the steel gate which blocked the head of the stairwell. The crew opened the gate a foot or so and a few women are squeezing through. “Women only. No men. No men!!”

But some terrified men, not understanding English, tried to rush through the gap, forcing the gate open. The crewmen and stewards pushed them back, shoving and punching them. “Get back! Get back you lot!” They struggled to get the gate closed again, while Steward #2 brandished a small revolver, another held a fire axe. They locked the gate, and a cry went up among the crowd, who surged forward, pounding against the steel and shouting in several languages. 

“For the love of God, man, there are children down here! Let us up, so we can have a chance!” But the crewmen were scared now. They let the situation get out of hand, and now they have a mob. Tommy gave up and pushed his way back through the crowd, going down the stairs. “It's hopeless that way.”

You squeezed Aegon’s hand for comfort, “Well, whatever we're goin' to do, we better do it fast.” You decided to start sprinting in the other direction. 

-

You, Aegon, Fabrizio and Tommy were lost, searching for a way out. You all came upon a narrow stairwell and went to go up two decks before you were stopped by a small group pressed up against a steel gate. The steerage men are yelling at a scared steward. “Go to the main stairwell, with everyone else. It'll all get sorted out there.”

Aegon took one look at this scene and finally just lost it. “God damn it to Hell son of a bitch!!” He grabbed one end of a bench that was bolted to the floor on the landing. He started pulling on it, and Tommy and Fabrizio pitched in until the bolts sheared, and it broke free. You figured out what they were doing and cleared a path up the stairs between the waiting people. 

“Move aside! Quickly, move aside!” Aegon and Tommy ran up the steps with the bench and rammed it into the gate with all their strength. It ripped loose from its track and fell outward, narrowly missing the steward. The crowd surged through. 

-

You all bursted out onto the boat deck from the crew stairs just aft of the third funnel. “The boats are gone!” Aegon noticed Colonel Gracie chugging forward along the deck, escorting two first class ladies. “Colonel! Are there any boats left?”

“Yes, sir... there are still a couple of boats all the way forward. This way, I'll lead you!” Aegon grabbed your hand, and they sprinted past him, with Tommy and Fabrizio close behind. The band from the other night was still playing music accepting their own demise. “Music to drown by. Now I know I'm in First Class.”

-

You quickly took notice of only women boarding. You looked back at your two friends, “You better check out the other side.” They ran and took off to the other side. “I'm not going without you.” Aegon pushed you forward, “Get in the boat, Y/N.” One of the crewmen began yelling, “Quickly, ladies. Step into the boat. Hurry, please!” He patted your head, “Go on. I'll get the next one.” You cried out, “No. Not without you!” Aegon smiled reassuringly, “I'll be alright. Hurry up so I can get going... I have my own boat to catch.”

The crewman grabbed your arm and pulled you toward the boat. You reached out for Aegon and your fingers brushed for a moment. Then you found yourself stepping down into the boat. Aegon knew he was screwed. He looked down at you, not wanting to waste a second of his last view of you. 

All you could hear was the blood pounding in your ear. All you could feel was the tears rushing down your face. Damn it all to hell. 

You lunged across the woman next to you. You grabbed the gunwale and began climbing it... You successfully hurl yourself out of the boat and onto the rail of the deck. “No Y/N! NOOOO!!” Aegon spun from the rail, running for the nearest way down to A-Deck. 

You met at the bottom of the stairs and collided in an embrace. “Y/N, Y/N, you're so stupid, you're such an idiot–” He spoke as he kissed you repeatedly. “You jump, I jump, right?” He grinned sadly, “Right.”

-

You sprinted your way through the boat once more trying to reach the top deck. The corridor is awash, about a foot deep. A torrent of water came pouring down the stairs like rapids. It was far too powerful for you to go against. “Come on!”  As you approached the giant double doors at the other end of the hall you saw water spraying through the gap between the doors right up to the ceiling. “Back! Go back!!”

Aegon turned and ran back the way you came, taking a turn into a cross-corridor. The double doors break open sounding a thunderous explosion of water. You tried to run as a wave blasted around the corner, foaming from floor to ceiling. 

You barely made it to the large staircase leading up. The lights short out and the landing is plunged into darkness. It is by the grace of God that the gate that blocked your path gave and swung open. You were pushed through by the force of the water. 

-

The room was empty except for Andrews, the captain. Behind him you and Aegon rushed into the room, out of breath and soaked. You ran through, toward the aft revolving door... then Aegon recognized him. He noticed that his lifebelt was off, lying on a table. 

