#grima x reader

[lexsssu]

Same (Grima!Robin)

TAGS: Grima(M)!Robin/Dragoness!reader, enemies to lovers, heats/ruts, dirty talk, smut, oneshot Ao3 ver.

“Am I really so interesting you must pester me?”

That was the first sentence Grima had ever directed at you, which you replied to by narrowing your eyes at him as shining gold clashed with blazing red. You’d think that seeing as you both were Fell Dragons there would be a certain kinship between you despite coming from completely different worlds.

Sadly, you didn’t expect how surly and simply aggravating he was to be with when you only wanted to form a friendship with him. 

With a huff, your great wings appeared from your back and flew you away from the irritable god, intending to play with the dragon children instead or even enjoy a cup of tea with Corrin & Kamui.

Grima’s crimson eyes glowed in the dark as he stared at your receding back, a faint tugging sensation in his chest making itself known the moment you were a fair distance away from him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You are a curious one...You willingly come to chat with me? The fell dragon? Alone?”

“Listen here, mister. In case you haven’t noticed or gotten the memo yet...I’M A FELL DRAGON TOO!”

In your anger, you stepped right up to Grima until your face was but centimeters away from his, albeit you were a bit on the shorter side but your confidence and projection made you all the more taller.

The surly sorcerer surprisingly didn’t feel that your words or tone was disrespectful, nor did he feel irritated at how closely you stood before him as if you were equals. Rather, he felt quite...intrigued.

He normally had no qualms about sending anyone who irritated him a severe beatdown or even death if he was feeling merciful, but you? The silver-haired male couldn’t help but find your actions quite...endearing if he was being honest with himself. 

You bare your claws and fangs at him as if to intimidate him, but your actions proved otherwise. The fact that you always rebuked him for his “ mistakes ” only to still look back aggrievedly as if waiting for him to coax you always left him feeling VERY bemused.

Why, you were like fledgeling clumsily trying to attract a mate by acting coquettish without even knowing what your actions were suggesting!

“Be careful with your words and actions, girl. Lest someone take them as an invitation for something more.”

And he left just like that, leaving you utterly bewildered by his cryptic riddles.

“What is this man raving about again…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Will you be my mate and bear my young or must you continue this game of chase with me? Bear in mind the fact that regardless of your answer...I will have you whimpering beneath me and crying for my seed in your womb,” the male dragon growled in your ear, a delighted shiver travelling down your spine as fluids shamefully collected at your untouched lower lips.

The both of you were away from Askr’s castle, in a secluded cave ways away from any hero, enemy, or even civilian who might stumble into it by chance. Piles of fur meticulously cleaned laid on the cold, hard ground and providing comfort and warmth from the abrasive floor. 

Yet, their warmth was nothing compared to the large, strong, and practically burning hot body that caged your own against the mass of furs. However, the hottest part was the groin that unashamedly rubbed and ground itself against your soft buttocks. Even within the confines of his trousers, Grima’s cock stood tall and proud as it tented against the fabric, caressing your cunt and further ruining the once pristine pair of panties you wore. The fabric had already turned transparent with how much juices leaked out of your lewd pussy, a fact that the damned god took great pleasure in.

“Look at how much slick you drip just from this alone and tell me...does it not please you to mate with the only male of our kind? I see how you care for the whelps within the Order and thought...would it not be better to have hatchlings of our own for you to mother?”

As you ponder dazedly over his words, he takes the time to lick and nibble at the junction between your neck and shoulder. Biting at the area teasingly as he continued his ministrations, letting you feel the sweltering heat of his hard cock as he humped your pussy from behind, ready to mount you at a moment’s notice but refraining from taking that final step.

“I’ll be good to you, on my honor as a Fell Dragon. I will provide and care for you as a mate should and that extends to all children that will be born from our union. Never shall I stray and forever we shall stay together.”

“...Grima, please…”

The sound of a dragon’s roar echoed through the cave and resounded through the kingdom, alerting both citizens and the Order alike, but no one could find the source.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was only until three days later that you and your new husband/mate reappeared before the shocked eyes of the heroes. A proud mark shone on your neck, looking less like a bite mark and more like a tattoo as it shone a bright red whereas Grima’s which shone like gold on his left collarbone above where his heart should be was hidden beneath his cloak.

No one made a comment about your abrupt disappearance and return together. Nor did they attempt to inquire about the slight roundness of your belly, too afraid to earn Grima’s ire which was all too easy to do and usually resulted into a none too pretty sight. 

Judging by the way the Fell Dragon menacingly hovered over you, it was within the best interests of everyone not to ask any questions.

#lexsssu writes #fire emblem heroes #fire emblem #fire emblem awakening #fe awakening #grima x reader #grima x you #grima x y/n #feh grima x reader #crossposted on ao3

[cherry-flavoured-thot]

//Let our hearts connect through our lips// 

Fire emblem various, first kiss drabbles

Edelgard’s nerves are tempting her to retreat. Only for her pride to demand she stays and drives forward. She’s fought in battlefields with near impossible odds against her at every move, and yet... she finds you far more daunting. Not you as an individual, you as the influence you have on her. No one makes her heart stir so great, or for her to hesitate so much. She knows now is the moment, now that you’re both alone, close together as the sun starts to set. It’s when you look at her, waiting, that she finally rallies up the courage to lean across and press her lips to yours. 

You should be grateful. Grima can take as they please, knowing a life of great offerings for every whim they could have prior to being summoned to your cause. And yet they are ever patient with you, as it’s clear by how many heroes clamor for shreds of your time that your affection has some merit to it. For a human that it is. But their patience has grown thin, you’re skittish. Letting something as worthless as embarrassment get in the way when they finally seem to get close enough. “Human, come here.” Not this time, they have you to themselves. And when you do come close, you’re being pulled into their lap, a heated kiss only a starting point for the affection they plan on claiming from you. 

It should be easy, all Inigo needs to do is ask if he can kiss you. How hard could it be? He can practically tell you anything, from bad jokes which if they don’t make you laugh you at least smile, to whatever is bothering him at the time and when he does you’re always sympathetic. But as he looks between you, your lips and the vacant space behind you, he realises it is in fact quite difficult to ask you such a thing. He’s considering making a quick escape when you start to pout at him. “You know for someone who talks a big game, I’m disappointed that you haven’t asked to kiss me yet.” He sputters an excuse that he was just about to do that, you don’t seem convinced but he doesn’t let it stop him from finally asking you the question. When you say yes, he wastes no time to make his move, all his nerves from earlier spilling away as he kisses you. 

Alfonse isn’t normally so forward. It seems that whenever you’re involved impulsiveness becomes an apparent trait in him, to the point that at times his own actions surprise himself. It was coincidental running into you so late, however a moment where it’s just you and him is rare, an opportunity he quickly snatches by asking you to walk with him. You’ve both paused, noting how bright the moon is and as he stares at you, he finds that it’s light behind you has formed a halo. He’s in awe as he reaches out and presses a hand to your face, only becoming aware of his actions after he does so. A silence falls over you both, waiting for a reaction or action from the other. He decides, that since he’s already come this far, to close the gap between you, eventually causing his lips to meet against yours. 

#edelgard #edelgard von hresvelg #edelgard x reader #grima #grima fe #grima feh #grima x reader #inigo #inigo fe #inigo x reader #alfonse #alfonse fe #alfonse feh #alfonse x reader #fire emblem #fe #fire emblem heroes #feh #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #fire emblem awakening #fe:a #my writing tag

[lovehotelreservation]

chell level w me for a min . grima fell king chrom dp

I'LL LEVEL WITH U WHILE THESE EVIL BICHES LEVEL UR HOLES

Focuses on a female reader~

🔞 Warning: contains themes of unhealthy possessive behavior, dub-con, and breeding/impregnation! 🔞

"If conquest of the land is within sight, surely the next step for a king would be to bear an heir, no?"

It was a question that Grima posed to Chrom--lips curled into a devious smirk, his voice husky and sinister.

For his inquiry was actually meant to be a teasing threat directed at you.

After all, you were trapped.

Stuck in the middle between both Grima and Chrom, stuffed full with both of their cocks while they continued to ravage you mercilessly.

The former--whose villainy was known from the beginning--took much pleasure in your feeble whines as he continued to spear the full length of his dick into your ass and mark your neck with his fanged teeth.

As for the latter, he commanded a possessive grip on your hips while he proceeded on with slamming into your core. His eyes--at once an ocean blue--were now a deep crimson, gazing at you not as one would affectionately do their love, but as a mere object for him to claim and own.

It was his descent into darkness that made for a heartbreaking plummet for you to bear witness, and was was why you dared to brave the path to the lair where he had gone to conspire with the Fell Dragon to rebel against the Order of Heroes.

Against you.

Chrom let out a grunt as he reinforced his hold on your hips, sparing not a moment more to quicken the already vigorous pace he was pounding into your core by. His darkened eyes staring right into yours, he declared, "The Fell Army will need capable heirs to lead us to our rightful victory. Your body, your womb, your future--all will be in service to our will."

While you were left to grab onto his shoulders helplessly, your heart torn and your body overwhelmed, Grima let out a delighted cackle as he eagerly joined in thrusting into you even harder as well.

"Oh, how I long for the day when those fools at the Order of Heroes finally arrive for your rescue, Summoner! Their beacon of hope now reduced to a pitiful whore whose only purpose is to be bred and bear heirs!"

His gloved hand trailed to the back of your head as he pushed you forward, making your lips slam right onto Chrom's. He soon brought his lips to your ear as he chanted hauntingly,

"So break for us now! Break for us! Break for us! Break for us!"

You shuddered, your body trembling as you braced for yet another orgasm.

How desperately you tried to cling to hope as it quickly slipped through your fingers.

Soon, you would have no other choice but to cling onto these heartless men instead.

#grima x reader #chrom x reader #reader insert #super freaknasty writing #Fic

[fire-emblem-drabbles]

Master List: Fire Emblem Awakening

Chrom: not sfw; All Tied Up, “Is it so wrong to want you to only smile at me? It feels weong but I can’t help but feel that way.”, the summoner is a single mother to a 3 yr old girl and Chrom cannot help but have huge dad energy,

Cordelia: trans Cordelia, not sfw; first time together,

Gangrel: first fic I ever posted on this blog!, sometimes Sydney can write things for herself. as a treat, Vengeance; a 10k oneshot about how much I love Gangrel,

Grima: sometimes a dragon can be soft, “You’ve got me wrapped around your finger.”, your love is enough for me, Chimerical, “Next time they touch what’s mine I’ll rip their fucking arms off.”, Teaching Traditions,

Priam: cute early mornings,

Robin: “You told me you love me you can’t take that back“,

Tharja: Stay a little while longer,

Walhart: “You think I’m watching you? Don’t flatter yourself.”

#Fire Emblem Awakening #chrom x reader #cordelia x reader #Gangrel x reader #grima x reader #priam x reader #robin x reader #tharja x reader #walhart x reader

[francis-writes]

A true alliance

Grima Wormtongue x gn!reader

Summary: you're a messenger of Denethor and due to your duties, you often visit Rohan. For some time your relation with Theoden's advisor was purely professional but now you wonder if you could get closer to Grima...

a/n: in defense of the quality, i finished this story with a light fever

You were wandering across the halls of Meduseld, looking for a familiar silhouette. Everything you were supposed to discuss about cooperation between Rohan and Gondor was already established. Servants were packing your bags and you were going to leave next day, to tell the Steward everything you found out. The rest of your company were now relaxing to get ready for a long journey but you had important thing to do now. At least if you're brave enough. How weird, you fought in many battles, you couldn't count how many times you almost left this world. But death didn't scare you as much as talking about your feelings. Or specifically: possibility of refusal. If it was any other person, you could try to avoid them. But how would you explain to Steward that you can't represent him in Rohan because Theoden's advisor turned you down?

You didn't even have anybody to talk about it. Everybody you knew in Rohan definitely didn't like Grima. They thought he was sleazy, shady and physically repulsive. Well, they had a point, especially in two first statements but you liked him, maybe a bit too much. He was beautiful the way eclipse is stunning, the way a swamp attracts wanderers, the way poisonous species of spiders delight with the shine of their fur.

A familiar voice interrupted your thoughts.

"where are you rushing to?"

You turned around to see Grima standing in the shadow. You never understood how he was able to stand in the shadow, unnoticed by anybody.

"Uhh, Grima..." you looked for words, wondering if your plan was a good idea "Actually I was looking for you"

"Me?" Grima stepped closer, his cape was dragging on the floor. "What would you need my humble person for, when the official talks have ended?"

"In fact..." you fell silent.

"What's the problem? I know you for a few years and I never saw you in lack of words, even though during a few arguments I wished I did"

"I just... really appreciate working with you but I was wondering ... perhaps would you like to meet in more private setting?"

Grima raised an eyebrow (or at least he would if he had any).

"You mean... for political matters or maybe..." he reached his hand as if he wanted to touch your face. You leaned over a bit.

"...maybe for more personal things?"

You took a deep breath as his fingers gently brushed your skin. Well, you started it, you had to finish it.

"I want to meet with you not as representant of Gondor, but rather like two people who are bounded by something more than job"

His face stayed motionless so you added:

"If it's not for your liking, I will accept your refusal and we will forget about this"

"No..." Grima said quietly.

You nodded and turned back to walk away but he grabbed your arm.

"Wait! I just wanted to say that I see no reason you would be interested in me"

You looked him in the eyes, wondering if it's a delicate way to turn you down but then you noticed hope in his eyes.

"Grima Wormtongue,  don't doubt yourself! If didn't see anything worthy in you, I wouldn't come here, risking rejection and shame. I am not that reckless as you find me. You're a smart, charming man and you have no more flaws than me. Just tell me and don't keep me uncertain. Do you accept my offer?"

He smiled. "Yes. Shall we go to my chambers and spend some time together before you have to leave?"

"Don't you have duties?"

"Nothing that needs to be done in a hurry. I have duties everyday but you don't visit often. Like a butterfly that sits on a flower for a brief moment, to bless you with his sight but then leaves in a second"

*

Grima's chamber was spacious but dark. There was a mess - books and letters laying on all surfaces but it wasn't as uncomfortable place as you thought when you managed to catch a glipmse of this room before. During your visits in Rohan you talked with Grima a lot, as politicians and as a friends but you always did it walking through the corridors of Meduseld or observing the night sky.

After some time of waiting, Grima came back with two goblets and a bottle of wine.

"Forgive me that I didn't call the servants or asked them for a more proper meal but I didn't want them to disturb our... privacy"

He moved mess on the table with his elbow and put the cups down. He started to pour wine, looking at you every now and then but avoiding steady eye contact. He handed you your goblet and pointed at the bed.

"May we sit?"

When you both sat, close to each other but still keeping a little distance, Grima looked at you, yet it seemed like he was talking to your hands or knees.

"Again, forgive the setting. I am not used to having guests" You put your hand on his and a sudden shudder ran through his body.

"There's no need to apologize. I am pleased with any setting as long as you're there"

Grima looked up at your smiling face.

"That's... flattering to hear. I must admit I am in loss of words"

"Grima Wormtongue in loss of words? Unbelievable. It never happened during all years of my work"

He fell silent for a moment. You were worried you offended him but before you thought about words of comfort, he spoke again.

"Let be clear, so I don't misunderstand your intentions: do you wanna be with me... like a lover? Like a life companion?"

"I do. Do you want it as well?"

"I used to dream about you but I never supposed it would come true" he hesitated "In that situation... may I kiss you?"

You smiled and leaned over.

"I think there's no need for further questions"

#grima wormtongue x reader #grima wormtongue

[anarchy-n-glitter]

Blood of the Dragon

Another long chapter just a heads up. I don't think I have any warnings this time, maybe just for Viseryon's previous behavior being mentioned.

Chapter Summary: A mystery begins to unfold in Edoras as the city erupts into chaos. What better time is there to sew the seeds of doubt into the king's mind and embed yourself within the king's court?

(Chapter 1 HERE, Chapter 2 HERE)

(Song inspo: Me and The Devil - Soap&Skin, The Green Dress - HOTD soundtrack)

CHAPTER 3:

Lady Aelora Dressed in Red

It was dawn. The sky was clear and painted with different shades of orange and lavender as the sun rose slowly over the snowy peaks of the mountains on the horizon. The air was as frigid as the day before, the winds whipping harshly for so early in the morning. In the distance, just beyond the grand Starkhorn, grey clouds gathered and grew darker. A storm was coming, and it was likely to bring the first snow of the season. 

Rohan had not seen a snowy winter since the Long Winter, and with each morning that grew colder and colder, and as the clouds grew darker and darker, the people of Rohan worked harder to prepare. 

If the next cold, unforgiving winter was not to come that year it certainly would come the next, bearing its ugly teeth through icicles that clung to the sodden rooftops and frostbite that killed their livestock, young, and the sickly. 

Hilda stifled a yawn, pressing the back of her hand hard against her mouth to hide the slight way it opened as she was given her morning assignment. The lead housemaid, an older woman named Godiva, handed Hilda clean linen and fresh water for the Lord Draecyr. The look of disappointment in the older woman’s wrinkled eyes did not go unnoticed by Hilda. The younger woman had been late; her dress was wrinkled and her strawberry blonde hair was still tousled from when she woke up, and the wind certainly didn’t help straighten out her appearance. It seemed as if Hilda hadn’t gotten much rest the night before, but in truth she overslept. 

The young woman was surprised when the dawn came so quickly, for it never felt like she fell asleep at all. She slept so soundly through the night, yet that morning she hardly felt rested. She stifled another yawn.

Godiva huffed and ran her hands along Hilda’s skirt, aggressively trying to straighten out the wrinkles before sending the younger maid to Lord Viseryon’s room. “You better hope he isn’t awake.” The lead housemaid grumbled. “Don’t let him see you like this.” 

The older woman’s instructions and warning sent shivers down her back. Hilda was well aware of Lord Viseryon’s awful temper; she'd watched him snap at her fellow maids on multiple occasions, raising a hand to them even if he never did strike them. He would apologize immediately, of course, running a hand across his face and flashing his large, grey eyes. He would smile bashfully as if he hadn’t been acting like a toddler moments before. 

Most of the women feared him, the men hated him and avoided him, and most recognized what a nuisance he truly was. Hilda noticed how people would rather stand beside Wormtongue than be near the Lord Draecyr and it was all due to his sour attitude. I would much rather be made uncomfortable by Wormtongue’s quiet, creeping presence than be snapped at and nearly hit by Lord Viseryon, thought Hilda. She had noticed even his own creation thought the same. Lady Aelora had been spotted alone with Wormtongue quite a few times, and Hilda heard from a few of the wash maidens that they saw the two in a loving embrace. 

She had been walking along the banks of Snowbourn, carrying a basket full of cloth that she had washed thoroughly. Hilda had been on laundry duty that day, as much as she hated the job, and she was on her way to report back to Godiva when the conversation of two other wash women caught her attention.

The wash women giggled at the scandalousness of it all, making jokes about the advisor and his new dragon blooded mistress as they washed their clothes and linen in the river. 

“I can’t believe she lets him get that close to her!” One exclaimed in a hushed tone. “He looks like he smells of fish.” 

“I saw him following her around when she first got here, then, last night, I saw him enter her chambers! He’s so creepy… why she would ever entertain his presence I have no idea.” The other answered before going back to scrubbing the garment in her hand. 

“She is a dragon blood, maybe he’s the first man to give her attention. He seems desperate enough.” The other maiden gasped and lightly slapped her friend’s shoulder. 

“You say that like Lady Aelora is ugly.” 

“Well…” The first maid trailed off, prompting the other to roll her eyes. 

“It’s alright to say you’re jealous because no man in Rohan would look at you the way he does her.” Hilda arched a brow at that. Certainly they hadn’t been close enough to see how they looked at each other. She left the girls alone, their shrill laughter fading as she rushed to find Godiva in Meduseld… and then she saw them.

Just behind the hall, partially obscured by the grand walls of Meduseld, she saw Lady Aelora and Wormtongue. Indeed, they were kissing, and from the looks of it the lady didn’t seem to mind where the grotesque advisor’s hands wandered. Hilda let out a gasp and dropped her basket before hurrying behind a rocky formation, laying flat against the ground so as to not be seen by the lovers. She could hardly believe what she was seeing. The maid let out another, quieter gasp, for her eyes did not deceive her. 

When the duo pulled away she saw how tenderly Wormtongue caressed the lady’s cheek. She saw the bright smile that grazed Lady Aelora’s face. She was almost taken by the breathtaking beauty that Aelora was, with her silver hair and otherworldly smile. The dragon blood was nearly elf-like in grace and looks. She wondered, just like the maids before, why Aelora would entertain Wormtongue’s presence like she had been. Certainly she could have anyone she wanted. For a moment, Hilda could have been fooled into thinking the two had been in love the whole time and had known each other for years. Wormtongue led Aelora slightly further behind Meduseld and sat in the grass, his form nearly disappearing completely in the sea of green. She heard Lady Aelora let out a small giggle as she lifted her skirt and joined him in the grass, straddling his hips. 

Hilda determined she’d seen enough, hoping to get out of there before seeing parts of either party she’d rather not, and since she felt like a dirty voyeur as it was. The noises Lady Aelora made were embarrassing enough to have to listen to. The maid hopped to her feet, collecting the now soiled laundry back into the basket before finding the established path to Meduseld. Her feet found the stone steps and it felt like she’d found sanctuary. 

She wondered what she’d do with this newfound information. Would it be wise of her to forget what she saw, or would she engage in gossip alongside her fellow maids? Hilda was shocked by how little discretion they had about this dirty little secret. She would have thought the king’s advisor would be more careful to not expose a potential affair, and with a dragon blood nonetheless. 

Hilda had rushed inside the Great Hall that day, shutting the doors as quickly as possible. She let out a small squeak and pressed her back onto the heavy, wooden doors, as if she were hiding the advisor’s secret herself. Her eyes struggled to adjust to the darker atmosphere of the hall, at the moment she was only able to see silhouettes of people in the distance. When her eyes did adjust she noticed just how crowded it was. A number of noble women were lounging about the space, some were seated at tables, while some laid across the steps by the throne. They were all accompanied by handmaidens, some of which the maid recognized. Hilda’s eye was caught by a woman wearing lavender whose golden hair was being braided by the maiden Cwenhilde.

This woman, with fair skin and dark eyes, was Lady Beolyn. Her father, Beonræd, had served the court of Edoras for decades before his service was determined to be no longer needed. Her family was well respected and still lived in the lap of luxury. Beolyn was seated on the steps closest to the center of the room. The little sunlight that filtered through the roof fell upon her, casting a cool white light on her, as if even the heavens above favored her. Her focus was taken by the larger than life man before her. 

He was seated on top of a table in the middle of the hall, practically lounging on it with one foot on the wooden top with the other resting on the bench below. Surrounded by women, he strummed at his lute and sang softly and sweetly a ballad about love and longing. His sapphire eyes were glued to the lady in lavender, and with how passionately he sang it could be assumed he was singing about Beolyn. The small smile on his face told Hilda it would be hard to get him alone. 

