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darlingofvalyria · 8 months

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❝Dragons do not seek permission, niece of mine. Dragons take.❞

[ Betrayal clouds your judgement, for when Jacaerys' indiscretion takes the form of a child, your anger lands in the palm of the Rogue Prince. ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 3,412 ] | Daemon Targaryen x Targaryen Niece!Reader, Jacaerys Velaryon x Manipulative Aunt!Reader | this set in an au inside of in hightower green. | this is able to be read as a oneshot.

contains— canon divergence to the second power - an au of an au - targcest, use of 'bastard', infidelity, profanity, revenge, violence, pureblood Valyrian bullshit - thinking about death as a revenge but no suicide/suicidal ideation- angst, smut - two wrongs apparently make a right - mentions of children, pregnancy, childbirth - nsfw: rough sex, biting, degradation, breeding kink, smidge dacryphilia, creampie - no kinslayers, no kings, no betas.

a/n— special thanks to @ahristata and @hiraethrhapsody for kicking my pursuit of this thread!! i woke up (almost literally) to this line of inquiry, & though writing for daemon is difficult, i had a way, way too much fun with this one m'fraid. Ihad so much fun I started laughing at the absurdity. + comment, reblog & like at will, mi luvs, mwa!

You can't breathe.

You stand there, your daughters by your sides, no more than five or so name days, dutiful as ever, the princess of the realm— the heir's wife, blindsided. Betrayed. Lied to. And you can't show them your grief, your anger, your shock— you smile, not betrayed, not realised, stupid.

Your act of stupidity protects you, for you can just tell that others, sharp-eyed as they are owning of sharper tongues, calculate the similarities between your husband and the child he is cooing at, at the arms of the Warden of the North's sister.

His bastard fucking sister.

You can't blink away as the facts, the threads, make a beautiful web in front of you. The conclusion is unmistakable. Jacaerys' consistent travels to the North, despite the campaigning for his mother's seat had not required the frequent stretches of long travels. How Aemond had remarked that the bastard is doing twice as much work in doing so, "as he should," Aemond murmurs darkly. "He casts a disgusting shadow on the Iron Throne, 'tis the least he can do."

The insistent of personally greeting the delegates from the North, you thinking it is just his wondrously formed friendship with the Lord Stark, had you dressing up and bringing your girls with him. So that your daughters can meet their father's fucking friend, one that occupied his time when he could have been at home, tending to his duties, his heirs.

And the woman who follows after the Wolf, the bastard Snow, his beloved sister. Dyanna had told you beforehand, as Lord Stark adores his only sibling. Their parenthood is unmistakable, dark hair and sharp chins. A Northern Beauty.

And then you stop, as there is a babe in her arms, no more than two name days at least.

And you see Jacaerys in his gaze.

His beautiful, warm brown eyes in the child in her arms, and as he stands there, your Prince of the Realm, too close for comfort, too close for platonic friendship, a familiarity one cannot deny— and that fucking, sweet-edged, tender smile on his face...

The same one he wore when you had given birth to his daughters. Soiled sheets, bloodied babes— it didn't matter. He held them to his arms with the very same smile, thanking you for birthing his babes.

A gut punch, a sharp inhale, an anger that coils and burns and roars.

Your bastard of a husband had fucked another bastard, and made himself a bastard little fucking family.

Life can ever be so cruel as it is humorous.

Daemon could have laughed at the prediction you found yourself in.

He sits to the left of his wife, the Queen who— in enough of itself, the evidence of the turmoil the court is about to get under, amusingly is talking quick with her Lord Hand; Corlys and Rhaenyra had not stopped pointedly looking at her heir, words too fast but unmistakable what the topic is if their gestures, the knot between their eyebrows, and unmistakable sighs and determined noises.

He, on the other hand, is pointedly staring at you.

You, who tries so hard to piece together an armour of stupidity, an air of nonchalance. As if there is no anger in your visage at your husband's attention completely stolen by Wolf's little sister and her son... who looked completely like him. Dark colouring, the First Men blood thick in his nose, his hair, at the curled edges of his baby-cheeked giggles.

When standing so close, faces to each other, there can be no doubt a mirror.

Or the lovesick smile on the mother's face, watching the Prince of the Realm interact with her son.

