#cregan stark fanfic

[fairysluna]

the wolf's cage.

After being captured by the Northerns, you found yourself with the Lord of Winterfell whose strange politeness makes you doubt his true intentions.

MASTERLIST

PAIRING — Cregan Stark x Wildling!Reader.

TAGS — smut (p in v, m!oral, spanking, use of the word whore, face fucking, hate sex(?, dirty talk, degrading/praise, belly bulge), cursing, mentions of war, blood and bruises, kind of enemies to lovers, dilf!cregan, and idk if this counts as dark!cregan but I'll add it just in case. If something is missing let me know!

AUTHOR'S NOTE — it's the first time that i write smut after a very long time, and i wrote this in a rush, so it's not perfect but i loved it anyway bc i fell in love with this trope. Reader is loosely based on Osha from GoT. REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE ALWAYS WELCOMED.

WORD COUNT — 5.3k. (oh damn)

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤenglish is not my first language.

“We found her close to the Godswood,” one of the men said. “She was hiding and preparing herself to kill, my lord.” 

Cregan walked slightly closer to you, his curiosity peaking when he noticed how small you looked curled up in a corner of your cell, covered by thick pieces of fur. Your face was stained with dirt and dried blood. His men had told him you were a menace, but after looking at you, he didn't believe it. 

“She seems harmless,” he pointed out, kneeling beside you. 

“She is not, my lord. She's responsible for the death of three of our men,” the same man explained. They were all in combat position; holding the hilt of their swords just in case you would dare to attack their leader. Cregan, however, seemed to be unafraid, getting closer to you and trying to see more of you. He was certainly intrigued.

How was a young girl like you able to kill a group of ruthless men? 

He raised his hand and gently pulled a strand of your hair out of your face; he saw a scar on your cheek and a cut on your lip. Then, you met his eyes with yours. Your cold and mercenary haze did little to intimidate him. You were finally in the presence of the man you hated the most; the man who had killed your people in cold blood. He could see your wrath burning through your haze, and he understood it. 

With his thumb, he removed the drop of blood that was dripping from your lip — a soft touch that felt so foreign to your skin. He attempted to do it again, but you moved your face away and he knew it was enough. With a sigh, he stood up casting a large shadow over your smaller frame; you looked down at the floor, ignoring his penetrating stare on you before he turned around and walked out of the cell. 

“Tell a maid to give her a bath, then bring her to the dining room,” he ordered. 

“My lord, I don't think-”

“Tell the cooks to make a meal for two, and tell a maid to keep Rickon out of my room tonight,” he abruptly interrupted him, the guard was left in surprise. 

“I beg your pardon, my lord, but I do not think it’s a good idea at all,” The maester advised him, talking in whispers so you would not hear a word. “I believe that being in a room alone with that savage would put your life at risk. We cannot afford that, not when we're in the middle of an imminent war.” 

Cregan turned to give one more look at you before one of the guards locked your cell again. You looked so fragile, and you were probably starving after spending days in the merciless Winter cold. He knew you would not be such a threat in such a condition, so he did not follow his loyal Maester’s advice.

“The decision has been made,” he spoke as he started to walk away from the dungeons. The old man quickly followed his pace. 

“I would advise you to make some double thinking about your decision-” 

“Are you questioning my methods?” His voice came out low and slow, but it carried a bit of an intimidating undertone that was easy to catch. The Maester took a step back when his superior turned around; his Lordship was an imposing man, tall and with wide shoulders and some grey eyes that would pierce through your soul. Lord Stark was a kindhearted man, but whenever he was angry he was unrecognisable. 

And the Maester trembled when he saw a small glimpse of his anger. 

“Of course not, but it is my duty as your advisor to give you the best options… risking your life it's certainly not.” 

“That girl is craving for a meal, I will not let her starve,” he grunted. “Besides, I might steal some valuable information from her. She's just a girl, and she's unarmed. She will do no harm.” 

The old man simply nodded, knowing that it was a lost battle and not having the guts to continue to defy his lord. Cregan cleared his throat, repeated the instructions and then turned around to leave his men behind. They shared confused looks, doubting his plan and how unusual it was for him to have mercy with the people of your kind. This new and sudden sympathy towards you raised suspicion among the northern guards, but they were all too afraid to speak up. 

They just obeyed the orders of their Lord. 

Cregan was tapping his fingertips against the table, patiently waiting for your arrival as he was blankly staring at his half-empty cup of wine. The only sound that was heard was coming from the fireplace, and the rest of the room was deadly silent. He was wondering how much time would it take for you to arrive when two guards opened the door, and two others were carrying you inside. They were grabbing your arms, tight enough to leave a bruise behind. Cregan stood up the instant you showed up, and, with a slight nod from him, you were freed from their grip. 

Lord Stark took the time to look at you, shamelessly glancing at every inch of your body. He noticed how your skin was glowing now, freed of any stain or impureness on your face, except for that scar on your cheekbone that seemed to be quite recent. Regardless of that, you were such a sight for his eyes, so pretty and young and fierce all the same. The glow in your eyes was still yelling your hate for him and, somehow, that would make you even more appealing to him. He followed the trail down your neck and found your bossom being squeezed by the dress which looked a bit too small for you, but that fit your body like a glove; shaping your curves and enhancing them, he had to take a deep breath after seeing you. 

All the beauty that was previously hidden under thick layers of clothes and dirty hair and face was now starting to show.

“You can leave now,” he indicated to the guards. They nodded and followed his orders immediately. 

Once they were alone, Cregan pointed at the chair on the other side of the table, inviting you to take a seat. You were reluctant, staring at the large amount of food with distrust; you thought this was a trap, no one ever invites their foes to supper. You did not obey him at first, standing still in your place, using a pair of borrowed shoes that were almost crushing your feet and making you feel like walking on burning coal. 

You knew one thing for sure; you needed to get out of there as soon as you could. Or, better yet, you had to kill that man. 

“Please, be seated,” he spoke so softly and politely that you could not believe it. It was so blatantly obvious. “The pork it's better when it's warm.” 

A glance at the table and you saw your plate already served; this did nothing but increase your mistrust. However, you walked towards the spot, slowly and with your guard up. The sound of your shoes clacking on the wooden floor as you made your way to your seat until you finally sat. 

Then, a silence fell over the room. Cregan's eyes seemed to never look away from you as he raised his cup and brought it to his lips. You nervously played with your cup, already filled with wine. 

“I gave myself the liberty to fill your cup,” he said. 

Besides that, your plate was full of beans, pork, carrots and mashed potatoes. Everything was already cut into tiny pieces, and only then did you realize you only had a spoon; no knife, and no fork. 

“Is wine not of your taste?” Cregan asked after your long silence. “Would you rather have some ale? or juice?” 

Nothing came out of your mouth. Cregan was losing his little patience, but he knew better and he stayed calm. Upsetting you would only make things worse. 

“You might be wondering why I spared your life today,” he started, attempting a two-sided conversation. “If you were any other, your head would be in a spike by now… but you might be useful for us.” He made a pause, sipping his wine so delicately and manly. Then he added, “For me.”

Again, no answer. 

“I believe you have valuable information that would help us to understand your people better,” he explained, trying to sound likeable and friendly, even giving you a warm smile. “Maybe that way we'll understand your reasons.” 

“Why would I give information to the one who's murdering my people?” You finally spoke. 

Cregan heard your thick northern accent and a smile was drawn on his face. He hid the gesture by grabbing his fork and knife and cutting a piece of meat before putting it inside his mouth. You realized that contrary to you, he had a knife; you wondered how you could reach it without him noticing.

“Ah, so you can speak,” he claimed, cheerfully. “For a moment I thought you were mute.” 

“I am not,” you grunted.

“You could stop an imminent war, you know?” He continued the previous conversation. “Save the lives of your people, avoid a bloodbath.” 

“You are the only one causing those things, my lord,” the mocking tone in your voice when you uttered the last two words was obvious. “This war carries your name.” 

“You are the ones taking over our lands,” he debated. 

“We're escaping,” you snapped. “You have no idea what's beyond that wall. You and your men would do the same in our position.” 

“And what is it that's up there with all of you?” 

“You wouldn't believe my words. You'll have to see it.” 

He hummed, not convinced at all. He leaned back on his chair. 

“How did you get that scar on your face? It looks quite recent,” he slightly narrowed his eyes. 

“An accident while climbing the wall,” you simply explained, not wanting to give out too many details. 

“When did you cross it?” 

“A few weeks ago.” 

“And what have you been doing all this time?” 

“I already told you… trying to survive.” 

Cregan clicked his tongue, sipping his wine once more and letting the topic go. “You haven't touched your food,” he pointed out. “Nor your wine. The cooks work hard on this food.” 

“I'm not hungry.” 

“It's not poisoned,” he let you know as if you would believe his mere words. “If I ever kill you it wouldn't be with a drop of venom, that it's not an honourable way to murder your opponent.” 

“Honour,” you repeated with a mocking tone. 

“Does that word sound funny to you?” 

“It does when it's you saying it,” you muttered, clenching your jaw. “You have the blood of innocents in your hands, you have no honour.”

The tense environment was interrupted by the sound of the door opening. Soon, a small child entered the room and ran towards Cregan; it was his son, his spitting image standing right next to him. His weakness. You looked closely, and you noticed how Lord Stark's demeanour was briefly replaced by a softer one when he held his child in his arms, only to get angry again when one of the maids walked in rushing behind the boy. You were observant, and then quickly an idea of escape lighted up your mind. 

“I apologize, Lord Stark,” the maid murmured, shaking and breathing unevenly. “Little Rickon wanted to say goodnight and he ran away from his chambers-” 

“Don't let it happen again,” he stopped her before she could go on with her explanations that were of little interest to his Lordship. “Just take him to bed, and don't let this happen again.” 

“Yes, my lord.”

He kissed the child's forehead and hugged him one last time before the maid pulled his arm and took him away. The boy was looking back at his sire with saddened eyes as he walked, and once he was out of sight, Cregan was back to his tough facade. However, you knew new information, and now you knew exactly how to manage to escape.

“Was that your child?” 

“Indeed,” he nodded. 

“Beyond the wall, children are taught to fight and hunt from a very young age,” you randomly told him. “Does he know how to do that?” 

“He's still learning.” 

“How old is he?” 

“We are not here to talk about my child,” he snapped, growing impatient with each passing second. 

You stopped, only for a brief second to let it rest and prepare yourself for the next thing. The suddenness of your next question left him speechless.

“Where's his mother?” You noticed how he tensed, clenching his jaw and forming a fist with his hand. There it is. “Is she around?” 

His silence gave you the answer you were expecting, you had to hold back a smile.

“Let me guess,” you murmured, “Childbirth?” 

His fist smacked against the table and you noticed how all the plates jumped due to the impact. He stood up, fuming, all the kindness and politeness vanishing from his body as he lost his patience with you. Yet, you did not seem fazed by his roughness, you barely flinched. You stood up too and slowly started to walk around the table, to get closer to him. 

“I bet your nights might be lonely now that you've lost your wife,” A false tone of empathy was heard in your voice as you kept taking step after step. “Does your bed feel empty at night?” 

“That's enough,” he growled. 

“You dressed me, bathed me and fed me… perhaps you're trying to convince me to stay by your side,” you deduced, using your seduction skills to distract him from the fact that you were getting closer to the knife on the table. “Is this your intention? To make me yours? To turn me into your whore?” Your voice lowered itself a few tones, getting raspier and more seductive.

You reached his side, his eyes were stuck on your face as his breathing was starting to get faster with each second. You saw his jaw, sharp as the knife you were trying to grab, and tensed as he tried to hide his growing arousal. Of course, he has noticed your attributes before, and of course, he had secretly —and shamelessly— fantasized about ripping your dress to see what was underneath, but now your words would only make his struggle grow. 

Perhaps the Maester was right. Perhaps this was a bad idea. 

“Have you heard what they say about the women from the Free Folk?” You were teasing him, boldly raising your hands until they went to his thick coat and untied it; it fell around his leather shoes, and only a thin shirt was beneath it. Your eyes glanced at him, noticing the chest hair on his skin as your hands felt the hardness of his abdomen; years of training with the sword had certainly made its effect. “People say we're difficult to handle, but that we fuck like goddesses. Wouldn't you want to try it out?”

One of your hands travelled lower and lower until it was able to feel the shape of his growing cock in your palm and through his pants. A winning smile appeared on your lips. His growing lust did not allow him to see the moment when your hand took the knife. Luckily for him, his reflexes were quite fast, and he was able to stop your hand right before you almost stabbed his neck. Your eyes widened as he grabbed your wrist and turned your body around, slamming you against the table. He pressed himself against you, your dress now ruined with the food beneath your frame. 

Cregan's hand grabbed a big portion of your hair and pulled it back, roughly, forcing you to arch your back. You could not help but whimper due to the pain in your skull. His breathing soon reached your neck and caused shivers down your spine; it smelled like wine. 

“You little whore,” he mocked you, “you thought you could've killed me?” 

His voice was completely different to the one you have heard before; it was almost like a growl, so deep, slow and hoarse. You would be lying if you said you did not find it amusing. His touch was rough and lacking the gentleness and delicacy that it had hours ago when he wiped the blood off of your lip. 

“It was worth the try,” you breathed out, laughing at him when you felt his arousal pressing against your arse. 

“What's so funny, huh?” he grunted, pulling you harder and making you hum. “I could kill you right here, right now,” he threatened. 

“But you won't,” you murmured. 

“That's right,” he mumbled, breathing in your scent. Even after taking a bath you still smelled of pine tree, it was an intoxicating smell. “I will prove your word first. Let's see if the wildlings whores fuck like goddesses, mhm?” 

Your eyes widened when you felt his hand freeing your hair and going towards the skirts of your borrowed dress. He lifted them, holding them in place on your waist behind your back. He saw how your pussy was already starting to glisten with your arousal, even when he had barely touched you beforehand. His cock twitched inside his pants when he noticed that all of this was because of his rough touch. 

You filthy slut, he thought. 

You heard a soft stump on the floor as his pants fell down his thick legs. It did not take too much time for you to feel his leaking tip brushing against your folds, spreading them open and smearing your slick all over it. You had to bite your lip, holding back a gasp as he teasingly rubbed against your clit; this was certainly not what you were expecting, but it felt good enough to make you want more. 

Slowly, he started to make his way inside you, grabbing your arsecheeck with his free hand and spreading it only to see your needy cunt taking him. Cregan gasped, your soft walls were wrapping around him perfectly, squeezing him just right and creaming all over him. He hummed in delight as he felt your legs already starting to shake. Gods, he was big, stretching you out as of you were a fucking maiden, providing you with that sweet pain that made your eyes close. 

When he was halfway in, he pushed himself all in with a single thrust. His head touched that sweet, spongy spot inside of you. “Fuck!” you cried out, involuntarily spreading your legs further, at the same time your hands pushed all the plates and cups away from your side. It all ended up spilt on the floor. 

He remained there for a few seconds, still inside of you and not moving an inch. Cregan's hand reached for your hair once again, pulling it back until your back was pressed against his chest and his lips were brushing against your ear. His breathing was ragged and unsteady; his tongue licked his lips as they started to get dry. You were able to feel him, his veins pulsing inside of you as he would twitch each time you clenched around him. Cregan hummed against your ear. 

Without warning, his hips started to move and your legs suddenly felt as weak and giggly as jelly. Your hands gripped the border of the table as his movements started to increase his pace. He was filling you up so good, so deep. You found yourself murmuring senseless words as you slowly started to lose your mind, which was a weird thing for you; you would usually be the one in charge. 

Though you did not mind submitting to him for a while. All your morality was soon gone, and all thanks to the man whose cock was good enough to make you forget about how much you hated him.

His hips started to meet yours with more force, thrusting hard but slow. It was just the beginning, and he wanted to make sure you would feel every inch of him, to feel every vein. All while he was also losing his mind over how good your pussy was taking him; your tight grip around him was sending him to the heavens, his eyes never looking away from the place where both of your bodies would join. Your walls contracted around him whenever he was pulling out, almost as if they were reluctant to let him go. Cregan loved that a bit too much, he might have become addicted to it. 

Then, he sped it up. His grunts and moans were falling from his lips in cascades that reached your ears. A vocal man he was, expressing his lust with the most arousing sounds you have ever heard. It brought a sense of pride to your chest, having such an imposing man as him reduced to a moaning mess. But the truth was, you were not doing any better; his animalistic movements were now sending you over the edge quicker than you thought. The sound of your bodies slapping against each other and the feeling of your arousal falling down your thighs was enough to pull you into a cloud of raw lasciviousness. Your mind felt dizzy. 

Suddenly, Cregan grabbed the knife you were trying to reach and threw it right next to your hand. You saw it through your heavy eyelids as you panted and gasped. You felt his lips pressing against your ear once again, but this time he spoke,

“Try to kill me now,” he hoarsely said. “Go on. Where's the girl who tried to kill me? Not so brave now with my cock ripping you apart, huh?” 

“Fuck off…” you managed to say in a murmur. Cregan mockingly laughed, and his hand fell against the soft skin of your rear, leaving a pinching pain behind. Gods, you hated the fact that you loved it so much.

“So fiery, and yet you're a mess…” he chuckled, his heavy breathing against your nape making you tremble under his touch. “I wish you could see how your little cunny is taking my cock… you're fucking soaking for me.” 

You moaned, louder than you should have. 

“Want to take a look?” he teased you, pushing deeper inside of you. You tried to mumble an answer, but nothing came out of your mouth. His hand met your arse again, this time slightly harder. “Answer me,” he demanded, using his lower tone which made your knees go weak. 

You had no choice, “Y-yes…” you whimpered as tears of pleasure were gathering in the corner of your eyes. 

He pulled out of you and you immediately whined, complaining about his absence. His hands went to the ties on the back of your dress, starting to pull them out to get them loose enough to remove that piece of fabric that was just bothering him. When he finally did, he pulled it down in a single movement, and just like that you were completely exposed to him. 

He took a quick look at your body once you turned around, glancing at your breasts and your perky nipples, and then looking at the glistening mess between your thighs. His hand wrapped around your jaw, and he leaned forward; his leaking cock rubbing against your belly as his nose touched your cheek. Suddenly, his lips trapped yours in a heated kiss that lacked any delicacy; he was claiming your mouth, swirling his tongue around yours and devouring you. You heard how he pushed the rest of the dishes, plates and cups on the ground, then he lifted your body forcing you to spread your legs. Only then he pulled away. 

He looked down, watching your pussy drenched with your arousal and chuckling at the sight. “Didn't know wildlings women were such whores… getting this wet when I fuck you rough,” he mocked you, tightening the grip around your jaw and forcing you to keep your eyes on him. 

Cregan guided his cock towards your slit, repeating the same teasing game as before, rubbing his tip against your now throbbing clit soaking it with the mixture of your juices and his. He gave a few taps afterwards, making you whine and your legs shake. You never, in a million years, thought you would be thinking of begging a Lord like him, yet there you were, about to plead to have him inside of you once again because the ache between your thighs was becoming unbearable. 

As if he had read your thoughts, he soon pressed his cockhead against your entrance, pushing just the tip. You sighed, biting your lip as you looked down at it. You could have come right there as you saw how he slowly filled you up and stretched your walls once more. The way your labia would spread to take him in; such an obscene sight it was, yet you couldn't bring yourself to take your eyes off of it. 

Once he was fully sheathed in you, you managed to perceive a small bulge forming in your lower belly which would appear each time he would bury himself deep inside of you. He did not take too much time to be rough this time, starting to snap his hips against yours and making you moan and drool until your mind was fully gone once again. His big hands were grabbing your hips, his nails digging into your flesh and making it slightly painful for you; yet, you didn't want it to stop. The sound of him entering your wetness was enough to make you mumble nonsense, and it wasn't long before you managed to see a ring of your juices around the bottom of his shaft. Your eyes rolled back. 

His animalistic movements were sending you over the edge, and it was humiliating how loud your cries of pleasure were; you were certain that they could be heard in the hallway, but neither you nor Cregan cared enough to stop. Both of you were consumed by each other's touch, it was rough and passionate, you could feel the heat running through your veins as he possessed every inch of your insides until you were nothing but a moaning mess. Your skin was glowing with a layer of sweat, and Cregan leaned forward to lick on your collarbone, his tongue creating a path to your breasts; his lips closed around your nipple, sucking and nibbling. You grew desperate for release. 

“Fuck- I need to… I'm so close,” you whimpered, your eyes locking with his. 

“Come on,” he hoarsely murmured. “Show me how good of a whore you are, and make a mess on my cock.” 

His words blurred your mind, sending a stimulus right into your core. You felt that sweet sensation of culmination when he touched your most sensitive point inside of you over and over again until you were sobbing with the tears of pleasure gathering in the corners of your eyes as you felt your release exploding and washing over you until your legs felt sore. You felt weak, trembling and overwhelmed. Your hair was sticking at your forehead due to your sweat and you were far gone into the pleasure he had just provided you. Yet, he seemed to not have enough. 

Lord Stark pulled out of you. His length had a layer of your release coating it, and you felt your cheeks grow warm. It was unusual for you to feel this shy in this situation, but this whole thing was something rather unusual and rare. Sleeping with the biggest foe, you were a traitor now. 

But Gods, it felt so damn good.

“Get on your knees,” he ordered. His hand wrapped around his leaking cock stroking himself, legs slightly parted as he looked at you with darkened eyes filled with lust. He was achingly hard, you could tell; his stones seemed heavy with his seed, which you would rather feel inside of you. 

Yet, you obeyed, kneeling and looking up at him through your lashes. He cursed with a sigh, twitching with the lustful sight of you ready to take him once again. 

“Open wide,” he instructed, brushing his cockhead against your swollen lips. You did what you were told. “Wider,” he demanded, and you obeyed again. “That's a good little whore…” he hummed, content. 

You stuck your tongue out and felt his salty taste as he tapped his cock against it. You moaned, and he grabbed the sides of your face to keep you still as he started to move in and out of your mouth. He groaned, looking up and then back at you; such a skilful little minx you were, taking him so well. 

Soon, your gags were echoing in the room along with your gulps and his moans. You were drooling; your saliva running down the corners of your lips as he fucked them as fast and hard as he pleased. 

“There you go, take it all just like that,” he praised you, and you felt the warmth of the tears falling down your cheeks. “Mhm, fuck. I might start to believe what they say now. You're sucking my cock like a fucking goddess…” 

You felt the back of your head pressing against the border of the table as he sped up. You were choking around him, and the sounds that came out of it were obscene and filthy, and Cregan loved it. 

Before you could tell, he spilt himself inside of your mouth, forcing you to swallow every drop that left him. And you did. 

Once he freed you from his grip, you pulled away. A string of saliva was still hanging from your lips as you desperately gasped for air, and only then Cregan noticed the big mess you had become. Hot and soaked cheeks, eyes tearing up, your lips swollen and covered with his thick and pearly seed. You were such an unholy sight. 

His thumb reached for your lip, wiping your drool out of it. Such a gesture brought you back to that very same evening when he wiped the blood out of the cut in your lip. It did not feel foreign anymore. You were breathless, trying to regain composure as Cregan looked down at you with a satisfied glance. 

“Seems like the rumours are not false,” he muttered, starting to pull his pants up again. “I might keep you so that I can feel those pretty lips around my cock again.” 

“Keep- keep me?” you asked, confused and overwhelmed.

Cregan arched an eyebrow, “You think because I fucked you I will let you go?” he chuckled. You felt his hand wrapped around your jaw once again, forcing you to stand up. You trembled a little, feeling your legs shaky and weak. “So naive of you… to think that I would have a taste of you and then let you go.” 

You felt your heart sink inside your chest as you heard him. 

“Since you offered so nicely before, I will accept,” he sighed, picking up the dress you were wearing and throwing it up to you. “I’ll make you my personal whore, how about that?” You went silent. “Oh, come on, don't pretend this was not your idea… I was going to let you go with a warning but you came out with a better proposal. How could I say no?” 

“I don't- I-” you shook your head. 

“You belong to me now,” he chuckled. “A wildling made just for me to fuck as I please… Sounds perfect, does it not?” 

You look into his grey eyes, perceiving and reading the mischievousness in them. You tried to escape and return to your freedom. Instead, everything went wrong and now you were trapped in the wolf's cage once again. 

You were not sure how to feel about that.

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#cregan stark #cregan stark x y/n #cregan stark x you #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark imagine #cregan stark fanfic #house of the dragon #house stark #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd x you #hotd fanfic

[gtgbabie0]

heyy!! i saw that your reqs are open ans i was wondering if i could ask for an "cregan stark x fem reader" in which the reader is giving birth but she ends up having complications during the birth (blood loss or the baby simply taking too long to come out) and she ends up being unconscious for a while... if that's not ok please ignore it, thank you!! <3

-Cregan Stark x reader

{The birth of your son Brandon Stark was nothing but stressful, and it makes Cregan face some horrible realisations}

CW// descriptions of blood/ reader is giving birth

Hope you enjoy my lovelies!! 💕

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It was early in the morning when it began. You were eating breakfast with Cregan when the sharp shooting pain erupted through your lower stomach, it took your breath away and you couldn’t help but reach over to clutch onto his arm with a gasp.

He stops mid-sentence as he watches your face contort with an awful look of discomfort, panic rising in his chest when your eyes meet his.

“My love? What is it?- what happened?” He asks, standing up from his chair. He helps you up, wincing as you scream out in pain. Cregan guides you to the bed his hand soothing your lower back in hopes it’ll relieve your discomfort, but his attempts are fruitless when he notices the tears that fall from your eyes and his heart drops.

You shake your head, squeezing your husband's hands as you try your best to ignore the blood that pools between your legs, “The maesters- please” You gasp between breaths and Cregan doesn’t need to be told twice as he rushes out the door.

It isn’t long before people start to barge into the room, orders being thrown around as the midwives lay you down on the bed pressing a cold wet towel on your forehead.

Your body aches as a hot flush wash over you, and every sensation is far too overwhelming, it certainly doesn’t help that your skin is sticky with sweat. You can hear Cregan outside your shared bedchambers before walking through the wooden door, much to the dismay of the nurses.

“What is happening?- please” his voice is strained and he can’t bear to look down at you, the sound of you hyperventilating is enough to make him feel sick to his stomach.

The maester looks up at him, “She has started her labour early lord Stark” he takes a deep breath, watching the worry that deepens within Cregan’s eyes, “You must let us work”

Hours have passed since then, the late afternoon sun is peaking behind the curtains and Cregan hasn’t left your side as your clammy hands squeeze his. He chokes back a sob every time you let out an agonising cry, your face pressed into the sweat-soaked pillow as you grit your teeth.

The nurses tell you when to breathe then push, breathe then push and you know for a fact that your body cannot handle much more pain, exhaustion is creeping through your already weak body.

“Almost there lady Stark, almost there” one of the nurses promises, as she switches your cold rag for a new one, and Cregan doesn’t miss the worry in her eyes as she glances down to the blood-soaked sheets beneath you.

“You hear that my love? Almost there” He leans down to press a kiss to your damp hairline, pushing back the wet strands.

His thumb caresses the space under your eye, wiping your tears away as he holds your cheek. “I can’t- Cregan I can’t” you sigh, trying your best to smile up at him.

He shakes his head, pressing his forehead against yours “Yes you can. You are the strongest woman I know” he whispers.

You nod, taking a deep breath before squeezing your eyes shut, pushing one last time as the nurses and maesters all shout praises. “A boy!” You hear someone gasp but they seem miles away, and then you hear your baby cry as the midwives move quickly to clean him, wrapping him up in a clean blanket.

The noise of the room seems to bleed together, muffled as if you were underwater and with it goes your sight, then everything seems to stop and for a moment, for the first time in the last seven hours, there is clarity and the ache in your body ebbs away as your eyes flutter close.

The moment your grip on Cregan's hand loosens his heart stops, and the sight of your limp body covered in sweat makes his whole world come crashing down. He can’t think straight and the feeling only grows stronger as his eyes drift to the blood-stains all over your legs and bedsheets.

There’s a lump in the back of his throat that chokes him, and all the words he wants to say, needs to say, die on his tongue.

“My wife- is-” he isn’t able to finish the sentence as the Maester hands him his son, his cries hit Cregan's ears, a painful reminder that no matter what happens to you he has to carry on, a harsh reality that he can’t bare to face.

Before he has time to even look down at his child he’s already being whisked away from his arms, wet nurses attending to him. It’s almost as if the world has slowed down, and he can’t breathe.

“She has lost a lot of blood, my lord,” The maester says, his tone soft and gentle as he cleans up, taking out some strong-smelling herbs. “The best we can do is let her rest, if she doesn’t wake within the hour hold this under her nose” he nods about to leave the room.

“She’ll live?” Cregan's voice is weak as he gently holds your hand.

“Of course my lord, as you said, she is a strong woman” he smiles before leaving the room, and it’s only when the door closes that his tears fall so effortlessly from his eyes, and he pleads to any Gods who are willing to listen to him that you’ll be okay.

Cregan doesn’t leave your side once as the hours pass by. His hand gently lays over the top of your heart. The feeling of it beating beneath his palm gives him hope. He gently pushes your hair back, tucking the strands behind your ear as he waits on bated breath for you to wake up.

He watches your eyes flutter and immediately sits up, shuffling to sit closer to you. You groan something incoherent, but he can tell from the way you sound it’s out of nothing but pain. He’s quick to hush you, guiding you to lay back down, to your dismay.

“Y/n, please- relax, my love” he pleads with you as you grab ahold of his hand.

“Our son? Is he-?” You panic, voice hoarse as you try to sit up, ignoring the pain that seizes your body.

“He’s fine, I promise-” He whispers, watching your panicked eyes flicker frantically around the room, "But you, my love- please you need to rest” The way his voice trembles with worry makes you listen, that and the unbearable ache in your bones.

You look up at him, tears in your eyes as the heaviness of the situation finally weighs upon you. “I want to see him, please?” You whisper, and the hoarseness in your voice makes his heartbreak.

He wipes away the tears that fall from your eyes, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “You will, I promise.” His voice calms your nerves. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah? He’s not going anywhere” Cregan smiles as you nod.

“Okay. I do need a bath” You let out a raspy giggle, relief washing over you as Cregan chuckles beside you.

“Of course, my sweet wife” he smiles, his hand gently caressing your cheek before disappearing off, but not without looking back at you, a sad look clouded over his tired eyes.

The water is pleasantly warm against your skin, your hands grasping onto your husband’s shoulders as he helps you into the wooden tub. There’s a thick layer of silence that falls upon you both, it almost feels suffocating.

Cregan doesn’t mutter a word as he washes you. The water sloshing around, and the harsh wind is the only thing you can hear. It’s you who breaks the silence, catching his hands within your own.

You bring his hands to cup your face, “I’m okay. Cregan? Look at me, please?” You plead, noticing how he hasn’t been able to keep eye contact since you woke up.

There are tears that build up in his eyes, a dam of emotions that burst out of him. “I thought I lost you” he whispers, voice strained as he breaks down completely, the last hour finally catching up to him.

“But you didn’t Cregan, I’m right here” You don’t bother trying to hide your own tears, and he’s quick to wipe them away.

He leans to rest his forehead against your own, “I know” his voice is so quiet that if he were sitting any further, you wouldn’t be able to hear him, “But you almost weren’t, and I can’t live without you” he presses his lips against yours in a gentle, loving kiss.

“You don’t have to, I am right here, my love,” you tell him, kissing him once more before he pulls away. “I love you” you smile, as he goes to start washing your hair.

“I love you more… more than words could ever express” he finishes washing you. His touch is overwhelmingly gentle, so full of love that it makes your chest bloom with warmth.

The way his fingertips graze along your arms, how his lips feel as they press kisses along your shoulders. Small whispers of sweet nothings shared between you both in the candle-lit bathroom only ever to be heard by the pair of you.

You lean on Cregan like a crutch as he helps you from the bath, drying you off and changing you into fresh clean sleep clothes. Your bedchambers have been aired out by herbs and incense, and the bed sheets have been changed.

It feels so heavenly as you climb into bed. The sun was well and truly set. “I have a visitor for you” Cregan smiles, walking into the room with your son in his arms, wrapped in a blanket.

You gasp as he hands him to you. He stirs from his sleep with the movement. His tiny fingers wrap around your own as you admire him. “He’s perfect” You press a kiss to his forehead. Cregan sits beside you on the bed, the back of his fingers caressing his son's cheek.

“Brandon Stark” you whisper, looking over to your husband as he glances over at you with nothing but tenderness in his eyes.

You lean your head against his shoulder, smiling when he wraps an arm around your shoulders, bringing you closer, before pulling the sheets over your legs. “Brandon Stark” he repeats with approval, and you both chuckle as your son gurgles up at you with wide eyes.

