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jointherebellion215 · 2 months

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His Kiss, The Riot

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x female!reader

Summary: When you and your secret lover make plain to Feyd-Rautha your wishes for a life together, despite the proposed arranged marriage, he surprisingly acquiesces. But he can't let you go so easily, can he? Loosely based on the song from Hadestown.

Word Count: 1.6k

TW: manipulation, Dark!Feyd-Rautha, arranged marriage, NONCON elements, gore, violence, she/her pronouns, female!reader, tragedy, star-crossed lovers, songfic, not quite a happy ending (oops), dark dark dark interpretations of Hadestown and the story of Orpheus and Eurydice.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who read If It's True and liked, reblogged, or commented. I appreciate every single one of you. As always, I would love some feedback, likes, comments, and reblogs if you can :)

This is Part Two to my Feydestown trilogy (I'm so sorry for the pun). You can read Part One here.

AO3

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Dune properties, characters, or storylines-- nor do I own anything related to Hadestown. The images used in this are not my own, and any similarities to stories or events other than what are directly referenced are strictly coincidence.

The devil takes this Orpheus

And his belladonna kiss

“So you wanna get married? Take away the woman I just offered my hand to, to whom I all but have legal claim?”

Your beloved’s replied words of affirmation to his words hold the slightest tremor, but like a dog to fresh meat, Feyd-Rautha sniffs this out immediately. Another smile graces his face. Feyd speaks to the crowd now, “Yes, I was promised the Lady’s hand in marriage. But! I am a benevolent figure, so I guess I’ll let the lovebirds go.”

The crowd starts to give polite applause, while your knees grow weak at the news. You can go? Has love really prevailed on this day?

“However,” and with that, your heart drops “I have some conditions for these… nuptials.”

You could sense the air growing thick with tension as the reality of the na-Baron’s ruling twists out of your favor.

“Conditions?” You whispered.

“Of course, my darling! I can’t make this too easy on you, now can I?” Feyd paces back and forth on the steps from which he speaks, making your eyes dart back and forth with each step he takes. Vigilance overtakes your body in case of any rash decisions.

“You two can leave the city, but it won’t be hand in hand. This pair will have to walk in single file, with the boy in the front and my darling Lady at least thirty paces behind. No ships, no speeders, no running. Walking.”

The energy of the room starts to grow more electric as the points of this term seem to set in.

“The Lady cannot speak out or make any indication of her following behind. You’ll be faced forward the whole journey. Once you reach the edge of the city and passed the threshold, you can be together for eternity.”

Your breath hitched. Seems easy enough, right?

“But, if the boy so much as turns his head to check and see if the Lady is following, the deal is off. She’ll return to me, and we will be married.”

Nothing makes a man so bold

As a woman’s smile and a hand to hold

“Is this a trick?” Your beloved asks plainly.

Feyd tilts his head, pacing down the steps to ground level. “Now, what makes you say that? I’m being generous. I’ve set my terms.” He is now nose-to-nose with the man attached to you.

“Now meet them or face the consequences.”

The hand holding yours is now pooled with sweat. You quickly and subtly jerk the arm of your beloved when he starts to protest, not recognizing a gift when he sees one. You bow, the picture of poise and grace that you were raised to be. There is still time to leave with all of your limbs intact, you could not afford to slip up now.

“We offer our most sincere gratitude, my Lord na-Baron. Thank you for this most auspicious opportunity. We will not squander it.”

Your beloved gives a clumsy bow to match yours. Feyd’s manic smile grows as he clasps his hands together. The sound echoes through the hall.

“So it shall begin!”

But all alone his blood runs thin

And doubt—doubt comes in

The pair of you hold hands, side-by-side, at the entrance of the palace gates. A crowd has followed you to the edge, with onlookers from the outside spectating the unexpected appearance of a noble. Occurrences like this did not happen often, if ever.

“You heard the terms. The Lady must walk thirty steps behind. She must not speak to you.” Your hands reluctantly separate, following the orders you were given. You can feel your heart pounding with each step that you take away from each other.

“Some of my guard will accompany you, to ensure that you comply to the letter.” Four Harkonnen warriors step forward and encase you in a square formation, leaving the love of your life alone and vulnerable. He looks back towards you, fear and doubt creeping into his eyes. You nodded at him, believing that you could succeed in your task. That you would prevail.

“You may begin.” Feyd voices, and with that—you start your journey. Step by step, you walk further through the foliage that immediately surrounds the castle gates and into the city square.

Once you and your beloved reach the horizon, Feyd turns to walk past the crowd and back into the corridor.

Your father, the Duke, bows quickly and offers his gratitude, but is ignored as the younger Harkonnen goes to gather his blade and shield. With a yell, he summons his guards to formation. As Feyd checks the integrity of his weapon, one of the Baron’s advisors tentatively steps towards him.

“My Lord, perhaps you should consider letting them go—” In the blink of an eye, the man is silenced with a swift slash to the throat. Blood spills through the advisor’s hands as he struggles to put pressure on the opening. His body flops to the floor and Feyd carelessly steps over the writhing body to march forward.

“Let’s go fetch my bride.”

Dangerous this jack of hearts

It had been almost an hour of walking by this point. There had been almost a dozen times where you wanted to give any audible indication to your lover that you were here. A whisper, a whistle, a stomp of your foot. Anything. But now you could see the edge of the city, you could almost taste it.

A life with your love was within reach.

The guards accompanying you shifted inward, almost boxing you in. You were hopeful, but nerves were creeping in.

This was going well. Too well.

The grand arch signifying the edge of the city was above your lover now. The field that you used to meet at in secret lay just beyond it. You’re almost there. Just twenty more steps and you could be together, forever.

He steps over the threshold, you see his shoulders lift and fall in an exhale. Then, the man you had fallen in love with— who you wholly believe in— slowly turns his head to lock eyes with you. A pale figure steps out from behind a pillar accompanying the arch.

The growing smile on your face immediately falls. You call out his name.

Oh no.

The na-Baron tsked and shook his head, as if scolding a child. Harkonnen troops flanked the area, giving Feyd-Rautha enough berth to have his fun. The three of you were surrounded, but only one really had the advantage.

“You were so close!”

Your beloved held out a hand, “Wait, wait! I made it over!” He started to back away in fear, unarmed and exhausted from the long walk. Colorful, ripe foliage brushed his legs as he back into your field.

“Ah, but she didn’t. So, face the consequences.”

Then his blade pierced the man you love.

Your ears started to ring, throat working itself raw as you wailed. Tears blurred your vision, you could hear the gurgles of the blood leaving your fiancé’s mouth and the slosh of his newly disemboweled entrails hitting the lush field before you.

With his kiss, the riot starts

His body made a sick thud on the floor, and your body jumped along with it.

You ran towards your dead lover, cradling his face and sobbing for the soul that was just ripped away from you. He didn’t deserve such a violent end. His only crime was loving you and being loved in return.

A chuckle sounded from above you, and you turned your tear-stained face to the brutal Harkonnen. He was covered in the blood of your lover, his spoils of war staining his pale skin. Black teeth on full display, his shoulders gave a slight shake as he expressed his humor. His laughter sparked a rage in you like you’d never seen before. It didn’t matter what bonds you may or may not have formed over the conversations you had the last week. He’s a monster. He needs to pay for what he’s done.

Red flooded your vision.

With a roar, you lunged for the man. His laugh grew more manic as you smacked, punched, kicked, and hit every visible part of him that you could identify. In your grief, every ounce of training that you received flew out the window. He took every blow with a smile, as if he enjoyed the punishment you were attempting to bestow on him.

“There we go, my darling. Show me your pain. Your rage!”

Your mind started to clear with the more hits you landed. With a quick swipe, you had the weapon that killed your beloved against the naBaron’s neck. The Harkonnen soldiers immediately stepped forward, but Feyd stopped them with a wave of his arm.

“Ah ah ah! Leave her be.” His grin almost split his face in half, specks of dried blood making a painting of his face.

“Do it. Go ahead, come on.”

He pressed his neck forward, purposefully putting pressure on his own blade. Fresh blood started to trickle down his neck, adding to the gallons already spread all over his uniform.

The shock of his willingness to put his life on the line made you hesitate, which made him cackle in your face. Your anger made you draw the blade back and slice it across his chest. A groan left Feyd’s mouth,

“Good girl.”

An unexpected thunk to the head made your vision start to spin. Feyd’s arms braced around you, slowly lowering you to your knees and down to a lying position. He cradled your head as if you were a precious commodity, when he leaned forward and captured your limp lips with his.

As black started swallowing your vision, you heard him say,

“Don’t worry, my darling bride. It’ll all be alright. You won’t feel a thing.”

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dilemmaontwolegs · 1 year

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Would you consider doing a smutty see no evil part 2. Or really just anything with these too. I’m loving the representation with the deaf reader.

Thank you so much! It would be my pleasure 💗

See No Evil, Hear No Evil {2}

Aemond Targaryen x deaf!fem!reader

Summary: It is your wedding night and a night of many firsts. Warnings: 18+ only, NSFW, first time sex, oral, smut, fluff WC: 3k

Part One || Part Two || Part Three ||

Imperceptible tremors shook your body as your maids left your chambers and you had the first moment to yourself all day. The dress was unlike any other you wore and you knew you would never wear one like it again, you had no intention of ever wedding another. The seamstress had outdone herself as you traced the flowers that were embroidered into the bodice at your request, violets and hyacinths for the colour of Aemond’s eye.

The polished silver mirror seemed to hold another person entirely as you stared at the reflection. She was the elegant lady you had watched enviously in grandiose gowns of vibrant colours, she was the confident courtier that men fought over, she was everything you had dreamed of as a child. You were beautiful.

Your happiness radiated from the smile that had not left your face since Aemond had proposed this marriage and Alicent had welcomed you into her family with a warm hug. Nothing could dim your smile, especially when your union would be complete at sundown in the Sept. You wished the sun would hurry its path across the sky so you could see your husband-to-be but your mother always said, good things come to those who wait.

If only your mother and father were able to make it to your wedding, but the treacherous road had been plagued by bandits and unfortunately, to the Lords at least, daughters were not worth the risk of travel.

The door opened slowly and you broke away from your reflection to see Alicent peek around the corner before her hands flew to her mouth. Tears welled in her eyes and you could see her jaw moving but you couldn’t see her lips. You pointed to your eye then your lips before shaking your head and she dropped her hands sheepishly as she realised you couldn’t see what she was saying.

“You look absolutely lovely, my dear,” she said as she clasped her hands over her heart. “There is no other better suited together than you and my Aemond. He has been a better man since he met you, a happier one too.”

She took your hands and smiled as she noticed the floral embroidery. “You compliment each other so well.”

Your smile widened as you laughed and her lips parted as a blush turned her cheeks pink. “I, I didn’t mean like that.”

You reached for a sheet of parchment that rested on the table and held it out to her, the vows you would be making in mere hours.

I shall be your eyes, and you shall be my ears. Together, we are complete.

“Oh, look what you’ve done,” she said as the tears that had been brewing began to slip over her lashes and down her heated cheeks. Placing the page back where it was, she produced a prepared handkerchief from her dress and wiped away the tears before taking a seat on the settee and patted the space next to her. “I already think of you like a daughter so if you ever need any advice, know you can always come to me.

“My mother wasn’t there on my wedding day either and it’s an ache I remember well. I wish she could have been there to tell me what I was to expect, the duties of a wife.”

Your eyebrows knitted in confusion and she took your hand. “Did your mother explain the act of consummation?”

Your mother probably worried that you would be a spinster so she had not bothered with the conversation but you had spied some stories from the servants and knew the basics. Shaking your head, Alicent nodded knowingly to herself and placed her hands on her lap.

“Well, no matter, we have time. Losing one’s maidenhead can be painful but after the first few times it gets easier.”

Your lips parted with a slow breath and your stomach felt like it tumbled deeper into your body. When the servants had spoken of their experiences most had a smile on their face and regaled the pleasures they found in the act. They had even detailed a studious link between the size of the manhood to the fun that could be had. The only ones who had mentioned pain had received the unwanted touch of a man and a bolt of fear ran down your spine.

“I’ve scared you,” Alicent said as she recoiled back. “I’m sorry, I did not mean to frighten you, I just don’t want you to find out as I did - and the shock that came with it.”

You squeezed her hand reassuringly and her shoulders sagged with relief but relief was not what you felt inside as you stared out the window and saw the sun creep towards the horizon. Something cold touched your wrist and your eyes darted back to the Queen as she offered you a silver bracelet.

“Aemond asked me to give you this,” she said as she clasped it around your wrist and you held it up to see the small sapphires that caught the light. You had never received such a special gift before and you felt the fear of the unknown slip away with the tear that ran down your cheek. “Oh, no, no more tears today.”

Alicent wiped the teardrop away, careful not to smudge the makeup that enhanced your natural features. Her gentleness warmed you and when she stood to make her way to the Sept you pulled her into a hug that showed your appreciation.

“Shall we?” she asked as she offered her elbow and you looked at the sun that still hadn’t completely set. “If I know my Aemond, he will already be there.”

The Queen knew her son well as you arrived at the Sept earlier than scheduled and found Aemond shifting nervously with his back to you. He had not been this nervous when he was facing down knights in the tourney but the tension in him released the moment he turned and saw you waiting.

Alicent took your hand that rested on her forearm and placed it into Aemond’s larger hand, warmth enveloping it as he laced your fingers together.

“You look beautiful, my love,” he said with a stunned smile as he stepped back as far as he could without releasing your hand and looked over you from head to toe. “The most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms.”

You took a step closer and lifted your hand to cradle his cheek as your thumb caressed his scar that he had not hidden, not on a day like today. He wanted you to see all of him, accept all of him, as you were wed.

Vibrations beat along the wooden floors of the Sept and you looked around to find the High Septon had arrived and butted his staff to the floor for attention. The few guests that had been invited to witness the ceremony turned to face the High Septon and you cast your eyes over them knowing they were your new family.

Helaena smiled warmly as she caught you looking and Maelor waved a chubby hand from where he bounced on her hip. You smiled back and waved to the little boy before following Aemond’s lead, standing face to face with not an ounce of doubt in your heart that this was where you were meant to be.

You had not wished for a grand feast that was common after a highborn wedding and Aemond had been more than happy to celebrate more intimately with a family dinner. King Viseyrs had stayed as long as he was able to but the illness that plagued him forced him to retire early. It had not stopped him from giving a heartfelt speech that Aemond repeated for you since the mask hid half of the King’s face.

You were well and truly a member of the Targaryen family, something that only six months earlier would have terrified you.

“A toast to my lady wife,” Aemond said, rising to his feet and lifting his goblet as he looked around the table. “I thought the only thing I was missing was an eye, until I met you.”

Alicent wiped her eyes with a laugh and raised her goblet before everyone else followed suit. You sipped your wine and wondered if the sudden warmth in your belly was from the potation or the love when you looked at your husband. Your stare lingered on him over the rim of the silver chalice and the bodice of the gown was too tight to breathe as he returned the longing look.

“Ready to retire, my love?” he asked as his eye focused on the way you bit your lip in anticipation and you nodded eagerly, accepting his hand as he pulled your chair out.

Aegon grinned at Aemond as he bid his family a good night but you pointedly ignored how he mouthed ‘have fun’ to his little brother before you were turned away to face the door. The corridors had never felt so long as you headed towards the wing that the royals occupied, where your new rooms would be from this night forth.

“Would you like a drink?” Aemond asked as he closed the heavy wooden door to his quarters.

You shrugged unsure as you looked around the room that you had not been permitted to enter before your union. Books were stacked on every available surface while weapons hung from hooks along the walls and a comfortable looking settee faced the smouldering fire. Everywhere you looked you saw an extension of Aemond and his scent hung in the air, welcoming you home.

Strong arms curled around your waist and Aemond rested his chin on your shoulder as he kissed your neck sweetly before turning you to face him. “My mother said she spoke to you and I want you to know that I have no expectations for how this night will go.”

Your eyebrows pinched together and a pang of hurt sent you a step backwards before he caught you. “What I mean is, there is no rush, I want you to be comfortable and ready for when we take that step.”

You didn’t think you could possibly love him anymore than you already did but he continued to surprise you, and you surprised him as you threw your arms around his neck and crushed your lips to his. His hands caught your waist and pulled you flush against him as he deepened the kiss and you melted in his embrace.

Your courage renewed, you took his hand and walked further into his chambers, towards the four post bed. You could see the question in his eye and you nodded with a shy smile as you looked up from under your lashes. You dropped his hand so you could sign the honest truth to him, I trust you.

With such sweet tenderness he claimed your neck with his lips while his fingers unlaced the gown, letting it fall from your shoulders to pool at your feet. The thin silk shift left little to the imagination and his eye widened as you were revealed like a precious gift to him.

“My beautiful wife,” Aemond said with a proud smile that sent your heart hammering wildly. “I want to feel your hands on me.”

Your fingers trembled as you reached for the clasps that kept his tunic fitted tight across his body, you didn’t want to mess up but from the flutter of his eye you knew he was enjoying the feel of each restricting fastener opening. Pale flesh was stark against the black leather that you pushed over his shoulders and his chest vibrated with a satisfied hum as you placed your palm over his heart.

“You will be the death of me.”

Your lips curled with a shake of your head and you let your finger trail along the natural dips of his muscles and through the soft blonde curls that began at his navel.

“Perhaps I am already dead, for nothing should feel this glorious.”

His words were liquid fire across your skin and a throb between your legs pulsed in time to your heartbeat. Needing to feel his hands on more of you, you curled your thumbs into the thin straps at your shoulders and pushed them off, letting the shift float to the floor.

Cool air kissed your skin as you fought the urge to curl your arms over yourself but there would be no hiding tonight. Aemond’s chest expanded rapidly as he bit his lip at the sight and your back arched into his touch when he grazed his knuckles over your pebbled nipples.

Your lips parted in delight and he froze.

“Oh gods, how sweet you sound,” he said before dipping his head to your breasts that grew more sensitive with each passing moment. Your head tipped back as you buried your fingers in his hair and the throb between your legs turned to an ache.

Aemond’s tongue teased your nipples until you saw stars and you hadn’t realised he had been guiding you back until your legs hit the bed. He pulled away with a salacious suck that had your jaw dropping and he grinned as he gently laid you down on his mattress.

“I could listen to you moan for eternity and it still would not be long enough.”

Your fingers curled into the blankets beside you as he settled on his knees between your legs that subconsciously tried to close under the intensity of his heated stare.

“Is this alright?” he asked as his thumbs drew small circles along your inner thigh.

You took a deep breath and let yourself relax before nodding. His touch teased higher and you could barely breathe when his thumbs parted your folds and he dipped his head for a wicked kiss. The air rushed out of you as the heat of his tongue lashed through your slit and your knees closed around his shoulders with the pleasure that erupted.

You pushed up on your elbows to see what he was doing to you and found him staring back, his sapphire eye reflecting the candlelight while his violet eye had a fire of its own. You could not look away as you watched his cheeks hollow and felt his lips seal over the spot that ached with need.

You collapsed to the bed as he sucked your swollen nub to the point of delirium and then his finger was there, pressing at your entrance and stretching you as he had started with his tongue. The coil in your belly only grew tighter as he added another finger and you could only imagine how good it would feel to be filled with his manhood. The thought alone triggered the blissful release the servants spoke of and your hips rocked shamelessly against Aemond as wave after wave crested.

Your husband placed a soft kiss to your trembling thigh before he sat up and you remembered that he was still half dressed as he palmed the strained erection confined in his trousers. I want you, you signed, all of you.

He was already unlacing the cord that held his trousers snug to his hips as he said, “You already have me.”

Nervousness chased away the haze that release had brought as his length sprung free and you gulped at the size.

“I will be gentle,” he reassured you as he kicked his trousers off the bed and settled once more between your legs, only this time his cock hung warm and heavy across your thigh. “And I can stop if it’s too much, just tap my shoulder.”

You curled your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck as you drew him closer to you, capturing his lips and conveying everything you couldn’t say. His cock teased at your entrance and he slowly rocked against you until the resistance ceased and a sharp burning sensation had your fingers clenching the strands of hair they were tangled in.

“Are you hurt?” he asked as he pulled back and scanned your face.

The small shift when he pulled back drew a different kind of sensation and the way it felt as his cock dragged along your tight walls sent a shiver down your spine. You tightened your legs and kept him from withdrawing completely as you shook your head. He stared into your eyes a moment longer, giving you the opportunity to change your mind, before he slowly eased back in and your muscle began to relax.

Aemond kept his promise to be gentle but soon enough the long slow strokes didn’t sate the need growing within you. Your nails danced down his spine and encouraged him to move faster as his kiss stole the very air from your lungs until your body burned for him. He was everywhere all at once, his arms around you, his cock in you. You would never get enough of him.

Your back arched as heat spread across your body, radiating from your core that was tightening with each thrust until you were sure you would explode. Lost in the waves of ecstasy, you buried your face in Aemond’s neck and held him tight as his body shuddered and you felt his cock pulse with his release.

A fine sheen of sweat coated your body as Aemond eased himself from you and collapsed to the mattress with a lazy smile gracing his face. You instantly missed the full feeling but he pulled you into his arms and pressed his lips to your forehead as you laid your head on his chest. He held his hand up since you couldn’t see his face and he curled his middle and ring finger down signing, I love you.

Aemond’s heart hammered beneath your head and the steady beat reverberated through you, lulling you into a sweet trance as you held your own hand up to his like a mirror. If only you could spend everyday forever entwined as you were at this moment, you both deserved the happiness that saturated the room.

Tilting your head back so you could see the love reflected in Aemond’s eye, you pressed your fingers to your chin. “You never have to thank me,” he replied. “You are my everything.”

Click here for part three.

#aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond x reader #aemond imagine #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #deaf!reader #house of the dragon aemond #house of the dragon fanfic #aemond fic #aemond fluff #aemond smut #hotd fanfic

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sleeplesssmoll · 4 months

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Finding the moment Schneider and Vertin's dynamic shifted.

This scene inspired me because we see Schneider's anger emerge, albeit subtly.

It almost seemed like Schneider was planning on letting Vertin live once again, like in the beginning when they first met. She was going to give Vertin a chop on the neck during their duel to knock her out.

But then Vertin repeats the lie that Forget-Me-Not Me Not told her. After hearing Vertin promise her a shelter, she turns her gun on her instead. Why would she trust the words of someone from the Foundation who rejected her and her family?

Hearing this proposal must have hit a nerve. It's important to note that at this point in time she only likes Vertin's looks and she respects her fighting skill. She has absolutely no reason to trust Vertin's words and every reason to resent the Foundation's dog. It's easy to forget since she's such a flirt in the main story but there is a lot of anger in her. She is a Mafia Boss. She provides for her 11 sisters and her parents in a world that constantly takes from her without giving a shred of mercy. If you’re curious about this, the link below has Schneider's snippets from the atlas, but for my purposes I'll only use a small section.

The Opportunist and the Sticky Gum

“Her figure might be frail, but her eyes are filled with cold anger. Maybe she had been rejected just now or even insulted. She walked up to the square center with a firm step, like a warrior.”

This is Schneider as she watched Sonetto take the mission capsule she tampered with back to Vertin. In the Walden, we see this warrior fighting for her family and Vertin is now an obstacle.

Also, she seemed genuinely annoyed at the lack of concern Vertin had for the wounds she inflicted. Her voice starts off in that same playful, flirty tone when she says “that's really annoying” and then she sounds genuinely pissed when she talks about shooting Vertin in the thigh (I'd place a clip here but there's a limit. Would recommend going back and listening to get the full picture). She is getting frustrated.

However, things change when Vertin and the others help her sister. I think the true turning point in their relationship is when Vertin pushed Sonetto out of the hole to escape Druvis and Schneider did the same for Marian.

Earlier when Schneider was talking to Forget-Me-Not, she mentioned the importance of family and brotherhood. We also know she loves her family dearly which is why she's in this mess.

Schneider and Vertin sacrifice themselves for the people they love. She's finally met someone who gives a damn about loyalty and they are on the same side as her.

While they're fighting together, Schneider is heavily injured and Vertin covers for her. If Vertin, the one with the gunshot wounds, is in better shape than Schneider then it's a very rough situation. Nonetheless, she respects Vertin's fruitless attempts of resistance and considers her brave. She tells Vertin to shoot her in the chest when the time comes. Here, she is putting her faith in Vertin because she has no other choice. This is her only chance.

Later on in Popular Literature Vertin brings Schneider a healing potion and food she stole because she assumes Schneider must be hungry. You know what she brought?

Cake!

If we ignore the horrors of hindsight where Schneider is a human so the cake must not have looked like cake due to Storm Syndrome, it's a very sweet gesture. The healing potion tastes awful, so maybe she chose the cake over other foods as a way to make it easier to deal with. This is the climax where Vertin follows through on her promise and proves she is someone Schneider can trust. The cake also shows Vertin's empathy, something we see Schneider doesn't receive often. She's trying to make her as comfortable as possible instead of treating her as a pawn in her greater plan. They're working as a team, not as lord and subject.

#reverse 1999 #vertin #schneider #character analysis #i want to see a cutscene of their fight!

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indigovigilance · 7 months

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The Erasure of Human!Metatron

The elephant in the room is that Neil has [purportedly] denied the existence of a human Metatron. But I, for one, think an elephant really ties the room together. So let's get started.

First, I will address Neil Gaiman’s apparent denial of the Human!Metatron storyline (below the cut):

Caption: The Metatron in Good Omens wasn't ever human.

Which would seem to put the debate to bed.

Except.

Caption: That’s not really his father. It is. It is now, and it always was.

By Adam renouncing Satan as his father, we have in-story canon evidence that the past can be retroactively changed. So a storyline past can be divergent from an in-world past which has been modified. But only to a degree, because Aziraphale and Crowley clearly remember that Adam ~was~ Satan’s son, and Adam still retains some residual powers. Like pencil marks on paper, the past can be erased, but the shadow of its former self will always be there. But if that's not enough for you, there's also...

Lucifer!Satan

Neil Gaiman has also been pretty consistent with this characterization about the non-existence of the past in other characters, for example Lucifer!Satan:

Basically (not to be rude), if you think that these statements can be taken to mean that we will definitely not get a story about Enoch aka Human!Metatron in S3, you have fundamentally misunderstood how time, history, and identity work in Neil Gaiman’s Good Omens universe.

So what Neil said about Metatron never being human… can we just collectively set that aside for a moment?

Caption: Work with me, I’m extrapolating here. Yes? Good. Read the rest of the meta.

Evidence of Human!Metatron

Now that we have established that a former, no-longer-existing version of Metatron could have been human, let’s examine the in-world evidence. The best direct evidence is:

Caption: I’ve ingested things in my time, you know.

This is weirdly important in the Book of Enoch. Food is mentioned in the Book of Enoch at least fourteen times, and consistently it is associated with being human, and having earthly desires, and subsequently with sin, whereas the angels are described as not needing to eat food but instead being nourished by faith alone. Enoch!Metatron’s own relationship with food is also explicitly elucidated:

Enoch answered to his son Mathosalam (and) said: Hear, child, from the time when the Lord anointed me with the ointment of his glory, (there has been no) food in me, and my soul remembers not earthly enjoyment, neither do I want anything earthly.

I propose that "in my time" is a direct reference to Metatron's prior existence as a human, and the fact that this time is over serves to underscore his current inhumanity, making him all the more sinister.

Other Evidence Pointing to Book of Enoch

This next bit is somewhat dubious evidence, but the entire reason I wound up investigating this is that I was actually investigating Baraqiel:

…and for the God-fearing life of me, I cannot find any reference to Baraqiel except in the Book of Enoch. So this is a pretty big ✨Clue✨ to just leave hanging out there if it’s not supposed to lead us to this text.

The Scottish Mason

Okay guys, this the part where it all comes unhinged, but I promise the payoff is worth it.

The Book of Enoch was recovered from Ethiopia in 1773 by a Scottish explorer named James Bruce, who also happened to be a Mason. In 1774, upon his return, he was made a Fellow of The Royal Society of Edinburgh. And if this quote doesn’t get you, I don’t know what will:

Amazingly, Bruce brings back not just one copy, nor two, but three! Three copies of this text, which was previously thought to have been lost to the West forever. This inevitably led to all kinds of accusations as to where he had come by them, and more importantly how? Add to this that Bruce was a Mason in one of the most influential lodges, a Bruce descendant, and an imposing physical figure and 6 feet 4 inches tall, with dark red hair and an irascible temper, it is no wonder that so much excitement and mystery surrounded the man. [source]

So, you know, this guy:

In summary:

There are reasons that we should be looking to the Book of Enoch, and the story surrounding its reintroduction to the Western world, as source evidence for Good Omens S3.

If you enjoyed this, you may also like my meta on Baraqiel and Azazel, which draws upon the Book of Enoch.

My original (in retrospect, kind of terrible) Metatron meta is here.

#good omens meta #good omens #good omens 2 #the metatron #metatron #book of enoch #crowley #satan #lucifer #baraqiel #book of life #ivoc #erasure theory

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imaginesmaimasterlists · 7 months

Text

You can request about any of the characters above, or any other masterlists I have (here), always following the Requests Rules. My main blog is @imaginesmai

💕:Fluff

🎈: Funny

💋: Smut

😭: Angst

⭐: Personal favourite.

🥇: The most popular fic in each category (it might change).

Angst Alphabet

Fluff Alphabet

Prompt List 1

Kink-November

Azriel

Breaking point: Azriel comes back from the dungeons broken and you're left to pick up the pieces, which makes you take matters in your hand and talk with your High Lord about Azriel's missions. 😭

Breeding tonic gone wrong: during a trip to the Illyrian mountains, Azriel and you discover a cabin with all types of monstrosities. One of them ends up in Azriel's blood system, a breeding tonic, which no male nor female has survived before. 😭💋 (darkish)

Hewn city, where nightmares come true: your anonymity makes you a great choice for Rhysand's mission, even if Azriel doesn't agree. But you'll do anything to discover more of Azriel's life, even the worst part. So you decided to take that trip to Hewn City - where nightmares do come true.😭

I love you: after the worst possible outcome after one of your missions, Azriel comes back to you, trying to fix what was broken.💕😭

Little secrets (headcanon): the batboys keep a small secret during your relationship, and you find about it. 💕🎈

⭐Missed target: (2) Azriel is convinced Elain was made for him. Three sisters for three brothers, and no one can make him change his mind. But someone or something is determinated to change the course of fate on his behalf. No matter how hard he tries. 🎈💕

🥇Right around the corner, (2), (3), (4), (5): 💕🎈😭

Four times someone notices something weird about Azriel, and that time someone figured it out.

What happened after each time Azriel's family noticed something weird about him, and that time they found out.

The turth comes out, but in a way Azriel didn't expect.

After the damage has been done, Azriel finds his brothers ready to pick up the pieces.

The story of how Azriel fixed what was broken, and how you forgave him

Promises to keep (2) (3): while you are held in a rotten cell, Azriel asks you to promise him something you can't. Because no matter how much he wishes it wasn't true, there was little you wouldn't do for your mate. 😭

Something new: Azriel proposes something new, and even if you have doubts, you're all in.💋

Taken: you're taken in the worst possible situation, and Azriel fights against time to find you. 😭

Time you take for granted: t for time: you're ill and you don't have much time together, from my Angst Alphabet 😭

⭐The orange peel theory: the spring court is beautiful, oranges are beautiful, but there's nothing more beautiful than your mate. 💕

Your name on my body (nerd-tattooed!Azriel x bimbo!reader): Azriel gets a tattoo with your name and it leads to smutty time, set in a modern time 💋

Eris

Feelings I cannot express: Five times Eris didn’t know how to express his feelings, and one time he did 😭

His precious treasure: Beron manages to ask the right questions at the wrong moment, making Eris suspicious of your safety. His hidden treasure in the forest, where he cannot get fast enough 😭

Cassian

Behind closed doors: Morning training in a storage closet. 💋 (Kinktober 1)

Little secrets (headcanon): the batboys keep a small secret during your relationship, and you find about it.💕🎈

Rhysand

Little secrets (heacanon): the batboys keep a small secret during your relationship, and you find about it.💕🎈

Rhun

Safe place: the autumn king tries to hurt you with his words and actions, but Ruhn is always there to help you up. 😭 💕

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dwobbitfromtheshire · 1 year

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A/N: Proposal trend now?

I headcanon that Steve knows exactly how to play D&D, he just likes to fuck with the kids. Eddie picks up on that pretty quick into the relationship. He decided to let Will in on the secret and told him that he wanted to create a one-shot adventure that he wanted to be DM on. He let Will know why, and the teenager eagerly agrees to help write it.

So when it comes time to play, the throne is left open. Eddie was confused because he thought for sure that Will was going to DM, but he sat down with the rest of them. Max and Robin were there to play, too. (Steve had to get on his knees and play. He didn't have to beg with El.) The door to the drama room opened, and Steve strolled in wearing a Hellfire shirt that Eddie had given him. Steve grinned at their confused faces and plopped down into Eddie's chair. The boys exploded into protests, claiming that he didn't know how to play.

"Get ready to eat your words, Henderson," Steve would reply.

They were deep into the game, and the guys were stunned.

"You know how to fucking play! All this time!" Dustin yelled, and Eddie giggled. "You knew! Traitor!"

Eddie sat at the head of the table, right by Steve, where he could get a clear view of him. Let's just say he got distracted throughout the game, something that Steve had planned on happening. Eddie's character ended up being separated from the party and into an empty room littered with candles, exactly how the drama room was set up now. That's when Steve integrates himself into the story, and Steve asks if Eddie would like to do something very illegal with him. Eddie eagerly agrees.

"Lord Steven, gets down on one knee and takes his hand," Steve said, doing exactly that. "He asks him a very important question. Will you marry me?"

"Yes! He eagerly accepts! Wait, hold on, is this real? Is this you really asking me?" Eddie asked.

"Yes, Eddie, I'm really asking you," Steve laughed.

"Then hell yes!" Eddie exclaimed and swooped down to kiss him.

The rest of Hellfire burst into cheers as they stomped their feet and clapped their hands. Robin cried and hugged the both of them.

"If I am not your best man, I will kill you!" Robin exclaimed as she wept.

"Oh my God! This is so awesome!" Dustin exclaimed.

"I can't believe you proposed to me with D&D, what the fuck? How did you get more perfect? How is this possible?" Eddie said as he wiped away the tears.

"Well, I couldn't have done it without Will's help," Steve replied.

"And you didn't ask me?" Dustin asked, pouting.

"And have you sitting there grinning like an idiot? I love you, man, but your face would have given the whole thing away," Steve replied, and Eddie giggled.

"Yeah, you have a point," Dustin said.

"Congratulations!" El and Max exclaimed as they hugged the both of them.

"Thanks, Red, Supergirl," Eddie said and was surprised when Max hugged him. "You wanna be flowergirl?"

"This is the thanks that I get for letting others see me hug you?" Max asked. "I fucking will not be flowergirl."

"Okay, my groomsman then," he replied.

"Can I wear a suit?" She asked.

"Hell yeah, Red," he replied.

"You know, I was wondering why there was a video camera in the corner," Lucas said.

"There's a video camera? You filmed this, Stevie?" Eddie asked, his arms wrapped around his waist.

"Yeah, well, Wayne figured that you would have known something was up if he showed up to the game, so he made me promise to film it," Steve said.

"Did you ask for my hand?" Eddie asked with narrowed eyes.

"No, I told him that I didn't really need his permission, but it would be nice if I had his blessing, which he gave me," Steve replied, blushing. "He said there was no one better for you than me."

"No shovel talk?" Eddie asked teasingly.

"He said that I didn't need one," Steve replied.

Eddie cupped his face and kissed him deeply.

"I can't believe I get to be with you forever," Eddie said. "Fuck. Let's go home and make a baby."

The rest of Hellfire and the party hollered as they put their fingers in their ears.

"If I have to hear about Steve’s breeding kink ONE more time. . !!" Robin exclaimed.

#stranger things #eddie munson #joseph quinn #stranger things s4 #eddie stranger things #eddie munson lives #steve harrington #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fanfiction #ficlet #the party #the hellfire club #steve proposes with d&d

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sotwk · 2 months

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Taken (Eomer x Reader) - Part 3 of 3

Part 1 / Part 2

Summary: After having his proposals and professions rejected by the woman he loves, Éomer still refuses to be dissuaded. He vows to continue fighting for a future with her--even if that means having to let go for the time being.

Word count: 6.7k

Dedicated to anyone who has ever known the pain of loving someone you could not have. <3

Content: Boromir lives (!), angsty romance, declarations of love, jealousy, mutual pining, class division, shield-maiden, Éomer King, Rohirrim OCs, post-RotK, non-canon pairing

Rating: T (Teens and up)

Warnings: Sensuality gets steamy, but nothing explicit. Mentions of old battle injuries.

To Read on AO3: Link

Taken

PART THREE

Third Age 3019 May 6

Minas Tirith, Gondor

“If you would allow me to propose something your Grace, I--”

“Éomer.” The King of Rohan growled the ungentle correction with an irritated shake of his head. “If I have leave from your king to continue calling him Elessar, then I will not abide frivolous formalities from you…Captain. And speak freely! It is your candor that I came here for, as much as your counsel."

Boromir chuckled faintly. “Very well.” He downed the last of the wine in his goblet before picking up the jug to refill it, then reaching across the table to serve his guest as well.

While Éomer took a hearty swig, Boromir used the extra seconds of silence to weigh his next words. The noble horse-lord had done most of the talking since his arrival at the house not an hour ago, rambling on with barely contained agitation that would have frightened or offended anyone unfamiliar with his character. But Boromir had known Théodred’s cousin since he was a child, and while he was not nearly as close to Éomer as he had been with the late Prince of Rohan, their friendship had deepened enough--especially over the past few months--to familiarize Boromir with the trigger points of his temper.

And Boromir had never before seen him more sensitive about a topic than the matter they had at hand.

Love certainly wields such terrible power over a man, the Captain-General of Gondor mused, before clearing his throat.

“I will gladly fulfill your request of watching over her in your absence, making sure she is well-treated and wants for nothing,” he began. “But a soldier can quickly grow restless without sufficient martial exercise.”

“I agree.” Éomer leaned forward to fold his arms across the table. “Has she not been here long enough for your men to grow accustomed to seeing her at the training grounds? None of them need spar against her or even alongside her if they do not wish to. She would be content to practice drills on her own. In fact, she may even prefer it.”

“My men will tolerate her presence just fine. The valor she showed on Pelennor was well-witnessed, and stories of it have circulated around our garrison,” Boromir said. “I admit she may inevitably overhear crass remarks from some passing boor among the citizenry. A woman warrior still remains an oddity in these parts. But I am sure she did not come to her status without learning how to weather such criticisms.”

“Yes.” Éomer stared at the empty goblet he rotated slowly between his hands. “She has had to bear with a lot of ignorant talk over the years.”

“Which is why I propose taking her as a member of my company while you are away. Just temporarily,” Boromir added quickly, noting the immediate change in the horse-lord's demeanor. “It will help her feel more at ease while here, separated from you and her countrymen, if she had a group to belong to.”

“She has already taken a strong liking to your Aerdis. Which, I must confess, took me by surprise.”

Boromir smiled at this, his fool heart ready to burst with joy at every casual mention of his betrothed. “My lady is an easy one to love,” he said simply. “And indeed, the two seem to enjoy each other's company. I am certain Aerdis would be happy to continue acquainting her with all of her treasured haunts within the city and even beyond its walls. But…”

He rubbed his jaw slowly, ever the unconscious tell of his discomfort with the situation at hand. But it was no use dancing around the real counsel he wished to present to Éomer King. “When it comes to daily labors, a shield-maiden will likely be happier with work better suited to her talents.”

Éomer cocked an eyebrow, clearly undeceived by Boromir’s attempts at off-handedness. “What sort of work? I sense you have something specific in mind.”

“I do,” Boromir admitted. “And I shall explain it to you plainly, although I will first say that it is both a suggestion and a request for a favor.” At this point he considered offering Éomer another refill of his drink, but the deepening scowl on the man’s face made him think better of it. “As you may have heard, I have been charged by King Elessar to lead the delegation that will treat with the Southrons. Sadhar has already come forward with an offer to parley, as soon as next month.”

Éomer’s eyes widened; he caught on even faster than Boromir had expected him to. “And you wish to include her in your delegation?”

“With your approval, yes.”

“You do not have it!” Éomer exclaimed. “And how could you propose such a thing?! Have you forgotten how she was so nearly dragged off by those animals to be taken who knows where for purposes I dare not even think of?”

“Are you really asking that of the man who came to her aid?”

It was a risky move to prod at that wound, but Éomer looked properly chastised by it. “You rescued her,” he conceded. “And for that I shall eternally be in your debt. But I cannot pretend to understand why you wish to involve her in any dealings with Harad.”

“You must see why I thought of her,” Boromir insisted. “You, who can personally attest to what she is capable of.” But Éomer continued to look too distraught to think, so he laid the rest out. “I can count on the fingers of one hand every person I know who can speak a Haradric dialect with reliable accuracy. Half of them died in the war.”

Éomer rose abruptly, nearly knocking over his chair in his state. Muttering indistinctly, he turned his back to Boromir to glare out the nearest window and brood at the rain lashing against the glass panes.

“When Théodred used to boast to me about her, I dismissed it as a mentor's pride in his fanciful protégé,” Boromir continued. “I suppose I too allowed myself to be distracted by her sex. But she really is a hidden gem in your Éored, is she not? Your cousin invested in her training with great thoughtfulness, and it has borne fruit marvelously. He really believed--”

Éomer slammed the heel of his hand on the window frame. “Théodred was not the one hopelessly in love with her for so many years! There lies the difference!” he snapped. “So when you ask for my consent to take her to meet with our enemies, consider that you are asking me to risk the life of the woman I absolutely refuse to live my own life without!”

And while Boromir reacted with silence, he stood there, breathing hard, one fist on his hip and the other hand pressed over his forehead. “Forgive me,” he mumbled. “The wine, I…and I have scarcely slept since--”

Boromir waved off the apology. “I understand your agony well. It was not long ago that I lived through the same, and just mercifully survived to a happy end. I am on your side, Éomer. I know politics and duty might make the lines difficult to discern, but I hope you can believe that.”

“I believe it.” Éomer made another weary swipe of his hand across his face. “At least I think I do. Too many things are changing too quickly, and I fear a failure to keep in step shall result in my simply being dragged along behind everyone else like an unhorsed sot.”

“Then maybe there is wisdom in her request to stay behind and out of your way. The time apart may provide you the focus you need to regain your footing.”

The tired lines on Éomer’s face tightened again. “And why must time apart involve setting her on a perilous road?”

“The mission carries little chance of peril. Peace talks, even with Harad, are nothing compared to everything she has survived to get this far. You know this.” Éomer brushed past Boromir to return to the table, but the captain’s frank reproach pursued him. “Separation from her is what you dread, not the Southrons.”

So furiously did Éomer scowl at the table surface that for a moment Boromir thought he might turn the heavy shelf over in a fit of rage. Instead he seized the wine jug, poured himself a gobletful, and drank it in two forceful gulps.

“I had hoped you could give me counsel on how I might change her mind, and convince her to simply come home,” he finally said. “Perhaps even quell her doubts in the future she can have with me.”

Underneath the anger and frustration, Éomer’s raw misery lay bare to Boromir, and suddenly he felt a swell of compassion for the young king. Would that he could offer a swift resolution to his predicament, instead of mere commiseration for the challenges that still lay ahead.