“Won't you even make a try for it, Mr. Andrews?” A single tear ran down his cheek, “I'm sorry that I didn't build you a stronger ship, young Aegon.”

You leaned over and whispered, “It's going fast... we've got to keep moving.” Andrews picked up his lifebelt and handed it to him. “Good luck to you, Aegon.” He smiled, “And to you, Mr. Andrews.” You forcefully pulled him away and through the revolving door. 

-

You ran out of the palm court into a dense crowd. Aegon pushed his way to the rail and looked at the state of the ship. The bridge is under water and there is chaos on deck. Aegon helped you put your lifebelt on. “Okay... we keep moving aft. We have to stay on the ship as long as possible.”

Aegon and you clambered over the A-Deck aft rail. Then, using all his strength, he lowered you toward the deck below, holding on with one hand. You dangled, then fell. Aegon jumped down behind you. You joined a crowd of people literally clawing and scrambling over each other to get down the narrow stairs to the well deck... the only way aft. 

Realizing it’s pointless you both do the same move once more. Lowering each other to the deck below. A zombified man spoke, “Yeah, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death–“ Aegon growled, “You wanna walk a little faster through that valley, fella?”

Aegon and you struggled aft as the angle increased. Hundreds of passengers, clinging to every fixed object on deck, huddled on their knees around a priest who had his voice raised in prayer. They were praying, sobbing, or just staring at nothing, their minds blank with dread.  “Come on, you. We can't expect God to do all the work for us.”

You struggled on, shoving through the praying masses. Aegon and you made it to the stern rail, right at the base of the flagpole. You both gripped the rail, jammed in between other people. It is the spot where you pulled him back onto the ship, just two nights... and a century... ago.  “...and I saw new heavens and a new earth. The former heavens and the former earth had passed away and the sea was no longer.”

The lights flickered, threatening to go out. You gripped Aegon as the stern raised into a night sky ablaze with stars. “I also saw a new Jerusalem, the holy city coming down out of heaven from God, beautiful as a bride prepared to meet her husband. I heard a loud voice from the throne ring out this is God's dwelling among men. He shall dwell with them, and they shall be his people and He shall be their God who is always with them.”

You stared at the faces of the doomed. “He shall wipe every tear from their eyes. And there shall be no more death or mourning, crying out or pain, for the former world has passed away.”

The stern of the ship fell back toward the water. On the deck everyone screamed as they felt themselves plummeting. Aegon and you struggled to hold onto the stern rail. Aegon looked at you and shook his head, grimly. 

The stern went up and up, past 45 degrees, then past sixty.  People started to fall, sliding and tumbling. They skidded down the deck, screaming and flailing to grab onto something. 

“We have to move!” Aegon climbed over the stern rail and reached back for you. “Come on! I've got you!” Aegon pulled you over the rail. It is the same place you pulled him over the rail two nights earlier, going the other direction. The stern was now straight up in the air... a rumbling black monolith standing against the stars. It hangs there like that for a long grace note, its buoyancy stable. 

Aegon and you laid side by side on what was the vertical face of the hull, gripping the railing, which is now horizontal. The final relentless plunge began as the stern section flooded. Looking down a hundred feet to the water, you dropped like an elevator. Aegon began talking fast, “Take a deep breath and hold it right before we go into the water. The ship will suck us down. Kick for the surface and keep kicking. Don't let go of my hand. We're gonna make it. Trust me.” You stared at the water coming up at you and gripped his hand harder. “I trust you.

-

Chaos exploded in the water of screaming, thrashing people. Over a thousand people were now floating where the ship went down. Some were stunned, gasping for breath. Others are crying, praying, moaning, shouting... screaming. 

Aegon and you surfaced among them. “Swim, you! SWIM!” You tried to swim as fast as you could until you broke out of the crowd of people. He had to find some kind of flotation, anything to get you out of the freezing water. “Keep swimming. Keep moving. Come one, you can do it.” All around you there is a tremendous wailing, screaming and moaning... a chorus of tormented souls. And beyond that... nothing but black water stretching to the horizon. The sense of isolation and hopelessness is overwhelming. 

Aegon stroked rhythmically, the effort keeping him from freezing. “Look for something floating. Some debris... wood... anything.” You mumbled, “It's so cold.” He frantically looked around, “I know. I know. Help me, here. Look around.” 