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#cregan stark x reader #cregan stark #cregan x reader #cregan stark imagine #cregan stark x you #cregan stark x y/n #cregan stark fanfic #cregan stark drabble #cregan stark fluff #cregan fanfiction #cregan x y/n #cregan x you #hotd fanfic #hotd angst #hotd fluff #hotd fic #hotd x reader #hotd x y/n #hotd x you #hotd imagine #hotd one shot #hotd drabbles #hotd cregan #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon

[thebadboyfanclub]

My Beloved Wife (Cregan x Reader)

Honestly I got nothing to say for this imagine it’s just sex scenes pieced together. Hope you enjoy!

“It is such a blessed day for you to be frowning sweetling”

Corlys advised his daughter before he placed a kiss on her forehead, (y/n) felt like a lamb for slaughter, a sacrifice for the name of alliance and strength, her mother could only offer a grin and a tight hug for comfort, her youngest offspring was meeting the fate that was written for her the second she was born.

Rhaenys did her best to shield (y/n) from wedlock for as long as she possibly could, sending her away to the Riveruns with the excuse of “expanding her horizons of knowledge”, Rhaenys was a bystander when Lord Cregan asked about their daughter, Lord Cregan was betrothed at the time so it was impossible to predict such a twist of events.

Her father guided her toward her future Lord husband and (y/n) could not breathe properly. There he stood, the ever-defiant Cregan Stark who was with his head held high and a look that could stop a man and make a giant tremble from fear, a Velaryon could not survive in the cold of the north, she was not meant for the environment that she was now obliged to live in after they exchanged oaths in front of the old gods.

(Y/n) could still recall how she shook from the cold that pierced through her bones under her blanket, the handmaidens had dressed her in a sheer nightgown and even though the fire burned bright she was still unable to control her shiver.

“You will get used to it, first nights are always tough”

She had not heard him walk in, a yelp escaped her lips as she sat up in their shared bed to fully see him, instinctively she covered herself with the thick blanket, Cregan was slightly intoxicated from the feast, she could tell as he lazily left his goblet on the table and almost there away his fur, letting it hit the ground with a heavy thud.

“I hope so”

She replied in a meek voice as she diverted her gaze away from Cregan who only approached her and stopped once he was directly ahead of her, his thumb and index found her chin and slowly guided her head towards his direction, once (y/n) laid her eyes on him once again she was met with a drunk yet kind smirk, she did not realize that he was smiling back at him with the same fondness.

“My lady wife”

He spoke more to remind himself and refresh how the phrase rolled off his tongue, it was easy, the girl was beautiful and appeared to be sweet, still, the thorn that stuck in his heart was the fact that she was not Arra, his beloved Arra who gave her life for their son.

Out of pure spite to himself, he brushed off the idea of his Arra and in a blink of an eye (y/n) felt his lips crash with hers with such force that made her lay back down and Lord Stark climb on top of her.

(Y/n) was inexperienced when it came to the sweet path of beddings, Cregan giggled when she saw how she attempted to cover her breasts when he took off her nightgown, one could easily detect how (y/n) did not know how to go about this.

“Do not worry, I will lead, I’ll be gentle”

He put her nerves to ease, her soft skin and sweet scent were enough to lure Cregan into another world, her embrace was tight and her body was burning, (y/n) found out the ways that pain and pleasure could go hand in hand when it came to laying with a man.

(Y/n) surrendered to her lord husband's arms and became a slave to her bodily needs and cravings, love bites started to decorate his skin as (y/n) was no longer in control but Cregan did not care, she was a natural partner in this dance of their bodies

The idea that (y/n) was experiencing things with Cregan for the first time excited him, to see her face form as her body went over waves of pleasure was his favorite part, his grasp was strong and his caress had a certain amount of possessiveness, like the winner that was collecting his reward.

“I-I don’t know”

“It is alright, it is normal”

Her chest was set on fire and the muscles in her entire body spasmed as droplets of sweat went down from her forehead to her cheek, it felt like she would die and then nothing, her body relaxed fully and with a gasp of air she fell on the man that held her until the sensation washed away, she looked so pretty with her hair sticking to her forehead and her eyes half shut from tiredness.

Cregan was also close to experiencing the addictive feeling of it when the idea of pregnancy and the end of Arra repeating took over and with a swift motion he jumped off from her like something had bit him or stung him, his back was now turned on him as he grunted, his heavy breathing and sudden change in his demeanor left her utterly confused.

“What- what’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

Her innocence and concern left him somewhat amused within the surreal scenery, (y/n) tried to peak while she let her chin rest on his bicep and Cregan mastered all his strength to calm himself.

“No, no, everything is fine, you should rest”

-

Cregan was a man that came with a cloak of mystery wrapped around him, he was respectful to (y/n), held her honor high and was respectful to her in every aspect, there was no room for anyone to even attempt at making any comment about his lady wife.

The problem was that (y/n) had expected him to be more endearing towards her after their encounter, he had not summoned her to his chambers after that night, and their physical contact was as far as a hold of a hand or a caress of her hair, she yearned for the safety that his hugs provided, for the heat his body radiated and the spark in his eyes.

“Higher, (y/n)!”

Little Rickon squealed with joy as (y/n) held the reigns of her dragon Starblaze who flew in circles around their home, (y/n) missed being able to ride her dragon for hours on end, she would try to do for at least an hour a day since Starblaze had started to complain by leaving loud screeches in the middle of the night.

Rickon was curious for marvelous creature, at first she would only let him climb on Starblazes back while he was on land, but slowly she started to take him up in the air with her, (y/n) smiled at the joy that was radiating the little lord and commanded her dragon to go a little higher.

“Dracarys”

She yelled and Starblaze let a breath of fire before they ducked under it, Rickon was slightly frightened by the sight of the fire still as they went away from it for safety his laugh was loud and rambunctious.

(y/n) adored the child from the moment they met, a bright and kind child that was the light she needed to forget the coldness of his father, she would spend her days entertaining the boy by going on rides or playing hide and seek and even helped him with his studies, the boy grew attached to the Velaryon lady in a fast pace and could not go to sleep unless (y/n) tucked him in.

Cregan had gone out in the yard with his men before he saw the handmaidens without his lady wife nor his child around, concerned he approached them for answers since they were supposed to have lunch together an hour ago.

“Where are my lady wife and my son?”

“Lady (y/n) has taken Lord Rickon on dragon back”

Almost like (y/n) had heard her husband looking for them she decided it was time to make their landing, as gently as he could Starblaze landed before he roared to make Cregan cover his ears from the sound, he turned his attention to the large beast only to find (y/n) slide down before she reached up to assist Rickon and once he was tucked in her arms and supported him by her hip she fixed his ruffled her, the boys' rosy cheeks were the evidence of the cold air as he leaned to (y/n)s arms as much as he could.

“Did you have fun little cub?”

Rickon nodded with excitement and (y/n) snickered at how adorable the child was, to see him smile so brightly and enjoy his time with her was the peak of her day, (y/n) was so fascinated by Rickon that she did not notice how Cregan looked at them.

His son was motherless ever since birth, he had not known the love of a mother, he married (y/n) to somehow fill that void in the boy's heart, his heart sang at the sight of Rickon tucking his head on her shoulder as he wrapped his arms around her neck and (y/n) rubbed his back, she saw him as her kin, Rickon was now one of her own.

“My apologies my lord we seem to lose track of time, Rickon was strapped the whole time I hope you did not worry for his safety, we double check everything before we ride”

“It alright my love, Chiara take Rickon to his bed”

“I will see you later sweet boy”

Rickon yawned when he was passed to the handmaiden, it seemed like the long ride tired him out to forget he had not eaten since he broke his fast, (y/n)s heart skipped a beat at the words of Cregan, he never called her that, it was always “my lady” or “my wife”.

“We should head for lunch”

“It can wait”

Cregan grabbed her hand not forcibly but with enough strength to guide her away from the yard, (y/n) was taken back by the sudden behavior of the lord, he had never done such an act of escorting her so swiftly or skipping their lunch.

Before she could ask any questions or understand where they were heading Cregan pulled her into his chamber and shut the door behind him, at an instant his arm snaked around her waist, and put his lips on top of hers for a passionate kiss.

(Y/n) relaxed under his touch as she wrapped her arms around his neck to deepen their kiss, the sensation of his beard against her chin was something she never would have guessed that she had missed, his fingers found the back of her dress and with clumsy movements, he snapped her corset open.

“My beloved wife”

It came out more like a growl than a compliment before he finally got her naked, his eyes full of lust as his big hands roamed her bare skin, (y/n) was a fine partner as she had familiarised herself with Cregan wanting to take the lead.

Cregan positioned her so she can straddle him while he sat on their bed, her fingers graced through scars that he had earned from previous battles on his chest and lower abdomen, in (y/n)s eyes Cregan was a God, a handsome young lord that was hers by oath, to be able to see him paralyzed with pleasure was an aphrodisiac on its own.

“I missed you”

She confessed, her voice barely above a whisper as she found the strength to admit it between kisses that tickled his neck, slowly she dragged her nails down his back causing him to hiss, Cregan had done his best to restrain from taking her in every room of his home, he had not forgotten their wedding night but the fear of losing her while his seed occupied her womb had been the only obstacle.

“Do not worry, you will always be mine”

The greediness had started to run in Cregan's veins when it came to her, the whispers of men about her beauty and the things they would say about her were making him go wild inside.

(Y/n) was the lady of the north now, it was inevitable that men wanted her and women envied her, that did not make it better in his head, he was possessive of his dragon, and now that she had spread her wings over his firstborn son in such a compassionate and loving way.

The image of (y/n) with a swollen belly walking next to him as the men lowered their heads in defeat was his motivation to thrust with all his might, slow yet strong as he earned grunts and moans from her.

(Y/n) moved her hips like she mounted her dragon, she smirked at the idea that her years on dragon back would come in handy when it came to pleasuring her lord husband, she thoroughly enjoyed Cregan's surprise and sounds that came from his plump lips, the student was catching up to her master.

“Keep it up, my love”

“Say it again”

“My Love”

Cregan repeated before he grabbed a fistful of her hair to force her head back and create a canvas of kisses and bites out of her shoulders and collarbones, her hands found his biceps as she dug her nails deeper to unleash some of her power, there it was again, the strange fire that started from her lower part of her belly and then exploded all over her body.

“We shall have a child, you must be the mother of the child”

He was talking more to himself than her, (y/n) did not care she relished his delirium of thoughts of her becoming a mother, the mother of a wolf and a dragon, what intricate combination would that be? She thought, she had grown tired but kept going, waiting for him to pull away from her all of the sudden but he never did, on the contrary, he held her closer and his hug became almost like an invincible lock with her chest colliding with his until he finally stopped, his head laid in her chest for a moment until the delightful feeling shimmered down.

(Y/n) caressed his back with her fingertips, the wolf of the north, the warrior lord was now holding her and resting in her arms like a baby, she smiled lazily as his eyes found hers, and his thumb reached up to go over her lips, (y/n) response was pursing her lips and kissing his thumb making him laugh in a lower tone.

“Our first child will be a girl”

“It may be a son, my love”

“No, a girl, she will have a dragon, like her mother”

He slightly pulled back to lower his focus to her now flat belly, his hand went from her lips and traced down to her belly button, forcing goosebumps all over her glistening body, she looked like a diamond as the sweat droplets went between her breasts.

The daylight shinned through the windows (y/n)s skin appeared to be made out of diamonds and the sweat was just liquid gold when it came to what Cregan thought of her, they both panted for air and gawked at one another, Cregan's hands found her waist again to pull her near enough for his lips to nibble on her earlobe before he whispered.

“Today will be the day we conceive our first out of many, let us make sure of that, lay down”

Requests are open!

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[vermithorn]

* DISSOLVE

pairing: cregan stark x targaryen!reader

summary: an unexpected visitor arrives at winterfell, cregan is surprised to say the least.

contains: 18+, fingering, p in v, afab!reader, she/her pronouns, biting(?) marking(?), masturbation, asks about consent all the way becasue thats cregan ok.

author's note: i was horny in class, you cant relate to my struggle as i wrote this. my comeback and its cregan because i dream about this man and i need him carnally... also pls forgive any mistakes yall know my first language its spanish so don't be mean and leave feedback if you liked it !! pls reblog !!! !!!!!!! also totally inspired by mi amor @fairysluna fic about targ!reader x cregan yall pls read it its GOD TIER. ok bye now pls enjoy !

Winterfell was.. nice.

Your dragon, The Bronze Fury, wasn't fond of the snowy wasteland you commanded him to fly on. He grumbled as he landed near the northern capital, clouds of smoke coming out of his nostrils as he let you dismount him carefully, as much as he hated the north, he couldn't be mad at his rider.

You petted Vemithor’s snout, his red eyes intently watching you and allowing it, because after all, you were his little human. “Obey, stay here.” Vermithor roared, complaining in his own way, you just laughed and waved him off as you made your way to the castle.

*

“Warden Stark, this is a matter of great urgency…” 

Cregan stopped himself from rolling his eyes at the request of the Umber patriarch, a much older man who was filled with jealousy because Cregan was the Warden of the North and he wasn't, always mentioning it to the great council that was held once a month in the northern capital.

“My lord,” Cregan sighed, “I do not have time for this right now, you had your time for requesting when we were six hours in the council meeting earlier today.”

Lord Umber was about to speak again, smoke coming out his ears but was interrupted by the door of the Great Hall opening, a servant of the castle stepping in and announcing loudly;

“Princess Y/N Targaryen,” Cregan’s head snapped towards the doors, taking in the sight of you entering the Great Hall.

You were bundled up in heavy clothing to protect against the cold weather, wearing a thick fur-lined cloak over a long (but tight?) black dress with red accents, with the three-headed dragon sigil embroidered on your chest.

“Lord Umber, return to this conversation later,” Lord Umber's grumbles could be heard as he walked out quickly after bowing to you, leaving the two of you alone in the Great Hall.

 As you walked towards Cregan, he could feel a blush starting on his cheeks. 

“My lady.”

Cregan noticed a glint of amusement in your eyes as you spoke, it was almost a purr.

“Lord Cregan,” You raised an eyebrow, smirking, “I am not your lady, I am your princess.”

Cregan’s face turned redder, looking down for a second as if ashamed. “You are right, my princess. I have never before seen the princess of the realm and I was momentarily taken aback, forgetting your station,” He gulped, “I ask for your forgiveness, your highness.”

You chuckled, delighted. “Do not worry, my lord, we all make mistakes.” 

He looked at you in awe, he never had seen a woman as beautiful as you, especially in this land of wolves. He felt like he was being pulled towards you as if he was a moth and you were the flame, taking steps towards you.

“Nice meeting you, Warden Stark.” You could tell he was nervous, hiding his shaky hands behind his back, standing straight.

He nodded, almost a bow, “What’s the Princess of Dragonstone doing in Winterfell if I may ask? It is rare to see a noble of the south in this frozen land, even rarer the Crown’s Princess.” 

You chuckled softly, and Cregan couldn't feel more attracted to you now as he continued, “Is this an official visit? or did you just wake up with a desire to see my homeland?”

“A little of both,” Cregan raised an eyebrow at you, “I came on dragon back,”

He looks at you with a mix of awe and fear. Dragons have not been seen in the North for a long time, so the mere mention of one is enough to make him worry slightly. “Did you fly all the way here alone, princess? Or is there an entourage of guards, servants, and courtiers that I need to prepare for? I would not presume to let you see one of the great houses of the North without a proper welcoming, even if you are visiting unannounced.”

This made you giggle, and Cregan’s face kept getting warmer with each second passing. “I am alone, my lord.”

Cregan bowed, trying to hide his warm cheeks and of course, showing respect for your station and your valor for traveling alone in the frozen wastes of the North. 

He straightened his back and looked into your lilac eyes, breathing softly trying to not get lost in them, “What would you wish to do here, my princess? I could arrange a meal, or a bath to warm up from the freezing weather? Or maybe you would like to talk?”

“A bath would be nice, my lord.” You gave him a wolfish grin, looking him up and down and making him gulp at the sight.

“I will have one prepared for you immediately.” Cregan walked towards the doors, calling a servant to get your bath ready as soon as possible in the guest chambers near his own, he turned around to talk to you but found you were walking around the room, intently watching the tapestries and paintings.

He watched you do this for a few minutes until a servant came back to inform him the bath was ready in the guest chambers, he came out of his trance watching you.

“My princess, the bath is ready for you,” You turned around grinning mischievously, “Is there anything else that I can do for you now? Anything at all?”

Cregan would learn a few seconds later that his words would turn against him.

“Perhaps you could join me?”

A wave of crimson washed over Cregan’s face, and you could see how your words were making sense in his head. What were you trying on him? Was the offer even real or just teasing on your part? He watched you with his jaw slightly dropped trying to think of a proper answer for you, the temptation was certainly great… to see a princess like that, to see you all bare, he could feel himself getting harder at the thought of your naked body, but… what will others think? You came to Winterfell alone, what could happen if others find out he was in your chambers all alone? The temptation was too great to resist it.

“Is this something you truly want, your highness?” Cregan swallowed, taking another step toward you, “Or am I being an object of teasing?”

You grinned widely, taking a step to meet him halfway putting a hand on his wide chest, “My lord, you know how stunning you are?”

Cregan couldn't spit the words out, too occupied focusing on the hand on his chest.

“I am very thankful for your hospitality, my lord,” His gaze fell into your wolfish grin and intense stare, “So I am extending an invitation of my own if you want it.”

*

Cregan found himself in your chambers, mad at himself for his weak resolve against the Targaryen temptress. 

But all those feelings went away the moment you locked the door after entering the room behind him. 

The bathtub in the middle of the room was big enough for two people, that was out of the question and Cregan wondered if the servants did this on purpose. You walked towards the bed near the fireplace, taking your fur cloak off and leaving it carefully on the mattress.

“Is this room to your liking, my princess?” Cregan said, watching you subtly.

“It is,” You nodded, slowly untying your dress, “Could you help me, my lord?” You turned around, watching him over your shoulder with a playful smile. “This dress is hard to take off on my own.”

Of fucking course.

Cregan made his way over you, his rough hands carefully untying the complicated part of your dress on your back. You could feel his fingers tracing your shoulder blade, now exposed to the warm air of the room thanks to the fireplace. “I can never take this off without my lady-in-waiting’s help.” You giggled, still watching him over your shoulder.

Cregan shook his head, amused by the fact you were gonna need help to take this off in any case, thankful it was him this time. He waited for you to move first, removing his hands gently.

He took a step backward, “You may undress as you wish, my princess. It would be rude of me to stare while you are getting in and out of the tub.” You turned around to face him, your dress falling off your shoulders as he spoke, “I will keep my eyes lowered.”

Cregan’s gaze fell to the ground, his hands again behind his back, anxiously playing with his thumb.

“My lord.” You purred, “I don’t mind, you can look if you wish.”

He splutters, his gaze still glued down to the floor, shocked by your words but his traitorous eyes wander back to your figure, he gasps when he sees how your dress is no longer on your shoulders, now hanging low on your waist and your chest bare.

“M-my princess… this is not appropriate…” He exhales shakily, his eyes glued to your chest not able to look away now.

You roll your eyes, chuckling softly, “I don’t mind, my lord, I am not ashamed of my body.”

Cregan’s jaw drops, your words sending shivers to his spine, and his uniform pants getting tighter. You have the confidence of a queen and beauty to match it.

“Then allow me,” He takes a look up and down at your form as you continue to remove your garments. 

“Like what you see, pup?” 

Your words make Cregan freeze on his spot near the bathtub, his eyes roaming crazily over your body, now fully bare to him. You walk towards him, stepping slowly on the hot water until it’s reaching your thighs.

“Words cannot describe what I’m feeling, your highness.” He exhales shakily, “I am merely a northern wolf awed by a dragon’s beauty and power.”

You chuckle, sitting down on the tub, the water reaching your breasts, “You flatter me, pup.”

He looks at you stunned, you seem unbothered by the scalding hot water as you sit looking at him expectantly. He has no words to describe what’s going on inside his head, the Crown’s Princess is bathing in front of the Warden of the North as if there were no one else in the world, he's only able to stare at you in awe, his eyes shining with a glint of lust.

He stumbles on his next words, “W-what should I do now, your highness?”

“Join me.” 

He only can nod and starts to remove his clothes immediately, showing no humility or shame at being naked in front of the princess, your confident self giving him confidence.

He realizes what he's about to do, “You’re not offended by my nakedness?”

You raise an eyebrow at him, amused, “Why would I be offended? You’re beautiful.”

Men are rarely complimented by their beauty, something Cregan doesn't experience as much, and you can tell this by the way his face lits up and blushes hard, turning away from your amused gaze and feeling slightly bashful.

He takes a deep breath and steps into the bathtub, the water is almost too hot for his liking but he seats behind you without any complaints. He is facing your back and he has to stop himself from reaching out and touching you.

“Shall I wash you, my princess? Or shall I merely enjoy the view?” The moments those words left his mouth his face was plagued by a crimson blush, not believing that he could mutter that out loud.

He heard you chuckle, turning your head to the side but not all the way so he could appreciate your side profile as you spoke, “Whatever you want,” 

He scooted closer to you, keeping all his lower body and his not-that-hard (a lie) cock away from your ass. Still half in disbelief, the princess herself telling him to do whatever he wanted? He was an ambitious man, but started on the base of his wants, not wanting to scare you off. He reach out and ran his hands through your white hair, slowly washing it and once in a while touching your neck.

Your skin felt impossibly soft in his rough palms, and your scent was enough to send him far far away. He felt his heart racing, threatening with escaping his rib cage, he couldn’t believe you were there in front of him, a Targaryen princess, naked and inviting.

As he softly caresses your neck, you throw your head back enjoying the feeling of him touching your skin. His hands softly untangle your wet hair, and it surprises him when you let out a low moan when he accidentally pulled your hair.

“Oh,” Cregan could feel the heat rising to his face, and of course, his cock twitching.

Being this close to you was making him lose all his composure, but he did his best as his hands traveled to your shoulders from your hair, massaging them gently as you nudged back, encouraging him to continue.

“Shall… shall I move further down, my princess?” 

He could physically feel your laugh against his hands, sending shivers down his spine. 

“Yes.”

His hands moved along your shoulders, past your neck, and down to your upper back softly touching and caressing the path downwards your back. He can hear you sigh quietly, his hands coming back to your shoulder blades and slowly moving to your sides, just below your arms, both of his index fingers just barely brushing your breasts.

He stops, his hands still. “May I, your highness? I would never want to do something without your consent.”

You turn your head over your shoulder, watching him from the corner of your eye. “Go on, pup.”

His hands reach your chest, and he scoots closer, his (now) hard cock a few inches away from your ass. He warily cups your breasts, squeezing them gently as his fingers pinch your nipples, making them pebble.

You let out a whimper, shivering at the touch of his rough and big hands on your tits.

“Does this... please you, your highness? My hands on your perfect skin?” He cannot stop himself now, words spilling out his mouth as they didn’t before, his hands wandering around and playing with your chest.

“Yes, you’re doing such a good job, pup.” He blushes deeply but doesn't stop.

He’s still in disbelief, not entirely believing the situation happening in front of his eyes. The princess of Dragonstone telling him how good he's being for her? It is too much to comprehend, you’re so above him in any situation, but there you are, praising and wanting him to touch you.

“You want me to continue, my princess?” 

You nod, “Go further,”

His heart starts to pound harder in his chest, like a war drum, but he continues to do as you say. One hand stays playing with your breast, stroking your nipple, and the other travels downwards through your belly.

“Like this?” He whispers in your ear, and you can feel his hot breath on the back of your neck.

You surprise him again by scooting back, your ass against his hardened length, he gasps, the plump of your ass touching his cock making him lose his vision for a second, not expecting it at all.

“Just like that,” Your words send chills down his spine, is he really about to do this with a princess? Is he really worthy of that? He swallows deeply, his mouth now dry, but his mind is made up. He wants you, and if you’re allowing him to do this, he won't complain at all.

“As you wish, my princess. How far would you like me to continue?” 

“As far as you wish, pup.”

Your words leave him breathless, but he obliges. 

Cregan’s hand on your belly travels further down, carefully to not overstep your boundaries but decided to resume his wandering on your body as his cock presses against your ass. His eyes are glued to the back of your neck, his touch is hesitant at first but your permission makes him feel bold, so he presses his one hand down further and the other squeezes your breast.

“Go on, pup,” You whisper, leaning your head back and resting it on his shoulder as his mouth grazes your neck towards your throat, breathing heavily, “You know what to do.”

He chuckles, but it comes out as a shaky breath. He knows exactly what to do.

His fingers slowly make their way down to your cunt, two digits slowly reaching your clit hovering over it, and moving down to your folds, feeling how you shiver.

You exhale shakily, leaning even more against his body, “Please.”

Cregan’s resolve breaks, blushing as he continues his ministrations, teasing your clit with his palm and fingers grazing your folds, rubbing them. 

He’s so immersed in his teasing he doesn't notice when your soft hand grabs his, pushing it down towards your pussy hard. “I don’t like being teased, do your work.”

Your words drive him into a frenzy, immediately obeying and pushing two fingers into your cunt, hearing you moan. His hand on your breast leaves to support what the other one is doing, moving his fingers in a circular motion on your clit as the other fingers you.

You throw your head back into his shoulder harshly, groaning. “Don’t stop, pup.”

Cregan grinds himself against your ass as he thrusts into you, fingers deep into your pussy. Your breath starts to get labored and your shoulders begin to shake, he starts going faster, more vigorously as he hears your little whimpers with his name mixed into your chants.

“You’re doing so good for me, pup,” He grins proudly, his cock twitching at the breathy praise that falls from your lips, grinding harder against your ass.

Cregan makes you reach your peak after he pinches your clit and his long rough fingers thrust into you, shaking slightly as he holds you in place.

He’s still rock hard against your ass, and after a few moments to come back to yourself, you turn around to face him, your tits against his chest as you straddle his lap, not caring at all how the water splashes outside the tub.

Cregan’s cock is a sight, long and with a thickness it makes your mouth water. He watches you as you move around him until you grab his shaft making his dick brush your folds as you accommodate, the tip teasing on your hole.

“I want you, do you want me?”

He thinks that’s the dumbest question he's ever heard in his twenty-one years of life.

“Hell yes, my princess.”

You give him a wolfish grin as you sink into his length mercilessly in one go, your tight hole wrapping his cock in a warm embrace he can only answer by groaning loudly, his hands flying to your hips to help you steady yourself.

“You’re so tight, seven hells… my goddess, you’re so beautiful.” Your mouth parted at the sensation of his cock splitting you in two, combined with his praise, it’s enough encouragement to start riding him, water splashing everywhere.

His voice starts coming out as incoherences, between praises and swearing on how tight you are, and how your cunt was made for him, his mouth latching at your breast biting it and marking the sides when he can no longer say coherent words. You ride him hard and roughly, so it’s not a surprise when he spills inside your pussy and you follow him behind quickly with a second orgasm when he moves his hand down to rub your clit.

He hugs you as you both breathe heavily, trying to compose yourselves.

Your hand reaches his face, cupping his cheek as he looks into your lilac eyes like a puppy.

“You did so well, you’re not getting rid of me now.”

He beams at the praise, hugging you tightly, pressing your body against his with him still inside you, getting softer. “It is my pleasure to please you, my princess.”

vermithorn © do not copy, repost or translate my works

#tvrgvryen #cregan stark x fem reader #cregan stark x reader #cregan x reader #cregan stark fanfic #cregan stark #cregan x y/n #cregan stark x you #cregan stark smut #cregan stark x y/n #hotd fanfic #hotd x reader #hotd smut #hotd #hotd x y/n #hotd x you #house of the dragon #fanfic #house targaryen #smut #fanfic smut

[starkskeep]

Cregan Stark x Alicent's Daughter HC

A/N: this is kinda long for a hc but I am trying to make up for not posting anything for two weeks.

so, you are the 2nd youngest of Alicent's children

younger than Aemond but older than Daeron

you are the only one who looks like Alicent so naturally, you became her favorite from the moment you were born

she did not have to be reminded of Rhaenyra every time she looked at you because you were hers plus you did not have the same tendencies as Helaena. Alicent could raise you to be the perfect noble lady

because you lacked any Targaryen features, Alicent and Otto had to stop the rumors of Rhaenyra's children being bastards. If the King could have a child without Valyrian coloring, so could his heir

your resemblance with Alicent caused Rhaenyra to resent you even more than your other siblings. looking at you reminded her of the friend that she lost to womanhood so Rhaenyra devised a plan to keep you out of her sight and not be reminded of her lost girlhood dreams nor of the betrayal Alicent subjected Rhaenyra to

on one of her rare visits to King's Landing, Rhaenyra went to her father and privately convinced him to wed you to Cregan Stark

Cregan's wife had died giving birth to his son Rickon and he now rarely left the North. Marrying you to him meant that you would be kept far away from the Red Keep, both now and after Rhaenyra took her position as Queen

If Rhaenyra let it be known to Cregan that she was the one who betrothed you to him, he may be even more loyal than the typical "there has never been a Stark who forgot an oath" because it was his father who knelt and not him

so the majority of the court traveled North to Winterfell in order to witness your marriage to the Wolf of Winterfell

Alicent was livid. How dare Rhaenyra take it upon herself to betroth you? It was Alicent's job as your mother to find the best possible match

she would have never given you to a man such as Cregan Stark. a savage who worships the old gods. Alicent had heard how he brutally took back control of Winterfell from his uncle.

you are a princess of the Seven Kingdoms. you are kind and delicate. you deserve more than to be the second wife of a man several years older than you. you deserve more than the same fate that Alicent suffered

though you would never admit it to your mother, you were happy for this match. the North is somewhere that you had never been and despite its reputation, the scenery and summer snows you saw on your journey there from the Red Keep intrigued you

upon your arrival in Winterfell, you were greeted by your future husband and several other Northern lords. your mother was not happy when she saw the blush upon your cheeks when Cregan kissed your hand in greeting. though she was supposed to be happy for you, she had wished that you would be upset with this match and not allow yourself to be corrupted by the Northerner

unfortunately for Alicent, that didn't happy. all it took was your wedding night with Cregan for you to be utterly in love

you are a young girl, and of course, you would be instantly taken with the man who had shown you love and pleasure for the first time. he had heard your hand and made sure you were comfortable with everything he did

needless to say, you and Cregan had a very active marriage from the moment you two awoke the morning after your wedding. it was not uncommon for the servants to skitter past your chambers giggling about the noises coming from behind the door

while the court was still there before their return to King's Landing, Alicent tried everything in her power to scare you away from your husband, thinking she was preventing you from being corrupted. it was not proper for you to constantly be showing up for meals arm-in-arm with your new husband. Cheeks flushed, hair out of place, and your clothes in disarray. plus she was hearing that Cregan had your things moved into his chambers. how were you going to be protected from him if you were being forced to spend every night with him (stop being delusional Alicent? your daughter would throw a fit if Cregan even suggested having separate rooms now that you have had a taste of him)

Cregan loved the glares he received from the Southern nobles. Unlike your siblings who had the looks of the man his ancestors bent the knee to, you had the look of someone he could corrupt

Cregan loved how soft you were. he would grip your hair with one hand and keep his other on your hips when you were together, no matter where you were. he wanted you to look into his eyes as he controlled your movements. he wanted you to know exactly who was making you feel this good and exactly whose children you would be carrying

you are the young and pretty bride that Cregan enjoys corrupting. maybe your mother wasn't that delusional for her worries

a few months after your father's court returned south, a raven made its way from the North. you were officially with child. nothing could separate you from Cregan now

over the years, there would be many more ravens bearing similar news. each time Alicent visited you or you came south, Cregan would give her a wicked grin as if taunting her: "Your daughter is mine now. You lost."

masterlist

#cregan stark fanfic #cregan stark imagine #cregan x reader #cregan stark #cregan stark hc #hotd imagine #hotd #hotd hc

[damn-stark]

Moonlight

Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen!fem-reader, Cregan Stark Targaryen!fem-reader

Summary- Y/N Velaryon Targaryen, eldest and only child of Rhaenyra Targaryen and Laenor Velaryon, the golden girl. Destined for greatness except the throne, no, that goes to Jacaerys, Driftmark goes to Lucerys, what is that you get? A promise for a good match? The promise to be taken somewhere far away from your family? Again. Albeit being forced to Winterfell the first time didn’t turn out to be a mistake, you got to be close to Cregan Stark, some would say you’re more than friends, but such a relationship is forbidden. Now that you’ve returned home after years though, what do you have? More desire for what can’t be yours? Or a man who promises you the world?