“However hard it is to hear, separation is the soundest advice I can give you today,” Boromir said. “Time and distance are most effective at calming the storm in one's mind, so that the heart may have its chance to be properly heard. Many have learned this from experience, myself included. I believe it shall be the same for your lady.”

Éomer's shoulders heaved in a ponderous sigh. “If only it did not feel like such a gamble.”

Boromir could not help a chuckle. “Then I regret I must tell his majesty, that you cast your first of many dice the moment you let her take your heart. But in the end, you shall be the one to decide how much you are willing to risk, and you alone decide when you are done.”

The anguish that resurged on Éomer's face was almost a relief to Boromir. The King of Rohan was wise enough to already know the graver half of the truth: that his new throne was in many ways a cage, and there was very little a good ruler could afford to risk in pursuit of his own desires.

* * *

“Take the names of any fools who might give you trouble,” Léodor said, unhooking the reins of his horse to start leading it across the muddy yard. “I can sort them all out on our return.”

You laughed as you followed him to the edge of the farmland property, marked by the scorched ruins of what had once been a granary. “Do you really think I could wait that long without sorting such fools out myself?”

“Anyone with the gall to harass a rider of the king’s Éored deserves a second dose of thrashing, or a third or fourth.” Your friend turned to grasp your forearm and give it a firm squeeze. “Although I sincerely hope these men of Gondor would know better, for their own sakes.”

“They are our allies, now more than ever before,” you reminded him. “And I have every confidence in their courtesy and hospitality.”

“Perhaps if you were less of a recluse and better at making friends, I would not worry so.”

Your knuckles barely grazed his sleeve as he darted away and promptly swung up to the safety of his saddle, chortling and calling, “You are only proving my point, sister!”

“Waste not a thought or care on me, and focus them all on your family!” you retorted, and stepped back as he spurred his horse forward. “Westu Léodor hál!”

You watched him gallop off across the plains of Pelennor, back to the distant towers of the White City. Tomorrow, he and the rest of the Éored would finalize preparations for the greatly anticipated journey home. But as soon as he heard that you had been tasked with staying behind, to remain with the body of Théoden King, Léodor alone took the time to come looking for you.

Whatever his suspicions regarding Éomer's selection of you as the one to leave in Gondor, Léodor spoke nothing of them. He was content to spend his entire visit sharing the cask of ale he brought, and talking your ears off about all the things he planned to do with his wife and son and infant daughter upon their reunion.

How far your relationship had come, you mused, as you watched the shrinking speck finally melt into the shadows of the deepening twilight. With him and with the rest of the men in your company, when you had once sworn, in tears hidden, that they would never accept you. Now their departure would sting as though you had been orphaned for the third time.

It is only for several weeks, you told yourself, to ease the weight of doubt that sat upon your chest. As you turned to walk back toward the cottage, a fierce wind rose and ripped off the cloak that was loosely draped over your shoulders. With a startled cry you grabbed for it, but not quickly enough to save it from landing in a large puddle.

You retrieved the soaked fabric from the mud with a sigh. A fat raindrop landed squarely on the top of your uncovered head, and was immediately followed by another and another. Spontaneous rain had been pouring on and off over Gondor since the King’s coronation, and you heard the locals welcome and praise this tumultuous weather as a blessing, a sign of war’s filth being washed away to cleanse the lands for rebirth.

Shielding your eyes from the sudden deluge, you looked up at the roiling clouds overhead, further entranced by the sight of jagged lightning flashing over the White Mountains. But when your gaze dropped back down to the horizon, you were alarmed to notice a horsed figure crossing the fields through the storm, approaching fast, in your direction.

It was him. Without proof of his face or voice, or even the support of logic, you just knew. It was him.

The very thought of that froze you, mind and body, in place. Pale and immobile and increasingly drenched, you stood like a deeply rooted tree while the rider drew closer and closer, on a horse powerful enough to sustain its determined gait over the sodden ground and lashing winds. Dumbfounded and dazed, you remained, until at last he came to a stop just several yards away. He dismounted Firefoot, his heavy boots squelching in the muck, and that sound snapped you to your senses.

“My lord,” you rushed forward with the soiled cloak twisted uselessly between your hands. “The stables are around the back. Let me take Firefoot there while you get out of this rain.”

“I shall stable him,” Éomer said sternly, but not unkindly, to warn you against arguing. “Go and wait for me inside the house.”

Without speaking another word or sparing a backward glance, you obeyed your king. You shut the cottage door behind you to keep out the ill weather, hung your wet cloak on a peg, and crouched by the warmth of the fireplace to dry off as best as you could. You kept your jittery hands busy feeding the flames with more wood, but your mind refused to be calmed as easily.

What is he doing here?! The agreement had been for you to report to him the following day, to receive in full detail your last set of orders before the entire Rohan contingent departed. Éomer had granted your request to stay behind quickly enough, and with so little argument that you had hoped perhaps the issue between you was settled, at least for the time being.

If he was not prepared to completely abandon his fatuous notion of asking you to marry him, then time apart would surely set his mind back to good sense. The Éomer you knew could always be trusted to do the right thing. You clung firmly to this thought while you waited the agonizing minutes for him to return from the stables.

As soon as he entered, you offered him the last clean towel you could find to dry himself with. He raised his eyebrows at your attempt to give him royal treatment, but graciously swiped the cloth several times over his face, neck, and hair, before tossing it over the back of a chair.

“So this is the place.” He peeled off his riding cloak to reveal clothing underneath that was just as soaked as yours; he may as well not have bothered with the outer garment at all. “You said it belonged to Lady Aerdis’s late…uncle?”

“A relative of sorts,” you said. When you confided in your new friend your wistful desire to be housed outside the city, where you could have more quiet and solitude, she had been quick to offer the empty cottage in near Pelennor that was recently willed to her by deceased relations. “There are things I can work on to help restore it while I am here. Even my meager skills will serve a farm better than sitting on my hands in the city barracks watching everyone else in their labors. I wish to remain useful, and do my part in the rebuilding.”

“I understand. You have explained all that, and well,” Éomer said slowly. “But regretfully, I must rescind the permission I granted for you to live outside Minas Tirith. You can stay here for the remainder of this week, to rest and do as you please. But afterward, I would like for you to go back to the city and remain there until my return.”

You bit back a protest, determined, now more than ever, to reaffirm your position as his servant. “May I ask what I am to do there, then?”

“Lord Boromir petitioned me to loan you to his company, and I granted it. He shall assign your duties, and you will take your orders from him while I am gone.”

Although it surprised you to hear this, it was a welcome prospect. Of all the men in Gondor you liked and trusted Lord Boromir the most, having known him since you were just a girl, albeit not intimately. This would provide an opportunity to improve on the connection. “Lord Boromir honors me with his request. And as always, it shall please me to do as my king commands.”

Éomer responded to your formal pledge with a weary sigh. He braced his hands on the back of the chair in front of him, and the way his knuckles whitened in the tightness of his grip, while he searched for his next words, did not escape your notice.

“Make no mistake, this command does not align with what I desire,” he said thickly. “Leaving without you violates every instinct in my body, but if that is what must be done to make you see reason, then I shall bear it.”

“Reason?” you repeated stiffly. “What conclusion are you hoping I might come to?”

Éomer raised his eyes from the floor to meet yours across the room. “I know you believe that putting distance between us may somehow alter how I feel about you. But I in turn believe the time apart will help you accept how deeply in love you are with me.”

The heat that flooded your face burned through your mask of composure. “I am not--”

“Enough.” The sadness that bled into that single word made it a plea instead of an order. “I did not come to reopen discussions on the matter. Especially not if denials are all you have left to say to me.”

“Then pray tell, what has my lord come for?” you challenged him behind your icy courtesy. “How else may I serve you, Éomer King?”

The hurt that crossed his face came on so suddenly, looked so profound and real, it was as though you had physically struck him. He stared at you in a dead silence, and you forced yourself to hold his gaze while you held your breath, guilt sinking into your gut from the knowledge that you were the wretch who had gone too far.

“Nothing,” he said quietly. “Clearly there is nothing more to say, other than farewell.”

He picked up his cloak, turned, and left, leaving you utterly dumbfounded, staring at the door that slammed shut behind him.

The longest seconds of your life passed before your shock and indecision were overcome by a wild hysteria that made your entire body grow cold.

You leapt for the door and wrenched it open, and stepped into the downpour in time to see him vanish around the corner of the house, heading back to the stables.

The loss of him from your sight smashed through your bravado, and you cried out into the storm.

“Éomer!!”

Before you could grasp your reasoning for why you did it, or what you planned to do next, he reappeared, every footstep leaving puddles as his approach backed you up into the cottage. His eyes bore down at you, his expression now guarded and inscrutable and expectant. Gusting wind drove in sprinkles of rain through the door left open and ignored.

I am sorry. The whisper sitting on the tip of your tongue was smothered by a hostile inner voice.

Let him go. It is your duty. It is what’s right.

But your stolid face collapsed under the weight of your anguish. A grimace squeezed out the tears that blinded your eyes, finally betraying your shameful truth. I do love you, Éomer.

Gentle fingers settled lightly over your lips, stilling their feeble quivering. A voice even warmer and more tender than this touch eased your struggle.

“I do not need words. This is enough.”

As the hardened pads of those fingers brushed across the plane of your cheek, you closed your eyes and at once forgot all else that existed. Such was the power of his touch that for years you so vigilantly avoided, until that fateful moment of weakness after the coronation exposed your secret. That moment could never be undone, no matter how hard you tried to bury the truth now.

Éomer murmured your name, his breath warm on your temple, and then his hands stilled where they lightly cupped your face. In that pause lay a question, and the last time you answered it, you had hurt him. Foolish liar that you were.

“Yes.” The whisper passed from your lips to his as his mouth wasted no time seeking yours. You clasped your hands around the back of his neck, urging him closer as your own hunger surged. You felt the tremor that ran through his shoulders when you slipped your tongue against his. How could you have ever chosen to cause him pain, when you could have given him this instead?

He broke the kiss to let you catch your breath, but nuzzled your chin upward to gain access to your neck, so his lips could continue their quest to the hollow of your throat. You gasped at the scrape of his teeth on your collarbone, then moaned when he remedied his offense with reverent strokes of his tongue. His arms wrapped fully around your waist, pulling you greedily against him, fingers threading and tugging at your hair as he moved his worship to your shoulders.

But it was your touch, the scrabble of your hands over his hips and stomach as you held on to him for balance, that elicited a low growl. In just a few hurried steps, he backed you to the furthest corner of the cottage, until the side of the bed hit the back of your legs.

Your name was still the only thing he could utter, muffled in between the kisses he could not stop lavishing on every bit of your skin he could reach. Your hands found their way to his hips again, this time sneaking underneath the wet fabric that clung to his torso, then brazenly gliding upward, past his belly to the taut muscles of his chest, high enough for your thumb to circle his nipple.

An ungentlemanly word suddenly rumbled from Éomer King's throat, so startled was he by the sensual touch. Within moments his shirt lay discarded on the floor, your back made contact with the mattress, and there he was, leaning over you, bare from the waist up to your hungry eyes. You gave yourself an extra second to appreciate the sight before hooking a hand over his nape to yank him back into a kiss. The fervor in his response left you writhing and whimpering and completely vulnerable in your weakness.

A deep haze settled over you as you began to lose yourself to the pleasure of his ministrations. With every inch of you, you wanted this, and the way your body reacted to his every action, shaking in desperation for more, would surely tell him that. And yet… yet as you felt his fingers grope for the fastenings of your dress, felt his palm brush the back of your knee to your thigh, felt his hardness press against your hip… something inside of you jerked in reawakened panic.

“Éomer. W-wait.”

So soft was the protest, you were not even sure you had said the words aloud. But almost immediately, Éomer stopped and pulled back. He took one look at you, your disheveled state, and whatever expression lay on your face, and he sat up fully, turning away, dragging your heart out of your chest with him.

“Éomer, please. I am… I just…”

“No, I understand and I agree. To carry on would be unwise.”

He rubbed both hands roughly over his face, shaking away the stupor induced by his desire.

“All these years I have ordered the men to give you the respect you are due. I cannot risk your virtue or reputation now, however long I have wanted this. Wanted you.”

You moved to sit on the edge of the bed next to him. “You are my King, and it is my duty to protect you and your reputation. We must behave prudently.”

He nodded, but still looked so pained you could not help but lift your hand to try to soothe the scowl from his face. He angled his head to kiss the inside of your wrist.

“I will have you,” he muttered, his diverted gaze making it seem more a promise to himself than to you. But when he turned his eyes back on you, the wanton lust pooling in them stirred the heat in your belly. “I will wait for the right circumstances, however long it may take, but I will have you.”

He rose and walked a few steps across the room, perhaps in need of distance from you. As he stood closer to the fireplace, the light illuminated a view so rarely seen by anyone, many people in Rohan had come to believe that Éomer was simply hale and hard of body beyond the limits of mortal men.

The numerous scars that decorated his body testified to both his fragility and his strength. Many of his wounds had been tended to by you on the battlefield, carrying terrible memories that were now also moments of pride and achievement that you shared with him.

Éomer seemed to feel your intent gaze upon him, and he stretched out a hand to you, beckoning you to rejoin him. As soon as you were within reach, he wrapped his arms around you again, drawing you against him, sighing contently as your touch drifted over the bare skin of his chest and shoulders.

Your hand moved with intention, skimming down to his lower abdomen, probing carefully for the large scar you knew sat just below his ribcage. That injury was less than two years old. It still amazed you how it had managed to heal with little issue, under the constant strain of the many violent battles Éomer fought in since.

So close. A chill ran through you as the memory rose unbidden: you pressing down hard to staunch the bleeding, screaming for someone to help carry the barely conscious Marshal to the nearest shelter, where you could safely attempt to clean and suture the wound. If the orc blade had sunk in only a fraction of an inch deeper, it would have been beyond anyone's power to save him. You came too close to losing him that day.

Eomer's lips brushed against the shell of your ear as he interrupted your reminiscence with a whisper. “How can you still doubt that we belong together, when already you are part of me?”

Your fingers passed over several other scars from injuries you had tended to over the years, and came to rest over the tattoo on his upper right arm. The black dragon curled around the edge of his shoulder was identical in design and location to the mark borne by every rider in your Éored. Your possession of that dragon mark bound you to Éomer intimately, but also defined your role in his life. Sharing his bed, or even being with him just once, was not your place.

“None of these give me any right to claim you,” you said softly. “You must still marry. And it is your duty to marry well.”

He caught your elbow as you started to move your hand away, and guided it back to slide over his waist, to rest over the scar once more, willing you to hold fast to the memory it carried, and hold fast to him.

“What does it mean to marry? Is it not just the giving of one's entire self--mind and body, heart and soul--to another?”

He hooked a finger underneath your chin, urging your downcast gaze to rise and meet his.

“How am I to dispose of things that are no longer in my possession? I have long been taken, solely and utterly, by you.”

And with that gaze he set upon you, you wondered: how many glances must have he given you in secret all these years, with eyes that burned with something more than the devotion of one comrade-in-arms to another? What willful blindness had you clung to for years, for you not to have noticed it?

“I must fulfill my duties to Rohan, this is true. But not even a king can be asked to do the impossible.”

“But to wed a great king to a lowly servant--” You shook your head. “Many would argue that is the real impossibility.”

A new expression akin to anger flashed across Éomer’s face. Before you could wonder what you might have done wrong, he dropped to his knees before you, both knees, his hands wrapped tightly around yours.

“My lord!” you cried, aghast that he would debase himself, even in private. You tried to force him back up, but he would not budge.

“Never speak of yourself as lowly again,” he admonished. “King or peasant, there is nothing more lowly or humbled than a man so wretchedly in love, as I am with you.”

“Éomer…” You sank to the floor with him. “If only things were so simple. I wish it could all happen as you say, but I just do not see how. I do not know what can be done.”

“Let me hold your love for a while longer, and wait for me,” he said gently. “That is all I ask. The rest is mine to accomplish. As long as your heart is mine, and I know you have given it to me freely, I will fight for my right to keep it.”

You felt his grip around your fingers grow tense in the long seconds of silence that followed. At last, you brought his knuckles to your lips, kissing the hands you adored with such devotion.

“When you leave, you shall take my heart with you,” you whispered into his palm. “But I fear it will be a greater challenge than you believe, to keep others from wresting such an unsuitable offering from your hands.”

“They may certainly try, if they wish to test me.” The ice in his tone unsettled you, even though that veiled threat was certainly not for you, while the warm caress on your cheek was. “Not for a moment will I appear unclear or undecided when it comes to my intentions towards you. I will never make that mistake again.”

“B-but the Council of Eorl. The lords…”

“They answer to the King,” Éomer interrupted. “Do not privileges, as well as duties, come with this crown? Trust me. Please.” He bowed to rest his forehead against yours. “While we are parted, I will prove to you that it can be done, that I will do whatever I must to marry you, and to honor and protect you thereafter.”

“Marry?” you murmured. The idea still seemed no more than a ludicrous fantasy. But then Éomer kissed you again, deeply, as though determined to memorize the taste of your lips, urging you to focus on the present moment.

Because he was yours, even if just for that night. Even if by dawn, it could all crumble under the pressures of the world outside these walls. Éomer loved you, and held you in such high regard to want you as his wife and queen. You would swear to anyone that this knowledge alone was already a dream fulfilled.

And yet. If you were brave enough to hope, maybe…just maybe, this would not be the last impossibility to come true for you.

* * *

They do not know. Hundreds of Gondor’s citizens bearing streamers and flowers lined the streets of Minas Tirith that morning to join King Elessar in sending off the departing Eorlingas. But it occurred to Éomer how strange it felt that none of them had any awareness of a matter that was not only monumental for him personally, but carried significant consequences for all of Rohan.

Soon that will change, the young king vowed to himself. Soon his Council will hear the truth, and afterward all of Rohan, and then the rest of their allies. But for the moment, discretion--no matter how bitter the pretense tasted.

No one except for Lord Boromir and his betrothed, the lovely Lady Aerdis, who both stood next to her, understood what truly lay underneath the courteous gestures exchanged between the King of Rohan and his shield-maiden. A simple bow, an exchange of a few words, and a locking of gazes that was all too brief. Had they not spent that one evening together, Éomer would have remained trapped in the false belief of her indifference towards him. The memory of her kisses would have to suffice for a while, and he could only hope he had given her enough to remember him by, as well.

He brushed the edge of his hand over his lips just as he turned away, and forced his feet to carry him down the line of assembled well-wishers.

A noticeable hush descended on the crowd of onlookers as Éomer came to the end of the road where, closest to the ruins of the Great Gate, the King of Gondor himself met him, flanked by none other than Imrahil, the Prince of Dol Amroth, and his only daughter.

“Lady Lothíriel.” As Éomer took the hand she courteously offered him and brushed a kiss on her fingers, he became aware of the wan smiles that surrounded them, and the unsubtle tittering of a few ladies watching. “Your presence this morning is an unexpected and most delightful gift.”

Lothíriel was astonishingly beautiful indeed, with such radiant grace and sweet smiles, that it would not have surprised Éomer if many citizens of the White City came out just to catch a glimpse of her. “I wish you, Lady Éowyn, and all your men a safe journey, your Grace,” she said. “And may you have great success in your labors, so that we can soon celebrate your speedy return.”

“You are kind, my lady. I certainly hope for the same,” replied Éomer. “We leave behind treasure beyond price here and shall be eager to return for our own.”

Two Rohan lords had already swooped in to engage Imrahil in quiet conversation, and only stepped aside when Éomer himself approached to exchange farewells. Éomer’s admiration for the Prince only grew the more he learned about him and spent time with him, but the unabashed thirst of his counselors for Dol Amroth’s friendship irritated him. Yet another issue he intended to settle in the ordering of his House’s affairs.

Finally, Éomer came before Elessar, who embraced him tightly and honored him with a bow, from one king to another. “Worry not, my brother,” the man once called Aragorn said quietly to him. “I shall see to it that they are cared for, these ones whom you so dearly love.”

He smiled at the look of mixed wonder and apprehension on Éomer’s face, and dipped his head in another show of reassurance and of farewell.

With that, the Rohirrim set off on the North-way in a procession over a mile long, accompanied by the fanfare from the people that continued to line the road stretching across Pelennor. Countless flags in a multitude of colors and sigils from the different regions of Gondor fluttered in the air, and from every direction, enthusiastic cheering and waving followed the Riders across the fields.

At the head of the procession, behind his standard bearer and with Éowyn at his side, Éomer quickly fell into a brooding silence that did not escape his sister’s notice.

“I truly did not think I would ever see the day when the two of you would be willingly separated,” she said lightly. When Éomer looked at her with raised eyebrows, she shrugged. “I am sure you have good reasons for choosing her to stay behind with our uncle.”

“Many reasons,” Éomer grunted.

Éowyn regarded him thoughtfully. “Has the time finally come when you would allow yourself to be open with me about these reasons? And the other concerns weighing on your mind and heart? It is just you and I now, Éomer,” she said softly, stretching out her hand to him. “I may not have uncle’s experience or Théodred’s cunning, but I love you beyond words, and would do anything to see you happy. Let me help you.”

Éomer smiled at this, and reached over to take her hand and squeeze it. “Perhaps I can aspire to the happiness you have found with Lord Faramir.”

“Having my affections stolen by a High Man was not what I aspired to,” said Éowyn, trying to look annoyed but unable to hide the blush on her cheeks. “But love, it seems, is the wildest beast of all. It will not be tamed, or bridled, or even reasoned with. It goes where it wills. Éomer…” Éowyn’s sweet face turned stern. “You have suffered enough, and have been forced to carry so many burdens, not least of all our uncle’s crown, which I know you never wanted.”

“It is my honor to take the throne in Uncle and Théodred’s stead,” Éomer said firmly. “And why do you make assumptions about the things I want?”