The man, Kenric, was a musician who traveled with other musicians across Middle Earth, performing in different courts and cities for the noble men and women. Kenric especially loved performing for the women. He was a very flirtatious man whose only weakness is a pretty face, and to him it was clear Beolyn was the prettiest of all. He enjoyed having the freedom of moving from place to place, yet he seemed to love lingering in Rohan, and Hilda knew he lingered for Lady Beolyn. His carefree, womanizing nature could never hide how he looked at the Lilac Lady of Edoras. 

The way Kenric looked at Beolyn hurt.

“Oh Hilda, you’re all dirty!” Cwenhilde exclaimed from behind Beolyn, drawing everyone’s attention to the maid. Cwenhilde was right, Hilda was truly a mess. Mud clung to the muted green of her skirt and corset and soiled the sleeves of her turquoise blouse. Every time she shifted she could feel the dirt grind uncomfortably against her skin, and she felt the way it clung to her cheek. The maid smiled sheepishly and tucked a strand of reddish blonde hair behind her ear. She would not spill the advisor’s secrets in front of - what used to be - half of the king’s court. 

“I fell outside.” She lied, much to the amusement of some of the ladies there. Kenric’s sky colored gaze fell upon the basket of dark colored linen in Hilda’s grasp. He could see splotches of mud and clumps of grass clinging to the drenched heap. Drops of water leaked through the straw and dripped onto the stone floor. There was a puddle. 

“Looks like Wormtongue will be without bedding tonight.” Kenric smirked. The women all giggled amongst themselves at his observation. His eyes met hers and she felt her throat tighten. “Godiva might actually kill you for this one after she rushes you back out to fix that. Or she’ll give you a worse assignment than this one was as punishment.” Washing Wormtongue’s sheets was supposed to be a punishment for tripping and breaking an entire table’s worth of dishware the day before. She couldn’t possibly imagine what worse fate Godiva would sentence her to for this blunder. Hilda grimaced at the thought.

“I am not reporting to Godiva like this.” Hilda stated firmly before waltzing up to Kenric. The women around them began to whisper amongst themselves, most likely making fun of Hilda for her appearance. Beolyn still stared at the musician. “I was actually coming here to ask you to walk me home so I can change.” The blond man arched his brow. 

“I think you’d be perfectly safe walking home in broad daylight, Hilda.” Kenric began before gesturing grandly to the women who surrounded him. “And as you can see, I am still entertaining an audience.” He winked at Beolyn which prompted a cacophony of giggles from the other ladies and handmaidens. 

Hilda found it hard to watch as red dusted along Beolyn’s porcelain cheeks. The display was almost sickening. 

“Remember that guard I told you about?” Kenric frowned. 

“The one who kept petitioning your father to let him marry you? The one who trapped you in awkward conversations by that very door? That guard?” Kenric asked, stifling an uncomfortable laugh. He did, however, remember this guard as being the reason Hilda asked him to accompany her home, hoping the sight of another man would ward him off. Kenric had been under the impression it worked. 

“Yes, that one.” Hilda answered in an impatient tone. Kenric stood in an instant, hopping off of the table’s bench seat with his lute firmly grasped in his right hand. He turned back to the women with a small bow. 

“Excuse me, ladies, I’m afraid a man must go teach a boy a lesson.” Hilda rolled her eyes as the women giggled at the theatrics. 

Kenric rushed to Hilda’s side, opening the doors of the hall for her before slipping outside behind her. He’d almost forgotten the chill that lingered in the air and he shivered. The sun’s powerful rays still fought to break through the dull blanket of clouds in the sky, and the brightness of the outdoors made Kenric squint. It certainly didn’t help that Meduseld’s great hall was so much darker during the day and empty than it was outside. He had spent all day performing for and chatting with the ladies of the court, something he knew he would never tire of. 

He linked arms with Hilda just as he had many times before and began to walk down the steps of Meduseld, but she refused to budge.

“Hilda?” There was a sudden look of mischief in her eye. “Oh Hilda, what are you up to?” Kenric sighed as his grip loosened on her arm. 

“I saw Wormtongue and the dragon blood behind Meduseld.” She said finally, amusement present in her voice. Kenric’s eyes widened. 

“What?” Kenric had talked to the dragon blooded Lady a few days prior, nearly swayed by her beauty. She seemed quiet and polite, and she laughed at his usual antics. He considered writing a song about her to sing amongst the other courts, for Kenric didn’t consider Lady Aelora to be monstrous like many did about dragon bloods, in fact, he didn’t consider dragon bloods monstrous at all. He used to be fascinated by the creatures, despite the horrific tales his mother weaved about them as he drifted off to sleep as a child.

He had witnessed Wormtongue lurking in Lady Aelora’s shadow, constantly watching her throughout the week and even lurking beside Meduseld when he had stopped to speak to Aelora. It was he who pointed out to her that Wormtongue had been watching her. He did think it odd that she simply laughed. She didn’t react how the other women would - she didn’t show she was alarmed or disgusted. Instead she simply thanked him and went back to writing in her journal. He thought that was odd, but he never expected her to seek out Wormtongue herself. 

“It’s true! They had been standing in the fields in an embrace, kissing!” Hilda exclaimed. She loved gossiping with Kenric, it was something they did rather often, but nothing had ever been as juicy and scandalous as this.

“You lie!” He gasped with a large smile on his face. 

“That’s why I’m covered in dirt! I had to hide behind that ledge over there.” She gestured as much as she could with Kenric still holding her other arm. The ledge was a bit further from the path they stood on, nearly hidden in the grass but gave a perfect view of the meadow behind Meduseld. The blond man smirked. “Do you think they’re still there?” He asked. Hilda slapped his chest lightly.

“I am not interested in finding out.” She giggled. “Besides, the noises I heard coming from Lady Aelora were enough to send me away, I’d rather not learn what Wormtongue sounds like when he’s being pleasured.” 

“I beg your pardon?” A regal voice sounded from behind the two causing them to jump. Lord Viseryon stood behind them, a look of bewilderment upon his face and madness present in his eyes. Hilda felt her stomach drop at the sight of him, recounting the many horror stories her fellow maids had told about him over his short time in Edoras. He seemed to be masking his anger about their choice of topic, and she thought of the maids he physically threatened. 

“Lord Viseryon!” Hilda bowed, elbowing her ditzy companion to do the same. Kenric halfheartedly bowed, rolling his eyes when his head was down. “To what do we owe the pleasure? It’s not often we’re graced by the presence-”

“Quit your pathetic groveling, what was it you were just talking about?” Hilda felt a bead of sweat trickle down the back of her neck despite the chilling weather. Viseryon’s scolding silver gaze was focused solely on her, and she feared her gossiping had awoken some beast that lay within the lord. 

“It was nothing-”

“It was not nothing, you spoke of Aelora and the king’s advisor, a grave accusation at that. What was it you said?” The lord demanded. Hilda was frozen with fear, unsure of whether it was safe to report to him what she saw. She glanced at Kenric from the corner of her eye. The blond man was not afraid of the lord, he’d bore witness to Viseryon’s fits quite a few times and realized the man before him was all bark and no bite. He even wondered why Lord Viseryon cared who Lady Aelora was seeing in the first place, his concern didn’t seem to come from a place of fatherly caring. 

Kenric would understand if Lord Viseryon saw Aelora as his child and was more concerned with finding a suitor for her, thus caring about her purity, but the look on Viseryon’s face was one of jealousy and possessiveness. The musician, as privy as he was to emotion, figured Viseryon viewed Aelora as property - his property to use in whatever way he saw fit. Kenric wanted to spit at the nobleman’s feet. 

“We saw Lady Aelora and Wormtongue making love in the field just now behind Meduseld. We think they saw us and stopped but we aren’t sure.” Kenric stated, embellishing the original story in order to get a rise out of Viseryon. The lord’s face grew red out of embarrassment and anger. “They’re there now?” The silver lord asked. Kenric shrugged.

“I’d assume they’ve made their way indoors by now. Lady Aelora certainly saw us for she gasped quite loudly-” The lord turned on his heel and marched back indoors, already calling for Aelora in his usual shrill, annoying way. Hilda glanced at her friend and bit back the urge to shout at him. 

“Well, that took care of that.” Kenric stated nonchalantly as if he didn’t start a nasty rumor about the king’s advisor. It was rooted in truth, that much she knew, but to say they were openly making love…

“He seemed furious.” The maid muttered. She sounded guilty. Kenric shrugged. 

“It’s no longer our problem.” The musician sighed as he walked down the stone steps. He looked back at her. “Well? Don’t you have to get changed?” 

That had been a day ago, and now Hilda stood before the ornate door to the room Lord Viseryon had been staying in for the last five days. She always thought the intricate carvings on the doors of Meduseld were breathtaking, even if she knew they were reserved for the noble men and women who stayed there. That number had dwindled in recent years to just the immediate family of Théoden king and Wormtongue. The Lord and Lady Draecyr were a welcome addition at first, seemingly livening up the halls with the excitement of new people walking around, but that feeling quickly soured with Lord Viseryon’s behavior. 

Her legs and arms were shaking. She was still quite nervous to be face to face with Viseryon after what happened the day before. She wondered if he would still be mad at her, especially after Kenric decided to spin what she had seen into his own lie to make the lord angrier. If Lady Aelora denied Lord Viseryon’s accusation, which she most likely would, would he lash out at her today? Would Hilda be the first maid he’d actually hit? 

The halls were eerily quiet that morning. Hilda knew it was still very early but she was used to guards and other remaining members of the king’s court wandering about, preparing for their days. Usually on the fifth day of the week the maid would even see the king’s nephew, Éomer, up bright and early. She had seen absolutely no one on her journey to Lord Viseryon’s quarters aside from Godiva. She could feel something was terribly wrong, and that feeling chilled her to the bone. 

Her hand hesitated as she raised it to knock on the door. 

She knocked three times and waited. 

There was not so much as the rustling of sheets or the familiar whiny groan to tell her there was someone inside. Hilda let out a sigh of relief, hoping this meant Lord Viseryon woke up early that day to harass some other poor soul and she could do her job without worry. Yet, when she opened the door and was met by the darkness of his room, she could see his bed was still made. The curtain was still down over his window, and the door to his bathroom was slightly ajar. Hilda rushed inside and drew the curtain, letting the white light of the outdoors brighten the room enough for her to see. It let in the chill. The plush furs were still on the end of his bed and the jade green blankets were still tucked tightly under the mattress. She placed the new pitcher of water on his nightstand and collected the old one, only to realize it was still heavy with water from the night before. 

Hilda placed the new sheets and the old pitcher of water down on the desk in the corner of the room and looked around, still not finding a single thing wrong with the room. The fresh candles that were brought the day before had not been lit and still were in their pristine condition. It was as if Lord Viseryon never stayed there in the first place, as if he never even stepped foot in the room. The only sign of life was a maroon tunic draped over the back of the lounging chair in the corner by his bed.

 The maid chewed on her bottom lip anxiously. Was she to change the sheets now, or just leave them for the lord if he felt the need to change them. It was clear he hadn’t touched the bed all night. That unnerved feeling returned and crept up her spine. Without a second thought, she collected the clean bedding and left the room in a hurry, holding the linen close to her chest as she slammed the door. 

She rushed down the hall, lost in her thoughts as she silently hoped Lord Viseryon decided to leave with his companion in the middle of the night. Perhaps he felt the need to keep her away from Wormtongue, perhaps he-

Her train of thought was interrupted as she ran into someone and fell to the floor. The bedding fell into her lap and unfolded slightly. Hilda glanced up to see the cold, dark gaze of Godiva as she stood over her with her arms crossed over her chest. She seemed angry.

“What has been taking you so long, Hilda? We have other things to do and you can’t just be wandering about and…” She trailed off at the sight of the white sheets in the younger maid’s lap. “Did you change Lord Viseryon’s sheets?” She asked, her voice growing angrier and more bewildered by the moment. Hilda quickly shook her head.

“His bed was still made when I went into his room, it was like he was never even there! The water was still full, too, I swear it!” The older woman cocked a brow, contemplating the younger maid’s words before offering a hand to help her up. Hilda gathered the unfolded sheets in her arms and took Godiva’s help. 

“Perhaps he spent the night elsewhere? Well, what he doesn’t know won’t kill him, we’ll leave the blankets be. For now, use those sheets for Lady Aelora’s bed. She’s on the other side of Meduseld.” Godiva commanded, and Hilda abided. 

The walk to Lady Aelora’s room was much less stressful. Along the way she even saw a few people, obviously having just roused from their slumber, getting ready for their days. Guards who stood tightening their armor and ladies of the court yawned as they awaited their handmaidens with hair still down and unbrushed. They all looked just as exhausted as she did that morning, sleep still present in their glassy eyes. 

When Hilda arrived at Lady Aelora’s door she was still quite nervous. Kenric said she was a nice woman when he spoke to her alone, but Hilda still feared she would be gutted by the woman. Kenric had spoken to her in an open area where anyone could stumble upon them, and while he was not bothered by the tales told of dragon bloods, Hilda most certainly was. Her shaking hand knocked on the door. 

Like before, there was no answer nor was there any stirring. With more people rushing around the hall and beginning their days she assumed Lady Aelora had risen early… or that her earlier theory was correct and Lord Viseryon had forced them to leave. She felt slightly more at ease with the fact that the dragon blood was not in her room and she opened the door confidently.

That confidence left her body in one shrill shriek that tore through the air and alerted everyone around her. Her eyes welled up with hot tears and her head became light. She felt like she couldn’t breathe, her arms felt heavy. She dropped the linen to the ground and dropped to her knees, fighting the urge to throw up at the scent of copper in the cold air. 

✵✵✵✵✵

When she was sure Gríma had fallen asleep Aelora slipped out of his arms, an action she was entirely too familiar with. Under the dim light of the nearly dead candles, Aelora collected her discarded clothes, managing to only find her dress in the dark. She slipped her nightgown back over her head before tiptoeing over to the bed. 

Her lover, so deep in sleep, looked peaceful. His bare brow that was usually furrowed in thought was relaxed, and the frown lines around his mouth were non-existent. She felt a pang of guilt as she looked upon his sleeping face, knowing she would have to leave. She feared him waking in the night to find his bed empty and most of all she feared him assuming betrayal. With everything she told him she wouldn’t blame him for assuming the worst when she disappeared without a trace in the middle of the night. 

Aelora, no matter what happened in the future, would always be grateful for Gríma. Despite his oddities, he managed to show her that her life didn’t have to be lonely. Not everyone would look at her with suspicion and fear. She was not a monster… 

But she is a dragon. And a dragon is not a slave.

Her knife gleamed in the flickering soft light of the candle, almost winking at her, egging her on. Even it seemed to know what she had to do, and it thirsted for blood. Viseryon’s blood. The blood of the last true Draecyr. 

Looking around the room she searched for something that could aid her in getting away with her crime. His room was quite dark, leaving her to feel around for any item that might hold magical properties. She tried to mind the clothes left on the floor and the various furniture that might block her path, trying her hardest to stay quiet so as not to wake Gríma. 

She stumbled her way through a door in the farthest corner of the room, and within this new area there was a window. Cool, blue light from the large moon filtered in and cast long shadows over the walls and floor. The floor was stone and cold and had a small step down from where the wood of the main room stopped. The room was mostly empty aside from a large tub toward the back and a wooden stand that stood before her against the wall. Atop the wooden stand was a single ivory comb that seemed to be made from the bone of some sort of animal, and beside it was a handheld mirror with a silver-colored metal handle and backing. Just above the stand was a couple of shelves with various bottles of liquid lining their surfaces. She could see different flowers stuffed into the bottles, and immediately she recognized them as perfumes. 

She collected the mirror and perused the selection of perfumes Gríma collected, carefully searching for a particular flower and hoping he had it lying around. Even in the moonlight, the tall stalk of the violet flower stood out to her, practically calling out to her. She took the glass bottle with the Lavender stuffed inside and pulled the cork out from the narrow opening. She waltzed to the tub and sat on its rim, placing the mirror in her lap, and she poured the liquid out into the chilly water that sat inside its basin. It was clear Gríma had been planning on bathing before their escapade.

 She had no way of knowing how long the plant had been soaking in the water other than the way the sweet aroma filled the air so suddenly, and immediately she made a mental note to buy Gríma a replacement for the fragrance. 

Carefully, she pinched at the narrow stem of the plant with her nails and pulled it from the bottle, eyeing its drowned form with scrutiny. No, that wouldn’t do.

She held the flower away from her face at arms length and took a deep breath. She felt the burning sensation rise in her chest and throat as she blew gently. A warm amber and copper glow rose beneath her skin, trailing up the length of her chest and neck before brilliant flames erupted from behind her lips. The heat from her fire rid the flower of any excess wetness and dried it to the bone. The formerly violet petals turned an ashen purple and curled upwards unto themselves. They became brittle and nearly baked. 

With the flower now dry, Aelora stood and brought it to the window. She placed the mirror face down on the windowsill and crumbled the lavender in her hand. She spoke firmly in a hushed tone: “I invoke the power to plunge the kingdom of Edoras into a deep slumber. Let them not wake til the first light reaches above the snowy peak of Starkhorn. Let my creator be exempt, and let my Gríma be easily awoken at the sound of me calling his name when the time comes.” 

And with that, she blew the broken, dry petals out of the window and into the wind. As the breeze carried the lavender out into the village, Aelora held the mirror up to the moon, and in an instant the sky became a bright turquoise color as the moon glowed violet. She watched as the aqua color melted into a mist that cascaded down onto the sleeping kingdom, and it remained heavy upon the buildings like a fog upon the water. It glided into the window and filled both the room she was standing in and the room where Gríma slept soundly. He would remain that way for a while. 

The candle’s flame was finally extinguished, smothered by the fog. 

There was not a sound in the world that could wake the sleeping kingdom of Edoras without Aelora’s say so, and that was exactly how she wanted it. With everyone now under her spell, she grabbed the curved hilt of her knife from the desk and exited Gríma’s room. 

Her door was a mere few feet away, yet it felt like a lifetime getting to it. Each footstep felt heavy and prolonged, like she had never walked before in her life. The closer she got to the oak door the less she felt like herself. Her body felt numb and she found it hard to think about anything at all - her mind was blank. Her hand came to rest against the wooden door as she stood still for a moment, taking deep breaths as she fought off tears. She had made it. 

She hated Viseryon with every fiber of her being, yet part of her still loved him like a daughter would a father. He was spoiled, and vain, and his feelings for her grew inappropriate over time, but that did not change the fact that he was all she had her entire life. 

He raised her. He taught her how to speak and how to read and write. He fed her and bought her the nicest of clothes, even when they were banished to the outskirts of Erech. She admired him at one point in her life, like all dragon bloods did their creators, and she couldn’t help but mourn the bond they used to have, even if he only created her to entrap Aemma. 

She was afraid more than anything. She hoped that having Gríma suggest she murder Viseryon was enough for her to get away with it. In the history of Arda, there has never been a dragon blood who killed their creator, it was thought to be inherently against their nature. She could imagine the uproar now, the frightful looks, the suspicion, the accusations. If she could kill her creator, what's stopping her from killing anyone else? What’s stopping her from killing the king?

It mattered not what her creator might have been doing to her, or what he was planning. She hoped the bruises on her neck that took the shape of his hands were enough for them to understand, even though she knew deep down they would never understand. Anger began to chip away at the sadness, slowly bubbling beneath her skin and burning in her gut. She would make them understand. 

With one last shaky breath, she opened the door to her room. 

It was dark inside, but after a moment she was able to see the silhouette of her sleeping creator. She quietly slipped through the door, closing it as gently as she could, before making her way to the covered window on the wall farthest from the door. She’d kept the window covered all night, unable to look out at Edoras without thinking of what happened earlier in the day and how she may never see its green beauty again. It saddened her, but she needed the light now.

She wanted to see the fear in Viseryon’s eyes, the very fear she had every night when he was around. The very fear she experienced when he wrapped his rancid hands around her throat that afternoon. 

She drew up the curtain, the violet light from the moon rushed in almost instantly, despite it residing on the opposite side of the sky from where her room was. The spell made it bright. 

She watched her creator silently, observing the steady rise and fall of his chest with every breath he took. Rising and falling that would cease soon enough.

Up and down.

 Up and down. 

Viseryon’s face scrunched at the new presence of light, and he stirred restlessly before silently waking, blinking the sleep from his eyes as a look of confusion came over his fair features. Aelora stood over him, a blank look in her eye and her hands behind her back. He stretched his arms out, reaching toward her side of the bed when he suddenly realized that her side of the bed was cold. She had been gone for a while. “Aelora? Where did you run off to?” Was all he could choke out. Sleep was still heavy in his voice. The question was not accusatory, or at least, not yet. There was a genuine curiosity in his tone, like how one would speak to a pet after they had been missing all day. Her stomach turned uneasily. 

Aelora walked to her side of the bed and knelt on the mattress, allowing her to still tower over her creator. It was almost a display of dominance. She hoped he wouldn’t recognize the violet moon and realize that they were the only ones awake in the kingdom - she hoped he was too tired to put the pieces together. She smiled bitterly at him as she thought of answers to his question.

His silver eyes shone brightly in the moonlight, as if the supernatural occurrence served to emphasize the otherworldly nature of their people. She tucked her knife further into her sleeve and brought her other hand to his cheek. Gently, she caressed his face, brushing a strand of hair from his eyes, yet the look on her face was that of a predator. She wondered if he knew how it felt now, to be leered at by something so dangerous.

“Where was I?” She repeated the question, and her creator nodded. She let out an airy laugh. Her heartbeat sped up, for she knew if she spoke she would have to kill him quicker. She licked her lips to combat the dryness that overcame them. Her hand tightened around the knife. “I was in councilman Gríma’s bed. I let him fuck me.” She repeated the very words Viseryon used against her before, though this time there was truth in them. She let the advisor fuck her and she enjoyed it.

There was sadism in the dragon blood’s smile as she watched recognition flash over Viseryon’s face, then anger, and then sadness. She wasn’t expecting sadness. He choked back a sob, which only served to confuse Aelora further. 

“Oh, Aelora.” He cried. She was not moved, in fact, she was repulsed by his pathetic whining. For someone she thought so highly of as a child, she saw now that he was nothing but a pitiful worm. Instead, she readied her knife, holding it over her head as she watched the fear overcome his sorrow. She was not his, she would never be his. Aelora belonged to herself and no one else. Not Viseryon, not Gríma… her. She would make it known to Viseryon that he did not own her, and in that moment, he certainly understood her message. 

His eyes were glued to the knife which shimmered a faint violet in the moonlight. He wondered if it was enchanted, he wondered what she would do to him. He looked back at her and could not recognize the beast in front of him, even if it was a beast he created. His dry, cracked lips opened and a gasp left them.