Ser Jason Waters

Season 1

Chapter 1 Golden girl

Chapter 2 Stars and scars

Chapter 3 Learn to join the dance

Chapter 4 Snow on the beach

Chapter 5 Journey to the future

Chapter 6 City of stars

Chapter 7 Aerion

Chapter 8 Chateau

Takes place after Season 1

Chapter 9 Heart of ice

Chapter 10 Nobody gets me but…

Chapter 11 Heart of fire

Chapter 12 The Siren’s trick

Chapter 13 The Great War

Chapter 14 No time to die

Chapter 15 The songchord of the twins

Chapter 16 These violent delights…

Chapter 17 Mom I’m tired

Chapter 18 The serpents tongue

Chapter 19 The vision

Chapter 20 …have violent ends

Chapter 21 The Eldest v the youngest

Chapter 22 Paradise

Chapter 23 No woman no cry

Chapter 24 Me and the Devil

Chapter 25 Be prepared

Chapter 26 Love in the dark

Chapter 27 Million years

#fanfiction #damn-stark #house of the dragon #moonlight #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction #Cregan stark #Cregan stark x fem!reader #cregan x reader #cregan x you #cregan stark fanfic #Cregan stark fanfiction #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond Targaryen #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond the kinslayer #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond x fem!reader #hotd aemond #hotd #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #masterlist

[the-desilittle-bird]

headcanon to be the young wife of Cregan Stark

A.N:- So, yeah, I was dead for as long as I can remember but now... I am back again!!!

Thank you and Enjoy your reading!

HOTD Headcanon

Being Cregan Stark's Young Wife Include...

Tags:- @chaotic-fangirl-blog, @cherryaemond, @watercolorskyy, @literishdegree99, @sunmoon-01, @random-shit-i-like-2, @ultrav0lence, @thatgirlthatreadswattpad, @deltamoon666, @severewobblerlightdragon, @marvelescvpe, @eudximoniakr

Warnings:- None

GIF Credit Goes to @mary-ann84

You will be the daughter to some important lord or maybe a younger sister to some lord in the council of the King.

After Cregan Stark's first wife, Arra Norrey, dies in childbirth, your father/brother is ready to propose a marriage pact to the Lord of the North.

After all, you are young and fertile and highborn. The perfect partner for a Lord with only a son.

Cregan and you might have met one another once or not, it doesn't matter to him.

When the proposal reaches him and his council, the members and his advisors encourage him to accept it

But Cregan has other plans.

You soon find a raven of your name, written by the Wolf Lord, asking whether you wish for this or not.

Even if you were against this marriage, the raven would definitely make you swoon over his chivalry. And you will understand that you won't find a better match.

The marriage would be a small occasion, officiated in the eyes of the closest to the bride and groom.

The North, as well as your husband's council, will welcome their Lady with open arms.

You will also have to play mother to the little Rickon, and you find the baby adorable.

Bearing more children to Cregan and developing your relation with him.

Small but significant gestures on both of yours and his parts.

Being an absolute power couple.

You were worried sick when he had to travel south.

But equally happy when he returned unharmed.

Having a big fat happy family.

And an awesome relation with Sara.

In short, you did be everything the North needed in their Lady.

And the apple of Cregan's eyes.

#house of the dragon #hotd imagine #cregan stark x reader #cregan x reader #cregan stark fanfic #cregan stark #cregan stark headcanons #house stark #hotd headcanon

[cregan-starks]

Flames of Deceit

Summary: Aemond and Visenya reunite amidst the Dance of the Dragons.

Words: 13,005

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x OC, Cregan Stark x OC, Alyn Velaryon x OC

Warnings: canon-typical incest (Aemond and Visenya are cousins, as well as uncle and niece), book and show spoilers, Westerosi geopolitics, mentions of imperialism and slavery, canon-typical violence, war, blood and gore, fire and burning, mass death, mention of amputation, mentions of torture and captivity, mentions and threats of execution and physical harm, mentions of poverty and starvation, parental neglect, food and eating, alcohol and drinking, sexism, victim blaming, slut-shaming, ableist language, explicit language, nudity, smut (vaginal sex in flashbacks), unresolved sexual tension, grief/mourning, trauma, angst, hurt/comfort, survivor guilt, mutual pining, emotional/psychological abuse, verbal abuse, mentions of pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, and death in childbirth, mentions of child/infant death, mentions of infidelity. If I missed any warnings, please let me know! Under no circumstances can you copy, plagiarize, steal my work, or post it somewhere else!

Notes: This totally didn’t take me almost 7 months to write. Cregan Stark is the protagonist of Fire & Blood. Rise, Cregan nation. My OC Visenya is Rhaenyra’s and Daemon’s daughter, and Jace’s older twin. Superfecundation, baby. Visenya and Jace are born in 111 AC, not 114 AC. The Battle in the Gullet still occurs in 130 AC, soon after the events of this one-shot. Reblogs and comments are encouraged and immensely appreciated. If this does well, I’ll post a reader version.

Credits: Huge thank you to my betas @maharani-radha-writes 💛 @aereth 💖 and @revolution-starter 🩶, and to @haystack-boy @lavendertales @buttercup--bee @agirllovespancakes and @oloreaa for their constant patience and support. It means a lot, and I’m immensely grateful. Apart from my OC Visenya, all characters belong to George R.R. Martin. Gif by @aemondtargaryensource (x)

Ao3 | Masterlist

EARLY 130 AC

HARRENHAL, THE RIVERLANDS

          The sheer immensity of Harrenhal had provoked dizziness in Visenya. She had heard the story innumerable times. For four decades, King Harren Hoare had built greedily and obsessively, sacrificing thousands of slaves, and beggaring the riverlands and the Iron Islands. The indestructible construction had been no match for Balerion, whose fire had consumed the tyrant and his sons inside it, ending their line. Most Westerosi believed that the phantoms of the Hoares wandered the castle halls. The fortress is costly to maintain, and it devours its possessors. Qoherys, Harroway, Towers… All extinct. Whether cursed or not, Harrenhal remained a strategic location – the largest castle in the Seven Kingdoms.

          The current castellan – and Larys Clubfoot’s great-uncle – Ser Simon Strong had recently surrendered Harrenhal to Daemon Targaryen. The presence of Caraxes might have contributed to his hasty decision. Following the victory at the Burning Mill and the subsequent submission of Stone Hedge – terminating Green strength in the riverlands – Queen Rhaenyra’s allies had commenced their gathering at Harrenhal, in accordance with the Prince Consort’s stratagem.

          Visenya had departed Dragonstone on the same night that Daemon had summoned her, having been granted safe passage by the Velaryon ships patrolling the Gullet. At the outbreak of the war, the Sea Snake’s fleet had closed off Blackwater Bay, choking trade to and from the capital.

          As soon as she had dismounted her dragon in the castle yard, she had sensed the eerie ambience that had haunted Harrenhal’s colossal curtain walls and fissured, melted towers. Formidable and dreadful. Harren’s monument and tomb. Blackwing had responded to Caraxes’ fervent shriek with her own, flapping her wings at him. Happy to be reunited.

          Her father had offered her a warm welcome and a tight embrace, had even insisted that she sit on his war council, wherein she had befriended Alysanne Blackwood, whom she had grown quite fond of.

          At last, Visenya had thought, on the morning that Daemon had sent for her. Though she loved him dearly, her father hadn’t invited her there because he had missed his daughter. Visenya had met with Daemon alone, in the Hall of the Hundred Hearths – she had counted thirty-five – grander than the throne room in King’s Landing, the discolored ceiling looming loftily above them. Her father had donned his chain mail over his crimson tunic.

          Does he sleep in that? Or am I the threat?

          ‘Ser Crispin and the Kinslayer are marching on Harrenhal,’ Daemon had informed her, instead of “good morrow”, pressing a rolled parchment into her palm, ‘They mean to join forces with the Lannisters’, at Stoney Sept.’

          Her heart had jolted at the mere mention of his title. Aemond… At the Usurper’s farce of a coronation that the Hightowers had compelled her to attend – dressed in green – Visenya had kissed him farewell, forsaking any glimmer of hope for a future with him. I have demonstrated where my loyalties lie. I have chosen my family.

          Her lilac eyes had skimmed over the scrawled message on the sheepskin, the wax sigil foreign to her. The White Worm?

          ‘You are strangely poised,’ Visenya had observed, suspicious, studying her father’s amused expression.

          ‘I’ve been waiting for this,’ he had confirmed, smirking wickedly, curling his hand around the hilt of sheathed Dark Sister. Another one of his traps… and he’s pulling me into it. Daemon had gently cradled her cheek, purring, ‘I have a mission for you, sweetling.’

EARLY 130 AC

STONEY SEPT, THE RIVERLANDS

          Her host had encamped half a day’s ride from the town, with sufficient provisions for a fortnight. The arduous advance and the muddy soil had wearied men and horses alike, so Visenya had relied on the Greens’ tardiness to provide the respite that they had needed.

          Her dragon had brazenly exploited that ploy – napping during the day and hunting at night, increasing the risk of being discovered. Surpassed by Vhagar in age and size, Blackwing had never been ridden before a seven-year-old Visenya had claimed her. They shared a temper, a wildness, and a fierce devotion to each other. My twin in dragon flesh, Jace would jest.

          ‘You have become too spoiled,’ she had reproved, affectionately, tapping Blackwing’s dark scales, heated to the touch.

          The beast had objected, idly, releasing a guttural noise, smoke rising from its nostrils.

          For five days, her scouts had reported nothing of enemy activity. Her anxieties had continued to fester and to gnaw at her. What if I fail? What if I die? I would condemn my people in vain. And Aemond… What am I to do about him?

          On the sixth day, they had burst into her tent, blurting that the Greens had arrived at Stoney Sept. The maester had quickly dispatched a raven to Prince Daemon, at Harrenhal.

          ‘We attack at dawn,’ Visenya had declared, resolute.

          I’ll do my best, father.

          The fray had been gruesome, stretching for hours upon hours. A thick mist had settled over the Blackwater Rush, impairing visibility. Visenya had been the surprise element, concealing herself to deceive her foes, and striking unexpectedly, in the midst of battle. She had flown on her daunting Blackwing, laying waste to men and reserves indiscriminately, amongst the sounds of steel clashing with steel, shields splintering, arrows whistling, and soldiers screaming as they fought, suffered wounds, and perished. Hundreds of Greens had been engulfed in her dragon’s flames.

          Aemond had been slow to deter the princess. Afraid to face me? Visenya and Blackwing had used the fog to their advantage, climbing higher and higher into the sky – the Kinslayer chasing after them on hoary Vhagar.

          ‘Dracarys!’, she had ordered, and Blackwing had descended on Vhagar, unleashing a cloud of fire that had only incensed the latter.

          The dragons had spun, locked in a vicious struggle of claws and fangs, wings thrashing, until Aemond had suddenly swiveled Vhagar, slamming her into Blackwing. Their deafening roars had pierced the air. The collision had knocked Visenya from her saddle – the searing flames licking at her arm – and had sent her plummeting towards the Blackwater below. Having crashed into the Rush, she had surfaced seconds later, her hefty armor and the river’s currents hindering her endeavors to stay afloat. Visenya had looked up, able to distinguish a faint form lunging at another – the beasts’ screeches reverberating far above.

          Blackwing will not be coming to my rescue.

          Her tribulations hadn’t stopped there. A glimpse at the golden dragon banner of the Pretender, and she had realised that the currents had pushed her in the wrong direction… too late. She had already been spotted by the scouts on the shore, who had alerted their captain. They had aimed their crossbows at her, waiting for the Blackwater to present her to them on a silver platter. I think not.

          Visenya had bitten into the hand of the man who had dragged her out of the water, then she had tossed him into the Rush.

          ‘Cunt!’, the next attacker had bellowed, charging at her.

          Slowed down by her injuries, her movements had been clumsy. Visenya had ducked under his first blow, stumbling to retain her balance. She had unsheathed her sword to parry his second blow, and had driven her blade through his breastplate. She had slashed a guard’s belly, his entrails spilling out. A soldier’s glove had caught her weapon, yanking it from her grasp. Disoriented by a swift welt to the side of her head, Visenya had been tackled to the ground – the impact rendering her breathless. Two fists had savagely pummeled her face, again and again and again – a massive weight crushing her. She had desperately fumbled for her scabbard, had withdrawn her dagger, and had slit her aggressor’s throat. Hot blood had spurted out, blinding her. She had been hoisted to her feet, her dirk wrenched away. Howling with rage and frustration, Visenya had scratched at the man’s eyes with her nails, had kneed another in the groin, and had torn off an archer’s ear with her teeth.

          Alas, she had been one enfeebled person against all of the odds… and a dozen Greens. Her apprehension had been inevitable.

          The capture of the commander had prompted the capitulation of her army. Visenya had been delivered to Ser Crispin in chains, covered in blood, dirt, and grass, braids disheveled, dragonscale armor soaked, body aching, left arm throbbing. I will not quail. Those traitors will receive no such satisfaction from me.

          Attired in the white garments of the Kingsguard, Ser Crispin had been the living depiction of virtue and chivalry. Lickspittle. He had immediately discarded courtesy, referring to her as a “bitch in dragon’s clothing.” In retaliation, Visenya had dubbed him a “sheep in sheep’s clothing”, earning herself a cuff across the face from his steeled gauntlet. Blood had flooded her mouth, her cheek stinging sharply.

          Ser Crispin had further commented that her men had been rather committed to her, alluding that she had fucked them to obtain their service. Every woman is an image of the Mother, to be spoken of with reverence.

          ‘It’s not as high of an honor as warming the Dowager Queen’s bed,’ Visenya had admitted, slyly, and had spat on his boots, ‘Hand of the Usurper. Does he wipe his ass with you?’

          Crispin would have hit her again, had the Prince Regent not intervened. Wary, she had surveyed her surroundings for Vhagar – not in evidence. I might wind up her supper.

          ‘Enough, Cole,’ Aemond had interrupted, solemn, causing Visenya to tense, drawing their attention to where he had been standing, imposing, smeared with ashes and smoke, ‘She may be our prisoner, but she is still a princess, and shall be treated as befits her station.’

          Any shred of scorn had abandoned her, ousted by fear and uncertainty. Her father had foreseen this. If you bend, you will break. Remember who you are. She had inhaled deeply, striving to even her respiration. I am the blood of the dragon, daughter of Queen Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon, and heir to the Iron Throne. I will not cringe for them.

          Aemond had instructed the maids to prepare her a bath and a warm meal, and to fetch her dry clothes. Visenya had grinned, baring her bloody teeth at Ser Crispin, as the guards had led her away. She had been escorted along the smoldering ruins of houses, inns, and brothels, trampling charred corpses – mindful of her step. Carrion crows had circled above, the timid sun peeking from grey clouds. The foul, stifling stench had twisted her stomach, tears needling her eyes. Mine and Aemond’s handiwork. Only the sept, the square, and the trout-shaped fountain had remained intact. When dragons flew to war, everything burned, her mother had warned at the Black Council. What have the people of Stoney Sept done to merit this devastation? What power do they have over their lives? We play our grisly game of thrones, and the commonfolk bear the immeasurable cost.

          The encampment had spread interminably – miles of pavilions, armories, forges, stables, latrines, wagons, and baggage trains – crawling with Greens cussing, mocking, and shouting at captives, pages distributing letters, squires polishing armor, honing weapons, feeding, watering, and combing horses, patrols walking to their posts, smiths hammering boisterously, cooks chopping vegetables, skinning rabbits, disemboweling deer, and roasting boars, giggling washerwomen hurrying by, and maesters ministering to the wounded. The turmoil had imbued Visenya’s senses. Mesmerised, she had watched a wailing, writhing man have his leg amputated, until one of her assigned guardians had shoved her forward.

          She had assumed that Blackwing had flown away… but, having escaped the battle unscathed, and always loyal to a fault, her dragon had landed in the enemy’s camp, razing barracks and roaring ferociously, seeking its rider. After it had mauled the Greens who had attempted to approach it and shackle it, Aemond had begrudgingly permitted Visenya to comfort her feral companion. Blackwing had nuzzled its snout against her, coiling its tail around her, protectively, while Visenya had murmured “lykirī”, caressing its scales – her taut restraints impeding the action. Her chest had constricted agonisingly when the traitors had forcibly separated them. I will return for you, I promise.

          She had been ushered into a vacated chamber, where the maids had obediently unchained her wrists, had removed her armor, had unbraided her hair, and had helped her undress for her bath, evading her glare and her nakedness – scarcely addressing her. What grim tales have they been told about me? Under the ewerers’ supervision, Visenya had washed herself – her uninjured arm vigorously scrubbing her skin with a bar of soap – and had dried off on her own, using cloths and rags. They have taken away my gear. Her indignation dwindling, she had slipped on the plain shirt, brown breeches, pelts, and a pair of flat shoes that they had brought her – tucking her salvaged brooch in her pocket. Is this meant to humble me?

          She had sluggishly eaten her bland yet nourishing food, on a bench, by a candle, goggled at by blushing serving lads.

          Aemond had summoned her to his tent, along with the maesters, who had cleansed her burns, had applied a poultice that had reeked of lavender and vinegar, had bandaged her arm, and had rubbed balms on her cuts, bruises, and split lip. Visenya had endured their ministrations in utter silence, grinding her teeth and clenching her fists. She and Aemond hadn’t exchanged a single word.

          The pavilion had been modest for the Prince Regent, consisting of a firepit, an oaken war table – stripped of its tomes, maps, scrolls, ink, and wax – chairs, rugs, and a featherbed, with books scattered atop it. The colors red and black dominated the tent of a proud and eminent Green, who carried the golden banner of the Pretender. Aemond cannot deny his Targaryen heritage. Had Otto Hightower dyed his locks silver-white and ridden a dragon, he could have sat his ass on the Iron Throne and ruled in his own name. Instead, he urged the King to make my mother his heir, coerced his daughter to seduce him, and installed his grandson on the throne. Puppets upon puppets, plots within plots.

          With the maesters dismissed, Visenya finally had the opportunity to regard Aemond. He hadn’t changed much since she had last seen him, at his brother’s false coronation. In the fire’s light, he had been a sight to behold; the flames illuminating his attractive, distinctive features, his mouth seemingly lodged in a permanent smirk, his eyepatch obscuring his missing eye, his tresses cascading down his back. Aemond had cleaned himself up, shedding his armor – now resting on a rack – for his usual black leather tunic, fastened with a belt that had his sheathed dagger attached to it, and a lengthy coat sewn with fur around the neck. He cast a tall shadow in the pavilion, his posture impeccable. Half dragon, half feline.

          ‘There’s a lack of dresses,’ informs Aemond, obdurately calm, retrieving a flagon of wine and two cups from the servant at the tent’s entrance, ‘And we had to find clothes that would suit you.’

          ‘I gather that there’s some poor stable boy currently running around naked,’ quips Visenya, tugging the pelts around herself.

          Aemond huffs through his nose, amused, and sets one of the goblets on the table, proceeding to fill it with Arbor Red for her. The war evidently hasn’t affected the Usurper’s notorious love of drinking. Lord Redwyne smelled profit, and pledged his support to the Greens, to ensure that their wine supply never dries. An onerous task. The Pretender has ample ambition in that respect.

          ‘Don’t fret,’ assures Aemond, upon heeding Visenya’s skeptical, arched eyebrow, ‘It’s not poisoned.’

          ‘Surely someone spat in it,’ she guesses, convivial, swirling the liquid in her cup.

          Aemond smiles, drinking his wine. Visenya tentatively lifts her goblet to her lips, and sips. Delectable flavors invade her mouth, soothing her nerves – albeit a little. She mulls over her next words… half carefully.

          ‘I reckoned that you and Ser Crispin would share a pavilion,’ she confides, lewdly, crossing one leg over the other, ‘Though your prides would not fit together.’

          Aemond’s gaze darkens, his mouth subtly pressing into a thin line. His disposition could make Mushroom miserable... and it has.

          ‘You could lose your tongue for such insolence,’ he cautions, sternly.

          ‘What’s new?’, suspires an indifferent Visenya, ‘I can write this down as well.’ She pauses to take a swig, then demands, bluntly, ‘Where is Blackwing? And my men?’

          ‘The dragonkeepers are tending her,’ explains Aemond, irritation in his tone, leaving his empty cup on the table, ‘Your men are being questioned.’

          Good fortune. They know nothing. The laughter and singing outside contradict Aemond’s claim. Drunk on victory. A weakness that she could later exploit. If I could reach Blackwing… lest they harm her.

          ‘Blackwing was your companion prior to Vhagar,’ she mentions, heatedly, flexing and unflexing her hand, ‘If you touch her–’

          ‘You are in no position to launch threats, Visenya,’ chastises Aemond, coldly, prodding at the logs with a poker, the wood crackling in the fire, ‘Your treatment depends on my good will. As does your fate. You have my word that Blackwing will not be harmed.’

          ‘The word of a kinslayer,’ spits Visenya, venomously, eyes darting to him, ‘If you are under the impression that minor acts of benevolence shall convince me to talk, you are gravely mistaken. You overestimate my family’s trust in me.’

          ‘They trusted you enough to put you in command of an army four thousand strong,’ reminds an earnest Aemond, ‘And you expect me to believe that you have no knowledge of your twin’s whereabouts?’

          I wouldn’t trade Jace for the Iron Throne. ‘We shared a womb, not a brain,’ she corrects, tracing the rim of her goblet with her digits, contemplating refilling it. I need my wits about me. ‘You are wasting your time, nuncle. Mine, too. Fetch your torturers, and be done with all this bother.’

          ‘I will do no such thing,’ he rebuffs, inclining his head.

          ‘You will torture me yourself?’, asks Visenya, feigning innocence, brushing her loose silver-white hair over her shoulders.

          ‘You are being difficult, Visenya,’ he accuses, exasperated.

          ‘What do you intend to do with me?’, she interjects, involuntarily fiddling with her absent rings, ‘Executing me would be unwise. I presume that you will have my dragon killed, and me delivered to King’s Landing, where your usurper of a brother awaits, warming my mother’s rightful seat… or is he still broken and bedridden, lost in poppy dreams?’

          ‘Mind your tongue, Visenya,’ warns Aemond, louring at her, melting some of her resolve.

          ‘The Clubfoot will probably throw me in a cell and dispatch his floggers to visit me,’ she concludes, scratching her thigh. Stable boy must have had fleas.

          ‘I’m not sending you to King’s Landing,’ announces Aemond, with apparent mirth towards her gesture.

          ‘You will ransom me to my father?’, taunts Visenya, smirking wickedly, ‘He’s the poorest man in the Seven Kingdoms.’ Aemond’s demeanor refutes her insinuation. She continues, all semblance of jest vanishing, ‘You cannot justify keeping me here. Once the Pretender learns about my capture, he will order you to send me to King’s Landing.’

          ‘Aegon does not concern me,’ he grumbles, clasping his hands behind his back.

          ‘Pār ivestragī nyke jikagon,’ she advises, coyly. Aemond hums, musing, a glimmer in his eye that doesn’t indicate outright negation. ‘We are at war, and you allow your feelings to cloud your judgment?’ (Then let me go.)

          ‘Iksi daor rȳ vīlībāzma,’ argues a mild Aemond. (We are not at war.)

          So, you did not slaughter Luke? That’s a consolation. ‘Iksis bona skoro syt emā daor ossēntan nyke?’, inquires Visenya, masking her anger. (Is that why you have not killed me?)

          ‘Killing you would be as imprudent as freeing you,’ he reasons, purposely oblivious, ‘You are worth more alive than you are dead. You lost a fair battle, you surrendered, and now you are my prisoner.’

          ‘I’ve heard stories about how you and Ser Crispin treat your prisoners,’ she disputes, mordant, ‘And I never yielded. You ride the largest dragon in the world. That’s hardly a fair match.’

          Cole and the Usurper’s forces had sacked the port town of Duskendale, putting the ships at the harbor to the torch, hundreds of men, women, and children to the sword, and beheading Lord Gunthor Darklyn for supporting her mother’s cause. Hundreds more had been massacred at Rook’s Rest, where Lord Staunton, too, had been relieved of his head. Besieged by the Greens, he had barricaded himself inside his castle walls, and had requested assistance from the Blacks. With Prince Daemon at Harrenhal, and Queen Rhaenyra griefsick in the aftermath of her son’s murder, command of the Black Council had passed to the Velaryons. Rhaenyra had forbidden her children from answering their ally’s plea, so Princess Rhaenys had flown to Rook’s Rest instead. She and Meleys had fallen in battle against the Pretender, the Kinslayer, and their dragons. Sunfyre had been rendered flightless, the Usurper had suffered severe burns, and Aemond had assumed the title of Prince Regent – to rule in lieu of his older brother.

          Visenya’s side hadn’t fared any greater. A wroth Sea Snake had blamed Rhaenyra for his wife’s demise. Jace had named him Hand of the Queen, to appease him – a measure that Visenya had commended. Better than Ser Crispin.

          ‘You ambushed us,’ reiterates Aemond, incredulous, ‘We would have presented you with terms, to avoid bloodshed.’

          Oh, please. You don’t believe that. ‘Fuck your terms,’ curses Visenya, waving dismissively, ‘I suppose that being twice a kinslayer would have marred the carcass of your reputation.’

          ‘I spared your life,’ he chides, vaguely baleful.

          ‘A clemency that you did not extend to my brother,’ she sneers, bilious, her nails digging into the table’s surface.

          ‘Half-brother,’ deadpans Aemond, promptly.

          ‘If you had to slay your own kin, personally, I would have picked your dear brother, the Pretender,’ proffers Visenya, honeyed.

          ‘Perhaps you should have killed him,’ he retorts, untroubled, ‘You had your chance.’

          Her family had gone to King’s Landing for the Driftmark petition, where her father had created a ghastly spectacle – publicly beheading Vaemond Velaryon for defaming her mother and her brothers. The Targaryen method of solving quarrels. Viserys himself had sat the throne, and had favored Luke as the heir to Driftmark – adhering to the Sea Snake’s wishes.

          Due to his declining health, the King had been the first to retire during the subsequent supper that they had all attended. Visenya hadn’t been surprised by his condition; she had frequented the capital, unlike her parents and her siblings. The gathering had soon turned disastrous. Jace had invited Helaena to dance with him – offending Aegon and Aemond. She is so sweet. Alicent had been evil to marry her off to that cunting demon. None of them deserve her. Visenya herself had danced with Daeron, grinning the entire time. We had once been engaged... I could have loved him. He would have been a dutiful Prince Consort and a doting father to our children. Aemond had toasted to her Velaryon brothers, referring to them as “strong.” Fighting had erupted betwixt her siblings and her uncles, and her father had intervened to break them apart.

          That evening, her family had sailed for Dragonstone, but Aemond had insisted that she stay in King’s Landing with him. Against her better judgment, Visenya had accepted. She ponders whether it had been a ploy of the Greens to take her hostage, and Aemond had simply played his part. Her grandsire had tragically expired overnight – poisoned by the Hightowers, according to her father. Visenya isn’t so certain. He hadn’t required meddling. He had been rotting for decades.

          On the morrow, the Greens had locked her in her chambers. Visenya had refused to swear obeisance to Aegon – had even spat in his face – and to bow at his false coronation. Blackwing and the Princess Rhaenys had come to her rescue – emerging from underneath the Dragonpit on Meleys. Visenya had mounted her dragon, and had addressed the crowd, her voice clear and fierce, laced with fury.

          “People of King’s Landing! The Hand and the Dowager Queen deceive you. King Viserys named my mother the Princess Rhaenyra heir to the throne. For twenty-four years, the succession remained indisputable and unchanged. Rhaenyra is the rightful and lawful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. By crowning Aegon, the Hightowers have committed the highest of treasons and have usurped the Iron Throne, violating the King’s will. Aegon shall show you neither kindness nor wisdom. Remember today. Remember that you lived by the mercy of Rhaenys the Queen Who Should Have Been and myself. If the Hightowers do not cease in their treachery and do not bend the knee, I vow to return with fire and blood!”

          Blackwing had roared so intensely that the Conqueror’s crown had been hurled from the Pretender’s head.

          Aemond has the right of it. We could have bathed Aegon in flame, quelled their rebellion then and there.

         On Dragonstone, the news of Viserys’ death and the Hightowers’ betrayal had driven her mother into an early labor. Her father had descended into madness, determined to levy war. Their losses had continuously piled… and the Seven Kingdoms would bear the cost.

          ‘I am no kinslayer,’ snarls Visenya, slighted by the idea, tearing her gaze away from Aemond.

          ‘I made you a generous offer that would have foiled the war,’ he broaches, the grievous memory still raw for him.

          Oh, how could I have displayed such ingratitude? She wouldn’t describe his proposal to marry him and rule together as “generous.” It had been an odious humiliation. Aegon – who had not wanted the throne, declaring himself “unsuited” – would have embarked upon a ship and departed Westeros permanently. The Iron Throne is not his to relinquish. Visenya knows that Aemond has no love for his father, but asking her to usurp her mother’s throne? An audacious affront. She had vehemently spurned him, and they had traded sour words – their prides injured.

          ‘Our families would have started a war to kill us for it,’ drones Visenya, flatly, ‘And what of my parents? They would have never abided by your… solution.’

          ‘They have no consideration for your happiness and welfare, yet you still toil in their service,’ observes Aemond, provocatively.

          ‘And you have?!’, she opposes, her fist slamming on the table, ‘You conspired to usurp the throne and slaughtered my brother, the Princess Rhaenys, and their dragons. You are in no position to launch accusations.’

          ‘Even now, you feel compelled to defend them,’ he comments, dejected.

          ‘Lucerys was my blood!’, snaps Visenya, wrathful, standing from her seat and storming up towards him – stopping a couple of feet in front of him.

          ‘As am I!’, booms Aemond, towering over her, ‘And you have never defended me half as much as you did him! He took my eye when I was but ten, and to even that the imp felt entitled, while you gladly dismissed it as an accident and moved on!’

          Outside, Blackwing and Vhagar grow agitated, shrieking and flitting their wings, stirring the wind. It seemed to Visenya that Aemond had often been harsher on her than he had been on Lucerys. He loves me… or he used to.

          ‘It was an accident,’ she maintains, tamer, ‘We were children. Our parents mishandled everything. I’ve told you numerous times that I profoundly regret what happened to you. It’s the truth. I cannot undo Luke’s actions.’

          It’s been ten years since then, and forgetting the incident has been impossible. Aemond wears the consequences of it on his face, in his daily life. Our unease at the sight of his gash is a small price to pay.

          He had delivered several blows – and had broken Luke’s nose – afore he had been overwhelmed by all five of her siblings, and Lucerys had slashed one of his eyes. Visenya’s absence from the fight had spared her from the interrogation, wherein Rhaenyra had suggested that Aemond be “sharply questioned”, Alicent Hightower had demanded Luke’s eye to compensate for Aemond’s, and Viserys had been eager to abandon his conciliatory obligation. The discord had exposed the personal feud between Rhaenyra and Alicent – their rhetoric diverting from “vile insults were levied against my sons” and “my son has lost an eye” to “duty and sacrifice are trampled under your pretty foot” and “you have been hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness.” The Queen had gone so far as to attack the Princess – slitting her arm with the King’s dagger.

          Visenya hadn’t spoken at all – displeasing Aemond and her siblings. To her, matters hadn’t been so absolute. Although Aemond had claimed Vhagar too soon – disrespecting Laena Velaryon’s memory – his assault and maiming had been unwarranted. I love Rhaena dearly, but Vhagar was not stolen. The dragon never belonged to her. Aemond and Vhagar chose each other. Visenya had later communicated her opinions to him, and she had reassured her sister that she would have a dragon.

          The next morning, the Targaryens and the Hightowers had exchanged false courtesies and falser apologies. Her family’s exile to Dragonstone hadn’t prevented Visenya from writing letters to Aemond, Helaena, and Daeron, or from flying on Blackwing to visit them in King’s Landing.

          Alas, the bloody seeds of strife had been sown.

          ‘No, you cannot,’ concurs Aemond, glancing at her lips, ‘No one can. That is why I sought justice for myself.’

          ‘Justice?’, echoes Visenya, disdainful, her glare piercing, ‘Had you had your other eye, you would still be as blind as you are now.’

          Aemond growls, lashing out and grabbing her roughly, their lower bodies pressing together. Visenya glowers at him defiantly, placing her hands on his breast, to preserve some distance betwixt their upper bodies. The effort shoots a jolt of pain along her arm.

          If he meant to scare her, he failed. Aemond would not harm me.

          ‘Hold your tongue, Visenya,’ he exhorts, through gritted teeth.

          ‘Or what?’, she challenges, her face inching closer to his, ‘You will have it removed? You will butcher me as you did my brother?’

