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itsevanffs · 3 years

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Hihi!! I've been hyperfixating on tommary lately and I absolutely loved (In the dark!)! I wanted to see if u have any tommary/harrymort fics that u recommend.. preferably ones that feature a possessive Tom ^^ ty in advance

I guess this would be the right time to publicly declare my bookmarks as open? Everything on there is a hard rec, and I vigorously quality-check those... for my liking and my liking only. (Sorry, not sorry. They're there for me, after all.)

That being said, hmm. I've got a few you might like.

Below the cut: more (additionally to my bookmarks) Tomarrymort (Tomarry or Harrymort) recommendations with possessive/obsessive Tom in alphabetical order; NOT order of how much I enjoy them. I'd argue I enjoy them all equally, just in different ways.

Ps: thank you! I'm incredibly flattered you liked my work :D

and don't let the police know anything by littlecupkate https://archiveofourown.org/works/24920947

Ted Dirlod is dangerous, Harry Potter knows this for a fact, but the man was still his only hope at escaping a doomed fate. It is never wise to blackmail a crime lord. It is even more unwise(?) when said crime lord is obsessed with you. An expanded version of "praying to whatever's in heaven, please send me a felon"

Genuinely lovely? Ticks all my boxes, at least, and minimal angst, which is always a plus. That being said, you should probably read the work mentioned in the summary as well for context. But hey. Two cakes by one person ;) Can never go wrong, can it?

As Certain Dark Things Are to be Loved by Strange_Soulmates https://archiveofourown.org/works/6015619

Tom was Harry's best friend growing up and his first love. At eight, Harry gave Tom his first kiss before moving away. As a freshman in college, the name of the RA on the door across the hall is terribly familiar.

Also absolutely deliciously indulgent. Tom is a possessive terror and Harry loves him for it. Need I say more?

Harry Potter and the Search for Ancient Magic (series) by Snickerdoodlepop https://archiveofourown.org/series/1133141

Once Voldemort realizes that Harry Potter is his horcrux, his plans change drastically. So does Draco Malfoy's assignment for the school year. Harry's sixth year starts going very differently. Snape is on a mission. Harry needs to learn pureblood politics. Draco Malfoy is trying to convince Harry to forgive him. Voldemort finds himself visiting Harry Potter in his dreams. Everyone is realizing that no one is quite what they thought. And through it all, there's a mystery. What is Ancient Magic? Can Harry use it to save himself or will it pull him toward the dark side?

Honestly, genuinely, hands down the best fucking tomarrymort series I've ever read. Hard, hard rec from here. The first work is completed and the second is in progress, so it's a nice pile of words to chew through!

can't commit to anything but a crime by caelesti https://archiveofourown.org/works/27286483

Excitement is the word he does not dare utter, even in the privacy of his own mind. It’s wrong, he knows. These women are people, in their own right; people with fears and aspirations, with friends and families and dreams, and to have anything cut those lives short is nothing but tragic. To have anyone cut those lives short is nothing but condemnable. He doesn’t have James Potter’s laugh lines, but he does have his father’s innate flair for danger. He doesn’t have Lily Potter’s enthusiasm, but he does have her insatiable curiosity. (In every world, Harry will excel at finding the biggest spot of trouble available and sticking his nose in it.)

Hot serial killer serial killer hot. That's it, those are the thoughts. Please read.

Dripping Fingers by May_May_0_0 https://archiveofourown.org/works/25440826

When Harry finds Tom Riddle's diary he does not write 'Hello.' He does not write anything at all. He draws. Tom Riddle falls in love with the artwork. _________________ Sketch by sketch, drawing by drawing, the ink Harry pours into the diary manifests as creations in Tom's monochrome world.

Okay so if I'm the reincarnation of Shakespeare, May_May_0_0 is fucking... Ted Hughes. Which doesn't say much to your average viewer but that man wrote my favourite poem ever (the one I based my war fic off) and I hold him in very high regard. This story? It is poetry in its rawest form. Pure, condensed beauty. If you decide to read only one of the fics in this list, please choose this one.

Either must die at the hand of the other by Metalomagnetic https://archiveofourown.org/works/29356095

Voldemort survives the Battle of Hogwarts because Harry Potter had not been the one to kill him, as the prophecy demands.

When is Metalomagnetic not a master of words? When will I cease becoming breathless at every paragraph, at every cleverly twisted word that comes back and reveals itself so beautifully later?

Fine Line by galaxiesundone https://archiveofourown.org/works/26949952

Magic always leaves traces. The lingering darkness of Sectumsempra, combined with Harry’s nature as a horcrux, awakens the soul piece contained within Ravenclaw’s diadem. At twenty years old, Tom Riddle walks a fine line between man and monster, the devil and the light-bringer in one. His influence forces Harry to face an ancient enemy unlike anything he has faced before: temptation.

Long story short: Tom Riddle is Hot and Good At Being Hot and Harry truly doesn't stand a chance and I am here for it. Lord help me I love this fic to pieces.

Good Intentions by Strange_Soulmates https://archiveofourown.org/works/7035334

Five year old Harry Potter meets and befriends a seventeen year old Tom Riddle while hanging out at his dad’s station. James Potter decides to take Tom under his wing, using Tom’s connection with Harry to try and keep the teen grounded, even as he begins to investigate the Death Eaters, a dangerous organized crime group and their mysterious leader only known as Lord Voldemort.

The sheer potential of this fic. The horrible, terrible dread of future events that have yet to be revealed. I will cry.

Honey, Smoke, Shiver by machiavelli https://archiveofourown.org/works/16068062

Harry - Omega, only son of Lord Potter - is nothing more than a useful playing card in a political game of power and money, one that is bought by the famed Tom Riddle: powerful, dangerous, pureblood Alpha. Unsurprisingly, Harry loves being underestimated.

Machiavelli is always a rec from me. Sorry lads but that's the way it is. Never a moment where I won't recommend their stuff.

Sickly-Sweet Obsession by maquira https://archiveofourown.org/works/18259103

Quiet, studious Tom Riddle spends his first year thirsting after an older student—Gryffindor’s Quidditch Captain, Harry Potter. His crush is common knowledge, and even Harry finds it cute… at first. Possessiveness spawns monstrosities. Tom does all within his power to mess with Harry’s dating life. And one seemingly harmless crush spirals into something darker, begetting deadly consequences.

Again; the potential. Delicious. This will bloom into something beautifully twisted, I'm sure of it.

Stars, Hide Your Fires by Audair https://archiveofourown.org/works/27745546

Riddle’s undivided attention snapped to him with the swiftness of shattering glass. His turbulent magic receded from where it had besieged the shop. "You,” he breathed. Coiling in leisurely motions, the eager tendrils of his magic reached for Harry, swathing about his limbs and neck and chest with a liquid, flowing fascination. "I’ve been looking for you,” Riddle continued, tilting his head to the side and sweeping his gaze over Harry. It was an appraisal that felt simultaneously like the raking of iron nails and the tender drapery of silk. It was so familiar, and yet… so foreign. In the winding streets of Knockturn Alley, an intricate dance of mutual obsession unravels between twenty-three-year-old Tom Riddle and a time-travelling Harry Potter.

This work has recently been undergoing a rewrite, and I can tell you with certainty it's only gotten better for it. It's beautiful; the setting, the atmosphere, the vibes... Perfection. Captures Knockturn Alley's mood impeccably and does not disappoint a single moment.

the pleasure, the privilege by asterisms https://archiveofourown.org/works/21227528

It begins with Vernon Dursley's body, dead across the table. In which Voldemort is dosed with amortentia, and nothing is better for it.

Completed, terrifying... and gorgeous.

The Shrike (to your sharp and glorious thorn) by PaperWorlds https://archiveofourown.org/works/22380079

Shrike: A songbird with a sharply hooked bill, known for their habit of catching insects and small vertebrates and impaling their bodies on thorns, the spikes on barbed-wire fences, or any available sharp point. A young Harry Potter survives an attack by notorious serial killer Voldemort. Over a decade later, they meet again.

Lads I'm so desperate for an update from this fic that I might cry if I think about it for too long. I keep saying it and I'll say it again; this is one of those fics with amazing potential that are sure to never disappoint no matter what path they take. An incredibly hard rec.

To Raise a Servant by bluegrass https://archiveofourown.org/works/19780816

Tom had found the boy amidst pouring rain. He figured he'd always wanted a pet snake.

Surprisingly not quite as dark as the summary makes it seem? I certainly enjoyed it, though, and that's why it's on this list.

What He Grows To Be by Severus_divides_into_H https://archiveofourown.org/works/19042240

Tom Riddle is a frightening coil of darkness, cruelty, and greatness, and changing him is Harry’s only hope for saving people he loves. Going back in time, he takes Tom from the orphanage, but his optimism shatters with every year they spend together. Tom still longs for darkness. Tom stifles him in his possessiveness. Tom is fixated on him to the point of destroying the world just to keep him. But Harry loves him. And the future changes.

Beautiful. And absolutely terrifying. I've started crying mid-scene at least three times for this fic, and it honestly seems unfathomable if you haven't read it if you're on my profile, since I think this is one of the fics that have shaped my style and ambitions. It is what I aspire to be.

#fic rec #fic recs #tomarry #tomarrymort #harrymort #fanfic #ask #anon ask

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atlabeth · 3 years

Text

everything happens for a reason part 7 - zuko x fem!reader

I think my ways are wearing me down

part 6 | masterlist | part 8

a/n: as said very astutely in my outline, "y/n just keeps taking L's"

i actually had to take breaks while writing the final scene and watching the episode LMAo i forgot how fucking sad this scene was!!

warning(s): you know what happens in this chapter. its siege of the north part 2. its so much more angst like SO MUCH ANGST. im so sorry i got so sad while writing this

wc: 4.0k

chapter title comes from brand new city by mitski!

Y/N adjusted her hold on the basket of clothes as she knocked on the door with her free hand, pushing it open after waiting a few moments.

“Prince Zuko?” she called in a whisper. They had gotten past the point of formalities, but it was a precaution she opted to take when they met like this. She spotted him sitting on his bed and he gave her a thumbs up, a sign she took to mean they were in the clear. Y/N closed the door behind her and bounded over, then set the basket on his bed.

“Alright. I brought you the book that you wanted to borrow.” She unearthed the novel from the pile of clothes with caution, taking care to not ruin the hard work that went into folding all of them. “I had to hide it so I could get in here — no one thinks anything of a servant bringing clothes around, but books are a little more suspicious. But here you go! My very own edition of ‘Keiko and the Koalaotter’.”

“Thank you!” The prince grinned as he took the book and examined the cover. “I’ve always been curious about Water Tribe culture, even more after you started teaching me about it. They don’t really tell us about it in our classes.”

“It’s not really accurate to actual Water Tribe stuff, but it is cute,” she laughed. “I remember begging my parents for a koalaotter for weeks after I finished it. They told me that there was no way to get one all the way in the Earth Kingdom, but I never listened to them.”

“Oh, that reminds me!” His eyes lit up as he ran over to the windowsill. “I got you a gift too!”

“Zuko, really? You shouldn’t have.”

“Well, I did. So don’t even think about not accepting it,” he joked. He picked something up from a vase and bounded back over, doing as good a job of hiding the flowers behind his back as his excited grin.

“What is it?” she questioned.

“They’re silver wisterias!” he exclaimed as he presented the bouquet. “They grow in the palace gardens. They’re really pretty, and so are you, and I know how much you love the gardens, so I thought you’d like it.”

She felt her cheeks heat up when she accepted the gift, twirling the stem in her fingers as she inhaled its sweet scent with a smile. “That’s really thoughtful of you, Zuko. Thank you.”

“Of course! You could wear one in your hair, pin one onto your uniform, put them in your room, whatever you want.”

As she carefully ran her fingers over the petals, she couldn’t stop the nagging question at the back of her mind from escaping.

“Why are you so nice to me?” she blurted out, causing Zuko’s brows to furrow in confusion.

“Because you’re my friend. Friends are nice to each other.”

“I know, but why are we friends?” she pushed. “You know that you could get in trouble for talking to me like this, but you still do it. Why?”

He pondered the question for a moment before he answered. “Well.. you don’t treat me like everyone else. I’m the prince, so everyone here has to do what I want and be nice to me. But you’re not like that. When it’s just the two of us, you treat me like anyone else, and I like that — I know that you always mean what you say, so when you’re nice to me I know it’s because you like me, not because you have to be. Why do you do that?” the prince asked as he turned the tables. “You know that you could get in trouble for talking to me like this, but you still do it. Why?”

She punched him playfully on the shoulder and giggled. “Someone’s gotta keep you humble.”

His cheeks flushed a bright red as he rubbed his arm shyly. “I’m really glad we’re friends. Sometimes it feels like you’re my only one in this whole nation.”

“So am I,” she beamed. “Always and forever, right?”

“Right.”

Y/N’s eyes snapped open and she gasped, immediately whipping her head around frantically to see if the Avatar was still there, but Katara shook her head.

“He’s gone,” Katara said miserably, confirming her suspicions. “I woke up a few minutes before you and I checked everywhere.”

“Great,” she muttered. She rubbed the back of her head and winced — she had a feeling she would be plagued by headaches for at least the next couple of days.

“So…” Katara began. “You and Zuko both recognized each other. He— he said he thought that you were dead.”

Y/N pursed her lips, wondering how to start that story, when Sokka and Yue burst into the oasis on Appa.

“What happened?” he questioned. “Where’s Zuko?”

“He took Aang,” Katara mourned. “He took him right out from under me.”

“It’s not your fault, Katara,” Y/N insisted. “It really looks like he’s improved since… since last time.”

“‘Last time’?” Sokka asked, prompting a sigh from Y/N. She looked to Yue for help, and the princess nodded supportively.

“We have… history.” She looked at her hands for a moment before continuing. “I’m not from the Northern Water Tribe. My mother is, but I was born in a small village in the Earth Kingdom. I told you that my village was invaded, Katara, but after it, my mother and I were captured for being waterbenders, and they took us to the Fire Nation to work as healers and servants in the palace.”

“I became friends with Zuko there. He was nothing like you saw today, or like anything you know from the past. He was kind, and caring, and passionate, and he made my dismal life a little bit brighter. And… we ended up falling for each other.”

“We went too far, the Fire Lord found out, and— well, he was going to kill me. My mother managed to get me out, but she stayed behind, and I haven’t seen her since that night. I haven’t seen Zuko since that night. I always held hope that I would find my way back and see them both again, but now that Zuko is like… like that?” She bit down on her lip and shook her head.

“Now I don’t know what to think. He’s completely different than anything I knew, than the boy that I fell in love with. And I can’t help but think about what happened to my mother if that is what happened to Zuko.” And I can’t help but think that it’s my fault for not being there for him.

A collective silence hung in the air for just a moment before Sokka broke it. “You had a thing with Zuko?”

Y/N let out a surprised laugh as Katara hit him on the shoulder. “Sokka, now is not the time!”

“No,” she chuckled. “No, it’s alright. It’s a lot, I know. It’s just… impossible. That the Zuko I knew turned into someone like this. I mean, you saw, Katara— he didn’t even hesitate to try and hurt me.”

Katara pulled her into a warm embrace before separating and looking her in the eyes. “I’m sorry, Y/N, for all that you’ve been through. And I know that fighting against Zuko hurts, so if you can’t come after Aang with us then I completely understand—”

“No,” she said once more, something hardening in her eyes. “I’ll help you find Aang, it’s the least I can do. Besides, I… I have to see him again. I have to see him again to know that this is actually real, that— that this is actually who he is now.”

Katara nodded solemnly; Sokka had already started walking back to Appa with Yue. “Well, Zuko couldn’t have gotten far. We’ll find him — Aang’s gonna be fine.”

Katara looked back hopefully at Y/N and she met her eyes with a smile, though slightly strained, as she jogged to catch up with them. But as she climbed onto Appa with her fellow waterbender, the anger in his eyes was all she could see.

The boy she fought might’ve been the Fire Prince, but it was not her Zuko.

Cold.

That was all Zuko seemed to know as he trekked through the frozen tundra, the blizzard around him threatening to end him at any moment. No more had he despised the Water Tribes than he did in this moment, but the weight of the Avatar on his back and the promise of his honor was enough to push him onwards.

The only thing on his mind that he couldn’t shake was her.

Zuko thought she was dead, honestly and truly. Few were lucky enough to escape his father’s wrath once it was incurred upon them — Zuko himself wasn’t even an exception — and though he wanted nothing more than for her to be one of the few, he knew that she was dead. There was no other explanation.

For years, the waterbender had been a staple in his mind — a memory of a childhood love, of a better time. He thought about her when he fought against his soldiers on slow evenings on the ship, her words of encouragement and joking retorts echoing through his ears as he went through every form. He thought about her when he talked to his uncle, his attitude often mirroring hers. The morning of the Agni Kai, he almost turned to her for reassurance before remembering.

Spirits, Zuko thought about her every time he looked at the water. And even all these years after her disappearance, he was still plagued by nightmares of her fate.

He had resigned himself to mourning her. Zuko truly thought she was dead.

But there she was, in the flesh, with the Avatar and his friends. Breathing. Alive. His enemy.

How the fuck was he supposed to deal with that?

She was even more beautiful than he remembered, but it was obvious the years since her escape had weathered her. He noticed a certain emptiness in her eyes, the brightness from their childhood a distant memory. It was obvious she had grown — she carried a certain elegance that he didn’t remember, and her skill in waterbending had improved so much since the days of their sparring sessions.

It felt like he had betrayed her. The expression she wore after his first blast was like a physical weight, the guilt of broken promises heavy over his head when he struck the final blow. So familiar to their friendly fights, yet such a far cry.

But they weren’t kids anymore. She had changed, and so had he.

It had been years. Any feelings he still harbored for her didn’t matter anymore.

Zuko had a mission, and he was going to complete it no matter what.

The tundra was treacherous, the blizzard making it difficult to see anything at all. Y/N had taken to holding Yue’s hand, something the princess had offered when she had seen how restless her friend was, as well as gnawing on the bottom of her lip. She feared for both Zuko and Aang, and she could only hope that they would be able to find them before something happened to either of them.

“Don’t worry,” the princess reassured. “Prince Zuko can’t be getting too far in this weather.”

“I’m not worried they’ll get away in the blizzard,” Katara murmured. “I’m worried that they won’t.”

“They’re not gonna die in this blizzard,” Sokka said as he gripped the reins tighter. “If we know anything, it’s that Zuko never gives up.”

Y/N chuckled softly and nodded. “You’ve got that right.”

Yue gave her hand a squeeze and a small smile, a sentiment that Y/N returned as Sokka continued. “They’ll survive, and we’ll find them.”

It took a few more minutes of riding and searching, but eventually a bright blue light streaked through the air. Katara gasped and pointed up. “Look!” she exclaimed. “That’s gotta be Aang! Yip yip!”

Appa groaned once more and Sokka turned to follow the light — it had stopped in a small cove before glowing brilliantly then disappearing — and sure enough, Zuko and Aang were down in the snow.

“Appa!” he cheered as they landed, causing Zuko’s eyes to flick up too. Y/N met his gaze for just a moment before he broke it, throwing Aang to the side and easing into a bending stance as Katara slid off of Appa’s back.

“Here for a rematch?” Zuko challenged, the undeserved confidence he spoke with a glimpse of the past.

“Trust me, Zuko,” Katara countered as she raised her hands, “It’s not going to be much of a match.”

She blocked his fire blast then sent a current of snow at him, launching him up into the air on a frozen column before letting him fall to the ground and knocking him out. Y/N couldn’t help but wince, and as Sokka jumped down to free Aang, she slid down as well.

She ran over the pile of snow and bent it off of Zuko, then knelt down next to him and pulled off her glove. She put two fingers on his neck and confirmed what she already thought, but it was still a relief. He was alive, but he wouldn’t be for much longer if he stayed out here.

“What are you doing?” she heard Sokka yell. Y/N turned to find everyone back on Appa already, staring expectantly at her.

“We can’t leave him!” Y/N protested.