You scanned the water, panting, barely able to draw a breath. You turned and... A devil is right in front of you face. It is the black French bulldog, swimming right at her like a sea monster, its coal eyes bugging. It moves past her, like it is headed for Newfoundland.  Beyond it you saw something in the water. “What's that?”

Aegon saw what you were pointing to, and you made for it together. It was a piece of wooden debris, intricately carved. He pushed you up first then he slithered onto it belly down. Your breaths filled your ears as you glanced around at the scene around you. Both of you had to stay perfectly still or else the thing would plunge into the water. 

-

You both float amid a chorus of damned. Aegon noticed the ship's officer nearby, He was blowing his whistle furiously, knowing the sound would carry over the water for miles. “The boats will come back for us, you. Hold on just a little longer. They had to row away for the suction and now they'll be coming back.” You nodded, his words helping you. You were shivering uncontrollably and had turned a shade of blue. “Thank God for you, Aegon.”

“It's getting quiet.” Aegon weakly raises his head, “Just a few more minutes. It'll take them a while to get the boats organized…” You didn’t believe him, half of the people around you were already dead. “I don't know about you, but I intend to write a strongly worded letter to the White Star Line about all this.”

He laughed weakly, but it sounded like a gasp of fear. “I love you, Aegon.” He took your hand. “No... don't say your good-byes, you. Don't you give up. Don't do it.” You felt your eyes beginning to close, “I'm so cold.”

“You're going to get out of this... you're going to go on and you're going to make babies and watch them grow and you're going to die an old lady, warm in your bed. Not here. Not this night. Do you understand me?” You found the slightest bit of energy, “Winning that ticket was the best thing that ever happened to me.” You sniffle, “It brought me to you. And I'm thankful, Aegon. I'm thankful.”

His voice trembled, “Do you still have that damned ring?” You hadn’t taken it out of your pocket, but you doubted it was still there. You slowly moved your head to the side and patted your ass. The fancy piece of shit was still with you. “I do.” He forced a smile, “You must do me this honor... promise me you will survive... that you will never give up... so that when we get out of here… you’ll let me marry you with that ring.” Your eyes clouded with tears, “I promise.”

“Never let go.” He gripped your hand and you laid with your heads together. “I promise. I will never let go, Aegon. I'll never let go.”

-

"Come Josephine in my flying machine..." You touched his shoulder with your free hand. He doesn't respond. you gently turned his face toward her. His breath was causing the air to run white… He wasn’t dead yet. 

Your eyes slowly began to close again… but then you heard the sound of a whistle. You raised your head suddenly, cracking the ice as you ripped her hair off the wood. You tried to call out, but your voice is so weak they don't hear you. The boat is invisible now, the torch light impossibly far away. “I won’t let go. I promise.” You kiss his face which was still not completely frozen. 

you rolled off the floating staircase and plunged into the icy water. You swam to Chief Officer Wilde's body and grabbed his whistle. You started to blow the whistle with all your might. 

You were still blowing when a man took it from your mouth as they hauled you into the boat. “Over there. Aegon Targ- Targaryen.” You purposely used his last name hoping they would recognize him. With your last bit of strength, you pointed at your little raft and slipped into unconsciousness.

-

Jaehaera was shocked when she got a call requesting her parents to come and “confirm” the belongings they found on the wrecked ship. It had been so many years… She couldn’t believe they were even able to discover it at all. 

She would have invited you and her father but you both passed recently, at the ripe age of 83. Aegon swore up and down he would never let go and he kept that promise, literally. He literally died in the same hospital bed as you, leaving Jaehaera, Jaehaerys, and Maelor on their own. You both were selfish assholes, but she couldn’t help but accept the invite. 

The three were absolutely fucking shocked to find a nude painting of their father along with some old notes. “Darling now you can keep us both locked in your safe -- Aegon.” None of them understood what that meant but decided to not question it. Jaehaera nervously played with the diamond engagement ring you had gifted her before you died. God, it probably cost a million dollars and you so easily gave it to her. 

She had to sit down and try to calm herself. You both were successful in your own right; you led adventurous lives and forced the three children to travel with you once they were born. You introduced them to so many different arts, music, and cultures. You were good parents… too good to be gone. She began crying into her hands as she searched through the belongings… 

Jaehaerys sat down next to her and wrapped one arm around her shoulder. “Who would have guessed our parents had a love affair like the movies.” 