          ‘You are brazen, to speak of your half-brother, of my wrongdoings and my crimes,’ berates Aemond, his jaw clenching, ‘What of your family? What of my nephew Jaehaerys?... Iā tresy syt iā tresy. Nyke gīmigon īles aōha kepa.’ (A son for a son. I know it was your father.)

          Aware of what Aemond alluded to, Visenya hesitates, her response withering on her tongue.

          After the tragedy at Storm’s End, a raven from her father had arrived at Dragonstone. An eye for an eye, a son for a son. Lucerys shall be avenged. She had deduced that Daemon had hired the assassins who had executed Prince Jaehaerys – the Usurper’s six-year-old heir – with Alicent, Helaena, and the latter’s other children as witnesses. Visenya had confronted him about his heinous deed at Harrenhal. Undaunted, her father had firmly admonished that the “pious one-eyed flea of a traitor who slobbers over you” had slain her brother.

          In retaliation for Jaehaerys, the Pretender had sent Ser Arryk Cargyll to Dragonstone, to assassinate Jace and Joffrey. The knight had entered the castle in his Kingsguard attire, disguised as his twin Ser Erryk – Queen Rhaenyra’s loyalist – whom he had encountered on his way to the royal apartments. By the conclusion of their duel, the two had mortally wounded one another.

          I owe the Hightowers nothing, least of all my sympathy. Children should not be the target of our ire. How do we differ from the Greens if we perpetrate and perpetuate the same crimes that they do?

          ‘Nyke ēdan daorun naejot gaomagon rūsīr bona,’ clarifies Visenya, sincerely, albeit faintly. (I had nothing to do with that.)

          ‘No, you are merely the spectator,’ scoffs Aemond, haughty, ‘Proudly passing judgment while others bloody their hands. You are passive. Passive in your beliefs, your guilt, your love.’

          Visenya blinks against the tears that prick her eyes, her breath hitched. His cruel and bitter words cut deeply, rooted in years of grievances, enmities, neglect, and abuse. Aemond had once been a sweet, innocent boy – her closest friend, her betrothed. He’s the product of his conditions, his upbringing, and his parents’ influence… as am I. Both confined in a prison of our parents’ sins. Perhaps we inevitably inherit the burdens of our forebears.

          Though Visenya may not be the sole reason for his resentment, she is present. Aemond hadn’t blamed her for her family’s actions. He condemned her for not loving him enough. That is unfair. I’m not culpable of that.

          A consuming poison has been dribbling inside of her, on the verge of gushing. Visenya has strayed too near to the edge – now wavering, uncertain whether she wishes to tread the line and unravel the truth. That is not why I am here...

          ... but her decision has already been established.

          The truth is important to me.

          Summoning her courage, Visenya reaches behind Aemond’s head to peel off his eyepatch, lifting the veil between them. I need to see him, so that he cannot deceive me. She tosses the item aside, neither shrinking nor averting her gaze. She caresses his face, drinking him in – his scar, the sapphire in his eye socket, the flesh that had healed crookedly. Aemond tenses, watching her intently, his respiration ragged. His grip on her slackens.

          ‘Gōntan ao ossēnagon zirȳla kesrio syt hen issa?’, murmurs Visenya, circling his wrists, impeding his retreat. (Did you kill him because of me?)

          At the Black Council, Jace and Luke had offered to act as their mother’s messengers, to acquire support for her claim. The twins had been tasked with the difficult mission – negotiating with the Eyrie, the Three Sisters, White Harbor, and Winterfell. Lady Jeyne Arryn would declare for Rhaenyra if dragonriders defended the Vale. Jace and Visenya had met with Lords Borrell and Sunderland at Sisterton, and at White Harbor, they had arranged for Joffrey to marry Lord Desmond Manderly’s youngest daughter.

          The news of Luke’s death had accosted them in the Vale. Visenya had collapsed in Jace’s arms, wailing as her twin had embraced her tightly. She had agonised over her brother’s demise every night, plagued by what she could have done to save him, weeping into a tumultuous sleep. Visenya had never listened to the rumors and the gossip. Lucerys had been her family, her brother, her blood. I fed him, bathed him, read to him, sparred with him, played with him… yet I could not protect him from Aemond.

          She possesses little knowledge of what had occurred betwixt Luke and Aemond at Storm’s End. The weather had been atrocious, her brother’s dragon too small to withstand it. In the following days, bits of Arrax’s carcass had washed up on the shore of Shipbreaker’s Bay. Luke had never been recovered. He may have died a dragonrider’s death, but he had died alone and afraid. Had his demise been slow and painful, or swift and painless? Her brother had sworn on the Seven-Pointed Star that he would not fight – merely deliver the Queen’s message. Aemond had taken no such oath. Had Visenya known, she would have held on to Luke and besought him not to go.

          If I had flown to Storm’s End in his stead, Aemond could have slain me, and my brother would still be alive.

          ‘Daor,’ whispers Aemond, at last. (No.)

          Visenya stifles a sob, tears escaping her eyes, dampening his thumbs. She foolishly believed that her grief would wane. His confession barely scrapes the surface. Visenya feels no relief, no closure. Has she been on an erroneous campaign to absolve herself of any responsibility, to alleviate her own conscience, and to forgive Aemond – chasing these ends to the detriment of Luke’s memory? If I wanted to bring justice to my brother, I would have slit his killer’s throat and let him bleed out on the ground.

          When Aemond succumbs and pulls her into him, Visenya doesn’t resist. The buckles of his tunic are cold and rough against her cheek, contrasting the warmth that he radiates. She releases the exhale that she has been withholding. Her greatest flaw rears its hideous head – a flaw that has sown division amongst her family and has rendered her an outcast. Visenya had suffered for her refusal to forsake her friendship with Aemond, enduring disapproving scowls from her parents, mean jests and malicious accusations from her siblings, and a lack of compassion – all serving to remind her of her tenuous position.

          Her proximity to Aemond had even prompted her mother to spurn her as her heir – arguing that he would undermine her as Queen. I cannot have both Aemond and the Iron Throne. I am the eldest child. By all rights, the throne should pass to me.

          Shoving those thoughts away, Visenya clutches his sides, sobs wracking her body. Aemond timidly buries his mouth in her locks, breathing in her scent.

          ‘Daor,’ he repeats, definitively, cradling the back of her head. (No.)

          The remainder of her defenses crumble. Visenya loathes that she errs, that she seeks and welcomes comfort from the man who is the source of her sorrow. With the realm plunged into war after Lucerys’ death, there has been no time to mourn – not for her grandsire Viserys, nor her sister Aemma, nor her brother Luke.

          An unavoidable war. We are Valyrian, and prone to violence. A testament to power corruption. Prior to the blood magic, the dragons, and the conquests, Valyrians had been a peaceful community of shepherds. They had become increasingly tyrannical and ambitious as their power had soared. The peak of our Freehold… and its ruin. Forewarned about the Doom by Daenys Targaryen’s prophetic dream, her forebears had fled to Dragonstone – a venture that the other, unsuspecting dragonlords had considered cowardice and had ridiculed. We had the last laugh.

          Targaryens have always been stubborn, passionate, fierce. Visenya is no exception. Despite their families’ hopes and despite his crimes, her love for Aemond hasn’t dwindled. Their bond is too strong, their souls and fates entwined. I am the blood of the dragon. Nobody dictates whom I love.

          And love is seldom simple.

          Aemond brushes his lips over her temple, causing her skin to tingle. Visenya lifts her eyes to meet his, and recognises the same ache and longing that lay dormant inside her. Affection blooms in her chest. She could stop this from flourishing, spare them both the misery. As children, they had found solace in each other’s company whenever their families had been the reason for their anguish, so they had promised to never hurt one another.

          A part of Visenya still yearns to love Aemond freely. Must her logic always be at odds with her emotions? The only man that I have ever desired, and I have been deprived of him my entire life. I have never been in control. The forbidden aspect merely furthers the appeal of the dalliance. She wants to surrender to the temptation, repercussions be damned.

          Visenya traces his mouth with her fingertips, reverently, and strokes his face – recommitting it to memory. Aemond leans into her touch, reveling in the gesture, his respiration shallow. The tips of their noses graze against each other. He wipes her tears before his digits fall on the sides of her neck, feeling her quickening pulse under the pads of his fingers. Aemond’s eye gleams with lust, igniting the same blaze within her. She peers at him from underneath her lashes, drowning in the depths of his blue eye. A shiver runs down her spine. Her lips tremble in suspense, the proximity making her dizzy.

          Aemond dips his head to capture her mouth in a tentative kiss. Visenya surges upwards to reciprocate, inhaling sharply through her nose, eyes slipping shut. Their lips mold together, their flame rekindled. His large, calloused hands grip her jaw, to guide her. She splays her hands over his chest, fisting the lapels of his coat, desperate to draw him closer. Visenya parts her lips, granting him entrance, tasting the lingering flavor of the wine that they had shared earlier. A familiar ardor seeps into her belly, immersing her body. Her fire has burned quietly for too long. Now, it has stirred again, emboldened to emerge.

          Aemond sinks his teeth into her bottom lip, splitting it and sucking the blood, famished. Visenya groans, her breath blowing the loose strands of hair that cover his forehead. Her knees weaken, and she grasps his shoulders for support, grateful that he wraps his arm around her middle. Her pelts land on the floor. Aemond steps forward, backing her into the table, and hoists her on it impetuously.

          Aemond kindly adjusts his belt, to remove the dagger betwixt them. The irony isn’t lost on Visenya. She spreads her legs, inviting, allowing him to settle between them. He sprawls over her, caging her in, his heavy weight almost crushing her against the table’s rigid, uncomfortable surface. His silky hair cascades around her head, framing his face, conferring a strange sense of privacy. Visenya peppers delicate pecks over his chin, continuing along his jaw, her digits prodding at his smooth neck.

          She fervidly awaits a kiss that never comes. Aemond hums affably, his arrogant smile shooting to her core. Their breaths mingle, his hands traveling up and down her sides with modest curiosity. Visenya huffs in exasperation, and shifts, ticklish, the heels of her feet digging into his ass. Her thumb catches his lower lip, pressing into it. Aemond holds her gaze, parting his lips enough to engulf her thumb. He swirls his tongue over it afore sucking on it gently. She watches him, captivated, her mouth slightly agape.

          The knot in her belly snaps, her patience having thinned, ousted by resolve. She pushes him off, so she can sit up, impelling him to stand. Aemond obliges without objection. Visenya hooks her fingers in his belt, to bring him nearer, and deftly unbuttons his tunic, revealing his bare chest – inch by inch. She drinks in the sight, caressing his glistening skin. The intolerable heat induces sweat to drip betwixt her breasts and to trickle down her spine.

          She leans in, only for Aemond to jerk his head away and deny her another kiss – the tip of her nose bumping against his cheek. He smirks, conceited, despite his ruddy complexion. Visenya gnashes her teeth, intent on retribution. Straightening her body, and looping her uninjured arm around Aemond, she licks his earlobe and bites it softly, eliciting a growl from him. He squeezes her hips in silent warning, and sneaks a hand under her shirt, to fondle her breast and pinch her nipple until it stiffens. Visenya moans, hushed, her head lolling back into her shoulders.

          Aemond rests his free hand on the base of her throat, his digits winding around it, lips latching onto her exposed neck. Visenya suppresses her whine, the air deserting her lungs. He incessantly strokes her bosom, his teeth abusing the sensitive skin of her neck. She drops her arms – mindful of her wounds – one hand surrounding his wrist, her other fumbling, blindly cupping his hardened member through his breeches. A salacious grunt rolls out of Aemond’s mouth, filling the tent.

          His fingers release her throat to tangle in her tresses, and yank, his hips grinding against hers, creating friction. He withdraws his lips from her, and tugs her hand away, his other hand raking down her abdomen. Her chuckle turns into a gasp as Aemond languidly rubs the wet area between her legs, his breath fanning her face. Visenya relishes in the waves of pleasure enveloping her body, her spine arching, though her soaking cunt clenches around nothing. She heaves her thighs higher, hugging his waist – lest he dare pull away from her.

          A metal item pokes at her thigh.

          My brooch.

          Visenya peels her eyes away from him, scrambling to salvage her composure. Aemond ceases his ministrations. He raises her chin with his thumb and forefinger, coaxing her to look at him. Her heart stutters, her vision bleary beneath his suffocating leer. The clouds in his eye have cleared… or he conceals them well. Their lips crash in a frantic kiss – her veins aflame, scalding. He swallows her wanton moan, kneading the flesh of her ass. Aemond cannot fool me. A constant tempest festers within him, ravenous for blood and revenge. Visenya would never be able to tame it. Nothing would.

          Numbing remorse smothers her fire. She had forgotten herself and her loyalties. She breaks the kiss, tasting ashes on her tongue. His mouth chases hers, his hand curling around the nape of her neck, to reunite their lips. Aemond bends her back, cradling her against him – the pressure on her shoulder tearing a whimper from her. He lays a tender, apologetic kiss there. Her digits slide into his locks, thwarting him. Visenya stares at the shadows dancing across the ceiling of the pavilion – Aemond’s head pillowed on her breasts.

          What am I doing? Where am I going? With him? Distant limbs envelop her, lips ghosting over her skin. He licks a stripe up the column of her throat and nips at it, nuzzling his nose against her neck. I would never betray my family. I cannot have both Aemond and the Iron Throne. The dream is over. Bury it, and crawl out of this bottomless pit of vipers.

          He has been stretching seconds into minutes, delaying the inevitable, but he cannot stop it. The die has been cast.

          ‘Aemond, wait,’ pants Visenya, her own voice foreign to her, her nails clawing at his back, ‘We cannot. I am–’

          ‘Betrothed?’, deadpans Aemond, cocking his head to peek at her, crimson lips swollen, hair and clothes disheveled, ‘I’m aware. Your half-brother told me, at Storm’s End.’

          Her heart leaps into her throat, yet Visenya falters, preferring to disregard his comment and its implications. If Aemond and Lucerys had exchanged insults – and her brother had mentioned her betrothment – it might have incited the former to attack the latter. A door best left shut.

          ‘Lord Stark is a good man–’

          ‘Have you sunk so low?’, criticises Aemond, reproach etched on his features, ‘You are a Targaryen princess, the blood of Old Valyria. Dragons do not mate with other beasts, and we do not consort with lesser men.’

          Visenya blinks in incredulity, scanning his face for any indication of pretense. He has been collecting dangerous beliefs. Undoubtedly the result of Ser Crispin’s and Alicent Hightower’s influence. King Viserys had been too neglectful to bear any blame in that respect. He’s overly culpable in innumerable other matters.

          ‘If I have sunk low, I do not wish to imagine what hell you wander in,’ she retorts, dour, shoving him away, her lower back pressing against the edge of the table, ‘I do not require lessons on our heritage. Valyria is gone. I do not adhere to the Doctrine of Exceptionalism, nor do I delude myself about our superiority. According to this logic, your Westerosi mother is lesser. Everybody has their history and their pride. The Starks are the blood of the First Men, descendants of Bran the Builder. Cregan is my equal, and I will not bring him dishonor. You once said something similar to me, when we were younger.’

          Visenya purposely omitted that Cregan would have taken additional offence if Aemond – a usurper and a kinslayer – had been her choice of paramour. Following the annulment of her betrothment to Aemond, she had snuck into his bedchamber, and had urged him to claim her maidenhood. It would have compelled our parents to marry us to each other. He had adamantly refused, reiterating that he would dishonor her by doing so. Visenya wonders whether his consent would have changed the tide, whether he rues his decision now… were he capable of it.

          ‘I remember,’ mutters Aemond, cupping her cheeks, brushing his nose against hers, ‘Yn īlon issi daor riñar dombo.’ (But we are not children anymore.)

          ‘No, we are not,’ she assents, doleful, undeterred by his lingering lips on her forehead, ‘I am a woman grown, my mother’s daughter, and I vowed to marry Cregan. My word is not fickle. A foreign concept to you and your family.’

          She had suggested the match herself, on Dragonstone, prior to hers and her brothers’ departure. Supposing that the Queen’s appeal failed to persuade Lord Stark to pledge the North to their cause, Visenya would offer her hand in marriage.

          The memory of beholding Cregan for the first time still exhilarates her. She had been climbing down from Blackwing while Jace had approached Lord Stark, to greet him. Cloaked in furs, he had been an imperious presence – tall, brawny, handsome, graced with grey eyes, dark, wavy locks that cascaded to his shoulders, and a dense beard. His gaze had frequently drifted towards her. Jace had suavely introduced her, and Cregan had curtsied, addressing her as “princess.” Visenya had answered with “my lord” – her smile timid, her eyes wicked.

          The harsh weather hadn’t spoiled the northern capital’s beauty, magnificent structures, and rich culture. The twins had received a warm welcome at Winterfell, amidst the winter preparations, and Lord Stark had been a most hospitable host, entertaining his guests with drinking, sparring, and hunting trips in the wolfswood. Visenya had mingled with the commonfolk, conversing with them, helping them with their errands, and teaching their children how to read and write. Cregan had often watched her, fondly, from afar. Some servants had been intimidated by her appearance and her station, stammering through their responses. She had instructed them to simply call her “Visenya.”

          Whenever his duties had permitted, Cregan had accompanied her on walks around the castle, to the library, the ancient godswood and its hot springs, and the disturbing crypt that had contained the tombs of the deceased members of House Stark. His direwolf Splinter had ambled after them everywhere. They had discussed history, politics, trade, and their families, and had comforted one another in their grief, as Cregan’s wife had recently perished in childbirth. He had even confessed that Jace had reminded him of the brother that he had lost more than a decade ago. She had met his sweet babe Rickon, whom she had doted on. Cregan had bestowed upon Blackwing the highest distinction, deeming her a “formidable beast” – with his habitual morose disposition. Visenya had become besotted with him, regarding him as virtuous, conscientious, tenacious, and reputable.

          By the end of the twins’ stay in Winterfell, the Pact of Ice and Fire had been formed, whereby Visenya would wed Lord Stark, and the North would side with Queen Rhaenyra. He had forged a direwolf brooch for her, and she had gifted him one of her rings, to wear it as a necklace. Cregan and Jace had sworn an oath of brotherhood, sealed in blood.

          ‘You sold yourself to a wolf pup so that you may rally his army to your mother’s cause, and you boast about honor,’ accuses Aemond, scornful, satisfied that he discerns her imagined act, ‘Twas a different kind of sword that you required.’

          Sold myself? Visenya’s mouth twists downwards, her latent, crude contempt quivering. Blackwing rattles her shackles, screeching viscerally. He views me as property. I paid my price in kindness and youthful promises, so I am constrained into being his property. I have no freedom, no intuition, no capacity for judgment. I am a frail puppet dancing on my family’s strings, dependent on Aemond to rescue me. He would rather I were a fly in his web. What sort of person expects me to fulfil the vows that I uttered as a child?

          ‘Cregan would have honored his late father’s word,’ she contends, smoothing her garments, heedless of Aemond’s eye roaming over her body, ‘Lord Rickon Stark swore an oath in the throne hall, and acknowledged my mother as King Viserys’ heir. All of the Westerosi lords did, great and small.’

          Upon his lord father’s death, Cregan had inherited Winterfell at the age of thirteen, so his uncle Bennard had ruled as regent until his nephew had reached manhood. Bennard’s reluctance to relinquish power had spurred Cregan to imprison him and his three sons. Akin to Queen Rhaenyra’s plight, his kinsman had attempted to supplant him. Lady Jeyne Arryn – Queen Aemma’s cousin – had thrice endured uprisings that had contested her inheritance of the Eyrie.

          A hereditary curse. A woman’s curse. In this world of men, we women must band together.

          ‘Over twenty years have passed since then,’ specifies Aemond, shrugging blithely, ‘Most of those lords are dead, including the wolf pup’s father. Bones are all that is left of them and their vows.’

          Pup. A peculiar term to use for Cregan – a man older than they are. Aemond’s vanity confirms that, to the Greens, King Viserys’ succession amounts to nothing. Their cause is false – founded on quicksand, conspiracy, and murder – and they bury themselves deeper and deeper into an abyss of lies and treachery.

          ‘They represented their Houses and spoke on their behalf,’ corrects Visenya, her shoulders slumping from the sheer absurdity of having to explain this, ‘Enlighten me, nuncle. How does your situation differ from mine? Are you not betrothed to one of Borros Baratheon’s daughters for her father’s troops? Or is it all four daughters? I have heard varied accounts.’

          The illiterate Lord of Storm’s End – another traitor responsible for Luke’s demise. Her brother Joffrey had sworn a terrible oath of vengeance against him and the Kinslayer. The Velaryons had prevented Joff from instantly mounting his dragon Tyraxes to exact revenge. Would I have done the same? He is merely a boy, too young to know such hatred and grief. He and Rhaena are in the Vale, out of harm’s way. Willful Baela remains on Dragonstone, to fight by Jace’s side. Aegon and Viserys, the youngest, are with them. We must ensure their safety, else the war will strip them of their innocence… and their lives.

          Dragonstone, Harrenhal, Winterfell, the Vale, King’s Landing, Stoney Sept… My family is divided. If only I could protect them all…

          ‘I did what was asked of me,’ defends Aemond, forlorn, resting their foreheads together, ‘I never intended to wed her.’ He adds, his words scattered among hasty, consecutive kisses, ‘We have always agreed that we would marry one another. I have neither forgotten, nor forsaken that. I want you.’

          ‘I thought that we were not children anymore,’ she echoes, shrewd, bending to retrieve her discarded pelts, ‘Our parents annulled our betrothment years ago. You would have us marry without your mother’s blessing? I value my well-being, even if you do not.’

          ‘You are mistaken,’ coos Aemond, holding her hand to his mouth, kissing her knuckles, her palm, her inner wrist, ‘It’s not too late. There’s still a chance for us.’

          Visenya had once shared that sentiment. He lives in the past, clinging to it, misconstruing it. Matters betwixt them would never be the same – a truth that he hasn’t accepted. I would have waited for him... Aemond had usurped the throne and had slain her brother. Now, he hopes to abuse her clemency. What stops him from mistreating her, from hurting her? Why must I always be patient and compassionate? Why must I always forgive and forget? What will I gain from it? Aemond? It’s not enough. His redemption is a prolonged, tedious endeavor that she will not partake in.

          I’m severing my noose.

          ‘A chance?’, snarls Visenya, in conjunction with Blackwing’s shrieks, ‘Is that what you offered my brother when you unleashed Vhagar on him?’ She folds her arms over her chest, her furs caught between them. ‘You have already spilled my blood. I will not present you with a chance to do it again. Aye, I once wanted to marry you. A summer dream of summer children. Winter is coming.’

          Ripping the cord that binds her to Aemond will be excruciating, like slashing a part of herself. He is the thorn lodged in her side, her twin flame, his scent and touch imprinted on her, haunting her asleep and haunting her awake. The only power I wield over him is denying him myself.

          ‘You have returned to threats,’ chides Aemond, buttoning his tunic, visibly irritated by her usage of the House Stark words, ‘Parroting words that are not your own, chirruping tales that others have stuffed your head with, like a little bird.’

          ‘‘Tis not a threat, beloved,’ purrs Visenya, woven with venom, savoring his indignation, ‘It is a fact. The maesters of the Citadel will release the white ravens soon, to announce its arrival.’

          She had witnessed the foreboding signs with her own eyes, at Winterfell – the resplendent snow, the howling winds, the bitter cold. Winter is upon us… and we are vying for the throne.

          ‘‘Tis also a fact that your wolf pup has a wolf pup of his own,’ jeers Aemond, donning his eyepatch, ‘A son whom he fathered on another wench. A son who will inherit Winterfell and all of its attendant lands, titles, and incomes. A vile indignity, a humiliation, to you and your brood. You would submit to a puny northern savage, as his second wife?’

          Puny northern savage? Innovative.

          “Our children will sit the Iron Throne,” Visenya had told Cregan in the godswood, with the snow floating around them, piling in thick layers on the ground, the trees, and the castle walls. I kissed the snowflakes on his lashes, and they melted on my lips. Her heart flutters at the memory. My sullen wolf. She longs for him more than she can express.

          Would that appease Aemond? Nothing would. He has become spiteful. “Wench.” Lady Arra of House Norrey had been Cregan’s late wife and cherished childhood companion. She had dismally died birthing Rickon. I will not debate Cregan’s family with Aemond, a jealous craven threatened by suckling babes.

          ‘Rickon is an innocent babe,’ reasons Visenya, hugging herself, suddenly feeling naked without her armor, ‘Aye, he is the heir to Winterfell, and no threat to me. I will not set my children against their brother, nor will I encourage them to steal his birthright. I am not your mother.’

          And, oh, how you despise that…

          ‘I suppose that you will be no threat to him, either, should you die in childbirth,’ ventures Aemond, elated at the notion, his eye shimmering in the light of the flames, ‘And your wolf pup would be twice widowed.’

          Visenya lashes out, striking him so viciously across the face that his head whips to the side. Blackwing’s mighty roars rumble outside. Aemond doesn’t even blench.

          She had never hit him before. If he is startled or enraged by the assault, he masks it – devoid of any emotion. Visenya quashes the temptation to shout at him, to call him a dog, a pig, a rat. He is beneath these creatures. He has no conscience, and his cruelty is boundless. Her grandmother Queen Aemma and her aunt Laena had both expired in childbed. Her sister had been stillborn. What does Aemond know about the perils and throes of women? Nothing.

          I could flee, go anywhere but here... Her flesh crawls. I’m his captive in so many ways. Briny tears well in her eyes.

          Tears cannot quench dragonfire.

          ‘Do you love the wolf pup?’, challenges Aemond, his demeanor impassable, though she distinguishes a crack in his frigid tone.

          And if I do? You would flay him alive, and force me to watch. The question of Visenya’s suitors continues to be intricate and contentious. The Disputed Lands of Westeros. She had been engaged to Aegon, to Aemond, and to Daeron, and had been courted by Westerosi Houses, Essosi princes, triarchs, archons, nobles, magisters, merchants, and generals. The Red Kraken would have made me his salt wife. Visenya had rejected all of them. Adulterers and drunkards old enough to be my grandsires and fat enough to crush me beneath them.

          Rhaenyra had been sympathetic to her daughter’s predicament; she herself had initially opposed marriage. My mother had been younger than I am when she had birthed me and Jace. Visenya shudders at the thought. Her father hadn’t been concerned, confiding that she could wed out of duty and fuck whomever she pleased. Men always do so. Why shouldn’t I? Her twin had convinced her that she would find a suitable pair, to her liking. Jace had the right of it. I chose Cregan, and he chose me. She touches her brooch through her trousers. I’m assuming control of my life and my future.

          ‘I will,’ declares Visenya, seething, jutting her chin, ‘He is neither a usurper, nor a kinslayer. Cregan is worth a thousand of you, and more.’

          ‘Yet you delay marrying him, and the wolf pup delays assembling his banners and marching,’ admonishes Aemond, his reddened cheek beginning to swell, ‘Perhaps you are not as devoted to each other as you think you are.’

          A surrounded animal, slinging its final, pitiful blows. Her wolf’s motives for not marching had been warranted. He awaits the collection of the harvest, so that he can feed his subjects throughout the winter. The Southrons seal themselves in their castles with their bountiful harvests, whereas the Northerners bear the brunt of the burden – snow, frost, famine, death. Cregan’s obligations lie with his people and his lands.

          As for herself, Visenya prefers to marry him during peace and stability. He could mourn his wife properly, and he would not be widowed again, if I were to… to…

          ‘His Winter Wolves are at the Twins,’ she states, noting Aemond’s mouth twitching, ‘They have joined their forces with the Freys’, and will resume their advance south. They are merely a fraction of the North’s strength. I assure you. Cregan will honor his vow.’

          She had wept upon reading Lord Roderick Dustin’s words to Lady Sabitha Frey. We have come to die for the dragon queen. Cregan had taught Visenya about the Winter Wolves – elderly men who leave their homes in order to conserve supplies for their kin. Grisly custom. Those warriors hope to die for glory and plunder. They will never reunite with their families. Wretched conditions, wretched measures.

          Aemond must have observed a spark in her eyes, heard something amiss in her voice that aroused his suspicion.

          ‘What have you done, Visenya?’, he demands, narrowing his eye, fixing her with a hawkish glare.

          I fucked the wolf pup. And Alyn Velaryon… Not both at the same time. She had befriended Alyn and his older brother Addam shortly after hers and Jace’s return from Winterfell. Her twin had summoned Targaryen bastards – “dragonseeds” – for the riderless dragons, promising wealth, lands, and knighthood for those triumphant. Addam’s feat of claiming Seasmoke had emboldened the Sea Snake to petition Queen Rhaenyra to legitimise the Hull boys. Conveniently, their mother Marilda had revealed that they had been sired by Ser Laenor Velaryon. And Mushroom is seven feet tall. My stepfather had no interest in women. Lord Corlys had proceeded to name Addam his heir.

          Alyn, however, had been less fortunate. Sheepstealer had bathed his cloak in flames. His brother had doused the fire, saving his life. At least Grey Ghost had vanished. Those had been wild dragons. Alyn is lucky to be alive. Grand Maester Gerardys had tended his burns, and Visenya had changed his bandages thrice a day – delighting in his insolence. The habit had blossomed into clumsy intimacy. She had seldom stayed the night – a decision that hadn’t troubled Alyn. He never judged me. Visenya misses him; his jests, his smile, his company.

          A furious Jace had reprimanded his twin for her recklessness and temerity, arguing that Cregan was a good man, a second chance – everything that she had ever dreamed of. Her involvement with Alyn could compromise their indispensable alliance with the North. Visenya had listened to his warning, remorse slithering around her throat.

          I have been remiss… but Alyn is only a matter of brevity. I have to tread prudently.

          ‘I do as I please,’ she asserts, the ghost of a smirk tugging at her lips, ‘Do not fret, cousin. Cregan treated me well and was most gentle with me… the first time.’

          Her admission slices him to the bone. Aemond’s expression sinks, desolation flooding his eye. A child looks at her, into her, agony engraved on his features. Have I been too austere? Spoken too harshly? He had betrayed her trust, had usurped the throne, and had murdered her brother. My sins pale in comparison.

          Aemond recoils, turning away from her, his head lowered. His fists clench at his sides. The table behind her shakes at Vhagar’s menacing growl. Visenya maintains her composure, sheathing herself in steel. I will not cow. I am the blood of the dragon.

          And I will not regret Cregan.

          While she hadn’t lacked for suitors, those men had sought to marry her out of pride and ambition. My Targaryen heritage brings their House closer to the Iron Throne, and my dragon is power.

          She had proposed to Cregan that she would willingly surrender her maidenhood to him, as a token of her intention to wed him. Fighting a war a maiden seems particularly dreadful. Should anything befall her, Cregan wouldn’t feel cheated or insulted – he would have claimed her gift of innocence.

          I lost my innocence long ago.

          Visenya hadn’t abused her station to compel him to lie with her. She wouldn’t have been offended if he hadn’t desired her.

          “I would be,” her wolf had responded, earning a chuckle from her.

          Two nights – and numerous fiery kisses – later, he had accepted her offer. A timorous ardor had washed over Visenya, her heart hammering against her rib cage. Cregan had led her out of the godswood, past the hot springs, the main iron gate with its walls, across the inner yards, into the castle, and up the winding stairs – retreating to his solar, where they had shared half a flagon of wine. He had kindly asked her if she had been nervous.

          No. I am a Targaryen princess, a dragonrider… and the wine soothed my nerves.

          Their intimate moments had been sweet, passionate, exhilarating. Visenya remembers them so vividly. His large hands cupping her face, disrobing her with deft precision, caressing and fondling every inch of her. His darkened eyes reveling in her figure. Cregan lifting her into his arms as though she weighed nothing, laying her down on the bed. His tongue licking her stiffened nipples, his mouth sucking on her plump breasts. Her fist stroking his leaking cock, guiding him into her heat slowly. Cregan swallowing her soft whine when entering her, the stretch burning deliciously. The overwhelming need to hold him nearer. Wrapping her limbs around him as he vigorously thrust into her, the featherbed engulfing her. The chambers brimming with their moans, gasps, and the lascivious sounds of sweaty skin slapping against sweaty skin. Cregan intertwining their fingers, Cregan driving her to the heights of pleasure, Cregan spilling his seed inside her, blending with her maiden’s blood.

          Slick pools between her legs, and Visenya squeezes her thighs shut, salivating at the memory.