“I know who it is you have wanted, for a long time now,” Éowyn said with a stout confidence that took Éomer aback. “You are discreet, brother. But I have watched you and looked out for you, more closely than you realize.”

Éomer shook his head. “I am still learning the many ways I have been underestimating you, Éowyn. Soon I shall believe myself unworthy of your care or help.”

“Someone has to care for you, during the frequent times you would not.” Éowyn glanced over her shoulder to make sure they were still out of hearing range of the rest of his Éored. “Especially now that you have left her behind.”

Éomer pressed his lips in a tight line and returned his gaze to the road ahead. “I will be back,” he said. “There is much to do in Rohan before then, but with Uncle waiting in the Hallows, I can hardly afford to dawdle or delay.”

And she is waiting. Éomer caught a glimpse of his sister’s suppressed smile that told him she had already thought the same thing. Another person with strong opinions to contend with.

Éomer spurred Firefoot forward to signal the standard bearer, who promptly blew one quick blast on his horn. As the King took off in a steady gallop, the thunder of hooves rose behind him as nearly a thousand other Rohirrim picked up their pace to match his, drowning out the excited shouts of the Gondorians that started them off at last to their journey home.

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#sotwk fanfiction #eomer #eomer x reader #eomer fanfiction #rohan #lotr #eomer x you #eomer eadig #lotr fanfiction #lotr fanfic #sotwk fic: taken #boromir

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childotkw · 21 days

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okay but imagine the grindelwald! harry au mixed with that ybtm(ibty) au where it's actually harry that goes to nathan's world. i would assume that dumbledore wouldn't allow those rumors to spread if harry came to him first, but if harry had built up a reputation beforehand... it's technically not allowed/ taboo to discuss the rumor (not like the school can place a ban on it), but the whole student body knows it by the time harry is there and assisting dumbledore. dumbledore can't even claim harry as his son or relative at this point because it would just end in even more disaster. harry is super adverse to the rumor but his refusal just kinda stokes the flames higher and at this point even grindelwald is aware that his supposed son is hanging out with dumbledore at hogwarts. and wouldn't that be rejection of the highest order again? or perhaps he wouldn't really even believe the rumor but that power that harry effortlessly wields, that's something to see. i feel like nathan would believe harry when he said that he wasn't grindelwald's son, but orion would do the real plotting when he connects nathan's attackers to grindelwald, like, the amount of drama orion lives for is RIGHT THERE orion would prob be disappointed when he doesn't see results tho lol, but he has plenty of other entertainment. like harry and his everything. and tom too, but he sees tom more than harry, and tom likes to hide everything, so. anyways this idea has consumed me so i'm sorry about the word vomit lmao your aus are very plot-bunny inducing

A spin off of Dark Side of the Moon where Harry side-stepped Dumbledore and Hogwarts completely, and became some vigilante-esque figure in the Wizarding underworld because his saving people thing was alive and well even if he's a grumpy boy.

His actions - stepping in and defending others regardless of status or species, breaking up the more destructive and illegal rings in Knockturn and making things a little safer for those living there, dodging the aurors with all the skill of a career criminal, etc. - drew attention.

Because of course they did.

And people loved to gossip about him.

Because of course they did.

Harry was focussed on trying to get home (he has yet to chat with Death), and unintentionally kicked off some of those rumours himself. Rumours that, for some reason, had people thinking he was Grindelwald’s son?

(It was absolutely because of the Deathly Hallows tattoo on his hip - don’t ask how it got there, don’t ask how the group of hags spotted it, Harry purged that memory from his brain, it did not happen).

Anyway.

Harry was strolling around Knockturn on Halloween and stepped in to chase off the men attacking Nathan, safely whisked the boy back to his family and let them know that Grindelwald’s men were on the prowl. Benedict took that warning seriously, and Cynthia proposed Harry stop by one afternoon for tea as a thank you.

And one gossipy vampire who witnessed Harry curb-stomp Grindelwald’s men spread the word that the Dark Lord’s apparent son was ‘on the outs’ with his father because why else would he attack a group of Acolytes unless there was trouble in paradise?

Long, long story short - Harry eventually ended up at Hogwarts as some weird teacher assistant / in protective custody / a God (people are too scared to ask at this point). He just chilled in the school, occasionally disappearing without a word to dismantle an illegal poaching organisation or bulldoze through some of Grindelwald’s men.

It was only after a few months that Harry even heard the rumour that people think he’s Grindelwald’s disgruntled, long-lost son. He tried denying it at first but by this point the rumour is so pervasive and wide-spread that he couldn’t change it. So Harry just rolled with it.

“Why yes, I am Gellert’s son. Yes, I think his political agenda is stupid. No, he’s not all powerful, he’s actually a moron and I’m going to break his nose when I next see him.”

People are lowkey terrified. Nathan has his pseudo-older brother who is training him to be a badass. Orion is frothing at the mouth and Tom is vibrating at a frequency that could propel himself into the sun.

Gellert just wants to know why anyone would look at him and think he’d ever sleep with a woman. Then he claims the magically-powerful-possible-god-man-thing as his son because why not?

#bored-platypus #HP #ybtm(ibty)#dark side of the moon au #harry potter #gellert grindelwald

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is-today-tomorrow-in-nz · 2 months

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Why Nikolai fails as a leader

I made a post about why I cannot accept Alina as a protagonist here. I wanted to continue the trend and do the same with the other members of the Righteous Gang. I will start with Nikolai this time.

This is a long read so, brace yourselves.

Nikolai Lanstov is a character I enjoyed reading very much and he is the only member of the Righteous Gang that I find likeable. He is shown as an inventor, visionary, a lawless pirate and a prince who threw away his cushy life to support his country. LB proposes him as an alternative- the 'good' leader opposed to the 'evil' Darkling. However, as the story progresses, we cannot help but see several parallels between them. Both are clever, have a thirst for power(not for themselves), are patriotic and posses an opportunistic nature.

So what differentiates our 'Good' King from the Dark Lord? The short answer is LB and her plot armour.

In other words, the 'goodness' in Nikolai that is supposed to make him better than the Darkling is never put under trial. Even though, Nikolai as a character has enough traits in him to make him swing easily towards the 'evil side', LB restricts his character to his goodness and devices a plot armour in such way that his morals and ideals are rarely threatened.

Let me point out a few key instances where LB restricts Nikolai's character growth to keep up his clean image:

Nikolai's bid for the throne: Ever since Sturmhond's true identity as Nikolai is revealed, we are shown of his ambition to take over the throne of Ravka. We also see the ground work he had laid since his days as a soldier in the First Army but his plans just stops there. After re-entering Ravka, his only plan is to solely rely on Alina(a fickle person at best) accepting his hand in marriage, kickstarting his campaign for the throne. With the Darkling on the run and the country in shambles, we see no tangible efforts from him even when the situation calls for it He neither strong arms Vasily(or the King) nor does he march in and seize the throne. He does nothing but attend meetings and act as an underling to Vasily. For someone who loves Ravka enough to give up his princehood and live his days as a pirate in the sea, we don't see him doing much to aid the said country when it is in literal chaos.

So how does Nikolai secure the throne?

Answer: The Darkling does it for him.

LB had already established Nikolai as a morally grey character. So why didn't she let Nikolai blackmail his father or brother to position himself in the throne? The country is in shambles and the entire population is looking for a miracle. Marching in with the Sun Summoner, his First Army supporters and seizing the throne is obviously the correct step here and yet we don't see Nikolai doing that or rather LB doesn't let him do that because if she did, then how can she differentiate her hero from the villain?

Nikolai's when faced with the truth about his parents: For once, we are given an excellent opportunity to see how good and righteous Nikolai is. He learns the truth about his dear father, aka the rapist King. He also learns how his mother had been turning a blind eye to his crimes for years. And he, their only remaining son, is placed is in a position to dole out judgement for their crimes.

How does Nikolai punish his family?

Answer: He doesn't.

He shamelessly uses the opportunity to establish himself as the King and sends his parents on a nice, luxury retirement to the colonies. So where did his sense of justice go? How is he the 'good' King when his first instinct is to pardon his kin and not hold them accountable? Isn't that what self-righteous, non-Darklings supposed to do? And the way LB later twists this on the Darkling is laughable. Nikolai literally denies Genya her justice and yet the Darkling is blamed for it. Instead of Nikolai shouldering the responsibility for his actions(by extension his family's), the entire fault is solely placed on the Darkling. What is one more evil deed to his list of crimes, eh Miss LB?

Nikolai on Mal's insubordination. Why does he allow Mal(much later we see it with Zoya too), a literal nobody, to talk and treat him the way he does? He was well within his rights as a prince to demand Mal's blood and yet time and time again he lets Mal walk scot-free? Why? Because he is different? Because he wants Alina to see him in a positive light? To present himself as a better prospect? Because he is a good person at heart that doesn't want to force Alina into something and 'win' her over? So kissing Alina without her consent, in a public event no less, was an act of chivalry?

Answer: Because if he acted, it would make him look as 'bad' as the Darkling. The Darkling would have never accepted insubordination from anyone let alone a nobody tracker from the First Army. He demands respect as any good leader should. Punishment for insubordination is not as 'evil' act as LB perceives it to be. It has been existing since the dawn of time and it exists even in today's modern society. You cannot mouth off figures of authority without consequences. And yet LB cannot have that because Nikolai is not the Darkling. He is different, he is 'good'.

*****

Throughout the trilogy and duology, through several mouth-pieces, LB keeps telling us how much of a good person Nikolai is and yet when presented with an actual moral dilemma, she does not allow him to make a decision that would sully his 'goodness'. So how can we, as readers, call him 'good' when he is never presented with a trolley problem?

LB keeps shooting Nikolai in the knee to keep him from growing. Because if he did, then we would see how he was no different from the Darkling. The 'evilness' of the Darkling stems from the fact that he had to make hard choices since the day he was born. He had taken up an cause that no one before him did and so being 'good' was never an option for him because the only choices he had were preserving his soul or preserving his community. And he chose the latter and this is where Nikolai fails as a leader. Nikolai never had to make a choice of sacrificing a few for the goodness of many. LB swathes him in plot armour after plot armour that by the end of the duology he is almost as virtuous as Virgin Mary.

It's a shame that LB's views of the world are restricted to black and white. Had she understood the nuances of morality, she would not have maimed one of her strong characters.

A good King shows strength, courage and fights for his country. He commands respect from his subordinates and strives to improve the lives of his subjects. A good leader does not hesitate to use any tools at his disposal to get results he needs- diplomacy, violence, threats, warfare etc. A good leader will always puts his people first before his morals and more importantly does not give up his crown to Daenerys Targaryen knock-offs. By making Nikolai's character cling to his cloak of morality, LB makes him look like a people-pleasing child rather than a formidable leader he has the potential to be.

In conclusion, as much as I like Nikolai as a character, I would say Uther Pendragon made a better King to Camelot than Nikolai did to Ravka.

#shadow and bone #grishanalyticritical #grisha critical #grishaverse #nikolai lantsov #anti leigh bardugo #anti shadow and bone #pro aleksander morozova #pro darkling #king of scars #rule of wolves #seige and storm #ruin and rising

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unicorncornflakes · 11 months

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Little One - Story AU! | Chapter 5

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Paring: Reader x Aemond Targaryen.

Summary: You are the only daughter of Jacaerys Velaryon, future lord of the tides. After the victory of Aegon and his side in the war, your family suffers the rejection in Driftmark. There you must always give an account to the king's new hand, Aemond Targaryen. However, when the time comes, Aegon and his court claim you as Queen Helaena's lady-in-waiting. As a new piece of the Greens' strategy to coerce your father, you are taken to King's Landing to begin your life in high society. Aemond will be, much to his pleasure, in charge of guiding you in this new stage.

Tags: Alternate Universe/ Enemies to Lovers/ Emotional Hurt/Comfort Drama & Romance/ Eventual Smut.

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st, at some points.

Tag-List (If you wanna be tagged in thi series or all of my work, let me know): @thedamewithabook @bluevxnus @tempt-ress @bellameshipper @qyburnsghost

Author´s note: Pls, enjoy! Feedback, shares and comments are always welcome!

Word Count: 3.6K

"If you had involved her more in the management of Driftmark and in the history of our family, we wouldn't be like this now." Corlys remembered saying those words to Jace the same night that you had left for King's Landing. You and your grandfather had been very close. Well, actually your great-grandfather. Although you had always called him grandfather. Corlys hated what Jace and his granddaughter had done to you. Hiding the war from you was not the solution. Hiding what had become of most of your family at the hands of the Greens was not the solution. Now a defenseless girl had been left at the mercy of monsters, in the Red Keep itself. Jace danced to the tune of those who had taken everything from him only for fear of losing the only thing he had left. You.

But, Corlys was going to fix it. He had proposed to him the same day your brother had died. He was going to end the Greens even if it cost him his life. He got off the ship that had taken him to King's Landing, limping, leaning on his cane. He could see how other nobles who had also come this far in the port were looking at him in amazement. The lord of the tides had left his home, ready to celebrate the tournament for the King's name day, like all of them. He saw how no one had expected him or his entourage. But, he didn't care. Steadily, he and a few of the men he had selected as the best in Driftmark walked in the direction of the castle. There was a name day to celebrate and a death to report to you.

You looked in the mirror. Thank the gods you hadn't tried on that dress until you'd stopped bleeding. It almost seemed as if Aemond had known the day your Moonblood disappeared. It was impossible. You had begged Mistra and she must have kept quiet. It had been a simple coincidence that they were going to try on that dress the same day that you had woken up that morning without staining the sheets. You looked at yourself in the mirror again and blushed.

You saw Aemond just behind you, a safe distance away, while the tailor continued to make the final adjustments to that dress. It was almost transparent. The only parts that it managed to cover elegantly were your breasts and your pubis. Part of the buttocks was visible and Aemond seemed more than satisfied while they made the last arrangements. Jaehaera was there too, so that once they were done with your dress, they would move on to the princess's. You were sure that that girl's would not show so many parts of her skin. Yours was blatantly transparent.

"Since you don't want to fly with dragons, we have to show the others the loot we have, right?" Aemond had whispered it in your ear one of the times he had approached you while the tailor continued with his mending. You looked at him defiantly and he thought that you would be quiet, but that at any moment you would take out your nails... although he was fooling himself. He had imagined that any night you would come to him after that kiss. You had liked it and he had imagined receiving your visit in the middle of the night... your nightdress fell to the floor... and with that you managed to wake up the dragon that had been asleep for so long... but, you had not appeared and he had consoled himself with his own hand, when no fucking Helaena thinking of you. For you it had been a quiet week in which no one had bothered you, for the prince it had been insufferable. But, you were in better shape than when you arrived, leaving you alone almost seemed advisable, but, that was not what Aemond wanted...

"She should have more cleavage," Aemond said in a flat tone, as if he didn't care what he was seeing, when all it did was turn him on at times. He heard Jaehaera sigh and looked at her daughter. The girl was looking at the dress you were trying on.

"Why do you want her to look like a prostitute at the father's party?" she asked looking at Aemond with cold eyes and he looked at her almost pale. He would never have expected those words from the princess. The girl looked at the one she had for her uncle, she continued with her gaze, judging him in silence, and for a moment you thought you had found a true ally within those walls.

"We have to find a good husband for her" Aemond replied, annoyed. He would never have expected something like this from his own daughter. Then he saw Jaehaera's eyes grow sadder. "We have to marry her well married, princess"

"Then I should be dressed the same," she replied, and Aemond's lips tightened. You looked at him in disbelief while the girl looked down at the ground. She was older than you, and yet she was not married. Everyone in that place was waiting, they didn't quite know what to do with her, with a girl who was beginning to wither between the walls of the red fortress and who you had seen she only spent time with her uncle Daeron.

"Don't talk nonsense, princess," Aemond chided her daughter, but then she continued speaking.

"Men should not hide your own desires behind the search for our own happiness" she blurted out without any affection, returning to her state of perpetual sadness and silence. That was the first day you saw her really angry. The girl looked at you once more, scrutinizing you in silence, to finally return her purple gaze to the ground. You saw how Aemond suppressed the desire to answer her, but he seemed more surprised than angry, as if he had never expected that answer from the girl, always quiet, sweet and prone to tears. You didn't want to wear that dress, and there was little you could do, but you appreciated Jaehaera's words. She could almost read your mind, and if she could, it's because she was also a woman with whom men did what they wanted.

They finished mending your dress and then moved on to Jaehaera's, but the tension was palpable. Aemond had stopped enjoying you thanks to the princess and he could only outline concern. He knew the place women held in society, but he was beginning to fear that Jaehaera might forget that, as if they had forgotten for too long that she was already a woman who had grown up constrained in the rubble of the Red Keep.

The next day was the starting of the celebration of those week-long festivities in honor of Aegon II. So, it was not your place to take care of Queen Helaena those days. Some older and more experienced maids than you took care of the poor and sad queen. She was groomed to be able to endure at least the inaugural tournament, for her to look like a normal woman, someone who was really still in the real world and not lost in her fantasies. They combed her, they made her up. She was dressed in the clothes that she would wear for that day. They forced her to walk a couple of steps alone. They reminded her of how she greeted the common people. She was prepared to be in the real world for a few hours. Something you had no idea about.

You had spent those days walking around the red fortress like a shadow, always silent and trying to go unnoticed. You had discovered that if you went to the kitchen first thing in the morning, one of the cooks would always surreptitiously leave you a freshly made cinnamon bun on the counter, that at night there was a couple who would meet in the stables and kiss until they It was almost midnight, that in the library there was a passageway that led outside the castle walls, that... no one really missed you in that place... that you could even almost escape, if it weren't for the regular visits from Mistra. The old maid showed up at night and in the morning, even if you weren't going to serve the queen that day. She would set you up and ask how you were feeling. Since you shared the secret of your bleeding, the woman cared more about you, and you appreciated it while she later informed the one-eyed man behind your back. Life was relatively quiet those days.

At that time, you were sitting among the roots of the tree of the old gods when a presence much taller than yourself stood before you. "What are you reading, sea foam girl?" Princess Jaehaera asked you, tilting her head to the side, studying you again, deciphering you as she would a treasure map. She sat next to you with great elegance. She had only been raised to look pretty behind a man, to be silent all day. Pretty girls were seen, not heard. She was the maxim her uncle Aemond of hers had raised her with.

"Sea foam girl?" You asked her confused, closing the book and she looked straight ahead, serious and still angry. But, you knew she wasn't mad at you. You didn't know who she was with, but she wasn't with you.

“Today my mother called you that. She said to me: 'Where is the sea foam girl?' ”She said with a shrug and picked up one of the leaves that had fallen from the weirwood. The truth is that you had been surprised, not that Helaena had asked for you, simply that she had spoken something other than crying or an incomprehensible murmur. The princess saw your confused face and continued speaking. "When they prepare it for a public act it seems almost normal, if that's what you're wondering" she said, turning her sad gaze to the ground.

"I'm sorry" you said, answering with your soul. You didn't think that Jaehaera had much to say in the plans of the adults around her, and that, like you, she was another collateral victim of a war that hadn't even brought greatness to the victors. You changed the subject and answered her first question. “I am reading an old book of legends that I found in the library. It is not a big thing"

She looked at it curiously and picked it up after asking your permission. You gave it to her and she gave a sad smile. "Uncle Aemond used to read this same book to us when we were kids, maybe... the attraction he feels for you makes some sense" she told you, handing the book back to you and you blushed. She looked at you confused at your blush and looked straight ahead again. “He may think he's smart, but he dress you like a whore whenever he can for a reason. He wants you to bend to his will, which at the end of the day is what all men want. They are all liars” she told you angrily, and you realized that normally at that time she always flew with Daeron. She was taking it out on you because she had been watching you for too long to know that you weren't a threat. You stayed silent, nervously grabbing one of the corners of the book and she only said one more sentence before remaining silent "They promise they'll take you away from here, but in the end it's all a lie" You both continued in silence and that This moment was a turning point for both of you. After two weeks there, you had found someone to trust, really, because you also knew a secret about her, and even though Jaehaera hadn't told you. Now you understood what was going on between her and Daeron. You had a first piece of information. She missed that burst of sincerity with you, but you understood that it was only due to a matter of the fact that you were both just as alone in that place. That night you had dinner with Jaehaera. And, Daeron, even though his princess was now angry with him, he sighed largely in relief that she had come to you.

"I did not expect to see you here, Lord Corlys" Cregan Stark was the only nobleman at that banquet held among the most important men in Westeros before the great festivities the following day in honor of the King. It wasn't a celebration as such, but Aemond's way of reminding everyone that Aegon's name day could be celebrated tomorrow, but that the one who really controlled everything was him. The sailor greeted the northerner with a handshake and they both sat together at that great table that the "King" would shortly preside over.

"I didn't like leaving Driftmark either, but I'm here for reasons beyond my control," Corlys commented as Cregan helped him sit, pushing the chair out of the way so he could better fit into that huge row of chairs, all neatly arranged on the floor, long table that was placed in the throne room.

"Yes, I've heard how the hand was infatuated with something that it shouldn't have been infatuated with," commented the northerner complicitly with the one who had been his ally in the rebellion a few years ago "She's just a kid, what are that damn butcher thinking about?" he told her angrily whispering in his ear. You weren't really a girl, but Corlys smiled pleased to see how rumors ran rampant in the kingdom, and how you appeared as a victim of the green ones. That image suited him well for the plan that he was beginning to have in his head.

“Well, to get him hot in the cold nigth. Since he killed the witch who warmed his bed, he has not heard of another woman who has been between his sheets and that was almost twenty years ago ”Lord Tully interrupted them. Another of the allies of the blacks. The three of them were whispering, but just stopped talking when Aemond's presence entered the throne door.