 “Aelora, please.” He begged quietly, and she smiled. That was why she wanted him to be awake, she wanted to hear his pitiful cries and pleas. Her eyes were still focused on him, though it felt as if they were looking through him. He attempted to sit up but she grabbed him by his tunic, the same, dirtied white tunic he’d worn to bed for years. She pushed him back into the mattress and took the opportunity to straddle his hips, making sure he would go nowhere. 

“I have asked and begged, just as you are now, for years and my pleas have fallen upon your deaf ears, Viseryon.” Aelora seethed. Her grip tightened around the knife’s handle to hide the way her hand shook. 

Somehow, somewhere deep within the sneering woman he saw before him, he still managed to see the little girl he raised. 

Aelora plunged the knife into his throat. 

✵✵✵✵✵

A crowd gathered around Hilda, murmuring amongst themselves as they attempted to get a look into the room. The poor maid was lying on the floor unconscious, an arm over her forehead and the linen laid across her body. Most paid her no mind, finding the spectacle of the bloody body within Aelora’s room more interesting than the maid who discovered it. A guard pushed passed followed by two more, all who looked as if they had just been awoken by the commotion. They each let out a gasp and covered their mouth and nose at the scene before them. 

Blood painted the wall just behind the bed near the headboard and stained the white sheets and pillows. Lord Viseryon’s cold, pale hand hung off of the side of the bed, where crimson dripped down the length of his fingers onto the cold, stone floor. His white tunic was darkened and made damp by his blood. His head laid beside his body, pointed up at the ceiling with its mouth slightly agape. His hair was tangled and frizzy, making it hard to see the way his haunting silver eyes were still wide with fear, gazing out into the unknown. The flesh of his neck was jagged and a deep red at the ends, with untrained cuts that made it clear the person who did this beheaded him with a knife instead of something like a sword or ax, meaning this was not the work of a true executioner or a careful assassin. This had gone unplanned. 

“Someone get Lord Éomer!” The first guard shouted, feeling his stomach turn uneasily at the sight of the brutalized lord. He feared he would vomit.

The guard to his left took off down the hall to look for the king’s nephew, while the other shifted uneasily. They knew this would be a matter for the king after they found the culprit. Of course, they all knew he would not make a decision without Wormtongue’s say, and they all would wonder if he was the one behind this. 

Kenric saw the crowd gathered at Lady Aelora’s door and quickly picked up his pace to join them. They all seemed rather upset, with some letting out quiet sobs and others whispering to the people around them. He immediately felt uneasy as he pushed through, and as he saw the traumatizing body of Viseryon he forced himself to look away, feeling his heart jump at the sight. He had never seen so much blood in his life. He was not one for violence. 

Upon turning around, he kept his eyes to the ground and saw Hilda still lying there and his heart sank. Panic flooded the musician’s mind as he dropped to his knees. In a frenzy, he felt her forehead and listened carefully to make sure his friend was still breathing. 

Without a second thought, Kenric scooped Hilda up into his arms and demanded everyone get out of his way. He would take her someplace to safely rest and find a healer. He hoped whoever killed Viseryon didn’t harm Hilda. He saw no blood or wounds upon her, which only slightly set his mind at ease. No one seemed to trample her, most likely too frightened to go near the horrifying scene within the room. 

In his hurry, he failed to see the king’s advisor peeking from behind his own door at the commotion in the hall. 

✵✵✵✵✵

When the deed was done Aelora sat numbly upon her bed. Red stained her hands and face, and it soaked her dark nightgown. The smell of blood was overwhelming, it filled the air and made her head spin. The sight of Viseryon’s metallic eyes staring blankly at her was haunting, and it did nothing but add to the surreal feeling she found herself experiencing. Her intention was not to behead him, yet the way she continued to stab his neck made that decision for her. She felt as if she couldn’t form a coherent thought. The way he choked on his own blood was burned into her mind. The gurgling sound he made as he tried to scream and breath and cry played on a loop in her head. She feared she would never be able to forget that sound. 

What would happen when they found him? She slid off of the bed and felt the blood that drenched her dress drip down her legs. Her gown stuck to her skin uncomfortably and the way her thighs seamlessly glided against each other made her want to scream. She glanced back at the carnage she created, and part of her mind wandered. Her knife was still embedded in the jagged stump of his neck, surrounded by still oozing blood. She wondered how much pain he was in when he died. Her eye trailed to the red that stained the tangle of his silver hair - no part of him went unsoiled, clearly. The scene was sickening. Surely they would kill her for this. She knew she couldn’t stay there.

Aelora stumbled her way out the door, feeling her once dry mouth fill with saliva as she fought the uneasy turning of her stomach. She leaned against the wall, breathing heavily and feeling the cool air fill her lungs. Her stained hands spread against the wall, and she knew there would be blood left in their wake. Her tear filled eyes met Gríma’s door. The air was sobering. 

She pushed herself off the wall and tumbled to the door across from her. Her hand ghosted across the wooden surface before she gently rapped on it. “Gríma…” She whispered. It was time. There was a shift in the air as the aqua haze before her faded ever so slightly, and the spell she cast on the kingdom was lifted only for her lover. 

Gríma awoke with a startled gasp, looking out into the darkness of his room while he slowly remembered where he was. The violet glow poured in through the bathroom door which had been left open by just a crack, and in the low light he realized he was alone. He heard the gentle tapping at his door. He paused for a moment, trying his best to compose himself and think through his sleep-addled mind. 

He slid out of bed and felt around for something to cover himself. His clothes were strewn about the room and there were far too many layers to struggle to put on, so he made his way to his desk where a long, dark tunic was draped on the back of his chair. He slipped it over his narrow shoulders and made his way to the door. He opened it slowly.

The sight before him was frightful. Aelora stood in his doorway with a blank look in her eye. Blood painted her hands and face, and it drenched her long, silver hair. He couldn’t help but take a step back out of fear. He never expected her to kill Viseryon that night, he figured she would have waited. Despite his fear, he reached out for her and caught her collapsing form in his arms.

“Aelora?” She looked up at him through half lidded eyes. “Come inside, my love. I’ll run a bath for you.” He chose not to bring up what she had done. He took one last look down the hall to make sure no one could see her, and he made sure her door was shut, before leading her inside. She seemed to be in a daze. He guided her to the bathroom and rushed around to light the coals beneath the tub, grateful that the water was still there. He couldn’t summon someone to fetch water at that time of night, especially not with Lady Aelora in his room at all, let alone covered in blood. 

“It’s done.” She muttered. He glanced back at her from over his shoulder and nodded curtly. “I know, my love.” He kept calling her that, it came so naturally to him, falling from his lips with no resistance. The coals glowed a deep orange and a fire grew beneath the tub, and the smell of smoke filled the air and competed with the overbearing smell of metal that came from Aelora. He turned to face her finally, still kneeling on the ground while she watched the water silently.

“The people of Rohan will be grateful for what you’ve done… eventually.” He tried to find a silver lining in all of this, a way to make her feel better. He tried doing what he did best, and that was kissing up to people. He didn’t mind doing so to Aelora. Her red gaze flickered to him, and behind her eyes there was suspicion. “Will they?” She spoke in a harsh whisper. 

“Of course they will. If you were telling the truth then Viseryon would be a traitor and a potential usurper. I think we both know he would have been unfit to wear the crown.” He rose to his feet and rubbed soothingly along her shoulders. “You made the right choice. And they may fear you now but in time they will see the way your actions served the realm.” Blood stuck to his palms. 

“They’ll want me dead. They’ll have me killed.” She stated. Gríma shook his head. 

“I won’t let them.” He said firmly. He would never admit it to her, but he needed her to kill Viseryon - the lord jeopardized everything he had worked to achieve. Of course, the plan had been slightly derailed with Aelora around, and as of now he was content with remaining the king’s advisor. Her crimson eyes met his and she gave him a small smile, though there was still a sadness to her. 

The water in the tub began to bubble slightly and warm steam began to rise off of its surface. Gríma quickly turned around and put the flames out, but when he turned back to Aelora she was already stripping. She dropped her blood soaked gown to the ground and he could see the way the red clung to the pale skin of her thighs and stomach. Her long hair came to rest over her breasts, the length of silver stopping just below her navel. There was blood clumping parts of her hair together toward the ends. 

She walked toward the tub, much to Gríma’s alarm. He reached out for her, grabbing ahold of her wrist and stopping her just before she was able to climb into the boiling water. “Aelora, wait. You’ll burn yourself.” She looked back at him with her same tired eyes. She shook her head. “Don’t worry about me.” 

Gently, she pulled her hand away and turned back to the tub. She took a deep breath, as if preparing herself for what may happen. He watched her closely with wide, wild eyes, unsure of what she was thinking. He desperately didn’t want her to hurt herself, but he wondered if the boiling water would snap her out of whatever trance she was under. Would the water even hurt her? 

“I’ll be fine.” She sank into the water, submerging herself from head to toe. Gríma froze. There was no thrashing, she didn’t rise from the water with a scream, there were no signs to indicate she was in pain. She simply sat still. He waited quietly, holding his breath for as long as she remained underwater. The steam from the bath filled the room and chased the cold back out the window, which had remained open since Aelora cast her spell. Sweat beaded at the back of his neck and beneath his tunic. He could barely hide how afraid he was for her.

It was odd. He had known Aelora for only four days now, yet he couldn’t deny he cared for her. He wondered if it was due to her being so unafraid to be near him, or if it was the way she held his gaze and touched him. In all of his life he’d only wanted one woman, the Lady Éowyn, and much like everyone else around him she would never let him near her. For years he had watched the king’s niece from afar, only dreaming of having her affection. He thought there was no one fairer than she in all of Middle Earth, and then Aelora came along. He certainly saw the parallels when he first started following Aelora around, convincing himself that he was following her out of his duty to the throne as opposed to the fact he found her attractive. 

He moved slowly toward the tub, realizing she had been underwater for far too long. As he stared into the water at her white locks floating around her, he thought of how she proved the impossible was possible. Someone could love him, even if so far it seemed she was only interested in the physical. He hoped with Viseryon out of the way their affair could blossom into something more. Ah yes, the other reason he wanted the Sohnyar lord out of the way. He would never admit it aloud, and he hardly liked thinking about it, but he desperately wanted Aelora to stay. With all of Viseryon’s scheming and the way Aelora was essentially his property, he knew he could never have her with him around. 

Gríma was and always would be a selfish man.

Aelora arose from the water with a gasp, pushing her hair from her face as the red tinted liquid dripped from her arms. She seemed more awake now, and she looked at Gríma with aware eyes. He dropped to his knees once more, resting his hands on the rim of the tub as he looked at her with awe. She let out an airy laugh that gradually grew into a more manic, uncontrolled laugh. Tears brimmed in her eyes and he could tell something was terribly wrong. She quieted down after a moment, sniffling and wiping her tears away.

“I’m sorry, I just… I can’t believe I did that.” She admitted, hiding her face in her hands. “I can’t believe I’m finally free.” He did wonder what hell Aelora had been living in for most of her life.

“Are you alright?” She looked at him again before looking over herself, and she let out another small chuckle. 

“Oh, right. The water.” She stopped and smiled sweetly. She seemed much more lucid now. “The heat doesn’t hurt me, fire won’t hurt me either. Fire does not burn those born of dragons.” She explained simply. Her pale flesh turned a rosy pink in the water, and he couldn’t help but mentally cringe at the sight. She said she wasn’t hurting though, and he supposed that was all that mattered. He inched nearer.

“If I may,” he began, awkwardly clearing his throat as he struggled to word his question, ��what exactly did you do to him?” Aelora froze. With how much blood covered her he was sure it was gruesome. She clearly had a lot of vitriol reserved for her creator. She let out a sigh.

“I’d rather not say.” She whispered. He understood. 

“Then I’ll ask another question. Why tonight?” Gríma had several questions he needed answered, but of course that one was the most important. When he suggested Aelora kill Viseryon he didn’t expect her to act on it immediately. He hoped Aelora would wait and consult him, perhaps go about things in a more subtle way. He would have given her the poisons to do it without a second thought. The way she did it, and the suddenness of her actions, made it incredibly hard to spin a tale absolving her of the blame. She shifted in the tub, coming closer to the rim and her lover. The violet moonlight shone down on her and made her hair look like pure white. Then, as he looked a bit closer, he saw it. 

Around her neck were large, blossoming bruises in the shape of Viseryon’s fingers. They seemed much more vibrant in the unnatural lighting, but that didn’t change the way Gríma’s breath hitched. He knew she mentioned that her creator had tried to kill her before they drifted to sleep, but she never mentioned how. He couldn’t believe it, and he wondered how he missed such a thing earlier in the night. His face was so close to it, his lips brushed over it, and yet he never noticed. He took her hand in his and her flesh nearly burned his. 

“I told you he tried to kill me.” She began. The raven haired man nodded. “I said he couldn’t find out about us or he would kill me. Going back to him like that…”

“I’ll find a way to help you.” Gríma promised, bringing her steaming knuckles to his lips. She blushed at the action and smiled. He loved seeing her smile, especially knowing what he knows now. 

The steam continued to rise from the tub and he wanted nothing more for the water to cool enough for him to slip in beside her. He reached for the stand against the wall and pulled an old rag from the drawer. It was a pale blue color and looked as if it was falling apart. It looked like it would be scratchy against her skin. He dipped it in the water, ignoring how hot it still was, and brought the cloth to Aelora’s cheek where he gently wiped away the blood that remained after her soak. The blood that still stuck to her skin was flaky and broke away easily with each pass of the cloth. 

Aelora closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. “You will tell them what you told me.” Gríma stated firmly. She glanced at him, hardly able to hide the uncertainty and apprehension in her eyes. “Lay low tomorrow. Leave the king and his decision to me.” She nodded. He handed her the cloth so she could finish up wiping away the evidence of her crime. She took it gingerly and began scrubbing her arms and hands.

Gríma turned and gazed at the violet moon, filled with uncertainty. He let his mind wander as he wondered why the sky looked the way it did. He looked back at Aelora, almost afraid to ask about the moon. He thought about the way he woke up so suddenly when Aelora was at his door, and the way the kingdom seemed so quiet, even for the middle of the night. The moon had not budged since he fell asleep.

“I shall fetch a bucket to clear the water before the maids find it.” He told her, rising to his feet. She let out a sigh, sinking back into the water up to her shoulders while her hands gripped the edge of the tub. 

“Yes, it would be best to dump the water before everyone wakes.” She remarked calmly. “At least you won’t have to worry about sneaking around.” Gríma frowned.

“What do you mean by that?” He asked. She smirked. 

“The spell invoking a violet moon puts people in a deep sleep. Nothing will wake them until the caster says so, or unless they set specific requirements that need to be met. I can assure you we’re fine for the time being.” Aelora explained as she closed her eyes. The way she constantly seemed to switch between alarmed and confidently calm was confusing, to say the least. He should have known she would have taken the precautions to make sure no one would interrupt her. 

“Was I-” 

“You were. I made sure you would wake when I called your name.” That explained why he woke so suddenly. 

When she was done bathing they both worked to drain the tub, dumping the red tinted water out the window by the bucket full. It seeped into the ground slowly, pooling on the grassy surface and splashing mud on the wooden wall. By the morning it would be gone.

 Gríma dressed Aelora in a spare tunic he had, and together they went to bed. She curled up in his arms as she did hours before, and for a moment it was as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all.

✵✵✵✵✵

Éomer stared down at Viseryon’s remains, masking his horror. 

They had set up a pyre to display the carnage for the king to see, and for anyone who might have wanted to pay their respects. His head had not been reattached, but it was aligned with his neck and a single red ribbon had been draped across the split. The Sohnyar lord’s eyes had been closed, and his hands were neatly folded across his chest. They had someone dress him in the clothes he arrived in: a black overcoat embroidered with diamond patterns and a maroon tunic with black pants, and a bronze pin adorned with a snake-like dragon encircling the world was placed over his left breast. On his left forefinger was a similar bronze ring adorned with a red gem in the center of the dragon’s eye. His long hair had been carefully braided into a single braid that was laid under his body. 

He looked like a proper Sohnyar for the first and last time. The last of the Draecyr line, laid to rest in a land foreign to him by his own creation. He might have been unbearable in life but Éomer couldn’t help but feel bad for the nearly forgotten family. Their last son…

It reminded him of the recent loss that plagued his uncle. 

Of course, Viseryon’s situation was different. His parents had died by the time the lord turned thirteen, the year the Sohnyar boys were to cut their hair signifying that they were men. The length of Viseryon’s hair showed he kept with tradition and refused to cut it again. He seemed much more at peace now, dressed up by those who tended to the dead, than he did that morning. The image of his detached head and bloodied body would stick in Éomer’s mind for a long time, and he feared seeing it appear in his nightmares. 

It would not be the last of the horrific things the young heir would witness.

Théoden king sat upon his throne, wheezing with each labored breath and staring down at the scene before him from behind white bushy brows. Beside him sat Gríma, perched in his seat in his usual gargoyle-like way, who uncharacteristically had not said a word the entire time. He hardly moved to whisper in the king’s ear. His dark aura was a plague upon Éomer’s uncle, who was already a distressed and troubled man. Ever since the death of Théodred, Théoden king’s health began to decline. The already aging man seemed to give in to the effects of time almost rapidly, and he slowly became unable to think for himself. He trusted Gríma before all of this, and he continued to trust the man now, much to the dismay of his nephew. Éomer blamed the advisor for his uncle’s failing health.

In the corner of the room stood his sister, Éowyn, who watched the room wearily. She was dressed in a deep emerald green that juxtaposed her brother’s maroon armor. The velvet dress was embroidered with golden thread. She looked similar to her brother, with golden hair and fair skin. They both had the same round face and sullen eyes. He was taller than her by a few inches, with dark facial hair and an all around rougher exterior. 

She stayed close to the shadows, shrinking away in the corner of the room in hopes of staying out of Wormtongue's sight. It didn’t work as she’d hoped, for his eye found her the moment she walked into the room. She came to the great hall to see just what everyone was whispering about, much to her brother’s dismay, and was slightly relieved to see that the body had been mostly restored and made presentable. 

The last person in the room was Kenric, who silently sat to the side, opposite of Lady Éowyn, where he tuned his instrument. He rushed back to Meduseld after leaving Hilda with a healer near her home. He was assured she would be alright. He watched out of curiosity, waiting to see what would happen and find out who killed Viseryon.

The front doors to the hall had been left open just enough for people to file through if they pleased, and the bright light of the sun shone through the crack. Its white light fell upon Viseryon’s body and Éomer like a spotlight, and it stretched their shadows across the floor before the king and his advisor. Despite the light, the room was somber and cold. It showed just how empty the hall was, and the contrast made the shadows appear much darker than they were. 

“I’ve yet to receive word on the dragon blood’s whereabouts. We found a knife that we suspect belongs to her in his neck this morning.” Éomer’s strong voice echoed through the hall. He reached into the satchel he wore on his hip and produced Aelora’s curved blade, and Gríma felt his body tense. 

Aelora was still in his chambers, most likely sleeping soundly in his bed. They discussed the plan one more time before going to sleep, and he decided then to do most of the heavy lifting. He would attempt to convince everyone she was innocent and kidnapped, and if that didn’t work then she would tell the truth of why Viseryon was there in the first place. After agreeing to this, she requested he bring some of her own clothes when it was safe to do so, and when he returned later that day with a few of her dresses she was asleep again, holding the pillow he’d laid on the night before tightly. The dire situation didn’t change the fact that the image before him was one he’d imagined a million times before - though it was always with a different woman than her. 

The dark haired man was surprised the guards hadn’t ransacked his room yet, given how much he was sure Éomer suspected he was behind the killing. 

Gríma turned to the king and for the first time that day he whispered, “And he suspects the dragon blood of such a crime? They’re renowned for their loyalty to their creators. I have my doubts about this accusation, my king.” Théoden’s tired eyes met Gríma’s, and he thought about the words being fed to him. It was true, dragon bloods were supposed to be loyal to a fault. The day the Draecyrs arrived in Edoras, his niece had reminded him of the tale of Naessa, the dragon blood created by usurper Queen Caecelia of the Six - also a Draecyr, who was executed for carrying out what her creator wanted - which was to kill the then king of Rohan, Alrid, who had been crowned before the first line was established with Eorl. Caecelia plunged the realm into a brief chaos before Eorl slayed Naessa and executed the Sohnyar woman. Ever since then, there had been very few Sohnyar welcome back into Rohan, especially Draecyrs. 

From what his fragile mind could remember, Naessa was a pitiful creature. Aelora hardly seemed comparable to her, though. 

“Dragon bloods… are… loyal.” Théoden’s voice wavered as he huffed each word out. Gríma nodded. 

“Excellent observation, my liege.” He turned his attention to the king’s nephew. “What makes you think she was able to go against her own nature?” 

The younger man’s expression darkened with anger. He had to tread carefully and not jump to accuse anyone just yet, given he heard the rumors about the advisor and Aelora. He knew Gríma was lying, as he usually did, but his lies couldn’t completely cover up the evidence. That was Aelora’s knife, it was a particular blade found only amongst the Sohnyar, there was no denying it. 

“This is her knife, Gríma. I know it.” He stated firmly, holding the knife by its handle and the tip of its blade. The advisor narrowed his pale eyes at this and frowned. 

“How are you so sure?” He asked, leaning forward ever so slightly. If he could continue to sew the seeds of doubt into the young lord then he could easily absolve Aelora of any guilt. “For all we know that was Lord Draecyr’s blade, after all, I don’t see her name branded on it. It’s simply a Sohnian blade, it easily could have been taken from Viseryon earlier in the day and used in the murder later.” 

“Do you consider me a fool, Gríma?” Éomer boomed. The lord was quickly losing his patience. The pale man shifted in his seat uncomfortably, practically shrinking back into his over cloak, looking like a pile of cloth seated beside the king. 

“Of course not, my lord.” 

“Then do not force me to call your character into question in front of my uncle.” That had to be a threat. Gríma brought a hand up to his chest where he nervously played with the bronze chain that hung beneath his cloak. 

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.” He seethed. The blond glared at him. 

“I will not sit to the side and watch as another situation like Naessa evolves before my eyes. I will not lose my uncle.” It took everything in his power to not call Gríma out. He chose the safer route. The treacherous man before him opened his mouth to speak - to spew more lies to protect the woman he’d come to love. 

Did he truly love her? Surely it was too early to decide.

“All I suggest is that we mustn’t jump to conclusions. The king is right, a dragon blood would be incapable of such violence against their creator.” 

“He was found in her room.” The blond man countered in a harsh voice. Gríma was hardly affected by the outburst.

“This is true, yet we haven’t been able to find her. Who’s to say the killer didn’t kill her too. Perhaps they kidnapped her, not that they would get very far with her in that case. I’d imagine it’s very hard to capture an angry and defensive dragon blood.” Gríma suggested, to which the throne’s heir scoffed. He turned his dark gaze to his uncle, who seemed to listen less and less to his council in favor of Gríma’s as of late. He hoped, for his own sake, that Théoden would listen to him. 