“Sure we can!” he countered. “Now come on, let’s go!”

“No,” she insisted, pressing the back of her hand against his forehead. It was ice cold. “If we leave him, he’ll die!”

“She’s right.” Aang airbended himself off of Appa and helped her pick up Zuko; Aang bringing himself and the prince back onto the bison with his element and Y/N climbing back up with a hand from Katara.

Sokka rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Yeah, this makes a lot of sense. Let’s bring the guy who’s constantly trying to kill us.”

Y/N ignored the remark and met Aang’s eyes, mouthing a silent ‘thank you’. He smiled and nodded, then grabbed the reins and took off.

As they flew through the sky, Y/N glanced down at Zuko. He looked so much more peaceful now than a few moments ago, his features relaxed rather than tense. It was strange seeing him like this after all these years; angry, scarred, changed. Nothing like the reunion she had imagined.

She bent some of the snow falling down into water and molded it over the cuts on his face, the element taking on a slight glow as she started to heal him.

“Oh, Zuko,” she murmured. “What happened in those four years?”

As if her concentration had broken, the water previously under her control lost both its shape and glow as it pooled on his face. She frowned and attempted to bend it off, but none of the usual power she felt at night was flowing through her veins.

It was at that moment that Y/N looked up and noticed her surroundings.

Everything was cloaked in a veil of red, a crimson moon their backdrop as they continued through the air. “My bending isn’t working,” Y/N muttered, earning a curious look from Katara.

And to make matters worse, Yue winced and held her head, Aang doing the same.

“Are you okay?” Sokka questioned as he reached out to comfort her.

“I feel faint,” she muttered, the effort it took not lost on Y/N.

“I feel it too.” Aang pressed his palm against the side of his head and grimaced as his gaze shifted upwards. “The Moon Spirit is in trouble.”

Y/N’s eyes widened immediately as they flicked towards Yue, the princess choosing not to meet them as she began to tell them all the story of her birth and how she owed the Moon Spirit her life. By the time she was done the Water Tribe siblings were staring at her with disbelief, but there was no time for questions as they flew into the Spirit Oasis.

The sight that awaited them shocked Y/N to her core. A Fire Nation admiral — one she recognized from all the years ago, yet unable to place a name — held a bag with one clenched fist, the other posing the unsaid threat.

“Don’t bother,” he spat in response to their fighting stances, the two words overflowing with unearned confidence. But as cocky as he may have been, it worked — he knew that they were rendered helpless when he held the possibility of a dying spirit against them.

“Zhao, don’t.” Aang dropped his staff and held his hands up in surrender, an action Y/N and the others mirrored.

Everything after that happened unbelievably quickly. After General Iroh — a man she knew as both the ruthless general that laid siege to Ba Sing Se for six hundred long days and Zuko’s surprisingly kind uncle — threatened the admiral with his own firebending, Y/N foolishly believed it to be the end once he let the fish back into the pond.

But any hopes of peace were dashed with the slice of firebending the admiral sent at Tui, plunging the world back into shades of grey just as quickly as it had returned.

“NO!”

A bloodcurdling scream rang in the air; Y/N thought whoever produced it must’ve been insane. It took her a moment to realize the strangled sound had come from her, and that Sokka’s grip on her arms was the only thing stopping her from foolishly throwing herself into the raging battle that had started.

Did the admiral not understand what he had just done? To attack any spirit was to inflict the rage of many others, to kill a spirit was to sign not only one's own death warrant, but those around him as well.

To kill the Moon Spirit meant to destroy waterbending as the world knew it. To kill the Moon Spirit meant to disrupt the balance of the world. To kill the Moon Spirit meant to kill Yue.

The admiral should’ve considered himself very lucky that her waterbending was gone. With it, Y/N knew she would’ve done something she would regret.

As soon as the flames of Iroh’s onslaught disappeared, Sokka’s grip loosened on her arms and she all but sprinted over to the pond. A choked sob fell from her lips when she saw the dead fish in the water, palpable horror in the air as the rest of the group joined her.

Not even Aang’s feat of merging with the Ocean Spirit could help — it might’ve saved the tribe from the attack on the Fire Nation, but it could do nothing for the dead spirit. Y/N watched on mournfully as Iroh placed Tui back into the pond, the mortal body of the fish laying there unmoving.

“It’s too late,” Katara lamented. “It’s dead.”

Iroh looked up and met Y/N’s eyes, recognition flashing through them for just a moment before they moved to Yue’s. The blue hues of her irises were even more striking than usual — they were the only sign of color in the world around them.

His own widened with surprise as he gestured at her. “You have been touched by the Moon Spirit. Some of its life is in you.”

Yue seemed to understand what he was saying as she raised her head, her features taking on a mask of stoicism. “Yes, you’re right. It gave me life… maybe I can give it back.”

It was as if lightning had struck Y/N, the way that fear was jolted into her heart. “No!” she cried at the same time as Sokka, a reprise of her earlier plea. “Yue, you can’t!”

“You don’t have to do that!” Sokka reached out for her hand but she wrenched it out of his grasp — nothing they could say was going to change her mind.

“It’s my duty.” The princess stated it so plainly, carving the letters on her headstone herself.

“I won’t let you!” Sokka insisted. “Your father told me to protect you.”

“Yue, your duty isn’t to die for your tribe!” Y/N cried. She couldn’t think, spirits she could barely breathe. She couldn’t go through this again. She couldn’t go through this again. “Please, there has to be another way!”

She smiled sadly at Y/N and shook her head. “This was what I was born to do.” The princess glanced at the pond then took a step forward, wrapping Y/N in the tightest hug she could muster. She pressed her lips against Y/N’s cheek in a feather light kiss before she pulled away and continued forward and placed her hands against the koi fish.

The fish began to glow, Yue closed her eyes, she collapsed into Sokka’s arms.

And that was it.

The color returned to the world, but Y/N was frozen in place. She couldn’t do anything to save her friend, the girl that she was pretty sure she loved, as she died in front of her. Her cheek was still burning from where Yue’s lips had touched, and she wanted to bottle that warmth because she knew that was the last time she would ever feel it.

The first tear to fall snapped her out of her paralysis as she fell to her knees next to Sokka, her body cradled in his arms as he mourned for a lost love. Y/N wanted to scream, she wanted to sob, she wanted to do anything to get this anger and sadness out but she could do nothing but stare, eyes wide and shimmering with unshed tears.

Her body slowly faded away, and Y/N could’ve laughed at the irony. Yue gave her life for the spirits and all they could leave them with was the fleeting memory.

The fish in Iroh’s hands began to glow and he placed it back in the water, and almost immediately it returned to its natural rhythm. The oasis took on the glow of the fish and it formed the cruelest joke of them all.

Princess Yue. She was ethereal, both her hair and white dress flowing down her back and a peaceful expression on her face. She was more beautiful than ever, and her voice echoed through the oasis as she spoke.

“I will always be with you, Y/N. Thank you for making me feel alive.” A small smile, much like the one she gave her just moments ago, played on her lips. “I love you.”

Y/N could do nothing but stare, awestruck and heartbroken, as she whispered something to Sokka and kissed him.

And then she was gone.

Her gaze was trained forward, tears spouting and falling down her cheeks, some dim part of her still hoping that it was just a cruel joke by the spirits. She couldn’t go through this again.

How could they do this to her again? How could they introduce a light into her life and make her fall in love, then wrench it away from her grasp? She felt selfish for only caring about herself. She couldn’t go through this again.

Yue was gone.

She couldn’t go through this again.

Another strangled sob fell from her lips and Katara pulled her into a hug. That simple motion seemed to open to the floodgates, and suddenly she was choking on her own tears. Katara’s arms around her were the only tether she had to the world right now, she had to focus on it or else she would lose herself to the grief.

It felt like the minutes were hours with how long it took until Y/N was finally able to walk out of the oasis, but Katara and Sokka stayed by her side the entire time. When they finally stumbled out into the real world, Y/N felt weaker than ever. The constant go go go of the siege had finally caught up to her, and she was so damn tired.

“Always and forever.”

“You’re stuck with me.”

She was losing hope in promises.

perm tag list: @dv0412 @siriuslyslyslytherin @maruchan77

ehfar: @chandies-sideblog @persica27 @anzanity @randomthingssss @escapingthoughtsandsecrets @shanksfav @shephard17895 @ilovespideyyy @carisi-sonny

atla: @marianne1806

#zuko x reader #zuko x you #zuko x y/n #zuko #zuko fic #zuko x reader fic #avatar #atla #avatar the last airbender #avatar fic #atla fic #avatar the last airbender fic #avatar x reader #sadie writes #im not gonna lie i barely proofread this #simply because i didnt want to put myself through it lmao #thats a good sign right

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uvobreakmylegs · 3 years

Text

Hypnagogia

Warnings: kidnapping, graphic depictions of violence, death

The years of harsh training that he had received since he was a child ensured that Illumi could never fall into a truly deep sleep. It was something all of the Zoldyck children had learned, to be aware of their surroundings even while resting. Falling asleep completely would leave him vulnerable to a potential attack. Vulnerability was weakness, and when one came from a family of assassins who were open about their occupation, one could not afford weakness; one needed to be ready for any potential enemies that were competent enough to get past the mountain gate and the host of butlers in their employ.

So even as Illumi slept with you curled up by his side in bed, there was still a part of him that was awake and taking note of everything.

The sound of your steady breathing.

The way the moving air made the curtains flutter against each other.

The noises of the wildlife that came alive at night in the woods beyond the mansion.

Even the distant sounds of the servants in the hallways as they worked through the night.

At one point you shifted in your sleep, turning over so that you faced him, your hand grasping the fabric of his nightshirt and resting on his chest. He tightened his grip around you, holding you close while still staying asleep.

Things were as they should be.

When you woke up some time later he didn't react. Nor did he react when you sat up, pulling away from him as you left the bed. This was unusual, but not unusual enough to rouse himself from sleep to confront you. You got upset when he demanded an explanation for your every action, even if he had good reason to do so.

Your reason for leaving the bed appeared to be an innocent one as he heard your soft footsteps make their way to the bathroom, the door slowly closing shut as you tried not to make a lot of noise.

Illumi continued to sleep while waiting patiently for you, anticipating the feeling of your warm body against his when you would return and fall asleep next to him again.

The sounds of the toilet flushing and the running water from the sink echoed against the porcelain surfaces in the bathroom. You would be back soon, and Illumi would be content to have you in his arms again.

He waited for you.

And waited.

…....

…. Something wasn't right.

That feeling woke him fully, his black eyes opening as he sat up in bed, looking towards the bathroom door. The light from the bathroom still shone beneath the door, but he could sense that you were no longer in there.

He had made his way over to the door in a matter of seconds, throwing it open to find exactly what he had been expecting: an empty bathroom and you nowhere in sight.

A small window near the ceiling caught his attention. It was wide open, and though it was a fairly high off of the tiled floor and the ground outside, it wouldn't have been impossible for you to have gotten out that way.

Illumi let out a small sigh as he turned and made his way to one of the side doors within his wing of the house that lead to the outside. No need to risk one of the butlers seeing him and then reporting this incident back to his parents. He had no desire for another lecture from his mother on training you “properly.”

You'd been doing so well recently, and you hadn't tried to escape in months. He had truly thought you had given up on the idea and that you had accepted your role as his wife.

Once he caught you it would be back to training again, and he would take however long he needed to drill it into you that there were no other options: you were his, and your place was here on Kukuroo Mountain.

The wildlife in the forest grew silent as he left the mansion and began his descent down the mountainside. It was easy to spot where nature had been disturbed: small branches that had snapped and clumps of dirt that had been kicked up leaving him a trail to follow. He couldn't help but muse on how the results of your training were showing through. Though the trail was there, it was less obvious than the ones you had left on your previous escape attempts. You were more aware of your surroundings and knew better on how to leave with virtually no trace behind. He would have been proud of you if not for the circumstances. Why couldn't you put these skills to use for the sake of him and his family?

He continued down the mountain, following your path. He had yet to come across you at all, and his brows furrowed the longer he continued. Your skills had grown since you had come here, but he knew from experience that you could not outrun him. He should have found you by now. So why hadn't he?

Had you somehow tricked him?

Did you make this path as a decoy while you attempted to leave down another side of the mountain?

It was certainly possible that you would have known you wouldn't be able to surpass him physically and had attempted to outwit him to buy yourself enough time. If this was the case, he would need to make sure that the lessons he taught after capturing you would stay with you so you would never try this again.

Illumi was about to head back up the mountain to see where he had gone wrong in following you when he noticed something in a particular patch of soft dirt. Multiple sets of footprints heading down the mountain, none of which could have belonged to you.

More tricks? Perhaps accomplices of yours? Or.....?

Illumi sprinted past, descending the mountain as he searched for you, still following the path that he now realized may not have been left by you. There were possibilities in his mind as to what had happened, but it was better now to ignore them and focus on finding you.

He was almost at the base of the mountain when he spotted something.

Three black-clad figures in one of the lower gardens, two women and a man. And there you were, unceremoniously slung over the man's shoulder as the three of them ran. It was clear you were unconscious.

The three sensed him then, stopping beneath a pristine gazebo as they turned to face him. The terror was evident in their stiff forms when their eyes landed on him. Getting caught wasn't something they had accounted for. Perhaps they would have gotten away if it had been literally anyone other than a member of the Zoldyck family hunting them down.

Your limbs hung limply as the man held you, only swaying lightly when he pulled out a sword and pointed it at Illumi, the women with him following suit.

All the while Illumi stood there, silently assessing the situation before he came to a conclusion.

“Were you trying to kidnap my wife?”

The three tensed at the question, their auras flaring as they anticipated an attack. Illumi remained relaxed, even cocking his head to the side slightly as he asked “am I correct?”

After a bit of hesitation, the man nodded.

Illumi couldn't help the smile that formed (which only served to put the intruders more on edge).

“That's a relief,” he said, sighing, “I was worried she was trying to get away again. I'm glad that wasn't the case this time.”

“You.... You're glad we tried to take her?” one of the women asked.

As quickly as it had come, the smile on Illumi's face faded away, his aura flaring and engulfing the three of them.

“Of course not,” he said, his tone far more grave now.

“The fact that people like you would even think of touching her is unacceptable.”

The intruders were skilled enough, and had enough sense to know that an attack from him was imminent. As Illumi burst forward, needles in hand, the man threw you to the woman at the back, yelling at her to run. The other woman was too slow in raising her sword to block Illumi's first strike and a needle entered her skull and burst out through the other side, lodging itself in the stone pillar of the gazebo as she fell to the ground dead.

The man fared only a bit better, managing to block the needle thrown at him and running forward to swing his sword in an attempt to take Illumi's head. It was easily dodged, and Illumi threw four more needles at him, three of which hit their marks and leaving the man to join his fallen companion.

The last one hadn't gotten far, the other two having only been able to buy her mere seconds before Illumi turned his attention to her. She was carrying you on her back, effectively using you as a body shield as you obscured her vitals. There were a few ways in which he could strike the needle through you to kill her and only leave you with minor damage, but he rejected them. These people weren't worth making you go through any sort of pain.

He sent six needles flying towards her legs, embedding themselves from the back of her knee down to her ankle with three on each leg and making her cry out as she fell forward. She lost her grip on you and you fell to the side of her, the terrain making you roll away slightly. The woman was still trying to fight, but her attempts to pull out any weapons she could use to throw at him were quashed when he threw two more of his needles, these one stabbing through her wrists. She cried out as the nen in his needles worked through her, intentionally causing her pain.

But at the moment she wasn't important. Illumi brought his attention back to you, walking to where you lay and kneeling to examine you. There was minimal damage to you, some scrapes along your arms and legs where the branches in the forest had brushed against you. The worst of it was at the base of you neck where a bruise was beginning to form, the size and shape of the mark a clear indicator that this was where they had hit you to knock you out. Aside from that, you appeared to be fine, and Illumi allowed himself another small smile as he picked up your fallen form and held you bridal style.

The woman was now attempting to crawl away, her hands and feet tearing up the grass of the garden while the needles impaired her movement. The last of the intruders was taken care of with a flick of his wrist and a needle in the back of her skull.

His walk back up to the family home was brisk, and instead of heading for the side door to his quarters as he had originally intended, he went towards the main entrance instead. Even from his current position he could sense the activity from the mansion; someone had noticed that something had been amiss and had raised the alarm. Better to go in through the front and order whatever servants were there to clean up the bodies he had left in the gardens. That way he could have you back in the safety of his room that much faster.

What he hadn't expected was to see Silva standing at the mansion's entrance, Tsubone and Amane standing a few feet behind him. Silva glanced down at your unconscious form in Illumi's arms, a single brow raising.

“What is it this time?” he asked as Illumi made his way inside.

“Nothing that was her fault.”

A look of mild surprise settled on his face as Illumi continued “intruders found their way up here and tried to make off with her.”

“Did you find out how they got in?”

“They weren't talking.”

“Hmm.”

Silva sounded as though he didn't believe Illumi on that last part, but he made no move to stop him as his eldest son walked back to his wing of the house. Even if Silva (rightfully) believed that Illumi had made no effort to get any information from the intruders, there was little to be done about it now.

“Tell mother that her favorite garden is largely intact,” Illumi called back.

His father made another noise of disapproval, but ultimately decided to drop the matter.

“Tsubone,” Illumi heard Silva say.

“Yes, master Silva.”

“Get those bodies off of my mountain.”

Illumi tuned out whatever words were said next. As far as he was concerned, the matter no longer involved him. His focus was now on you and your well-being. From looking over you earlier, he knew that physically, you'd be fine. The slight injuries you had received would be gone in no time, but he was going to keep you by his side as much as possible for the next few days. He would just need to make it clear that this time it wasn't being done as a punishment. As he had said to his father, you weren't at fault for anything that had happened tonight. The most that could be blamed on you was the fact that you had been captured so easily, but that was a fault that was also on him; that he somehow hadn't been able to sense the presence of those intruders when they snatched you from the bathroom. There was room for improvement for both of you, and Illumi was content to work towards that as long as you were by his side.

After closing the window in the bathroom and changing you into clean nightclothes, Illumi pulled you back under the covers with him, arranging you so your head was resting against his chest while he wrapped his arms around you again. He was sleeping again shortly after.

If anyone was to walk in on the two of you, they wouldn't have suspected that the events of the last hour had happened at all.

When you awoke next Illumi woke with you, and he watched as you reached for the back of your neck, lightly touching the tender spot where you'd been hit.

“I-Illumi?” you asked, trying to find his face in the dark.

“Yes?”

“Did.... Did something happen?”

“You don't remember?”

You shook your head.

“You were attacked by intruders who tried to take you from me,” Illumi explained, “I chased them down and took you back.”

“Ah. I see,” you said, resting your head back down on his chest. You didn't bother asking what had happened to the intruders; the answer was easy enough to figure out.

The conversation seemed as though it had ended, and Illumi was waiting for you to go back to sleep before he did so himself. Outside in the mansion, the activity he had sensed on his way back up had died down as well. Tonight's little disturbance had ended, and everyone was more than willing to move past it.

“Illumi?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you,” you said, “sorry for getting caught.”

Illumi's eyes widened slightly at your words. He wasn't sure what exactly he had expected from you, but it wasn't that.

“I would be a terrible husband if I abandoned my wife so easily.”

You hummed in response, closing your eyes as you settled yourself on top of him. Illumi watched silently, repeating your words in his head and mulling them over. Before you could go back to sleep again, he got your attention by speaking your name.

“Do you love me?” he asked when you looked back to him.

“...... Yeah.”

It had taken a few seconds too long for you to reply, and the answer itself was not wholly satisfying. He had been hoping for a straightforward “yes”. Certainly by now he had proved that he cared for you.

Nothing more was said between you two, and you finally fell back into your slumber. As Illumi fell back to sleep himself, he reminded himself that you had thanked him unprompted, and had even apologized for your shortcomings. The matter of you loving him was unsatisfactory, but something was going right for your relationship. It was merely something else that could be worked on when the morning came.