Together, the trio of them don't hint as much as a bead of Targaryen blood. One is able to pretend they are nothing more than a small... brown haired family.

Daemon presses his lips, trying desperately not to laugh so loudly.

He admired the boy, truly. Rhaenyra loved each child from her bosom with equal fervor, and Daemon was prepared take him as purely one of his own... but after he broke the betrothal with his daughter (though Baela could give lesser of a shit, though mildly dissatisfied as she was to become Queen, and the girl held her duties between canines) to marry a Hightower cunt... he had distanced himself from the boy.

Daemon viewed it as a sign of weakness, for he knew you. You were just like your mother, prodding into softened parts of his family— that green whore with his brother, young as she had been, his good sister Aemma had not been cold in their memories before she had found herself weightily pregnant with new heirs, and then Jacaerys, new to womanly spells, new to cunt, and you had him making vows in the ways of the dragonlords.

Though he can surmise that much of your mother's movements had not entirely been her own... Daemon knew that calculative look you got in your eye. Blink and it's gone, but your gaze sharpens, your mouth curls in a winning, prideful little smirk.

You were Otto Hightower's granddaughter alright, and you had wanted the Heir's Heir.

But now, it seems like, once a vow broken, it didn't really matter if it was a betrothal or a marriage to Jacaerys.

It brings a sick pull of satisfaction in him, that tugs him to look at you. Every time.

You laugh, tither, still evermore the gem of the feast— a feast you organised with the Lord Hand for your husband's absolutely exceptional diplomatic achievements in the North, truly, Daemon is laughing in the sidelines as the jests and songs make themselves — but Daemon is overtly familiar with dragons. And anger. And you simply stink of it. The way your eye twitches, the occasional grind of your jaw to how your fingers dig crescent moons into your palm. He catches blood in one blink then smeared, then gone, in another.

Your hold onto your armour— the Darling of the Realm, curated so painfully by a young, sly girl moving about the cesspit they call a crown's court — is breaking in pieces and tatters at each hour the feast went on.

It snarls. Like a dragon locked in the pits, tugging at reins, wishing to burn cities.

Maybe you aren't just another Hightower cunt after all.

Not purely at least, he thinks in distaste, staring at the dark green of your gown.

It is a childish tantrum, more than anything, for what is your Hightower green will do now? A bastard has been made, worse, a son. And though Jacaerys himself has muddied blood, he is still a Targaryen. His mother is Queen, prepared to make him an Heir to the Iron Throne as he had been legitimised as Laenor's son. A Velaryon. He bears the name, the crest, and the support of its house.

What is stopping him from marrying the Snow Bastard, legitimising the boy as his own, surpassing your own daughters?

Targaryens marry siblings, they also marry multiple wives.

It is a thought that he can see it dancing in your head— raw, enticing rage and bloodlust that tightens his breeches.

It is an interesting thing.

The green is disgusting, but Daemon can appreciate a young, fertile, Valyrian beauty.

Something your mother had ingeniously provided you and your siblings with, reining in her muddied blood to produce unmistakable Valyrian children. And as a smart little tart, you understood what to do with it.

When Daemon first met you, you were just one of the Hightower spawns that his brother had made to further his line. His brother's daughters—apart from Rhaenyra — were quiet things as babes and children. Odd the two of you were, but not really hostile. When you were introduced to him, your fat babe of a twin brother was teary-eyed and clinging to you, a quiet child with round eyes, staring at him inquisitively, as if challenging.

Then and there, Daemon disliked you so.

Even as you grew, the little of what he could see as he paid no mind of Viserys' other children, you grew up a fine royal, a princess of every word and sung note. Mentions of your progressive fight for the small folk, your charitable heart, your sweet nature that even his brother had made a note once or twice—

He thought it had been Otto Hightower who put you up to such machinations. Wouldn't be below him.

The night you bedded Jacaerys Velaryon, he was pleasantly surprised to find out it had been you all along.

And now here you are, betrayed as you had betrayed his daughter, delicious in your righteous anger and ripe (two babes before the year ended, Jace is an inglorious fool) for the taking. And youthful still. Smooth, soft skin, pretty lips and bright-eyed.

All your scheming, going as far as throwing your grandsire to Oldtown, it is obvious no one has wrangled the clever, spoiled little brat out of you.

As he sips his wine, amused and pleasantly hungry, he muses he might do a job or two of being the strong arm to do so.