“Uncle, please.” He began, his face softening. “I believe she’s dangerous. We don’t know where she is and I fear for your safety.” He was never in danger, Gríma thought exhaustedly. 

“We have no reason to believe she would want to kill you, my liege. Your nephew is simply playing up his usual hysterics to convince everyone his own prejudices are rational. Lady Aelora has been a rather polite guest, and I followed her around myself to be sure she and her creator weren’t planning to usurp you. She is not a threat.�� Gríma whispered to the king. Théoden sat blankly, taking in the information all at once and struggling to process it. He had hardly been around Éomer as of late and could not confirm whether his nephew did have something against Lady Aelora. He supposed if Gríma had been following her around he would have witnessed this behavior. He trusted the man beside him. 

“Have I ever lied to you, my king?” Gríma continued, “I have every reason to believe Aelora was not behind this, and in the unlikely case that she was, there must be a reason behind it. I don’t think a girl of her stature could even behead Viseryon in the way it was done. Look, his hair is uncut. Do you really think Lady Aelora, a woman raised so entrenched in Sohnian culture as herself, would really kill Viseryon without cutting his hair? It signifies defeat in their culture, she had every reason to do so, and yet it remains untouched. Don’t believe Éomer’s fear mongering.” 

Théoden supposed they should look for her first and then go from there. He wholeheartedly believed the girl was in trouble, like Gríma suggested, and if they could find her they could get the answers they so desperately sought. 

“We… must find her.” Théoden began, his voice less weak than before. “We must… ask her who… did this.” 

Then, a large shadow rose over the hill, stretching along the stone floor of Meduseld and casting Éomer, Gríma, and Théoden in darkness. Between the doors now stood Aelora, dressed head to toe in a bright scarlet. Her silver locks were braided back into a single braid that cascaded down her back like the sterling waters of a waterfall. Around her neck was a large, ornate golden choker that took the shape of a dragon. The creature coiled around the length of her neck, hiding most of her skin beneath its golden scales. And on her fingers were two golden rings that connected to a bracelet on her wrist by a golden chain. She waltzed into the great hall, catching the eye of everyone inside and everyone who waited outside. 

Aelora usually dressed in black. Every time Éomer saw her she wore a dark dress with red rarely showing on the garment. It was more common to see her draped in gold jewelry than to see the red underneath the sleeves of her dresses. To see her now, when she should be mourning, dressed in such a bright shade of red, was alarming. She had no shame.

Gríma couldn’t believe what he was seeing either. He was the one to bring her clothes when they woke up in the morning, after the crowd had dispersed and the guards moved Viseryon’s body from her room. He brought her three dresses like she’d asked for: two black ones and a red one. He never expected her to choose the red one. He felt his silver tongue turn to lead in his mouth. 

The dragon blooded woman stopped before Viseryon’s body, staring down at him silently while everyone watched her. Éomer grit his teeth and pushed toward her, yet she did not flinch. Her hands laid on the pyre gently. 

“Lady Aelora,” Éomer began, “where have you been?” 

She glanced up at him. He saw nothing but calmness in her eyes. Not sadness, not anger, there was no malice, only calm. Her gaze traveled past him and to the king’s advisor. It was a subtle look, but it was all Éomer needed to confirm his suspicions. The rumors were true, and Gríma had Viseryon killed for his own selfish reasons. 

“I was resting.” She answered honestly, looking back down at Viseryon. 

“And where were you las-”

“I killed him.” Aelora admitted, though that much should have been obvious. Gríma’s eyes grew wide as he watched everything he worked hard to convince Éomer of burned before him. If he had a little more time he would have been able to subdue the lord. He watched everyone wearily, at a loss for words for the time being. 

“So you admit it?” Éomer breathed. Aelora stood up straight and looked the lord in his dark eyes. The look set the hairs on the back of his neck on end, though he would not show it. He was a seasoned warrior and he knew that there was never a proper time to show fear. “You killed your own creator in cold blood.” 

“Not everything is as it seems, Lord Éomer.” The dragon blood spoke. Her hands came up to her neck as she undid the golden clasp at the back of her choker. The dragon split and she lowered the necklace to reveal the bright purple and blue bruises that adorned her neck. She dropped the heavy necklace on the ground.

“Viseryon was a dangerous man. He was sent here to kill you, Théoden king, and dragged me along with him. I was to do the killing. He never said what would have happened to me, and I came to love this place. He made me destroy our carriage in order to stay longer, so out of fear of what he would do to me I snuck off in the middle of the night to burn it. He told me the plan, that we would kill the king by the seventh day and he would be rewarded with the throne. I thought about it, and I knew this kingdom would be doomed if he wore the crown. Then I realized I would be the one to take the fall for his actions. If I killed the king I would be blamed and executed. I refused to kill for him.” She stopped and fought back tears. “I refused to kill for him and he tried to strangle me. He said he would kill me for not obeying him… it was him or me, and I refuse to betray the crown.” She cried. 

Éomer froze as his heart dropped. He had a sneaking suspicion that was what the Draecyrs were doing in Rohan, much like everyone else. The only person who seemed to think it was a good idea was Gríma himself and from the sounds of it, he didn’t entirely trust them either. Aelora brushed past the pyre and to the steps leading to the throne. Éomer was quick to jump in front of her, fearing for a moment she would attempt to assassinate the king. 

“The things he tried to do to me…” Aelora trailed off, finding the new revelation of why Viseryon acted the way he did around her was too much to bear at the moment. She took a deep breath. “He treated me like property. He isolated me from anyone and everyone. When I had begun to make friends here in Rohan he accused me of terrible things and insisted on sleeping with me in my bed for the rest of our stay, as if I was the one who couldn’t be trusted. I did everything he asked me to. He was all I had, my safety, my world… until he wasn’t. The moment he wrapped his hands around my throat was the moment I realized I had to get away.” She explained. She dropped to her knees, her skirt collapsing around her legs like the flaming feathers of a phoenix. 

“I beg for your forgiveness. I know what I have done is a horrible crime, but I ask you, am I not a person like you? Do I get no say in what happens to me just because I am the creation of another? Am I not allowed to fight to live, just as you would?” She couldn’t see the way Lady Éowyn’s demeanor changed. She was almost sympathetic to Aelora. Almost. 

Gríma, on the other hand, was rather impressed with her display. She was telling the truth, technically. Though she left out the crucial detail of why Viseryon tried to kill her, twisting it in her own way to garner sympathy. One look at Théoden and he knew the old king was falling for her act. Hell, the way she cried about Viseryon’s controlling nature pulled at his own heartstrings, though he knew it would. It happened before. 

“You can’t argue self defense with this. The man was beheaded.” Éomer argued, much to Aelora and Gríma’s dismay. The pale man quickly got to work to counter this point with the king.

“She must have been gravely upset, after all, the man did try to kill her. We don’t know if he tried again in her chambers, and in my opinion he must have, wouldn’t you agree?” The king nodded. 

“And how do we know those bruises are from Viseryon? The kingdom whispers of how you lay with snakes.” Or perhaps worms would be the more accurate word, Éomer thought as he watched Aelora’s face drop. She looked betrayed, but not angry. The way she was able to camouflage her emotions was impressive. Gríma nervously pressed his thin lips into a thinner line. 

“Who I’ve shared my bed with previously has no bearing on the matter, but if it concerns you so I will have you know I am still a virgin, my lord.” She lied to his face with no malice or annoyance in her voice at the accusation. “And I know the people who vie for my affection wouldn’t harm me in the way Viseryon had.” She stood up straight and made her way back to the pyre where she grabbed one of Viseryon’s cold, rigid hands.

“Here, I’ll prove to you it was him.” She bent down slightly and pulled his hand to her neck, readjusting his fingers to fit the pattern left behind from the day before. They fit perfectly, each one sliding onto its designated purple line like a puzzle piece falling into place. She felt her heart beat faster with his hand touching her neck again. The feeling brought her back to the hall the day before, and she didn’t like remembering that.

Gríma quickly turned to the king and began whispering. “His hands are a perfect match, lord, see? She must be speaking the truth.” He gestured to Aelora, and the king nodded. Gríma made plenty of sense to him, it had to have been a self defense killing, and one that preserved his own life at that. 

Éomer felt slight guilt as he spoke again. 

“We cannot be sure that was him, his hands are about the size of mine.” He stated somberly. Aelora let out a sigh. She wouldn’t give up just yet.

“It’s the truth.” Spoke a meek voice from behind them. Both Éomer and Aelora turned around and their eyes met the small frame of the maid Hilda. Kenric immediately sat up, overwhelmingly relieved to see his friend awake. “I saw Lord Viseryon strangling Lady Aelora in the halls yesterday. He was furious with her, for what I don’t know, but it truly seemed like he would kill her. I saw her face turn purple before he let go.” She recounted, stepping shyly into the hall. 

“I wouldn’t doubt it was because she refused to kill the king.” Hilda finished, coming to a stop beside Kenric in the corner. The dark haired man turned to the king once more and whispered one last request.

“Let her stay. She’s proven herself trustworthy.”

Théoden struggled to get to his feet, reaching for a black staff with a handle made out of some sort of bone. His joints creaked and his hand wobbled as he supported himself. Gríma quickly stood, reaching out his arms in an attempt to help the king up and to make sure he didn’t fall. Théoden waved his hand, and his advisor stood to the side. Slowly, the aging king hobbled forward and down the steps. His nephew stepped out of the way, but Aelora stood still. He stopped before her and caught his breath.

“I thank you, then.” He began, “You show loyalty… to… a land that isn’t your own…” He struggled once more, moving his face away as he coughed. “You have earned your… place here.” The room fell silent, but she could tell the king’s nephew was far from pleased. A small smile formed on her lips as she curtsied. 

“Thank you, your highness. I am forever in your debt.” She stated as sincerely as possible, when really she knew the person she owed the most was Gríma. She turned back to Viseryon’s body. She had one last request.

“The Sohnyar are to be burned when they die. We see it as a connection to Arien and a way of returning ourselves to her.” She stated lowly. “Viseryon deserved nothing in life, but I ask we at least grant him this.” The king nodded. 

As Aelora fled the hall, and Éowyn and Éomer rushed to help their uncle back to his chambers to rest, Kenric strummed lightly on his lute. Gríma stood before the throne, listening as Kenric sang softly.

Lady Aelora, dressed in red,

Not a tear she did shed for her creator

who now lay cold and dead.

____________________________________________________ Some things of note:

This story is a mix of book canon and movie canon

I've taken some liberties with the timeline and had Theodred's death moved up by a year because this story takes place in 3017 while LOTR takes place in 3018.

The lesser born characters Hilda and Kenric will be making multiple appearances throughout this story.

The Sohnyar are a race of man that I came up with, they come from the mostly volcanic island of Sohn which was scorched when Morgoth attempted to ravage Arien. It's mentioned here that the Sohnyar are burned when they die as a means of reuniting themselves with Arien, so that's what that's referring to. Queen Caecelia of The Six is mentioned because she is a very important figure in Sohnian culture. She is the second born Draecyr and the second of The Six original Sohnyar who were created by Morgoth and Arien. The Draecyrs came from the ground and made up the first three of The Six, while the other Sohnian family, The Aeryses, came from the smoke in the air. Their island was sunk by Morgoth in an attempt to wipe his failure from the earth, but the Sohnyar fled and made their way to middle earth where they settled in Gondor. The Sohnyar have a special connection to dragons and are the only group of people on Arda to have created dragon bloods, and the creatures originated with the Aeryses. Caecelia, who married Alrid, was jealous of Tyrienne Aerys who kept her last name after marrying, and opted to create the dragon blood Naessa to obtain power. Just a bit of a lore dump. I plan on writing about this more later after I finish Aelora's story.

Also, Imma be real, I really tried to keep Grima in character but idk if I was able to do it so sorry if it's a bit ooc :)

#lotr #lord of the rings #lotr fanfic #lotr x reader #grima wormtongue #grima wormtongue x reader #grima wormtongue x oc #oc x canon #fanfiction #lotr fanfiction #brad dourif #my fic: Blood of the Dragon #my OC: Aelora Draecyr

[writing-good-vibes]

greetings, friends and readers !! 💓📚 i hope you're all making the most of spooky whore autumn !! 😈💓

and as it is that time of year again, i welcome you all to my second annual HALLOWEEN PROMPT FILL !! 👻💀🎃

i'll be accepting prompts from THIS PROMPT LIST from NOW until 24th OCTOBER, so plenty of time for you guys to think and for me to write !! multiple asks are more than welcome, as well as multiple prompts in one !!

*PLEASE REMEMBER TO ADD WHICH CATEGORY YOUR NUMBERED PROMPT IS FROM, THERE ARE BOTH CUTE AND SPOOKY PROMPTS ON THE LIST !!*

CHARACTER LISTS:

the usual brad dourif rogues: charles, jack, tommy, sheriff, doc, grima, billy and tucker.

misc. horror: bo sinclair, vincent sinclair, lester sinclair, otis driftwood and chop top sawyer.

*[if requesting any of the sinclair brothers, please specify is you would like a reader-insert or my usual domestic sibling slices-of-life, the choice is yours !!]*

#brad dourif #bo sinclair #vincent sinclair #charles lee ray #house of wax 2005 #jack dante #grima wormtongue #sheriff brackett #doc cochran #tucker cleveland #billy bibbit #lester sinclair #otis driftwood #chop top sawyer #bo sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #charles lee ray x reader

[judeswhore]

coffee, pancakes for two; jude bellingham

summary: coffee dates with jude before class sound way better in your head

pairing: jude bellingham x reader

warnings: mentions of food

notes: you can find my masterlist here

"we're sitting in."

jude's tone was final, firm enough to suggest he wanted no argument from you and the slight raise of his eyebrows and tilt of his head said he was waiting to shut down any attempt you gave. he held on to your waist, fingers soft on the skin beneath your jumper as though he could stop you from running away. not that you would, you wanted your coffee first.

"but i have to squeeze in my last few slides of notes before the exam." you pouted slightly up at him and watched him shake his head as he tapped just above the curve of your bum. the coffee shop was busy with the early hour, students and workers alike waiting for their first hit of caffeine, eager for the few minutes of warmth the small corner establishment offered. despite the stream of people around jude had no issues in tugging you as close as possible, dipping his head and pressing a quick kiss to your jutted out bottom lip.

"you can do that here."

"but you'll-"

"nuh uh," he cut you off with another kiss. "but nothing. you have lectures after your exam and i know for a fact you won't eat anything until at least 5 and it's-" jude checked the clock on the far wall with a pointed look. "8 right now. i wanna make sure you have something before you leave."

your eyes narrowed, fingers tugging at the straps of your bag as he ushered you forward just slightly in the queue. half of you was grateful for him, a fuzzy feeling low in your tummy that he wanted to take care of you, loved you enough to make sure you were okay when he knew sometimes you forgot to put yourself first. the other half of you knew being with him meant you probably wouldn't get much done, his presence alone a distraction, even if he remained quiet.

"i can grab something after my exam."

"i know you won't. so how about you close that pretty little mouth of yours and go find us a table?" this time you rolled your eyes and jude grinned, kissing the side of your head. "don't roll your eyes at me."

"you're so bossy."

"maybe you should just listen to me then." knocking your elbow into his side you pulled away from him, gaze sweeping the cafe for somewhere to sit. jude's fingers were still on your back, thumb brushing back and forth almost absentmindedly against your skin and it had you half melting into him, any hint of protest gone from you as you nodded towards an empty table by the window.

"m'gonna sit over there."

"you want your usual?"

"yes please." he squeezed your hip in a sign of acknowledgement and then you were weaving your way to the table, sitting yourself down with your back to your boyfriend. you were already pulling your laptop from your bag, setting it on the table in front of you and pulling up your notes, attempting to get at least a little bit of reading done while you were here.

you'd read three pages of an assigned journal before jude appeared at the side of the table, a tray balanced in his hand. his brows were drawn together, tongue peaking out from the corner of his mouth in a way that had you giggling. his gaze snapped to yours then to your laptop.

"scoot that out the way."

"i'm busy."

"you want your coffee or not?" shifting the laptop off to one side to make room you peered at the tray, gaze sliding over the two cups of coffee and landing on the small stack of pancakes, a small boat of maple syrup beside them. "almost got those for free." jude had settled into the seat opposite you and was in the process of shrugging his black jacket off, twisting to drape it over the back of his chair. he was wearing a plain white tee underneath and you hated him just a little for looking so effortlessly pretty in such a minimalist outfit.

"the barista was a fan?"

"the barista thought i was cute." your gaze snapped up from admiring his arms at that, a grimace twisting your lips as you reached for your coffee. it was warm beneath your hands, eased the slight chill that had been in your fingers since leaving the house that morning.

"clearly has terrible taste, all that caffeine must be going to her head."

"yeah? what's your excuse?"

"i know what your bank account looks like."

"funny." jude knocked his foot against yours beneath the table, locked it around your ankle and tugged softly. "what was it you were saying this morning? i'm sure you were telling me how fit i am, couldn't keep your hands off me."

jude had poured the syrup over the pancakes and you used your fork to cut a piece free, popping it into your mouth with an exaggerated roll of your eyes. "i don't know what you're talking about."

"oh really? you don't remember begging me to-"

"i swear to god, bellingham, if you finish that sentence." you pointed your fork at him in an attempt to look threatening but jude only grinned. your cheeks suddenly felt hot with the reminder of what had happened only an hour earlier and the fact that your boyfriend was so ready to air it out despite the old couple sitting at the table next to you.

"what?" he was pretending to be innocent, taking his own forkful of pancakes but his lips had tilted into a teasing smile. "i was gonna say how you kept begging me not to leave the bed."

"yeah, sure you were. these are really good by the way."

"thanks, i think they really went out of their way to impress me."

"the size of your ego never fails to amaze me." you turned to your laptop, pulling up your notes to skim over, aware that jude was still smiling over at you, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

"only the size of my ego?"

"nothing else is big enough to impress me."

"'oh jude! please don't stop, s'just so good.'" the toe of your shoe smacked harshly into jude's ankle, your glare enough to seer through his head as his fake moans tapered off into soft giggles. the couple beside you sent a look of disgust your way, muttering away to each other as heat crawled up your cheeks.

"seriously? you're ridiculous."

"just tryna jog your memory."

"you don't have to be so loud about it, you're gonna get us kicked out. and i do not sound like that."

"no, you're a lot louder. and more whiney, kind of like a-"

"shut up." he only laughed at your tone, held his hands up in mock surrender before reaching for one of yours. he held your hand in his, the black ring on his finger a cold sting against your skin as he slowly lowered his head. with his gaze still on yours, he kissed your knuckles.

"m'sorry babe."

"hmm you will be. here, make yourself useful." you pulled your hand away and pushed your laptop towards him, finger pointing to a small list of questions you were sure were going to be on the exam. "ask me these?" you watched him read over the words, his brows scrunching, nose crinkling as he glanced back up at you.

"you know what these things mean?"

"i hope so."

"it's so hot that you're smart."

"stop being a flirt and help me, would you."

for the next twenty minutes jude managed to behave himself, asking you the questions set out, leaning over and pressing a soft kiss to your mouth whenever you got it right, leaning in and kissing you even softer if you made a mistake because "kissing makes you smarter or whatever, it's biology". he'd cut off little slices of pancake for you, holding the fork in front of your lips and urging you to take a bite while your eyes skimmed the notebook you'd pulled from you bag.

once you'd made your way through all of the questions he pushed the lid of your laptop closed, slid it back into your bag for you before you could complain. "you're sorted for this, take a break before you burn yourself out.” you didn’t protest like he’d thought you would, only settled your elbows on the table, chin propped in your hands. jude had ordered a croissant halfway through your study session and he tore a bit of pastry off, pressed it between your lips with a tilt of his head.

“why’re you staring at me like that, weirdo.” he hadn’t missed the soft look in your eyes, the lovesick smile that was growing as you shrugged your shoulders. he copied your position, elbows on the table, chin in his hand and suddenly you were both almost nose to nose, his eyes locking on yours.

you sat quietly for a moment, took in the lighter flecks in his dark eyes, the slope of his nose and the full outline of his lips. he was trying to grow out his facial hair, the dark stubble on his chin and jaw almost begging you to drag your lips over it, to leave behind soft marks, too light for anyone to see. his full attention was almost making you squirm, heat blossoming in your tummy and rising until your heart felt ready to burst.

“i love you.” jude blinked a little in surprise at your sudden confession, not that he’d never heard it before, you said it often enough, he just hadn’t been expecting it in that moment. you cocked your head and sent him a somewhat shy smile. “thank you for the breakfast.”

“the pancakes were more for my benefit than yours, i was starving.” a soft snort left you as you shook your head.

“i’m being serious.”

“i know,” he pressed his foot to yours beneath the table. “but you don’t have to thank me.”

“i know.” again the two of you went quiet, neither of you wanting to be the one to look away first. jude’s eyes crinkled at the corner when he grinned, his head nudging to one side slightly.

“c’mere.” he didn’t give you the chance to move forward, he closed the gap himself, lips slotting softly over yours.

the kiss was slow, a gentle brush of his mouth over yours, broken rather quickly from fear of upsetting the couple still sitting a few feet away. jude didn’t move back straight away however, just bumped his nose against yours. “i love you too by the way.” then he was sitting back, pulling his jacket back over his shoulders, gaze tracking the time on his watch. “c’mon i’ll buy you one of those ice lattes and walk you to campus.”

#jude bellingham #jude bellingham fluff #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham fic #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham blurb

[socksracoon10]

Waiting For Nothing

Pairing: Legolas Greenleaf x F!Reader A/N: I haven't written for LOTR for a while, so I thought I'd make ya'll sad with this angsty Legolas fic. Have fun! The hearts of the warriors are often small; they've grown accustomed to fighting and death. And in each battle they fight, a layer of their heart sheds off. It falls to the ground, and rejoins the earthly soil to be reborn in another's. The scars remain, but the feelings behind the memories will slowly fade, until there is nothing more than the shell of a man who attained glory with his rotting heart a testament to the last sliver of hope that echoed in the beating of his heart.

Your heart was rather large. Having lived most of your life as the poor peasant girl with no relatives by blood, Edoras welcomed you into open arms. You were friends with almost everyone, especially with Théoden's niece, Éowyn, who quickly became your best friend - Théoden even considered you his niece as well because of how close you two were. The two of you would go riding on horses, galloping around in joy as you remained oblivious to the impending doom that would soon terrorize the entirety of Rohan in just a matter of a few days.

"I can hardly see why you roam this castle so willingly when we know your place is outside in a small hut…" Grima Wormtongue spat when you had walked past him. You glanced at him over your shoulder, your lips sharply turning into a scowl. The audacity of that vile creature to even speak in your direction. You huffed out in annoyance, biting the inside of your cheek as you chose your next words, carefully.

"Bold words coming from a creature that is more disheveled than an Orc," You snickered before haughtily marching off.

Within hours, you were kicked out of the palace and exiled from Rohan. You were back to being an orphan, right where you had started. Éowyn had looked at you with such pain in her eyes but she knew that if she were to act out against this cruel decree, she would face a similar fate and nothing could be done to save the Kingdom she so dearly loved.