          He had collapsed on top of her, and – at her insistence – had lied there, panting, his face buried in her neck, his beard tickling her. An equally breathless Visenya had threaded her digits through his damp hair, pecking his cheek and his temple. Cregan had rolled off of her, grunting at the effort, and had pulled her into him, allowing her to rest her head on his chest, and to hook her leg over his. Her wolf had attentively inquired whether he had hurt her.

          “Not at all,” she had murmured, demure, draping her arm over him, their combined fluids trickling on her groin, “You have been so good to me.”

          Visenya had drifted off to sleep in his safe embrace, lulled by his heartbeat and his snores. His body had been a hearth underneath the pelts. I am the blood of the dragon, allured by warmth and fire.

          She and Cregan had spent most evenings together – to the dismay of his bed. Days had been dedicated to duties, negotiations, and furtive glances, nights for themselves and for each other; for raw lust, hushed laughter, and the solace that they had been starved of; for their satiation and contentment. Her loins had often ached by the next morning. A good ache.

          Cregan had even taken her in the godswood, under a starry sky, before the heart tree, following their sword sparring. Afterwards, he had suggested that they retire to his solar.

          ‘To sleep?’, questioned Visenya, coyly, tangling their feet together.

          ‘If that is what the princess wants,’ granted her wolf, amiably.

          ‘The princess wants you,’ she mumbled, nestling against him, their clothes and furs providing scant shelter from the cold.

          ‘She has me,’ vouched Cregan, carding his fingers through her locks, ‘All of me.’

          Oh, yes. He has had me in the sight of the old gods, and I have bled for him. Targaryens have always had a grievously deep connection to blood. It’s one of our House’s words. Our forebears used blood magic to bind the winged beasts to them. We cut ourselves and drink each other’s blood in the marriage ceremony. We practice incest to ensure the purity of our bloodline. The blood of Old Valyria, the blood of the dragon. Blood unites, and blood divides.

          Their stealthy meetings might not have been shrouded in such secrecy. Jace had dared to tease Visenya about the marks that he had glimpsed on her throat. She had thrown a snowball at him, hitting him in the nose.

          ‘Locking myself in a castle is more appealing than waging war against my own kin,’ admitted Visenya, in an instance of fragility, atop one of Winterfell’s towers.

          ‘You’re not destined to hide in a castle,’ proponed Cregan, petting Splinter, basking in the sun – reminiscent of their early mornings abed. I would trace the lines of his back, the scars on his chest, admire his naked form as he opened the shutters… ‘Your hair is akin to the snow around us, your eyes the color of the sunset sky. Why would nature make you so lovely, if not to behold you and to reflect on you? The sun must see you to shine, the moon to glow.’

          Visenya tore her gaze away from him, misty-eyed.

          Her Valyrian appearance had protected her from japes about being a Strong bastard. Is that term so preposterous? My parents hadn’t been married at my birth. I had borne the name Velaryon for a decade. People had viewed her as a Myrish carpet – to be gaped at – and had treated her like a stud-mare, to be bought, owned, and mounted to produce sons – her beauty a mere instrument to that end. Devious motives behind hollow adulation.

          ‘You are gracious, my lord,’ rasped Visenya, flustered, the gossip of the commonfolk below muffling her answer slightly, ‘I am flattered.’

          ‘I have spoken the truth,’ affirmed Cregan, tipping her chin up, coaxing her to peer at him, ‘You are meant to be kissed.’

          ‘By you,’ she assented, his gloved digits wiping her tears, delicately.

          On the day of the dragon twins’ departure from Winterfell, Vermax and Blackwing had been impatient to leave the North and its freezing temperatures. Visenya hadn’t shared their zeal. I’m not a little girl anymore. The winds of winter are rising. There is a war to be fought and won.

          “Come back to me,” her wolf whispered to her, their joined hands concealed in their cloaks and pelts.

          I will.

          Aemond’s subtle movements wrest her to the present.

          We’re at war with the Greens. I’m a prisoner at Stoney Sept, in the Pretender’s camp. My Cregan is leagues away.

          I must not forget my mission.

          Aemond’s insidious posture betrays him, his shoulders on the brink of crumbling under the burden of his pride and envy.

          ‘A dragon rendered a broodmare by a wolf pup,’ he chastises, repulsed, his features drawn into solemn lines, ‘Have you spread your legs for his army, too? I wouldn’t be surprised, given your taste for depravity.’

          Visenya refrains from guffawing, albeit with great difficulty. Oh, may the Crone’s lantern light my path to wisdom, and may the Father judge me justly, and may the Mother show me mercy, for I am a filthy wanton, and Lord Stark does possess a generous… host.

          ‘I would rather be his broodmare than be your wife,’ she spits, defiant, baring her teeth, ‘The wolf pup is Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.’ And you are insufferably obtuse. ‘He and his bannermen will liberate me, should the Winter Wolves and the river lords fail to do so, and should you yourself refuse to release me. Are you so mad that you would oppose the might and wrath of the entire North?

          ‘I have heard enough about your wolf pup,’ announces Aemond, his nostrils flaring, ‘He has dishonored you. Perhaps I ought to march on his bleak castle, after I seize Harrenhal.’

          You ought to dress up in motley. Visenya shifts her weight from one foot to the other, her brow creased. The Hightowers must have abandoned their wits putting him in charge. Aemond is utterly inept. Their Lannister friends will find trouble at the Red Fork, and he will never take Harrenhal from my father.

          ‘Your men are unlikely to survive the muds of the riverlands, whose lords have unanimously declared for my mother,’ argues Visenya, twirling a lock of her hair around her forefinger, ‘I doubt that they will endure the dire conditions of the North… also pledged to Queen Rhaenyra.’

          ‘I have Vhagar,’ reminds Aemond, his arrogance oozing like pus.

          ‘And what of it?’, she hisses, squinting her eyes, ‘You would torch the North, from the Neck to the Wall, on hoary, old Vhagar? Tens of thousands would perish.’

          Despite rivaling the combined size of the other kingdoms, the North is scarcely populated. Their lives, lands, history, and culture matter all the same.

          ‘Your wolf pup amongst them, if the gods are good,’ drones Aemond, looping his digits through his belt.

          ‘Cregan will die of old age, in my arms,’ corrects Visenya, keeping her furled fists at her sides, lest she strike him again, ‘You cannot vanquish the North. It is too vast and too wild. The Neck is impenetrable, filled with swamps and bogs. Moat Cailin is a choke point, and it has shielded the North from southron invasions for millennia. This is folly, Aemond. It will be your doom.’

          Then why am I trying to dissuade him?

          ‘Or on the contrary, the glory will be mine,’ boasts Aemond, his permanent smirk bolstering his confidence, ‘Those savages might dare to resist me, but in the end, they will pose a minor obstacle. Aegon the Conqueror brought the North to its knees.’

          ‘Because King Torrhen Stark bent the knee after the Field of Fire, to avoid bloodshed,’ objects Visenya, scowling, ‘Do not attempt to revise history. Ours will not redeem you. The kinslayer is accursed in the eyes of gods and men. The lickspittles that buzz around you will never be sincere, so I will bestow the truth upon you. You are cruel, despicable, and you nurse a grievance like a suckling babe. You are not Aegon the Conqueror. You are a prideful fool playing at war.’ You’re not good at it, either. ‘And winter is coming. That is the truth.’

          ‘The truth?’, repeats Aemond, creeping up on her, his eye boring into hers – a predator scenting its prey, ‘What do you know of the truth, Visenya? You lie and deceive and plot with every breath that you draw. You are a traitor to the realm, daughter of traitors, sister of traitors. You chose the Iron Throne over me.’

          You chose for me.

          ‘My mother is the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms,’ she pronounces, her smile ominous, ‘The only traitor here is you, nuncle. You cower from the truth, and you retain it from everyone.’ Visenya tiptoes, and their lips almost touch. ‘You are looking with the wrong eye. Perhaps you will have to close the other to finally see.’

          Aemond cups her face roughly, pressing her against the table.

          ‘Your mother will never sit the Iron Throne,’ he sneers, ‘And neither will you. She still spurns you as her heir, but I vow to pay you the homage that you so desperately crave, and to lavish you with precious gifts – the heads of your family, your betrothed, and your stepson. They shall decorate the spikes of the Red Keep–’

          Visenya swiftly yanks his dagger from his belt. Aemond seizes her wrist too late. The tip of the blade digs at the underside of his chin.

          ‘Enough, Aemond!’, bellows Visenya, and for a moment, she is her ferocious Blackwing incarnate, ‘Are you deaf, as well as blind? You have usurped the throne, murdered my brother, and butchered hundreds of innocents. Your actions have consequences. Heed my words, for the love that you claim to bear me.’ She drags the point of the dirk down to the base of his throat, nicking him. ‘You will not make me an orphan and a widow. You are surrounded by enemies in every direction, and more are gathering as we speak. We have the armies, the fleet, the dragons, and most importantly, the legitimacy. An advantage that you will never have. So, either kill me or let me go, and flee to Essos, because you cannot – you will not – survive what’s coming for you. The choice is yours.’

          Aemond’s malicious eye studies her, a forlorn wall of blue ice.

          The boy I grew up with is gone. Hasn’t Visenya sensed it all along? We are not children anymore. The time has come to accept it.

          When has it all gone so awry, become so twisted? She mourns the boy that she had once shared everything with – a childhood, hopes, dreams. Those died with Lucerys.

          Dreams didn’t make us kings. Dragons did… and tears cannot quench dragonfire.

          It ends as it had begun, with fire and blood.

          Bloodlines will burn.

          Visenya licks the blood off of the tip of the dagger, spins the weapon, and presents it to Aemond, hilt first.

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[fairysluna]

Canon era Cregan Stark + being a softie with his Targ wife in the Godswood, just him and her playing in the snow type vibes

-🦊

how i looove cregan x targ!reader, so im just gonna add this little drabble to my among wolves and dragons series, though it can obviously be read as a standalone!! thank you foxy for this cute request!! ily🤍

tags — just fluff and domestic cregan for my cregan girlies out there.

Your hysterical laugh would make his heart burst with joy — contagious enough to make him giggle like a boy as he chased you down the Godswood. You heard his fastened breathing and the cracking of the leaves behind you, knowing he was about to catch you; you tried to run faster, but your long dress and heavy fur coat made it impossible for you to move quickly through the sticks and snow. It was no surprise when your husband finally put his arms around your waist, holding you against his chest as he let out some breathy chuckles against the sensitive skin of your neck.

“Got you,” he whispered in your ear, causing shivers all over your body. You shrink in your position, his breathing tickling you and making you giggle. “Got to pay me now, right?” he mentioned before turning your body around in order to face you. Involuntarily, you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, standing on your tiptoes to get closer to him. He closed his eyes and pouted his lips, asking you for a simple kiss. You contemplated his beauty for a second, using your fingertips to trace his manly features before you cupped his face — his stubble brushing against your palm as you motioned him down, closer to you.

You brushed your nose against his, humming when his grip around your body tightened; his touch so possessive, yet so gentle. His furrowed eyebrows relaxed as his expression softened, quickly turning into a puddle between your arms. He leaned forward, blindly and instinctively searching for your lips. He was growing impatient, but complying to his wishes was not in your plans.

Before touching his lips with yours, you took him by surprise and pushed him into the soft, cold snow. You attempted to run away from there, thinking that your silly game would continue; however, before you stepped any further, you heard Cregan starting to groan almost as if he was in pain. Your eyes widened with a mixture of surprise and guilt as you quickly reached his side again, kneeling and trying to see where he was hurting. His name became almost a chant from your lips as you desperately tried to see what was wrong, until he suddenly trapped you with his big arms once again and pressed you down the snow.

You squealed, hearing him laughing victorious. “You're such a fool! You scared me!” You tried to push him in the chest but his large hands grabbed yours and placed them above your head. He then leans towards you with that smug grin that would make your knees weak, and he kissed you so fervently that a soft moan left your lips. His touch was possessive, a bit rough and brutish, but it did not fail to make you see stars behind your eyelids. You sighed enamored once he pulled back.

“I'm just claiming my price, my love,” he softly said, giving soft kisses all over your face as you tried your hardest to look mad.

“I shall feed you to my dragon if you do this to me again!” you threatened, receiving a low chuckle from him.

“I'll take the risk.”

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[gtgbabie0]

-Cregan Stark x Reader

{You learn that your husband is a very affectionate drunk}

I’m so back… Enjoy my lovelies! 💕

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Northern men know how to drink, it’s something you learned from first-hand experience on the night of your wedding. How the lords and ladies danced and drank together throughout the night, slurring their words and spilling their ale.

Today was no different, a celebration for your husband's name day that has been going on since the sun had started to rise. You couldn’t complain about it, it was nice to see Cregan not overwhelmed with his duties.

The dining hall is dimly lit with candles that are littered everywhere, the white wax melts in clumps on the wooden tables that are stained with ale and wine. You notice how much calmer the atmosphere seems to be, now that the evening has approached, as you lean back into your chair.

Most of the guests had taken their leave by now and only a few Lords and Ladies remain, and even their faces were visibly exhausted. A soft sigh escapes your lips as you glance over to Cregan, who is already looking at you with soft, glossed-over eyes.

“You look beautiful” he whispers, his words are slurred from his drunken state, but they still carry so much honesty and love that it melts you.

The smile that teeters on your lips is uncontrollable and it only makes Cregan admire you even more. He leans back in his chair whilst he drinks the sight of you in with hungry eyes.

You rest your hand over Cregans as he squeezes your thigh gently. “Have you had a good day?” You ask as he nods his head, his big hand caressing your thigh lazily.

“The best… thanks to you my lady” he says with a soft chuckle at the way you give him an almost shy smile. He can’t help but adore everything about you… you’re beyond perfect, 'a gift from the gods' as Cregan always says.

“I’m glad, though, perhaps it is time to call it a day now?” You tell him as you take his calloused hand within yours. He hums in agreement as his thumb soothes against your palm.

Getting him back to your shared bedchambers was a very humorous challenge. You were practically dragging him along as he leaned onto you for support, his hands soothing against your hips and waist whilst you guided him through the cold halls of the Winterfell castle.

The fireplace warms your bedchambers, bathing the cosy room in a soft light, as it crackles and pops. Cregan watches you take off your jewellery before changing into your nightgown with a soft smirk, his eyes gleaming with fondness.

“Gods, look at you… an absolute goddess” he says, his raspy voice just above a whisper. He wastes no time in approaching you clumsily, his hands grasping needly on your body as he tugs you closer to him.

The giggle that escapes you leaves Cregan breathless and it certainly doesn’t help when your fingers begin to brush through his hair as you stand between his legs. He looks up at you with a smile as you cup his face gently… he simply can not get enough of you.

“You should sleep,” you tell him softly knowing how awful his morning fog will be. He shakes his head softly as he rests against your stomach, his hand still grasping at your hips.

“Not before I thank you properly… my queen” His tone is teasing as he lets out a soft chuckle at the way you gasp.

“Shh… your words are dangerously close to treason” you whisper softly as your hand moves to clasp over his mouth, you look down at him with an almost shy smile.

"My words will only be treason if someone hears them... and we are alone." He pulls your hand away from his mouth, his fingers caressing your wrist. The way you look when he praises you makes him crazy. Your eyes, your smile, you are beautiful.

He hugs you close, pressing a kiss on your cheek. "But you are my queen. You rule over my heart. No one could ever take that place from you."

The honesty and love that are woven within his each and every word takes you back, your expression softens and your eyes start to well up with tears. It’s an overwhelming feeling that warms your chest and makes your skin tingle.

You take a seat on the bed beside him with a soft sigh. His thumb wipes away your tears as he presses another kiss to your cheek. “Don’t cry… you’re far too pretty for that” he whispers, his forehead resting against yours.

A bright smile teeters on his lips at the sound of your precious laughter, he brushes your hair behind your ears before pressing a kiss to your jaw.

“I love you, Cregan.” The words feel so natural and he absolutely relishes in the way you say it. He buries his face into the crook of your neck with a boyish smile.

“I love you too… my queen” he replies, his tone heavy with exhaustion as the alcohol starts to weigh on him however that doesn’t stop him from pressing lazy kisses all over your face, his hands soothing against your hips and waist whilst he whispers sweet nothings into your skin.

Cregan will soon find sleep, with his arms wrapped around you and his face buried into your neck. You’ll have to tease him tomorrow about how much of an affectionate drunk he is.

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[thebadboyfanclub]

My Hearts Soldier (Cregan x Reader)

This is the first time I write for Cregan and it was thrilling, I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think

(Y/n) and Jacaerys Velaryon, when Rhaenyra gave birth to the twins she felt like her life finally had meaning, as she held them for the first time she could not help but she’d tears of joy, her beautiful babies that cuddled in their mothers arms were the most perfect thing Rhaenyra had ever seen.

“(Y/n) and Jacaerys Velaryon, welcome to winterfell”

“Why thank you, we are here to pass a message to Lord Cregan Stark”

“Of course, follow me please”

(Y/n) and Jacaerys walked side by side as their dragons stayed back, the ill tempered Vermax and the pink shedragon Stardust had quickly gained some attention from bystanders that came so close to a dragon for the first time.

“Lord Cregan, (y/n) and Jacaerys Velaryon wish to see you”

“Gladly, the Targaryens are always welcome here in the north. It is a pleasure to meet the future heirs of the realm”

(Y/n) felt her heart stop when the man approached, it was like gazing upon her future, the man held a different type of beauty than the men in kings landing, the man was quite tall, strong features with a thick dark beard, even with the fur he was wearing you could still identify his strong muscular body, it was the first time (y/n) flustered for a man.

“We are here to give you a message, from our queen Rhaenyra”

“We heard of the passing of King Viserys the peaceful, I am so sorry for your loss”

“Our mother is calling banners for support my lord, against her half brother Aegon who claims to be the true heir of the throne”

“I wasn’t aware that king Viserys had changed his mind”

“He had not, it is a matter of gender that has caused this… unfortunate situation”

The room roared from Cregans laughter, instinctively (y/n) reached to hold her twins hand as tight as possible, fearing that the Stark son had gone rogue, yet she remained tall, waiting until the lord expressed himself while silently wishing the lord had not gone completely off the rails.

“My father gave his oath in front of the iron throne to ward the north for queen Rhaenyra, I do not wish to side with bastards that think they have a better shot at the throne because they were born with peckers, you are more than welcome to stay here, our banners and men are yours”

-

Cregan had worked hard to get close to the princess, he admired her courage as she leaned over the table to lead the armies to war, the most astonishing thing was that she was not ashamed to show emotion, her vulnerability was her secret weapon, she was a compassionate woman that led either her heart. Cregan was the one that caught her before she crashed to the floor when news from dragon stone came, declaring her younger brother dead.

“No you are lying, our Luke is not dead”

Jacaerys and Cregan could still hear her deafening scream of grief, she was inconsolable as she cried in Cregans arms from the pain she was experiencing, (y/n) had a soft spot for the gentle Lucerys, she could not comprehend that her little Luce was no longer with them

“My baby, he can’t die he didn’t do anything wrong”

She whispered in Cregans arms while he rubbed her back, Cregan was infuriated by the death that caused such despair to the twins, especially his defiant princess, he held her close as well as restrained her from going on her dragon to look for her uncle Aemond, fury blinded her to the point that she wanted to go toe to toe with the queen of all dragons Vhagar, Jacaerys and Cregan had to drag the princess in her room, Jacaerys even stayed with her until she slept to ensure she would not escape from the window, her sobs echoed through the walls until exhaustion overtook and her swollen eyes closed to lead her off for a land where there was no war and she could ran barefoot with her siblings.

“She finally fell asleep”

“You are a good brother Jacaerys, you protected your sister even if you are grieving yourself”

“I already lost one sibling, I did not intend to lose another”

“You won’t, we will make sure of that”

“That much I know, since you want her to become the lady of the north”

Cregan was usually quick witted, now at the hour of the bat with Jacaerys sitting directly at the head of his own chair he was left stunned, how could he respond to that? It was not a lie, however this was a delicate matter specifically at a time like this.

“We should not speak of such things at this trying times”

“I am watching you Cregan, you are honourable but if you are planning to marry my sister you must prove yourself worthy”

-

The war had been brutal, brothers fought brothers, dragons killed dragons, the colour red that spilled from bodies stained all of Westeros, innocents were slaughtered, babies ripped from their mothers arms, men begging for a quick death.

(Y/n) saw the stranger in the eye as she lost her twin brother, her step father, even one of her baby brothers Joffrey was taken from them, there had been countless nights that (y/n) could not drift off to slumber, flashes of people dying racing through her head, haunting her and tormenting her while she remained in the north.

Cregan had stepped up to be her companion, the north buzzed over the news of Cregan bending the knee in the presence of all to offer his sword in protection of the princess (y/n), to guard her against all harm, he fought with the power of thousands of men, a few moments before Jacaerys had succumbed to his wounds he vowed to protect his princess or die trying, every time that they saw each other after a battle they would ran to each others arms, thanking the gods that the other was alive and well.

When Cregan got injured (y/n) was furious, she slept by his bed for a fortnight, refusing to allow any maester to touch him, she tended to his wounds and fed him back to health, he battled the fever that occurred due to a minor infection and came out victorious, the servants would gush over finding the princess in her rocking chair and the Stark king in his bed still they held hands to find comfort in one another, a subtle sign of “I am here, you are safe” through intimacy.

“You know you needn’t sleep on a wooden chair, I will be fine if you step off just for a few hours to rest”

“No, what if the fever gets worst?”

“I can call the servants, I have yet to lose my voice nor my mind”

Cregan could detect the stubborn emotions (y/n) was experiencing, the battle had intimidated her tremendously, she would not risk stepping off to lose him. Cregan chuckled at her stiff lip while she rocked back and forth slightly, he should have already known there was no one that could get through (y/n)s thick head.

“Sleep with me then”

“Pardon?”

“The bed is big enough for the both of us”

“I can see that I just-“

“Are you going to deny a wounded soldier their request”

(Y/n) hesitated for a few moments, thoughts of what could happen if she were to sleep in the same bed with him in combination of fearing she might hurt him while moving in her sleep. She puffed out a breath and sat up from her chair to give in and very carefully lie down next to him, in a blink of an eye Cregan collided his chest with her back to get as close as humanly possible, the smell of citrus and chamomile engulfed his senses.

“You smell like a dream”

“You stink of sweat”

“It’s the stench of a champion”

-

“Mother”

“Oh my precious daughter, my dearest love”

(Y/n) engulfed her mother in her arms, to see another family member alive and well after such tragic deaths was a blessing for the both of them. Rhaenyra tenderly placed her hands on (y/n)s cheeks as tears streamed down to both of the women’s cheeks, happy tears of the war ending and going against all odds to win, the black queen finally had her throne and her daughter back.

“Mother, I would like to introduce you to Cregan Stark”

“It is an honour to be in your presence your grace”

Cregan bowed to Rhaenyra who raised a brow at her daughter, Cregan had arrived on dragon back with her daughter, naturally (y/n) would have grown close to the warden of the north, despite that this type of familiarity was not expected.

“I must thank you Lord Cregan for protecting my daughter”

“I am afraid it is the other way around, if (y/n) had not come to my aid during a battle I would have already met my ancestors, howbeit your daughter raves that the scar suits me more”

(Y/n) giggled at the slight jab, Cregan had earned himself a scar that went from his brow all the way down to his cheek, thankfully he did not suffer the same fate as the now dead one eyed prince, it was only the scar that (y/n) had once commented how “it adds character”.

Rhaenyra remained silent as her eyes went from the Stark man to her daughter, she knew her daughter like the back of her hand this was no friendship, (y/n) was not even dressed in her own typical clothing, she was a thick cape that was probably made for her while she was at the north, the union reminded her of her late lover Harwin, how the man hid in the shadows to protect her and created a safe haven for (y/n) to feel protected.

“I have heard tales of you Lord Cregan, the young wolf that bend the knee and swore loyalty to my daughter after we lost our Jacaerys”

“Your daughter is a fierce woman, after the tragic loss I felt the need to declare that the north will keep fighting on her side”

“(Y/n)s side? Not mine?”

“Of course your grace I meant-“

“I know what you meant I am only jesting, I am thankful for all that you have done and for bringing my daughter back to me”

“About that mother, there was something we would like to discuss with you”

Rhaenyra took a deep inhale through the nose and change of demeanour she identified from her daughter. (Y/n) took her mothers arms in hers while Rhaenyra eyeballed her daughter, in her mind her daughter was still a babe, any time she peeped at her the image of (y/n) coddling in her arms wailing for her mother popped up, Rhaenyra gave a half uneasy smile expecting her daughter to speak up.

“The north has been a major help for your win for the throne your grace, allow me to request something in return as a thank you”

“You speak the truth, north was the strongest force and for that I will always be grateful, what is it that you ask?”

“Nothing would make me happier than for her grace the queen to allow me to be betrothed to your daughter, the princess”

Rhaenyra was not a fool, she predicted the words that would utter from the man’s mouth before they were even formed. As a queen, if the future heir was to be betrothed to the warden of the north it would be a perfect match, as a mother she had just gotten her daughter back, how could she give her away to winterfell?

“(Y/n) is to be the heir of the iron throne, how would she rule from winterfell?”

“When the time comes we will figure something out mother”

“It is certainly uneasy to answer such a request after you just arrived”

“I will not leave immediately, I plan to visit you as much as I can I will not abandon you, especially after half of our family is gone”

“Is this what you truly want?”

“When we lost Jacaerys, Cregan would wait every night by my bedside until I fell asleep, every morrow he would wake me up to make sure I ate, he is my hearts soldier”

Rhaenyras heart skipped a beat at the last sentence. (Y/n) had inherited her fathers spirit, it was like he spoke through her, this union would bring justice to Harwins name since Rhaenyra always wondered what life would have been like if she had married Ser Harwin, for a mere moment Rhaenyra wondered what would Harwin say about this, if he was smiling down on his precious daughter that found her true mate.

Cregan was (y/n)s Harwin, the man silently and passionately yearned for her affection and love while supporting her and wanting the best for her, a devoted young man that sacrificed his life and army to declare his feelings to her the way he knew how, he was confident and strong enough to be a wonderful king consort on her daughters side.

“Do you love her?”

“She a menace to deal with and sometimes I find myself wondering if she will ever admit defeat instead of butting heads with me, there is no one else like her and I pray when we are old and wrinkly she won’t knock off my cane”

“Very well then, we will send ravens to every house in Westeros, thanking the ones that remained by our side, the Targaryen heir is to be wed to the lord of the north. Your wedding will be one for the history”

Requests are open!

#cregan x reader #cregan stark imagine #cregan stark #cregan stark fanfic #cregan x jace #hotd fanfic #hotd #hotd fic #hotd imagine #hotd x reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon x reader

[redpool]

I want to read fics for Cregan without the targaryen or velayron incest.

#cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x oc #cregan stark fanfiction #cregan stark fanfic #hotd x reader #hotd x oc #hotd x ofc #cregan stark x ofc

[vermithorn]

* DAYDREAM

pairing: modern!jacaerys velaryon x reader x modern!cregan stark

summary: you have an idea, and when your boyfriend cregan tells his best friend jacaerys about it, jacaerys thinks he's hallucinating.

contains: afab!reader, fingering, oral (f!), p in v, unprotected sex, masturbation, a threesome of some sort, slight aftercare, guided intercourse? lmao.

author's note: THANK YOU BEL FOR REQUESTING THIS !!! I've been experiencing a block because i cannot do shit (university moment) and this was like,,, smooth??? JSDJHFSD i enjoyed this more than i should,,, so i hope yall like it as i do hehe! please leave feedback! english is not my first language so be kind fuckers! enJOY

tags: @vhagarlovebot @ilikeitbetterangsty @chompchompluke

“Are you insane?”

Cregan chuckled, giving his friend an amused look, leaning on the chair and crossing his arms.

“Jace, she brought it up, and I’m not opposed if that’s what you’re thinking.” Cregan grinned when Jacaerys’ jaw dropped, eyes widening.

“She brought it up? Are you for real?” Cregan rolled his eyes, sipping from his beer as he watched Jacaerys have a breakdown in front of him. “Am I hallucinating?”

It was no secret that Jacaerys had a crush on you, the girlfriend of his best friend. He confessed his secret one time when they were both drunk, Jacaerys was scared that Cregan would drop him, but his friend just laughed it off and gave him his classic warm smile.

But Jacaerys made sure not to overstep any boundaries on your relationship with Cregan, keeping his hands to himself when around you, just a little kiss on your cheek as a greeting and nothing more, leaving him more flustered than it should be.

So imagine his surprise when Cregan dropped that bomb on him, his mind running a thousand miles per hour and his heart threatening to leave his chest. 

“A threesome?” Jacaerys stuttered, a blush blossoming on his face. 

Cregan nodded, “Mostly you doing the job and I’ll guide you through it,” His friend grinned wolfishly, “You know, to guide you of what she likes.”

Jacaerys gulped, Cregan had a lascivious look on his face that Jacaerys only saw when he was with you, mostly in clubs when you two were in a corner making out. 

“Are you sure, Cregan? I don’t want to overstep.” Cregan’s grin morphed into a soft smile, instantly soothing Jacaerys’ nerves. 

“Yeah buddy, don’t worry, I wouldn’t be telling you this if I didn’t agree with it,” Jacaerys nodded, somewhat relaxed now, “Also, she’s very eager to see what you can do.”

Jacaerys furiously blushed, nudging his friend away.

*

Jacaerys was one second away from puking, his hand frozen on the door handle of your shared apartment with Cregan, he finally got the courage to knock, shaking slightly.

To his bad luck, you opened the door.

“Jace, hi.” Your voice sounded sweet, but your eyes showed a predatory glint he hadn't seen before, he gulped before stepping into your home as you moved to the side.

You both haven't spoken since the day Cregan told him about your idea (a few days at most), and Jacaerys couldn't help but feel more nervous in front of you now, under your gaze.

“Hello,” He says quietly, his eyes darting around the room, searching for a sign to run away before he regrets it. 

You gave him a small smile, “Cregan is in the kitchen, don’t be nervous.”

Jacaerys returned the smile, feeling better as you seemed relaxed around him, you chuckled softly grabbing his hand and leading him to the kitchen, making him blush furiously. 

When you entered the kitchen with him by your side, Cregan was cutting fruits wearing a ‘kiss the chef’ apron, you approached him dropping Jacaerys’ hand and kissing Cregan on the jaw.

“Love,” You mumbled, nuzzling your nose against his neck. 

Jacaerys stilled, his eyes widened as he watched the intimate moment between you and his best friend. He felt like an intruder standing there in the kitchen door watching you two, a voyeur of some sort. 

Cregan chuckled, his gaze falling on Jacaerys after your ministrations on his neck. “Hey buddy, how are you?”

Jacaerys stuttered an answer, “H-hey.”

Cregan smiled warmly at him, his arm sliding into your waist, holding you closer. “I’ll finish this and we can start, yeah?” 

You giggled against his neck, leaving kisses below his jaw, but his eyes were glued on Jacaerys who was fixated on your actions. 

Jacaerys realized Cregan was talking to him. 

“Oh yeah, yes sure, it’s fine.” He blushed, embarrassed by his incompetence. 

*

This was going to be the death of Jacaerys. 

You were sitting on the edge of the bed, Cregan standing in front of you with his hand on your chin holding it softly making you look up at him.

Jacaerys swore you had stars in your eyes while looking up at your boyfriend, a lazy smile on your face as Cregan whispered things only you could hear. 

Cregan took a step back, winking subtly at you as he made his way to Jacaerys who was standing very stiffly in the door frame of your shared room watching you two. 

“Jace, are you still on board?” Jacaerys snapped his gaze to his friend standing in front of him and gave him a sheepish smile. 

“Yes, sorry, I’m just a little nervous.” You smiled softly at him from the bed, and Cregan chuckled slightly, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t worry mate, you’re going to do just fine,” Jacaerys released a shaky exhale, nodding at his friend, “Go to her.”

Jacaerys looked your way, you were sitting patiently on the bed with your hands on your lap, waiting for your boyfriend’s instructions. You gave him an encouraging grin as he stepped closer to you. 

You looked up at him, Jacaerys was pretty, that was clear. His soft brown eyes were intoxicating enough on their own, but his tall lean build was indeed a plus. “You’re so pretty, Jace,” You murmured, tilting your head.

He blushed furiously, in a sudden bold move of cupping your face, his fingers against your jaw. “You’re prettier,” He said softly, caressing the side of your face. 

Your soft smile morphed into a wolfish grin, “You’re very tall too, is your cock big?”

Cregan chuckled and that startled Jacaerys, forgetting his best friend was standing behind him looking at every action he made on his girlfriend. Jacaerys felt his friend take a step towards him, standing right behind him, Jacaerys' back against Cregan’s chest. 

Cregan was taller than Jacaerys, “Take her shirt off,” He said softly near his ear, but he knew it was a command.