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon x you #aegon x reader

[coldheartsbreakboys]

Screw THW, man 😭 why is editing so God damn slow

Would this be regarded as spoilers? Idek at this point

Guess who has this internal dumb monologue? There is no difficulty level with this one

[coldheartsbreakboys]

this is so so good holy shit

In Dreams

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary: Prince Aemond enjoys a slow morning with his wife.

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: Fluff, one brief allusion to past sexual relations but if you blink you'll miss it

Word Count: .07k

A/N: dividers by @firefly-graphics

reupload from my deactivated blog!

comments and reblogs are always very appreciated!

You awoke to the gentle sound of birdsong, the grey light of early morning spilling in through the window.

The chill of late winter seemed to seep through the stone walls of the Red Keep, and even through the thick blankets covering you, you could feel it. You shivered, rolling over to face your sleeping husband, and burrowed into his side, stretching an arm across his waist, relishing the warmth of his bare body against yours.

“Good morning, my love,” Aemond murmured, his voice low and husky from sleep, wrapping a lazy arm around your shoulders, his calloused hand rubbing your arm softly. “You are cold,” he observes.

“Mm,” you hum in agreement, “but you are warm, husband.”

“That I am,” he chuckles softly, his eye still firmly shut, clinging to the last whispers of sleep but holding you a bit tighter nonetheless. “How did you sleep?”

“Very well,” you replied, pressing a soft kiss to the pale column of his neck, “thanks in no small part to you. You loved me well last night.”

His eye flickers open at that, giving you an amused look, leaning over to press a kiss to your forehead.

“As did you, for me,” he replies.

It was rare to see Aemond so gentle, so subdued. Outside of your chambers, he was a warrior and a prince, but within them, he was simply yours. You relished the passion of your nights together, but you loved your slow, soft mornings even more.

“I love you,” you sigh softly, tightening your hold on him and wishing that neither of you would ever have to leave your bed again. You dreamed of a life in which he was always by your side, never to be pulled away by duty or royal obligations.

“And I love you, my darling wife,” he leans down again, slotting his lips against yours, kissing you slow and deep.

There was no lust behind his kiss, simply tenderness. You smile softly into it, tracing your fingers up his stomach and chest, coming to rest at the juncture between his well-muscled shoulder and his neck.

When you parted, you tucked your head down against his chest, simply listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat. Like the rest of him, it was controlled and collected–a reminder of his constancy and the affection he held for you. You found yourself beginning to doze again, the steady rhythm and the heat of his body soothing you back to sleep.

“Are you asleep again, love?” Aemond half-whispered above you, rousing you from your drowsing.

“Yes,” you reply, smiling at the soft rumble of his laugh in his chest below your ear, “so asleep, in fact, that you cannot move, lest you wake me.”

You feel his lips atop your head, and he shifts, rolling onto his side to wrap both arms around you fully, clutching you to his chest as though you might disappear.

“And what do you dream of in your slumber?” he asks after a beat.

“You,” you sigh, half-joking, though there was much truth behind your jest, “and of lemon cakes, fresh from the kitchen,” you continue.

“Mhm, lemon cakes are quite divine, are they not?”

“Yes, but I prefer when I dream of my lord husband,” you replied, eyes still firmly shut. You were more than warm enough now, but you had no intention of letting him go until it was necessary.

“You flatter me,” he sighs, his breath ruffling your sleep-mussed hair. “I must confess, I prefer to dream of you as well–though I would trade a lifetime of dreams for one moment awake with you, my sweet wife.”

Your eyes flutter open at his honeyed words, blinking up at him lovingly, admiring his handsome face in the ever-growing light from outside.

“And you dare accuse me of flattery,” you tease, raising a slow hand to trace the outline of his lips, “while possessing such a silver tongue?”

He kisses your extended fingertip, reaching up to catch your hand, pressing it to his chest, above his heart. “I may use my tongue,” he hums, “but you are in possession of it, just as you possess the rest of me, body, heart, and soul. I am yours.”

Your heart ached with care for him. You were so desperately in love that it nearly caused you pain at times, and you would not trade that pain for any amount of pleasure in the world.

“I am yours,” you reply in affirmation, echoing your wedding vows, “and you are mine.”

He smiles–truly smiles–and captures your lips in another slow kiss.

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#aemond x wife reader #aemond targaryen x reader

[coldheartsbreakboys]

IF THERE'S A SCREEN THERE IS A WAY (Barely functional Samsung S4 mini)