Aemond appeared dressed as always in black and green, carrying on his left hand the same ring that he had ripped from Daemon Targaryen's dead hand, and Dark Sister, well sheathed, in a dark green cloak, he descended the stairs of the throne hall followed by the royal guard. The only thing missing was the crown, he knew that detail very well. For all practical purposes, however, all the great lords in this room knew that Aemond Targaryen was king. The lords who had not yet sat down hurried to their places. They all got up to greet him. Everyone except Corlys. His leg wouldn't allow it, and neither would his spirit.

Aemond waved them to sit down and Cregan plopped into his chair, while Lord Tully sat down in one fluid motion. “I want to excuse the King. Today he was not in a condition to be able to enjoy this evening with us, but he has asked me to convey his best wishes to you and that tomorrow he will be together with the queen presiding over the inaugural tournament" he said in a cheerful tone, as cheerful as he could be.

All the great lords of the place began to comment, Aemond continued talking about the great opportunity that tournament was, like every year, how it served to unite the ties broken by a series of traitors, almost eradicated, thanks to the seven. He spoke of benevolence towards his enemies and of their future plans for Westeros, such as the renovation of various main and secondary roads. Corlys thought that if Aemond had not been such a stubborn green to his family, he would have made a fine monarch. The King's hand continued to speak of concord and then Lord Corlys spoke. The first part of his plan began.

“I would like to see my granddaughter, Lord Hand,” Lord Corlys Velaryon said diligently, and all other murmurs in that room ceased. "We are talking about cordiality and establishing new ties and ties previously broken, but I have arrived this morning and I have not seen her since you took her from Driftmark" the old man looked at him and Aemond drank from his glass in silence, under the watchful eye of the rest of the great gentlemen who had sat at that table.

Aemond drained his glass and tapped slowly on the table with two of his fingers. One of the butlers ran to refill his now empty cup. Corlys did not bow his head at the silence that he was now the greatest ruler of the seven kingdoms. Aemond continued to look at him as if he wanted to cow him, but the lord of the tides was undeterred by the Shadow King.

"She is with princess Jaehaera, when they finish dinner you will see her, under my tutelage, of course" she informed him, fixing his only eye on him. And Corlys claimed that it was fine with him, but he had already reported with that gesture that the King's hand had taken an innocent girl hostage to the red keep. And every lord in Westeros had heard that Aemond Tragaryen had taken with him the daughter of his greatest enemy. Those who did not like him took note of it.

After that dinner, Aemond approached Corlys. They both ended up drinking quietly in Aemond's chambers while they waited for you. They were both alone, without guards, with nothing and no one who could hear them. Just the two of them.

"I'm surprised there aren't any guards." Corlys broke the silence, looking at the bottom of his now empty glass, but he didn't want to pour any more wine. He did not trust the King's hand. He would never do. Aemond was devious, despicable, and capable of no emotion. At least, it was so for the lord of Driftmark.

"If you haven't murdered me even once in your house, I don't think I can fear it in mine" Aemond replied in a bad way, while he continued to wait for you. He needed to see you. How I needed to see you almost every day, but that day in particular would show you how benevolent I could be with the traitors in your family. He scolded himself for trying to impress you, but he couldn't help it.

"Many kings have been slain in their beds," Corlys replied with a smile, and Aemond sneered to finish drinking from his cup. Why were you taking so long?

"I have something to offer you, Corlys, so I don't think you want to kill me," Aemond confessed, shrugging and fixing his one eye on the old sailor. The lord of Driftmark looked at him in confusion and continued speaking. “You think I don't know why you mentioned your granddaughter at dinner. It is a good way to raise blisters among those who are still sympathetic to your cause. I know there still are. I'm not stupid, sea serpent ”he smiled defeated and Corlys returned a charming smile, as if he had already counted on Aemond Targaryen already going to know what was going through his head.

“What is it that you propose? What I give you the hand of (Y/N) in marriage? So that she can give birth to the children of the murderer of half of her family?” your grandfather replied tired but with a smile. Aemond poured him another glass of wine and leaned back in his chair.

"No... she... she's not for me" he lied, he would rather have his remaining eye gouged out than accept that he was crazy about you, because he was. You had managed to drive him crazy in much the same way that Alys had. "The position of naval adviser is still open, and I had thought that perhaps you would like to take it up again" The King's hand checked with a smile as your grandfather's face changed. In the end he was going to end up having him eat out of the palm of his hand. It was good to have your friends close, but you had to have your enemies even closer.

Corlys's heart skipped a beat, get his seat back on the council? Yes, yes... it would be a rebirth for her house, a way to protect yourself there, a way to start weaving his plan much closer to the initial problem... "It has to have some trick, doesn't she?" the lord of the tides asked and Aemond pursed his lips into a smile. “I do not believe that this wonderful offer is without cost to me… or to my family…”

"I... am a responsible governor" he explained raising his eyebrows, assuming his true role as King of Westeros. "I am magnanimous with my enemies and I know how to recognize those who deserve recognition... and you were a great naval advisor..." he would impress you with that. You would throw yourself into his arms when you knew that thanks to him part of your house would shine bright again. Not all of it, that was out of the question, but a large part.

"Grandfather!" you appeared, precious, and Corlys got up as he could to give you a hug. He did not continue in his speech. You had interrupted him, and he didn't see himself able to continue with his machinations with you so close. You cried in the arms of the sea serpent and he kissed your hair gently. Aemond looked away, because he perhaps had not expected you to have cried so bitterly in your grandfather's arms. He didn't want you to be as utterly unhappy as you seemed at the moment to have you in King's Landing all to himself. Only for Aemond Targaryen.

#aemond x y/n #aemond smut #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x fem!reader

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lya-dustin · 5 months

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The Dornish Princess

Aemond x fem! Dornish!reader

Cw: mentions of murder, false identity, theft

Tag list: @valeskafics @queen--kenobi

You arrive in King’s Landing as a poor survivor of a shipwreck. All your nice things and clothes and servants and knights gone when the Wyldes found you on their lands.

The only proof of your identity was a waterlogged scroll naming you Coryanne Nymerios Martell, Princess of Dorne.

You looked the part, tan skin, dark hair and the haunting purple eyes of your Dayne mother and the manner of a gentlewoman. By the time you arrived at Court, you had been given all a woman of your station needed and letters were sent home to your sister to tell her of your rescue and invitation to court.

No one knew why your dead handmaid looked so much like you until you quietly explained she was your bastard sister and companion. But you didn’t really cry for her, she was just a bastard after all.

The bastard of Qoren Martell and a dragonseed from Lys.

“My congratulations on your betrothal, may the gods bless you and your intended, your highness.” You say quietly when you encounter the Prince Regent avoid his three and ten year old betrothed.

Little Floris Baratheon had been picked because it would be a good three years until she was old enough to be bedded, a smart move to prevent Baratheon from having too much power over the Greens and keep one’s freedom for as long as one needs it.

You were in a similar boat, your hand merited more than a vassal lord so your sister decided to sell you to the Prince of Pentos because she refused to wed. You were Aliandra’s heir; you were older than Qyle and next in line to be Princess of Dorne, you were everything Floris Baratheon and the rest of the ladies in Westeros were not.

Now it was all a matter of seducing the infamous kinslayer beside you.

His mother distrusted you, a smart decision, no one should trust you. If anyone looked too closely, they’d see it was not snake scales you wore.

“I am engaged to a child, and you are engaged to a man older than my dead father.” He said bluntly and you agreed. Both matches were bad, especially if you were a romantic at heart. It seemed the prince despite his appearance and cold exterior was one.

It wouldn’t be difficult to convince him you love him, or to make him love you. Everyone you met had that misfortune of loving you and becoming blind to your true nature.

It wasn’t the shipwreck that killed your sister, you had held her under the water until she stopped thrashing and came up with the story you fed to Lady Wylde and her company.

Aemond believed himself to be the exception to the faults of men, but he was only a man even if he rode the largest dragon since Balerion.

“A betrothed is not a spouse; the Prince of Pentos is not the first of my suitors to propose and die before the negotiations begin in earnest, you know.” You admit, hinting at the tragic and sudden deaths of all the men ---young and old--- who courted you since you first bled.

You sampled some of them when you grew older, those who didn’t satisfy you usually had hanger-ons who did, and tradition dictated that no bride prices cannot be returned should the groom die before the wedding takes place.

You had amassed quite a fortune in Essos, that was where you were heading. To find more unsuspecting men after your sister was forced to toss you out of Dorne after you slipped up and was almost caught.

Perhaps you could stay here instead. All signs pointed to the Prince Regent becoming King before the first chill came south.

If Prince Aemond was as good with his cock as he was with his sword, he’d be worth staying in Westeros.

Queen Coryanne, now that had a better ring to it than Queen Floris.

“And Lady Floris is not the first of mine to seek greener pastures.” His lips quirk slightly in amusement. He was notorious for evading matchmaking mamas and their daughters, Borros Baratheon may think a war would prevent Prince Aemond from going back on his word, but he’d never played against you.

“Shall we put it to the test?” you ask in a whisper knowing little Floris will be shuffled off to the youngest boy like an old shirt before the sun even sets.

You like him, despite it all, you cannot help but like him.

You are betrothed now, a small feast thrown in your honor as the Baratheon contingent leave and wage war against the Vulture King to spite both the Greens and Dorne at the same time.

But House Targaryen does not care, they got the better deal in you.

Gifts of money and finery and jewels were given to you by your soon to be husband, his mother and the nobles currying favor with the woman who is queen in all but name.

Your dowry would be partially paid in gold and in men. While Dorne was far less backwards than the rest of Westeros and women held equal rights like men, and end to the hostility between the realms.

“We can wed as soon as your dowry comes, my love.” he says as you lounge in your bed after a particularly trying morning. Aegon was growing weaker, Helaena and Jaehaera doing so terribly they had to be taken to the motherhouse in Oldtown to heal away from prying eyes and the need for men and heirs was as important as breathing.

Letters from Dorne had come, mainly thanking your prince and his mother for their hospitality and the promise of sending a proper envoy to negotiate the wedding. You pray the envoy comes by land instead of sea.

Who knows, perhaps Dorne would join the six kingdoms without bloodshed.

But it won’t happen.

The moment the envoy comes, you are fucked.

He won’t want you if he knew the truth. Loathes bastards, killed one even if the little fucker had his blood. Worse, you made a fool of him as you rob them all blind as you plan your escape before Aliandra exposes you as the fraud you are.

What would he do to you when he knows you are Y/N Sand and not your dead sister, Coryanne?

“Why wait, my love?” you kiss him to show how much you care for him, how little it bothers you to see him without his eye as he fucks a bastard into you as he calls you by a name you spit like a curse.

And like the lovesick fool he’s become, the two of you elope in the night. Two strangers stand witness, and you give your real name as a jape as a drunken septon names you man and wife.

Aemond will hate you and hunt you down, you know this you spend your wedding night in his rooms and see how happy you’ve made him.

“I love you, Y/N.” he breathes out and your heart catches in your throat. The boy he was under it all didn’t deserve it, but you can’t have him and no matter how much you pray for the envoy to drown, you know your past will catch up to you.

You are gone when he wakes.

Nothing, not even the furniture, is left in your rooms, nor is there a speck of gold left in the royal treasury except a valid marriage certificate signed and dated with your true name.

He will hate you, but you’d rather he hate you than ever forget you.

Part ii

#aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x dornish!reader #ewan mitchell

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written-in-flowers · 1 year

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Fly Away: Part 1

Pairing: Young!Aemond x Young!Velaryon!Reader | Side pairing: Rhaenyra x Alicent

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Au: friends to lovers, childhood love, incest (duh), slight homophobia expressed, repressed feelings, mutual pining, teenage runaways, mentions of bullying, arrange marriages

Word Count: 8k

Summary: Young love overcomes all in a family full of broken bonds and broken hearts. When Princess Y/N Velaryon and Prince Aemond Targaryen are discovered missing from their beds, their mothers must come together to find them. The search might do more for their families than a mere marriage pact can.

A/N: want to clarify now that we stick with young!Aemond throughout the story. Ewan’s Aemond comes in at the very end. This is mainly done starting a bit before The Princess and the Queen and a little bit after the events at Driftmark. I do pull some scenes from the show, but it remains relatively loose throughout. Want to also point out that The Dance doesn’t happen in this universe, so...happy ending expected, because we need more of those.

Tagged: @yitish

Next Chapter > Part 2

Part 1: A Marriage Proposal

"What?"

The word came out before you stopped yourself. You stared at your mother from across the table in disbelief. She stared back with a mixture of expectancy and slight irritation. You sensed she did not fully approve of the match either, but saw no other choice. She'd be insulting the King, your grandsire, and the Queen, her stepmother, if she declined it.

"This match will strengthen the bond between our houses, and relieve any strife that has come between them. The King agreed with me," she continued. "He believes it will heal the bonds that have been damaged for so long."

"Oh please," you scoffed, crossing your arms and leaning back in your chair. "They have no interest in mending anything."

Your mother hesitated for a moment, not looking away from you but not seeing you either. She appeared to have drifted off. You thought for a moment she’d consider your words, run off to The Queen, and say ‘no’. The subject of betrothal had hung in the air around The Red Keep for some time. Girls younger than you are promised to young lords, and married soon afterwards. You’d always hoped you might be given a choice like your mother, even though your grandsire eventually picked for her when she became indecisive. You knew it’d come up eventually, you just hoped she might provide a list or send you off to meet suitors.

"You are my eldest daughter," she finally came back. "You are three-and-ten, and have already begun your flowering. It is time you married, and who better than Prince Aemond?"

Yes, who better?

"So many. Why can't you marry Jace to Helaena? Surely, that is a better match. Jace will be heir to the throne when you take the crown. Helaena will be his queen. It’s a far better proposal in the long run."

"The Queen…declined the proposal and answered with this one instead.”

Naturally, she would. Out of all of Rhaenyra’s children, you are the only one with the silver hair of the Valryian line. Your younger brothers were born with brown curls and dark brown eyes. It brought up suspicion because your father, Ser Laenor, was dark skinned and silver haired. Queen Alicent must've not wanted to marry her only daughter to a base-born boy, even if the rumors have never been proven. You huffed. Why did it even matter? Jace is your mother's son, and she is Targaryen. Now, you'd be forced to marry Aemond. Aemond Targaryen, your uncle despite him being your age. That was what happened when your grandsire married a young woman and fathered four children on her.

"Aemond isn't a bad boy," she tried comforting you. "He's a bit withdrawn and quiet, but would you prefer to marry Aegon? The drunken fool who likes to bed whores?" She waited for a response, and never received one. "Besides, you and Aemond won't marry for some time. When you do, you'd only ever have to see him at formal occasions and on the nights when it's time to make children."

You rolled your eyes. A loveless marriage, then. It crushed you. Whenever you pictured being married, you envisioned yourself marrying someone who loved you. Whether it be Jace or Luke or some other lord you meet by chance. You wanted a person who loved you like Ser Harwin had loved your mother; a strong, capable man who'd do anything for you. You hated it. You picked at a loose thread on your sleeve to avoid looking at her.

“I know exactly how you feel, little dove,” she said to you, putting her hand on yours. “I reacted the same way when I was approached about marriage. I never saw being a wife and mother in my future, but here we are now. As women of the realm, we have a responsibility to uphold and continue our family lines and make alliances. Having a strong alliance with House Targaryen ensures the bonds between our houses do not break.”

“I thought I’d get a choice…”

“We all hope we get a choice,” she said, petting your hand. “Unfortunately, as women in this world, we don’t always have one. But, fortunately for you, you’re marrying a boy who is your age and is not bad looking.”

“Ugh, Mother,” you groaned.

“It’s not as if you and Aemond are total strangers. You’ve known him your entire life.”

“I rarely speak to him.”

“Well, now you have a chance to change that. You can suggest going for a walk or meeting in the library. You both like books. You can talk about those,” she offered. She waited for you to respond, and then she patted your hand. “This might not be your decision, little dove, but you can certainly choose to make it easier. Aemond isn’t cruel or brutish. He’s gentle. I think if you took time to know him better, you might come to like him? Maybe a little? Gods forbid we strong Valyrian women actually fall in love, but liking someone can’t hurt, could it?”

You thought about Aemond. He was a year or so older than you. Shorter than his brother, he wasn't as strong or quick as you like. He didn't say much. He mostly stared and remained quiet. You did not speak to him often, despite having grown up side-by-side. The boys usually went off on their own while you stayed with Helaena, an angel who loved insects, music and dancing. What would you say? What would you do?

“I suppose I could be doing worse,” you sighed, resting your head on the table in defeat.

“You could be betrothed to Aegon,” your mother finished for you.

“No, I could be betrothed to Jaceryes.”

She laughed at this and kissed your head.

He nodded when his mother told him the news, accepting the proposal and telling her he’d perform his duty. But, deep inside, Aemond grinned. He’d be marrying Y/N Velaryon, the prettiest girl in the entire realm. Well, at least, to him you were. She suggested he take you for a stroll in the palace gardens. If you two talked alone without Aegon or the other boys disrupting things, you might learn more about one another. He put on his best clothes, took a deep breath and walked out into the garden. He guessed you’d be standing by the railing overlooking the ocean. Aemond knew you liked to stop by that particular spot because it gave you the best view of the vast ocean beyond. That was exactly where he found you when he finally reached the area.

You looked beautiful. You wore a dress of pale blue, the golden threading and silk fabric bringing out the color in your skin, causing you to have a unique glow about you. He’d never felt so lucky in his life. Aegon and the others often bullied and teased him, but they couldn’t after today. Not when he had you as his betrothed. If he could not have a dragon, he can at least have a beautiful wife. Even as a girl of thirteen, you outshone every person in the room. Aemond doesn’t know exactly when he first noticed your beauty; it sort of became a fact. It became something he simply knew and appreciated.

“Princess,” he called out to you. His heart jumped into his throat when you looked at him, and he suddenly forgot what words were.

“Hello, Aemond.”

He gulped down the blockage in his throat, and glanced at the scenery behind you. The sunshine made the waves glimmer, and gave light to passing ships. “Watching the ships again?” he asked, approaching you with his hands behind his back.

“Yes,” you turned back to them. “I like to play a game when I watch them pass by,” you said carefully, as if finding words to say and worried he might laugh.

“What game?” he asked, standing beside you. He caught a whiff of jasmine in the passing winds. Was that you or the flowers? He hoped it was you.

“I look at the sails on each of the ships, and then try to guess what it could be bringing,” you answered when you saw he wasn’t teasing you. “Like that one,” you pointed to a galley ship with orange sails. “That’s one of the ships coming from the Free Cities. I like to think it’s a Pentoshi merchant bringing exotic spices and wine to sell in the market.”

“I don’t think it’d bring wine,” he said. “Aegon says Pentoshi wine is watery and weak compared to strongwine.”

“Is it really?”

“I wouldn’t know,” he shrugged. “I don’t really drink as much wine as him.”

“Nobody drinks as much wine as Aegon,” you giggled.

He couldn’t help joining you. Right as your laughter died, he heard a slight rustle from behind him. Aemond looked around to see the garden walls enclosing the semi-circular space. He briefly thought Aegon or Jace might be hiding, waiting to scare them, but then you spoke again.

“Oh, there’s another ship from Pentos!” you pointed to a ship coming into port with aquamarine sails and a seahorse sigil on them.

“Not every foreign ship is from Pentos, Y/N,” he laughed softly at your naivety. He found it sweet where others might see it as dumb. “It could easily be from Braavos, Myr, Lys…Anywhere.”

“Anywhere but here…”

He heard your tone of voice change, and saw the light in your eyes fade. Aemond hated that. He hated seeing you upset. He didn’t know exactly why, but it upset him all the same. He stood closer and said, “What’s wrong?”

“Have you ever wondered what it’d be like if we weren’t born into our families?”

The question took him aback for a second, but he immediately understood your meaning. “Sometimes,” he admitted, “Especially when Aegon’s your older brother.”

“Not only because of that…” you picked at a piece of thread on your sleeve, “Because…then we’d have more freedom.”

“Freedom?”

“Yes. People outside the keep are able to live how they want, do what they want and marry who they want. They don’t have to worry about traditions or duties or live up to anyone’s expectations,” you continued. “I’m a Velaryon princess and my mother says it’s my duty to marry and carry on the Valyrian blood lines and mend bonds. How can I be expected to do that when our parents hate each other?”

“They don’t hate each other.”

He knew this to be a lie already. Aemond couldn’t count all the times he overheard his mother talking to Ser Criston about his sister, Princess Rhaenyra. How his father tended to favor her over his other children, her children; how he always came around the corner to her aide, but did not do the same for her children. The biggest one was the obvious fact that Jaceryes and Luceryes are clearly not full-blooded Velaryons. She said they bore a ‘strong’ resemblance to Harwin Strong, former Commander of the City Watch. He knew the reason she’d chosen you to marry into her family is because you’re the only one who cannot be contested. You have your father’s skin and your mother’s hair.

“Yes, they do. They think we’re too young and stupid to realize it, but I see how your mother looks at my mother, and how she looks in return.” Something hung on the tip of your tongue. He sensed a suspicion you’d never speak out loud. “I don’t know what happened, but I don’t believe our marriage is going to fix anything. It’ll only make things more complicated.” You turned back to the ocean, “That’s why I wished I lived in a different world, a different place.”

He hesitated to ask, but he couldn’t help himself, “Would you still want to marry me in this different world?”

You didn’t answer right away. “I…I don’t know. Possibly. Maybe. If you were nice in that different world.”

He nearly argued that he is nice. He’s nice to you. It isn’t easy for him to get along with too many people. This is the longest he’s spoken to you before, and he’s known you for ages. Despite living in the same castle, your lives never fully intersected as yours did with Helaena. Helaena told him you were so kind and thoughtful with her. You’d go bug-hunting and examine them together. You listened to her talk about them without appearing bored, and engaged in conversation with her. He saw how you always stayed at her side at formal occasions. You’re both girls, even if Helaena is older than you, and you have the same Septa. Aemond often envisioned himself striding up to you, confident and charming, and somehow magically wooing you.