Living in the outskirts was not as easy as you had initially thought it to be. In your mind, you had foolishly assured yourself that since you had been in this condition before everything would come naturally. It wasn't until the first hour passed did you sorely miss the place you once called home. With nowhere to go, you wandered around aimlessly, circling the borders of Edoras repeatedly to keep your mind occupied. By the 5th day, you swore you were dying due to starvation and thirst. You could barely move, your body lay stricken on a rock as you gasped for air. Your head tilted slightly to your right, the pain in your stomach blooming to elsewhere in your body and from afar, you noticed three horses charging towards you. You couldn't even sit up properly to examine the incoming invaders, and you weakly lifted your hand, silently begging for help.

The three horses revealed their masters on top of them, a tall dark haired man, another being that resembled a wizard and on top of the third horse was a dwarf, and in front of him the most beautiful elf you had ever seen. You had heard stories of elves before in your life, ones that were told by Éowyn, but never once did you think one would be standing right before you. If you were to die in this exact moment, you would've been very pleased that you at last saw an elf.

The man jumped off his horse and crouched down to your level, feeling your forehead before turning to the elf,

"Legolas, fetch her some of your Lembas bread, and you Gimli give her your water." The man instructed; not knowing whose name belonged to which creature, you looked between the four beings with curiosity, despite being so near to death's door. The elf crouched down besides you, allowing you to drink some water before chewing on his bread. Your hunger knew no bounds and you chewed and chewed, swallowing whole lumps of bread as you slowly began to regain some of your health. The man sighed in contentment, giving you a soft smile before standing up to walk towards the Wizard. The elf, on the other hand, stared at you with a gentle smile on his face and kept offering you food until you said no.

"What's your name?" The man asked,

"My name is (Y/N) (L/N)," You whispered, taking another sip of water. You coughed a few times, swallowing thickly before meeting his gaze.

"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn. This is Gandalf the White, that is Gimli, son of Gloin and over to your left is Legolas of the Woodland Realms." Aragorn exclaimed, gesturing towards the elf beside you. You glanced back to face the elf, a small smile forming on your face. After acquainting yourself with the 4 beings, they heard your pitiful tale and realized that Rohan deeply needed imminent change. They allowed you to accompany them, seating yourself behind Aragorn as the horses charged forward.

Your eyes, however, remained glued onto the elf. You noticed his soft features, the way the wind seemed to swirl around him and only him, and his piercing eyes that scoured the land before him with diligence. His silence captivated you, and you did not know why.

With Grima Wormtongue out of the way, and your adoptive uncle restored to his glory, it seemed that you were finally welcome in the castle. Éowyn had rushed forward, capturing you into a warm embrace before kissing your forehead. She grinned at you, holding onto your arms ecstatically as she danced to and fro, dragging you deeper into the throne room. As she tugged at your hands, you glanced to your right to find the elf conversing with the dwarf, the both of them walking in the opposite direction with concern glazing their eyes. You wanted to listen, you wanted to be a part of them… but you did not know why. You yearned for the chance to just be alone with him, and whether it was good for Rohan or not, the chance soon came when everyone was ordered to seek shelter at Helm's Deep.

"You're rather quiet," You chirped, catching up to Legolas. The walk to Helm's Deep was excruciating and you feared that the boredom would kill you before starvation or even worse - the Uruk-hais. Legolas smirked, his lips curving ever so slightly upwards before he turned to face you,

"Forgive me. I am not one to converse so easily in such pressing times. Though, of course, must you include Gimli in our conversation, I shall pass a few jokes at his expense." He glanced over his shoulder to face Gimli atop his horse; the dwarf shook his head and grumbled,

"I'd cut yer pointy ears off if ye try to embarrass me in front of this lassie," He scoffed and you let out a laugh, before turning to Legolas,

"Come now, surely you would be able to carry a conversation without teasing the poor dwarf!"

"Perhaps, but I do not know for sure," He sighed, before resuming his silence as he watched the horizons.

Legolas knew. He could sense your attraction towards him, but he chose not to say anything about it. He hoped that it would pass, that you would not be bound at his feet, desperate for his affection. Because it would never work, and he did not have the heart to admit that he did not have any feelings for you. You were trying so hard, trying to spend more time with him. You were trying to distract yourself from the doom that lay ahead of you because everyone knew how big your heart was; all you could ever do was dream.

Éowyn and you had both tried to convince the King to let the two of you fight. There was nothing for you to lose, you both loved your Kingdom, tremendously. But as Aragorn reminded Éowyn of her duty, you turned to face Legolas whose piercing eyes never once left you. His lips formed into a thin line, and he followed Aragorn out of the room, leaving you in your thoughts.

"She's very affectionate towards you," Aragorn pointed out as they were leaving,

"I'm well aware," Legolas responded.

"What do you plan to do about it?" The man questioned.

"Nothing."

"Nothing? Legolas, perhaps-"

"Perhaps we do not speak of it." Legolas jeered, his brows furrowing at the rightful heir to Gondor. "We have more pressing matters to deal with, the lives of 100 thousand men are at steak tonight."

"Ignoring her will only heighten her love for you, she will be desperate. She will be fooled into thinking that she has a chance. If you are going to reject her, at least have the courage to tell her directly!"

"That wee lass will be devastated," Gimli chimed in, fixing his helmet, "You sure you don't feel anything?"

"I'm positive, I do not." Legolas grimaced and shoved past his two friends to grab his arrows. The incoming surge of Uruk-hais was his primary concern, but the guilt he felt as he killed one after the other tormented him. With each arrow he shot, he felt his burden increase tenfold. Aragorn and Gimli were right, but why could he not bring himself to tell you the truth? To tell you that he had no feelings for you?

Because… then he would be lying. He watched you from afar at times, watched the way you'd dance with Éomer, your arm wrapped around his as you skipped around. You'd stand beside Théoden to catch a breath, your eyes searching for Legolas and when they landed on him, he'd instantly look away - as if he wasn't staring at you. As if he wasn't infatuated with you the same way you were with him. He was lying to himself, he wanted to break free. He wanted to stand near you, to hear you constantly chittering about something; his heart ached at the sight of you fondly playing with some children. His mind roamed to thoughts that turned into dreams; dreams of you and him together. But this was wrong, all of this was wrong. He would only live a short life with you, and when you died, he would spend the rest of his life in solitude.

He'd seen it with his father. He'd seen the way his mother's death impacted him; he was not a man of many words, but his cold demeanor lingered around Legolas, a constant reminder of the similar fate he'd feel if he decided to indulge in his present feelings. He decided that he had to do something about it, even if he couldn't face it himself.

"Would you like something to eat?" You asked, toying with an apple as Legolas tended to his horse near the campsite. He glanced over his shoulder, looking at you with solemn eyes. You could've sworn a tear drop cascaded down his pale cheeks. He harshly took a deep breath in, and shook his head,

"It is alright, I do not need anything to eat." He responded, his fingers wrapped around the reins of his horse.

"Well, perhaps I could offer you something? It is not material…" You began, stepping forward with hope in your eyes. It pained him, it pained him more than anything else in the world. He could not bring himself to do this, but at the same time, it would be even worse to accept your affections.

"Lady (L/N), please." Legolas exclaimed, finally meeting your eyes, "Do not continue. I… I cannot accept your affection."

You paused in your tracks, looking at him with wide eyes.

"I do not… envision a future of us two living a happy life." He was searching for proper words, his head turning around the room as if he was physically swimming through his thoughts, "I… My heart is heavy, I have never felt this way for anyone. I do not want to be the one to burden your heart, but I am afraid that you must keep those feelings to yourself. There is nothing that I can do. Nothing we can do."

"I… You… You don't even know what I was going to say…" You reasoned, and Legolas let out a huff,

"I do not need to hear you say it, I already know. I've seen the way you look at me, the way you tend to me. I am forever in your debt for your kindness, I thank you for it. But, it cannot continue. Aragorn, Gimli, and I will be leaving tonight." Legolas murmured, tugging on the reins as he drove his horse forward and away from you. Your heart sunk at his words, unsure of what was happening.

This couldn't be happening to you. Not before you even had the chance to tell him how you felt. What if he realized how true your love was for him? What if this was the last time you ever saw him?

"I shall be waiting for you." You stated, swiftly turning on your heels to face his departing form.

"Don't, you'll be waiting for nothing," Legolas whispered, his eyes softening at your words.

"Nothing is… indeed something," You breathed, your fingers linked together as you began to fidget, nervously. "Perhaps, you'll understand. Perhaps you'll… come back."

"Perhaps, but I would not count on it." Legolas sighed, before hopping onto his horse and riding off, leaving you alone for the night.

"I see you've told her how you felt," Aragorn had asked Legolas when they were far from Rohan, "Does it feel as if your heart is lighter now, with nothing to worry about?"

Legolas paused, hearing Gimli grumble a few curses under his breath regarding the elf. He opened his mouth to speak, before closing it. The elf thought deeply, his mind was utterly blank and he hated it.

"I feel…" He began, "I feel as if I've only made it worse. Not just for her, but... for me as well." He swallowed, thickly, before glancing over his shoulder to take one last look at Rohan. The wind was still, there was not much that he could hear.

Except for the beating of a very large heart that painfully yearned for him with each fleeting second.

#writing #fanfiction #fanfic #legolas x reader #legolas greenleaf #legolas #legolas greenleaf x reader #legolas x you #legolas x y/n #lotr #lord of the rings #the hobbit #the lord of the rings #lord of the rings fanfiction #lotr fanfiction #lotr fanfic #lord of the rings fanfic #the lord of the rings fanfiction #legolas greenleaf x you #legolas greenleaf x y/n #orlando bloom #orlando bloom x reader #orlando bloom x y/n #orlando bloom x you

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Steve Harrington x WednesdayAddams!reader [1.5K]

You were still staring, not blinking. Unmoving, actually. But the parting of your lips and the warmth over your cheeks was an indication that you had heard the boy talk. 

“Can I kiss you?”

You’d be lying if you had said you hadn’t been waiting for it. But the inevitability of your first kiss happening was making your stomach twist and turn, and god you hated that feeling. 

It was becoming a common occurrence though, the more you spent time with Steve. He was awful about it, hardly sympathetic, always looking pretty, being too sweet, telling you that he liked your big, black boots. And each outing to the diner, to the mall, each walk around the park was feeling more and more like a date. 

Once he’d your hand for the first time, it was only normal to assume he’d kiss you on your doorstep, right? In the front of his car? It hadn’t happened though, not that day, not like that, and despite your nerves — as hideous as they were — you were disappointed 

You’d walked, possibly stomped, away from him, trying your very best to not let any sort of emotion show — especially disappointment. Boys weren’t worth being disappointed over… even Steve Harrington. 

But then he’d invited you over one Sunday, a lazy one, where the sky outside was bleak and grey, a blue cloud kinda day. There was drizzle on his bedroom window and Steve had put his stereo on a low volume, if only to get you to make fun of his music taste. You’d been stiff and tense and a little wide eyed when he brought you into his bedroom, more so than usual anyway, and Steve wasn’t sure how this was going to go. 

It took an hour, maybe two, but you seemed to relax a little, wandering around his room with fingers outstretched and exploring, dragging over his books, his old sports trophies, the edges of his mixtapes. And then you caught sight of a baseball bat in the corner, leaning against the wall with an assortment of nails sticking out the top. 

You tapped the wood and stared at him, your face hiding any indication of a reaction. He swallowed, wondering how he could explain. And then, a tiny twitch of your lip, a lift in the right corner that he almost missed. 

“I like this.”

Of course you did. 

The rest of the afternoon was spent on Steve’s bed and Steve couldn’t keep his eyes off of you, entranced, transfixed. The prettiest little patch of black in his blue, blue room. 

Black dress, black tights, black boots, black eyes, black cherry lips. You were smudged and smokey around the edges, an ink stain on a drawing. Steve marvelled over it all. 

“You look pretty,” he said, knees bumping as you say face to face, legs crossed and a small pile of cards between you both. 

(‘Cause you’d taken a peek at his selection of movies and said: “absolutely not, Steven.”)

You looked up at him and blinked once, lips pressing together in a way that Steve now knew meant he’d caught you off guard. He was getting used to you, your mannerisms, the bluntness that normally kept people away. 

You let out a breath and held his gaze, nodding once, curtly. 

“Thank you,” you replied and your tongue felt heavy with it, still trying to learn that it was okay to accept such a sweet compliment. “I like your sweater,” you offered back. 

Steve smirked and it was dizzying. “No you don’t,” he laughed. He was right, it was a deep, rich yellow and you always tried to stop yourself from wrinkling your nose when he wore it. 

Another twitch of your lip and Steve grinned, he was getting good at pulling these micro smiles from you. 

And then, those words. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

You didn’t speak for a minute, maybe, hopefully not longer than that. Your hands were curled around your knee and you were mostly unmoving, until Steve reached out and took one, holding it in his own and your heart screamed at how his touch brought you some comfort. 

He was always so warm. And patient, ‘cause he was sitting waiting, watching you quietly, earnestly, never pushing. 

“I— I haven’t…” you grimaced, eyes shutting briefly before staring back at the boy a little harder than before. You needed to get a grip. “I haven’t kissed anyone before.”

Steve nodded slowly, as if he knew this, his expression unchanging. He lifted one shoulder, a half shrug, casual and unaffected. 

“That’s okay,” Steve told you and his hand was still on yours, fingers twisted together. His thumb rubbed a circle on the inside of your palm and you ached with how nice it felt. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”

You straightened your back and tried not to glare, because he was being so sweet and so patient and you were trying not to panic. If you panicked, you’d run.

And Steve seemed to know that, ‘cause he gave your hand a soft squeeze and he smiled, that slow, gentle smile that made you want to punch a damn wall because it was so nice. 

“I probably won’t be good at it,” you said, deadpan and without any apology. You sucked in a breath, quick and sharp, wondering if the boy would give up. 

You didn’t want him to. 

“That’s okay too,” Steve said softly and then you were leaning in.

You heard his breath hitch, watched his eyes darken and god, you liked that. His gaze dropped to your lips, staring, a little wide eyed. 

“Show me,” you demanded and Steve smiled because he knew you know, knew that you were nervous, not rude. 

“Yeah?” He whispered. He waited for you to nod and then he grinned, wide and bright and he looked so happy. “Okay, c’mere.” 

His hands cupped your face and were suddenly too warm, warmer than you’d ever been and it only worsened when Steve splayed his long fingers over your jaw, his thumb rubbing softly at the corner of your mouth. You gasped, sharp and sudden. 

“You can tell me to stop anytime, yeah?” Steve told you, “pull out that little blade if I do anything you don’t like,” he joked. 

“Sylvia isn’t little,” you tutted, referring to the knife that was always folded and tucked in a boot. 

What you meant was, ‘you won’t do anything to me that I won’t like.’

Steve seemed to understand because he let out a small huff of laughter and smiled, nodding. He looked pleased, his cheeks a little pink. “Okay, close your eyes.”

Surprisingly, you did without argument. And Steve blew out a shaky breath when your hands got impatient and curled around his wrists, holding him as he held you. Your thumb pressed to his pulse point, a soft, quiet tickticktick of his heartbeat under your touch. 

And then, the slant of his nose bumped yours, gentle and a little surprising because your lips parted ever so slightly. Steve leaned in a little more, his top lip brushing against yours and you marvelled at how he made the air taste like mint, like the forest, like the cherry soda he’d been drinking. 

He waited, eyes closed and forehead against yours, his thumb stroking over cheek until he felt you nudge forward and then your lips were touching his. It was chaste, at first, a soft press of his mouth on yours and you pulled back until you didn’t. 

You took merely a second before pushing back into the boy, hands curling tighter around his wrists, making sure he didn’t pull away. You felt greedy, wanting more from him straight away but Steve didn’t seem to mind. He pressed his lips back to yours and let you get a feel for him until he took a little charge and tilted your face with his hand, nose pushing into your cheek more until your lips parted under his. 

He kissed you slowly, unbearably soft and sweet until you made a little noise for him and he licked over your bottom lip once before pulling back, pupils blown wide and chest heaving. 

He cleared his throat, ran a hand through his hair and eyed you carefully. 

“Was that okay?” 

You were still holding onto his wrists. 

You nodded, staring at him in that way that you did, wide eyed and unblinking. But he saw the shine there, the way you tucked your bottom lip onto your mouth, like you were trying to chase the taste of him. 

“Mhmm,” you said, “that was okay.” You were quieter than normal, your voice taking a less sharp edge. 

“We can do it again, if you want,” Steve offered. He didn’t want to push. 

And then, something magic. You smiled. It was tiny, barely there, but both corners of your lips lifted, a pretty twist as you tried to tamper it down but Steve saw.  You nodded, once, curt and direct. “Please,” you asked him and god, it was the prettiest thing Steve had ever heard.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x wednesday!reader #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington imagine #steve baby blurb

[cherry-flavoured-thot]

Hey, sorry for bothering. I was wondering if you can do a fire emblem heroes head canon with a child summoner reader, who has social anxiety (of extra drama you can add past trama but this bit is optional)? Again sorry for bother, I just think the idea is cute because tiny timid summoner.

Child!Summoner:

Alfonse, who feels so much guilt that they've placed the burdens of their world on a child to the point where he overcompensates by constantly reminding Summoner to ask him if they need anything at all. "Alfie I'm tired." Yes he lets them call him that nickname, and yes he immediately gives them a piggyback ride.

Sharena is the same, except she will let tiny Summoner hide behind her in social situations. When talking with certain heroes, Sharena will either be right by their side or nearby to jump in if it looks like they are afraid. Camilla is someone else who will allow Summoner to hide behind her if they'd wish during social situations.

"You've seen war child, and you mean to tell me people is what you fear?" Thorr sees the irony in it all, Askr's greatest weapon a child, whose knees threaten to buckle in gatherings of people. "Steady yourself, I will not allow harm to befall you." But she still tries to ease their worries regardless.

Grima calls Summoner, little worm and little human (affectionately). They aren't as sympathetic to Summoner's anxiety, as other heroes but Grima's presence alone scares off plenty of people. "Why worry yourself little worm? I will turn them all into ash and their foolish opinions with them." Yeah... not very helpful.

But if we want to be angsty, and Summoner has trauma, I just know Grima would be seething. "How typical of humans to turn on their own, not even their own children are safe from foolishness. This is why I will destroy them all."

Little Summoner has so many family members now. Hector likes to carry them around on his shoulders, Seteth and Flayn teach them how to fish. Ephraim teaches them how to use a lance, Felix teaches them how to use a sword but both of them make the mistake of handing the child one made of steel and are surprised when they can't even pick the weapon up off the ground. Seth was around when Ephraim was teaching Summoner, and was sighing the whole time.

Setsuna and Summoner have both been found just chilling in traps together, Setsuna's calm demeanor helps them to not panic. Xander takes them horseback riding and almost has a full blown panic attack because they immediately fell off the horse. Helbindi incites violence on anyone who makes Summoner cry.

#i like this #i always like little quirky summoners #cryptid summoner was my fave #fire emblem heroes #feh #fire emblem #fire emblem x reader #fe #fe x reader #feh x reader #alfonse #sharena #grima #thorr #hector #seteth #ephraim #felix

[sakur4ii]

SAM GOLBACH X COLBY BROCK X GN! READER

AU Streamer!Gn reader

Warning ⚠️: Nothing, but English is not my first language so pls don't be mean with me if something is wrong 😄

You had known Sam and Colby for a long time, you were a well known streamer and your followers really wanted to see you in a paranormal investigation with those two guys. You remember how much fun it was, you were lucky that Larray was another guest, so you weren't too scared. From there Sam and Colby liked to come to you for some videos, it was only a matter of time before off camera the three of you became good friends.

People noticed something weird between you and those two guys, and actually, you had fun watching your followers freak out over the very confident interactions.

Now you're on a paranormal investigation those two, it was just the three of you, according to Colby it's because it would be more fun that way, and according to Sam it's because they need someone to hold the camera for them (even if it was just a very obvious lie to convince you).

The three of you are sitting around a table, listening to the site guide explaining the past of the site. Sam was at the head of the table, opposite the guide, Colby was to his right and you were to his left, while the camera was propped up on a piece of furniture focusing on the four of you.

You and Colby had been kicking each other under the table for a while, earning silent reprimands (kicks) from Sam.

—In this place it is believed that there is a spirit or demon that likes to bother and touch people, especially people like you. — The guide explains, pointing to you.

You raise your eyebrows in surprise, directing your gaze at your two friends, who seem to be quite amused by the information, but don't look surprised. You glared at them as you realised why the three of them had gone alone.

—Don't worry y/n, we'll protect you. — Sam said, winking at you and letting the guide continue to explain. You pursed your lips in embarrassment and rolled your eyes, you'll never know how they manage to get on your nerves with so little.

After the guide's explanation and the tour of the site, you started the investigation, trying to be as serious as possible, but you couldn't help but clown around.

You held the camera, so that Sam and Colby were in the shot as much as possible, they both tried to take it away from you, but you wouldn't let them, so, resigned, they finished setting up the equipment and started asking questions.

The two of them were sitting on a couch, while you were filming them standing up, which was making them nervous. They were trying to concentrate on asking questions but they just wanted you to sit down, so Colby decided to stand up.

—It's my turn to film, please give me the camera and sit with Sam. — He asks, stretching out his arms for you to give him the camera.

You looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

—Sit down. — You ordered. He complied with the order with his arms raised in surrender, causing Sam to laugh and look at him mockingly.

They decided it was a hopeless case, so they simply continued the investigation, on the condition that for the next place in the house they would investigate, you were not to touch the camera even once, to which you agreed.

In the room you were in now, there was a rocking chair, and you all agreed that you would do the Estes method in that chair.

Sam placed the camera on a piece of furniture so it would focus on where you were sitting and Colby stood next to you setting up the device.

When you were blindfolded and wearing headphones, each of them squatted on one side of you. You repeated what the radio was saying, although it made no sense to you, to the boys it was a conversation so fluid that it seemed unreal.

The conversation was starting to get darker and darker, and not long after you felt a burning in your back, Sam pulled you out of the method with two taps on the shoulder.

You removed your blindfold and headphones disoriented and with an obvious grimace of pain, Colby worriedly put a hand on your thigh and asked if you were okay, to which you replied that you felt a pain in your back.

Sam helped you out of the chair, and Colby went to get the camera, you lifted up your shirt so that it exposed only your back, with the help of the camera light Colby and Sam saw scratches that were bleeding. Sam, shocked and scared, brushed his fingers against the scratches and then took a picture of them with his mobile phone so you could see them.

Luckily there wasn't much more research left, so you left as soon as possible to dismiss the video and tend to your wounds.

When the video was released, people went crazy and died of tenderness seeing the way the boys cared about you, you weren't even surprised when Colby passed you tiktok edits where you were nervous about Sam's winking and Colby putting his hand on your thigh (he spent a whole week messing with you) on the other hand Sam was texting you to see if you were ok, the scratches had scarred him and he needed to know how you were doing so he could sleep soundly.