As you fell back into your deep sleep state, that part of Illumi that always stayed awake remained aware of everything about you. The sound of your breathing as it stayed in a steady pattern, the feel of your weight against him, and the way you would shift in your sleep, at times attempting to pull away from him. Every time that happened, he would pull you back to him. Even asleep, he would make sure to keep you by his side always.

#reader insert #illumi zoldyck #illumi x reader #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere hxh

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unwritten-ravenclaw · 3 years

Text

Falling - Fred Weasley

(gif credit to owner)

Summary: George accidentally injures Fred’s significant other during a quidditch match

Trigger warning: falling from a height, injury, descriptions of pain

A/N: So this didn’t turn out the way I had planned. Fred was supposed to get properly angry at George, but when it came to writing that part I couldn’t think of any points he could make because he could’ve easily done the same thing? I thought about sending the idea to a better writer but wanted to have a go at it myself.

Fred couldn’t remember a time he was this angry at his brother. He was torn between the ache in his heart for seeing you in pain and rage toward George for being the one to cause it.

The quidditch match had been off to a great start. You and Fred were on rivalling teams and were determined to thrash each other. Being on opposite teams made it all the more fun for the both of you as you were both very competitive, and it was even more serious as this game was the final match of the season. Which was also the reason George was playing more aggressively than usual.

George knew that despite your dating his brother, during quidditch matches you were the enemy, so it was fair game to smack a couple of bludgers your way. But, unfortunately for you, he was a little over-excited. When one of your team’s beaters knocked a bludger his way, George’s first reflex was to whack it at you, as you happened to be hovering nearby - too nearby. George had underestimated the distance between the two of you and had hit hard and fast. The bludger hurtled towards you with a dangerous amount of force and collided with your kneecap. You cried out as the red-hot heat of pain spread through you. With one leg suddenly incapacitated, you lost your seating on your broom and tipped sideways off it towards the ground.

The scene kept replaying in Fred’s head like a broken record as he hurried alongside your stretcher on the way to the hospital wing despite McGonagall’s repeated instructions to do otherwise. You had fallen before anyone in the crowd - teacher or student - could mutter a spell to prevent it. Your body hit the ground with an awful thump.

Fred had put the game from his mind the moment he heard you cry out in agony as the bones in your knee were smashed. Hearing that cry was like a punch in the stomach. He was the first to reach you, landing roughly and sprinting over, his own broom discarded in his haste. But when he reached you there was nothing he could do - or if there was, he couldn’t think of it. Your face was pale and tears rolled down your cheeks faster than he had ever seen. He wanted to comfort you but he was reluctant to touch you in case you had been hurt further in the fall. He was helpless, just crouching beside you and watching you half-writing in the sand, making gut-wrenching noises.

“I’m here, love,” he’d heard himself say pathetically, but he’d had no room in his mind for any self criticism in that moment. He looked frantically around to see some of the professors rushing over, and he felt a vice-like grip suddenly grab his hand. He glanced down to see your wet, scared eyes looking up at him, your body trembling with pain. “They’re coming.” He began to reach out for you nut stopped himself. He could already feel his arm going numb from how hard you were squeezing his hand but he didn’t care. “It’ll all be over soon, I promise.”

George landed nearby and rushed over too, spewing apologies toward you as he approached. Fred grit his teeth and held out his free hand toward his brother without so much of a glance over his shoulder - the gesture was a warning; stay back, I’ll deal with you later.

The teachers crowded around you, asking questions and preparing to move you. You wouldn’t let go of Fred’s hand even when they told him to be elsewhere, not that he would have left you anyway. Your knee still felt like it was on fire and the pain spread outwards through your body, making you feel as though you were simultaneously freezing and burning up. Breathing heavily you felt you might never catch your breath.

The stands had been almost emptied and the Gryffindor team had tugged George away. The staff were ready to move you and they had a hard time of it due to the fact that you wouldn’t let go of Fred, who was glad he had two hands because he’d had to swap them several times or risk his circulation being cut.

When you reached the hospital wing you were unconscious, and Madam Pomfrey made Fred wait outside the door. He stood there impatiently twisted his fingers. He hadn’t felt so stressed in a long time. George appeared down the passage, some of the team straggling behind him, and Fred remembered he was going to rip him one. However, he couldn’t think of a single thing to say. In truth, he could’ve made the same mistake. The whole team had been eager to win, and everybody knew that quidditch was a dangerous sport. Besides, he knew you wouldn’t want him to be angry with his brother over something like this. George began to apologise again, but Fred pat him on the back and shook his head gently.

Once you were awake and had finished being tended to, Madam Pomfrey decreed that you could have one visitor. You insisted that you were fine again and again, but you deduced that it was George’s sad expression that caused her to surrender. When she was preoccupied, Fred drew the curtains around your bed so he could climb in next to you and pull you carefully into his side. Your knee was all strapped up over your quidditch uniform and your leg was propped up on a pillow. Leaning into Fred’s shoulder you gave him a weak smile.

George, meanwhile, had gotten to his knees alongside your bed. He had gotten out of his own quidditch gear and was now wearing a jumper and jeans. He took your hand from the bed and clasped it in both of his own, trapping it.

“I’m so terribly sorry.” You’d been about to say something, but he gushed on. “I’ll make it up to you, I swear. I’ll give you all my sweets from Honeydukes. I’ll get Dumbledore to give you 300 house points. I’ll carry you to all your classes!”

“Oi,” Fred protested.

“George,” you said finally. “It’s alright, seriously. I’ll take it as payback for all the times I beat the pants off you.” Which reminded you of something. You looked up at your boyfriend, a little too fast; he went blurry for a few seconds. “The match?”

Fred shrugged. “I didn’t ask.” You quirked an eyebrow. “Honestly, the quidditch cup was the last thing I was worried about.”

“Aww,” cooed George. His gaze fell to your wounded knee. “How is it?”

“Definitely not as painful now. Madam Pomfrey gave me a potion to dull it.” Both boys looked sombre and were now quiet. It was unsettling to see them this way, as you’d rarely ever seen them so. “Hm, might be nice to have a loyal servant.” You looked down at George and narrowed your eyes.

Fred looked astounded at this, throwing up his free hand that wasn’t holding you. “Excuse me, what am I?”

You and George laughed. “Two, then.”

“I thought your boyfriend was going to knock my block off back there,” George told you. “I knew your relationship was hazardous.”

Madam Pomfrey returned once more to shoo the boys off and give you another potion, but somehow you convinced her to let Fred stay a little longer, that it would aid in your recovery. She allowed it, but walked away tutting.

“Gave me a real fright, you did,” he said quietly as you tipped the potion back and swallowed it with a grimace. This one felt like ants crawling down your throat and tasted faintly like pickled eggs. “Falling out of the sky like that. And the noise you made... I felt like I’d come face to face with a dementor; my whole body went ice cold. I never want to see you in pain like that again.”

Your chest tightened at his words, imagining how it would feel if it had been him and you had been helpless to stop his agony. Bringing your hand up to cup his face you kissed his lips, and when you tried to pull away he chased them for more.

“I love you,” you whispered against his lips when he finally parted from you. The words had never been more true than now.

“I love you too,” he returned with a soft smile, bumping your nose with his own.

You sank deeper against him as he interlaced his fingers with yours. Beginning to realise just how drowsy you were from the potion your eyes started to droop as his fingers twirled a strand of your hair. You hoped Madam Pomfrey wouldn’t come back for a while yet.

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine

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lordoftermites · 3 years

Text

You Never Break ⚜ Part Ⅰ

⊰ ☘ ⊱ Cardan's POV: The Queen of Nothing, from the end of Chapter 13 through Chapter 17. ⊰ ☘ ⊱ A massive, pterodactyl-screeching thank you to my dearest punishment @euridce and the bombastic @figonas for dealing with my bullshit and allowing me to subject them to betaing this (and literally everything else), but especially for being my Hype Train Goblin Queens and not letting me lose to my perfectionism. ⊰ ☘ ⊱ { edit: the wordcount actually turned out to be 3,765 because I added more shit after I copypasta'd here but I literally cannot be arsed to change the graphic lol. }

≼ FIC MASTERLIST HERE≽

Contrary to erstwhile thinking, it is not quite as simple a task to travel at any expeditious speed whilst carrying a half-dead goblin through the biting nighttide—whilst also taking care to keep yourself and aforementioned half-dead goblin undiscovered by those who would very much like to lop your kingly head right off of your kingly shoulders.

And, if all of that is not enough of a juggling act, appending the minor detail that you’ve just taken flight on a steed conjured from the ragwort in your pocket, after leaving your wife below (at her behest and your protest) to fend for herself with naught but a magical cloak and her unspoken, mortal promise to do as you say...

Well. There are reasons you are not lauded for your prowess as a jester, just as your Queen is even less admired for her graces of verity.

Yet, surely by some feat of fortuitous magic, Cardan does manage it; the concealing mists part just enough to allow the flying mount and its travelers to slip through.

Braving a glance over his shoulder, he watches as the fog coils and swirls closed like a protective curtain behind them. It's disorienting—very like taking an overconfident step forward, only to find the ground is not quite as close as you first perceived. Even as one often besotted with wine and other such stupefacients, Cardan does not particularly enjoy that feeling.

Sea fret mingles with the haze of preternatural clouds as they begin a descent. It veils his lips, clings to his wool-spun clothing and weighs down his hair. He shakes the dampened curls from his eyes just as the four isles of Elfhame begin to take shape in the darkness beneath him, and lets out an unsteady breath; he wonders, absently, if he's exhaled at all since leaving Jude on the ground.

He cannot help the inglorious relief that the Roach, in his state, does not hear it.

It’s an odd sensation, to observe your kingdom from such a high vantage point. Perhaps, before now, he disallowed himself to feel the full measure of his obligation; the sobering comprehension that this vastness of soil and sapling and stone, along with all its inhabitants, will thrive, or decay, under his governance. Looking down at the land—his land—brings that realization crashing down upon him with as much force as one of Balekin’s punishments.

Cardan tightens his grip on the animal’s leafy mane against a bout of dizziness, abruptly wishing he had something a bit less insubstantial with which to steady himself.

The Crooked Forest rises to meet them, gnarled limbs twisting upward as if to embrace their sovereign. That seems illusionary, though Cardan does note at once the marked shift in the air; while still cool, no longer does each inhale carry an icy jab to his lungs or bite at the tips of his ears. It envelopes him and his company, gently carrying them above the mossy heads of slumbering root men and women. None of them stir, thankfully, but Cardan isn’t altogether sure his arrival goes unnoticed by them, either.

Welcome home, young King, the wind seems to whisper in his ear. Cardan shivers, and it has nothing to do with the weather.

Alighting just at the edge of the hollow hill, Cardan takes a half-breath to think—and reproaches himself for not doing more of that before they had landed; the Roach’s etiolated complexion, rattling breath, and stiffening limbs are not an entirely promising combination. Then, there is yet the matter of finding Liliver, who might not even be in the palace. And even then, there is the very real likelihood that he is already too late, that the deathsweet’s effects may have already reached its peak.

Cardan has to swallow against the bile creeping up his throat at that unsettling thought.

If only Jude had just come with him. Mistress of strategy and scheming, she would have drawn up a clever plan before they even took flight, as well as a surfeit of contingencies. Moreover, she would know better than he whether or not they held the favor of time; her province of poison is concerningly vast, as she had proven when Cardan himself very nearly shuffled off his immortal coil in dissolution.

Jude had known in an instant, merely by tasting the wraithberry that had stained his lips. How she knew its savour, to say nothing of how she knew it so intimately, Cardan knows not and she has yet to divulge. It is but another closely-clutched secret he must tack onto the growing list of queries for things a man really ought to know about his wife.

In the interim, the High King of Elfhame—and, more regrettably, the Roach—must rely entirely on himself.

Not much of a comfort, that.

Keeping a hand on the Roach to prevent his suffering an unnecessary fall from the horse, Cardan swings himself off of the thing’s back. With care, he lifts the inanimate body of his mentor into his arms. A low, distressed groan comes from the Roach at being jostled—the first sign of cognizance he’s shown since they left Grimsen’s forge. As pained as the sound is, it nonetheless gives Cardan a small hope that perhaps he hasn’t been too late after all.

Its magic spent, the ragwort pony dissolves in a puff of yellow perianths; an indolent breeze scatters some of the remnants across the dark hill, while others continue their aimless drifting to pollinate elsewhere on the isles. Cardan watches a lone petal catch in the wiry hair of the Roach’s brow and without thinking, he brushes it away. He justifies this allowance of rare gentleness with the fact that no one is around to bear witness to it.

As friendship goes, Cardan is all too aware he hasn’t known much in the way of loyalty or for reasons beyond selfish gain. His former companions had desired only what they could glean from him, the immunity his sway as a prince that had granted them the ability to carry out whatever deviant fancy they could dream up. Even Nicasia had had her own contrivances for being his lover, until she had ultimately found more excitement in the stories—and bed—of Locke.

He is not experienced in having a friend simply for the sake of it. In having someone—or a few someones, for that matter—enjoy his wit and cleverness and skills. That enjoy him, Cardan Greenbriar, rather than what advantages the crown atop his head can give.

Perhaps it is dangerous territory for a king to have bonds extending beyond those of mere allies. Perhaps the trust that comes with such friendships is a bit like handing over a blade to your enemy, freshly sharpened, and saying, Here you go, this holds all the ways with which to kill me. I’ll just turn my back.

Even so, when all you have known your entire life is the contempt and malignancy of those who ought to love you, it is not an entirely stunning realization that you would hand over that blade so willingly.

And he had done, in earnest; in his naivety with Nicasia. In his camaraderie with the Court of Shadows. In everything with Jude.

This is doubtless the reason Cardan’s feet begin to move now, carrying him and the Roach in his arms to the palace entrance with some new swell of confidence. Perhaps it is a detriment to believe that these new friends would not be so hastened and flippant as the last to betray him, but he believes it nevertheless. He also knows, albeit by way of unfortunate experience, that when the situation had been reversed, they had not wasted an idle moment in saving him.

So on he goes, through the wall and into the brugh, careful to keep the Roach’s pallid face hidden in the crook of his arm and denying any assistance his guards offer with a firm shake of his head. They move to follow, but halt at once and return to their posts when Cardan waves them off. Of the merits that come with being King, Cardan is especially grateful that denying explanations is one of them.

Even more fortuitously, his journey is not further hindered by any member of the Living Council—who have undoubtedly been tearing at their beards and skirts attempting to locate and descend upon their unruly monarch. Cardan imagines even now they are in the war room or assembled in his chambers, pacing and theorizing and crying out in panic. At the thought of the Minister of Keys pounding his fists on the table and cursing his luck for having such an impudent master to serve, the corner of Cardan’s mouth twitches. If only the wizened Randalin had the sense to make himself more difficult to nettle, perhaps Cardan would try to do so less.

Though the hill is yet alive, with lingering revelers still clutching the edges of twilight and servants clearing the remnants of food and drink, the many tricks of sly-footing he has been taught manages to keep him out of sight from any who might notice; it takes no time at all to slip through the hidden passage, into the wine cellar and emerge on the other side of the new Court of Shadows.

Cardan had hoped to show and consult Jude on the plans for these rooms, including the strategy chamber he had in mind for her—of which he was particularly proud: he had designed it himself—after she pardoned herself and returned to him. That hadn’t gone entirely the way he had imagined, and so they had gone on with the rebuilding without her. Cardan resolves that now, he can simply give her a full tour of them, should she come back posthaste. Should she decide to come back at all.

No, he rebuffs that line of thinking. Jude will return, just as she promised. When she comes home, Cardan will lead her through the rebuilt Court, and she will ooh and ahh and find him so ridiculously clever she’ll be too awed to do anything but kiss him for his prodigiousness.

She will forget she had ever been angry with him—or, at the very least, spare him the full measure of her wrath. She will forgive him for his trickery and assure him again that she had not fed his letters to the fire; she will tell him how desperately she missed him, that the mortal world is awful and terrible and nothing worth going back to. He will kiss her hair and tell her they need never be parted again. They will begin their reign as they should have done the moment their vows were made, and all will be just fine and well and as it should be.

These are all of the things Cardan tells himself as he steps into the main chamber.

He chuckles quietly to the darkness, a sudden incredulity sweeping over him; after all his prior distaste for mortals and those little hopeful deceits they allow, to wish away an awful thing or to make that awful thing seem less terrible, he has caught himself doing just that. He wonders what Jude might say, if he said her mortality was rubbing off on him?

Upon entering the main hall, Cardan is met with a collective gasp—either from the sudden, unannounced arrival of the High King or at the state of the Roach, he doesn’t know, nor does he have time to find out; before he can call for her, Liliver is already there, her dark face paled and taut. She does not seem to even notice Cardan, her frantic, wide-eyed gaze fixed on the Roach.

“What happened to him?” The Bomb demands, seeming to realize Cardan’s presence only as an afterthought, though he does nothing to reprimand her for her tone. The current circumstance, along with the raw fear on the rogue’s face, is enough to cast any necessity for formalities into shadow.

"Darts, poisoned with deathsweet," Cardan tells her, elaborating when Liliver's piercing glare flickers up to meet him. "We... misestimated the cleverness of the traps Grimsen set to protect his forge." The Bomb frowns at that, and Cardan is sure he’ll have much more explaining to do before the night is through and she is fully satisfied, but neither of them need reminding of the more important matter at hand. “Let’s—let’s get him to a bed,” Liliver says. Though her voice wavers, her eyes never leave the disturbingly still body of the Roach as she leads them into a small room carved out from the main one.

She steps aside to allow Cardan to enter and lower the Roach onto the single bed, before seating herself on the edge of it. A bundle of tinctures and salves rest in her lap, from where or how she procured them so quickly, Cardan doesn’t know and isn’t inclined to ask. By the deep-set furrow of her brow and the way she worries her bottom lip between her teeth, she is calculating the situation and he wagers any unnecessary queries might hinder—or annoy—her deliberation. So he simply stands there, silent and helpless, watching her work.

The light emitting from the small orbs hanging above their heads does little to illuminate much of the Roach’s features, but it’s bright enough to view the waxen sheen of his skin, the odd way his limbs lie rigid at his side. He looks as close to death as one could appear, and if not for the shallow rise and fall of his chest, one could easily believe he had already gone. Cardan swallows and looks away, as if staring instead at the rough stone floor will quash the disquiet he feels.

If the Roach succumbs to the poison, he knows with whom the fault will lie, and there will be none among them to scorn him as much as he will scorn himself.

As Liliver works, sifting through the assortment of small glass bottles in her lap until she picks one filled with a thick, amber solution, Cardan gives her as much detail of the night's emprises as he can in short order: their attempted (and rather unsuccessful) rescue of Jude, of the Roach’s poisoning; of why they had entered the smith’s forge in the first place.

Upon hearing the truth behind the Ghost’s betrayal, the vial slips from her hand and Cardan barely manages to snatch it from the air before it shatters on the ground. The Bomb’s eyes are wide as saucers as she takes back the bottle, but Cardan thinks he catches the smallest glint of hope in them, despite their current predicament.

“You mean, all this time... he was being commanded? Controlled by Locke and Madoc?”

Cardan nods. “Doubtless by my brother as well, though Jude didn’t say one way or another.”

He wouldn’t have considered it debasing of Dain's character to control someone in such totality. In fact, he has no misgivings at all that there was anything, save perhaps a grubworm, that had been beneath his brother. He shakes his head and shrugs, more to his own thoughts than the Bomb's question. “I’ll let her tell us which it is, when she comes home.”

It is too afflictive to imagine she will not, that he has yet again voraciously lapped up a lie she has fed him. He cannot believe that as he waits, Jude is riding off through the air with her sisters back to the mortal world, laughing as she tells them how effortlessly she has fooled the desperate High King of Faerie.

He will have time enough to wallow in his own selfish, agonized reveries; Cardan wills his attention back to the present, back to the Bomb and the Roach, who appears even less on the fortunate side of time since they arrived.