Jacaerys exhaled softly, grounding himself for his task. He looked at you, waiting for you to consent. 

You gave him a nod, “Jace, follow his orders, yeah?”

You thought it was sweet how nervous he was, but willing to comply and ask for consent in his every action. You looked intently into his brown eyes as he took your shirt off of you, smirking slightly at his blushed face. 

You were wearing nothing underneath your oversized (Cregan’s by the way) shirt, and Jacaerys’ eyes glued to your chest instantly, gulping harshly at the sight. “What now?” He stuttered, breathlessly. 

Cregan smirked, whispering huskily, “Touch her, she likes when I play with her tits, a lot of biting and sucking.” 

Jacaerys inhaled sharply, nodding stiffly as he lowered his head to your chest, bringing a hand up and squeezing your breast gently at first, as he looked into your eyes with his face crimson red. 

He brought up his other hand to squeeze your other breast, cupping it as he started playing with your nipples, rubbing them with his thumbs, and his squeezes getting harder with each second.

He finally lowered his face towards your chest, wrapping his lips around your breast, mouthing and sucking, his tongue lapping around your hardened pebble. He started leaving marks, first softly trying not to hurt you, but slowly getting harsher, leaving purple marks around your breast making you moan. 

He froze at the sound, looking up at you with wide lustful eyes. “You like that?” He whispered, returning to his ministrations on your tits. 

Cregan chuckled as you moaned softly, your hand traveling to Jacaerys’ brown curls grabbing them tightly and pushing his head towards you, to keep him in place sucking and biting. 

Jacaerys moaned against your chest, feeling himself getting harder in his trousers at the sounds you were making and the feeling of your soft skin on his mouth. 

Cregan put a hand on Jacaerys shoulder, “Take her pants off, get her on the pillows,” You released your grip on Jacaerys’ hair and he pulled away from your breast with a pop, his face flushed looking at you with doe eyes. 

“Yes, right.” Jacaerys nudged you into the bed, as you crawled into the pillows, your back against them. 

Jacaerys followed you into the bed, looking into your eyes as he slipped your sweatpants off, leaving you in your black lace panties and nothing else. 

He inhaled sharply again, taking in the sight of your body. He looked you up and down, drinking your curves and your bare chest, which he was becoming more intoxicated and attracted with every second passing. 

“You’re so beautiful,” He muttered, his hands shaking slightly. 

“Thank you, Jace.” You purred, looking at him with hooded eyes. 

Cregan nudged Jacaerys into you, “Take her underwear off, I want you to look at her closely and tell me what you think of my girlfriend.”

Jacaerys’ shaky hands reached the top of your panties, slowly sliding them down revealing your wet cunt. He had your underwear in his hands, and he stared at them watching the wet patch on them, the result of his earlier actions on your tits. 

In a sudden move, he put your panties on his nose, taking a deep inhale into the wet spot. “You smell godly,”

He heard you swear, and Cregan chuckled darkly. 

“Didn’t know you had it in you, Jace.” 

Jacaerys turned around to look at Cregan, his eyes pleading, “Can I taste her? Please?”

Cregan grinned wolfishly and nodded, “Go on,”

Jacaerys wasted no time on lowering his head towards your lower stomach, leaving kisses and licking his way down to your thighs, kissing and nibbling on the skin near your center. 

He positioned himself between your thighs, his arms around your legs holding you down to the bed, his hands on your waist. 

He looked up at you and saw how you were biting your lip as you looked back at him, breathing heavily with your hands gripping the sheets. “Eat, Jacaerys.”

He nodded, his warm breath on your center making you shudder. He started by licking your wet folds, eagerly lapping at them, and moaning while doing it. Your hand traveled to his brown curls again and pulled them roughly, moving his head to your pearl. 

“Suck.”

He wasted no time, wrapping his lips against your clit and sucking it keenly. 

You moaned loudly, thrusting your hips against his face to encourage him to continue. He continued sucking harder and faster, groaning against your wet cunt. 

“Put a finger in her,” He heard Cregan talk behind him, and he removed one of the hands holding you by the waist to move it towards your entrance. 

He continued sucking on your pearl while his finger traced your folds, until it reached your tight hole, intruding on it. 

“Is she tight? Or is she wet enough to add another finger?” Cregan said, mockingly looking down at you while you were writhing against Jacaerys mouth and finger, “I know she can take another one, do it.”

Jacaerys followed the command, inserting two fingers inside your warm cunt as he lapped eagerly at your pearl. His fingers move in a motion hitting your spongy spot effectively, making you whimper pulling his hair harder. 

“Fuck, Jace,” You moan, your other hand flying to your breast, pinching and rubbing your nipple. 

Jacaerys hears Cregan laugh, “Add a third,” He complies, working you with his fingers and tongue simultaneously, making you come undone with him sucking eagerly at your release. 

You’re panting heavily, Jacaerys pulls slightly away from your pussy and you see his mouth and chin wet, he sees you give him a lazy smile while you still catch your breath. “You’re decent enough, Jace.”

He smiled at you, still in the trance of the opportunity it was given to him. He made you come undone with his tongue and fingers, he was on cloud nine. 

Cregan’s voice snapped him back to reality, “Well, I think she’s ready to get fucked senseless, what do you think, buddy?”

Jacaerys suddenly stood up from his place between your thighs, he looked at Cregan with wide eyes. “Are you sure?”

Cregan rolled his eyes amused, “Yes, Jacaerys, don't you see how eager my girlfriend is to get fucked by you?” 

Jacaerys gasped, snapping his head back to you, the sight making his knees buckle.

You were laying on your back spreading your legs, your wet cunt in full display for them as you slowly circled your pearl with two fingers, the other squeezing your breast as you looked at them expectantly. “Are you still thinking with the wrong head?”

Cregan shook his head, delighted by your teasing towards his friend. 

Jacaerys gave his friend a last questioning look, and Cregan nodded. He wasted no time on getting off of his clothes, taking his shirt off revealing his well-toned body from working out. 

His eyes were glued on your pussy, watching it intently as you kept the circling motions on your clit. He removed his pants, leaving only his boxers on with a very prominent outline of his dick showing. 

Your gaze fell to his crotch, he was well-endowed and it showed clearly. “You’re big,” You muttered, then looked back at your boyfriend who was smirking, “I was right, love.”

Jacaerys blushed furiously at the thought of you and Cregan discussing his dick size when he wasn’t around, making him more aroused than he was before. 

“Take them off, Jace, let me see you.” You whispered huskily, tilting your head as you looked at him hungrily.

Jacaerys felt himself crumble at your request, shakily removing his underwear revealing his impossibly hard cock, with precum leaking from his red tip. 

You muttered under your breath, “Fuck, you are big.” 

Jacaerys gulped, somewhat embarrassed for being exposed between his two friends this way, but he looked back at Cregan as if he was waiting for a command. 

Cregan looked back at you, raising an eyebrow. “Do you want to go raw, love?”

Jacaerys let out a low grunt when you nodded enthusiastically, “I want to feel him all inside of me.”

He wasted no time and positioned himself between your thighs again, but this time his hard cock near your entrance. He brushed the tip on your wet folds, gathering your juices on his length as he softly rocked his hips, grinding against your core. 

You let out a whine, and he couldn’t help but moan at the feeling of your wet cunt soaking his cock, he pressed harder against your pussy, grinding harshly. 

He almost lost control, but Cregan’s voice grounded him, “Eager, buddy? Don’t waste my time, fuck her.”

Jacaerys whimpered softly at the command, grabbing his hardened length and positioning the tip on your hole, slowly entering and groaning at the sensation of your tight warm cunt hugging his cock. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” He muttered breathlessly as he bottomed out, his full length inside of you.

When he looked at your face you had your eyes closed, gripping the sheets firmly, Jacaerys cock breaking you in two. 

After a few moments settling in, breathing slowly to ground yourself, you whispered for him to move. 

He started slowly, soft but long thrusts as he built up a pace you two were comfortable with, while you still struggled a little adjusting to his size. 

Jacaerys was concentrated on your face and the way you frowned as his cock brushed your spongy spot, making you moan softly every time he rocked his hips. He didn’t hear Cregan move around to sit beside you in the bed, holding your face softly as he kissed you and whispered things only you could hear. 

Cregan keep kissing you as Jacaerys fucked you slowly, his hands gripping your hips. “Go harder, Jace.” He heard Cregan say, and he only could comply, his hips snapping harder against your tight cunt, your walls fluttering around his cock that hit all the right spots inside you. 

You started to moan louder, grounding yourself by kissing your boyfriend and Jacaerys holding your hips, his cock going deeper and deeper with each thrust. 

“You’re doing so good, love, you’re taking Jacaerys so well for me,” Cregan praised you between kisses, nibbling on your lip as you moaned in his mouth, “Are you close, love? Are you going to come for me?”

You nodded sharply, eyes closed as Cregan kissed your neck leaving little marks on your skin. 

Jacaerys hips snapped harder and faster, his release approaching. He grunted, your pussy clenching around his cock and your loud moans were enough to send him over the edge. 

He couldn’t form words, the pleasure being too intense. “Where,” He gulped, mind hazy, “Where can I cum?” 

You whimpered, your back arching as your hand traveled to your pearl, circling your fingers eagerly looking for your own release. 

“Inside,” He heard Cregan distantly, and he couldn’t help the high-pitched moan that came out of his mouth, spilling his seed inside your warm fluttering cunt. 

He kept thrusting, helping you chase your peak, and it was worth the overstimulation because the sound you made when you came all over his cock was heavenly. 

“Fuck,” After a few moments, he pulled out slowly and went to the bathroom to get a warm towel to clean you up. 

You and Cregan shared a look, giving him a lazy smile and pulling him for a deep kiss as you waited for Jacaerys to come back. 

He came back, still very much naked, and approached you, “Can I?” His voice was quiet, and he looked into your eyes, pleading. 

You nodded, and he started wiping you with the warm towel, cleaning you up, “Thank you, Jace.” 

He finished his little task and put some clothes on as he watched how your boyfriend helped you dress up too. He stood up awkwardly a few meters away from you two, not knowing what to do next. 

You whispered something in Cregan’s ear, making him chuckle. 

You winked at Jacaerys, “How about we do this again some other time?”

Jacaerys was now absolutely sure that he was hallucinating this whole thing, blushing furiously as he nodded making you two laugh. 

vermithorn © do not copy, repost or translate my works.

#vermithorn #jacaerys smut #cregan stark smut #cregan smut #jacaerys velaryon smut #jacaerys velaryon x fem reader #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys velaryon #cregan stark #cregan x reader #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x fem reader #cregan stark fanfic #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys x reader x cregan #jacaerys velaryon x reader x cregan stark #jacaerys imagine #cregan imagine #cregan stark x you #jacaerys velaryon x you #fem reader

[starkskeep]

Cregan “Mr. Steal Aemond’s Girl” Stark in 90% of the fics on this site. I love that we’ve collectively decided that Aemond deserves to lose to Cregan. It’s beautiful.

@valeskafics @daenerysapologist @misguidedasgardian @missusnora

#cregan stark #cregan stark fanfic #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark smut #hotd fanfic #hotd imagine #house of the dragon #not anti Aemond

[damn-stark]

Chapter 8 Chateau

Chapter 8 of Moonlight

A/N- Y/N and young Rhaenyra would’ve been the bestest of friends.

Warning- Swearing, angst, FLUFF, talks of blood, death, miscarriage, pregnancy, LONG CHAPTER.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode- 1x08-1x09

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

“…and he said to me, well you’re sort of beautiful. So I look at him confused.” You gossip with Rhaena and Baela about a memory from your years in Winterfell. “I'm like, I'm either one or the other, tell me if I should be offended or touched.”

Rhaena giggles and leans in closer to you. “What did he say?”

You grab onto the edge of the dinner table and lean in between the both of them to whisper. “He went on to throw up on himself,” you grumble while Baela and Rhaena complain in disgust.

“But! The next day he said the same thing to another girl, so,” you snicker, “my friends and I grabbed him after he blacked out and lay him in front of Astraea. When he woke up he shit his pants in front of all the ladies he had been hitting on.”

The three of you burst out laughing at your story, causing Jacaerys to shove himself between Baela and you. “What’s so funny?” He asks.

You part your lips to answer, but Baela cuts him off. “Lady business.”

You peer back at him and snicker.

“Well,” he counters nonchalantly and begins to smirk. “I suppose I won’t share what I just told Lucerys.”

Your curiosity piques and without an ounce of hesitation you look back at him, noticing him looking all smug.

However, before he can even try and continue, the hall doors open and guards carrying your grandfather in a chair walk in, silencing the chatter that filled the room and making everyone, including you, who was sitting down to stand up in respect of the King's arrival.

“Tell us later,” you whisper to your brother.

He leans over and counters. “As long as you tell me what you shared.”

You meet his gaze from the corner of your eyes and nod in agreement. You then focus back on the King getting carried to his spot around the table, and only go to your spot beside Aemond once the King is placed in the middle of the table.

“How good it is,” your grandfather interjects in his raspy voice. “To see you all tonight…together.” He finishes saying and takes a moment to examine everyone gathered around the table.

“Prayer before we begin?” Alicent cuts in and asks her husband, the King.

He looks over at her and nod. “Yes,” he whispers.

You sigh and clasp your hands together over the table, you don’t close your eyes like Alicent and her family do. Even if you do follow the Old Gods, you don’t much pray to them over dinner, or make it your entire personality like Alicent with her New Gods, but out of respect you stay quiet and listen to her.

“May the Mother smile down on the gathering with love. May the Smith mend the bonds that have been broken for too long.”

You drop your head and shake your head at her comment.

Now who’s fault is this strain exactly? Your mother was nothing but patient the years she lived here with you and your siblings, the boys only messed around with another because they were just children messing around. The only reason you don’t like Aegon is because he’s a creep with the ladies. But the hostility? The name calling? That was all her, Alicent.

So please can she stop acting?

“…And to Vaemond Velaryon, May the gods give him rest.”

Okay, now that time has passed you have to admit even if you don’t want to…what Daemon did to him was…well deserved. You won't praise the man, but it was impressive. After the disgust and horror passed of course.

“This is an occasion for celebration, it seems,” your grandfather adds, pulling your gaze back over the table—“My grandsons, Jace and Luke will marry their cousins, Baela and Rhaena.”

You smile at the newly betrothed and reach over for your goblet.

“Further strengthening the bond between our houses. A toast to the young Princes…and their betrothed.”

A grin spreads on your lips and you don’t fret to raise your cup to them all.

“Hear, hear!” Daemon exclaims.

As you take a sip from your wine you reach over and interlace your fingers with Aemond’s. He immediately glances over and puts his goblet down to lean over to press a kiss on the side of your head, making you smile and tighten your hold around his.

“Let us toast as well Prince Lucerys,” the King adds. “The future Lord of the Tides.”

You raise your cup again and this time you exclaim. “Hear, hear!”

Lucerys gaze finds you and a thankful smile shows on his lips before he snaps his gaze to Rhaena.

“You’ll be great,” she compliments him, making you smile softly with joy that she is so kind to him. He deserves someone as kind as she is.

“It both gladdens my heart…” your grandfather keeps speaking, this time he’s on his feet. “And fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table. The faces most dear to me in all the world…yet grown so distant from each other…in the years past.”

You swallow thickly and begin to caress the back of Aemond’s hand with your thumb.

At the feeling his eyes fall on you, you can feel them linger as you watch with hesitation while your grandfather begins to take his mask off.

You’ve seen him without it on a few times, but seeing the muscles of his cheek stick out still brings you goosebumps. Not his eye socket though, Aemond and him and share that similarity, you’ve helped Aemond clean his fleshy eye socket before, but the flesh on your grandfathers cheek is not the same.

“My old face…is no longer a handsome one…if it indeed ever was. But tonight,” he mutters. “I wish you to see me…as I am. Not just a King…but your father. Your brother. Your husband…and your grandsire. Who may not, it seems…walk for much longer among you.”

You let out a deep breath and avert your gaze to avoid having them cloud with tears. Aemond notices and pulls your hand to his lap to hold your hand with the both of his.

“Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts,” he goes on and slams his cane against the floor. “The crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. But set aside your grievances, if not for the sake of the crown…then for the sake of this old man, who loves you all so dearly.” He lets out a heavy breath and sits back down, letting your mother abruptly stand up with her goblet in the air.

“I wish to raise my cup to Her Grace, the Queen,” your mother interjects, catching you off guard. “I love my father, but I must admit that no one has stood…more loyally by his side than his good wife. She has tended to him with…unfailing devotion, love and honor. And for that she has my gratitude…and my apology.”

You grab your goblet again and take a small drink.

“I also would like to add,” your mother says a bit softer this time, and with a smile she directs at you. “How thankful I am to my daughter y/n, and Prince Aemond, you have made me a grandmother…”

You smile brightly and share your glee with Aemond.

“…I am thankful for that everyday. To Aerion, may he continue to grow and be happy.”

“Hear, hear,” Alicent says quietly, whilst Aemond, you and everyone around the table takes a drink.

“I will also like to add,” Alicent continues to say. “That your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess. We are both mothers…and we love our children. We have more in common than we sometimes allow.” She then stands and raises her goblet. “I raise my cup to you…and to your house. You will make a fine Queen.”

You bring your cup to your lips and take the last sip of wine before you stand up as well, causing one of your hands to slip off Aemond’s. “I would like to toast to my mother and family, 6 six years was far too long and I'm glad to see you all again. I missed you all…And to my brothers.” You smile, whilst a servant refills your goblet. “And Rhaena and Baela. May you share a loving and fruitful marriage.” You sit back down and take a drink the same time your family does too.

Silence falls after that, letting you reach over to grab some fruit from the trays. When you sit back down and plop a grape on your mouth, suddenly Jacaerys slams his hands on the table and gets up, pulling the attention of everyone and bringing a deafening silence to the table.

You raise your eyebrow and squint your gaze in confusion, but Jacaerys just clears his throat and only provides you with more confusion.

Albeit that quickly washes away as Aemond stands up and stares your brother down.

“Aemond,” you whisper and take his hand.

Said man keeps his glare on Jacaerys, adding tension to the table. You follow his line of gaze and watch your brother playfully hit Aegon's arm before raising his cup and meeting your husband's gaze.

“To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond…”

You swallow thickly and look up at Aemond again to plead. “<Aemond, my love, please.>”

Aemond blinks and meets your gaze briefly before looking back at Jacaerys, and sighing as he slowly sits back down to just listen.

“We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men, I hope we may yet be friends, and allies. To you and your family's good health, dear uncles.” Jacaerys raises his cup, followed by Baela.

The awkward tension doesn't leave but you slowly drink to that while you wrap your hand around Aemond’s arm.

“To you as well,” Aegon adds awkwardly.

Now you want this to come to an end before things turn bad. Aemond already seems more upset than he already was, he pulls his arm from under your grasp and you know it’s because you were trying to stop him from overreacting.

You howbeit don’t take offense to his petty act, you find it funny and immediately put your hand over his again. Aemond slowly drags his eye to the side, and you slowly do the same and shoot him a playful smirk.

He sighs and looks away to take his hand away again, but you pull it down and rub his hand against your thigh before you lean close to his ear to whisper cockily. “You can be upset all you want, it makes for a more entertaining night.”

The corner of Aemond’s lips twitch to a smile, but he doesn’t let it show in front of the others.

“Just a little longer, okay?” You assure him and then press a kiss on his cheek before you look to your other side as Helaena gets up too.

“I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena,” Helaena says. “They’ll be married soon. It isn’t so bad. Mostly he just ignores you…”

Aemond grips onto your thigh before you both share awkward glances due to his sister's speech.

“…except sometimes when he’s drunk.”

Scattered laughs spread around the table, but you just blink and glare over at Aegon.

“Let us have some music,” your grandfather brings an end to the toast, letting you turn to face Aemond.

“So I thought,” you tell him, gaining his full attention. “If my family doesn’t end up staying long, after Aerion and I come back from Dragonstone, we go to the vacation house. Present Aerion to the countryside, just be alone and have calm nights, hm?” You press.

Nevertheless, Aemond’s attention drifts behind you rather quickly, you follow his line of gaze and look back, noticing Jacaerys and Helaena starting to dance.

“Aw,” you grin. “How adorable.”

Aemond hums dryly, letting you know he didn't like it one bit, so you block his line of gaze and distract him. “So what do you say? After I come back, we take a nice trip?”

“All right,” he agrees with his gaze holding yours.

You beam at him and steal a kiss from his lips before you face the table again.

Yet just before you can grab food, a shadow gets cast over you, and Aemond’s grip on your thigh tightens.

“Sister,” you recognize Lucerys say, making you look over at him standing beside your chair with his hand out. “Would you like to dance?” He asks and slides his gaze to Aemond at your other side to shoot him a small smirk. “If that’s okay of course.”

Even if it is for some stupid game to annoy Aemond, you gladly take your brother's hand and don’t even ask Aemond for permission because Lucerys is your little brother. You don’t need permission to dance with him.

However, as you do follow Lucerys out to the floor you do feel Aemond’s gaze on you. When you come to a brief stop and grab your brother's hands, you do look back and see exactly that, Aemond watching Lucerys and you carefully, as if your brother was going to suddenly just steal you or something.

Just to assure Aemond of his ridiculous concern you offer him a soft smile before you begin to follow Lucerys’s lead.

“You’ve come a long way from dancing on my feet,” you tell Lucerys as you pull apart and continue to dance. “I’m impressed.”

“There’s not much to do at Dragonstone,” he comments whilst you both hook your arms around each others and spin slowly to the beat. “Besides mother made us take lessons.”

You giggle. “Well, you’ll make your future wife very happy. It’s always impressive when a man is a willing dance partner.”

“Is it?” Lucerys asks.

You nod. “It is. It’s a way to a woman’s heart. For some anyway.”

He snickers and glances back at Rhaena before he meets your gaze. “What’s the other?”

You grin in awe. “Attention,” you let him know. “Listening. Affection and humor.”

Lucerys hums softly before you link arms again and begin spinning slowly once more.

“Dragonstone wasn’t the same without you,” he says again. “We missed you.”

You hold his gaze and offer him a sweeter smile. “I missed you. I’m happy you haven’t changed. Don’t let anyone change you.” You proceed to grab hands and dance around Helaena and Jacaerys before you turn back to back and lift your arms up, and then pull away and turn to face each other again.

However, before you can continue you both come to a slow stop as you catch your grandfather getting carried out. You watch him be taken away, you hear him groan in pain and feel pity that he can’t be the man he once was.

At least he got to witness a part of this dinner with all his family.

Nevertheless, after he is taken out of the room, the roasted pig is brought in so you don’t continue to dance, instead you point to the table. “Let’s go eat some dinner, hm?”

Lucerys nods before laughing as he walks you to your chair. “You sound like mother.”

You flash him a simple happy smile before you take your seat beside Aemond once again and watch your brother return to his seat across the table. And now that you are seated, Aemond fixes his chair to the way it was before.

“I’m still here,” you tease him and take his hand once more. “But if you were so worried you should’ve danced with me.”

Aemond hums, making you snicker before you change the subject.

“Later, I have something I want to give you. It…took me a long while to perfect, but I think you’ll like it.”

Aemond blinks before turning his head to face you with confusion and curiosity. “What is it?” He asks.

You shrug sweetly and bat your lashes. “Just have to wait and see. Or I’ll tell you now if you dance with me?” You press and smirk. “Hm?”

Aemond looks at the dance floor that Jacaerys and Helaena still occupy before meeting your gaze and letting out a deep sigh. “Fine.”

You blink in surprise and pull back. “Really?” You ask him now. “You’ll dance with me?”

Aemond nods. “I will.”

You beam at him with awe and excitement, but…just as you stand up, and before you can pull him up, his gaze drifts away for a second, only a few moments, but it’s long enough for him to catch something that pisses him off and has him ripping his arm from your grasp to slam his hand on the table and cutting off all noise that traveled within.

“Final tribute,” he interjects. “To the health of my nephews.”

Your smile fades completely. Instead you begin to nervously bite the inside of your cheek.

“Jace,” Aemond names. “Luke, and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise…” he takes a long pause as he stares Lucerys down again.

“Aemond,” you warn without an ounce of softness in your tone this time.

But of course he ignores you.

“Hm,” he hums. “Strong.”

You clench your jaw and fill with anger. Not because he dared to say that to them, there’s no need fueling those comments, it’s that he dared to ruin this supper. That he couldn’t just hold it in and silently just glare and hate. That’s what you’re doing with Daemon.

“Aemond,” his mother attempts to stop him too.

“Come,” Aemond continues and ignores Alicent as well. “Let us drain our cups to these three…strong boys.”

“I dare you to say that again,” Jacaerys snaps at him angrily.

“Why?” Aemond counters and faces him with his cup raised. “‘Twas only a compliment.” He breaks away from his spot and passes you to stride to Jacaerys. “Do you not think yourself strong?”

You know Jacaerys has a short temper, you know Aemond doesn’t hold back, so you slowly follow after him and try to plead again. “Aemond, please stop.”

Yet now rather than ending up being hit after trying to stop a fight, Jacaerys swings his fist across Aemond’s face.

However, it doesn’t seem to affect Aemond as much, he doesn’t even drop his wine or sway. It’s impressive, it impresses you, but now wasn’t the time. Besides as Jacaerys and Aemond confront each other, from the corner of your eye you catch Aegon slam Lucerys face in the table.

Now rather than staying put and trying to plead, as if triggered by your brothers pain and the anger Aemond made you feel, you charge at Aegon without hesitation and quickly slam your hand on the back of his head and clutch a chunk of hair. You then grab his shoulder and shove him back harshly.

When Aegon finds his footing he looks at you bewildered, but that expression is quickly wiped away as you then proceed to swing your right fist across his face harshly, causing him to stumble back.

“Try that again,” you snap at Aegon.

Guards head over to you to try and stop you, but before they can try and touch you a threatening “don’t,” is snapped at them.

You quickly dart your gaze to the side and see Daemon stop by you, challenging the guards with his glare alone. They don’t dare move to you now, nor do they hold Aegon back. Not like he made any attempt to hit back, he just holds his cheek in complete surprise.

When he catches your gaze he pulls his hand away. That’s when you notice a small bleeding cut under his eye that you had made.

You should feel bad, but you don’t, you actually feel proud that you managed to hurt him. Besides Aegon doesn’t seem at all affected, he notices the blood and begins to chuckle before he walks away.

You scoff and roll your eyes, catching the guards failing to hold Jacaerys back now.

“…Though it seems my nephews aren’t so proud of there’s!” You now hear Aemond exclaim as strides back to Jacaerys.

You turn completely to face the scene, but before you can even think of getting in between them, your mothers hand falls on your wrist, stopping you.

“Wait! Wait!” Daemon interjects and strides over nonchalantly between both young men, having the both of them stop in their attempts to continue fighting. He then proceeds to face Jacaerys, and walks him back without the need to say anything.

“Go to your quarters,” your mother orders your brothers and cousins behind you. “All of you. Now.”

You glance over your shoulder and watch them all leave. When they’re gone you focus back on Aemond, seeing him hold Daemon’s glare in silence.

You tighten your hold around your mothers and watch them both carefully, readying yourself in case either snapped, but Aemond then hums and walks away, bringing the entire supper to a tragic end.

“If you still wish to accompany us to Dragonstone, my Sweet,” your mother interjects. “Pack what you need, we’re leaving.”

You watch Aemond leave out the hall before you face your mother and nod in comprehension. “I will. I’ll see you in a bit then?”

She nods, letting you let her go and leave the hall after Aemond. Yet you don’t pick up your pace to catch up to him, you stay in your own pace behind him, trying to calm yourself down before walking in your shared quarters. But ultimately failing when you are in the privacy of your chambers.

You don’t speak to another right away though. You let a tension fill the room since Vanessa walks in only a few minutes later.

“Pack for a week's worth,” you let her know as you walk to your closet. “We won’t stay long. And after that please, put Wolf in his crate, we'll take him too. And then take Aerion, we’ll ride with my mother and…dare I say it…my step-father.” You sigh deeply.

“Right away, Princess,” Vanessa says and walks up behind you to take the gowns you were picking out from your hands. “Should I pack riding outfits?”

“Hm.” You step back and briefly glance at her. “Yes, just two.”

Vanessa nods, but she then stops what she’s doing and meets your gaze. “I can do it. I know you well, I won’t be long.”

You share a soft laugh before you let her do her job. Yet now you return to the tension, but! He never looks bothered by any of it! You can be upset at one another and he always looks nonchalant and it irks you! You want him to be mad at you, you want him to react, not just sit there and brood in front of the fire.

“Whatever it is you want to say,” Aemond suddenly makes you jump. “Say it. You’ll bleed if you bite your tongue any harder.”

You clasp your hands together and slowly begin to just fiddle with your hands as you begin pacing with your mouth shut. Vanessa is still here, and you don’t want to have an audience.

“Unless you want to leave upset,” he adds and keeps looking at the fire.

When you don’t respond, he presses and finally peers back at you. “Hm?”

You stop your pacing behind him and let out a frustrated breath, but don’t start just yet, you wait. Only until Vanessa is out and no longer in the hall you start and give him what he wants.

“Why did you do it?” You mutter out.

Aemond remains as he is as he answers. “I didn’t do anything, I gave a toast, your brother—”

“No,” you cut him off and storm around him to stand in front of him so he can see your anger. “No don’t…bullshit me Aemond. Seven hells, you antagonized them.”

Aemond finally meets your gaze, and you deepen your scowl.

“He hit me first,” he spats but in a very collected manner. “Or are you choosing not to see that?”

You shake your head. “I’m not siding with either of you. It was stupid that he hit you, and it was stupid of you to provoke him.”

Aemond blinks in surprise and finally chooses to slowly stand to his given his height as if trying to intimidate you, but you aren’t at all affected.

“I try to be understanding, I always have,” you continue to argue and step back as he steps forward. “I never try to take sides or try to tell you how to feel, but when you provoke them I can’t help but get mad at you. I told you to wait it out, just for dinner, but…” you sigh and shake your head. “You can’t even do that.”

“He hit me first, what did you want me to do?” He argues and takes a step towards you again, this time you stay put, this time you’re the one nonchalant. And finally you get a reaction you want. Your calm demeanor pisses him off, you can tell by the way he clenches his jaw, flares his nose and curls his thin lips.

“You hit Aegon, do you see me remarking on that?” He spats.

You scoff. “I don’t give a shit about Aegon. Your brother is a bad guy, he deserved it.”

“Did I?” He cuts in bluntly.

“No,” you quickly assure him. “No. But I wanted you to just listen. To me. I told you to sit through it. I didn’t say get over it, but you started it.” You swallow thickly and turn away to avoid shedding angry tears. “If you have so much hatred for my brothers…then how can you honestly love me?” You ask completely vulnerable.

“You aren’t the same as them,” he assures you as he grabs your shoulders.

You want to say it, say what he’s thinking. A bastard, but you can’t, so you bite your tongue and watch the flames.

“You never have been,” Aemond continues. “You’ve never been cruel to me, not when we were kids. You never laughed at me because of what I lacked. Even when I lost my eye and people looked at me with disgust, you never scrunched your nose. As we got older you still pick me.”

…well…

“That’s why I love you,” he says and turns you around before he lifts your head with his knuckle. “Forgive me for upsetting you. I won’t apologize for what I did, I would be lying if I did.”

You scoff and roll your eyes.

“But,” he adds and cups your face. “I am sorry for upsetting you.”

You hum and glance at his lips after those words left his mouth.

“Say you forgive me. I don’t want to leave things like this.”

You draw in a deep breath and touch his chest. “Just,” you breathe out. “Please stop provoking them. Stop with the snide comments. It’s okay to still be upset, I…could never understand what you feel, I could never ask you to forgive him, them. But please for me…for Aerion, just leave them alone. You are better than that, Aemond. I know it. You have a good heart, you always have.”

Aemond’s gaze softens and he immediately presses his forehead against yours, letting you then cup his cheeks and slide your hands to the back of his head.

“I’m sorry too,” you add. “I shouldn't have gotten so angry at you.”

Aemond shakes his head and assures you softly. “There’s no need for apologies, not from you.”

You flash him a gri, and then gently press your lips against his. He doesn’t kiss you back right away, he savors the taste of your kiss and when you’re about to pull back he pulls you back in.

The kiss is slow and gentle, neither of you try to rush anything, you let your affection for each other control you. All you know is that you were going to be late meeting your mother and the rest.

“I…” you say between the slow kisses. “I’m not bleeding. It was a false alarm. We can do this. I want you, so I can remember how you felt when I’m alone.”