But, you’re not the swooning type.

He heard the garden wall rustle again, and this time he fully stared at the spot. Aegon. It must be. It’d be like him to make time out of his day to torment him; he’d like it twice as much with you as his audience. Aemond refused to be humiliated in front of you. He then said, “Do you like strawberries?”

“Yes, everybody does,” you snorted at the obvious question.

“I found this part of the garden where they’ve been growing. Do you want to see if they’re still there with me?”

“Sounds delightful.”

He prepared himself for a scare or Aegon to suddenly appear. However, when you both reached the enclosure’s entrance, he saw nobody. He continued staring around the garden path as if he’d see his brother any second.

“Is something wrong?” you asked him, walking slowly beside him.

“I think Aegon’s watching us.”

“Ugh,” you grunted, “It’d be like him to be watching us. He’s probably waiting around the corner with a bucket or something awful to splash on us or scare us with.” You crossed your arms, “He’s so vile.”

“I put a snake in his bed once,” he told you. When you looked his way, he nodded, “Aegon’s deathly afraid of snakes. He has been ever since he found a little one swimming around in his wineskin during a hunt and nearly swallowed it. One day, he’d humiliated me in front of a group of people like he always does, and I found this little garden snake when I went to see Helaena. I took it, put it in my pocket, and snuck into Aegon’s room while he was sleeping.” He laughed, recalling his brother’s high-pitched screams when he lifted his sheets to see the seven-inch long snake in his sheets, sliding up his leg. “I’d never seen anyone run so fast. He bursted out of his room, crying and squirming all around like this,” he wriggled his arms and legs around until you laughed, then said, “It doesn’t help that Aegon sleeps naked too.”

“And there were people around, weren’t there?”

“Loads!”

This is what he wanted. He wanted to be interesting and clever and charismatic like Ser Criston. He wanted to make you laugh and smile. It felt good hearing you laugh at his stories and he liked listening to yours in return. Aemond enjoyed his time with you. He liked it even more when you both found the strawberry patch.

****

Alicent couldn’t help herself. She’d meant to go to the small council meeting this morning, but when she spotted Aemond headed for the gardens, she changed course. They can do without her for one meeting. She kept herself a few paces back so her son didn’t catch on; Aemond isn’t like Aegon, who is oblivious to everything around him. He’s sharper and more observant. He’d pick up on her presence before she even realized he noticed her. So, quietly, she moved through the garden paths until Aemond reached the enclosure overlooking the ocean. He must’ve known you’d be there considering his confident steps and direction. The romantic thought that he might’ve asked to meet there dawned on her.

Because Aemond, despite what he says otherwise, is a romantic. She’s found the poetry he hides in his chambers, and the books he reads in his freetime. He does read the philosophies and histories of people and places before him, but between them, he read fairy tales and poetry written by unrelenting romantics. She noticed his favorites were King Jaeheryes and Queen Alysanne, since he tended to mention them in his poems or journals. Alicent tried giving her son his privacy; she hated it when her own mother had done it, and refused to pry on her own children, but it touched her deeply. She’d once been that way. She’d read the same stories and poems he read, and imagined a life different from the one she led now.

A life with someone whom she’d once loved, and who’d once loved her.

Standing right at the edge of the garden wall, Alicent pulled apart two vines and looked through to the other side. She spotted Aemond standing near Rhaenyra’s daughter, Y/N. You are truly a lovely girl; you had Laenor’s tanned skin and Rhaenyra’s shade of silver in your thick hair. You’d done it in a plait today, letting it go down your back. Her son tried hiding his excitement, but a mother knows these things. You and Aemond were similar, whether you liked admitting it or not. Alicent saw it in the way you expressed interest in Viserys’s Old Valyria model and read stories to him from the age. Aemond studied the same books. She watched her son watching you, admiring you as if you were a flower blooming before his eyes. He looked at you as if nothing else in the world mattered…and he’s only fourteen.

Footsteps approached, and Alicent looked over to see someone coming.

“Rhaenyra?”

“Alicent?”

The princess looked stunned to see her. She walked closer, and said, “Should you not be at the small council?”

“Shouldn’t you?”

Rhaenyra paused, but then nodded. She took up a spot right next to her, and pushed her own vines apart. For a brief moment, Alicent went back in time. She and Rhaenyra once did this to hide from their septa. They’d wanted to go for a walk and seek out the strawberry bushes that grow every year. The pair of them liked sitting in the gardens on the good days, eating berries, drinking sweetmilk and reading to one another. Alicent did most of the reading and Rhaenyra did most of the picking. But, their Septa often kept a leash on them in those days. Alicent knew why she watched them so closely. Her father. It all led back to her father. A seed of resentment grew inside her, but she quickly squashed it out.

“What’s happening?” Rhaenyra asked her. “Have they talked yet?”

“Not yet. He’s…He’s been staring at her. I don’t think he’s realized he hasn’t said anything.”

She smirked, “She scares him.”

“Of course she does.” When Rhaenyra looked her way, she said, “I meant that your daughter is a very beautiful girl, and Aemond is a shy boy. She probably intimidates him.”

Rhaenyra softened hearing this. “Yes, she’s really started growing into her looks, Laenor says.” She paused, “It reminds me of Hobert Tarly. Remember him?”

Alicent laughed softly and shook her head, “Oh gods, do I. The boy followed me around like a lost puppy. I did so much to avoid him, but it was like he knew where I’d be at all times.”

“Then when you did acknowledge him,” she snorted, “He nearly vomited.”

Alicent laughed, and quickly realized her son stopped speaking. She and Rhaenyra stood still as Aemond considered their hiding spot for a moment, then turned back to you. She couldn’t hear anything you two said, but it didn’t matter. You appeared to be getting along. Alicent sighed in relief. At least one of the betrothals might end contently, if not happily. She turned back to Rhaenyra, who continued watching the children, and she couldn’t help looking. She saw the slight curve in the woman’s nose; the way she’d worn her hair today, loose strands falling past her shoulders. Alicent noticed the swollen belly underneath the gown. Another child that is most likely not Laenor Velaryon’s. How could she do this? How could she flaunt her obvious treason in front of everyone, expecting them to bow down and believe her? Alicent tried accepting the truth when Ser Criston told her what she’d done; her heart still yearned for Rhaenyra and her company. Then, she presented Jaceryes to the court. She’d told Viserys one child is a mistake, but two is an insult. Alicent couldn’t believe the woman she loved would do something so dishonorable. Then again, is she guilt free?

When Alicent became queen, Rhaenyra distanced herself from her new stepmother and father. Alicent hoped with time, her childhood companion would grow to accept the situation and accept her. Rhaenyra must’ve known it was not Alicent’s idea. What young girl wants to marry a man old enough to be her father? She thought all hope of reconciliation was lost until the eve before Rhaenyra’s wedding.

Alicent recalled waking up in her bed to someone shaking her. She’d blinked back the blurriness of sleep to see Rhaenyra, silver haired and beautiful, sitting beside her. She noticed the princess wearing her riding clothes: gloves, trench coat and boots. Alicent found the attire strange at first, but seeing the determined look in Rhaenyra’s eyes explained everything.

‘I’m leaving, and I want you to come with me.’

‘What? Now?”

‘Yes, now. We have a few hours before daylight. We can go now and be gone before they realize we’ve left.’

‘Rhaenyra…Leave? Just like that?”

‘Just like that.’

She remembered her hesitancy. Alicent saw herself, young and scared, afraid to make that jump into happiness. She made up thousands of excuses in her head: her son and daughter, her husband, her father, her family, and her life in Westeros. She couldn’t give into the obvious chance at freedom put before her. All her life she’d believed how she felt for Rhaenyra was wrong. Her father said so with his cryptic words of caution; her Septa repeatedly told her how marriage and love is between men and women only. She’d pushed her love so far down, she almost stopped feeling…until she’s right next to Rhaenyra.

‘We can’t. We have to stay. You have to take The Iron Throne. If you leave, the realm will be thrown into uncertainty once again.’

‘I don’t care about that anymore. I love you, Alicent. It is you that I want; not the Throne or the Crown or the Seven Kingdoms. It is you I wish to be with like I said: fly away across the sea, seeing the wonders of the world and eating cake.’

‘You cannot leave your father.’

‘He will manage.’

‘He needs you.’

‘No, he doesn’t.’

‘He does. He will be shattered if you disappeared.’

‘Do you not wish to come with me?’

She had. All the Gods, old and new, knew that Alicent Hightower would have run away with her right then…if her own fears hadn’t stopped her.

“They’re coming,” Rhaenyra hissed.

She took Alicent’s arm and pulled her into a hedge along the wall. The two women stood in silence as Aemond and you came out of the enclosure. They didn’t hold hands, but she heard them laugh in the distance. Rarely did she see her son socialize so much; he never talked often. They waited until the couple moved further down to leave their spot. She realized he was taking you to the strawberry patch. She imagined the pair of you sitting by the fountain, a pile of strawberries and cream between you, and giggling over a funny story. She saw her son’s eyes glistening at the sight of you, full of admiration and possibly slight fear of rejection. He’d take your hand, say something comforting, and you’d smile and touch him in return.

“They make a handsome couple,” Rhaenyra broke the silence.

“They do.”

They’re alone. Alicent realized this when she noticed nobody was around them. No servants, no footmen, no guards and lords or ladies. She painfully recalled how they relished in this solitude together. She swallowed the lump in her throat and turned to Rhaenyra.

“They’re going to the strawberry patch,” she said, hands clasped in front of her. “I told Aemond about it so he might take her there.”

Rhaenyra smiled, “I’ve been suggesting to Y/N that she should wear blue dresses. It brings out the color in her eyes.”

Right there. She could’ve said everything she felt in her chest right then and there and nobody else will hear it. She could say ‘I miss you’ or ‘I hope their marriage brings our families together’ or ‘I wish we’d left that night and I regret every time I’m awake at night alone’. Every time Alicent is sure her feelings are dead, moments like these revive them.

“We should,” Rhaenyra began, “Go to the small council meeting. The King will notice our absence.”

“Or,” Alicent said carefully, “We can follow the children to the strawberry bushes? Just to make sure they get there alright and don’t misbehave? I’m sure His Grace will understand that a mother's concern for her children highly outranks the problems of a kingdom.”

Rhaenyra looked her over for signs of dishonesty, unsure of how to respond, but then sneered, “Yes, I think that matter is much more important. They are betrothed after all, and should have chaperones with them to make sure nothing inappropriate happens. Who knows? We might come upon some strawberries ourselves.”

“We just might.”

It felt like the old days again.

****

You continued seeing Aemond around the keep. Your mother often asked you how you felt about him, but you never gave a straight answer. You found Aemond to be surprisingly good company. He might be a bit timid at first, but once he is comfortable, he talks a lot. He talks about dragons, books, and poems he’d recently read. He tells you stories he heard from Aegon about things going on outside the castle. Nobody truly gave you attention like Aemond did. He listened to you when you started rambling about your family or a problem that worried you. He comforted you if he ever saw you become upset, and immediately did his best to keep you happy. The only people who did that for you were your parents.

Aemond sometimes joined you and Helaena in sewing circles when he grew tired of Aegon’s company. You liked having him there. His presence seemed to relax Helaena more, and help her open up. You both listened to her talk about her interests, and her worries. Your shared love for Helaena made you closer.

“Do you love my brother?” Helaena asked you in the godswood. You both went there to study when the weather was nice. She walked around the space looking for centipedes or caterpillars, which were currently her insect favorites. She knew you detested spiders, so she refrained from showing them to you.

“What?” The question caught you off guard, causing you to look up from the book you’d been reading. It was a collection of historical accounts about the Yiti empire that Aemond gave you.

“Do you love my brother?” she asked again, putting her hand into the dirt.

“Um, uh, well…I don’t know, honestly.” You went back to your book, but did not read the page. “I enjoy his company and he is nice to me. But, I think that is the bare minimum in loving someone.”

“He loves you,” she said.

“Is that what he told you?”

“No, I saw it in a dream.”

You paused. Helaena often had strange dreams. She told you about them in riddles, ones she didn’t understand herself but felt compelled to speak about them. She returned holding a centipede in her hand, letting it crawl over her fingers as she sat beside you.

“In my dreams, I saw crashing waves.”

“Waves? The ocean?”

“I saw a dragon circling a meadow, unable to land but desperately wishing to,” she answered, examining her newest pet. “I felt its pain. I felt its longing for the meadow, for the peace and safety it brings.”

“What do you think it means? How is that related to Aemond?”

“My brother has desired you for a long time. Lots of boys do, but he is the one you’re marrying one day. He wants you, but feels he can never truly have you.”

“That’s…perceptive.”

She gave a soft smile. “So, do you love my brother?”

“As I said, I do not know yet.”

She nodded comprehensively. “Perhaps my dreams are wrong. Perhaps they are only dreams. I never really know. They come to me, and tell me things, but…I can’t understand them. I can only feel them.” She looked up at you, “I hope you learn to love my brother. He deserves to be loved that way.”

“I believe everyone does.”

“But him the most. He will need it.”

You smiled, assuming it was a sister’s love wishing the best for her younger brother. The two of you continued sitting under the tree. You read her passages, and she told you things she knew about centipedes.

“I heard Aunt Laena and Uncle Daemon might be coming back to Westeros once she has her baby,” you said to her walking back inside. “I hope they do. I wish to see Baela and Rhaena again. I only see them when my family visits Driftmark, and we haven’t gone in so long.” You smirked as you looked over at her, “Or did you see the outcome in your dreams as well?”

“It doesn’t work that way,” she replied.

You wondered how it did work then.

****

Rhaenyra sat in her apartment, still sweaty and aching between her thighs, and thought. Only an hour ago, she’d given birth to Joffrey, and Alicent asked to see the child. Rhaenyra knew why. She wanted to see if the child had Laenor’s coloring. Of course, he did not. Joffrey, even as a babe, had the thick brown hair and brown eyes of Harwin. Nothing ever cut as deeply. Whenever she felt her wounds closing, Alicent found a way to make them bleed again. Had she not done enough? Had she not shattered her heart enough times already? Rhaenyra thought after that night, her feelings for the Queen might have finally died out. She thought she might heal the broken pieces of her heart by marrying Laenor, having children, and finally finding love with Harwin.

Instead, it only remained broken.

She stayed seated, the exhaustion of her labors slowly dawning on her again, and looked to see Harwin holding Joffrey. He cradled the sleeping babe in the red and gold blanket. Harwin stood tall in his black armor and golden cloak; his thick beard was coarse and well trimmed. She hoped Jace might look the same one day. He, unfortunately, looked the most like Harwin with his curly hair and nose. It’d been Jaceryes who gave them away.

“Hm, falling asleep in front of a lord commander,” he jested, “Shows such a lack of respect.”

She smiled weakly, “Insolence runs in the family, I’m afraid.”

It’d been Harwin she bedded once she married Laenor. However, her heart ached for another. Hours before her wedding day, she’d been laying in bed thinking of Alicent. Out of all the people in the world, Alicent Hightower truly owned her heart. She realized it when she agreed to marry Laenor, who was so certain of his desires. Alicent is who she’d felt most comfortable with. Alicent, who’d been forced to marry the King and keep their meetings a secret. She’d been wrong to distance herself from the person she loved so dearly. Rhaenyra decided she’d leave, and take Alicent with her. But, Alicent refused. She had her sons, and Rhaenyra had the throne. Them leaving would have caused instability and chaos in the castle. Remembering Alicent’s refusal doused any light left inside her.

“She asked to see him, I suspect?” Harwin asked, breaking her from the memory.

“She did.”

He huffed, “What a cruel woman. Right after your labors, as well.”

“She only wanted to see him.”

“Yes, to see if he was a Strong.”

Rhaenyra knew part of Alicent’s bitterness came from what she’d done with Harwin. She let the people around them suspect and whisper, but it’d been Alicent’s suspicions that hurt the most. Only Rhaenyra knew that her distaste did not come from upholding laws or families. It started on that night. Rhaenyra admitted she’d pushed away first, but she knew should Alicent extend her hand, she’d grab ahold of it right away.

“I must sleep,” she said. “I feel I may collapse if I stay up much longer.”

“Of course.”

Harwin rested Joffrey in his bassinet, and guided her towards her bed. Stripped of her bloody dress and washed clean of sweat and blood, she let Harwin dress and lay her on the sheets. Briefly, she noticed the brown in Harwin’s eyes and thought of Alicent. If they lived in a perfect world, it’d be Alicent helping her into bed. It’d be Alicent comforting her to sleep. Sadly, a perfect world never existed. Harwin eventually left the room so she may rest. Rest did not stay with her for long, as another person walked in. Hearing the soft humming, she knew it was you, her daughter.

“Hello, baby brother,” she heard you coo. “I’m Y/N, your big sister.”

She smiled softly to herself. She put her sheets to her chest, and looked over to where Joffrey’s cradle stayed. You noticed her watching you.

“I’m sorry,” you said, “Did I wake you, Mother?”

“No, little dove,” she responded. “You’ll find it’s difficult to find rest when you’ve given birth. Everyone from all over will come to see the babe, wanting to hold them and touch them. He is a prince, after all.”

“He’s going to be a great knight,” you smiled, sitting in a chair and holding him. “Strong and mighty like…Like a dragon,” you added the last part quickly. “Joffrey has the blood of the dragon in him.” You rocked him gently, “He’ll be a strong dragonrider like you, Mother. Did you see the dragon egg Luke picked out for him? I heard it was from a new clutch of eggs. Maybe that means they’ll bond.”

“Perhaps,” she said, leaning against her pillows. “Why are you not in the dragon pit? I thought you’d be with Aemond.”

You froze at his name as you did every time. Rhaenyra thought after a few months of seeing one another, you might have developed feelings for the young prince. He is certainly smitten with you, but so are many other boys.

“He didn’t want me to go,” you finally responded, stroking Joffrey’s head. “He told me he didn’t want me to watch him fail to bond with a dragon again. It means so much to him, Mother. He thinks he’s not a true Targaryen because he’s the only one without a dragon.”

“They’re a symbol of our power,” Rhaenyra reasoned. “His brother has one; his nephews and you all have one. It’s natural to want to belong and want things others have.”

“I told him it doesn’t matter to me whether he has a dragon or not.”

Rhaenyra couldn’t help but smile. She will admit she hoped her daughter married a Targaryen with a rider. She imagined them flying together, like she’d once wished to with Alicent. But, she pushed that image deep into the back of her mind.

“Will you see him after then?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” You paused, thinking as you looked at Joffrey. “My brain becomes fuzzy whenever I think about him.”

“In a good way or a bad one?”

“I…I think in a good way,” you said, uncertainly. “I like Aemond as a friend. I enjoy talking to him and spending time with him and Helaena, but…what if I don’t fall in love with him?”

“Betrothal doesn’t mean you need to be in love with the person. You can be good friends. Not all betrothals need to be full of love or loveless. Your father and I were betrothed, and we’re happy.”

“But, that isn’t what I wanted.”

She knew what you wanted, because she’d wanted it too. You wanted a love to rival the ages. You wanted a love so strong and meaningful, it would live on forever in history. Mummurs, singers, and poets would dedicate works to your love. People would tell stories to their children as they’d done with Jaeheryes and Alysanne. Rhaenyra once hoped to have that same love. She had that love. She had it and it slipped through her fingers right as she reached for it.

“Don’t worry, Joffrey,” you whispered, “You’ll get to pick who you marry. I’ll make sure of it.”

Rhaenyra watched you holding him. You had all the looks a true Velaryon child should have. She thought, when she held you, that you’d become the strong, independent girl she’d been once. You had, but in a softer way. You enjoyed all the feminine arts your septa taught you, and liked music and dancing. You spoke your mind and opinions often, even if others did not like to hear them. Laenor said you reminded him of a dove, pure and peaceful, and the name stuck. You longed for freedom. She hated herself for being the one keeping her little dove caged, but it is for your own good. Aemond will make a good husband for you, she can tell. He truly admired you. She saw it the first day you’d spent together. She knew because she’d once looked at someone that way.

“He needs rest, dove,” she finally said.

“Yes, Mother.” You put Joffrey in his cradle and came over to her bedside. You kissed her cheek and hugged her, “Get rest, Mother. Please.”

“I’ll do my best,” she smiled.

“I’ll make sure nobody disturbs you.”

Such a thoughtful girl. Aemond truly is lucky. She watched you walk out the door with the poise and grace of a princess. Rhaenyra shut her eyes tightly to push back the flooding memory. It always came to her in times of solitude and silence. They crept into her mind, filling her bones with regret, suffering and longing. She knew things will never be the same between them, so she must put those feelings aside.

She needed to get away from them before they consumed her for good. Dragonstone. They will go to Dragonstone. Alicent and her brown eyes cannot reach her there. The rumors cannot reach her there.

****

“Must you leave?”

Aemond’s voice, heavy with sorrow, reached you from the doorway. Hearing his voice broke your heart more. You reached for your cloak to put on your shoulders.

A few days ago, your mother told you all that you’ll be leaving for Dragonstone. You initially thought it’ll be a small visit, then you’d return, but she said you’d stay there for good. A whole new whirlwind of emotions mixed into the troubles you already faced. Helaena already came to say her goodbyes, but Aemond came to walk you to the castle gates. You wished he didn’t. You wished he’d leave and never talk to you again. Then that way you won’t feel so bad.

“My mother says we must,” you replied, fumbling with the clasp of your cloak. You regretted adding a fur trim to it. It made closing it difficult. “She says it’ll be better for our family if we lived away from court.”