“Will he…” Live, or die. Both words are there on his tongue, but he cannot bring himself to say either and the question lingers, thick and unfinished in the air between the three of them. Liliver doesn’t seem willing—or able to answer, only giving him a small shake of cloud-white curls as she keeps her back to him.

Watching how carefully she wipes the Roach’s forehead with a damp cloth, hearing the hushed, unintelligible things she tells him, the understanding that Cardan perhaps ought not intrude further becomes all too clear. He has completed his task, what he promised Jude he would do. There is nothing more required of him.

With Liliver’s promise that she will send word of any changes, good or ill, Cardan excuses himself from the Court of Shadows.

Cardan spends the remainder of the day in his chambers attempting sleep, because he has proved himself of little use elsewhere, there is nothing else to do, and because if Jude were here she would tell him a High King needs rest if he is to go delegating and answering petitions and doing whatever else there is that good, proper kings are supposed to do.

However, it is precisely because Jude isn’t here that he cannot rest.

Though he does give it an honest effort. He tries lying on his back, drawing forth tiny white blossoms to count as they bloom above his head, aiming to bore himself into a stupor. He counts and counts and counts. The mingling fragrance of several different flowers permeates the room and penetrates his nose. When he reaches six hundred forty-seven for the third time, he gives that up.

Exasperated, Cardan flops onto his side, stretching an arm across the sheets. He stares at the empty space beside him, where Jude had rested the first night they had spent together—the night he had convinced her that becoming Queen of Elfhame, his wife, was the better choice for both of them.

It had all been true, of course: everything Cardan had said to get her to agree. There had been no deception or scheming in his words; he had desired his freedom, as desperately as Jude craved power, and their union had the ability to grant both in absolution.

The Living Council had become insistent on the idea that their King should take a wife anyway, for their own overboring political reasons, and so Cardan had.

The only addendum to all of this, the only detail that he had surreptitiously kept from both the Council and Jude, was that he wanted to marry her. Not Nicasia, as the Council had wanted, as Cardan had once believed he should and could enjoy. Not the hag Mother Marrow’s daughter, who likely would have found some clever way to cause his demise so that she might live on as the sole ruler of Faerie. None of them would have been well-suited for him, nor he well-suited for them. None of them could give him what he wanted, because what he wanted was Jude.

That is all he wants now—to have her home and here in his bed, to fill the space that has been empty since she left. Since he made her leave.

Cardan pushes himself off the bed in a frustrated huff. Deciding he could do with a little less sober thinking, he calls for wine, and when the servant arrives with a fresh decanter and goblet, he fills it to the brim and drinks it to the dregs. After repeating this process a few more times, Cardan rounds the large desk—his father’s desk, he cannot help to remind himself, no matter how many times he sits at it—to continue the speech he’s been writing. He picks up the slip of paper between two fingers and holds it to the guttering candle flame to examine it. It’s already a rather lengthy speech, admittedly, but more important than any he has articulated yet. It is one explaining to Jude that her exile had not been methodically planned, that he thought she would work it out much more expeditiously. He would further explain he had not accounted for the fact she hadn’t worked it out at all, and that he had come to fully regret his own cleverness midway through his second letter.

Of course, Jude had told him she hadn’t received any of those letters.

He cannot help recalling how she looked at him then, the last time they were here in his rooms: skittish and trembling, desperate as a wild animal backed into a corner.

Hardly a fortnight has passed since Madoc had taken her, believing he had heroically rescued her twin from nigh execution. And yet it feels as distant as any half-remembered dream upon waking, blurred on the details and every attempt to grasp the memory only causes it to slip further away. Like a hand waving smoke.

Except a dream is something usually pleasant; smiling faces, a kiss one might yearn for in the waking world and only receive when they close their eyes. Dreams are things of wonderment. Pretty visions and heart’s desires.

No, it had not been like a dream at all—not the way she had looked at him.

That hatred, burning into him like white-hot iron, the fear she could lie away with words but could not conceal from her face, the venom in her voice when she spoke. It was more terrible than any of Cardan’s nightmares.

Everything you say to me, everything you promise, it’s all a trick. And I, stupid enough to believe you once.

He had wanted to reach out to her, to take her hand and tell her his trick had been only that, a hasty plan to keep her out of Orlagh’s grasp. He had wanted to pull her to him and breathe in the comforting scent of her hair, to feel her warmth against his chest. To beg her forgiveness and will away her anger with a kiss.

Then he had seen the glint of the blade in her hand.

Even after Vivi’s flustered explanation of her sister’s capture, after he and the Roach had set out from the mortal world to find her—even after their brief moment in Madoc’s camp just hours ago, when Jude swore she hadn’t thrown in her lot with her betrayer of a foster-father, Cardan cannot rend from his mind the image of her holding that knife.

He passes the paper through the flame and watches it burn until it is nothing but a stain of black ash on the desk.

Waving away the lingering smoke, he rises and goes to dress for the night ahead, without rest, and knowing that no amount of sleep or drink or honeyed words will erase what he has done—or may yet do.

⊰ ☘ ⊱ okAY so this first bit turned out a lot longer than I'd originally intended (legit this whole thing was supposed to just be a oneshot lmfao) but if you made it this far, I'm very sorry but thanks for taking the time to read. I hope you enjoyed it, and as usual—if you didn't, don't tell me about it.

If you want to be added to my tag list, just yeet a reply to this post and I'll add you.

⊰ ☘ ⊱ @euridce @figonas @jurdanhell

#felix's fuckin' fic list #; felix does a write #cardan greenbriar #jude duarte #jurdan #cardan x jude #jude x cardan #the folk of the air #the queen of nothing #tfota #qon #holly black #tfota fic #tfota fanfic

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sirthisisa-wendys · 3 years

Text

The General (part 5): Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

synopsis: a negotiation goes bad, you learn a lesson from a rake, and you receive a long awaited reward.

wc: 1.9k

tw: none!

masterlist

It had been a month since you were abducted and taken off to be the property of General Geto Suguru, the Curse-Eater. And it had taken the Imperial Court that entire month before they sent an emissary to negotiate with him.

When the emissary’s impending arrival had been announced, Nanami - with his blonde hair and piercing gaze - pulled you aside, mumbling:

“You’re going to see a different side of Geto when the emissary arrives. Don’t be alarmed by his facade, no matter what he does. He has a reputation to uphold.”

And that’s exactly what you’re preparing to see as Kaori bathes you and fashions your hair so it’s pulled back and out of your face. In the short month together, you’ve gotten only marginally closer to the General, his feather light touches and sweet words staying consistent over time. He protected you when necessary, which included during your appearances at the dinner table where he would be committed to feeding you from his hands still.

The joke had run its course, despite the occasional appearance of Yuji, who still tried to feed you the odd pieces of fruit or meat when he could. The only consequence he ever received was a slight scolding from Nanami, whereupon he would cry and then be hushed almost immediately by Haibara. Nanami and Haibara had also gotten closer to you than you expected. Nanami turned out to be helpful and rational, and Haibara was always positive, bringing the sunlight with him even when it was thundering and storming outside because, as he put it, “there was always something to be excited about”.

“Where are Haibara and Nanami from?” you wonder, and Kaori hums in thought.

“Many of us come from conquered towns where Master Geto overcame Imperial rule. But Nanami and Haibara have always been with him, even in his early days…”

“And where did the General come from?”

“You don’t know the story? I assumed everyone knew his origins. I thought he’d tell you, especially.”

“No, all we are told is that he’s ruthless, eats curses, and loves to burn villages down to the ground. He hasn’t mentioned his mother or even if he has any siblings.” Kaori laughs at your admission, and dips her hands into the soapy hot water before drying them on the towel.

“He was born in the city of Saighara, which is not too far from the southern border. He’s either conquered every city from there on up to this location, or he’s annihilated them.”

“What about your village?” you inquire, and Kaori’s eyes lower to her hands, holding a soap bar.

“I… I don’t know. I was given to Master Geto as part of a peace offering, but we were sent away before he had decided what to do. Neither Nanami nor Haibara know what happened that day, either.” For a moment, you feel immense pity for the woman. She didn’t know if her family was dead or alive, and no one that she was close to could help.

“Have you tried to ask Gojo?” At the mention of the second-in-command’s name, Kaori fumbles with the soap and drops it into the water. Her cheeks are flushed red, and you wonder for a moment if she has a crush on the white-haired devil, or if the mention of his name brought up a memory she would rather not express.

“I-I’ve never spoken to him in a familiar way,” she begins. “Besides, he’s Master Geto’s half-brother. If I were to question him about my village’s fate, he might report me. I would rather not know and imagine the best.” You agree with her silently, moving to stand from the bathtub. “In any case, I’ve picked out the best kimono I could find for you. If you don’t like it, please let me know and I’ll make sure I retrieve a new one.”

You run your hands over the peach-colored silk and then turn back to Kaori, eyes alight. “This is incredibly beautiful.”

“Isn’t it? It has been stowed away for many years - even before I arrived - but I do believe this will be a flattering color and shape on you for your meeting with the emissary.”

_______________________________________________________________________

When you arrive at the meeting area - which is just the dining hall rearranged so Geto is at the head of the table and not on the far left corner - Nanami places a hand on your back, guiding you to your seat right beside Geto’s.

“Remain stoic, no matter what either of them say. This isn’t really about you or him - this is about how the Imperial Court wants to appear to an enemy that has something they desperately need.”

“Desperately? Could they not find another match for the princes?”

“Not quite,” Nanami begins, sliding out your chair. “You were not promised to a specific prince, but--” Haibara bursts into the room, followed closely by Geto, who is fussing with his robes incessantly. Forgetting Nanami instantly, you stand from your seat at the sight of his frustrated expression and hold out your hands for the thing that’s causing him so much stress.

“It’s not right.” Geto sighs and hands you the sash to hang on his left shoulder and down to his right hip, and wordlessly, you rise on your tiptoes to drape it over his head and place it under his other arm. His unruly hair is all over the place, and you consider for a moment if you should ask if he wants it braided.

“My hair,” Geto gripes just as you finish your thought, and you spin him around to work your magic.

“Haibara, could you find a ribbon for me?” you ask, leaning over to catch the young man’s gaze.

“Certainly,” he offers, and walks out of the meeting room purposefully, his own robes flowing behind him in the wind. Nanami takes his place in a corner of the room while you briad swiftly, hoping the emissary wouldn’t find you doing something so familiar with the person who is supposed to be your captor. When you finish the braid, you hold the ends between your fingers, and Geto looks over his shoulder at you as if he is finally seeing you for the first time.

You catch his eyes and smile up at him, hoping that he would say something about your appearance - anything at all - but Haibara reenters, holding a red ribbon in his hand.

“Straight from little Nobara’s hair as a gift to you, Lady y/n.” Haibara knees on the ground dramatically and you laugh, plucking the ribbon out of his fingers.

“Tell Nobara that she is too kind. Master Geto thanks her for her service,” you chuckle, and deftly wrap the material around the end of his hair before stepping back to examine your work. Geto’s shoulders slide down a little, and he takes a deep breath before moving around you to sit in his high backed chair, hands resting on the carved wooden dragon heads on each arm. You also take your seat beside him, and Haibara moves to push you in as Gojo parades inside the hall, waving his hands about as if he were dancing.

“Emissary Noritoshi, I present you to General Geto Suguru and Lady y/n,” he waves in a younger man with short black hair and closed eyes, the absolute picture of what you imagined an emissary would be like. He enters with a calm demeanor, looking around the room curiously before acknowledging the both of you, bowing slowly when he stops in front of the table.

“Please, have a seat,” Geto offers, holding his left hand out and motioning to the chair directly across the table.

“Thank you,” Noritoshi murmurs, sitting easily. “I see you’ve invited the woman in question to our meeting. Would it not be better for her to be with her own kind while we discuss the matter at hand?”

“As far as I’m concerned,” Geto laces his fingers together in his lap, a sign of restraint; the emissary had already managed to get on his nerves. “This entire conversation would not be taking place without her. So, Lady y/n stays as long as she wants to.” The emissary shrugs his shoulders, shaking his head.

“Then let’s get straight to the point, shall we?” From his robes, Nortitoshi produces a hefty bag of coins and tosses it on the table with a dull thump. “The Emperor is willing to pay her weight in gold if you hand her over to us today.” Geto scoffs, looking over his shoulder at Nanami.

“I assume that the Emperor does not know how much she weighs, then.” Nanami lets out a rare laugh and you almost do as well, except you remember his advice:

“Remain stoic, no matter what either of them say.”

“This is merely a fraction of what he will send over if-” Geto cuts the man off with a hand, his shoulders shaking with mirth.

“Have you seen the size of my camp, Emissary? How do you think I feed all of these men, women, and children? How do you suppose I have well-fed, well-paid servants and maids to attend to my - and her - every whim and need? The only things that separate me from the Emperor’s other sons are a crown and a palace. That’s all.”

“The Emperor is also willing to add two bed-slaves for you, should that be the reason why you’re holding onto this common girl so tightly.”

“Bed-slaves?” You watch Gojo lean against the table and bow over with silent laughter, his long white hair cascading over the black haori, shaking his head at the audacity of the offer.

“Then, what do you want?” Noritoshi asks calmly, folding his hands together on the table in front of him.

“I want my honor back. My crown. My rightful place as heir to the Imperial Court.”

“General, you know that all of that is not your birthright,” the man states simply. Geto raises a brow, then leans over to you, brushing his lips against your ear.

“You see how my own father treats me? Even from thousands of miles away, he refuses to give me what is mine.” The effect of his whisper - which is heard by all who are present - isn’t to startle you. It’s to startle Noritoshi, who turns to you in shock. Had the emissary expected you to play along with the role of the woman who pleaded to be set free? Or had he entirely missed the way Geto’s right hand had been placed on your thigh when he walked in?

You don’t make a sound, though, opting to face Geto head on and raise a brow, too. When you both turn your heads to face the young man at the same time, Noritoshi is obviously flustered and unable to form a coherent sentence.

“General, I- I would advise that y-you--”

“I already have several advisors; I don’t need another. I think…” Geto places his hand on your thigh again, this time, the motion catching the eye of the man across from you. “I think this meeting has run its course. Gojo, will you make sure that Emissary Noritoshi makes it safely out of our camp?” Gojo stands and nods eagerly, leading a shocked and slightly embarrassed emissary out of the meeting hall. After they leave, Geto slides a hand over his face and sighs.

“So, what happens next?” you wonder aloud, and he opens an eye.

“Now? We move camp further North.”

_______________________________________________________________________

TAGLIST: @jotazinha @just4readingfics @mxhi @sammytamaki @brownskinnedgirll @keelyshayee @leanne-tamashi @vabybizzle @amaris9

#geto x reader #jjk geto #geto suguru #jujutsu kaisen getou #getou x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk gojo #jjk nanami #gojo satoru #nanami kento #jjk haibara

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aboveallarescuer · 3 years

Text

Parallels between Aerys II Targaryen and Cersei Lannister (and why they are both foils to Dany)

In this post, I gathered all the parallels I could find between Cersei and Aerys II after recently rereading Cersei’s chapters and Aerys’s section in TWOIAF. While a lot of people have made good points criticizing how Cersei was written (namely, as incompetent, misogynistic and irredeemable, at least in the canon timeline where her fate is already sealed) considering her special place in the narrative (namely, as arguably the female character who most frequently and openly questions and challenges the validity of Westerosi patriarchy, as well as the only major female villain of the story and the only woman among the three Lannister siblings), it’s also true that GRRM intended her to be paralleled with Aerys II in many ways, which will be laid out here.

Recognizing how Aerys II and Cersei are alike is particularly important for emphasizing that both characters were written as foils to Daenerys, so I will also explain how Dany doesn’t share their similarities.

Both believe they are destined for greatness

Aerys II:

Aerys II did not lack for ambition. Upon his coronation, he declared that it was his wish to be the greatest king in the history of the Seven Kingdoms, a conceit certain of his friends encouraged by suggesting that one day he might be remembered as Aerys the Wise or even Aerys the Great. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Cersei:

The Lord of Casterly Rock deserved rainbows. He had been a great man. I shall be greater, though. A thousand years from now, when the maesters write about this time, you shall be remembered only as Queen Cersei’s sire. (AFFC Cersei II)

That’s not the case with Dany. Her titles (the Unburnt, Mother of Dragons, Mhysa, Azor Ahai, etc) were given to her by other people, she doesn’t think she’s special despite birthing dragons and receiving multiple prophecies and she’s incredibly hard on herself for every mistake she makes. She simply doesn’t have an exaggerated sense of her importance or abilities like Cersei and Aerys II do.

Both are cut by the Iron Throne

Aerys II:

Yet still the blades tormented him, the ones he could never escape, the blades of the Iron Throne. His arms and legs were always covered with scabs and half-healed cuts. (AFFC Jaime II)

Cersei:

The barbs and blades of the Iron Throne bit into her flesh as she crouched to hide her shame. Blood ran red down her legs, as steel teeth gnawed at her buttocks. When she tried to stand, her foot slipped through a gap in the twisted metal. The more she struggled the more the throne engulfed her, tearing chunks of flesh from her breasts and belly, slicing at her arms and legs until they were slick and red, glistening. (AFFC Cersei I)

While Cersei was only cut in a dream, this moment is still significant because the Iron Throne is infamous for only harming and ‘rejecting’ the bad rulers. GRRM could have written a similar dream for Dany if he wanted to make her and Cersei follow the same direction, specially in AFFC/ADWD where he noted multiple times that they’re meant to be paralleled and contrasted. Instead, while Cersei’s first chapter in AFFC begins with her dreaming of being on the Iron Throne and being cut by it, Dany’s first chapter in ADWD begins with her dreaming of a house with a red door. Also, while Cersei wishes she could sit on the Iron Throne but is unable to because only the King and the Hand can sit on it, Dany willingly gives up on the privilege to sit on an elaborate throne and chooses an ebony bench that "did not befit a queen" in Meereen. So, not only the author emphasized that Dany doesn’t want power for its own sake (but rather to help people) and that she wants to be at the level of her people, he also didn’t take the chance to portray her as a bad ruler (because she is a good one) like he did with Cersei and Aerys II.

Both feel excitement and pleasure at the sight of wildfire

Aerys II:

Frustrated, Aerys turned to the Wisdoms of the ancient Guild of Alchemists, who knew the secret of producing the volatile jade green substance known as wildfire, said to be a close cousin to dragonflame. The pyromancers became a regular fixture at his court as the king's fascination with fire grew. By 280 AC, Aerys II had taken to burning traitors, murderers, and plotters, rather than hanging or beheading them. The king seemed to take great pleasure in these fiery executions, which were presided over by Wisdom Rossart, the grand master of the Guild of Alchemists...so much so that he granted Rossart the title of Lord and gave him a seat upon the small council. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

The sight had filled him with disquiet, reminding him of Aerys Targaryen and the way a burning would arouse him. A king has no secrets from his Kingsguard. Relations between Aerys and his queen had been strained during the last years of his reign. They slept apart and did their best to avoid each other during the waking hours. But whenever Aerys gave a man to the flames, Queen Rhaella would have a visitor in the night. (AFFC Jaime II)

Cersei:

Cersei thought of all the King’s Hands that she had known through the years: Owen Merryweather, Jon Connington, Qarlton Chelsted, Jon Arryn, Eddard Stark, her brother Tyrion. And her father, Lord Tywin Lannister, her father most of all. All of them are burning now, she told herself, savoring the thought. They are dead and burning, every one, with all their plots and schemes and betrayals. It is my day now. It is my castle and my kingdom. (AFFC Cersei III)

Cersei felt too alive for sleep. The wildfire was cleansing her, burning away all her rage and fear, filling her with resolve. “The flames are so pretty. I want to watch them for a while.” (AFFC Cersei III)

Jaime knew the look in his sister's eyes. He had seen it before, most recently on the night of Tommen's wedding, when she burned the Tower of the Hand. The green light of the wildfire had bathed the face of the watchers, so they looked like nothing so much as rotting corpses, a pack of gleeful ghouls, but some of the corpses were prettier than others. Even in the baleful glow, Cersei had been beautiful to look upon. She'd stood with one hand on her breast, her lips parted, her green eyes shining. She is crying, Jaime had realized, but whether it was from grief or ecstasy he could not have said.