Aemond chuckles softly and meets your gaze with a smirk. “I wouldn't have cared if you were.”

You mirror his gesture and before long those slow and sweet kisses turn rougher. Neither of you take long to rip each others clothes off your bodies, you don’t prolong what you both want and don’t bother to go to bed. You start on the couch he was sitting on before and end up finishing on the ground in front of the fire with you on top of him.

“I will never get tired of this,” you murmur as you caress his chest and lose your gaze on the ground. “This is better than flying.”

Aemond chuckles. “I have to admit it is.”

You smile and press a kiss on his chest before you slide your chin to the side, and rest it on his chest so you can look him in the eye. “Once we move to Dragonstone, you will get tired of me.”

Aemond scoffs. “I never could. Never.”

You offer him a soft smile before you sit up and grab his shoulders. “That’s right! My present!” You giggle and then slide off him to run to the chest in your room. Aemond sits up and watches your naked body with a smirk and a craving for more.

“Since we did get married so suddenly I couldn’t have this made before, but…” you trail off to pull out a long sheathed weapon. “…I do have it now. That’s what counts.” You turn around and show off the sheathed sword. “This is for you my love.” You rush back to him, but he meets you halfway so you wouldn't have to carry it all the way to him. “I do hope you like it. And any adjustments you may need, let the smith know.”

Aemond takes the sheathed weapon from you with hesitance as if he doesn’t believe you’re being honest.

“Come on,” you encourage him. “Open it.”

Aemond takes a moment and looks at you first with awe before he unwraps the pommel first, showing off a dragon's head that is shaped like Vhagar.

You can’t contain your excitement and point at the gems where the eyes are meant to be. “Tiny green emeralds for the eyes because your dragon is green,” you grin and shake his arm. “Go on, reveal the blade!”

Aemond drops his gaze and can’t hide his grin as he unsheathes the long blade that glimmered brightly against the fires light.

“Now,” you add as you wrap your arms around his neck to admire the silver blade mixed with the dark metal that is Valyrian steel. “I know it isn't fully Valyrian Steel, but…I used my chain necklace to mix some in. Now you’ll always carry a bit of me with you, even when we’re apart.” You look at him and admire him tracing the dark metal elegantly swirled in the blade with his finger.

“Do you like it?” You whisper.

Aemond lifts his gaze and then proceeds to put the sword down before turning around to face you with a sweet and soft smile that he only let you see. He looks at you with so much love that you can’t help but fall in love.

“I love it,” he says before he kisses you. Yet it doesn’t last long because he pulls back and whispers against your lips. “I love you.”

You smile softly with awe and don’t hesitate to repeat those words that once tasted bitter when you spoke them to him. “I love you too. Now and forever.” You mean your words of affection. Truly.

“Now and forever,” he repeats.

With one more kiss from his lips you then quickly dress yourself and fix what was messed up. Before leaving to meet with your mother to leave King's Landing, you have Aerion brought it in. “Now my sweet boy,” you tell him. “Say goodbye to your father.”

Aerion eyes fill with tears and his pout trembles.

“You’ll sleep again soon enough,” Aemond assures the cranky baby. “I’ll see you in a week's time.” He presses a kiss on Aerion’s head of curls, and caresses his head one more time before he gives you attention. “Send a Raven if anything happens. I’ll write to you later.”

You nod and steal one more kiss, you linger in each other's taste before you pull away and force yourself to leave before you change your mind and stay with Aemond.

Once you finally meet up with your family to leave, Jacaerys groans. “What took you so long?” He complains.

You shoot him a glare and shake your head. “Don’t worry about it.” Since your mother is already waiting in the carriage you quickly climb in with Aerion and apologize to her only once you’re sat down. You completely ignore Daemon.

“Sorry,” you breathe out. “We can leave now.”

The carriage door closes behind Lucerys and both of your brothers squeeze in with you….Even if there’s more space in this moving carriage beside your mother, or quite literally on the same bench.

“Come on little prince,” Jacaerys says and reaches over to take Aerion from you.

Aerion albeit frowns at him and looks away from him.

“Oh, I see,” Jacaerys comments and hits his hands on his thighs. “He takes after his father then.”

You scoff and shake your head. “No,” you counter quickly and smile at your baby boy. “He just got woken up from his slumber. He’s just cranky. Aren’t you? But after he gets his sleep then he’ll let you carry him.” You lift Aerion up to get him comfortable, but before you can cradle him in your arms, your mother interjects.

“Give him here, I can put him to sleep.”

“Okay,” you whisper happily and hand her Aerion.

You expect him to cry or try to reach out for you, but his eyes just water for a moment before he exhales deeply and gets comfortable in your mother's arms.

“He just didn’t like you,” Lucerys teases Jacaerys. “It’s a you thing.”

You snicker and both Lucerys and you nudge him.

“Sure,” Jacaerys grumbles and rolls his eyes. “Anyway!” He hits his thighs. “Let’s change the subject to what I heard happen tonight.”

They heard Aemond and you making love?

Couldn’t be, they're not on the same floor—seven hells. Your balcony door was open though….

“I heard you punched Aegon.”

Oh, oh! Good. That was scary for a moment.

“Yes she did,” Lucerys cuts in with excitement. “That ring of hers cut him.”

You begin to smirk. “He deserved it,” you say smugly. “But I can’t brag…he’s a weak fighter. You can even take him,” you playfully jab at Jacaerys.

Your brother shoots you a pointed look, and Lucerys snickers.

“How did you learn to hit like that?” Daemon interrupts, causing your amusement to flicker with annoyance and distaste—“the swing seemed practiced.”

“From lurking in the shadows like a creep,” Jacaerys blurts to try and get back at you.

You just roll your eyes and push him away. You didn’t want to answer, but your mother was here, she also awaited your answer with Aerion falling asleep in her arms, so as to not upset her, you spare one glance at Daemon and reply.

“I learned when I was young…Since I’m a Princess I wasn’t allowed to train like the boys, so,” you sigh and smirk at him. “I watched everything they did and taught myself to do it better.”

A proud smile tugs on your mothers lips, and even if you don’t want to notice, a smirk flashes on Daemon’s lips.

“Besides,” you add and grin brightly. “Ser Harwin always said that nothing is more powerful than a strong right hook. He taught me how to throw a punch.”

“We’ll see how good you are with a sword,” Jacaerys taunts you, pulling your attention to him.

“Yeah,” you give in to his offer smugly. “We’ll see.”

——

*A DAY LATER. DRAGONSTONE*

Everyday at King’s Landing can never measure up to this very moment with your family. You’ve missed it, all of the chaos, the comfortable atmosphere, even if you have your differences with Daemon, his presence doesn’t bother you as much—you don’t let it bother you as much anyway.

At King’s Landing with Aemond’s family it’s always so awkward, they’re never together as one. They spend breakfasts apart, dinners are hardly eaten together and there’s always some kind of uncomfortable tension. It’s why you just spend time alone with Aemond and Aerion, being with the Queen, her father and the other kids is awkward. Besides, no one at King’s Landing besides Vanessa knows how to style your hair.

“Higher. Raise your blade higher!” Jacaerys scolds Lucerys.

“Mother,” you break your silence and look away from your brothers sparring to mindlessly watch the sand.

She hums in response, letting you continue.

“In our family history…” you pause and blink to glance over at Rhaena playing with Aerion. “Has there ever been Targaryen’s who may be…immune to fire?”

There has to be an answer for the stuff you’ve noticed. A small mention in your history books.

“Hm, not that I can recall,” she responds and reaches down to pick up a golden cuff from your palm to put it on your hair. “We are known to tolerate heat more than an average person can, but no, there hasn’t been any fire immune Targaryen’s recorded. If there had been we would have known, right?”

Nothing but more questions.

“That’s right,” you agree softly and return your gaze to your brothers.

“Why?” She asks and leans closer to you. “Any particular reason?”

You debate telling her what you have been discovering lately, but…you can’t tell her what you aren’t sure of yet. What if you’re just crazy? Or perhaps have a higher tolerance than anyone that has come before you. You need to learn more before you can tell her or anyone else.

“Just curious,” you simply avoid the truth.

Your mother huffs softly and reaches down to grab the last golden cuff from your palm. “You may want to ask Daemon about questions like those, he knows a lot more than I do. He spends a lot of time reading about our history.”

She’s attempting to try and have her husband and you bond again. She started the moment you climbed on the ship to come here.

You hum even if you know you won’t attempt shit, you just need her to be assured.

“Princess Y/N,” the maester interjects, pulling the attention of all four of you seated on the sand. “A raven came to you from King’s Landing.”

You immediately smile knowing who it’s from and quickly push yourself to your feet to gently take it from his hand. “Thank you, Maester.” You turn away from him and sit back down to read what Aemond wrote.

“Y/N, love, I write to you urgently to command you to return home at once.

Aemond.”

“Oh,” Baela says teasingly. “A raven from your beloved. What does he say?”

You blink repeatedly in confusion, finding his urgency concerning. Yet you don’t feel rushed to return home to him. You just arrived at Dragonstone. Besides, what if he’s just being difficult because of his indifferences with your family? Pft. He can wait.

“He just misses me,” you say with a smile and roll the scroll back to tuck in the bracelet cuff around your bicep. “He can stay missing me for a week.”

Baela snickers.

“I'm glad you can bring out something in him,” your mother interjects. “Gods know how much Alicent poisons them.”

You mindlessly begin to fiddle with your ring around your finger. “You really think so?” You ask.

“Yes, I saw it, the way he looked at you. The eyes never lie.”

The corner of your lips tug to a soft flattered smile.

“You!” Jacaerys exclaims.

You lift your gaze and see he’s now suddenly pointing at you.

“Come spar against me,” he continues and lowers his arm. “You keep saying you’re good, but I have yet to see it. Your words mean nothing unless you show us.”

You share an amused look with Baela before you shrug nonchalantly. “I’m not so sure now. I wouldn’t want to hurt your ego in front of your betrothed. Just…believe me and leave it at that, dear brother.” You cross your leg over there and lean back on your hands.

“Then you’re not good,” he counters smugly. “Challenge me now, show me you are this great swordsman and I will shut up about it. Or don’t and I will annoy you forever.”

You scoff and quip, “you already do annoy me. But,” you sigh and sit up. “Fine, only so you’ll shut up about it.” As you pass by Lucerys you motion him to give you his sparring sword.

“You won’t change?” Jacaerys points to your gown.

You shake your head. “Don’t need to. I can beat you with it on.” You shoot him a smirk and stride to stand across from him on the sand. “I won’t go easy just so you know. I will play by your training rules though just so you won’t get hurt.”

“As if,” he grumbles while he fixes his grip around his blade.

You roll your shoulders back and shift your feet the way Aemond stands, you then narrow your gaze on your brother and wait for his first move.

Thankfully, he grows impatient right away so he comes charging at you first. When he gets close he swings at your neck, but you duck and then spin around him quickly.

Jacaerys catches your move and tries to move to face you, but you then claw your hand on his shoulder and use your other hand to grip his arm to shove him down.

Rather than staying down, Jacaerys quickly pushes himself up and thrusts his sword at your side, but you quickly block him and then use your leg to kick him back. You then shoot him a smug grin and wait again.

When he comes at you now, he swings down but you avert his blade by turning to the side. That makes him mad albeit so he uses his anger to keep swinging, but you just keep swerving his swings.

“Fight back,” he growls.

You click your tongue. “Fight better,” you counter and do as he says this time, you charge at him and swing swing up. Jacaerys brings his sword to block you, but you trick him and end up spinning around him, managing to hit his arm harsly with your blade before you face his back.

Your brother hisses and grabs his arm. This time you don’t let him move, you kick him down to the sand, and proceed to stride over to him to flip him around and point your sword at his throat.

“What do I win?” You ask cockily.

Jacaerys huffs out in annoyance and throws his sword aside, letting you do the same and offer him your hand.

“Come on, get up,” you say.

Your brother sighs deeply, he seems to hesitate, but he ends up taking your hand and lets you help him back to his feet.

“You did good,” you compliment in a less teasing manner. “A lot better than six years ago that’s for sure.”

Jacaerys snatches his hand away from yours and glances behind you, you follow his line of gaze and catch Daemon is now watching, but you ignore him and notice your mothers smile as she holds Aerion now.

“You…did good too,” Jacaerys redirects quietly.

You giggle and shove past him to pick up the sword from the ground.

“You did good, Princess,” Daemon interjects, causing your smile to fade. “But you can do better.”

His footsteps hit the sandy surface, they approach you. When he stops near you his shadow cast over you, and your anger breaks out of that little box you wanted to contain it in for the purpose of this trip to go well.

“I don’t need your help,” you snap at him and don’t fret to meet his gaze with a burning glare.

You would have snapped at him, call him a murderer, but you don’t have evidence and you still don’t want to ruin this trip, so you just clench your jaw and stab the sword in the sand before you shove past him and stomp over to your son.

“Y/N,” your mother tries to talk to you, but you just gently take Aerion from her since your anger is not at her.

“Come on baby, let’s get you inside,” you whisper to your baby boy and then storm away.

“Y/N,” your mother calls out for you desperately, but you ignore her. And instead of going inside like you said, you take a detour to the hill by the castle when you catch Astraea resting.

“<Hello, girl,>” you greet the dragon as you press your forehead against her jaw.

Astraea growls softly and leans against you, making you smile softly.

“Do you want to feel her?” You ask Aerion, and then grab his little hand to press it against Astrea’s purple scales.

Aerion grins brightly and kicks his feet, he tries to laugh, but he can’t do so just yet so he just gapes like a fish.

“<Goodgirl.>” You assure your dragon in High Valyrian.

Footsteps then approach and you instantly feel your joy begin to fade. Albeit when you check who’s approaching you’re relieved to see it’s just your brothers.

“I won’t apologize,” you mutter, knowing that your mother probably sent them to address your snap. “I just need time.” You say as you turn to drag yourself down to the ground beside your dragon's head.

“We aren’t here you tell you to apologize,” Jacaerys interjects as both him and Lucerys slow down to a stop before you and Aerion. “Nor do I think Daemon cares if you do.”

You turn Aerion around so he can face you, and begin making faces at him so he can smile.

“We've come to tell you that we understand,” Lucerys adds, “your anger and distance.”

You keep a lighthearted expression for Aerion’s sake, but your voice tells your anger and sadness. “How can you do it? Look at him in the eye everyday after what he did?” You can’t help but ask.

They’re old now, they grasp things better, they understand a lot more than before, they must suspect what you do.

“What did he do?” Lucerys asks innocently.

Yet you don’t hold back for his sake. “Kill father to marry mother.”

“Your father,” Jacaerys deadpans. “Laenor was only your father.”

You snap your head to the side and look at him with a narrowed gaze. “Does that matter? He still raised you, he was still there and Daemon took him away. So how can you do it? Because I can’t…look him in the eye without thinking of father, without wanting to kill him.”

Jacaerys and Lucerys share a brief look before they sit with you. They remain silent for a while, most likely trying to find what to say to try and ease the pain you express to them for the first time.

“I can’t say I haven’t thought about that,” Jacaerys says softly. “I don’t trust Daemon, but there’s nothing we can do about theories y/n. We have no evidence, and he…makes mother happy.”

You sigh deeply, and look down at Aerion watching you. “I know,” you whisper and look up at the sky to avoid crying. “I just have to suck it up. But…you don’t think I’m mad for holding that against him right?” You look at both of your brothers and wait.

Lucerys meets your gaze and slowly shakes his head. “No, we—I understand why you’re angry, and it’s okay. You can be mad at him all you want.”

You hold his gaze before you share a soft admiring grin. “You've really grown up huh?”

Lucerys scoffs softly. “It’s been six years.”

You nod slowly in comprehension and glance down at Aerion with a soft smile before you glance at your brothers. “Thank you for coming up to talk to me.”

Lucerys offers you a soft smile, and Jacaerys averts his gaze and interjects. “We stand with you, sister. We need you to know that.” He slowly lowers his gaze and locks his eyes on you. “On this matter, and all the others you may face.”

Lucerys nods in agreement, making your eyes fill with happy tears. “Thank you,” you mewl.

“Don’t cry,” Jacaerys mumbles uncomfortably.

You laugh and shake your head. “I won’t.” You wipe away a stray tear and hide your face by looking down at Aerion putting a strand of your hair in his mouth. “Just let me enjoy this moment.”

At least now you know you don’t stand alone in the anger against Daemon.

——

*THE NEXT DAY*

The difference between Jacaerys and Lucerys fighting style is that Lucerys is a bit too gentle, too slow, and Jacaerys is too angry and doesn’t try to be tactical. Jacaerys puts up a fight unlike Lucerys, who leaves himself too open.

It’s why you find a way to shove his dominant hand before you raise your leg and kick him back on the sand.

“Lucerys,” you breathe out slowly.

Said boy groans and manages to hastily push himself up. “I know,” he grumbles in disappointment.

You walk over to him and grab his arm to help him to his feet. “You left yourself too open,” you point out his mistakes you caught. “Don’t think too much about it either, or else your enemy will get you a lot faster.”

Lucerys nods in comprehension.

You offer him a small smile and pat his shoulder. “You did better this time though.” You assure him and walk past him.

“You are speaking to him too gently,” Jacaerys scolds you as he takes your spot across Lucerys. “He won’t get any better that way.”

You shrug and spin around as you walk past him. “He won’t learn anything if you’re mean either,” you counter and plop yourself on the sand to watch Jacaerys spar against Lucerys now.

Once again Jacaerys is too aggressive, and Lucerys is too slow to catch up to his brother. It’s almost too hard to watch, you hate seeing Lucerys get hurt, but you watch for his sake so you can teach him his mistakes in ways Jacaerys is too impatient to do.

“What. Was. That?” Jacaerys spats as he shoves Lucerys to the ground.

“I'm sorry,” Lucerys grunts.

“You might go easier on him, my Prince,” an older Kingsguard knight interjects as he walks to your brothers. “So he can learn what you’re trying to teach.”

You hum in agreement.

“Your lady mother needs to see you!” The sound of your grandmother's voice carries out through the wind, stealing everyone’s attention. “The three of you!”

You had seen Meleys arrive not so long ago, but her armor isn’t something you expected her to be wearing. Should it be concerning?

“Is everything all right?” You ask your grandmother once you reach her under the cave.

Your grandmother Rhaenys, lets out a deep sigh and points to where the castle is. “Go she needs you.”

This does not help anything whatsoever.

“All—”

“Have you received any news from your husband?” She cuts you off.

You blink in confusion and answer quietly. “No. Just a raven to demand me back home…why?”

She simply holds your gaze and answers nonchalantly. “I’m sure your mother will explain. Now go, all three of you.”

You share a concerned look with your brothers before you do as she says and return to the castle. Once there you look out for anything suspicious, but Dragonstone is usually quiet, there’s nothing out of the ordinary.

That is not until you begin to approach your mothers chambers, because as soon as you get close you hear grunts and cries of pain echoing out. When you make it inside her room you instantly freeze as you notice she’s in a birthing gown, bathed in sweat, and grabbing onto her waist to ease what she can.

“Mother?” Jacaerys calls out because you can’t.

“Fuck,” your mother groans.

The babe isn’t meant to come out yet.

“Princess,” Maester Gerardys calls out to your mother distracted by her pain.

When she slowly turns to face your brothers, you climb down the stone stairs and approach Jacaerys side to fall under her gaze as well.

“Your grandsire, King Viserys, has passed,” she announces, making you gasp.

“V-Viserys?” Lucerys repeats in disbelief, whilst you try to progress the tragic news.

Is that why—Aemond knew didn't he? That’s why he wanted you home only a day after you left. He knew and he didn’t say.

“The Greens have repudiated the succession,” your mother adds what was beginning to come across your mind. “And claimed the Iron Throne.”

The maester leaves hastily, and more grief piles on you, making it hard to breathe properly.

“Aegon has been crowned King.”

That drunk, rapist with no sense of any kind of responsibility?

“What is to be done about it?” Jacaerys asks what ran through your mind.

“Nothing yet,” your mother says.

“Where is Daemon?”

“I don’t know,” your mothers voice quivers. “Gone to madness.” She shakes her head. “Gone to plot his war.”

“Leave daemon with me,” Jacaerys cuts in and turns on his heels to storm off, taking Lucerys with him. But you stay there frozen to your spot, trying to wrap your mind around your grandfather's death and Aemond’s betrayel.

“Jace,” your mother calls out. But he doesn’t stop—“Jacaerys!”

You blink and slowly look at the entrance and watch him stop and turn to face your mother.

“Whatever claim remains to me,” she says through her pain. “You are now its heir. Naught is to be done but by my command.”

Jacaerys nods stiffly and lingers there for a few more seconds before he walks to do as he had thrown out moments go, and you….you look back at your mother and feel your heart sink.

Whatever grief and anger you feel over the news, you shove that aside for now and rush to her side. “I’m here,” you assure her as she begins grunting and crouching down. “I’m here.” You grab her arm and hook it around your neck. “We should try sitting down, or laying,” you suggest.

Your mother shakes her head and clutches onto your shoulder as another wave of pain hits her.

What could you do to ease her pain? What can you do to make her feel more comfortable at this very moment?

She cries and groans, she paces mindlessly trying to relieve herself of the pain, but the babe refuses to come out. You’ve been through the pain of birth now, you know how much it hurts to have someone come out of your own body. You’ve seen it once after Cregan’s late lady wife suffered through it for hours, but at this very moment, as your mother suffers through an early labor is still something you can’t comprehend, something you can’t find words for.

No matter how much you plead to let her ladies-in-waiting help her, she refuses, she refuses water, or letting you lay her down. All you can do is walk with her, hold her as she pushes, hear her as the pain seems to become worse. She even calls out for Daemon, probably so he can comfort her, or so she can give him orders, but he never comes.

Not like that surprises you. Not because of how you think he might be, but because he is a man. Men aren’t usually a part of labor, Cregan wasn’t there for his wife, Aemond only came to you after you asked for him; you were so afraid you were going to die and your mother didn’t catch you in labor like she wanted to, so all you wanted then was Aemond.

You can’t lie and say Cregan didn’t come to mind, he always had a way to comfort you with so much ease. He didn’t struggle like Aemond did, but you never let his name slip when you were on your birthing bed. And when Aemond was there you were grateful that he was and that he found it in himself to try as best as he could.

So maybe that’s all you can do now too, try your best for your mother.

You rub her back, and move her hair behind her shoulder so it isn’t bothering her. You let her squeeze your hand as hard she wants, and never let her go. There comes a point through her painful pushing that she finally lets you drag her down to the ground, but you can hear her cries are full of much more heightened pain, and the blood that stained the bottom half of her body became much more.

“Princess let us help you,” her handmaiden, Elinda asks. But your mother doesn’t even pay them any attention.

“Get out!” She bellows as she lifts up her gown. “Get out!”

“Princess please.”

You slide your mothers arm off your body and crawl forward to help her, but she pushes away from you.

“Mother,” you beg between tears you try your hardest to fight away.

“Let us help you,” Elinda continues to press.

Your mother reaches out for your hand, and you quickly return to her side and let her clutch onto you as she screams out louder while she pushes out harder.

Now, however, with this push blood pours out from her, surrounding your feet and staining the sheer white gown you put over your black training jumpsuit. You want to help her pull the babe out, but she refuses your help and pulls out the baby herself with a long and painful cry.

The moment the baby girl comes out, that pain that riddled her body seems to ease, but the grief that hits her upon seeing the babe is probably worse than her pain.

The babe is so small, her bones are clearly prominent against her skin. There’s bumps you can’t identify poking out of her head, her skin is…scaly, unlike anything you’ve seen on a human child. It looked like a dragons skin. Yet throughout all that observation, you still search for a sign of life, you wait to see your baby sister's chest move…but her eyes never open, and a cry never fills the room.

It’s so deafeningly quiet now, your mother doesn’t cry anymore and the handmaidens don’t plead to help. And the baby, little Visenya is so still, so incredibly still.

There’s nothing you can do now but be there and cradle your mother as she cradles Visenya’s body.

You don’t say anything, quiet tears stream out of your eyes; tears brought by your own grandfather's death, by the betrayal jabbing your heart, and by your sister's death before she could even take her own breath. You press a gentle kiss on the side of your mothers head and let her press her head against yours as she sits there.

Who knows how much time passed before you moved, but even then your mind is moving too fast to grasp anything at all. It feels like you’re outside of your body just watching it move throughout the castle halls.

And funny enough, the only person you want to comfort you is Aemond; the man who helped his brother usurp your mothers throne. You want him with you, hugging you and telling you that it will all be fine, you want him with you. Flying home even crosses your mind, you want to run into his arms and let him hold you, you want to breathe in his charming scent. Tell him that you’re not really mad at him for what Aegon did, you know the influence his mother holds, that poisoned him at a young age.

You don’t blame him for Aegon’s coronation, you’re just upset that he didn’t say anything. You wouldn't side with the Greens, not only because Aegon makes a terrible ruler, but because your mother is the true heir, your grandfather deemed it that way, he never declared otherwise, his word is law and they broke it.

So much for following the rules.

Alas, Aemond can’t be here, and you can’t leave. Your mother needs you, and…if it’s a war that will break out then you will fight for the right side.

So after a short bath and a change of clothes, you and your three brothers walk out and join your mother and Daemon for the funeral on a stoney hill. Other people stand behind your mother and Daemon too; the other residents who live here, a couple of workers, your cousins of course, and your grandmother stands behind the crowd watching the pyre burn.

The moment is quiet, deafening so. You can even hear the flames from where you stand. The only noise that breaks through the grieving silence is the sound of swords unsheathing as a knight of the Kingsguard, not a part of the three that were already here walks up the hill.

“I mean no harm, brothers,” the man announces before he takes his helmet off.

Since you stand to the side it’s hard to identify who he is, but before curiosity can kill you, you step forward.

That’s when you see that it’s one of the twins, Ser Eryyk. He kneels before your mother and takes out…your grandfather's golden crown from his satchel.

“I swore to ward the Queen,” he doesn’t wait to interject loudly and with confidence. “With all my strength, and give my blood for hers….”

You gasp softly in disbelief, but you can’t help your small proud smile from forming on your face.

It’s good that someone wasn’t afraid to break away from the man who calls himself King, that someone is loyal to your mother; the true Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

“I shall take no wife,” Ser Eryyk continues to say his oath. “Hold no lands…father no children. I shall guard her secrets…obey her commands, ride at her side and defend her name and honor.”

You look to your mother and watch Daemon approach her with the crown. You watch with pride and glee as he sits the golden crown over her head before he kneels before her.

She seems a bit in shock that she’s getting crowned, but when it seems to pass you catch her eyes lift to the crowd as they kneel before her and declare their loyalty. Her eyes then slide to where you and your brothers are, and they proceed to bend the knee too. When her eyes then lock with yours, you shoot her a small proud smile before you lift your skirt and bend the knee before your Queen; you make your choice between sides clear now at this very moment to her and everyone else.

She is your Queen from now and until the end.

——

*LATER*

As mad as you want to be with Aemond, you can’t hold anything against him. He is not King, he probably helped his brother climb those steps, he is loyal to his family as you are to yours, but he holds little respect for Aegon. So if the war were to end now at this very moment you'd go back to as you were, you wouldn't care if he picked his side against you…

Yet….what you’d give to leave it all now at this very moment, escape all this chaos, this grief and only come back when it’s all finished.

Escaping your problems isn’t ideal, it’s better to face them head on, but wouldn’t it be marvelous to leave with that ship you're watching sailing away.

“I wonder where it’s going,” you murmur to Aerion cradled in your arms. “I saw them take in hundreds of boxes.”

Aerion takes a long blink before he rubs his eyes and yawns.

You smile softly and carsss his little cheek, “fine, fine,” you whisper. “I’ll let you sleep. Sorry.”

Aerion snuggles against you, letting you gently rock him and sing him a quiet lullaby in High Valyrian. As usual he falls asleep quickly with the sound of the lullaby’s gentle tune—Your mother used to sing it to your brothers, and to you too, but you don’t recall.

Now that Aerion is asleep though you’re left alone watching the ship become smaller and smaller as it keeps sailing into the never ending sky.

“Naath,” a husky voice startles you and forces you to stop singing. “The ship is going to Naath.”

Seven hells!

You slowly look back and just see the same lurker, the Queensguard Knight your mother assigned as your sworn protector in case team green dared to come and take you and Aerion.

“You asked—well, uh, you wondered out loud, and I didn’t want to leave you wondering…” he trails off and clears his throat. “Sorry…forgive me, Princess.” He lowers his blue eyes to the sand and steps back.

You don’t know whether to find his interruption annoying, or his stammering amusing; in all your life around Kingsguard, you’ve never met a knight get tongue tied like he did, or grow a tint of red like he does. It’s honestly a bit…cute—well he’s the exception.

Who would’ve guessed such a buff man can blush.

“What are they exporting?” You ask and decide not to let his interruption bother you. Not when you have more questions. “Do you know?”

Ser Jason Waters, the appointed Knight, slowly lifts his gaze and blinks in surprise, but he exhales slowly and then looks at the horizon. “I don’t know what they export from Dragonstone, but I do know that those fine sailors bring back silk. Like the one you wear—Not that I know you wear silk, I just assume because you’re a, you know, a princess...”

You blink repeatedly in disbelief, but you can’t help your amused smile from tugging on your lips. “I’ve heard of Naath,” you interject and look back at the ship, but it’s not over the water anymore, it’s gone from your eyesight.

It feels like your chance to leave left with it too.

“It’s the most terrifyingly beautiful place to exist.” You grin softly.

“Oh, yes,” he says and snaps your gaze back to him with flickering curiosity. “The waters are the deepest blue, shimmering when the sun hits it, which is all day. Every corner of the island is a lucious green. And the people…they’re just as beautiful.”

You twist around and face him. “You’ve been?” You ask and feel your curiosity grow, like a burning flame getting sparked to life.

Ser Jason shakes his head. “Passed by it, but we didn’t step off. We,” he chuckles softly. “We were too afraid to catch the butterfly fever.”

You hum softly and hold his twinkling blue eyes, noticing now for the first time that he wears a large thin scar right across his face; from the corner of his forehead and all the way across to the corner of his jawline, it adds to his exterior intimidation.

Now that he’s spoken to you he isn’t as intimidating though, a bit awkward, but not so intimidating.

“Why?” You ask softly. “I mean why did you travel so far and end up back here? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Ser Jason exhales deeply. “I left because I felt trapped,” he reveals, stealing every single ounce of your attention and the breath in your very lungs.

“By my poverty, by my work I hated, by the people that I hated even more. Everyday felt the same since I was a boy, so…after my mother passed I left. She wanted to know the world you see...” he pauses and his eyes begin to gleam with tears.

“So in her honor, to escape my prison, I left with the man who had watched out for me my whole life,” he continues and sniffles, but doesn’t let those tears shed. “We saw what we could of the world…and I ended back at Westeros because…” he scoffs and looks at the ground. “I heard my father was here too, he was on a long trip before, so I was curious to know who the man was.”

You hum softly and grow even more curious, but you don’t press that far, instead you ask a simple question. “Disappointed or…” you trail off and let him answer, but he looks at you and waits for you to finish. He doesn’t understand.

“Were you disappointed by who your father turned out to be, or surprised?” You explain with a small teasing smile.

“Oh,” he mouths and then responds to the wind. “I wasn’t disappointed, I couldn’t be because my mother worked in the Street of Silk. But I was sort of taken back…he’s a man with a lot of power, you see,” he shares and glances at the castle in the distance before he leans towards you as if he didn’t want someone else to hear. “A terrifying man with a terrifying name. I knew who he was before because my mother told me, but he didn’t scare me until I saw him face to face.”

You hum in comprehension, and even if you’re curious as to know who this terrifying man is, you don’t think it’s your place to ask such a personal question. You leave your mind to imagine who this powerful Lord might be.

Maybe one of the Lannister twins? Lord Jason Lannister? The knight's name is Jason too.

No, this man’s hair isn’t so blond, it’s lighter, it seems almost white under the light. Hm.

There’s too many possibilities to guess right.

“Tell me Ser what else have you seen?” You ask and change the subject back to his travels so you wouldn't dare ask who the mystery lord was. Because you would and he’d have no choice but to answer.

Ser Jason smiles rather than looking annoyed by your question. “Vaes Dothrak, well, I was forced to go there after a group of them raided a town we were staying at. That’s how I got this,” he points to his scar. “A Dothraki Screamer struck me across the face with his blade, caused me to black out and took me to Vaes Dothrak. It’s beautiful, the people are a bit frightening,” he admits, “but their culture is unique and interesting.”

You look at him with a wide-eyed wonder and hang onto every word. Once again after a long time of being at peace, as you hear his stories of his grand adventures, you feel like the girl wanting more out of life. Your dreams seem to flicker back to life as the burning curiosity grows.