So if before your audience already shipped the three of you, after that video they shipped you twice as much.

#colby brock x gn reader #sam golbach x gn reader #colby brock x male reader #sam golbach x male reader

[an-anonimous-writer]

''TRUTH OR DARE?''

credits to the GIF creator and owner

Remus Lupin x Fem!Reader and Platonic! Marlene x Fem!Reader

Summary: Marlene Mckinnon, your best friend of years invites you to a drinking night with the Marauders and half of Gryffindor’s Seventh Years. Your crush Remus is there, would heartbreaks unfold when Sirius asks him about the person that he likes?

Warnings: angst, language, underage drinking, insecure reader, unrequited love, Marlene being a bad friend (although I think she would be the greatest one), James being an idiot, the Marauders being a bit of assholes + my terrible English (once more I apologize beforehand for any errors)

A/N: hello, how are y’all? long time no see. i’ve been stuck on a writers block and it had all summed up to finishing my last year of high school, the summer after that and starting uni (which i’m very happy with) and so i had this idea stuck in my head for a while, i haven’t proofread so i don’t know the result of it, but as you know i’m a sucker for angst so, here it is ANGST. hope you enjoyed it, i’d love some feedback and corrections (if you had any). enjoy!! :D

remus lupin masterlist

marlene mckinnon masterlist

What could possibly go wrong with a bit of veritaserum, a few shots of firewhiskey and a truth or dare game? Everything and nothing at the same time, it is like flipping coin you can bet and win it all, however, at the same time there is uncertainty.

The Marauders were in the Gryffindor common room, you weren’t a part of their group, but your friend Marlene asked you to come with her, Lily and Dorcas to this ‘‘getting drunk because we don’t know what else to do on a Saturday night, although we would prefer to be partying’’. Marlene told you it was going to be a chill Saturday night, but half of Gryffindor’s Seventh Years were there too.

Marlene had always been your closest friend, she was your neighbour and she was rather an extrovert kid so you were quick to be friends. Since you were eight, you have considered Marls to be your best friend, you told her your deepest secrets, no other than your diary and yourself knew. Nonetheless, you felt as if you were drifting apart, she met Lily and they befriended the Marauders as quick as she befriended you when you were little. You thought she could sense it, that’s why you were here.

You refused at first, it wasn’t your scene, you preferred promenading through Hogsmeade and drinking a few butterbears, taking a few laughs and get back in touch, but she knew how to persuade you. You caught yourself reproducing last night interaction, your rommates let in Marlene because they knew you two were friends, though they thought of you as an alienesque pair. You were in the bathroom, prepping for bed time, when Marlene’s reflection, once you wiped your face, startled you. 

‘‘What are you doing here?’’ you asked, a hand holding your chest. ‘‘You scared me, you could’ve at least knocked’’.

You turn your whole body to see your best friend with a cheshire smile, she entered the small bathroom closing the door behind her.

‘‘Do you wanna hang out tomorrow night?’’ she started, smile still present on her features. As she saw your reaction she continued: ‘‘We haven’t seen each other for so long, please!’’ she pleaded, reaching for your hand and holding in between hers.

You looked down to where your bodys joined and sighed, that wasn’t your idea of reconnecting.

‘‘I don’t know Marls, you know I rather…’’. She cut you off.

‘‘Rems is going to be there, plus James had stolen a bit of veritaserum from Slughorn’s potion room, and I’ve seen his looks when he glance over you in the hallways’’ she explained to you, ‘‘Maybe he will confess, please come and bring your roommates, they are fun, even more than…’’

‘‘Me?’’ It was your time of cutting her off. ‘‘I’ll think of it, but my friends won’t come, they have plans for tomorrow night.’’ You crossed your arms over your chest, Marlene never lied, even when she needed to it was a blessing and a curse.

She grimaced, sensing she might had screwed it up. 

‘‘We’ll have a great time, think about it, please.’’ 

The trance was broken due to James calling your name and giggling at you. This is why it you were distancing yourself from Marls, you felt as if her friends were analyzing your every moves and when you did something out of what they were expecting, they laughed at you as if you were a monkey in a circus about to do its next trick. 

Marls looked at you and next to the object set in between the circle of people, almost everybody were drunk, your first and only glass of firewhikey sat in your hands half empty. The bottle was pointed at you, of all people. Even though Marlene promised they were only going to be the Marauders and you, almost half of the Gryffindor 7th Years were there too.

‘‘Your turn, pretty friend of Marls’’ a giggling and drunk James said, ‘‘truth or dare?’’ 

Your gaze fixated on Marlene, you inhaled deeply. Taking a sip of the glass you confidently said dare. A set of ‘‘ohs’’ was heard in the room, you gulped at the sound. Silently and in your head, you cursed Marlene and her stupid ‘‘Rem will be there’’. 

‘‘I dare you to…’’ James stood pensive his next words, he look over a boy who played in the Gryffinfor quidditch team ‘‘I dare you to lick Dean’s neck.’’

Evrybody started laughing, you wanted to minimize yourself to the sixe of a bacteria, but you were in the bravest house for a reason, and you stood up and went directly to the boy. Dean move her head so you could have access to his neck and you obeyed. They started cheering you as you licked his neck. Once you finished, embarrassed you went back to the seat next to Marlene, who was heavily drunk and was cheering on you.

‘‘That’s my friend, woohoo!’’ She extended her hand so you could give her a high five. ‘‘You should have seen Remus’ reaction, he was totally pissed off I tell you’’ she whispered as you sat down. You looked in Remus direction who was gazing at both of you and you gave him a smile, he turned quickly.

You thought nothing of it, or so you wanted to think because you were overanalyzing everything of that small and chaste interaction, he must be jealous. It was your turn of spinning the bottle and as if you manifest it just by thinking of him, it fell on Remus. You open your mouth, but you were cut off by the King Potter.

‘‘Truth or dare, mate?’’

Remus was holding your gaze as his mouth let out the word ‘‘truth’’. The coin was flipped in that exact moment and you felt the side you chose, believing Marlene, his looks over at your friend group, every small interaction, was going to win.

James gave him the veritaserum in a shot glass, he drank it still holding your gaze. The coin was high in the sky.

‘‘Well’’ Sirius was the one who spoke this time, a smirk present in his face ‘‘who is the person you can’t stop talking about? What’s their name, mate? If your drunk self hasn’t understood me, who do you like, Moony?’’ 

Slowly the coin fell, still confident in the choosing side. You were going to win this one time, you knew it.

‘‘You know Y/N, Marls’ friend.’’ Your heart fluttered, the coin was showing your side as it fell and you caught it. ‘‘Well, you know the girl she is always with, what’s her name? Oh yeah, Constance! Constance Hayes.’’

Your palm open, it showed a broken heart, you bet and lost. Still holding his gaze, Remus asked you:

‘‘You could set us up, right? You are practically together all of the time.’’

That was what pushed you over the edge, you saw Marlene’s face. You felt the tears, was this Marls idea of fun? She didn’t look surprised at his revelation, not a even a little bit, did she knew? Was that why she asked you to bring your friends?

You stood up, quickly, startling the people in the room. Marlene copied your every move and followed you, repeating your name over and over again. Everybody followed Marlene, it was the beginning of a fight and people were hungry for action. Your eyes were wet of holding back the tears and hearing the commotion wasn’t helping.

Once you enter your room, you let it all out. Marlene came in right behind you, she went to hug you, but you dismissed her.

‘‘Did you know?’’ you asked, tears flowing. ‘‘I know you can’t lie, so there’s no need to try now.’’

She shook her head at your words, looking hurt just by the accusation.

‘‘If I knew I’d never have encouraged you’’ she answer, her voice half broken and half in a scream.

‘‘I said don’t try to lie now!’’ you recriminated. You wanted to believe in her, but something in your brain just didn’t. ‘‘That’s why yesterday you asked me to bring my friends, so Constance could hear how Remus liked her, because you know both, her and I, like him. Did you wanted me to stop talking about him? What was it?’’

‘‘No! Of course not!’’ She shouted. Both of you could felt how its jab was scaleting quickly into a fight, and to worsen things up, both could hear James and Remus’ shocked expressions.

‘‘Then why!?’’ There was no use in keeping it a secret anymore, the whole school would know by tomorrow.

‘‘I wanted to spend time with you…’’

You cut her, pointing an angry finger towards her.

‘‘Don’t lie!’’

Exasperated, Marlene ran her hands through her hair dyed blonde hair, pulling some.

‘‘You want to know the truth?’’ you nodded. ‘‘Okay, I knew he liked Constance, but I couldn’t hurt you, we’ve been friends for so long… What I didn’t know is that Sirius would ask him that, Sirius knew about who you like-’’

‘‘Oh, so I can’t trust you now! Okay, why did Sirius know?’’ you asked her, angrily.

‘‘Because we can’t be best friend for our whole lifes, Y/N. Our paths have separated, we have different friends, we don’t hang out us much and to be honest, sometimes I feel like our relationship is a burden’’ she said, signaling the space between you.

That was what hurt you the most, you weren’t even thinking about Remus anymore. You knew Marlene was drifting apart, you tried to hang out with her as much as you could, but you never thought you were a burden to her, but that was reality, harsh as a sea storm.

‘‘If you aimed for us to stop being friends, I congratulate you.’’ You started applaudding. ‘‘You fucking did it, Marls! Oh, I almost forgot, you can tell your stupid friends, who I hope wont bother you as I did for all these years, their circus freak is out of shows.’’

‘‘You know I didn’t mean it like that…’’ she tried to fix it.

‘‘You meant it like that, Marls, that’s the worse part. So if you are so considerate of getting out of my room, thank you.’’ You forced a smile, tears streaming down your features.

Marlene obeyed, leaving you back and as she opened the door and displayed a childish James and an awful Remus, you open your mouth to say one last thing.

‘‘Oh, Remus’’ you started, making eye contact with him, just as he did the whole time downstairs ‘‘Constance will look forward on a date with you, how about next week?’’ You smiled falsely.

‘‘I’m sorry, Y/N, I didn’t want to…’’ he apologized.

‘‘Don’t worry Remus, I bet you don’t even feel as bad as you paint it to be. Fuck you all, Marauders!’’ You shouted, giving them all a middle finger.

That night, you drained yourself. You had no more water inside of you to form any more tear, the next morning Marlene and Remus watched you go into the Great Hall, Marlene knew she screwed up and there wasn’t anything she could do to patch up your heart, Remus, on the other hand, replayed the last words you would ever tell him, and you were right, he didn’t even feel as bad as he showed.

Truth or dare was like flipping a coin, you could win it all, however, that night you lost a friendship, but gained a heartbreak.

#remus lupin x reader #marlene mckinnon x reader #remus lupin #james potter #sirius black #the marauders #peter pettigrew #remus angst #marlene angst #marlene mckinnon #remus lupim x fem! reader #unrequited love #marlene mckinnon x platonic fem! reader #marlene mckinnon x you #angst #remus fluff #remus lupin marauders #sirius x reader #truth or dare #remus lupin angst #asshole marauders #dorcas meadowes

[azxremoon]

𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒

what i do and don’t write for requests may contradict the type of content i write for myself.

please come to me if you have questions, concerns, or don’t understand something. i’m always happy to resolve any issues.

though i have a wp acc, i’ll be posting my writing on my fledgling ao3 under the same handle.

requests are done for fun, not obligation! they are not the primary focus in my life or my blog.

please check my pinned post for my writing status before requesting.

thirsts and suggestions are always accepted! i’d love to hear your ideas and thoughts, if you’re willing to share <3

i have no set schedule or consistency, and fics are published when they are completed.

if you don’t see a character you like on my list, feel free to ask about them!

regarding fire emblem, please specify whether the reader is the protagonist (byleth / corrin / robin) if it isn’t clear.

requesting while they’re closed or they break a rule will result in the ask itself being deleted.

PLEASE REBLOG YOUR REQUEST ONCE IT’S COMPLETED !

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 / 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐒

code geass : lelouch vi britannia, suzaku kururugi, euphemia li britannia, jeremiah gottwald, cc.

final fantasy : cloud strife, tifa lockhart, reno, rude, tseng, sephiroth, genesis rhapsodos, angeal hewley, zack fair, noctis lucis caelum, prompto argentum, gladiolus amicitia, ignis scientia, lunafreya nox fleuret, ardyn izunia, nyx ulric.

fire emblem : corrin, chrom, robin, grima, lucina, henry, tharja, ryoma, takumi, xander, leo, camilla, azura, jakob, byleth, sothis, rhea, seteth, blue lions, golden deer, black eagles.

jojo’s bizarre adventure : jonathan joestar, dio / dio brando, joseph joestar, giorno giovanna, bruno bucciarati, leone abbacchio, guido mista, jolyne kujo, foo fighters, narciso anasui.

jujutsu kaisen : satoru gojo, yuji itadori, megumi fushiguro, nobara kugisaki, maki zenin, toge inumaki, yuta okkotsu, aoi todo.

legend of zelda : tp + botw/totk link, totk ganon, botw + totk zelda, rauru, sonia, sidon, revali, mipha.

nier : 2b, 9s, a2, brother nier, kaine.

persona 5 : akira kurusu, goro akechi, ann takamaki, ryuji sakamoto, yusuke kitagawa, “kasumi” yoshizawa, takuto maruki, sae niijima.

yu-gi-oh! : yugi muto, seto kaiba, joey wheeler, jaden yuki, jesse anderson, yubel, chazz princeton, aster phoenix.

𝐈 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄

headcanons and short drabbles only.

spoilers are a-ok!!

character x reader only.

platonic, familial, and romantic relationships are accepted, but must be specified.

alternate universes—modern, childhood, college / university, soulmate, fantasy, yandere, ask for more prior to requesting.

aus of characters inspired by specific vocaloid songs, such as cendrillon and cantarella. bonus points if it is from the evillious chronicles.

polyamorous relationships, unrequited love, various tropes.

fluff, angst, comfort fluff, hurt / comfort, hurt / no comfort.

dark content—such as major character death, yandere, etc.

𝐈 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄

oneshots (for reqs only)

readers with specific race, culture, disabilities, illnesses, or gender identity to avoid misrepresentation.

explicit n///sfw, non-con, fetishes, k///inks.

miscarriages or dark / triggering matters relating to pregnancy.

anything relating to harming oneself in any form.

drug-use.

original characters x canon.

canon x canon.

cheating (on reader, or by reader)

𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

the reader is always gender neutral or female with ambiguous anatomy, unless stated otherwise.

reader will use she / her or they / them, but also may be written in the second person.

appearance, race, and culture are always excluded to include everyone.

the reader can be personalized by the requester, from vague personality descriptors to accessories.

the reader can be inspired by characters of other media, but i must know and be familiar of them.

accepted personalization examples are, but not limited to: a shy!reader, stand user!reader, phantom thief!reader, introverted!reader, idol!reader, reader who wears glasses, tall / short!reader.

#ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ rules

[francis-writes]

I just watched Mamma Mia again and now I think that writing something inspired by one of the songs would be a great idea. Especially for Frollo but I'll take any character

#claude frollo x reader #judge claude frollo x reader #astarion x tav #alex delarge x reader #ramsay bolton x reader #silas x reader #da vinci code silas x reader #cazador szarr x reader #cazador x reader #boromir x reader #grima wormtongue x reader

[anarchy-n-glitter]

Blood of the Dragon

Summary: After the events from the night before, Aelora gets another surprise visit from Grima, which attracts the negative attention of her creator Viseryon. With the bratty lord onto them, they must keep their blossoming affair a secret. (PART 1 HERE) WARNINGS: smut, physical abuse, emotional incest, attempted murder, suicide ideation, SA, and Viseryon in general cause most of these are about him :)

Chapter 2

Lady Aelora Dressed in Black

Viseryon had been like a father to her. For as long as she could remember he was there for her, caring for her. He taught her how to dress herself, how to walk, how to read and write. He taught her everything she needed to know in order to live, and he provided for her. He tried to protect her - or so he claimed - from those who would have wanted to hurt her for what she is. She remembered the very first lie he ever told about her…

“Ah, meet my baby cousin Aelora! She’s been left in my care.” The halls of the citadel were loud, and while Aelora didn’t have many memories of Minas Tirith, she couldn’t deny she missed the celebrations held at the citadel. Viseryon had to shout over the laughing voices nearby, catching the attention of a fair lady dressed in green. The woman was much taller than Aelora - with the dragon blood being only two years of age - with warm brown eyes and a breathtaking smile. Her chestnut colored hair was half done up in a braided bun, with the rest of her hair cascading down her back. She bent down in front of the child and looked her in the eye. Aelora toddled forward, smiling widely. It was the most lively reaction the girl had ever given anyone. 

“I think she likes you Aemma!” Viseryon chuckled, feeling safe enough to let go of Aelora’s hand. They were surrounded by other highly born members of the King’s court, partying their troubles away and celebrating the upcoming year and the end of the current one. It was crowded, but Viseryon knew Aemma wouldn’t lose sight of Aelora. 

Ah, Lady Aemma. She was the daughter of Lord Orion, and she was coveted by many in Gondor. When Aelora met the Lady she was of marrying age, and rumor then was that she was to be married to Lord Ulf. She remembered Viseryon disliking that greatly. Aemma would swoon over Aelora until the day it became apparent she was a dragon blood. Aelora remembered the way Aemma cried to Viseryon, asking him in a begging voice why he created Aelora despite already knowing his twisted reasons. Lady Aemma had held her hand that day and sobbed, and since that day Aelora wondered if Aemma wanted to take her away from Viseryon. Even at the age of eleven, she understood why Lady Aemma cried. 

“Oh she’s adorable, Lord Viseryon! Such pretty eyes!” Aemma exclaimed, making a gesture as if she were pinching Aelora’s cheeks. The toddler giggled and shrunk away like a shy violet. Fear struck through Viseryon’s core and he brought the girl closer to him, hoping Aelora’s red eyes weren’t too apparent. Aemma looked up at him. “If I may ask, how did she end up in your care?”

The silver haired lord smiled bashfully. “Oh, it’s quite sad really. My uncle Rhaego and his wife perished in a fire. It spread quickly within their home, and one of the servants managed to escape with my dear Aelora. We’re the last of our line.” Aemma’s chocolate colored eyes were wide and brimming with tears. That was another thing Aelora always loved about Aemma, she was incredibly empathetic and understanding. 

“Oh, I’m sorry Viseryon.” Aemma stated, placing a gentle hand upon the lord’s shoulder. He glanced down at her, and he reveled in her touch. Viseryon brought his hand up to hers.

A flash of discomfort came over Aemma’s fair features and she retracted her hand. He couldn’t help but notice how she uncomfortably shifted, avoiding his gaze suddenly, and Viseryon’s heart dropped. 

He longed for Aemma’s touch, longed to run his hands through her chestnut colored hair, longed to feel her rose colored lips upon his. He always imagined they would be soft and unsure. He longed for Aemma, and the idea of someone else having her - someone else taking her away from him - made his blood boil. 

And yet, Aemma seemed to be repulsed by his touch.

She had taken another step back, running her hands along her long green skirt as if to rid every last trace of Viseryon from her skin. His gaze darkened. 

“Well,” she began, her voice light, “I’m sorry for your loss and I wish you both well.” Her words were polite and concise, as if rehearsed. Her uncomfortable expression melted away when she looked at Aelora, that breathtaking smile coming over her features once more and brightening the world a bit more as she waved to the little girl. 

Aemma may have left them for the rest of the night at the celebration, but she became a powerful influence in Aelora’s life. She found herself grateful for having Aemma around as long as she did, and she was heartbroken when she had to move away from her - and from the rest of Gondor. She hated when she had to move away from everyone.

The cabin they lived in on the outskirts of Gondor was lonely, so far from everyone else, with only one room for both her and Viseryon to sleep in. There was a common space, a dining area, and a room she was forbidden from entering, but Viseryon insisted she sleep with him in his bed. He used to say it was improper for her to sleep in the common space and would scold her for trying. 

There wasn’t a place of refuge for her within the cabin, seeing as Viseryon always wanted her by his side. That wasn’t to say she wasn’t able to get away from him from time to time. One of her favorite places to slip away to was the village which was only a few miles away from the cabin, where she would play with other children her age until the parents realized what she was and called their children back inside, leaving Aelora standing in the streets all alone. 

Then there were the meadows beside the mountains. She loved laying in the long grass playing with the wild flowers that grew. The meadows were much closer to the cabin than the village, but sometimes she preferred the quiet loneliness of the meadows to the stinging rejection of the village. She enjoyed looking up at the towering mountains.

How she gazed upon those mountains, day dreaming of dragons that would rise above the mountain’s peak and blow fiery breath upon the cabin, burning Viseryon inside. She used to imagine climbing upon the backs of those dragons and having them whisk her away, soaring high over Middle Earth and flying her to some sort of safety. She never feared their flame. 

She knew dragons still existed somewhere out there, though they were nowhere near the power and stature of the ones that came before. There were none like the dragon who posthumously aided in her creation. 

She dreamt of dragons often - day and night. 

At night she would dream of one particular dragon. Each time she saw him she was in a land so different from the ones she grew up in, with large wooden buildings and fields of grass going as far back as the eye could see. He was large and pale, with pale eyes and a mane of stringy black fur that trailed down the length of his back and hung around his face. He had wings in place of his front legs (Would that make him a Wyrm? Aelora was always unsure of the difference) and larger, powerful hind legs. She loved dreaming of this dragon. He looked at her with love - a different kind of love than Viseryon’s - and he seemed ready to protect her… from what she never found out. 

In her dreams she was safe, she was powerful, and she was loved. She had everything she could have ever needed in her dreams, and that’s why she longed for her time alone in the meadows.

✵✵✵✵✵

A shadow loomed over her as she read in the clearing behind Meduseld, causing her to look up from her book. A small smile crept onto her face as her eyes met with ocean-colored blue ones. She hadn’t seen Gríma since the night before, and part of her worried she’d never see him again after what happened. 

Viseryon often warned her that men would leave her after getting what they wanted and to be vigilant. She wondered if he told her this to make him seem different from other men - more desirable. The thought made her feel ill. 

She supposed Gríma didn’t entirely get what he wanted the night before and that nagging insecurity her creator fostered seemed to veer its ugly head. 

Aelora found Gríma to be an odd man. He wasn’t conventionally attractive by any means, with extremely pale skin and dark circles beneath his eyes - his gaunt appearance was comparable to a corpse. She also noticed he lacked eyebrows - which was jarring at first. His dark hair and attire seemed to compliment his unconventional looks, and if it weren’t for her own dark attire she would say he was very near the opposite of her aesthetically. 

Gríma in many ways reminded her of a crow. He was smart and resourceful, yet avoided and even viewed as a nuisance. Sometimes the way his cloak and hair fell reminded her of the birds’ feathers. Depending on the time of day and the amount of stress he was under, sometimes he resembled a crow that was molting, but she would never say this aloud. Instead she would snicker at the thought, and hope he would feel better and get the rest he surely needed. 