The sight had filled him with disquiet, reminding him of Aerys Targaryen and the way a burning would arouse him. (AFFC Jaime II)

That never happens with Dany. She does describe the flames positively during the ritual to hatch the dragon eggs, but so does Jon Snow and GRRM himself. She does claim the fire as hers, but it has to do with her magical intuition as she puts two and two to birth her children and is ultimately validated. Most importantly, unlike Aerys II and Cersei, Dany a) never feels excitement while watching things burn for their own sake, b) never takes pleasure viewing or imagining her enemies burning and c) is never compared to Aerys II to highlight any disturbing behavior from her part. She is called the Mad King’s daughter by her enemies (the slavers and Mace Tyrell), but the characters around her and the ones who have nothing to gain by defaming her (Barristan, Tyrion, Illyrio, Quentyn) reiterate that she’s nothing like him. Meanwhile, two of the people who have known Cersei the longest (Jaime on the quotes above, Tyrion) compare her to Aerys II.

Both grow paranoid with time; they imagine implausible scenarios in which their perceived enemies are working (often together) against them, accept their baseless fears as truth and make hasty decisions based on them

Aerys II:

The march of the king's madness seemed to abate for a time in 274 AC, when Queen Rhaella gave birth to a son. So profound was His Grace's joy that it seemed to restore him to his old self once again...but Prince Jaehaerys died later that same year, plunging Aerys into despair. In his black rage, he decided the babe's wet nurse was to blame and had the woman beheaded. Not long after, in a change of heart, Aerys announced that Jaehaerys had been poisoned by his own mistress, the pretty young daughter of one of his household knights. The king had the girl and all her kin tortured to death. During the course of their torment, it is recorded, all confessed to the murder, though the details of their confessions were greatly at odds. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

The birth of Prince Viserys only seemed to make Aerys II more fearful and obsessive, however. Though the new young princeling seemed healthy enough, the king was terrified lest he suffer the same fate as his brothers. Kingsguard knights were commanded to stand over him night and day to see that no one touched the boy without the king's leave. Even the queen herself was forbidden to be alone with the infant. When her milk dried up, Aerys insisted on having his own food taster suckle at the teats of the prince's wet nurse, to ascertain that the woman had not smeared poison on her nipples. As gifts for the young prince arrived from all the lords of the Seven Kingdoms, the king had them piled in the yard and burned, for fear that some of them might have been ensorcelled or cursed. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Captivity at Duskendale had shattered whatever sanity had remained to Aerys II Targaryen. From that day forth, the king's madness reigned unchecked, growing worse with every passing year. The Darklyns had dared lay hands upon his person, shoving him roughly, stripping him of his royal raiment, even daring to strike him. After his release, King Aerys would no longer allow himself to be touched, even by his own servants. Uncut and unwashed, his hair grew ever longer and more tangled, whilst his fingernails lengthened and thickened into grotesque yellow talons. He forbade any blade in his presence save for the swords carried by the knights of his Kingsguard, sworn to protect him. His judgments became ever harsher and crueler. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Once safely returned to King's Landing, His Grace refused to leave the Red Keep for any cause and remained a virtual prisoner in his own castle for the next four years, during which time he grew ever more wary of those around him, Tywin Lannister in particular. His suspicions extended even to his own son and heir. Prince Rhaegar, he was convinced, had conspired with Tywin Lannister to have him slain at Duskendale. They had planned to storm the town walls so that Lord Darklyn would put him to death, opening the way for Rhaegar to mount the Iron Throne and marry Lord Tywin's daughter. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

And when the triumphant Prince of Dragonstone named Lyanna Stark, daughter of the Lord of Winterfell, the queen of love and beauty, placing a garland of blue roses in her lap with the tip of his lance, the lickspittle lords gathered around the king declared that further proof of his perfidy. Why would the prince have thus given insult to his own wife, the Princess Elia Martell of Dorne (who was present), unless it was to help him gain the Iron Throne? The crowning of the Stark girl, who was by all reports a wild and boyish young thing with none of the Princess Elia's delicate beauty, could only have been meant to win the allegiance of Winterfell to Prince Rhaegar's cause, Symond Staunton suggested to the king. (TWOIAF The Fall of the Dragons: The Year of the False Spring)

When the news reached the Red Keep, it was said that Aerys cursed the Dornish, certain that Lewyn had betrayed Rhaegar. He sent his pregnant queen, Rhaella, and his younger son and new heir, Viserys, away to Dragonstone, but Princess Elia was forced to remain in King's Landing with Rhaegar's children as a hostage against Dorne. (TWOIAF The Fall of the Dragons: The End)

Cersei:

“I am counseling you. If you will not yield the regency to me, name me your castellan for Casterly Rock and make either Mathis Rowan or Randyll Tarly the Hand of the King.”

Tyrell bannermen, both of them. The suggestion left her speechless. Is he bought? she wondered. Has he taken Tyrell gold to betray House Lannister? (AFFC Cersei II)

“Lord Manderly hacked the head and hands off the onion knight, we have that from the Freys, and half a dozen other northern lords have rallied to Lord Bolton. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Where else can Stannis turn, but to the ironmen and the wildlings, the enemies of the north? But if he thinks that I am going to walk into his trap, he is a bigger fool than you.” (AFFC Cersei VII)

“No doubt. Tell me, was it our little queen who commanded you to kill Lord Gyles?”

“K-kill?” Grand Maester Pycelle’s eyes grew as big as boiled eggs. “Your Grace cannot believe ... it was his cough, by all the gods, I ... Her Grace would not ... she bore Lord Gyles no ill will, why would Queen Margaery want him ...”

“... dead? Why, to plant another rose on Tommen’s council. Are you blind or bought? Rosby stood in her way, so she put him in his grave. With your connivance.” (AFFC Cersei IX)

She knew Joff was too strong for her, Cersei thought, remembering the gold coin Qyburn had found. For House Tyrell to hope to rule, he had to be removed. It came back to her that Margaery and her hideous grandmother had once plotted to marry Sansa Stark to the little queen’s crippled brother Willas. Lord Tywin had forestalled that by stealing a march on them and wedding Sansa to Tyrion, but the link had been there. They are all in it together, she realized with a start. The Tyrells bribed the gaolers to free Tyrion, and whisked him down the roseroad to join his vile bride. By now the both of them are safe in Highgarden, hidden away behind a wall of roses. (AFFC Cersei VI)

Cersei’s case is complicated in that she has valid reasons to be anxious: prophecies come true in her world, the Tyrells did kill Joffrey (she’s right in that regard, at least) and the coin found in the cell could be evidence that the Tyrells were involved in Tyrion’s escape. The problem is how she deals with her suspicions. To defeat Margaery, she projected her experiences on her (every widow definitely has sexual appetites, so Margaery definitely has lovers), held on to the few dubious signs that she was cheating on the king (Margaery asking Pycelle for moon tea or having a lively court), tortured an innocent man to confirm the story she needs to incriminate Margaery and arrested several innocent people. Besides that, Cersei also: alienates Kevan by avoiding his recommendations and giving important titles to other cousins based on her hunch that he was bought by the Tyrells (quote above); avoids giving the Tyrells help when the ironmen attack the Shield Islands based on her baseless suspicion that Stannis made an alliance with the ironmen and was, therefore, behind the attack on the Shield Islands with the intention to turn Cersei’s eyes away from the Storm’s End and Dragonstone (quote above); forces Pycelle to "confirm" what she wants to believe because of her guess that he helped the Tyrells kill Gyles Rosby (quote above). And these are just some of the major examples.

Dany has moments when she is unsure of whether the people around her are reliable or not. She questions if Reznak is trustworthy or if he, Hizdahr and the Green Grace joined forces against her or if Groleo could be one of the three prophesied treasons, but she remains willing to listen to their advice and never undermines or punishes them solely based on her suspicions because, unlike her father or Cersei, she has a healthy distrust of others.

Both choose to be excessively and needlessly brutal against their enemies and the people who offend them (even when their offenses are relatively minor and/or not supported by facts)

Aerys II:

When one such reported that the captain of the Hand's personal guard, a knight named Ser Ilyn Payne, had been heard boasting it was Lord Tywin who truly ruled the Seven Kingdoms, His Grace sent the Kingsguard to arrest the man and had his tongue ripped out with red-hot pincers. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

By 280 AC, Aerys II had taken to burning traitors, murderers, and plotters, rather than hanging or beheading them. The king seemed to take great pleasure in these fiery executions, which were presided over by Wisdom Rossart, the grand master of the Guild of Alchemists...so much so that he granted Rossart the title of Lord and gave him a seat upon the small council. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

When Darklyn and his family were presented to him in chains, Aerys demanded their deaths—and not only Darklyn's immediate kin but his uncles and aunts and even distant kinsmen in Duskendale. Even his goodkin, the Hollards, were attainted and destroyed. Only Ser Symon's young nephew, Dontos Hollard, was spared—and only then because Ser Barristan begged that mercy as a boon, and the king he had saved could not refuse him. As to Lady Serala, hers was a crueler death. Aerys had the Lace Serpent's tongue and her womanly parts torn out before she was burned alive (yet her enemies say that she should have suffered more and worse for the ruin she brought down upon the town). (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Cersei:

"M'lord, begging your pardon, Her Grace said those as didn't meet their numbers would have their hands crushed," the anxious smith persisted. "Smashed on their own anvils, she said."

Sweet Cersei, always striving to make the smallfolk love us. (ACOK Tyrion III)

"Y'Grace," he said quietly, "the boys caught a groom and two maidservants trying to sneak out a postern with three of the king's horses."

"The night's first traitors," the queen said, "but not the last, I fear. Have Ser Ilyn see to them, and put their heads on pikes outside the stables as a warning." (ACOK Sansa VI)

“I hope you did not wake them, Ser Boros. Let them sleep.”

“Sleep?” He looked up, jowly and confused. “Aye, Your Grace. How long shall—”

“Forever. See that they sleep forever, ser. I will not suffer guards to sleep on watch.” (AFFC Cersei I)

“His Grace should send the Wall a hundred men. To take the black, ostensibly, but in truth …”

“... to remove Jon Snow from the command,” Cersei finished, delighted. I knew I was right to want him on my council. “That is just what we shall do.” She laughed. If this bastard boy is truly his father's son, he will not suspect a thing. Perhaps he will even thank me, before the blade slides between his ribs. “It will need to be done carefully, to be sure. Leave the rest to me, my lords.” This was how an enemy should be dealt with: with a dagger, not a declaration. (AFFC Cersei IV)

“Send some of your whisperers to these shows and make note of who attends. If any of them should be men of note, I would know their names.”

“What will be done with them, if I may be so bold?”

“Any men of substance shall be fined. Half their worth should be sufficient to teach them a sharp lesson and refill our coffers, without quite ruining them. Those too poor to pay can lose an eye, for watching treason. For the puppeteers, the axe.”

“There are four. Perhaps Your Grace might allow me two of them for mine own purposes. A woman would be especially ...”

“I gave you Senelle,” the queen said sharply.

“Alas. The poor girl is quite ... exhausted.”

[...] “Yes, you may take a woman. Two, if it please you. But first I will have names. (AFFC Cersei V)

“I cannot have Falyse spreading tales about the city. Her grief has made her witless. Do you still need women for your ... work?”

“I do, Your Grace. The puppeteers are quite used up.”

“Take her and do with her as you will, then. But once she goes down into the black cells ... need I say more?” (AFFC Cersei VII)

Dany doesn’t act like this. She burned the masters in Astapor to protect her retinue and punished the Meereenese leaders who ordered the crucifixion of the slave children, but she also spared all the Yunkish masters and most of the Meereenese masters. Her leniency is the root of her problems in ADWD, since it allowed them to retaliate against the abolition of slavery. Additionally, Dany doesn’t punish Ghael for spitting on her, she doesn’t punish a boy for trying to attack her, she doesn't punish Xaro for threatening her to her face, she chooses not to follow her councillors' advice to punish the former slavers indiscriminately and so on. You can read more about how Dany's tendency is to avoid using violence in this meta.

Both use torture to get people to confirm what they believe or what's convenient for them

Aerys II:

Cersei:

“Tell us how you pleasured the little queen. [...] How many of them did you have carnal knowledge of?”

“None of them. I’m just a singer. Please.”

[...] Lord Qyburn ran a hand up the Blue Bard’s chest. “Does she take your nipples in her mouth during your love play?” He took one between his thumb and forefinger, and twisted. “Some men enjoy that. Their nipples are as sensitive as a woman’s.” The razor flashed, the singer shrieked. On his chest a wet red eye wept blood. [...]

By dawn the singer’s high blue boots were full of blood, and he had told them how Margaery would fondle herself as she watched her cousins pleasuring him with their mouths. At other times he would sing for her whilst she sated her lusts with other lovers. “Who were they?” the queen demanded, and the wretched Wat named Ser Tallad the Tall, Lambert Turnberry, Jalabhar Xho, the Redwyne twins, Osney Kettleblack, Hugh Clifton, and the Knight of Flowers.

That displeased her. She dare not besmirch the name of the hero of Dragonstone. [...] The Redwynes could not be a part of it either. [...] “All you are doing is spitting up the names of men you saw about her chambers. We want the truth! [...] Horas and Hobber had no part of this, did they?”

“No,” he admitted. “Not them.”

“As for Ser Loras, I am certain Margaery took pains to hide what she was doing from her brother.”

“She did. I remember now. Once I had to hide under the bed when Ser Loras came to see her. He must never know, she said.”

“I prefer this song to the other.” (AFFC Cersei IX)

Dany doesn't act like her father or Cersei in that regard either. She allows the use of torture (which is normalized in her world) to question people regarding the murders of former slaves, but she stops it once she realizes that the results are unreliable because, unlike her foils, she cares about punishing the actual perpetrators, not about having her beliefs confirmed at any cost.

Both are often cruel, rude and disrespectful to others

Aerys II:

At the great Anniversary Tourney of 272 AC, held to commemorate Aerys's tenth year upon the Iron Throne, Joanna Lannister brought her six-year-old twins Jaime and Cersei from Casterly Rock to present before the court. The king (very much in his cups) asked her if giving suck to them had "ruined your breasts, which were so high and proud." (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Over his Hand's strenuous objections, the king doubled the port fees at King's Landing and Oldtown, and tripled them for Lannisport and the realm's other ports and harbors. When a delegation of small lords and rich merchants came before the Iron Throne to complain, however, Aerys blamed the Hand for the exactions, saying, "Lord Tywin shits gold, but of late he has been constipated and had to find some other way to fill our coffers." (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Tyrion, as the babe was named, was a malformed, dwarfish babe born with stunted legs, an oversized head, and mismatched, demonic eyes (some reports also suggested he had a tail, which was lopped off at his lord father's command). Lord Tywin's Doom, the smallfolk called this ill-made creature, and Lord Tywin's Bane. Upon hearing of his birth, King Aerys infamously said, "The gods cannot abide such arrogance. They have plucked a fair flower from his hand and given him a monster in her place, to teach him some humility at last." (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Cersei:

Cersei stared at her, aghast. “Your lackwit sister gets herself raped by half of King’s Landing, and Tanda thinks to honor the bastard with my lord father’s name? I think not.” (AFFC Cersei II)

She wanted a storm to match her rage. To Jocelyn she said, “Tighter. Cinch it tighter, you simpering little fool.”

It was the wedding that enraged her, though the slow-witted Swyft girl made a safer target. (AFFC Cersei III)

“Would Your Grace honor her white knight with a dance?”

She gave him a withering look. “And have you fumbling at me with that stump? No. I will let you fill my wine cup for me, though. If you think you can manage it without spilling.” (AFFC Cersei III)

“Very well. Get off those saggy knees and try to remember what it was to be a man.” Pycelle struggled to rise, but took so long about it that she had to tell Osmund Kettleblack to give him another yank. (AFFC Cersei IX)

For the vast majority of the time, Dany is kind and courteous. Her detractors tend to question that fact with two main arguments: a) she laughed at Quentyn; b) she is intolerant about Meereenese culture. Their first argument is very weak. Dany didn't laugh at Quentyn, she laughed about the reason why Quentyn is called frog and then forgot to explain why she did so in the Common Tongue. Even then, though, Quentyn is so overwhelmed by her kindness that he only remembers that "the queen had always spoken to him gently". Their second argument is also unconvincing because Dany's dislike of several aspects of Meereenese culture has to do with their ties to slavery (case in point: the fighting pits) and, even then, she makes several concessions to culturally adapt. Additionally, unlike Aerys II or Cersei, she doesn't express her critical thoughts (which are way less common and way less derogatory than Cersei's) verbally.

Both give rewards and promotions to those who blindly obey and agree with them, regardless of whether they’re experienced, competent or trustworthy

Aerys II:

He was also vain, proud, and changeable, traits that made him easy prey for flatterers and lickspittles, but these flaws were not immediately apparent to most at the time of his ascension. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

His father's court had been made up largely of older, seasoned men, many of whom had also served during the reign of King Aegon V. Aerys II dismissed them one and all, replacing them with lords of his own generation. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

The king replaced him as Hand with Lord Owen Merryweather, an aged and amiable lickspittle famed for laughing loudest at every jape and witticism uttered by the king, no matter how feeble. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

The Mad King could be savagely cruel, as seen most plainly when he burned those he perceived to be his enemies, but he could also be extravagant, showering men who pleased him with honors, offices, and lands. The lickspittle lords who surrounded Aerys II had gained much and more from the king's madness and eagerly seized upon any opportunity to speak ill of Prince Rhaegar and inflame the father's suspicions of the son. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Cersei:

"A weak ruler needs a strong Hand, as Aerys needed Father. A strong ruler requires only a diligent servant to carry out his orders." (AFFC Jaime II)

The Kettleblacks would charm her, take her coin, and promise her anything she asked, and why not, when Bronn was matching every copper penny, coin for coin? Amiable rogues all three, the brothers were in truth much more skilled at deceit than they'd ever been at bloodletting. Cersei had managed to buy herself three hollow drums; they would make all the fierce booming sounds she required, but there was nothing inside. (ACOK Tyrion IX)

My councillors. Cersei had uprooted every rose, and all those beholden to her uncle and her brothers. In their places were men whose loyalty would be to her. She had even given them new styles, borrowed from the Free Cities; the queen would have no “masters” at court beside herself. (AFFC Cersei IV)

Grand Maester Pycelle had wanted an older man “more seasoned in the ways of war” to command the gold cloaks, and several of her other councillors had agreed with him. “Ser Osfryd is seasoned quite sufficiently,” she had told them, but even that did not shut them up. They yap at me like a pack of small, annoying dogs. (AFFC Cersei V)

"She would have done better to leave the tower and burn her Hand. Harys Swyft? If ever a man deserved his arms, it is Ser Harys. And Gyles Rosby, Seven save us, I thought he died years ago. Merryweather ... your father used to call his grandsire 'the Chuckler,' I'll have you know. Tywin claimed the only thing Merryweather was good for was chuckling at the king's witticisms. His lordship chuckled himself right into exile, as I recall. Cersei has put some bastard on the council too, and a kettle in the Kingsguard. (AFFC Jaime V)

Besides the Kettleblacks (as shown above), Cersei rewards many other people that are rarely, if ever, willing to question her - Harys Swyft, Orton Merryweather, Aurane Waters, Gyles Rosby, Meryn Trant, Qyburn (the only one who doesn't turn his back on Cersei after she falls from power), etc. The only one that disagrees with her decisions regularly is Pycelle, which is why she rebukes him quite a few times throughout AFFC. Also, while Cersei considers Aerys a weak ruler, they both believe that their Hands should be servants that know their place and follow them blindly.

Dany doesn't restrict herself to only listening to the people she agrees with. She welcomes dissent multiple times throughout the books and so, consequently, her council gives voice to multiple groups (from the Unsullied to the freedmen to the former slavers to the Dothraki).