“I’ve been to the Summer Isles and that’s where I got this…” he trails off and pulls out something from a pocket that you can’t see because he hides it in his fist.

“The rarest pearl in this world,” he adds, and breaks away from his spot to approach you and show off an orange-peach colored pearl you have never seen in your life until now.

“You know why?” He asks as he lifts his gaze off the pearl, and watches you admiring the pearl in his hand.

“No,” you whisper in awe to the precious stone. “Why?” You ask enthusiastically.

Ser Jason turns the pearl in his fingers and responds in his husky voice. “A Melo pearl, or also known as the Dragon pearl is rare because unlike the other pearls grown in mussels or snails, the snail that made this took decades to grow it to this size. Here.” He points to the pearl.

You carefully slide one hand away from Aerion and gently take the pearl from Ser Jason’s hold. “How did you find it?” You ask as you feel the soft stone in your fingers, and watch as the pearl gleams as if it has burning flames trapped under its glazed surface.

“Killed a man for it.”

You find nothing wrong with his answer, but he quickly laughs and shakes his head.

“No, no, I didn't kill anyone, I,” he laughs nervously, “I found it on the beach.”

You lift your gaze and meet his with a soft smile. “It’s beautiful.” You push the pearl back to him, but he pushes your hand back to you.

“Keep it, Princess,” he says.

Your smile slowly fades and you quickly shake your head. “I cannot. It’s your treasure,” you argue and shove it back to him.

Albeit Ser Jason is stubborn and pushes your hand back to you. “Keep it, please. Consider a gift for uh, well—you’re the first person to ask about my travels who actually seems interested. Besides, you'll have more use for it than me.”

You hesitate to do as he says; but you’ll be here all day if you don’t, or you’ll get mad because of his refusal, either or.

“Well the world is truly a mystery to me,” you interject as you secure the pearl in your hand. “You’d think a princess with a dragon would be able to see the marvels this world holds, but…” you scoff and glance at Aerion sleeping away. “I’m more of a prisoner…”

There it is again, that feeling that plagued you once before. The gold bars that once surrounded you are closing down on you again.

“That’s why I am glad I’m a man and a bastard.” He says a bit smugly, but he seems to catch what came out of his mouth and quickly looks terrified by what he said. “Not to discredit what you—”

You laugh softly, catching him off guard. “No, I understand completely. When I was young I wished to be a boy so I could train with my brothers and get what they did, but now I’m grateful to be a woman.” You smile at him.

Ser Jason tilts his head and his fearful gaze turns soft and curious. “Why so?” He probes curisoly, getting you excited that he expresses such excitement.

“Well—”

“Y/N!” The sound of your name called out cuts you off and forces you to look away from the knight who has gotten too close to you.

And just your damn luck, it’s Jacaerys. He’s always been way too overprotective. Like if he’s not your younger brother.

“The meeting is going to take place soon!” He shouts out so as to not walk all the way to you.

You sigh and nod, his gaze drifts to the knight and you see his gaze narrow. Ser Jason knew his stand so as soon he heard your brother, he had stepped back, but it was far too late Jacaerys had caught his approximaty.

“Come on now!”

You roll your eyes and try to push yourself up, but you struggle considering you’re carrying your son in your arms. “Could you help me?” You ask the knight.

Ser Jason glances over at your brother first before he retakes those steps back to you and wraps his hands around your arms.

“You’ll have to tell me more about your travels soon,” you mutter to him while he pulls you to your feet without any sort of strain.

Rather than pulling away right away, Ser Jason meets your gaze as you both stand close to one another. “Whatever you say, Princess—”

“No,” you cut him off with a soft smirk. “As a…friend. Like we were now.”

Ser Jason lets out a deep breath and his lips tug to a small smile. “All right,” he assures you.

You flash him a grin and hold his gaze for a second longer, realizing now how handsome this man is, he has this sort of…alluring beauty to him that captivates you now as he stands so close with his hands still around your arms.

“Good,” you whisper and pull away to catch up to Jacaerys.

“What were you doing?” He spats at you right away without bothering to look back at the man that tows behind you like a shadow.

You shrug. “Brooding and talking to Ser Jason. Can I not do that?”

Jacaerys shakes his head. “No,” he deadpans. “You cannot.”

You roll your eyes and peer back at Ser Jason to shoot him an assuring look, and mouth. “Don’t worry about it.” You then wink.

“I'm surprised your husband isn’t knocking down the castle walls demanding your return,” Jacaerys inputs, turning your attention back to him.

“He’s smarter than that,” you actually praise him. “If he’s forced to, he'll wait for the right moment and take me by force, other than that he’ll keep pleading for my return, send demands, but he won’t come himself.”

“Well he can definitely try,” Jacaerys grumbles.

As much as you have love for your brother, he’d never beat Aemond in any way, but it’s the thought that counts.

Alas, when you make it inside you return Aerion to his chambers and have Ser Jason guard him just in case while you attend a meeting.

And much to your surprise you could attend it without being a cupbearer. Aegon’s court would never allow that.

“Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen,” Daemon announces while your mother enters the hall with four guards firmly around her. “First of Her Name. Queen of the Andals, and the Rhoynar and the First Men. Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.”

You bow your head after he finishes, like everyone else in the room.

“Your Grace.” Daemon addresses her.

You lift your head and watch her approach the table shaped like Westeros map, but then quickly stop as Rhaena approaches her with a goblet.

“Wine, my Queen.”

You see your mother hesitate before she takes the goblet from Rhaena. “Thank you, Rhaena. Come,” she points to the table.

When she passes by Baela, she motions her over as well, letting her fall right by your side as you stand by your mothers when she reaches the table.

However when she does reach the table she stands in silence, you look over at her out of curiosity, thinking that maybe she’s taking in the markers on the map, but her gaze is taking in everyone around the table first before she finally breaks the silence.

“What is our standing?” She asks.

“We have a hundred crossbowmen, and 300 men-at-arms,” Daemon shares confidently. “Dragonstone is relatively easy to defend, but as an instrument of conquest. Our army leaves a lot to be desired. I sent word to my loyal men in the City Watch. I’ll have some support there, but I cannot speak for numbers.”

He speaks with so much ease, it honestly makes you feel some sort of confidence even if your numbers aren’t impressive.

He’d never hear that from you though. Pft.

“We already have declarations from Celtigar and Staunton,” the Maester cuts in. “Massey, Darklyn, Bar Emmon.”

Not much.

“My lady mother was an Arryn,” your mother interjects as you watch Jacaerys place markers on your curtain allies. “The Vale will not turn cloak against their own kin.”

“Riverrun was always a close friend to your fathers, Your Grace,” the Maester points out. “With Prince Daemon’s acquiescence, I already sent ravens to Lord Grover.”

Oh by Daemon’s acquiescence? Who gave him permission to do such matters? Your mother when she was in labor?

“Lord Grover is fickle and easily swayed,” your mother argues, “he’ll need to be convinced of the strength of our position, and that we will support him should it come to war.”

You lift your gaze off the table and drag your eyes to Daemon, knowing her comment was directed at him.

“I’m going to treat with him myself,” Daemon says and keeps his gaze on your mother. When you glance back at her she holds his gaze as if challenging him, arguing over what he did while she was abed.

“What of Storm’s End and Winterfell?” Lord Darklyn asks, snapping your attention to him at the mere reminder of Cregan.

He’d never betray his oath, he’s a Stark, and he’s simply Cregan, he’s loyal, you can swear by that. And well he would also never go against you. Regardless of how things are between him and you currently.

“There has never lived a Stark who forgot an oath,” Lord Bartimos defends Lord Stark. “And with House Stark, the North follows.”

You smirk faintly at the table and mindlessly begin to fiddle with the orange pearl you still have in your hand.

“Lord Borros Baratheon will need to be reminded of his fathers promises,” your mother inputs, causing a knight to put a marker over Winterfell, while Jacaerys puts one down too.

“What news from Driftmark?” Your mother asks your grandmother, turning everyone’s attention to her.

“Lord Corlys sails for Dragonstone.”

“To declare for his Queen,” Daemon assumes, boldly at that.

“The Velaryon fleet is my husbands yoke,” your grandmother counters. “He decides where they sail.”

You scoff smugly and pass a glare to Daemon before looking at the table.

“We shall pray for both you and your husband's support,” your mother says. “Just as we prayed nightly for the Sea Snake’s return to good health. There is no port on the Narrow Sea that would dare to make an enemy of the Velaryon fleet.” She turns and drifts the subject away to a different point. “And our enemies?”

“We have no friends among the Lannisters,” Daemon says. “Tyland has served the Hand too long to turn against him. And Otto Hightower needs the Lannister fleet.”

“Without the Lannisters, we are not like to find any allies west of the Golden Tooth.”

“No,” Daemon quickly agrees before ducking his head and continuing. “The Riverlands are essential, Your Grace.”

“Pray forgive my bluntness, Your Grace,” a Lord cuts in, “but talk of men is moot. Your cause owns a power that has not been seen in this world since the days of Old Valyria. Dragons.”

You pick up your gaze and stop rolling the pearl in between your fingers. “The Greens have dragons as well,” you remind the Lord. “Old dragons.”

“They have three adults,” Daemon keeps cutting in. “By my count. We have Syrax, Caraxes, and Meleys. Your daughter has Astraea, and your sons have Vermax, Arrax, and Tyraxes.”

Tyraxes? He’s a baby and too small, as well as Joffrey. He can’t possibly want little Joffrey fighting against three old and experienced dragons.

“Baela has Moondancer.”

“Daemon,” your mother argues. “None of our dragons have been to war.”

Without addressing that comment Daemon keeps going about more dragons. “There are also unclaimed dragons. Seasmoke still resides on Driftmark. Vermithor and Silverwing dwell on the Dragonmount, still riderless. Then there are the three wild dragons, all of whom nest here.”

“And who is to ride them?” Your mother asks what you’re thinking.

“Dragonstone has 14 to their 4. I also have a score of eggs incubating in the Dragonmount.”

And what good will that do? Does he want his toddler sons, and your infant son to control hatchlings? Tsk, please.

“Now,” Daemon continues as he grabs a marker. “We need a place to gather. A toehold large enough to house a sizable host.” He places the marker down and without as much as counseling the Queen he shares his plan. “Here, at Harrenhal. We cut off the west, surround King’s Landing with the dragons and we can have every Green head mounted on spikes before the fucking moon turns.”

You swallow thickly and once again begin to nervously fiddle with the pearl Ser Jason gave you.

“Your Grace,” Ser Eryyk interjects as he strides over. “A ship has been sighted offshore, a lone galleon, flying a banner of three headed green dragon.”

The Greens.

“Alert the watchtowers,” once again Daemon gives commands as if he’s King or hand of the Queen. He’s nothing but the simple Prince Consort—“sight the skies.” He takes his sword and storms out, leaving your mother behind.

“Mother,” you say and turn to face her.

“Stay here,” she commands right away while she turns to face you. “Where’s Ser Jason?”

“Guarding Aerion,” you answer hoping your nerves wouldn’t show.

She nods stiffly. “All right…go to your chambers and take Aerion. I doubt there will be any sort of force, but we need to be assured.”

You sigh deeply and don’t fight her commands, she leaves and you do as she asks. You wait for her and watch the skies for Vhagar, but as expected he doesn’t show, your mother returns and does share the list of commands given by Lord Otto. And amongst those demands are the release of Aerion and you, as if you were captive here with your mother.

It was ultimately up to you, she gave you that choice to return to King’s Landing, but you didn’t need to debate your choice, staying with her was the right choice. Even if it means going against Aemond.

He won’t come with Vhagar and demand your return though, of that you’re sure; they’d never let him even if he wanted to, so that’s not what worries you now. It’s your mother debating some kind of terms for peace. Sure no one wants her to see dragons go to war and destroy what comes in their path, but they stole her throne, they didn’t say the King passed, she needs to retaliate in some way to display her power.

You agree with Daemon on that much.

——

*SOMETIME LATER*

“You’re meant to be a sailor are you not?” You tease Ser Jason. “Well Polaris is…” you trail off and turn on your heels to point at the North Star, follow it and Winterfell eventually crosses your path. “There. The shiniest star.”

Ser Jason follows what you point to and mumbles. “I knew that.”

You scoff lightheartedly and shrug smugly. “It’s easy to mistake it for the Brave Man’s torching star.”

Ser Jason picks up his head, and you feel his gaze fall on you as you come to a stop in front of the shore. “Who taught you?” He asks.

“My father,” you share with a smile as you watch the sky. “I couldn’t be a sailor like him, but my dragon isn’t all knowing, so he taught us how to read the stars himself.” You blink and meet his gaze. “What’s your favorite place you’ve sailed to?”

Ser Jason exhales deeply and loses his gaze on the calm waters. “Home. No matter where I went, no place felt like home until I returned to Westeros.”

You hum softly and can’t help your intrigued smile. “You spent so much time wanting to leave that…”

“I didn’t know what I had until I left,” he finishes for you. “Yes.”

You drop your gaze to the ground and feel your smile falter. “I felt that way for a while, when I was sent to Winterfell, but then I met someone there who helped me. When I returned to King’s Landing, the feeling was always in the back of my head. Now,” you feign a laugh. “I’m afraid I’m right back where I started….wishing for more out of everything I already have.”

“Then leave,” Ser Jason says bluntly, catching your breath by surprise. No one has ever actually said that to you before, it’s always get over it or be content with what you already have.

“You are not an heir, you’re a simple princess with no burdens,” he adds. “As I see it you can leave, you're just afraid. Fear is our worst enemy.”

You part your lips but nothing comes out but a small breath. You just stare at him in disbelief, he saw right through you, more than anyone ever has.

“I mean I'm only talking by experience,” he corrects himself in your silence. “Not that we share the same experience, you’re royalty, I was a commoner, but fear…well I don’t know if you’re scared…” he trails off and clears his throat. “I was only assuming, sorry.”

You avert your gaze and slowly shake your head. “I knew what you meant, Ser,” you mumble. “Maybe I am afraid, but my duties are far more important than my dreams. This upcoming war is too. So all I can do is inhale and shove it all back, and exhale and be content with what I have.” You offer him a feigned smile and continue slowly heading back inside the castle with him now right beside you instead of behind you.

“I respect that too,” he admits.

You look over at him and offer him a genuine soft smile. Ser Jason’s gaze lowers, you watch his eyes fall to your lips before he meets your gaze and mirrors the soft gesture.

You shouldn’t have but you lingered there for a moment until a gentle breeze hit you and snapped you out of your stupor. Yet just as you were heading towards the castle a little prince comes storming out of the cave.

“Y/N, again!” Jacaerys scolds you. “This is the third time mother has sent me to come fetch you.”

You roll your eyes and skip over to hook your arm around his and lead him to the castle. “Relax, brother, I was just walking and catching some air.”

“In the skies,” he spats. “You were flying on Astraea all morning. Mother told you to keep out of the skies. Have you even gone to see Lord Corlys? He’s here you know.”

You nod. “I know, but he was asleep. I was waiting until he woke up to visit him.”

“Well,” Jacaerys scolds. “Now you have to wait until after the meeting. Mother is expecting you.”

You sigh. “I know, I know, I’m sorry.”

“You said you wanted to be a part of this,” Jacaerys continues to use that stern voice on you. “Well be a part of it.”

When you enter that hall though you’re consumed by the chaos you just wanted a small escape from. Everyone is talking over one another, pacing around the table and shouting ideas.

It doesn’t come to a stop until Ser Erryk cuts them all off with a booming announcement. “The Lord of the Tides, Lord Corlys Velaryon…”

You lift your gaze and notice the named man on top of the stairs with a cane and a bandage around his neck. It’s an odd sight seeing such a man wounded, but it’s the reality of war. He’s lucky he even lived.

“…and his wife, the Princess Rhaenys Targaryen.”

You clasp your hands in front of you and begin to roll the orange pearl in your hand once again as you watch him, your grandmother, and your cousins trailing behind them walk down the stairs so formally.

“My lords,” your grandfather greets the men around the table when he’s down the stairs.

“Lord Corlys,” your mother greets the Lord. “It brings much relief to see you hale and healthy again.”

“I’m very sorry about your father, Princess,” he says, “he was a good man.” He then turns and faces the painted table to look around at all the faces gathered around. “Where is Daemon?” He asks.

“There were other concerns which demanded the Prince’s attention,” your mother responds.

Your grandfather simply hums and passes your mother without as much as bowing, or addressing her as her proper title; Queen. He just walks past her as if she’s another one of the men.

“Your declared allies?” He points out to the few golden markers.

Your mother nods and approaches the table once more. “Yes.”

“Too few to win a war for the throne.

Your mother spares him a quick glance before countering. “Well, we would also hope to have the support of houses Arryn, Baratheon, and Stark.”

“Hope…” your grandfather cuts in. “Is the fools ally.”

You stop fiddling with the pearl and lock eyes with your mother before she returns her gaze to Lord Corlys and hardens it. “Both Arryn and Baratheon share blood with my house. But all of them swore oaths to me.”

“As did House Hightower,” your grandfather points out. “If I remember.”

“As did you, Lord Corlys,” your mother redirects with some spite that makes you proud.

Said man stays quiet for a moment, he looks back at you, your brothers standing by you, and your cousins standing by their betrothed for a brief second before focusing back on your mother.

“Your fathers realm…” your grandfather interjects loudly. “Was one of justice and honor. Our houses are bound by common blood and common cause. This Hightower treason cannot stand.” He makes clear as he proceeds to fix his stance. “You have the full support of our fleet and house. Your Grace.”

Finally.

You can’t help but share a small, faint smile at the sound of his words. Knowing the man he is, and how it’s rumored his son died, you didn’t think he’d bend the knee to your mother, but he did. Thank the gods.

“You honor me Lord Corlys,” your mother thanks him with a much softer look. “Princess Rhaenys.” She says behind her. “But,” she once again addresses the crowd. “As I said to my bannermen. “I made a promise to my father to hold the realm strong and united. If war is first, stroke is to fall, it will not be by my hand.”

“You do not mean to act?” Your grandfather questions.

“Taking caution,” your mother clarifies. “Does mot mean standing fast. I wish to know who my allies are before I send them to war.”

Your proud smile for your mother widens at the sound of her determination.

“The consequence of my…near demsie in the Stepstones…is that we now control them,” your grandfather announces, “I took care to fully garrison the territory this time. A total blockade of the shipping lanes will be in place in days, if not already. The tiarchy has been routed. The Narrow Sea is ours. If we…further seal the Gullet,” your grandfather points to the areas on the map. “We can cut off all seaborne travel and trade to King’s Landing.”

“I shall take Meleys and patrol the Gullet myself.” Your grandmother volunteers herself, seeming to surprise your mother that she did not need to command her, that it was out of her free will.

“When we drain the Narrow Sea,” Lord Bartimos interjects. “We can surround King’s Landing. Lay siege to the Red Keep and force the Greens surrender.”

It’s easier said then done isn’t it? Aemond has the biggest dragon who has seen and been a part of war. Aegon, you must admit, has a good bond with Sunfyre, and Daeron…well you don’t know him well, but his dragon can be as impressive. You’ll have to deal with them first.

“If we are to have enough swords to surround King’s Landing,” your mother inputs. “We must secure the support of Winterfell, the Eyrie, and Storm’s End.”

“I’ll prepare the ravens, Your Grace,” the maester assures her, albeit you aren’t convinced by that or sitting at home.

“No,” you interject loudly, “we should bare those messages. In my five years at Winterfell, I grew to befriend Lord Stark, and know Winterfell well, I’m sure I can speak to him and gain his support. Besides, dragons can fly faster than ravens and they’re more convincing. Send us.”

Sure you said that you needed to leave Cregan alone, but this is war, he is a loyal man but if it’s sides he needs to choose, he might sway easier to yours if you speak to him.

“The Princess is right,” your grandfather supports your suggestion, surprisingly enough. “Your Grace.”

Your mother holds your gaze and her eyes soften. She lingers in silence as she watches you before she gives her answer. “Very well. Prince Jacaerys and Princess Y/N will fly North….”

You and your brother share a brief proud look before focusing back. Sure you meant to go to Cregan by yourself, but Jacaerys might help calm your temptations.

“First to the Eyrie to see my mothers cousin, the Lady Jeyne Arryn,” your mother adds. “And then to Winterfell to treat Lord Cregan Stark for the support of the North. Prince Lucerys will fly south to Storm’s End and treat Lord Borros Baratheon. We must remind these Lords of the oaths they swore. And,” your mother exhales. “The cost of breaking them.”

You smirk proudly and nod in agreement.

——

*LATER*

“We’ll just go on a small trip,” you tell baby Aerion. “Your uncle Jacaerys, you and me.”

Aerion breathes out loudly and his blue eyes seem to search the room with a sad frown. He’s been…upset it seems today, he’s been crying more than usual, and squirming around in your arms. It frightened you at first but it then hit you, he misses Aemond.

This the longest he’s gone without being with him, and Aerion loves his father. He must be so confused as to why he hasn’t seen him, felt his warmth or smelled his scent.

But as much as you want to cure your son's longing, he needs to wait a bit longer.

“We’ll see your father soon,” you assure Aerion. “I swear. After we return from Winterfell.”

Aerion simply blinks, making you smile at him.

“Y/N?” You hear your mother call from the entrance.

You turn around and face her with a smile. “Mother,” you greet. “I’m sorry I just came to pick up Aerion.”

Your mother blinks in confusion. “Pick up? Why ever so?”

You swallow thickly and sigh. “If the Greens find out I left him here all alone, I’m sure someone will come and take him. I can’t risk that.”

Your mother nods and then breaks away from the entrance to reach you and grab your hand. “My sweet, leave Aerion here, we will protect him. You won’t take long but with the way things are it’s too dangerous for him to accompany you.” She cups your cheek and caresses it gently.

“Nothing will happen to that child,” another voice cuts in, pulling both yours and your mothers gaze back to the entrance. That’s when you see Daemon with his face covered in smoke, and his hair all messy. “Rest easy princess, we will watch over the little prince.”

You don’t like him, but you do know of his reputation, he’s fierce and he’s been…loyal to your mother, out of everyone here there’s no else you’d trust more with the protection of Aerion.

Yet you still meet your mothers gaze to press for her reassurance.

“We swear it,” she comforts you softly.

You let out a deep breath and nod slowly before you look down at Aerion with sadness. “I’ll return to you my boy. Soon. I promise.” You lean down and press a gentle kiss on his forehead.

Aerion reaches out to grab your face, so you let him touch your cheeks.

You giggle and then can’t help but snuggle him against you. “Oh, I love you. I’ll see you soon.” Before you decide not to leave or sob you place him back in his cradle and walk out with a heavy heart.

For however long you’ll be gone is the longest you’ll be without Aerion since he was born. When he was first born even being apart from him for just a couple minutes pained you, and now? You’ll be gone for days, you’ll probably die.

Yet the promise of seeing Cregan does excite you even if it shouldn’t. Even after the promise you made yourself. How will he react when he sees you?

It hasn’t been long since you stopped writing to him, he probably hasn’t grown concerned as to why he hasn’t gotten a response from you, but will he know of your attempts?

You did write back with short sentences last time in attempts to stop yourself from talking to him, so will he know? Will he be upset?

Hopefully not.

Alas, before you could attempt leaving Dragonstone to be one mile closer to Cregan, your mother asked to speak to your brothers and you first before your departure.

“It’s been said that as Targaryens, we are closer to gods than to men,” your mother says. “The Iron Throne puts us a touch closer, perhaps. But, if we are to serve the Seven Kingdoms…we must answer to their gods. If you take this errand, you go as messengers…not as warriors.” She shakes her head. “You must take no part in any fighting. Swear it to me now, under the eyes of the Seven.”

Ser Eryyk brings forth the holy book of the Seven, and Lucerys has no hesitation to respect your mothers wishes. “I swear it,” he assures her.

Jacaerys and you hesitate albeit.

Only you don’t hesitate because of any objections to her demands, it’s just why those gods?

You don’t have faith in the New Gods, but if it’s what she wants.

“I swear,” you assure your mother after Lucerys, leaving Jacaerys.He hesitates for a moment longer, but he then leans in and presses his hand on the book.

“I swear it.”

The book is then pulled away, letting your mother continue with the matter at hand. “Cregan Stark is,” she says, making your breath falter. “Closer to your age than to mine. I would hope, that as men you can find some common interest. And well, as friends,” she shifts her attention to you. “You’d find no trouble.” She finishes and hands Jacaerys the messages.

“Yes, your Grace,” you assure her confidently.

Her attention than slowly drifts to Lucerys and her gaze softens at the obviously worried look on your little brothers face.

“Storm’s End is a short flight from here,” she assures him softly. “You have Baratheon blood from your grandmother Rhaenys. And…Lord Borros is an eternally proud man. He’ll be honored to host a Prince of the Realm and his dragon.” She hands Lucerys the scroll and holds onto his hand a bit longer. “I expect you will receive a very warm welcome.”

Lucerys nods. “Yes mother—y-your Grace.”

You share a teasing smile with Jacaerys at the sound of your brother's stammer. When he returns to your side albeit you caress his shoulder to assure his concerns.

“Go to it then,” your mother orders softly.

You offer her one last smile before you head to where your dragons await for all of you. However, before you can climb on Astraea’s back, you also assure Lucerys.

“You’ll be back before us, so see you after we return, hm?”

Lucerys glances at Jacaerys and then at you and nods softly.

You shoot him a grin and pat his shoulder.

“You be careful too,” he redirects.

You scoff softly and walk back to Astraea. “Always, baby brother,” you counter sweetly.

Now when you turn to face your dragon you can’t help but fill with excitement to see Cregan again. You shouldn’t, but you can’t help it.

.

.

.

.

.

A/N- Ser Jason does not have his fathers rizz

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton

#fanfiction #damn-stark #moonlight #house of the dragon #chapter 8 #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x velaryon!reader #Cregan stark #cregan stark fanfiction #cregan stark fanfic #cregan stark x targaryen!reader #Cregan stark x Fem!reader #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x y/n #rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen #new character #jacaerys velaryon #lucerys velaryon #baela targaryen #rhaena targaryen #lord Corlys #fluff #angst

[the-desilittle-bird]

Author's Note- Sorry for late update but exams got me busy.

Thank you and Enjoy your reading!

The White Dragon

I Have Seen (Chapter 2)

Summary- Proposal of marriage between Aerea and Cregan has been spelled out and a friendly sparring follows

Tag List- @eliseline, @little-moonbeam-666, @blackhoodlea, @omgsuperstarg, @shopping, @lizlovecraft, @dayane, @bbgmonsay, @michelle-26-blog, @all-things-fandomstuck, @hc-geralt-23, @chevelledahuman, @morganastrucker, @shrexy, @helloitsshitzulover, @daringboba, @minaxcarter, @b-tchymoon, @stargaryenx, @hukio, @targaryenmoony, @moon-light1415, @eudximoniakr, @themaze13, @candypurplebutterfly, @5moremin, @yariany02, @issybee0611, @beefbaby25, @shine101, @hopebaker, @andlizeth, @hyacinthus007, @lightdragonrayne, @prettykinkysoul, @mcam623, @marvelescvpe, @severewobblerlightdragon, @deltamoon14, @let-love-bleeds-red, @thatgirlthatreadswattpad, @ultrav0lence, @random-shit-i-like-2

If anybody want their names to be added or removed from the tag list, then leave a comment.

Warnings- Mentions of Arranged Marriage, Westrosi Things, Fencing.

Chapter 1 Chapter 3

"I have seen you and Princess engage in conversation at the day of the feast, my lord," Otto said, his eyes watching the wolf lord who sat in front of him. Alicent sat next to her father, watching Cregan with cautious eyes.

"I would like to assure you that it was nothing related to any betrothal," Cregan replied, his mind trying to find a way out of this increasingly awkward conversation. "We have been made aware of that, my lord."

Cregan was suddenly realizing the intentions of the Hightower Lord and the Queen as to why they pressured Cregan into thinking at the first place. Cregan was, after all, the Lord of a Great House of the Seven Kingdoms and the Targaryens were on the verge of a war between two proportions of the dragons.

"Is it what the princess desires?" Cregan asked, watching with interest as Otto looked on the verge of losing his patience. "The princess has approved of the betrothal, if you approve of it, my lord," Alicent said, her fingers playing with the skirt of her gown.

"Who else has been deemed worthy of the hand of Princess Aerea?" The Wolf Lord queried, leaning in. "Lord Baratheon and..." Otto hesitated to say the name of his second grandson, as he was aware of the disgust people felt towards the incestuous marriages in the Targaryen House.

"And, my lord?" Cregan toyed, sadisticaly, enjoying the look on the Lord's face. "And my son, my lord. Aemond Targaryen," Alicent said, making Cregan nod, humming as his mind processed and formulated a plan.

"May I speak to princess beforehand? If you have no offense, My Queen," Cregan asked, his eyes trained at the green queen. Alicent glanced at his father before looking at Cregan, giving him a small nod.

"You will find her in the training grounds, my lord," Alicent informed Cregan who nodded his gratitude before departing. His shoulders squared as he walked straight towards the training grounds.

Usually filled with dozens of guards and young lords and knights, stood empty in front of Cregan's stormy eyes except for two guards guarding the entrance. "I wish to see the princess. On queen's order."

The guards spared a look before nodding, letting the Wolf Lord walk in. The ground was completely silent except for the sound of a steady breathing. The voice of an arrow hitting something solid echoed through the large span of earth's surface.

Princess Aerea stood a few feet away from the wooden target. Three arrows already attached to the target; two around the bullseye and one right on it. Her posture remained firm as she calculated another arrow's path through the air.

She wore a black leather tunic she usually wore for dragon riding. A red dragon stitched on its back. Aerea paired the tunic with black pants, and dark brown boots. Her silver hair firmly set in a bun, keeping the strands away from her face.

Her hands let the arrow go skillfully. Time slowed down as Cregan watched the arrow flew through the air and split the arrow on the bullseye into half. Cregan smirked, slowly raising his hand to clap.

Aerea turned around, surprised. Her violet eyes widened as she found the wolf lord clapping. A light shade of red flushed her face as she looked around with a shy smile. Her fingers caressed the bow to comfort herself.

"Lord Stark," she nodded with a smile. "Princess Aerea, your skills are amazing," Cregan gestured to the target, letting his face soften. "Thank you, my lord. This is all due to my uncle Daemon," Aerea said, her eyes watched as the lord moved closer, yet keeping an appropriate distance.

"I see, he has taught you well, my princess," Cregan commented before turning to face the princess of the realm. "I am here to address an important topic," he continued, his voice firm and unwavering. His hands clasped behind his back, giving him a regal posture.

"I suppose my mother and grandsire has spoken to about..." Aerea left the sentence incomplete, instead, deciding to fiddle with the string of her special bow.

Cregan nodded, his eyes moving to the sword hanging around her waist. "Do you wield sword?" Cregan asked, amused. "Yes, my lord," Aerea smirked, her fingers reached for the dragon shaped pommel. "Would you mind?" He continued to ask, walking casually to a sword lying in the corner.

"I must admit, I am terrifically fantastic, my lord. I hope you don't have a fragile ego," Aerea mocked, unsheathing her sword and letting her body and mind take over, as her uncle had told her. "Then it would be interesting."

Cregan studied the lady before striking first, his movement rough yet fast; but Aerea was even faster. With her elegant moves and quick mind, she dodged every attack landed by the lord, coming up with hers when an opportunity arisen.

"Why did you agree to our betrothal?" Cregan went to attack her left side, but Aerea was smart enough to sense it and block it with her sword. "Why wouldn't I? I wish to leave this place and what other way except for to marry someone."

Aerea ducked underneath Cregan's hand as he raise his sword to attack her. She went for his legs but Cregan quickly stepped back, letting his sword touch hers in mocking.

"Why not someone else?" Cregan stepped back, taking a deep breath. He had surely not anticipated this sort of fight from a princess of the realm. "Why marry someone you don't know?" Aerea huffed, her breath uneven.

"Why not your brother?" Cregan moved his sword and tried to land an attack on Aerea's left leg, succeeding partially as he caught her off guard by his question. Aerea stepped back to avoid the lord's sword but she stumbled back, falling on the ground.

"Not him. At no cost," Aerea whimpered, shaking her head as she looked up. Cregan could spot the faint fear in her deep and beautiful eyes. Her face neutralizing from her usual smiling face.

"What shall I get in return?" Cregan asked, offering the dragon princess a hand to help her stand up. "Whatsoever you wish for, my lord," Aerea said, letting her small hand slip into his larger ones.

"I will let you know when the times come then, princess."

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