She noticed the way he would skulk around in the shadows, watching her silently as she went about her day, and she noticed the way he looked at her.

She saw it in the main hall as he sat beside the throne. She felt his eyes on her, and at first she assumed it was the same bewildered look many wore when they laid eyes on her - the same look of fear and curiosity, but when her eyes met his she saw the difference. 

No one had ever looked at her that - with such intensity and longing - not even Viseryon. She found it flattering, really, and she wondered what staying in Rohan would bring. 

When she wrote him the note inviting him to her room her hands were shaking. Her mind raced with all the possibilities of what would happen - all the sinful fantasies. She wanted him, as much as it confused her. When his hand hesitated as it hovered over her hair, next to her cheek, and when her eyes met his once more and she saw the same longing in them as a few days earlier, she knew he wanted her too. 

His pale eyes stared at her almost expectedly, for what she was unsure of. She closed her book. 

“Did you want to talk to me or did you just want to stare?” Aelora teased, though she couldn’t deny the rapid beating of her heart. She hoped he was there to whisk her away.

“Walk with me.” He spoke with an almost urgent tone, and despite the smile that spread across Aelora’s face she was slightly worried. Somehow she convinced herself this would be the moment Viseryon was warning her about - this would be the moment he left her, whether it was out of dissatisfaction or because he took what he wanted. She gathered up the dark material of her skirt in one hand and placed her book under her arm.

She took his outstretched hand. His skin always seemed cool to the touch, though she wondered if the ever dropping temperatures outside had anything to do with that. He was quick to link arms with her and guide her back up the hill. He walked with long, slow strides so Aelora could keep up. 

The skies were grey and the clouds hung low, and for a moment they wondered if it would bring the first snow of the season. The winds were strong and the chill in the air was biting, it made Aelora shiver despite her long sleeves. She would glance at her walking companion as they made their way around the outside of Meduseld, noticing the way he seemed so focused, so lost in thought. His mouth seemed to be in a permanent grimace - which Aelora found slightly humorous due to his name. He did indeed have a harsh look about him, but she knew there was more to it. She wasn’t sure where he was taking her, but it seemed he wasn’t interested in returning to the hall.

“Was there something you wanted to discuss?” Aelora questioned as her heartbeat sped up. No, she most certainly couldn’t look at him now. She almost regretted the night before, if not for the insecurity she felt about where she stood with Gríma, then it was for the way she was unsure of how to even speak to him after what happened. How was she supposed to talk to him like nothing happened? She should have taken things slower, much slower. 

“Eventually. For now I’d like to enjoy your company.” No one had ever said that to her. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. She was sure she was turning red. 

He had led her to the edge of the hill Meduseld had been built on. They stood on a rocky ledge and looked out, and while Aelora was familiar with the view, it was simply breathtaking at that time of day. The mountain Starkhorn imposingly sat before them, its snowy peak blending into the grey skies, and from there Aelora could see the river Snowbourne in all its powerful glory. This was Rohan - green, stony and cold, yet beautiful. 

“Oh.” She began quietly. The mountains towered on the horizon in a haze, and for a moment it reminded her of her second home. It reminded her of the meadow. Another harsh breeze cut through the air, and she shivered once more, though this time Gríma pulled her closer to him. The furs of his cloak were warm and soft against her cheek, and she appreciated the gesture, even if part of her was still unsure of his motive. “So you don’t want anything from me?” 

She hoped he wasn’t wooing her in hopes of just using her body. 

“Just your time.” He answered again. She smiled at this and nuzzled his shoulder, pretending it was due to the cold. 

“I imagine you’ve been rather busy today, I haven’t seen you lurking around like I normally do.” She laughed, yet he remained silent for a moment. It was true, he hadn’t been around. Instead of following Aelora as he had been for the first three days she’d been there he opted to follow Viseryon just to see what he got up to. 

The Gondorian lord wasn’t much more interesting than Aelora. He had a similar schedule to her: wake up, eat at the main hall, then go off to do his own thing while he waited for his carriage to be fixed. He did seem to bother maids and the like a lot more than Aelora did, lurking in halls and waiting for someone to walk by to talk to, as if desperate for attention. Gríma was incredibly suspicious though, after all these chats almost never seemed random after the first few times. Yet he noticed the way Viseryon would subtly hand things to these servants. Gríma couldn’t help but wonder if Aelora was aware this whole time. He certainly hoped not. He placed his hand over hers.

“The king has been bombarded with requests and information over the last few hours. It’s to be expected, we are, after all, on the brink of war.” He stated grimly. He then looked to Aelora, who rested her head on his shoulder and gazed upon him with doe-like eyes. He could see their crimson color so much more clearly in the daytime, and they reminded him of shining rubies. He fought the urge to smile, letting his unsureness and suspicion get the better of him. 

“Dark forces are afoot.” He warned, and she nodded. His eyes were focused forward again, focused on the horizon, as his mind raced. He hoped it wasn’t obvious, but she could tell. She wondered what he knew of the impending war. Did he truly know what forces were at play? She stood up straight, the weight of her presence suddenly lifting, making him feel bare. 

Aelora stayed silent for a moment. She couldn’t deny she was beginning to grow quite fond of Gríma, and she thought it was quite nice just sitting in silence with him. Something about his brooding demeanor and odd appearance complimented her well, and her ever growing longing for him made her dread what was to come.

The dragon blooded woman hoped he saw her the same way, even if they had only known each other for a few days. She absolutely loathed that they only had three days left with each other, she wished she could spend a lifetime getting to know him, even if Viseryon would never allow that. Aelora didn’t know that her abnormal companion thought of her almost every day since she arrived - she had become somewhat of an obsession for him. He also dreaded the day their carriage was fixed. Despite his paranoia, despite the tiny voice in his head telling him not to trust her or her creator, the thought of her impending departure made him hold her closer.

Aelora reminded him of a cold winter's day. Almost everything about her was cold, and her clothing dark. Even that day, she wore a black velvet dress with red lining the inside of her sleeves. Her dresses reminded him of dying trees, and her fingertips the dying roots that reached deep into the ground, yet her eyes… her eyes held the warmth of a fire lit inside a fireplace. It was that warmth that drew him in. He was so close to her again, even though she wasn’t looking at him. He watched almost expectantly as a small smile formed on her lips. He wanted to kiss her.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” She agreed in a voice barely above a whisper. He had to remind himself she was talking about the war. When she turned to look at him again she saw how close he was, and it made her heart race and her face heat up. His eyes were so bright. “I actually wanted to thank you and the king for your hospitality. Most would have just placed me with Viseryon with no regard to my privacy.” 

She shrunk back, letting go of his arm and facing him. He excited her and made her nervous all at once. She watched as his face returned to its usual stony stare. 

“It’s my pleasure.” There was a hint of playfulness in his words, and immediately Aelora let out a laugh, catching onto his double entendre. His humor was dry and would most likely be hard to pick up on in any other setting, but she found it endearing. “What were you reading?” He asked her, pointing to the book pressed to her chest. 

“A legend about a displaced princess. She wants to go home so desperately but she can’t or she’ll be killed. She moves from place to place, building an army and finding the people she loves and trusts, but along the way she’s still searching for that place to call home. She uses the army to take back her throne. Or, at least, that’s what I hope will happen.” He stepped closer to her again and she felt her breath hitch. His blue eyes were almost overtaken by his pupil, and his mouth hung slightly agape. It was the same look he had the night before. She didn’t realize it before, but the rocky cliff they stood on was almost completely out of sight of the rest of Edoras. There were no doors leading there from Meduseld, and the homes of the common folk were all hidden behind the hall. 

“And if it doesn’t?” He asked her as she took a step closer. Her book slid out from her grip, landing beside them on the grass with a soft thud! With her hands now free they came to rest on his shoulders. 

“It has to.” She muttered, leaning ever so slightly closer to his pale lips. “It’s all she’s ever wanted, and she’ll burn everything to the ground to get it.” Those words, that mentality, resonated so deeply with both Aelora and Gríma. Their eyes met and there was a silent look of understanding. In that moment, they decided they were all they ever wanted, and they would indeed burn everything to the ground for each other. She needed to find a way to be rid of Viseryon. 

“Tell me how it ends.” He whispered against her lips, before pressing his own to hers. His hand came to rest at her jaw; his touch was cold yet welcomed, and her own hand came to grasp at his wrist. She let her eyes close. 

Gríma’s lips moved seamlessly against hers - engulfing and retreating like waves against sand. Warmth spread over her as she tangled her fingers in his raven locks, and like the night before she found his hair to be less than pleasant to the touch. It always seemed damp and greasy. Despite this, the way his tongue glided effortlessly into her mouth served as a good enough distraction. 

His hands wandered from her jaw down to her hips, pulling her closer like he did the night before. One hand stayed firmly planted on her hip while the other trailed lower, grasping at her bottom and tugging at her skirt. She moaned into the kiss and grinded her hips against his. They had both gained a bit more confidence after the night before. 

She felt nervous suddenly, and all too exposed for her own liking. It felt odd, moaning and grinding wantonly in broad daylight for any poor onlooker to stumble upon. What would they think? Who would they tell? 

Aelora pulled away. She stared at him with half lidded eyes and smiled bashfully. He looked just as unkempt as her. She tried to catch her breath, panting and feeling like a dog on a warm summer's day. He held her hands in his and guided her to the long grass, where he sat without uttering a single word. She knew what he wanted. 

Without a second thought Aelora lifted her skirts and sat in his lap, draping her arms around his shoulders as his hands came to rest on the tops of her thighs. She closed the gap between them, capturing his lips in another kiss as she shifted her hips ever so slightly, trying to satiate the ache she now felt between her legs. 

He groaned, pulling away from her lips to bury his face in her neck. She could feel him grow hard under her, and it made her stomach flutter. She was still nervous, unsure if she wanted her first time to be somewhere so open. She always imagined it would be in a bed of satin with someone who worshiped her - not that Gríma hadn’t been doing just that. His hands glided across the expanse of her thighs and up her torso, landing on the velvet-covered peak of her bosom. He grabbed and squeezed, all while leaving kisses and bites along her neck and collarbone, eliciting another high pitched moan from Aelora. She rocked her hips faster against him. 

She felt something, a familiar feeling, build up in her lower belly. It was pleasurable, and she knew she wanted to feel more. She let out small, airy gasps, finding it hard to muster anything louder at the moment. Gríma’s hands were now firmly planted on her hips, almost painfully digging into her flesh despite her dress still being on. She found the pain felt almost as good as the pleasure. Her whole body felt like it was on fire. 

With an almost animalistic growl, Gríma flipped Aelora onto her back and situated himself firmly between her thighs. Her dress was now hiked up around her waist, exposing her lower belly and undergarments to the world. His touch cooled her heated skin as he traced along her abdomen, fingers scratching along her skin as he grabbed ahold of her cherry-colored underwear. Upon realizing what was happening, she quickly got to work on freeing him from his own clothes, her hands fumbling with his belt and trying to make sense of the skirts he wore. 

His fingers dipped below her waistband, the coolness of his fingers dipping into her warmth and sending a jolt of pleasure down her spine. Her hands stopped immediately as pleasure clouded her mind. He had not yet entered her and yet, somehow, each stroke of his long finger seemed to graze the spot that made her legs shake and her back arch. She was familiar with that spot - that bundle of nerves that sat just above her entrance. As she grew older and explored her body away from Viseryon’s prying eyes she knew that spot was where to go to pleasure herself. She grabbed him by his hair again, pulling his face closer to hers as she rested her forehead against his. She rocked her hips again, hoping he would either sink his fingers deeper inside her or hit that spot once more. 

She was a sight to behold; the usually stoic and proper dragon blooded lady was red faced and panting with her legs spread… and it was all for him. Never in his life did he ever think he would see a woman in such a way for him - he had thought about it, sure, but he never thought it would happen. He had made up his mind, he would take her there in the field, hidden by the long grass yet still out in the open for anyone to see or hear. He wanted them to know - especially Viseryon - that Aelora was his. His eyes met hers and all he could think of was how beautiful she looked. 

I may just want to marry you, he thought to himself despite knowing his judgment was clouded by lust. 

Her mouth dropped as her face contorted into a look of climax. She was getting closer by the second, with her movements speeding up and becoming more erratic. She pulled him even closer, struggling to bring her lips to his and she let out a final gasp, arching her back once more before-

“Aelora?” That same, shrill voice called from somewhere far off. They froze, both staring at each other with wide eyes. They had a moment to compose themselves, as much as Aelora despised the idea of Gríma withdrawing his fingers. She felt pleasure and arousal being replaced with fear and annoyance, and she whined at the absence of her lover’s (was he her lover now?) touch. 

“Aelora?” Viseryon called out again. Gríma had backed away, getting to work on fixing his own clothes as Aelora stood and adjusted her skirt. Her legs felt like jelly. He noticed how her hair was out of place and unkempt, and he reached out, combing his fingers through it gently to make it seem presentable. They could blame his hair and any other irregularities on the wind. 

Just like the last time, she stood on the tips of her toes and placed a kiss on Gríma’s lips. 

“We should walk back together.” He suggested. Aelora opened her mouth to protest.

“Aelora, please my dear, where are you?” Viseryon sounded closer now. She closed her mouth and nodded, taking Gríma’s arm as he led her back to Meduseld. 

✵✵✵✵✵

“Ah, there you are!” Viseryon’s jovial facade faded as his eyes met Gríma’s form. “Councilman Gríma, this is a surprise.” He could hardly hide his disdain, much like everyone else to lay eyes on the advisor. 

“Lord Viseryon,” he greeted with a nod, “I was just showing the Lady the countryside, she showed great interest in it yesterday and I thought, who else was better to give her a tour than me.” He bit back the urge to smirk. “I’ve found she has a great affinity for wood.” 

Aelora’s face became the same scarlet color as the inner fabric of her dress. 

“I see…” The lord began. She felt his grey eyes scan over her form, and she knew he was looking for any sign of her disloyalty - even if there was no loyalty she was betraying in the first place. His eyes settled on a small, blossoming red mark upon her neck, right where it met her collarbone. His gaze shot back to Gríma immediately, barely concealing the jealousy and fury within his eyes. 

“Councilman Gríma is very familiar with Edoras, he grew up here.” Aelora chimed in, hoping to steal her creator’s attention away. She fidgeted with her hair, bringing it to rest over her shoulder to conceal the mark left by her lover. “I asked him to show me around, I like this place quite a lot, much more than I do Gondor.” She mentioned.

She looked at him from the corner of her eye, and she smiled bashfully. He made her heart flutter in a way that was hard to hide. “He’s very knowledgeable.” She added.

“Yes, I’m most familiar with the twin mountains just south of-” 

“Never mind that.” Viseryon cut him off quickly, knowing what the advisor was alluding to and was growing tired of being humiliated. “Aelora, I have news regarding our transport. It looks like we’ve been set back even further. A fire ravaged the workshop last night and burnt our carriage to a crisp.” 

Aelora gasped. Her grip on Gríma’s arm tightened. 

“I hope everyone is alright.” 

“No one was hurt, luckily. It happened in the middle of the night.” Gríma tilted his head out of curiosity. 

“I wonder how they kept the fire contained then, if it was the middle of the night. Surely someone had to be nearby to put the fire out.” The raven haired man mentioned accusingly. Aelora quickly turned to look at him.

“Oh, goodness, I seem to have forgotten my book in the clearing. I’m so sorry to ask this of you, Councilman, but would you mind retrieving it for me?” Aelora asked, batting her lashes at her secret lover in hopes of him agreeing. He gave her a brief look of concern before realizing she was right, she did forget her book. 

“Of course, my lady, it would be no trouble at all.” He began as his arm slipped from her grasp. She bit her lip to hide her longing. “And when would you like me to return it to you?” He asked, but she knew exactly why he was asking. 

“I can pick it up from your chambers later, if that’s alright. I’m sure Viseryon is going to have me busy for the rest of the day.” 

Before Gríma could reply, Viseryon cut in.

“No, that is not acceptable. I don’t want her coming to your door at a late hour like some common whore.” The lord spat, pulling the silver haired woman away from Gríma. His grip was harsh and unforgiving, and when he tugged on her she couldn’t help but let out a small gasp of pain. “I’ll come and get the book from you.” Viseryon finally stated, which Aelora immediately began to protest. 

“I’m actually quite busy.” Gríma remarked. “I came to her during my only quiet hour to ensure our guests were still comfortable here, and now that this problem has arisen I do have to consult with the king for what he wants to do with you both.” 

“Very well.” Viseryon pulled Aelora closer. She found it hard to look at him. “We have much to discuss, then you can retrieve your book. If he’s not there before sundown, you’ll get it in the morning. Do you understand?” His tone was harsh and firm, he sounded like he was scorning a child. 

Aelora nodded. 

When she turned her gaze away from her creator Gríma was already storming down the hall toward the clearing. Not a single goodbye was uttered, and while she knew it wasn’t safe to do so, she still wished she could have said farewell. When the advisor was long out of sight her creator spoke again.

“You let him fuck you.” The words left his mouth harshly, they were almost a statement as opposed to an accusation. She turned around slowly. “He’s on to us and you let him fuck you!” He spat, grabbing her by both of her arms and shaking her violently. Aelora froze up, unsure of what to do. She knew she was capable of fighting him off, keeping him from hurting her, yet there was a part of her that was afraid to even try. 

“I didn’t!” She wasn’t entirely wrong. They may have fooled around but Gríma had not fucked her… not yet, at least. 

“Do not lie to me, I can see he left his mark on you. I can see it when he looks at you and you look at him. All of the avoiding me, I see it now. You love him, don’t you? You’ll jeopardize this whole plan!” His hands crept upward towards her neck. Panic settled in her core. 

When she didn’t respond he continued. “You love him, don’t you? Don’t you? More than you love me?” 

“I don’t know.” She admitted quietly. “I only just met him, Viseryon.” 

“Do you love him more than you love me?” There was a fire behind Viseryon’s eyes, one she had never seen before. 

She felt slightly more protected in Rohan than she ever did in her life, and so, she decided to poke the dragon before her. 

“Your love for me is forbidden. It’s a perversion. A disease.” She spat, and finally his pale hands wrapped around her throat. 

“So it’s true then, you love that old toad, hm? Well, I’ll see to it that he’s executed before you when I ascend the throne.” Aelora gasped for air, blackened claws digging into her creator’s hands and wrists in hopes that he’d let go - that the pain would be too much.

The pain did burn, but it didn’t burn as much as the perceived betrayal of his own creation. She wasn’t wrong, though, his love for Aelora was very much forbidden. He could kill her right then and there, and as his hands tightened around her neck and he watched her face turn a shade between red and purple he was convinced he would. He was angry, he was hurt, and he wanted nothing more than to make sure Aelora would be forever his. If she was telling the truth, if Gríma hadn’t fucked her, then if she were to die in that moment she would be forever his. Incorruptible. Pure. 

He let out a pathetic whine as he let go of her. She collapsed to the ground, coughing and panting as she tried to catch her breath. It was so close to being stolen from her. She looked up at Viseryon through tear-filled eyes as she watched him thrash about, throwing another fit like a toddler. She was much more behaved than he ever was, even as a child, and she always found his fits to be pathetic and off putting. She watched as his chest heaved when he stopped, looking like a feral animal over her as she suddenly feared what he would do next.

“Either way, you did very well setting the carriage on fire, but like I said that spineless worm is on to us. We need to be careful.” He held out his hand for her to take. She glared down at it and fought the urge to spit on his hand before helping herself up, brushing off her skirt and holding her neck. She glared at him next. Her heart had been filled with hate, and he wondered for a moment what the advisor nicknamed wormtongue had been telling her. He scowled.

“I can’t even stand the sight of you, begone. I’ll be at your chamber door later tonight.” She went numb. 

“What?” 

“You clearly can’t be trusted alone. And like I said the night before I have been sleeping terribly. I’ll be sleeping in the same bed as you, just as we did in Gondor.” Viseryon stated, no ifs ands or buts. Aelora fought the urge to sob. “Oh, and I don’t want you near Wormtongue again today. If you truly left your book I’ll escort you to his chambers tomorrow.” 

He felt his anger rise as Aelora stood still. 

“Well, what are you waiting for? Begone with you! The sight of you vexes me.” He commanded, to which Aelora complied, albeit slowly. She was still shaken up by what happened earlier, and while she was prepared to die in order to take down Viseryon, part of her feared death. 

She used to welcome the idea of death, especially as she got older and realized there was no real escape from Viseryon, but now she felt there was something to live for. She had only known Gríma for a few days, but she enjoyed his presence. Rohan in and of itself was a sign that she could be anywhere she wanted to be and see anyone she wanted to see. She would not shackle herself to Viseryon like the many dragon blooded before her, she was so much more than her creator. 

As she entered the darkness of her chambers she ran a hand across her neck, feeling the red hot skin beneath her palm. Each time she swallowed it hurt. Gríma had left his mark, yes, but it seemed to her Viseryon made sure to leave his own mark as well. She knew his hands would leave bruises. 

Did she love Gríma? Why did she find it so hard to answer that single question? It wasn’t hard to love someone more than she “loved” Viseryon, simply due to the fact that she hated Viseryon with every fiber of her being. But to say she loved Gríma, especially this soon after knowing him…

If Viseryon were to get his way she would never be able to answer that question. If Viseryon were to get his way either one of them would end up dead, but if she were to think realistically she would know both Gríma and herself would be killed. 

She sat on her bed, staring at the light that leaked in through the straw ceiling. 

She needed to get away from Viseryon. 

✵✵✵✵✵

Viseryon returned to her later that day, just as the sun had begun to set. Aelora watched as the sun’s rays shifted behind the straw ceiling, and her heart felt as heavy as stone. She knew leaving to see Gríma would be dangerous after what happened earlier that afternoon, and despite the rage and longing for independence she held, she stayed put in her chambers, waiting idly by for her creator to come barging through her door.

Yet, Viseryon did not barge in. He knocked softly on her door, so softly she almost confused him with her lover. When she answered the door to see him standing there she had to hide her immediate disappointment and fear. She was dressed in her nightgown already, hair unbraided and brushed and the blankets on her bed were undone. Her sheets were satin, just as she liked them. 

The look on Viseryon’s face was grim and his eyes full of sorrow. She was not moved. 

“Aelora, my love, I am so sorry for what I did to you earlier. It was not right of me.” He apologized, taking her pale hand into his own. She was not moved. “I acted inappropriately, I accused you of things, and while my love for you is forbidden it does not wane. I try to provide for you in the best way I can, and I do all of this without expecting a single thing from you. The only thing I ask is your loyalty, even if I cannot have you in the ways I want.” His confession made her sick.

Everything, every suspicion she had over an odd action, every uncomfortable feeling she had around him, it was all confirmed in the matter of seconds. She wanted to tear her hands away and burn him where he stood. She wanted him to suffer in the way she had suffered for years. She wanted to scream and cry and show him just how much his love for her made her feel ill.