Both alienate and undermine important allies because of disagreements that could have been mended and fears that lead both rulers to perceive these potential allies as enemies

Aerys II:

The growing rift between the king and the King's Hand was also apparent in the matter of appointments. Whereas previously His Grace had always heeded his Hand's counsel, bestowing offices, honors, and inheritances as Lord Tywin recommended, after 270 AC he began to disregard the men put forward by his lordship in favor of his own choices. Many westermen found themselves dismissed from the king's service for no better cause than the suspicion that they might be "Hand's men." In their places, King Aerys appointed his own favorites...but the king's favor had become a chancy thing, his mistrust easy to awaken. Even the Hand's own kin were not exempt from royal displeasure. When Lord Tywin wished to name his brother Ser Tygett Lannister as the Red Keep's master-at-arms, King Aerys gave the post to Ser Willem Darry instead. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Perhaps seeking to gain advantage of His Grace's high spirits, Lord Tywin chose that very night to suggest that it was past time the king's heir wed and produced an heir of his own; he proposed his own daughter, Cersei, as wife for the crown prince. Aerys II rejected this proposal brusquely, informing Lord Tywin that he was a good and valuable servant, yet a servant nonetheless. Nor did His Grace agree to appoint Lord Tywin's son Jaime as squire to Prince Rhaegar; that honor he granted instead to the sons of several of his own favorites, men known to be no friends of House Lannister or the Hand. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Lord Denys, seeing that Aerys's erratic behavior had begun to strain his relations with Lord Tywin, refused to pay the taxes expected of him and instead invited the king to come to Duskendale and hear his petition. It seems most unlikely that King Aerys would ever have considered accepting this invitation...until Lord Tywin advised him to refuse in the strongest possible terms, whereupon the king decided to accept, informing Grand Maester Pycelle and the small council that he meant to settle this matter himself and bring the defiant Darklyn to heel. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Cersei:

Garth the Gross on the small council and his two bastards in the gold cloaks ... do the Tyrells think I will just serve the realm up to them on a gilded platter? The arrogance of it took her breath away.

“Garth has served me well as Lord Seneschal, as he served my father before me,” Tyrell was going on. “Littlefinger had a nose for gold, I grant you, but Garth—”

“My lord,” Cersei broke in, “I fear there has been some misunderstanding. I have asked Lord Gyles Rosby to serve as our new master of coin, and he has done me the honor of accepting.”

Mace gaped at her. “Rosby? That ... cougher? But ... the matter was agreed, Your Grace. Garth is on his way to Oldtown.”

“Best send a raven to Lord Hightower and ask him to make certain your uncle does not take ship. We would hate for Garth to brave an autumn sea for nought.” She smiled pleasantly.

A flush crept up Tyrell’s thick neck. “This ... your lord father assured me ...” (AFFC Cersei II)

Cersei had named her cousin Damion Lannister her castellan for the Rock, and another cousin, Ser Daven Lannister, the Warden of the West. Insolence has its price, Uncle. (AFFC Cersei III)

“I have been remiss. With a realm to rule, a war to fight, and a father to mourn, somehow I overlooked the crucial matter of naming a new master-at-arms. I shall rectify that error at once.”

Ser Loras pushed back a brown curl that had fallen across his forehead. “Your Grace will not find any man half so skilled with sword and lance as I.”

Humble, aren’t we? “Tommen is your king, not your squire. You are to fight for him and die for him, if need be. No more.”

She left him on the drawbridge that spanned the dry moat with its bed of iron spikes and entered Maegor’s Holdfast alone. Where am I to find a master-at-arms? she wondered as she climbed to her apartments. [...]

Aron Santagar was Dornish, Cersei recalled. I could send to Dorne. Centuries of blood and war lay between Sunspear and Highgarden. Yes, a Dornishman might suit my needs admirably. There must be some good swords in Dorne. (AFFC Cersei V)

He had even had the temerity to object to her sending to Dorne for a master-at-arms, on the grounds that it might offend the Tyrells. “Why do you think I’m doing it?” she had asked him scornfully. (AFFC Cersei VI)

“Your Grace, let me take Dragonstone.”

[...] No one had given Cersei such a lovely gift since Sansa Stark had run to her to divulge Lord Eddard’s plans. She was pleased to see that Margaery had gone pale. “Your courage takes my breath away, Ser Loras. [...] Swear to me that you shall not return until Dragonstone is Tommen’s.”

“I shall, Your Grace.” He rose.

[...] Pycelle had to struggle to keep up. “If it please Your Grace,” he puffed, “young men are overbold, and think only of the glory of battle and never of its dangers. Ser Loras ... this plan of his is fraught with peril. To storm the very walls of Dragonstone ...”

“... is very brave. [...] I have no doubt that our Knight of Flowers will be the first man to gain the battlements.” And perhaps the first to fall. (AFFC Cersei VII)

Dany doesn't do this; instead, she makes plenty of concessions to appease her influential allies, from wearing the tokar to marrying Hizdahr by Ghiscari rites if he gives her ninety days of peace to allowing Hizdahr to reopen the fighting pits to accepting a deal between Meereen and Yunkai that allows the latter to reinstall slavery. All of these decisions are ultimately mistakes since they unwittingly prioritize the privileges of the former masters over the rights of the former slaves, but they still show that Dany is capable of making alliances in a way that Aerys II and Cersei aren't due to their black and white thinking.

Both are extravagant rulers who plan grand schemes that are never realized

Aerys II:

His Grace was full of grand schemes as well. Not long after his coronation, he announced his intent to conquer the Stepstones and make them a part of his realm for all time. In 264 AC, a visit to King's Landing by Lord Rickard Stark of Winterfell awakened his interest in the North, and he hatched a plan to build a new Wall a hundred leagues north of the existing one and claim all the lands between. In 265 AC, offended by "the stink of King's Landing," he spoke of building a "white city" entirely of marble on the south bank of the Blackwater Rush. In 267 AC, after a dispute with the Iron Bank of Braavos regarding certain monies borrowed by his father, he announced that he would build the largest war fleet in the history of the world "to bring the Titan to his knees." In 270 AC, during a visit to Sunspear, he told the Princess of Dorne that he would "make the Dornish deserts bloom" by digging a great underground canal beneath the mountains to bring water down from the rainwood.

None of these grandiose plans ever came to fruition; most, indeed, were forgotten within a moon's turn, for Aerys II seemed to grow bored with his royal enthusiasms as quickly as he did his royal paramours. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Cersei:

“Would that we could do the same to the rest of this foul castle,” said Cersei. “After the war I mean to build a new palace beyond the river.” She had dreamed of it the night before last, a magnificent white castle surrounded by woods and gardens, long leagues from the stinks and noise of King’s Landing. “This city is a cesspit. For half a groat I would move the court to Lannisport and rule the realm from Casterly Rock.” (AFFC Cersei III)

A group of merchants appeared before her to beg the throne to intercede for them with the Iron Bank of Braavos. The Braavosi were demanding repayment of their outstanding debts, it seemed, and refusing all new loans. We need our own bank, Cersei decided, the Golden Bank of Lannisport. (AFFC Cersei VIII)

That's not the case with Dany either. Throughout her reign, she only makes reasonable and attainable decisions to improve Meereen's economy, such as planting grapes, beans and wheat, replanting olive trees, making an alliance with the Lhazareen and freeing the slaves of the hinterlands to bring crops to the city.

Both are unpopular with the common people

Aerys II: (note that Tywin himself is unpopular with the smallfolk)

They cheered Father twice as loudly as they cheered the king, the queen recalled, but only half as loudly as they cheered Prince Rhaegar. (AFFC Cersei V)

Cersei:

As she made her way through the ragged throng, past their cookfires, wagons, and crude shelters, the queen found herself remembering another crowd that had once gathered on this plaza. The day she wed Robert Baratheon, thousands had turned out to cheer for them. [...]

No one was smiling now. The looks the sparrows gave her were dull, sullen, hostile. They made way but reluctantly. (AFFC Cersei VI)

Thrice that day she heard the sound of distant shouting drifting up from the plaza, but it was Margaery’s name that the mob was calling, not hers. (AFFC Cersei X)

We have yet to see how the common people in Westeros will view Dany, but she is very popular among freedmen and slaves from all over Essos, so she doesn't fit this either.

Both feel threatened by the shadow of Tywin Lannister

Aerys II:

By this time, King Aerys had become aware of the widespread belief that he himself was but a hollow figurehead and Tywin Lannister the true master of the Seven Kingdoms. These sentiments greatly angered the king, and His Grace became determined to disprove them and to humble his "overmighty servant" and "put him back into his place." (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Cersei:

“Lord Tywin was a great man, an extraordinary man,” he declared ponderously after he had kissed both her cheeks. “We shall never see his like again, I fear.”

You are looking at his like, fool, Cersei thought. It is his daughter standing here before you. (AFFC Cersei II)

She was tired of Jaime balking her. No one had ever balked her lord father. When Tywin Lannister spoke, men obeyed. When Cersei spoke, they felt free to counsel her, to contradict her, even refuse her. (AFFC Cersei V)

This is not a perfect parallel because Cersei alternates between hero-worshiping and drawing inspiration and strength from Tywin to resenting the control he had over her, so much so that she lists her father alongside her enemies and takes pleasure in the fact that he's now dead. Even so, both Aerys II and Cersei feel that they were owed the treatment that people gave Tywin.

This doesn't happen with Dany because she doesn't feel threatened by anyone nor does Tywin play an important role in her story.

Both feel threatened by a younger, more beautiful, more popular would-be king/queen

Aerys II:

The cheers of the crowd were said to be deafening, but King Aerys did not join them. Far from being proud and pleased by his heir's skill at arms, His Grace saw it as a threat. Lords Chelsted and Staunton inflamed his suspicions further, declaring that Prince Rhaegar had entered the lists to curry favor with the commons and remind the assembled lords that he was a puissant warrior, a true heir to Aegon the Conqueror. (TWOIAF The Fall of the Dragons: The Year of the False Spring)

The lickspittle lords who surrounded Aerys II had gained much and more from the king's madness and eagerly seized upon any opportunity to speak ill of Prince Rhaegar and inflame the father's suspicions of the son. (TWOIAF The Fall of the Dragons: The Year of the False Spring)

Meanwhile, King Aerys was becoming ever more estranged from his own son and heir. Early in the year 279 AC, Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, was formally betrothed to Princess Elia Martell, the delicate young sister of Doran Martell, Prince of Dorne. They were wed the following year, in a lavish ceremony at the Great Sept of Baelor in King's Landing, but Aerys II did not attend. He told the small council that he feared an attempt upon his life if he left the confines of the Red Keep, even with his Kingsguard to protect him. Nor would he allow his younger son, Viserys, to attend his brother's wedding. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

The memory was still bitter. Old Lord Whent had announced the tourney shortly after a visit from his brother, Ser Oswell Whent of the Kingsguard. With Varys whispering in his ear, King Aerys became convinced that his son was conspiring to depose him, that Whent's tourney was but a ploy to give Rhaegar a pretext for meeting with as many great lords as could be brought together. Aerys had not set foot outside the Red Keep since Duskendale, yet suddenly he announced that he would accompany Prince Rhaegar to Harrenhal, and everything had gone awry from there. (ADWD The Kingbreaker)

Cersei:

Her mood was not improved when Mace Tyrell arose to lead the toasts. He raised a golden goblet high, smiling at his pretty little daughter, and in a booming voice said, “To the king and queen!” The other sheep all baaaaaaed along with him. “The king and queen!” they cried, smashing their cups together. “The king and queen!” She had no choice but to drink along with them, all the time wishing that the guests had but a single face, so she could throw her wine into their eyes and remind them that she was the true queen. (AFFC Cersei III)

“Your Grace, she ... she is the queen ...”

“I am the queen. (AFFC Cersei IX)

It was a pity that Maggy the Frog was dead. Piss on your prophecy, old woman. The little queen may be younger than I, but she has never been more beautiful, and soon she will be dead. (AFFC Cersei IX)

Cersei's case is more justified in that she believes that, by defeating the YMBQ, she'll also prevent her children from dying and the valonqar from killing her.

This doesn't happen with Dany.

Both lost a child (children, in Aerys’s case) and fear for the safety of their remaining child (children, in Cersei’s case) to the point that these concerns become intertwined with their fears that someone is out to get them

Aerys II:

Cersei:

I am dreaming still, Cersei thought. I have not woken, nor has my nightmare ended. Tyrion will creep out from under the bed soon and begin to laugh at me.

[...] A dream, that’s all it was, a dream. I drank too much last night, these fears are only humors born of wine. I will be the one laughing, come dusk. My children will be safe, Tommen’s throne will be secure, and my twisted little valonqar will be short a head and rotting. (AFFC Cersei I)

Cersei had a sudden vision of the dwarf crawling out from behind a tapestry in Tommen’s bedchamber with blade in hand. Tommen is well guarded, she told herself. But Lord Tywin had been well guarded too. (AFFC Cersei I)

The younger queen whose coming she’d foretold was finished, and if that prophecy could fail, so could the rest. No golden shrouds, no valonqar, I am free of your croaking malice at last. (AFFC Cersei X)

Like in the previous parallel, Cersei's bad reactions are more justified due to the fact that prophecies come true in her world and due to her understandable sense of self-preservation.

This doesn't happen with Dany.

Both had unhappy marriages and believed that their spouses weren’t the right ones for them

Aerys II:

What Tywin Lannister made of this is not recorded, but in 266 AC, at Casterly Rock, Lady Joanna gave birth to a pair of twins, a girl and a boy, "healthy and beautiful, with hair like beaten gold." This birth only exacerbated the tension between Aerys II Targaryen and his Hand. "I appear to have married the wrong woman," His Grace was reported to have said, when informed of the happy event. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Cersei:

“...Your father will find another man for you, a better man than Rhaegar.”

Her aunt had lied, though, and her father had failed her, just as Jaime was failing her now. Father found no better man. Instead he gave me Robert, and Maggy’s curse bloomed like some poisonous flower. If she had only married Rhaegar as the gods intended, he would never have looked twice at the wolf girl. Rhaegar would be our king today and I would be his queen, the mother of his sons.

She had never forgiven Robert for killing him. (AFFC Cersei V)

The major difference in this parallel, of course, is that Aerys raped his wife and Cersei was raped by her husband.

This doesn't happen with Dany.

Comparisons in the text between Aerys II and Cersei

"Let all of King's Landing see the flames. It will be a lesson to our enemies."

"Now you sound like Aerys."

Her nostrils flared. "Guard your tongue, ser." (AFFC Cersei III)

The sight had filled him with disquiet, reminding him of Aerys Targaryen and the way a burning would arouse him. (AFFC Jaime II)

"Westeros is torn and bleeding, and I do not doubt that even now my sweet sister is binding up the wounds … with salt. Cersei is as gentle as King Maegor, as selfless as Aegon the Unworthy, as wise as Mad Aerys. She never forgets a slight, real or imagined. She takes caution for cowardice and dissent for defiance. And she is greedy. Greedy for power, for honor, for love. Tommen's rule is bolstered by all of the alliances that my lord father built so carefully, but soon enough she will destroy them, every one.” (ADWD Tyrion VI)

Again, as I said above, the comparisons between Cersei and Aerys II come from two of the people who have known Cersei the longest (Jaime, Tyrion).

Meanwhile, Dany is only called the Mad King’s daughter by her enemies (the slavers and Mace Tyrell). The characters who actually know her and the characters who have nothing to gain by defaming her (Barristan, Tyrion, Illyrio, Quentyn) reiterate that she’s nothing like him.

#aerys ii targaryen #cersei lannister #daenerys targaryen #asoiaf meta

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write-r-die · 3 years

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Prisoner - Part 17

March 1067, Norman Conquest of England

Masterlist

A/N: Drama!!

gif from demivampirew

For the first time in a long time, Thomasin felt safe.

Henry made her promise never to remove the pendant he gave her. It seemed terribly important to him, though Thomasin didn’t know why. Still, she agreed without question.

Henry never did shout at her. He didn’t like being angry, especially with someone he loved. Instead, he sat his wife down like a child and looked very deeply into her grey eyes while simply telling her she would never disobey him again, nor would she disagree with him in public. She was welcome to shout and scream and call him all sorts of names when they were alone together, but their situation was precarious. They had to present a united front so no one – just Lawrence, really – would think to pit them against each other.

Lawrence, though, seemed the same as ever. Maybe even scarier. He always had that awful grin on his face. He never got red; that’s what really worried both Henry and Tom. He was too calm, too self-assured. He planned out what he would do to them; now they were stuck in fear until he decided to act. It had only been a week since the wedding, and there was no telling how long Lawrence would wait. But he wasn’t a patient man.

Henry didn’t let Thomasin see his fear over Lawrence’s retribution. Since the wedding, she’d become all soft and willing. He thought she showed something akin to vulnerability. When they were alone, she would sit on his lap or press herself right against his side. They needed to be touching when they went to sleep, either with Henry spooning against her back or Thomasin lounging across his chest. She demanded his attention and affection. Henry obliged her, even going beyond. He’d kiss her in public when he thought no one was looking. She didn’t even mind.

He met her vulnerability with steady confidence. He’d sworn to look after her more times than he could count, and now that she was finally allowing it, he didn’t want to show any weakness. That was what husbands did for their wives – they remained strong and sure.

Henry asked a baron sailing back to Normandy to deliver the message to his family that he was wed; he was quite sure his mother would cry upon hearing the news.

“Should we send someone to tell your family?” he asked that night as he and Tom lay in the dark together. He was pressed tightly against Thomasin’s back. She used one of his arms as a pillow, and his free hand roamed over her body.

“I haven’t got a family,” Thomasin replied.

Henry nuzzled her rosy gold hair. “Yes, you do.” He kissed the back of her neck and sighed into her hair. “And you’ll never be rid of me.”

When the king finally summoned Henry, it wasn’t to chastise him. If he did mean to shout at Henry, it was low on his list of things to do. Henry found himself in something of a war council among other barons and knights of high praise.

“It is time to execute the Saxons,” William announced. “I’ve kept them alive for too long. It will embolden other rebels to attack if they believe I won’t kill them.”

“The rebels are all but gone,” a middle-aged baron said. “Even that young baron from the north has disappeared.” He looked at Henry from the corner of his eye; everyone knew he was referring to Hammond.

“Permanent imprisonment is not much better than death,” another put in.

“All the same,” said the king. “The surviving Saxon prisoners will be put to death by hanging this afternoon. I expect you all to bear witness.”

“What about our wives?” a knight asked. Henry was grateful someone other than him asked the question. “Should they attend?”

William shook his head. “Tis no sight for a woman’s eyes.” He took a deep breath before declaring, “It is warm enough now to travel. We will hunt down the other rebels. If we cannot capture or kill them, we will at least run them out of England and keep them in exile for the rest of their lives.”

The men started shuffling out, murmuring to each other about the Saxon threat. Henry lagged behind the crowd, too lost in his thoughts to keep a fast pace. He was so distracted that he didn’t even notice when Lawrence sidled up beside him.

Lawrence made a sound like a sigh. “I do hope poor Tom won’t be too broken up over Cerdic’s execution.”

Henry felt like he had the wind knocked out of him. How did he find out about Thomasin’s relationship with Cerdic? How much did he know about it? What execution? Was that why the barons and knights were gathering?

But the true source of his fury was the fact that Lawrence had referred to his wife as Tom.

Lawrence looked at Henry from the corner of his eye. “Are you broken up, dear Henry?”

He turned his gaze to the other man, a savage look in his eyes. “You will never speak my wife’s name again. Do you understand me?”

Lawrence bowed his head in mock apology before moving along.

Henry paused in a nook in the corridor and ran his hand over his face. Damn.

Coming to England was like stepping in dog shit that one could never quite wipe away. Meeting Thomasin was like stepping in dog shit. One bad thing followed another like a cloying stink with that poor girl.

No, Henry realized. Thomasin meeting him when the troubles started.