Aemond watched you grow frustrated with your cloak, then walked forward to help you. For a moment, his fingers brushed against yours. He stopped and looked at you. You normally maintained distance from Aemond since you preferred not to, but right now, you liked the closeness. You saw the slight freckles on the bridge of his nose, much like Helaena’s. Sad eyes looked back into yours, already full of longing. Seeing them made you feel worse. Aemond’s fingers stayed on yours, and you wished to never let go. Is this what your mother felt whenever Harwin looked at her? Aemond fixed the clasp easily, locking the two pieces together. He then straightened it on your shoulders so you were fully covered.

“I don’t want you to go,” he said, looking at the golden clasp in his hands. “The castle won’t be the same without you here.”

“I don’t want to leave either,” you said.

He gazed up at you, and you swore you spotted water in them. Aemond was crying. You’d seen him cry only once. It’d been after your brothers and Aegon teased him about not having a dragon. They’d given him a pig with wings attached called ‘The Pink Dread’. You’d scolded Jace and Luke when you heard. They told you it’d been Aegon’s idea, but you didn’t care. Aemond would be their brother-in-law someday.

“I…I, um…” he swallowed thickly, taking a breath, “I’ve become very fond of you, Y/N. I greatly enjoy the time we spend together with or without my sister around.” He looked at you, “Are you…are you fond of me as well?”

Everyone asked you this, and months later, you had no answers. You simply said you did not know. But, they’d been people outside of you and Aemond. He’d never asked you this until this moment.

“Aemond,” you began, “I don’t-”

“-Y/N?”

You and Aemond jumped apart at your father’s voice. He stood in the doorway, taking a second for his mind to pick up on the situation. You immediately tried finding an answer to any questions he’d have, but he asked nothing.

“It’s time for us to go, sweetling,” your father said.

You nodded, and Aemond walked with you out of the room. Silence fell between the both of you with your father a step ahead. It gave time for Aemond’s question to implant itself in your mind. You thought about the last time you and Aemond spent time together. It’d been in the library. He’d found an old scroll hidden in the shelves, and he wanted to show it to you. It was a map of Old Valyria. Very worn from age, you two barely made out the outlines of the paper. Aemond had been so mesmerized by it. He said there aren’t many maps left. His eyes had been full of wonder upon seeing the page. He pointed out certain points of places he thought he recognized. You both talked about what it’d be like to live there if it’d never burnt to the ground. He said you’d both be married in a High Valyrian ceremony, conducted in front of the tall altars and officiated by priests in red and gold robes. So the histories said anyways. You liked the idea of that; of marrying Aemond in fire and blood like your ancestors.

You only saw Aemond. Nobody else. Not even a faceless knight with long hair and shiny armor. Aemond always stood on the groom’s side, holding your hands in his.

“Say your goodbyes, children,” your mother urged when both families stood outside the doors.

You hugged Halaena tightly. You promised her you’d write about any insects you found on Dragonstone. You kissed your grandfather’s cheek, him patting your head and telling you to be well. The Queen bowed to you, then kissed your forehead. She told you that you’d be back soon enough; that a few years will go by quicker than expected. Aegon stood indifferently to her side, and muttered a ‘goodbye’ which you only nodded to. Then finally, you ended with Aemond. You still had not answered his question. Your chest felt tight, and your throat closed up. Cheeks filling with warmth, shoulders starting to tense, you curtsied to him. You worried touching him again might bring on tears.

“Safe travels, Princess,” he said, bowing his head.

“Thank you, Aemond.”

Slowly, on numb feet, you turned to walk into your wheelhouse. Your mother already sat with Joffrey in her arms. Your father comforted your tearful brother, and Jace stared out the window. You took your seat next to your mother, and the door finally closed. A final nail in the coffin. You looked through one of the detailed holes in the window to see Aemond watching the wheelhouse begin moving. Your insides knotted, and you tried finding feeling in your legs and feet. You continued staring at Aemond as the wheelhouse went further and further away. Visions of being alone on Dragonstone came to you in a flood. There’d be no garden excursions. There’d be no more strawberries or cream or books and laughs. You’d have nobody to listen to your thoughts and feelings. You’d be alone, and that thought made you feel cold and hot simultaneously. Hot tears filled your eyes, falling whenever you blinked. You wouldn’t have Aemond, who made you laugh with silly stories and comforted you when you cried. A boy who felt as alone as you.

“Y/N, what are you doing?”

You opened the door before anyone in the carriage realized what was happening. The carriage picked up some speed now that the streets opened up, but you weren’t too far away yet. Jumping out, you landed hard on your feet and started running. Your mothers calls fell behind you as you rushed to the tall castle gates slowly starting to close. Between them, you spotted Aemond beginning to turn away, head hanging low. No. You never answered his question. You never knew the answer until the worst possible time.

“Aemond!” you called out to him.

“Y/N!” your father yelled behind you, no doubt following you.

“Aemond, wait!”

Aemond stopped at the bottom of the stairs, and turned to look at you.

“Aemond!” you called again, panting. “Aemond, wait!” More tears fell down your cheeks, your sobs starting to dry out your throat. “I am fond of you!” you said, coming within feet of you, “I am fond of you! I really am!” You flung your arms around the bewildered boy, your face buried into his shoulder. “I am fond of you. I’m very fond. Please, don’t hate me. I don’t want to leave. They’re making me leave.”

You felt his hands on your waist, keeping you steady when you let go. “You are?” you heard him say.

“I am.” You pulled away, weeping, “Forgive me for not saying it sooner. Everyone has questioned me, and I never knew what to say. Now, I know what to say. Please, forgive me.”

Aemond pushed a stray curl from your face, and wiped your cheek with the corner of his cloak. You hugged him again, safe to cry in his embrace. Is this how your mother felt, you wondered again, whenever Ser Harwin held her? Before you said anything more, your father touched your shoulder. The Queen put her hands on Aemond’s shoulders. The both of you slowly broke apart, and warmth escaped you. You did not want to leave. King’s Landing had been your home. It was where your family lived; where Aemond lived.

“Little dove,” your father said softly, “We must go. The wheelhouse is waiting to take us to the dragon pit.” When you did not move, he gently guided you away.

“Y/N,” Aemond called your name, “May I write to you?”

You smiled, sniffing back tears, “Yes. I’d like that very much.”

Being forced to turn away, you kept looking over your shoulder at Aemond. The Queen eventually came down the stairs, putting her hands on his shoulders, and guiding him back into the castle.

“You’ll see him again,” he said, holding your hand as he escorted you back to the carriage. “You’re his betrothed.”

“But, he’ll be so far away, and he doesn’t have a dragon, so he can’t fly to Dragonstone,” you said, “May I fly here to see him? It’s not a long flight, and Starshine’s very fast so it’s even shorter.”

“I think your mother will prefer that you did that when you were older. It’s inappropriate for a betrothed couple to not be chaperoned.”

“We weren’t chaperoned when we walked around the castle.”

“That’s what you thought.”

“What?”

“Ah look, there’s your mother,” he ignored your question, “She nearly had a heart attack when you jumped out of the carriage. It’s best to say your apologies for giving her a fright.”

You reached the carriage door, expecting a scolding from your mother, but you only saw tears in her eyes. “You’ll see him again,” your mother echoed your father’s words when you climbed into the wheelhouse. “You do have to marry him one day.” The carriage started forward again, and she waited until your brothers and father were occupied to ask. “What did you say to him?”

You didn’t look at her. You looked out the window, fresh tears falling. “I-I-I to-told him that I was-was fond of him.”

You felt her stroke your hair, pull you close to her side and kiss the top of your head. You rested against her for the rest of the journey, trying to keep your sobs quiet to not bring attention to yourself. Finally, you reached the dragon pit where the dragon keepers greeted you, Jace and Luke. Jace and Luke could not fly their dragons because they’re too small, so they’ll order them to follow your dragon and fly there. Starshine was larger and able to carry you long distances. You left the company of your brothers for the caverns underneath the pit.

In the dark tunnels, you freely let your tears flow. You knew you’d see Aemond again. The goodbye was not forever, yet your heart still aches from yearning. You followed the tunnel paths until you reached a familiar undervault. Behind a door, you heard the low rumbling of a sleeping dragon. When a Dragon Keeper opened the iron vault door, you walked inside a large cave carved into the hill. Slowly, you stepped inside, keeping your cloak tight about you as you stared around. On a mound in the center of the room, you saw an enormous beast coiled asleep. Starshine, a she-dragon the size of a twelve-horse carriage, had golden scales that twinkled white in the sunlight. The orange tinge of her wing membranes and the ends of her long tail gave the appearance of a shooting star when in flight. It reminded you of how much Aemond dreamed of his own dragon. Perhaps once he found one, you could fly together. You’d like that.

Starshine lifted her head upon your approach, orange and hazel eyes finding you in the half light.

“Morning, Starshine,” you said in High Valyrian, the language of your ancestors. “Ready to go off on another adventure?” She tilted her head. You approached her, stroking her fine scales and listening to her purr like a cat. “We are going to Dragonstone. Mother says we will live there now.” When Starshine shook her head and neck, you said, “Calm, Starshine. Calm…I do not wish to go either. It will be nice there. You will be able to have your own cave, and eat all the animals you want. I will go flying with you every day.”

One of the Dragon Keepers saddled her for you already, so all you did was climb onto her. Securing yourself firmly inside the saddle, you fixed your riding coat over your cloaked body and adjusted your gloves. The iron doors that faced the other side of the hill slowly opened, allowing a long stream of light to fill the room. Starshine took a few charging steps, reaching the edge, and flying into the sky. Wind whipped your hair back from your face, flowing through your coat and cloak easily. You felt the warm sun kissing your face and skin as Starshine went higher into the sky. All worry and thought of leaving Aemond went away. You could do as you pleased up high in the sky. You idly thought of the freedom you spoke of to Aemond that first time. It only took a slight change in course to land somewhere else. You might be able to have that different life you told him about.

But, that’d mean leaving your family behind, and you’d never do that. So, you steered Starshine around King’s Landing one last time before taking off for Dragonstone hundreds of miles away.

Far away from Aemond Targaryen.

****

A/N: there it is lol hope you enjoyed! If you have questions or feedback or anything like that, feel free to reply or send me an ask! <3 there’s more cuteness to come in part 2!

#aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond x yn #aemond the kinslayer #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd drabbles #hotd fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd imagines #ewan mitchell #yeah yn is a woc in my mind #but I still leave it kinda open

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landwriter · 1 year

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1589 got me feeling&rambling and I'm so sorry beforehand that I can't keep it short and simple, as would probably befit the thing. Feel free to ignore if not interesting to you, still you are the one that comes to mind when thinking about Hob being morally grey.

That scene is always so painful to watch, mostly because Hob is behaving like such a sorry fool. He has really decked himself out to impress his stranger and misses the mark so dramatically.

(Whereas Dream seemingly has not held back either - I mean it's easily his hottest look, you can't tell me he didn't mean to make a lasting impression. So much disappointment on both sides.)

Cringe Hob as part of the dark Hob spectrum, his self-importance/selfishness showing - of course it's not pure fun to watch, but I'm always so fascinated by that flicker of pain (foreshadowing shame) that comes right to the surface in all his put on show, just before he orders the lamb. The contrast makes for a very intense moment, imo. And I am wondering, has he really left all of this behind by 1889? Or is he simply more smooth by that time (that's what I'm getting from the show) ? In fanfics his flaws are mostly depicted as minor or serving a good end in modern times, he is always such a goodie by then (and I love him, of course). But can we imagine just a trace of more questionable/offputting Hob in the mix (if only on impulse) - to be clear, I have no idea how that would work. Or should we just be grateful that that lies behind him (it certainly makes for a much more likeable character and a nicer love story)?

(me force feeding myself more of the horrible stuff I just wanted to avoid looking at)

It's a beautiful contrast: opulence and insecurity. Success and asking still for validation. I have Thoughts on each meeting (please send me asks about them) - ostensibly the very first fannish thing I did for this show, and also in my adult life, was rewatch the meetings and pause constantly and take - oh holy Christ over 4,000 words of notes.

I propose Hob is not acting like a sorry fool. Sure, some bits are clearly played for comedy. Hob is selfish, self-important, and given to hedonism. He is concerned primarily with his own comfort and the personal pleasures of life. But I blame 1589 pretty solidly on Dream. In 1489, after being asked what his experience is like, he answers Dream with an inarticulate statement spoken by a true person who just Digs The Experience of Experiencing: it's 'fucking brilliant' and 'all changing'. Dream asks how, Hob literally looks around the room like a student who forgot an essay was due, and names chimneys and playing cards. Handkerchiefs. Simple things - still sensual things - but simple ones. Certainly no sociopolitical discourse here. What will you people think of next, says Dream, deeply sarcastic and visibly disinterested. And Dream also asks him: but what is Hob doing with his time? This, too, he is under-prepared to answer. Soldiering, banditry, bit of printing press work. Hardly enough to impress this supernatural lord, and Hob can tell.

When he is granted, explicitly, another 100 years by Dream, it is not only a relief, but I think a part of Hob squares its jaw in that moment and says: I'll show him - I'll show him what I can do in a century, I'll earn his pleased regard. Not necessarily because he's even, you know, madly in love at this point, but because he's in it for the living, does not intrinsically have great ambitions, but does have someone who has a) seemingly granted him this greatest gift and b) is unimpressed with what he's doing with it. And he's lost everyone he knew. Dream is now his oldest acquaintance, and wouldn't it be nice if he liked Hob?

He knows only the language of what impresses other men, and this is what he achieves. But to Dream, both Hob's socially-valued successes and his deeply personal ones are terrifically uninteresting. They are not New Dreams To Spur The Minds Of Men. There is no new story in a man seeking fortune and having a wife and a child he loves. He is ancient as the first dreaming thing, and he is Bored. He is, in fact, soured on this meeting from the outset, when he says "Hello, Hob," which on my watch struck me, apparently, as extremely bizarre and of having a real air of Hob being In Trouble. (The only other times Dream says his name are at the first, looming and omniscient, and in 1789, - 'I suggest you find yourself a different line of business, Robert Gadling'. He does not say it at their modern meeting.)

I mean - how would you impress someone? Someone who was interested in your deeds? Putting on a nice little dinner and catching them up on your life, talking about your family, seems a decent enough shout. It's not like you can ask him about his life, he won't offer information when asked and only sometimes will correct you if you venture your own guesses. (see also: 1889 foreshadowing) Hob is feeling proud and triumphant, feeling like he's come far. He is obviously a bit obnoxious about it, but I do think Dream shows off his flaws far more in 1589 than Hob does.

Hob's greatest sin, here, is trying to be liked. His greatest regret is almost certainly not the spread he put on, but the moment he was really, truly, earnest - not underscored even by a subsequent joke - the moment he declaims that this is what he had imagined Heaven to be like (safe enough to walk the streets; good food; good wine) - Life is so rich, he says - and Dream looks away to listen to Will Shaxberd, and we watch real time as Hob's expression collapses. He had leaned forward nearly out of his chair in enthusiasm, and now he shrinks back, reminded again of the dangers of earnestness: being alone in it. Being ignored. Better to make a joke of things, which is why he tells so many around Dream, especially after being more open - it's clearly a matter of habit. (It is also, incidentally, absolutely unappealing to Dream, who really and truly looks at him for the first time in 1689, when he is stripped of the social niceties of men and reigns nothing in.) He eats. He frets. He has had another century, and he has failed to impress the stranger.

The worst moment, I think, is that Dream does not renew their compact. He does not ask Hob if he still wishes to live, and Hob does not get the opportunity to say "Oh, yes." He was given this gift for one reason: the stranger was curious about his experiences. Does the stranger seem still curious about him now? I wonder, honestly, if Hob thought he would see another meeting.

Has he really left that all behind by 1889? No - you hear it in his own words, 'People are almost always better than you think they are.' - the earnesty, and then the joke - 'Not me, though, still the same as ever.' Except it's not really a joke, is it? Hob is saying to Dream, I know you don't think much of me, well, I don't pretend to think much of myself. He still wants Dream's validation, of course, he's just trying to earn it differently. (It goes poorly.) He's smoother, but also more frustrated, more fed up, more hungry for knowledge of his stranger; and I think that's such an interesting point in time for him. I think he leaves little behind, and what he does leave behind, he dreams of. He's changed so much and so little, and I think you could really go in whatever direction you want depicting that and be convincing.

I can't speak to the fanon on Hob's flaws because I don't read nearly as much as I wish I could. While I don't personally think 1589 Hob was actually that questionable or offputting - at least no more than most people would be in that situation - I would love to see a modern fic where has the same flaws he's always had, where they come up maybe different than they would have several centuries ago, but they absolutely exist, it does have plot consequences. Bonus points if he is not being offputting for the purposes of rescuing Dream from the fishbowl - if his flaws exist independent of his relationship with Dream altogether. Bonus bonus points if Hob is the one whose character development needs to be developed and Dream is in a better place than he is. If anyone has fic recs feel free to drop them in the comments!

P.S. 1589 Dream, wow, yes, for sure. 10/10 would babble and get walked out on

#the sandman #dreamling #century meetings #meta #dream of the endless #hob gadling #the amount of them just not understanding what the other person wants or is offering at first is incredible #1489 #1589 #an essay #i really do think the dynamics in the first few meetings are SO INTERESTING and precarious

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shesjustanothergeek · 11 months

Text

Ruined

|Jacques Le Gris x Fem!Reader|

Short Story

Summary: Once you come of age, you're sent to your brother-in-law's estate to find a husband. After months of deflecting and denying suitors, old and young, you encounter the dangerous squire Jacques le Gris.

Author's Note: Jacques le Gris is a rapist. No matter which point of view you look at, he is a rapist. I would also like to say that I personally hate him. He embodies everything I hate about men and victim blaming in the modern world. Still, at the same time, I am so incredibly enamored by him, primarily due to Adam Driver's acting. Initially, I didn't want to write this story, but it would not leave me alone. Without further ado, here is Ruined. I hope you enjoy it!

WARNINGS: Mentions of rape, period-accurate sexism, noncon elements, extremely toxic masculinity, orgy (non-participating), the reader is a virgin, slight blood play, violence, degradation (Jacques receiving), rough sex, Jacques is not nice until the end, sexual blackmail, unprotected sex, PIV.

(I wrote this story almost a year ago but realized I didn't publish it here for some reason. You'll definitely see how much my writing has changed for the better.)

The obnoxious noises of people chanting draw you out of your trance, sipping wine from a silver goblet periodically to drown everything out. These parties were never your favorite, but you came, observing the party-goers dancing drunkenly as if it was your duty to attend.

You roll your eyes as the crowd cheers, Count Pierre yelling above the rest, a woman on his lap, and bringing your gaze to where the sound is directed.

A young man with raven hair draped around his neck stalks towards a maiden, a smirk on his lips, untying his white tunic. His chest is broad, a sheen of sweat glittering on his skin in the candlelight. He would be so much more attractive if this were a different situation. You could even imagine yourself being the one to pleasure his cock. You roll your eyes, understanding the intentions of this whole charade.

"Jacques, my boy, get on with it," Pierre says, growing impatient with the lack of excitement.

He nods, making wide steps to the woman, circling a wooden table as she runs in the opposite direction he follows. You can't help the groan of distaste that releases, tilting the cup to your lips and turning away, not wanting to see the show.

How could anyone like this? It was blasphemous in the eyes of the Lord. Mary would be weeping for what her son's followers do for fun. You must mention this in your confession, receiving penance for witnessing hedonistic actions, drawing the sign of the cross, wiping the stray dribbles from your lips, and making room for your bed chamber.

Pierre sticks his leather boot out, nearly tripping you as you huff, putting your hands on your hips.

"Where are you going, sister," he questions. "The party has just begun."

Your lips curl into a snarl, your white teeth reflecting the flickers of light.

"It is quite late, my dear brother-in-law. I need to rest my weary body."

Pierre tucks his leg back, a wave of shock washing over you. He fakes a pout, his eyebrows scrunching with a wet lip out. You shake your head, disbelieving his ridiculous antics. Indeed, he wouldn't let you go that easily.

"Awe, my dear sister," he pats his free thigh, "won't you find your rest here on my lap?"

The room erupts with laughter, everyone watching the exchange unfold, wondering how this will end. Your stomach turns inside, revolted by your legal brother's detailed proposal in God's eyes. Hot words of hatred sear your tongue's end, begging you to be free, but you bite it. He was, after all, above you, gifting you a home while searching for a husband. You were indebted to him. Saying no was not an option. Your eyes meet Jacques, a look of surprise as if he never knew you were here in the first place— a typical man, keeping his head trained on one hole at a time.

Pushing all the bile and anger, you plaster a smile, accepting the offer and sitting across from the finely dressed lady. Pierre runs his calloused fingers along your spine, turning you into stone as you set your gaze on the floor.

Everyone's eyes had left except for one, the only pair you didn't want on you as you sat in defeat, cheeks fuming. Jacques was intense, his facial hair dusting around the hard line of his mouth, shining with the wetness of the wine. It almost seemed you were his prey now, not the maiden with the ornate burgundy dress. You had no intention of being hunted by him.

With the clap of Pierre's hands, the merriment commences again, Jacques halting for a split second before his pupils are set back to where they were before. The woman is shouting no, over and over again, excitement barely laced in it. Your heart went out to her, a feeling of protection for the circumstance. She had no choice in who fucked her; a status of nothingness gave men the right to do what they wanted. Your gender had just as much value as theirs. Breasts and warm heat should not matter.

The position in a society fueled the eternal flame of fury in your soul, always wanting to rebel and speak your truth, but the consequences of disrespecting a man were deadly. You were just as helpless as the woman being thrown over Jacques's shoulder and flipped onto the bed, held down by other waiting women.

A hand grips your jaw, forcing your eyes to watch the poor woman be soiled.

"Watch," Pierre commands, saying your name. "Watch him fuck her, and maybe you will learn how to be a good wife for your husband."

You clench your teeth, growling in protest as you watch Jacques enter her from behind. The iniquity of the sounds is enough to stir your core, but the cries of her protest ring louder, maybe laced with a hint of pleasure as the meat from the large feast threatens to exit your throat.