He does not love you, she told herself, If he did he would have never laid his hands on you. He shouldn’t love you.

“Your love for me is what made Lady Aemma leave. It drove her away and left me alone with you.” Aelora muttered, fighting the tears that brimmed in her eyes. 

“Aelora…” Viseryon began in his usual warning tone. He softened. “I loved Aemma dearly, you know that-” 

“Yet you fell in love with a child! With your own child!” She shouted, unable to hide how she truly felt. Being able to vocalize what she was thinking made her feel as if her whole world was collapsing. All of the lies she told herself over the years burned in her throat and in her mind.

“Aemma didn’t love me!” He shouted, though this was not a shout of anger. He sounded truly broken, as if that was the first time he’s ever admitted that truth out loud to himself. Aelora froze as he choked back tears and dropped to his knees. “Aemma never loved me, but she loved you. And I loved you. And you loved me back.” He cried. 

“But I never-” 

“I know. I know.” He kept saying it over and over. Aelora feared she finally broke him. “I thought… if we were alone… I could make you love me in the way Aemma wouldn’t. I created you to impress her. When that didn’t work, and I realized something out there loved me, I turned my attention to that. You were always so beautiful Aelora…” 

His pathetic display made Aelora recoil in disgust, as did his words. He was never safe to be around, that was a fact she learned when she was young. She knew the way he held her was never normal, nor was the way he made sure he was the only one she could ever rely on. She felt as if she could kill him on the spot. Her gaze flickered to the door. 

She wanted to run. 

“I was a child…” She said in a voice just above a whisper. “What did you intend to do to me? What do you still intend to do to me?” 

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” He crawled closer to her. His hands gripped at her hips as he pressed his face into her lower belly. His tears wet her dress and stuck uncomfortably to her skin. “We are as we are. I’d just like to enjoy your company for now.” 

Words that had been spoken so sweetly to her earlier in the day made her stomach turn uneasily and made her muscles tense now. From Viseryon’s mouth those words felt wrong, they felt manipulative. 

“For now?” She choked. His grey eyes gazed upon her face. 

“Forever. For as long as you like. I will not do a single thing without you wanting it.” Even she knew he was lying. With Gríma around, she knew Viseryon’s behavior would escalate. He backed away from her.

He truly looked pathetic. His eyes were red and snot dribbled down his nose and lips. His hair was a mess - his curls frizzy with silver locks covering his face. Every time he took a breath - a labored, deep breath - it would blow his hair from his face, but the locks would always return to the place they were before. His cheeks were wet with tears. 

“What would you like, Aelora?” 

I would like you to leave and never return, she thought bitterly, I would like the throne of Rohan and a golden chalice and a thousand servants, too, but none of those things will ever happen. 

She glanced behind her at her bed. She was exhausted. 

“I would like to go to sleep. I’m tired.” She stated, and she noticed a look of disappointment come over Viseryon’s features. Surely he couldn’t have expected her to say anything different. She would never want him, not in the way she wanted Gríma. Even then, with Viseryon escorting her to her bed and sliding into the sheets behind her, she missed the raven haired advisor, and she thought of him.

When Viseryon snaked his arms around her waist she had to close her eyes and choke back a sob. The three nights she spent alone were a miracle, and it was the best sleep she’d had in a long time. 

The silver haired lord buried his face in the crook of her neck, and she felt him take a deep breath. His hands wandered, as they usually did, feeling across the expanse of her abdomen and settling on her breasts. From there they would not move, and for a moment she felt her creator’s breath hitch. He did not move a muscle, like he promised, but she knew. She knew he would memorize what she felt like, she knew he would do this every night to satiate his own needs without ever actually violating her in a way that he thought mattered, let alone the fact that the mere act was enough for her to feel violated. 

“I do love you, Aelora.” He muttered into the crook of her neck, his voice muffled by the cloth of her nightgown. “Do you love me?” He asked one last time. 

Aelora was frozen with fear. 

✵✵✵✵✵

Aelora had snuck out against Viseryon’s wishes after the silver haired lord had fallen asleep to see Gríma. 

She slipped out of his grasp and replaced herself with a pillow, and she found herself mentally apologizing to the inanimate object. She felt bad for anything that had to be that close to Viseryon. 

If not for the attempt on her life earlier in the day, Aelora would have found sneaking around exciting. The idea of having a secret lover, just like in some of her old romance novels, was appealing to her. It made her feel alive. Perhaps if they persevere through this, if somehow Viseryon fails, then maybe they were meant to be. 

She would step outside first though, hoping the cold, fresh air would calm her nerves and wash away whatever grimy feeling remained from having to sit still in Viseryon’s arms for so long. Her satin nightgown, also dark in color, swayed in the wind, exposing her legs to the harsher night environment of Edoras. She gazed out at the sleeping kingdom, with smoke still billowing out of their chimneys and warm orange glowing out of some windows. She watched quietly as farm animals shifted around in their pens. 

The world was peaceful. The world was beautiful. She would regret what was to come if the man who sent them there truly did have what he said he did. There was a storm brewing, and not enough fresh air in the world could rid her of her guilt. Her tears were hot against her cheeks in the cold night air, she could see her ragged breaths leave her mouth in puffs of white that dissipated nearly instantly. Her heart and mind laid heavy with guilt and confusion and disgust. 

From within her sleeve she produced a curved blade. It was made of the finest metal, with a black handle wrapped in red twine. It was her own that she had found in the mountains as a child, and Viseryon was unaware of it entirely. She glared at her reflection in the metal, and for a moment she wondered what she was going to do with the blade. Certainly she wouldn’t kill herself, not then and not there, but she was sure she didn’t have it in her to kill Viseryon either. Still, she thought of the cool blade slicing into her skin - into her throat - part of her wanted it,  even if she knew she wouldn’t do it. Instead she pondered her own existence, staring longingly into the cold metal as she had many times before. 

She worried deeply about what was to come. Viseryon claimed to love her, as much as it sickened her, but his plan to capture the throne of Rohan would put her in danger. He was a coward most of all, and she feared that all of the grief she had given him would sentence her to death, especially after the role she would play in his ascent. If it came down to it, if she had to choose between herself and her creator, she knew deep down she would choose herself every time. 

Deep down, she knew what she had to do, but she had to make sure she had someone in her corner before she did it. 

She turned on her heel and closed the large, oak doors of Meduseld. Aelora passed through the moonlit great hall, where a single musician sat idly strumming at his lute. He glanced up at her, smiling in a way that alluded to him knowing more than he let on, and he softly began to sing:

“Lady Aelora dressed in black with silver hair cascading down her back. 

See how she lurks in the shadow at night,

searching for her worm-tongued fellow.” 

She hardly found it alarming, for she could hardly care what anyone thought anymore. 

Let them find out, she thought to herself, If this is to be what I am known for then so be it. She didn’t stop to indulge the musician. She padded through the hall toward the throne of the king, which sat empty and loomed with an ominous energy. With no one really around, she reached out and touched it. 

Over the years there had been legends of the dragon blooded cursing entire bloodlines just by touching their throne, and the thought of that almost made her chuckle. If the throne truly was cursed now she hoped Viseryon would be the first to feel its wrath. 

When she arrived at Gríma’s door she hesitated. What if he was sleeping? She didn’t want to bother him, especially that late into the night. The thought of returning across the corridor to her room kept her at Gríma’s door, frozen with fear. She would much rather deal with a slightly irritated Gríma than her creator, that much she knew. 

Aelora took a deep breath and knocked. 

It took a moment for him to open the door, and when he did she was shocked to see a candle burning on his desk and his eyes red with exhaustion. It was closer to the middle of the night, and it seemed like he was still up working. The look in his eye shifted from slight irritation and confusion to concern. He stepped out into the hall, pulling his cloak around him as he shut the door. 

“What are you doing here?” He whispered, “It’s late.” 

She hesitated, opening her mouth but unable to find the right words to say. Her eyes met his and she was overcome with desire, despite her overwhelming melancholy. The dragon blood lunged forward, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing her lips to his. He stumbled backwards, hitting his closed door with a soft thump!, and groaned in surprise. His eyes grew wide. 

Her lips were fierce against his, pushing feverishly as if she were afraid he would disappear at any moment. His hands fell to her hips, and he gently pushed her away. 

“Aelora, what are you doing?” Her heart sank to the pit of her stomach. 

“I want you.” She whispered against his lips. “I want you and I’m tired of everyone getting in the way.” Tears filled her eyes as she fought off the many thoughts that plagued her through the night. 

What was she doing? She hardly knew this man, as she admitted earlier to her creator, yet she felt so drawn to him. She was inexperienced - a virgin - and for some reason she decided to give her virginity away to some stranger, the first man to show the slightest interest in her. She wasn’t sure if she loved Gríma yet, but she hoped this experience would assist her in finding out. 

His hands snaked along her arms, where he grabbed her wrists and pulled them from his shoulders. There was still a look of apprehension on his face. It made Aelora want to cry even more than before, and she did. The tears that welled up in her eyes spilled onto her cheeks. “Don’t you want me?” She asked in a broken voice. 

Something had happened, that much he knew. She seemed much more unstable than before. No, perhaps that’s not the right word, he thought to himself as he brushed her tears away. Vulnerable. She was more vulnerable than before. 

“Of course I do,” he cupped her face in the same way he did the day before - the day they first spoke to each other. “Perhaps it would be best to discuss this in my chambers.” He watched as Aelora’s expression changed ever so slightly. Her eyes brightened with the realization she wasn’t being rejected. 

Without turning around, Gríma unlatched his door and gently kicked the door open, leading Aelora by her hand into the dark of his room. 

Even with the candle lit it was near impossible to see inside his chambers. She could see several pieces of parchment laid out on his desk, and the candle whittled down to half its usual size as it sat in a large puddle of wax that gathered in its holder. He must have late nights like this often, Aelora thought to herself. She could just barely see the outline of his bed; the dark covers unmade, as if he had been trying to sleep earlier in the night but couldn’t. 

“Come,” He beckoned her closer as he stood by his desk, rolling the parchment up and placing it between the candle holder and the wall. “Have a seat.” 

She pressed her lips into a thin line.

“I thought we were-” 

“You’re distressed.” He stated the obvious, but it was something she desperately needed to hear. She nodded. Gríma’s hand grazed over something in the dark, something she couldn’t quite see. He handed the item to her without another word. It was her book. 

That familiar aching in her heart returned.

“I haven’t been entirely honest with you.” She began, pressing the book to her chest. He was stoic. 

“Viseryon and I were not here by chance, but I feel you know this already. We were never even attacked. We were sent here by these dark forces you spoke of earlier to create unrest in Rohan, and if we delivered on this promise Viseryon would be crowned king. I was to kill King Théoden. I never wanted to come here, I never wanted to kill for this merchant of evil and grant power to the man I feel is least deserving of it. If Viseryon were to ascend the throne his incompetence would be the least of your worries.” Aelora placed her book down on the desk gently before taking a few steps closer to Gríma. She saw his confusion, and she also saw his anger. “My interest in you has always been genuine, Gríma. I’ve never had anyone look at me the way you do. I like our conversations in the clearing, and I enjoy seeing you go about your business in the morning. I can tell you’re a serious man with ambition, and I like that a lot. I relate to it, even. I cannot tell you if I love you just yet, but I would like to discover the answer with you. I know this is a lot and you have every reason not to trust me now, but know that you are the very reason I didn’t kill myself on the steps of this hall before coming to see you.” 

From her sleeve she produced her blade again and she watched as fear flashed over Gríma’s features. She shook her head slightly, holding up the blade and her other hand to show she was no threat. She placed the knife onto his desk.

“I went outside earlier, unsure of myself and what would happen to me… I felt helpless. The only thing that kept me from slitting my own throat was the thought of you and the life I could have here if I defied my creator. I did not come to kill you, Gríma, I came to be loved by you.” 

Despite what she had just told him, despite everything she confessed, his arms snaked around her waist. He couldn’t hate her, he couldn’t even be completely mad at her. He knew what they were up to, or at least, what Viseryon was up to, but she never seemed to be on board with his scheming, always alone and forlorn. He could tell she hated her creator, he could tell from the way she spoke about him and the way she looked at him. There was no real way to know if she was telling the truth, but the look in her eyes as she stared at him told him there was nothing to fear. 

The truth was that she had been falling for him the moment she stepped foot in Meduseld, and she had been falling deeper and deeper ever since.

Crimson eyes met his, and he saw the sadness again. Even there in his arms she struggled to find a way to distract from the great sadness she felt over what she had been forced to do, over the way she betrayed the little trust he had for her in the first place. 

“And to answer your question,” she began in a voice just above a whisper, “It does get lonely being a dragon blood. No one trusts you, friends are stolen away by their parents leaving you alone to wander the fields as you hear the other children’s laughter and you’re reminded that you’ll never be like them. You’re forced to return home to your creator who isolates you further, forcing you to share a bed with him while his foul hands grasp at your body. You aren’t allowed friends because all you need is him, you can’t make friends because everyone is afraid of you. The only chance you’ll get at love is in your dreams and the books you read. It is inherently a lonely existence.” 

“And you want me?” He asked in disbelief, still skeptical of her intent. His suspicion was understandable, in his mind no woman would ever willingly go to bed with him - he who looked like he was always sulking - he who stared uncomfortably at them while they laughed and giggled and danced. His sunken eyes, pale skin, and yellow teeth were hardly considered attractive, and he knew his quiet, conniving personality didn’t help. He was convinced the only way to win a woman’s heart was by acquiring power, yet there he stood with more power than he could imagine and the one who initially held his heart still hated him. Aelora, however, was different. He still couldn’t believe she was real. She held his face in her hands, smiling widely and blinking away tears. She was beautiful. 

“Yes, more than anything.” She answered truthfully. 

That was the only confirmation he needed. In an instant he was on her, lips pressed firmly to hers as he backed her into the wall. Now trapped between the wall and his body, she spread her legs, allowing him to push his knee between them. He left a trail of hungry kisses down the side of her neck, unable to hold back now that they were in the privacy of his chambers. She ground her hips against his, slowly pushing herself against his knee to soothe that dull yet growing ache she felt between her legs. Her hands gingerly slipped beneath his cloak, rubbing at his shoulders as he growled into her skin, before she undid the clasp and the front and pushed the heavy material off of his shoulders. 

 He gripped the hem of her nightgown, pulling away and pausing only for a moment before pulling the garment over her head, leaving her completely bare save for her underwear. 

She was a sight to behold, with the red tinged pale skin of her shoulders and cheeks and her large breasts. Gently, he ran his thumbs over the small pink buds as he watched her chest rhythmically rise and fall with each breath. She let out a small gasp followed by a drawn out whine, arching into his touch and grinding against his leg again. The friction made her bite her lip in an attempt to mask her moans, but he heard everything. His lips were at her neck again as his hands squeezed and kneaded her breasts, and he left soft kisses as he trailed his way up to her ear. 

“Let me hear you.” He whispered, sending shivers down her spine and a wave of warmth through her core. A soft moan left her lips as he bit at her shoulder. “Good girl.” He groaned and he shifted, his hands leaving her body for only a moment as he fumbled with his belts. She heard them drop to the ground and she opened her eyes, watching him as his brow furrowed and he pulled off the old, scratchy outer shirt he wore. 

“Go to my bed.” He commanded as he worked on his skirt. Aelora nodded excitedly, sliding out from between him and the wall and making her way to his bed. Her mind raced as she crawled on top of the plush surface, pressing her legs together to create some sort of pressure to distract her from the lack of Gríma’s touch. She leaned back on her elbows, watching him with great anticipation as the pale man approached the end of his bed. He was completely nude, and she felt her heartbeat speed up in anticipation and out of nervousness. Even in the low light of the room he was a ghostly white, and without the many layers of clothing she saw just how thin he was. If he weren’t the king’s advisor she’d worry he was starving. The look in his eye could have fooled her as well. 

He climbed onto the bed, sitting back on the heels of his feet as he parted Aelora’s legs. His breath hitched when he noticed the dark spot on her scarlet underwear, damp with arousal from what he had done. He didn’t hesitate as he pulled her underwear down her legs, discarding the garment somewhere in the darkness of the room. 

With every potential barrier out of the way, he situated himself between her legs. Her breath caught in her throat as she felt the warm, heavy weight of his cock against her belly. They were both frozen, looking into each other’s eyes with desire and fear. She struggled to swallow, finding that her mouth was dry from her nerves. Her fingernails traced along his bicep tenderly, and if they could stay like that forever she knew she would be content. He dipped his head and captured her lips once more, kissing her briefly yet tenderly before pulling away and cupping her cheek. 

Slowly, he slid into her, indulging himself in that unfamiliar warmth he only had the pleasure of dreaming of in the past. Aelora let out a breathy moan that sounded like music to his ears. She was tighter than he imagined, yet somehow he felt she was made for him. He let out a sigh, dropping his head to rest on her chest for a moment while he composed himself. She ran her fingers through his hair, tightening her legs around his hips as she flexed around his cock. 

Having him inside her was an almost uncomfortable, foreign feeling for her. It was much different from when she would experiment with her fingers, but she found the way he stretched her was almost deliriously pleasurable. She fought to keep herself still while he breathed raggedly on her breast, clearly struggling to maintain his composure. She heard stories of men who only lasted seconds, and she wondered - and worried - whether or not he was one of those men. He shifted, dragging himself out at a slow pace before thrusting back into her in a steady rhythm. Her fingers curled in his hair. 

She rocked her hips against his at the pace he set, aiding in trying to achieve that high they so desperately chased. His hands went to her hips again, this time holding them so tightly she was sure she would have bruises that would serve as evidence of their passion. This, she knew, was forbidden - but why did it feel so good, why did it feel so right? She arched her back. 

“Gríma.” She moaned, throwing her head back and angling her own hips in a way that made each drag of his cock send an electric feeling down her spine and into her limbs. The mere sound of his name being breathed from her lips sent him into a frenzy, picking up the pace as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her walls fluttering around him in a way that made it hard to hold back. The coil that settled in her core tightened, edging her closer and closer to climax as she held Gríma tighter than she ever had before, digging her claws into his back and leaving scratches in their wake. 

Haunting blue eyes met hers, so clouded by lust but also affection, and she couldn’t help but pull him forward and trap him in a kiss. His tongue poked at her lips, to which she reciprocated, allowing the raven haired man to dip his tongue further. She moaned into his mouth, slowly sitting up and settling into his lap, moving her hips with his still. Her wetness dribbled down his length and onto his legs. His hands came to rest on the top of her thighs, rubbing them gently as he broke away from their kiss, panting hot breath onto her chin as she threw her head back. She let out the sweetest cry he ever heard, picking up her pace as she rode him. 

“Mmm I never want to leave here.” She panted. He felt her tighten around him. She looked down at him. “I never want to leave you.” She confessed. 

✵✵✵✵✵

They laid in each other's arms, still sweaty and panting, their legs intertwined. Aelora could feel his seed between her legs, some of it leaking out of her and onto the bed. She rested her head on his chest, listening to the soft beating of his heart and the sound of his breathing. He seemed much calmer now, probably calmer than she’s ever seen him. Her gaze was fixed on the still burning candle on his desk, the wax nearly melted through as it sat lower and closer to the holder. She cuddled into his warmth, and he pulled the blanket up further. 

The blankets in his room were made from various furs, and the sheets were some sort of cotton variety. They seemed fresh, and for a moment she felt guilty for dirtying them. Gríma traced along her shoulder, his fingertips ghosting across her skin as if he were still afraid to touch her, as if he were afraid she would disappear at a moment's notice. It was hard for her not to swoon, even after everything they had just done. 

Even then, laying in bed with him, she noticed the difference between Gríma and Viseryon. Gríma’s touches were often just as needy as Viseryon’s - if not more, yet the raven haired man made her heart flutter with longing. She could look him in the eye - those haunting blue eyes - and not feel utterly horrified by their closeness. He could pull her closer in hopes of a kiss and she would not feel sick to her stomach. He kissed her in ways she was sure Viseryon wished he could, and he made her feel things Viseryon never would be able to. She liked the way Gríma’s hands caressed her thighs as she sat atop him, both coming down from their highs, as if to soothe her and cool down her fiery skin. As she laid beside him in bed she fought the urge to snuggle even closer to him than she already was. 

She could feel his gaze upon her, watching silently as he fought off sleep, and part of her knew he was falling in love with her. After the last week she would admit it would be hard not to fall for each other. Knowing this didn’t make her feel sick, and she supposed that’s what love was, it was the feeling of all being right with the world, feeling content lying next to someone and not wanting to burn the sheets where they laid. 

Tears welled up in her eyes once more, overcome with a concoction of emotion that left her with a bittersweet feeling. She was left wondering how long this would last, wondering if she could even defy Viseryon and survive. She wondered what Gríma would do with the information she gave him earlier - would he turn her in? Did he get what he wanted from her and now he’d leave just like Viseryon warned? 

Aelora let out a choked sob that woke Gríma immediately. 

He looked down at her, shifting slightly to try and get a better view of her face but she buried herself further into the crook of his neck. He quickly ran a hand over her hair, attempting to soothe her. The sudden outburst worried him. Despite being quite a few years older than Aelora he was about as experienced as she was, and for a moment he worried he disappointed her. 

“Is there something wrong?” He whispered, and she found herself unable to answer. “Aelora, please, if I did something, or didn’t do something-” 

“It’s not you.” She interjected, sniffling and wiping her tears. She still refused to look at him. He held her tighter. “It’s Viseryon. I can’t return to him, especially not like this. He saw a love bite on my neck and nearly killed me over it.” She confessed. Gríma tensed under her. He wouldn’t physically do anything to the lord, he knew he was much too weak for that, but if an accident were to befall him… 

He agreed, Aelora couldn’t go back to him like that, but she also knew she couldn’t stay the night. 

“All of this has been lovely, but I know it won’t last. He’ll have you killed if he becomes king and he’ll kill me tomorrow if he finds out, which he will.” Gríma’s eyes fell to the dagger on his desk, the wheels in his head turning as he cooked up a scheme for his beloved Aelora. He was sure she was thinking along the same lines as he. 

“You don’t want to go along with his schemes, he holds you hostage and controls every little thing you do. People dismiss it because you’re a dragon blood but anyone can see that you are so much more than a mindless puppet. He attacked you, and yet you still stay so firmly under his thumb, that’s no life for a dragon.” He lifted her chin with his finger. “You come from Ancalagon the Black, one of the greatest dragons to ever live, yet you act like a sheep. Are you a sheep, Aelora?” He asked, his voice halfway between awe and lecture. He squeezed her closer to him. In his eyes was a grave seriousness. 

“No, you’re not. You’re a dragon, be a dragon.” Her crimson eyes flickered to the desk and landed on her dagger, and she immediately knew what he meant.

#grima wormtongue #grima wormtongue x reader #grima wormtongue x oc #brad dourif #lord of the rings #lotr fanfic #lotr x reader #lotr oc #my fic: blood of the dragon #asoiaf inspired