***

Thomasin was grateful that Henry had been able to spend both his days and his nights with her. She knew it could not last forever, but she was sad all the same when he was called away, no doubt to discuss matters of war.

Now she would have to spend her days embroidering with other ladies or pursuing some other womanly hobby. She was never terribly good at that, though. At one point, her governess simply gave up trying to make Thomasin a proper lady. Her father let her have free reign of the estate so long as someone was always nearby and she returned to the keep by dark.

She imagined having a similar arrangement with Henry, but they first needed an estate of their own. Everyone assumed the king would give them the estate Thomasin grew up in, but she secretly hoped he would not. It would be haunted, at least for her, and she was sure she would never feel comfortable there. It wasn’t her home anymore. Just another conquered fortress.

The couple spoke a little of returning to Normandy so Tom could meet Henry’s family and there were some vague mentions of estates near his brothers that might be suitable for their needs, but they hadn’t had a real conversation about it. What they wanted didn’t matter; William would likely keep Henry in England to fight his endless war against Thomasin’s way of life. Maybe they would be dismissed in a few years when things were calmer.

She would have to figure out how to spend her days. Her only true friend at court was Elaine, but the healer was often busy during the day. Thomasin accompanied her on a meeting with an elderly baroness with a horrifying rash; she would never do so again.

She was returning from a brisk walk when she nearly crashed into her husband and his friends on their way out.

“Henry!” Thomasin bounced forward and grabbed onto his hand. She waited for him to kiss her while Charlie and Roger were pretending not to look. She knew something was wrong when he didn’t. “Are you well?”

Henry’s expression was as hard as it had been the day Thomasin tried to escape from him. She resisted the urge to step back. “Thomasin, go back to our rooms. Wait for me there.”

His clear agitation alarmed her; she spoke as calmly as she could. “Is something amiss?”

“Do as I say. I’ll be along soon.” He turned to Kal. “You go with her.”

Something must be truly wrong if Henry was willing to part with his shadow, even for an hour or two. Thomasin’s eyes flickered to Charlie for some hint of what was happening, but his expression was as stony as ever. Roger hadn’t stopped when Thomasin intercepted them so she could not look to him for clues.

She glanced at Henry one more time. He didn’t look all right. She wanted an explanation here and now, but she remembered her promise not to disobey him in public. Staying and demanding something from him would certainly count as disobedience. “Of course,” Thomasin said, forcing a mild tone of voice. She gave a shallow curtsey.

She was chattering to Kal as they walked up a tight staircase when she heard a ruckus outside. There were no windows in the stairwell, only thin slats from which archers inside the castle could shoot at enemy soldiers in case of an attack, but they would do.

Thomasin rocked up on her tiptoes to peer through one of them. There was a large cluster of men spread out across the field. They stood in clumps of three or four, talking among themselves as a handful of servants erected some makeshift structure she couldn’t quite make out. Perhaps if she had something to stand on, she would be able to see more clearly . . .

Kal made a grumbling sound.

“I don’t mean to ignore you, Kal,” Thomasin said. “I just want to see what’s going on.”

She never thought it unusual for one to speak to one’s pets, and Henry regularly held complex conversations with the bear, so she wasn’t embarrassed to talk to him in public as other women might be.

Thomasin pushed up a little further and caught a glimpse of fresh scaffolding, then of a handful of shackled men making their way over to it. The Saxon prisoners were finally being executed, then. Thomasin couldn’t blame Henry for not telling her. He was only trying to protect her.

She was about to turn away when she glimpsed a familiar silhouette and an even more familiar red beard. She squinted into the fading light as the hangman put a rope around the Saxon’s thick neck.

She hated that neck. She once joked to Justina that she’d like to strangle him, but his neck was as sturdy as a thick branch on a tree. She’d only tire herself out trying to kill him.

Cerdic.

Thomasin was so shocked and upset that she pushed away from the window too hard and fell backwards; Kal softened her fall somewhat.

For a moment she couldn’t move or even draw in a lungful of air. Kal was breathing in right in her face, but she didn’t care. She felt removed from somehow, as if she weren’t truly in her body.

Cerdic was a ridiculous oaf, but she’d known him all her life. She’d cared for him not as a lover or brother or even a friend, but in the way a woman was expected to care for her husband-to-be. And he was all that was left of her life before.

It was easier when she thought he was dead, that he’d died in the fray along with most of the other Saxon men. She’d grieved him in her own strange way and put his memory behind her, but now everything swelled up again and tightened her throat.

This was the last straw. She was strong but she wasn't made of ice. There was only so much someone could endure before they broke.

And Thomasin truly did break.

She ran to her rooms barely holding back tears. Her throat was sore with the effort of holding in sobs and her hands were shaking so hard that she almost couldn’t open the latch on the door to the antechamber.

She barely made it through the antechamber and into the bedroom before she fell apart. She slammed the bedroom door before Kal could follow and fell forward on her hands and knees into the rushes scattered on the floor; she couldn’t hold herself together a moment longer, not even long enough to reach the bed. She began to weep so hard that she could barely breathe. She made choked, ugly sobbing sounds she couldn’t control that shook her shoulders as snot and tears ran down her face.

Kal whined and scratched at the door, desperate to comfort his mother.

Thomasin kicked the door hard enough to shake the hinges. “Go away!” she shrieked. Her throat was already raw.

She was too tired to move anymore, even to get into bed. She fell to her side and curled in on herself, shivering like a dog left outside in a storm, still whimpering and gasping for breath.

***

Henry stood with Charlie and Roger as they waited for the executions to begin.

“You look unwell,” Henry remarked to his brother-by-law.

Roger heaved a sigh. “It’s always said when something beautiful dies.”

“What, the men?” Charlie asked.

Roger turned to face his friends. “Their lives. Their spirits.” Their physical forms, too, of course.

“That’s the nature of conquest,” Charlie said. “The old ways must end for the new ones to begin. If people cannot accept change . . .” He shrugged.

“I do not like the end part. You must feel some grief on behalf of Thomasin, Henry,” Roger said. “I cannot imagine. . .” he trailed off.

“I didn’t tell her,” Henry said.

“She’ll find out,” Charlie said neutrally. He still didn’t like Thomasin by any stretch of the imagination, but he was coming to accept her. “Assuming she hasn’t already.”

Henry knew that, knew it would be better to tell her himself. He just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“I know,” he said.

***

Cerdic had no last words – or if he did, Henry didn’t hear them.

The men were strung up all at once, the nooses looped around their necks and the wooden bench kicked out from under them. A crueler king might have removed their heads one by one to heighten their fear, but William just wanted the business done with. He’d likely cut their heads off afterwards to mount on spikes near the city gates, though.

Henry left the first moment he could. Thomasin was probably fuming quietly in their room, probably repeatedly stabbing herself in the finger as she furiously embroidered something or other. He hoped so.

Charlie was right: Thomasin had probably found out about the executions somehow. He prayed that she didn’t know Cerdic was among the dead. He wasn’t sure what reaction to expect.

He tried to enter the antechamber quietly, but the room was deathly silent; every small sound he made seemed to echo. The first thing he saw was Kal stretched out in front of the door that led to the bedroom, his chin resting on top of his paws. He looked downright pensive.

“Kal.”

The dog leapt to attention as Henry knelt to scratch his ear.

“Good boy,” Henry murmured.

Kal whined, trying to communicate that something was wrong with Thomasin. He’d been guarding her as best as he could, but she wouldn’t let him into the bedroom.

Henry scratched Kal one more time before steeling himself. He opened the bedroom door. His wife lay on her side on the floor, still sniffling and hiccupping from weeping.

“Tom?” he knelt on the ground beside her.

She moved her head the slightest bit to look up at him with bloodshot eyes. “You knew that Cerdic was here. That he was alive.” She was too exhausted to inject an accusatory tone into her raspy voice.

Henry took a deep breath. A lock of her rosy golden hair had gotten free of its braid; he gently tucked it behind her ear. “Yes.”

Her chin quivered as her eyes filled with tears. She shut them and turned away. “It was easier when . . .”

“I know.”

Her chin still moved. “I wish William had never come to England,” she said, voice high and tight. “I wish I’d never laid eyes on a Norman.”

Henry took a deep breath. “Tom, you can’t blame every Norm –”

“Yes I can!” She shouted, jumping to her feet. Henry stood, too. On the other side of the door, Kal whimpered. “It’s your fault! You came here and you took what wasn't yours and you killed the men and raped the women. My country is dead!” Her voice cracked. “I have nothing left! You took everything from me!”

Henry’s voice was low but strong. “You have me.”

“I don’t want you!” she shouted. Her words cut Henry like the blade of a knife. “You or your bastard king and your merciless countrymen! I wish I’d never met you! I – I –”

I want to go home.

“Enough, Tom,” said Henry. “You’ll give yourself a fit.” Thomasin reached for the back of her neck; Henry caught her hands in his and stopped her before she even touched the necklace’s clasp. “Don’t,” he said softly.

Thomasin shoved away from him so hard she nearly fell backwards. Henry, who had the build of a stone wall, hardly budged. That made her so furious that she slapped him – tried to, anyway. Henry caught her wrist in his hand and used it to tug her close.

“Let go!” she shouted. “Henry, let me go!”

But he held her to his chest and would not unlock his grip. She kept shoving and hitting him until he finally released her – only to capture her again.

Somehow, she was suddenly lying back on the bed, her wrists firmly locked in Henry’s grasp as he pinned them above her head. He hovered over her on his knees, locking her legs between his strong thighs to make sure she didn’t try to kick him in her anger.

“Thomasin, enough!” he shouted.

Exhausted, she finally gave up the fight. She sank limp against the bed and started to weep.

She’d never cried in front of him before, Henry thought. He wasn’t even sure if she cried when she was wounded on the road. There were tears in her eyes on their wedding night and the day she tried to escape from him in the forest, but he didn’t think they ever spilled over.

He couldn’t stand to watch but he couldn’t look away. Thomasin needed him now. She was in mourning – for her father, her former betrothed, her relationships with her siblings, her country. She was mourning her own life, too, and what it might have been if William had never come.

“I hate you,” Thomasin whimpered through her tears.

“No, you don’t.” Her husband’s voice was tired but kind as he released her wrists and climbed off of her.

Her eyes were already shut; her outburst at Henry and fit of emotion after seeing Cerdic hanged drained her of all energy and she was on the very edge of sleep. “I hate you, Henry,” she insisted weakly.

Henry knew she wasn’t sincere, that she was just speaking out of anger, but the words still stung him all the same.

It wouldn’t hurt him at all if she’d just say out loud that she loved him. He only needed to hear it once. None of her accusations or insults would bother him if he knew beyond a doubt that she loved him even half as much as he loved her. With those words, he’d be invincible.

But she didn’t say it. Maybe she never would. She loved him, Henry was sure of it, but she was too proud to admit it.

Tom’s tears had slowed and turned from sobs to sniffles to deep, loud breathing.

Henry stayed beside her in bed, both of them still fully dressed, and soon drifted off. She turned to him in her sleep, unconsciously taking her rightful place in his arms and against his chest. Henry didn’t wake; his body knew instinctively to put his arms around her.

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deberiaestarescribiendo · 3 years

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Honor him. Younger Mercenary Oberyn Martell x f!reader fanfic. #Writer Wednesday 05/26/2021

Summary: You receive the worst news, Oberyn Martell died, your first lover and the first adventure you lived.

Once when you were younger you ran away from your house escaping an unhappy engagement and the promise of a dull life. But your family hired an elite force of mercenaries to find you not knowing that their leader is a Prince of Dorne.

Word count: 6,5k (ups sorry)

Warning: Blood, violence, Oberyn’s death is mentioned as canon in the book and show, Ophidiophobia(fear of snakes), unhappy arranged marriage, alcohol. +18 SMUT (it means no minors, pls) virgen f!reader, oral sex (f¡ receiving descriptive, male receiving mentioned) p in v sex (unprotected cos there’s no durex in Essos BUT USE PROTECTION IN REAL LIFE PEOPLE) grieving.

A/N: I'M SORRY I'M LATE this is for #Writer Wednesday, the challenge created by @autumnleaves1991-blog

I read the books a long time ago, yep, I’m one of those people that said “I’ll finish them when George publish them all” so I got ASOIAF wiki and run with it, so buckle up for some bad geography from Essos and inaccurate cultural stuff. I think this is the longest thing I’ve written and the smuttiest, so sorry if it’s cringy.

Honor him

“Apparently he won the combat but the wounds were too severe and he died”

You raise your eyes from the book. One of the young servants whispers to another collecting the dead leaves on the ground.

“What is it?”

They rise from the ground nervously expecting that you will scold them for gossiping

“We heard the news from the world. A bard was chanting them on the market, my lady” she approaches the fountain; you’re seated on the ceramic tile, feet inside the water, refreshing from the blazing sun in this part of Essos.

“And what did he say?”

“He said there was a trial in Kingslanding. For the death of king Joffrey, and it was his cousin...”

“His uncle, the imp” clarifies the other and the other girl rolls her eyes

“Yes, his uncle was on trial for his murder. And Prince Oberyn from Dorne was his champion”

“The imp asked for a trial by combat, you see, my lady” adds the other

“He battled the Mountain; he crushed the prince’s skull apparently”

“But! but! His blade had poison on it so the Mountain died too” says the other girl excitedly

“Oberyn died?” you mutter, your hands are limp and you don’t realize that you have drop your book until you hear the “blop” sound in the water and it splashed your tunic

Your mind travels to years past in an instant: A journey through the vast empty lands of this continent and how you loved for the first time.

The pages of your book are getting more and more transparent while the black trickles of ink disappear in the water. You wish to scream, to rip your clothes and your hair out of your scalp but you do nothing.

“Are you alright, my lady?” the girls look at each other when you don’t move or try to retrieve your book from the water.

You always thought the greatest pain he gave you was leaving you at your father’s door many years ago, but now he’s gone forever. You always thought, while looking from your window at night, that you will see him one day, coming back on his dark horse ready to steal you away again, but now that he’s dead that small hope, that tiny flame that you kept in your heart is gone.

Your childish hopes and dreams of reviving your first love are shattered. It’s true that your life has changed, you’re a grown woman now, wiser and experience but you still fantasize over him, seeing his face and his hands on your lovers.

“We should call physician” you heard them whisper, but so far away

“Where is he anyway?”

“At his clinic, you silly girl, run”

“You do not need to call him” you mutter “I’m fine. Excuse me”

Not caring for splashing water all over the house, you run to your chambers and collapse into your bed. Buried in the soft pillows, you cried, muffling your howls with them so nobody could hear. Late in the night the moon and stars shine bright casting bluish shadows in your room.

Your body is tired but restless and in the night shade a timid ray of white light illuminates that small scar in your forearm in the shape of a half-moon. And you kiss it, at least you will always have something of his carved in your skin.

Many years ago. Essos.

“You’re cheating, boy” the big man slams the table, the wooden pieces and the coins that all the players have laid at the center fall down. He points at you spitting from a mouth full of crooked black teeth “Show me your arms, boy, I know you’re lying”

“I’m just lucky, sir” you raise your blouse’s sleeves and your arms up innocently and somehow it makes him angrier

He insults you in whatever language he speaks and slams the table up, the players run and the loud tavern suddenly gets quite, waiting for the next movement. You’re an ant in front of that enormous giant, when he stands tall and walks menacingly towards you, you freeze, he doesn’t listen to you when you apologize, it doesn’t matter anyway, you just did to gain time and look for an exit but the room is too crowded.

“Here, boy, I’ve also many tricks under my sleeve” he has a dirty bag hanging from his belt and takes it and throws it at you. It lands at your feet and for a second you smirk not knowing what a bag could do to you, but then it moves and in a blur you see a green and yellow thing twisting until you feel it pressing and slithering over your body. The snake, a beautiful, shiny creature with vibrant colors faces you hissing and shows its fangs. Everything happens to fast. Out of instinct you protect your face with your arms and the animal understands this as a threat and it bites. The pain rings like a bell all over your body every nerve in your body aflame.

In a second, cold blood wets your face and you gasp when you see the snake’s head slide to the side separated from its body with a clean cut.

“I’m sorry for the demise of your little friend” A tall lean man stands beside the giant. You can’t see his face, since he’s covered with black turban and his body is in full armor. One of his arms still holds a curved sword that has snake blood on it; the other has a dagger pointed to your enemy’s neck.

“That viper was worth more than you or your little friend and you will pay for it”

“I doubt it. You know my little friend here” and he points his sword to you “it’s worth a lot and if I don’t tend to her wound rapidly she will die and that’s a shame. So, decide now, do you want to be a setback or do you want to keep living your stinky life longer?”

By brute force, the giant decides his fate and tries to disarm the man who in a swift movement cuts his throat and his blood and destiny joints that of his pet.

“You’ve been quite difficult to find, child” he opens the fabric covering his face. His eyes are dark, dark beard covers his defined jaw line and an amused smirk graces his handsome face. “Let me see that arm” he lowers his weapons, shamelessly cleaning his dagger on the back of the dead tall man and walks to you until your back is pressed against one of the tavern columns. Sheathing his sword, his hand takes yours and raises your arm, evaluating the wound and he hums deeply “Oh, sweet child”

“Am I going to die?” you cry

“Probably”

“If it’s my father who commands you to find me, I beg you to let me die; I do not wish to go back. Death is better than that dreadful place” you shake your head determined but terrified at the same time. He looks at you with his brow troubled

“Death is never better than anything” and he drags your arm to his face. His dark gaze fix on you while he sucks on the wound so hard that for a moment you think he’s drinking your life away. But then he lets you go and spits to the ground “Let’s hope that’s enough. You will come with me so I can give you the antidote”

“I told you, I have no desire to return to my home”

“It’s a pity, then, that I don’t care about that” he grins.

He gave you so many small jars to drink. Some tasted sweet some bitter and some other made you want to vomit and not drink or eat ever again. But you’re alive. A few hours passed, and then a day, then two, and you’re irrevocably getting back home.

You’ve learnt that your father, in an attempt to find you, has commissioned this elite group of mercenaries to retrieve you; and he’s the leader. It’s a small company but that doesn’t make them any less dangerous. All of them seemed to have many different skills, weapons hidden at every corner of their body, they speak languages you don’t know and you ride your horse tied to it watching each one of them with a suspicious look. After two days riding with them you have decided that there’s no way you could escape now. There’s always one of them standing guard and just a small glare your way gets every thought of escaping out of your head. So, even if it’s dramatic, you decided that your best option is to die. A few days in the desert without water and food and your father will receive a corpse.

“Drink, little girl, you’re withering like a flower” the leader, the man that saved you, says handing you the waterskin

“No, thank you” you turn your head, seated under the shadow of a very thin and dry bush. The orange and violet light announces the immanent sunset where you have stopped for the day.

“You’ve been refusing water all day. You have to drink” he says and pushes the waterskin to your face once more.

“No, thank you” you repeat and he sighs. Thinking you’ve won as he throws the waterskin by his side, you smile subtly until he’s close, crouched down, knees over the sand, looking at you.

“Maybe being a spoiled little flower works for your father, but not to me. Drink or I will make you” He takes your chin and raises it to meet his eyes

“I’m not thirsty” you say, your lips are already dry and they hurt, your tongue is thick inside your mouth and your body screams for just one drop.

“Don’t challenge me, child” he lowers his voice and you gulp

“I’m not a child” you protest, he keeps calling you that and honestly you don’t think he’s much older that you

“Then why do you behave like one? Drink, for the last time” His mouth is a fine line now and his grip on your chin is a little bit firmer

When you don’t answer he opens the waterskin and tucking on your lower lip he pours a small trickle of water in your mouth. The liquid taste sweet, your body works on it own and you open your mouth to drink more with desperation.

“So you weren’t thirsty...stubborn girl” he smirks and you want to slap his smug and beautiful face

He stops pouring water and laughs when you rise up drinking the last drops before he puts the cap on it.

“Look at you, not a withering flower anymore” the mercenary brushes his knuckles over you cheek and you feel them burn “What else do you want?” his thumb caress your chin gathering the small drops of water on your skin and spreads it over your lower lip.