"Here." Jacques's voice was smooth, rolling out his chest like a baritone into your ears, caressing them. "Take some evil inside you," he says, aligning his hips with hers.

Your body jolts, either from the erotic sounds of his words or the disgusting act he was committing on her, as you put a hand over your mouth, jumping from your spot before Pierre can stop you. Incoherent noises were mumbling out of you as you ran to the doors, bursting them open with weight. The onlookers are quiet once more, waiting for a cue from the Lord. Jacques is the only one not paying attention, his vision trained on your retreating form as the girls giggle.

You order your handmaids to draw a bath, telling them to put as many herbs and oils to soothe your racing heart. They listened, bowing their heads in respect as they went off to do their respective duties, and you were in the scented waters in no time.

Take some evil inside you.

The words echoed in your brain, fuzzing all concise thoughts and morals. These parties were always like this, orgies were the most common, but they all seemed consensual. You never heard a woman shout no until tonight. Pierre ordered him to almost rape, teetering on dubiousness and assault.

Why would someone participate in that so willingly?

Jacques could say no and leave, not chase her around like an animal until he jumped on her. He was so attractive and sensual in his movements that even Christ would be shy.

You reached over the top of the tub, picking up the leather-bound book on the stand next to you, attempting to distract your mind from the man that was viciously pounding into as many women as he could in the other wing. A book of poems written in Latin was always your choice.

You had been lost in the pages for hours; the water had turned lukewarm and your skin pruney, but you were too focused as you felt the door slam. You jumped, nearly dropping it into the tub. You were surprised to find visitors, especially this late in the night. You lift your gaze with a quizzical raised brow. The person standing in your bathing room was Jacques Le Gris. You squeal, dipping into the water and covering your chest.

"What the Hell are you doing in here?" You nearly scream, forgetting your place.

He takes a few steps closer as you turn away more, his boots thudding, sending vibrations through the floor as he bends over, picking up your book. He reads the name aloud, almost like a question, and turns the pages, looking for a certain one. Jacques reads it aloud.

"Bibe mihi nisi oculis tuis et ego confirmo in oculis tuis." (Drink to me only with thine eyes, and I will pledge with mine.) He says, eyes flickering to your submerged body. "Vel osculum sed in poculo relinque, et vinum non quaeram." (Or leave a kiss but in thine cup, and I'll not look for wine)

Your muscles relax as you listen to his voice. It sounds the same, but the feeling of it is so much better than before.

"Sitis, quae ex anima oritur, divinum potionem petit." (The thirst from the soul doth rise, doth ask a drink divine.) You turn your body towards him, still covering your chest as you study his lips, how they pucker slightly, and his pink tongue touches his teeth.

Jacques begins to read the following line, but you interrupt him, having read this poem many times, as you peek over the side of the brass tub.

"Sed, ut potui, lovis nectare supponerem, Nolo tuum mutare." (But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine.) He lowers his head a few inches above yours. His intense honey-brown eyes bore into yours.

"Sera tibi roseo misi, non tam honorante, quam ut spem dare non posset arescere." (I sent thee, late, a rosy wreath, not so much honoring thee, as giving it a hope that there it could not withered be.) He reads the line, inching closer and closer.

You lick your lips, lifting yourself as you recite. "Tu autem ibi solus respirasti et mihi remisisti." (But thou thereon did'st only breathe, and sent'st it back to me.)

"Cum crescit et olet, non per se, sed te." (Since when it grows and smells, I swear, not of itself, but thee.)

Jacques closes the book with a slight slap, the tip of his prominent nose gliding across yours as your mouth parts for him. He closes his eyes, leaning in.

"Take some evil inside you."

You pull back, standing in the tub quickly as the water splashes out. Jacques's face turns pale at your rejection, embarrassment clouding his mind. You turn your back to him, grabbing a large towel.

"You know, Sir Le Gris, that poetry would sound heavenly if it wasn't for your filthy mouth." You flip your hair over your shoulder, bending slightly to wring the water out as you hear Jacques approach.

Fear stuns you for a moment, freezing, unsure of what to do or where to go because you know he will not take no for an answer if he reaches you. Suddenly, you spot a mounted dagger over the fireplace. You stroll as if you planned to walk over all along. He catches up in no time, pinning you to the stone, his form pressed into your back as he buries his nose in your neck, sniffing. You try not to cringe, even though everything in your body tells you to do so. You can't show him you're afraid.

"Would you like to rub my oils on Sir Le Gris?" You try to hide the tremble in your voice, staying frozen in place.

"Mmm," he moans, "I would love to." He moves away from you, finally giving you the chance to breathe.

"They are over there." You point to the shelf with glass bottles and vials as he nods. Turning his back on you, you reach for the dagger, silently prying it off the display. "You can pick whatever oil you want, Sir."

Jacques studies each one, popping off the corks and glass lids, smelling them until he finds something he enjoys, and walks back over. He opens the bottle, the smell of roses wafting in the air as he pours some out into his hands, massaging your neck.

If this was any other circumstance, you might adore basking in it, but it isn't. You're with a man who has no concept of consent, a man who would bend you onto the hearth and fuck your weeping body. He reaches down to your shoulders, halting when he feels your resistance on the cloth; not letting him remove it, he overpowers you, pushing it down. You clutch the dagger closer to your bare chest as his fingers glide down your biceps and back, slick with the oil.

"You are so stiff, my sweet."

You shudder at the endearment, trying to relax your tense muscles. Jacques's hand travels down your chest, encompassing the small flat area as his fingertips touch the top of your breast.

"Stop," you command with a flat voice. Jacques ignores you, continuing to massage your intimate parts.

You turn around, flying at lightning speed, and put the dagger's tip to his throat, only enough to draw a trickle of blood.

"When a woman says stop, you stop, Jacques. When a woman says no, you listen." The words fly out of your mouth, anger for seeing the filthy action he committed on that woman from the party.

His lack of terror frustrates you. Even with a knife to his throat, he radiates arrogance. You push him backward across the room, still at his throat, pinning him to the large wooden door. He stands there in surprise, his arms up in surrender, more startled than afraid.

"I could end your life in a second, you scoundrel, yet you show no fear."

Jacques laughs. He laughed dark and deep, his perfectly crooked teeth sparkling as his Adam's apple bobs. You slide the blade with your neck craned; the edge is now piercing. Your face scrunches with fury bringing your knee up to his stomach, causing him to laugh more, slightly doubled over.

"Do you have such a low view of women that you take it in jest when they threaten your life?" You spit. His joy subsides a bit, chest still slightly bouncing.

If you slid the blade across his neck at this moment, his throat would slit, spilling his tarnished blood on your naked body, yet he still doesn't seem to care. His eyes travel down you, still damp from the bath. You slam his shoulder into the door with your fist, trying to assert dominance over him, not allowing him to look. You suppose this is a precarious pose, leg hiked up, hand on his shoulder, giving him perfect access to your womanhood.

Your stance falters at the thought, Jacques taking it as the perfect opportunity to grab you. The blade slides across his arm, flinching for just enough time to run, but he grabs you at the waist, the soles of your feet sliding across the stone floor. You yelp as he flings you over his shoulder, your legs and arms kicking as you scream for him to stop. He doesn't listen, opening the door to your bed chamber and throwing you down on your mattress.

Your body displays perfectly for him, with a slight sheen on your flush body. He devours the sight of you, ripping off his sweat-stained tunic as you push yourself off the sheets and away from him, running towards the exit. Jacques cuts you off, hunched over in a stance that resembles the one at the party, his arms out. You step to the side, and he mirrors it. You step to the other, and the same thing happens again.

"If you run, I will only chase you," he says with a predator's grin.

You look around desperately for anything to help you escape him. You spot a candle stick, sprinting to it, knocking the lit wax onto the floor as it rolls to Jacques's feet; his boot steps on it, snuffing the flame.

"Oh, my darling, you must be careful. You wouldn't want to cause a fire. Our fun might end." His voice is condescending as he stalks you.

"I will set this whole castle on fire before I ever have fun with the likes of you, swine."

A glob of spit flies out of your mouth, landing on his cheek. The pads of his fingers touch it, wiping it on them and bringing them to his mouth, sucking. He hums, popping them from his lips with a smile.

"You taste so sweet." He closes the space between you. "I would shun Jove's cup away every chance if it meant I could taste your nectar instead."

You grip the brass candle stick tightly, offended that he would reference a poem so dear, ready to swing at any moment. Jacques notices, smiling to himself. Your legs rub together at his words, a mind of their own.

His lips crash on yours, destroying any thought that you might not want this, and you drop your weapon, wrapping your fingers in his raven locks. You can feel him grin, happy to have won, his hand lacing itself on your neck.

You part for air as Jacques spins you around, sliding his other hand down your body to your aching mound, parting the wet folds with his digits. You gasp at the contact, your knees buckling as his grip holds you up.

"For a lady who put up so much of a fight, you are impossibly weak under my touch," he mocks, relishing his victory.

You glare at the wall with the brutal honesty of his words. You didn't put up much of a fight when his mouth finally met yours, even dropping your only form of protection.

"Silence." You demand, not wanting to hear any more of his taunts.

An exploratory finger glides over a sensitive spot on your heat, causing you to gasp and grip Jacques's trousers. He swipes over it, and you cry out at the foreign sensation, panting. You can feel the pride radiate from his demeanor at seeing your weakness, slowly rubbing circles on the bud.

You have never felt like this before, being taught never to explore that private area of your body, leaving it only for your husband to use. This pleasure wasn't something that society taught you. Yes, you watched many people fornicate at Count Pierre d'Alençon's gatherings but never allowed yourself to participate. He would have loved it if you did, but you had one duty to attend: finding a husband.

It was already so tricky finding anyone you could stomach, all the suitors decrepit and at death's door. You wanted to marry for love when you were younger. The idea of a fairytale romance clouded your eyes as a child, but once you bled for the first time, you were sat down and told of your duties. Accept whatever man had the most money, influence, or power and fill your stomach with his kin. But you wanted something else. The suitors also knew it, as you destroyed any notion of a small and obedient wife.

At times you were sure Pierre would throw you out as you brushed off and disrespected every man that came, but some of you knew he liked the entertainment. If only he could see you now.

Naked and moaning like a whore as Jacques assaulted your heat with his fingers, you loved the sinfulness of it all, Jacques breathing heavily into your ear as he worked you like a loom, rubbing in circles as pressure began to build in your stomach. Your hips were moving, seeking more friction. You can't control your body, the lust of the devil taking over your mind, a he kept touching that exact spot.

It was so intense, the new feeling, almost too much, you wanted to scream obscenities and thrash around, but he held you firm. Your toes curled as you stomped on the ground, a wave of ecstasy crashing into you as you screamed. Your body caved in on itself as you struggled in Jacques's grip, still rubbing the used nub. You twitched and spasmed as the aftershocks of your high jolted through your body, mumbling to yourself.

"It's-it's too much. Please. Stop." You beg as tears form from the overstimulation.

Jacques shushes you with kisses along your face, calming his fingers slightly, and you breathe a sigh of relief, head dropping as his hand still chokes.

"Have you ever experienced this before, a man's touch?" He whispers seductively, nose burying in your hair.

You're too dazed to think of a witty retort, Jacques pulling your consciousness away.

"No. I have to save myself."

"For who?" Jacques asks, removing his paws from your naked skin.

"My husband." You answer plainly.

Some of you have always wanted to explore your features this way, but you are always too scared, never taking the risk. You felt they would know what you had done by the look on your face, throwing you to live with pigs for the rest of your life. He chuckles at your lack of restraint, happy to have brought your defenses to a standstill as he slowly sways you to the bed, closing your eyes. You think he might leave you there, tucking you in for the night. You wouldn't protest with your achy limbs.

"You're still intact?"

You shoot up, eyes wide, as you realize what will happen. What?" That is all you manage to say, scared to admit the truth. Maybe if you didn't, he would lose interest and leave.

He rests his knees on the bed, your legs between his as he repeats.

"You are still intact?"

"Sir le Gris, I beg you to leave my chambers." Your voice weavers, sobering up, trying to keep a modicum of strength.

You slide off the bed, Jacques grabbing and flipping you as you swipe the candle stick from the floor. He crawls over the top, dragging his hair along your back as you feel his hands dip the bed, stick biting into your chest.

"I will ruin you for every man," Jacques whispers, face centimeters away from your ear, his facial hair tickling your skin as he peppers kisses along your neck.

The logical part of your brain wanted to stop this, realizing that you would fail if your future husband wanted to see if you were still a virgin. They'll declare you a whore, a harlot, sabotaging every suiter who enters the door. With your personality, you knew that your virtue would appeal more than money to them, and Jacques Le Gris would take it away. But the way his lips delicately kissed your skin, his hair lightly stroking it, taking the words out of your mouth as he reached your hips.

He removed his body from yours, shucking his black trousers onto the floor. You grip the candle stick tighter. This was your chance to fight back, stopping him from taking your only decent quality in man's eyes, but you didn't. You just lay there, waiting patiently for him.

A part of you wanted this, to know what it felt like and to discard any chance of finding a betrothed. You couldn't be tied to domestics, organizing feasts, caring for little ones, and then laying down to a man you could never love. It would be pure Hell, and you could not accept that. You would rather die alone without your honor than live a day under a man's boot.

Jacques grips your hips again, pulling you towards the edge of the mattress, legs hanging off the end as he spits on his shaft, stroking it. You turn your head to take a peak. The length is impossible; you had never seen one this long or wide, glistening with his seed at the tip. He catches you staring, smirking at your shocked expression, glad to have finally put you in your place.

He positions himself at your entrance, rubbing his hands on your ass almost gently as he pushes into the hilt. You scream, silencing it into the blankets as he pulls out, only to slam back in again. Tears burst from your eyes at the blinding pain of being stretched, his blatant disregard for your comfort.

"Jacques, it-it hurts." You beg, body shaking, the salty streams of water cascading down your face and into your mouth. "Please, slow down."

Your trembling voice breaks him from his trance, realizing he can't treat you the way he does with other women, not if both of you were to enjoy it. He pulls out, turning your body, seeing your tear-stained face and the candle stick you had been hiding, throwing it off to the side. Jacques smirks, proud to have won your mercy. He didn't know how long he would worry about you trying to kill him. He was proud of the magic his cock could work, but he didn't think it was that powerful, willing someone as strong and aggressive as you into submission. He bent over your body, kissing you, sucking on your lips gently, as your fingers combed threw his hair.

"I'm sorry, my darling, I should have remembered you are not like the rest. So fragile and delicate." He smiles, getting a waft from the oil he put on you earlier. "Like a rose. Ma rose. Beautiful and elegant, but if you aren't wise, she will prick you with her thorns."

You're sure his terms of affection come from pure physical attraction, trying to calm you so he could get back to fucking you like a rabbit. But the feeling that crept into your bones and heart at his words wanted to tell you something different.

He slowly drags them across your velvet walls, relishing in the tiny moans and whines he pulled from your chest. This time, his hand went down to your womanhood, using your juices to coat his fingers before he slid in, stretching you but not as comprehensively as his cock. You gripped onto the arms that caged you, your fingernails digging into the toned muscles as he dipped his head into the crook of your neck, softly biting the flesh.

You felt your peak rising quickly as he stroked you with curled fingers, your heat clenching and twitching around him. Jacques didn't need you to say anything to know you were close. Your body told him everything he needed as he quickly exited before your climax, ignoring your protests. He brought the digits to his mouth, coated in blood and nectar as he sucked, eyes rolling back at the tangy taste.

You watched in awe as his tongue licked it, dipping into all the crevices. He leaned down, hesitating momentarily as he reached your lips before you parted them and then dove in, mixing the taste of you and him. You moaned through your nostrils, eyelids fluttering as your tongues danced together, wrapping your legs around his waist. You were tired of waiting now that he showed you what sex could feel like, frustrated by its denial. You pulled his hair, tugging his face away as you looked into his hazel-brown irises.

You had never been this close to Jacques to appreciate his beauty truly; the freckles and moles dotted his cheeks and around his nose. He almost looked like the Roman statues you had seen in books, with his face and body chiseled from stone.

"Please," you whispered on his damp skin, "I need you inside me."

Jacques had waited for those words his entire life, eyes rolling back at the wave of arousal he got from them. He positioned his cock at your abused mound again, sliding in slowly as he watched your expression.

It was painful again, tensing and scrunching as he held back the best he could, bottoming out. The feeling of him so impossibly deep made you gasp. You were sure he was in your guts. You slowly ground your hips against him, trying to seek the pleasure you now knew he could give you. He smiled at your eagerness, happy to have turned the stiff woman into a puddle in his hands.

He finally gave you what you wanted, pulling back and sliding back in. Your walls finally adjusted to his overall size, welcoming him in. Like earlier, he worked that sweet spot inside you, stoking the fire smoldered inside into a small flame. You wanted more now that you realized what was possible, snatching his body close to yours as you angle your hips up, inviting him to go the pace he wanted. And Jacques did, slamming into your body as he fucked you deeply, breasts bouncing from the force.

You moaned loudly, head rolling to the side as the pleasure took over, Jacques wrapping a large palm around your throat again to hold you in place.

"Oh Lord," you shouted, "please forgive me. Now that I know of this sinful ecstasy, I may never stop."

Jacques smiled, happy that he ruined and corrupted you like he said he would, a new wave of primal desire controlling him. He yanks you to the end of the bed again, slamming your body into him as he stands upright, grabbing your waist and fucking into you as hard as he can, gritting his teeth.

You pant, excited by the new position he thrusts into rapidly, the now familiar pressure quickly building in your stomach.

"I am going to ruin you for every man." Jacques reiterates from before. "So, when your husband is fucking you like an untrained dog, all you will think of is me."

His black mop of hair sticks to his sweaty forehead as he continues pumping into you, holding himself back until you climax for him. He hikes your leg over his shoulder, pistoning in you impossibly deeper, hitting the same spot repeatedly until you snap. Your vision goes white as you arch your back, screaming at the bursting pleasure in your stomach. Jacques grins, proud to have you writhing under him as he spills inside you, seed filling up your hole as you both continue panting.

Jacques pumps into you carefully, slowly riding your highs together as your pulse slows, breathing calmly. His hand slowly snakes its way to yours, hooking a cautious pinky. He pulls out, gently dropping your leg as he collapses beside you, spent from the activities together, staring up at the ceiling.

His digit is vast compared to yours, the size of your index, as he takes the invitation to wrap all of them under your plan, bringing the back of your hand to his lips. You stare at him, an eyebrow raised at the unexpected display of affection.

"Thank you for giving yourself to me, ma rose. For letting me have your virtue." You look down at the intertwined hands and then at his face, skeptical, seeing his sincere expression.

"You are welcome," you giggle. "Though I always imagined it would be my husband, now I don't think I need one for that anymore."

Jacques laughs, a naturally bellowing whole-body one, and shakes his head.

"With all due respect, my lady, I don't think you needed me to show you that." You mirror his emotions, silently agreeing with him as he gets up, searching for the lost garments during your adventures.

You attempt to stand, legs faltering as pain shoots through your core, using the bed for balance. Luckily, Jacques is in the bathing room collecting his tunic as you walk over to the candle and holder, putting them back.

Cold, wet fabric on your back causes you to jump, turning around to see Jacques fully clothed with a wash rag in hand. You wince at the freezing temperature of it, grabbing his wrist. You look at him perplexed as he leads you back to the bed, parting your legs as he drags them across your core, cleaning up the dried blood and fluids.

"I can do that, Sir." You protest, uncomfortable with the amount of concern he is showing you.

"I know you can." He chuckles to himself, shaking his head, and continues. You don't stop him, letting the man care for you this time.

Once he's done, you reach for the cloth to discard, but he yanks it out of the way, folding it and stuffing it in a pocket. You put your hands on your hips, shaking your head.

"And what are you going to do with that le Gris?" You ask in an admonishing tone.

"Oh, this?" He questions, feigning innocence. "This is just for me... and any other suiter who decides to court you."

Your face pales, your playful expression dropping as you go to grab for him, his body surprisingly fast for the bulk of it. You try again, and he expertly dodges towards the door.

"Give it back, Jacques," you demand, done with his games.

He smiles and shakes his head, patting where the tainted fabric is stored. You reach for it once more as he opens your bed chamber door and slips out, shutting it on your naked body. He knows you can't leave, or everyone will see you; although some might be pleased, you still stay inside, pounding on the door as you yell his name.

***

You sit silently at the table with Count Pierre d'Alençon and his wife, your sister, eating the day's first meal. You needed that after last night, still fuming after what Jacques did.

That damn scoundrel.

Pierre puts his knife down with a "clang," causing your sister and you to perk up, expecting an explanation for the sound as he wipes his lips.

"Jacques le Gris came to my chamber last night," he begins. A lump forms in your throat as you freeze, terrified about what his following words would be."I found it very odd, him being here that late after the party, but nevertheless, he said it was necessary."

Indeed Jacques didn't blast Pierre about what you did last night; he already had proof enough that he didn't need to say anything.

"You came up in the conversation, my dear sister," he says as he points a jeweled finger.

You swallow, plotting all the terrible things you will do to Jacques the next time you see him.

"He proposed a marriage to you."

You drop all your silverware on the floor, face in shock at the reveal. Jacques has already ruined all chances of future courtiers, even going a step further and ruining your prospects of freedom. Why the Hell would he do that?

"I, of course, said that he would have to follow the process like any other man. He would get no special treatment just because he is my friend."

He steals your virtue and now your only chance of freedom.

"What do you say, my dear sister?" He asks, ripping your mind for your thoughts.

You stare blankly, unsure how to respond to something as ridiculous as that and clear your throat.

"Jacques le Gris is like all of the men from before and will be like all of the men after," you reply.

Pierre smiles at your answer, happy to know the two most headstrong, fiery people he knows will go toe to toe. This will be a duel for the ages.

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