You feel your bones burning, a tension in your lower belly that you haven’t feel many times and that makes you ask for something you don’t even know, so you just answer a timid yes and let him guide you to the fire and the rest of the company.

One of the mercenary is skinning some rabbits, methodically pulling the skin off with blood hands and a deathly gaze fix on you “So she decided to join us” she says

“Oberyn can be really persuasive” another, a big bald man with a beard tinted in blue, adds

So his name is Oberyn, where have you heard that name before?

“Remember that her father is paying for the whole of her, untouched he said” a lean blonde woman, with her face full of black and blue tattoos, is lounged over the bags sharpening her knives

“Well, I hope he doesn’t see her arm, that viper left her with a beautiful scar” Oberyn sits down and helps the mercenary skinning the animals and impales them and puts them to roast on the fire

“I’m not talking about that kind of viper...” she says and the company laughs

“I’m right here” they stop laughing looking at you as if you have done something they deem impossible

“So she speaks” the bearded man says

“She does but it may take some convincing” Oberyn smiles at you over the flames that illuminate his striking and sharp features “If you wish to eat, sweet flower, why don’t tell us how did you escape? We love a good story while we camp”

“Your father was convinced some ragged boy had stole you from your palace” adds the blonde woman

You smile, feeling some kind of pride for your plan, that, looking at it from perspective, did not grant you what you wanted but at least you had a good run. You tell them about how you disguised as a ragged boy lurking a few nights prior your escape so that the servants suspected about somebody being guilty of your disappearing. And how you ran away the night of your betrothal and made it look as if somebody had kidnapped you.

“I ran out of money in Lys so I had to beg, or steal, or gamble for a few coins. And then you found me” you finish your tale, sucking on your fingers, the meat is the best you ever tasted but yet again it must be the hunger from this days refusing to eat or drink.

“I’m almost tempted to let you go, young one, you seem a very resourceful girl” the beard man that you now know as Uhlan smiles at you proudly

“Think about the money” the blonde woman, Rikan, chew on a bone and toss it to the fire

“I’m always thinking about it, why do you think I’m a sellsword?” he jests

“Because you were a street rat with a broad back as broad as your stupidity and it’s the only thing you can do” Rikan spits and Uhlan laughs, a deep and low chuckle that resonates as a thunder.

“She’s a little princess, she couldn’t have survived much longer” the other woman, Shifa adds, the rest of the company has changed the way they look at you, but her. She still squints at you

“There’re princes that have survived worse” Uhlan counters and suddenly there’s a heavy and uncomfortable silence over them. You look at all of them trying to understand and you see Oberyn looking at his feet until he claps his hands together “Let’s get some sleep, we have a long way ahead”

It’s surprising what food, water and company can achieve. You’re smiling more, you almost forget that you will be delivered to your father and future husband within days, Uhlan tells you about his many adventures, how he almost die in Yiti, how he rode once with a Khalassar and that he had seen the great shadow in the East. Rikan has gifted you a knife “a girl needs to defend herself” she said and proceed to show you how to kill a man in many different ways “If you want to kill your husband though, you must ask Oberyn, he’s the one that knows about poisons and how to kill somebody without raising suspicions”

“How does he know that?” you ask, leaning to the right so you get close to her horse, Oberyn rides beside Shifa before you; both of them speaking in a language you don’t understand

“He has studied many things; he’s been all over the world. He was almost a Maester once, but preferred to travel, fight and fuck the world before he gets back to his duties”

“Duties?”

“He’s a prince” she whispers a mischievous smile on her lips “he doesn’t want to talk about it, because it makes people treat him differently or underestimate him. So don’t tell him it was me, blame the big rat”

“Did somebody call me?” Uhlan screams at the back

“You do have a sharp ear when you want, my friend”

You arrive to Myr at dusk. The city is still vibrating, the merchants offering everything you could imagine and the streets smell like thousands spices. And you absorb it all with wide eyes and open mouth.

“It’s a beautiful world, my sweet flower, and you wanted to end your life” Oberyn raises his voice over the people chatting and selling stuff

“If only it could always be like this” you answer, your smile dies in your mouth remembering this is a passing thing. The adventure will be over soon.

“Life gives us many opportunities to dwell in its pleasures; you have only to acquire a keen eye to recognize the perfect moment to seize it”

“Are you implying that I will have another chance to escape?” you scoff

“Maybe...if that is what you want or maybe to enjoy your life as a married woman, who knows”

You sigh deeply trying to ignore the thoughts about your future husband, that drunken bastard, boring and dull that your father chose.

“Or you could run away and avoid your responsibilities; you can create your own destiny, my sweet flower”

“And that’s what you are doing? Avoiding your duties?” you stop in your tracks and he watches you for a moment, chewing on his lower lip

“Maybe” he answers finally

“I’m tired of being treated as if I was overreacting being a spoiled child while you are here doing exactly what I did, ran away, from the duties of a noble life. I’m not overreacting; all I want is to decide if I want to live my life bearing children for my fool husband and maybe die giving birth or out of boredom and disappointment or try my luck in the wild world. Isn’t that what you are doing? Travel, fight and fuck the world? What’s the difference between me and you?” The people surround you, the company has already enter the tavern in front of you knowing they shouldn’t meddle

“Travel, fight and fuck the world seem a pretty good title for a book. Maybe when I’m old I will write my adventures under that title” he laughs

“I’m glad I amuse you” you spat with your arms crossed

“I apologize if I made you feel that I was underestimating you. Do not confuse my laughter with mockery, I know how you feel and I understand.” He comes close to you, each hand on your arms, pressing them lightly “Believe me, I wouldn’t have accepted this job if your father didn’t pay so well. I have to get back home and I want to leave my company with enough resources so they can continue on their own” he explains, he bends his neck so you are so close you can smell his scent, leather, horse and the dessert. “But that doesn’t mean we cannot enjoy ourselves while it lasts” Oberyn smiles and passes his arm over your shoulders “Have you tasted the wine from Myr?” you shake your head “It’s the sweetest”

The wine is starting to play with your mind, your smile falls languidly over the corner of your lips and you don’t know why you��re laughing but whatever song Uhlan is singing is the funniest thing you’ve heard. Rikan laughs by your side, her laugh is actually sweet and high making her look less menacing. Shifa is the only one that doesn’t look amused at all and he drinks from her goblet eyeing the tavern, especially you, with hatred.

“C’mon, Shifa, we know you can smile” Uhlan grabs her in a bear hug but she squeezes herself out of it

“Let me alone, you brute”

“You haven’t talked much since we retrieve the little girl over here, tell us what’s going on in that little twisted mind of yours?” the man jokes and the other mercenary glares at him

“I’m going to my chamber” She drinks the rest of her drink and strides to the rooms, pushing the drunken people in her way

“Leave her, Uhlan! She’s just jealous that her prince is not directing his attentions only to her lately” Rikan says winking at you

Oberyn has been absent having a conversation in another table until he comes back with a serious expression

“I’m partially offended that you think our company it’s not worth your time” Uhlan says sliding to give him enough space to seat by his side

“Huh, so I guess Shifa is not the only one jealous” Rikan drinks looking at him over her goblet

“Shut up!”

“Where is she?” Oberyn asks

“She went to her chamber” Uhlan serves him wine “So what was about those ugly bastards that got your attention; I thought you had a very refined taste”

“Those are Westerosi men; I wanted to get news of the world. Some of us still appreciate the pursuit of knowledge, my friend” Oberyn taps on his big shoulder

“I appreciate the pursuit of a good fuck better, my friend. Let’s see if those Westerosi want to share some news with me, Rikan are you coming? I’m always lucky with you around”

“I don’t like Westerosi” she snarls

“I don’t care, I just need you to be there so they take a good look at your ugly face and they get convinced that fucking with me is the good option of the two of us” he jokes with one of those thunder like chuckles

Rikan laughs and she follows him, waddling towards the men’s table.

“I should go to my room” you say, rising too fast and the whole room twists and turns

“You liked the wine, I see” he observes you grab the wooden table for your dear life until you find your balance

“Too sweet, I haven’t noticed it until it was too late”

“Let me guide you then”

Oberyn grabs you by your waist and helps you climb the stairs to the second floor. People gather around the aisle, laughter and moans fill the air and the heat of Oberyn skin over yours and the boldness giving by the alcohol make you pressed your body against his a little tighter than its necessary.

“This is you” he says opening the door for you

“Is it true what you said about creating our own destiny?” you collapse on his firm chest, your hands brushing over his neck

“Yes, sweet flower”

“Sweet flower” you mimic his accent “Say it one more time” your glossy lips, sticky with wine, leave a kiss on the tan uncover skin of his chest. His laugh makes you raise your head

“You need to sleep, child”

“No, no!” you slap his hand away when he tries to push you inside the room “Don’t call me that, I’m not a child. I’m a woman” you try to fix your posture to seem taller but you body stumbles to one side almost falling down

“What you are is a very inebriated girl. Good night, my sweet flower” he says closing the door

“Are you going to Shifa’s room?” the words escape your lips before you can think and he lingers on the door with an eyebrow raised

“Why do you ask that?”

“I don’t want you to go to her” again the words are out before you process them

“And what do you want me to do?” Oberyn closes the door behind him. And you breathe deeply a mixture of excitement and fear.

“Stay with me” you mutter

“Believe me I would, but you don’t know what you are asking. It is the wine speaking”

“No it’s not” you pout again falling into his arms, hearing how you sound like a spoiled little girl, you cough “It’s not” you repeat

“Right, let me take you to bed then”

You gasp looking at him with wide eyes. Oberyn hugs your body and walks towards the simple bed at the corner until you both fall down on the soft mattress

“Oberyn” you whisper “I have to tell you something before we...”

“Tell me, sweet flower” He lays beside you, posing his head over his fist

“I’m...I’ve never...” you stutter

“No need to worry” with his free hand he starts to brush his index finger from your brow to the tip of your nose so slowly and softly that you feel your eyes closing down

“Are you trying to make me sleep as if I was a puppy?” you slur

“Shh” he continues until the room goes dark and you cannot open your eyes for much that you try

“Sweet dreams, sweet flower” you hear before you blank out.

The sun pierces your eyes as if its rays were daggers. The company laughs at your expense, but yet again, Shifa hisses and insults you in some language but it’s evident that she said something nasty because Oberyn glares at her.

“No more Myr wine for you, little girl” Uhlan laughs helping you get on your horse

“Never” you murmur

The pain in the back of your head and the unstoppable thirst you have makes you moody, and it doesn’t help that you know you’re one day away from your home. But everything is worse with the hard sting of jealousy. It’s not that Oberyn does much, but he rides along side her, speaking in that stupid language you don’t understand, and she makes him laugh, he watches with attention whatever she points at during the way. He looks at her, talks to her. All you want is to rush your stupid horse and take her place.

It gets worse when Shifa sees you observing them; knowing damn well what you feel, she becomes softer, leaving touches on his skin, whispers things on his ear. And you can see the intimacy, the camaraderie that they share and that you will never have. And she’s a woman not a little girl, fierce, independent, and strong; and you cannot stop comparing yourself to her.

You arrive to a small town in between the domains of the two free cities, just hours away from the gates of Pentos.

“We will spent the night here, we need to be presentable for tomorrow”

The town has a small and humble bath house. The simple exterior made of red brick doesn’t show the beauty it has in its interior. The garden inside is made of brick and ceramic creating beautiful arches that frame the pool in the middle; green vines crept over the walls and the tender murmur of water is the only sound you can hear.

“We have rooms to accommodate you for the night once you’re done with your baths” the lady, owner of the house, announces and snaps her fingers towards the servants so they get everything ready.

“Thank you” Oberyn says bowing his head “Wash away the dust of our journey, my friends. Specially you, Uhlan” he jokes, slapping the big man’s belly

“You’re as stinky as me, my prince, but the Gods didn’t give me a beautiful face”

The company strips shamelessly, you think that they’re so comfortable around each other that they don’t think twice before submerge their naked bodies in the fresh water.

You stay by the side, taking off your shoes and rolling your sleeves so you can wash your feet and face. You avert your eyes when you see that Oberyn’s armor is on the floor. Your eyes fixed on the water and the blue tiles at the bottom, but you cannot stop from raising your eyes just a little.

His magnificent, strong, and tight body, his beautiful golden skin is marked in scars in some parts, you see the muscles on his legs tensing and relaxing as he gets in the pool. Your eyes travel through the room to avoid seeing him in his full grace.

“C’mon child, you don’t want to be stinky when you meet your father” Rikan splash water at you

“I-I”

“Let her be, she’s scare of my big cock” Uhlan laughs

“That thing that you can barely get up? C’mon, child, it is harmless” The blonde mercenary swims towards you and grabs your hand to pull you in

“Rikan, leave her, let’s finish and we will leave her some privacy” Oberyn says under the small waterfall brushing his skin with a small piece of soap

“Your husband’s eyes will be the only ones that will see you naked” Shifa says and she swims towards Oberyn. Her body is toned and muscular. She joints him under the water stream and when she tries to touch him, he moves away.

You don’t want to smile, but you do, until you remember that he refused you the other night and tonight is the last night you’ll spend with them. Shifa will have him for whatever time she wants.

Eventually they leave the pool, putting on some fresh clothes and rubbing some scent oils on their skins and they look different, less mercenary and more like elite warriors with a thousand adventures to tell. You will miss them; they are the only friends you have ever had.

“Thank you” you say stopping their banter over who’s going to take which room, they look at you confused “Thank you for rescuing me” you say with a trembling voice

“It’s nothing, child” Uhlan says and you see his big eyes shine

“We will give you some privacy” Rikan nods

When they are away you take off those stinky clothes you’ve been wearing since you escape. You moan feeling the water soften your muscle and you enjoy the strong cascade of water hitting your back until your bones feel like liquid inside your skin.

“I never expected you to thank us for getting you to your father” his voice gets you out of the trance, and you don’t open your eyes when you hear the soft sound of clothes hitting the ground and the splash of water when he gets inside the pool again.

“I didn’t thank you for that, but for rescuing me” you answer still your eyes closed under the waterfall “And saving my life” you pass your hand over the now healed wound, a moon shape scar where he suck the venom out of you.

Oberyn fingers grab your wrist, raising your arm towards his lips and planting kisses alongside your veins until he arrives to the thicker skin of the scar, sucking again on it.

“Do you still believe that it was better to let you die from the snake’s bite than to be back home?” he whispers against your skin, his beard tickling you over your pulse

“I still can run away” you open one eye. Oberyn looks amused at you

“Will you?” he asks saving the distance between you

“I don’t know. Will you come get me if I do?” You approach him, intertwining your hands on his neck

“The world is big and beautiful; it will be a shame that a sweet flower like you rots in a place like this all her life” he turns his head and leaves a kiss on each of your arms

“So that’s a no” you laugh but the pain in your heart is real

“I have to leave Essos soon, I guess the time for adventures is up” he exhales deeply

“Just the last one then” you’re surprised of your boldness when you rise on your tiptoes to kiss his lips

It is soft at first. Just tasting him, tempting him to show you more, and he does. Oberyn opens his mouth and sucks on your lower lip and when your mouth is open he savors you with his tongue. He holds your face on his large palms guiding you softly until the kiss deepens and your hands leave his neck roaming through his back and he reciprocates. His hand caresses every inch from your neck to your arms. You moan in protest when he breaks the kiss but then his kisses move to your neck nibbling your skin. He pampers every part of you with his attention, soft kisses and bites over the top of you breast.You cry out laughing when he grabs you and rise by the waist so he can access your tits. You circle his waist with your legs and you hold yourself on his shoulders.

Any good sense in you, any coherent thought gets lost one his mouth sucks on your nipples and you kiss his head trying to control your panting. The sounds that come out of you seem so far away, his low grunts and moans over your breast melt you and you feel the heat gathering between your legs.

“My sweet flower, you have the sweetest tits” he moans and he lowers you so he can kiss you one more time. You run your fingers over his dark hair, his impossibly close to you but you need more. You need him like those drops of water he poured in you the first time. The hunger, the jealousy and desire you felt these past days have reached its peak and you think your heart will collapse. You repeat his name on his lips like a plea.

Oberyn carries you to the side of the pool, and you feel your cheeks burning, your body in goose flesh feeling exposed and at his mercy now that the water is not covering you. He takes his time admiring you, his brow eyes eating every pore of your skin. Kissing your legs he parts them grabbing you by the hips he positions you just at the edge of the pool. He palms your breasts one more time, gracing each nipple with a small pinch that makes you moan loudly. You get flustered, gaining a bit of your conscience back

“No need to be shy, my love, let go. I wish to hear every sweet moan, drink every drop of this sweet cunt” he plants a kiss on your navel, before lowering his face. His first lick between your lips makes you marvel of the unknown sensation. His eyes are fixed on you while he licks faster and sucks between your small lips, when you tense, every single fiber of your body burning, he changes his rhythm, lapping languidly all your sex and back again, fast and slow, and never too much. Until you’re gasping for air and pushing him away

“Please, it’s too much”

“Let me show you, trust me” his wet mouth bites you inner thigh before he starts again. This time you reach the point of no return faster. A wide abyss before you where you skin burns and you heart beat faster until you fall, crying his name. And he holds you, planting kisses all over you body, every part he can reach. The gasps lead to laughter

“What happe...how?” you ask

“I have many things to show you my sweet flower” he smiles

Oberyn lets you in his room. The warm night breeze moves the white curtains and the moonshine casts its rays so you can see him get on top of you with the warmest of smiles.

“Do you still want this, my flower?” he asks

You grab him by the neck and let your lips answer for you. Lowering your touch you push his back so he presses his body against you even tighter.

“Please, please” you beg on his ear

He reaches between your bodies and brushes the tip of his cock on your lips coating it in your arousal, before pushing gently. You gasp at the intrusion; it’s not pain what you feel but definitively a bit uncomfortable at first

“Let me in, my sweet, relax for me” Oberyn bends his neck to kiss and bite your tits. The pleasure turns your body into a withering mess until you’re full of him.

He moves lazily at first letting you grow used to his length and width while he observes your face

“Is it alright my love?”

“I need more” you murmur

“More?” He rises, pressing the weight of his body on his knees and opens you wider grabbing the soft skin on your hips “Like this?” he thrusts deep and fast with each word and you nod biting your lip. His pace is unforgiving, and you cannot think, all you can feel is him, and his sweet words and praises combined with the slaps of wet skin and the creaks of this old bed. Your fingers scratch softly on his chest trying to hold into something when you feel that abyss again, but this time you let it go and it hits you harder. Oberyn collapses over you letting your cunt squeeze him even tighter, slowly dragging himself in and out until he sense his release coming and he pushes harder once, twice until he spills his warm seed.

You kiss his brow, wet from exhaustion and the pool, in a way the cage he’s forming with his body pressed against the mattress is the freest you have ever felt.

The dawn wakes you up, many years later, a harrowing pain in your chest remembering how he kissed you a thousand times, how you slept caged in his arms for a few hours and then woke up with his face between your thighs

“Does it hurt?” he asked and you flinched, feeling the swollen and sensitive skin “I will kiss it better” he said. And you made love again, he moved you in the bed showing how to touch your body and how to touch him, how to pleasure him with your mouth as he did to you. Until the sun invaded the room and crashed your safe space between the shadows. You could no longer hide from your destiny, it was time to go.

He left you, a small and decent kiss on your hand and bid you farewell wishing you a happy life.

You remember running, not paying attention to your father’s complaints and your mother’s cries while you soon-to-be husband drank wine unbothered by the whole thing. You ran to the balcony watching his dark horse taking him out of the city.

He never looked back, and with his parting figure you promised you will live your life happy even if you have to run for it. That you will live adventures on your own until life gives you the last drop of its joy and pleasure. In a way you promised to honor him without knowing one day it will come true.

So you woke up, older, wiser, in your own house, after many adventures lived, and after a sleepless night mourning him, you grab paper and ink and write:

“Travel, fight and fuck the world: the Adventures of an Unusual Lady”

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