He snorts, eyes straying back to the little First Men family.

There it is again. The jest that keeps on giving.

It was pride, truly, that kept you for most of the feast. That kept your gritted teeth to yourself, ducking into corners whenever your anger burned at your eyelids, stubbornly brushing stray tears away.

All is not lost, you stubbornly thought. You just had to plot.

But when Jace had taken your daughters, your Daenera and Aemma, gently tugging them to his bastard whore and his actual bastard to meet— finding your eyes, at that very moment as Daenera's precious, pureblooded hand shyly took the hand of her bastard brother, a fool's tender fucking simpleton of a smile on your husband's face —

Something in your head had snapped. A clean break.

And your armour had fallen. Like limestone from a fortress. Caved in ruins at the pool of your feet. Dark, furious loathe unfurled in your chest. Unable to handle it anymore, you had taken your dress and got out of the feast, for you could feel the urge of unsheathing a sword and going on a bloodied massacre, crowns and titles be damned.

You may not have a dragon, but you have its bloodlust.

Just as you are rushing to your chambers, you stop and make a different turn, knowing that if your husband had caught wind of such an ugly expression on your face, he would try and find you, talk to you, and you don't have the patience to cater to him at the moment— you find what you know of is an empty chamber, reserved for guests at the Keep.

It is a simple room with all the usual accruements. Most of the fanfare, the sheets, are in storage.

You start with a candelabra.

Raise it high before you are violently smashing it against the dresser, shrieks and guttural screams out of your mouth as you tear through the room like a typhoon, cursing Jacaerys, the North, and bastards to the Seven Hells.

None will be the wiser, for you had built your network well. Your spiders will pivot guards and strangers from this area, ensuring you a reprieve where your anger and grief can unfurl and manifest.

So you lose yourself, a dragon untethered. You get so into your rage, quiet in your thoughts, that you don't hear an intruder entering until there is a low, amused laugh too close for comfort.

You whirl around, tear-stained and rage-filled, and though the Rogue Prince expects you to fall into stutters, your eyes slit and you grip— when had you picked up a tome? — the tome tighter to your chest, snarling, "Get out."

Instead of surprise, or even offense, Daemon laughs as if you are the most amusing thing to him all night. Jesters and whores alike.

"I shall not." He makes a noncommittal hum around the dark room. "I rather like it here. It seems this chamber holds a much better entertainment than anything beheld at the feast."

You let out a dark, incredulous laughter. "I have no time for your toying, uncle, get out!" You toss the tome with fervour, but he's a warrior and he anticipates your anger, sidestepping easily before he's back to casual prowling.

"I do not have time to play jester for your entertainment," you hiss, unable to stop the hateful tears from spilling, brushing them away harshly as you watch him watch you.

He raises an eyebrow. "I am not asking you to."

"Are you here then for my humiliation? Press a bitter wound while it's still bleeding, is that it? Is that what would make the glory of your night?"

He snorts. "What would make the glory of my night is a warm body and a tight cunt."

Your face scrunches. "You are disgusting."

He barks out a laugh. "Not as disgusting as your brother."

"Aegon is no longer—"

"— or as stupidly naive as your husband."

A sharp intake of breath before you're once more cracking in broken rage and ghastly pain.

"Of course you would notice, who would not, he looks so much like his fucking bastard."

"Watch yourself, girl," he barks. "You are still talking about the Queen's heir."

A beautiful guard dog, you think, you snort. You push past him, gasping into the crisp, cool air, holding onto the balcony for dear life.

"His already diluted blood makes this conversation entirely hilarious to me I'm afraid." You look down and wonder how fast you will fall. How messy would such a death be? How much care there is left in your wake? Will your husband even care, now that he has his heir? Borne out of true love no doubt, despite such bastardly blood— or is that what makes it thrilling for them?

Mangled bone, spread thin blood— if you die such a way, it should be pretty. You hope it haunts the Keep of so many before you.

But if you die now, you will be replaced so easily. So prettily.

And your daughters—who will care for them? Will Jacaerys even care, if his bastards soon no doubt fill your once home, your mother, your brothers— your daughters pushed aside to make way for fucking dogs.

There is no satisfaction in such a plan.

There are many others.

The Rogue Prince makes his presence known by standing close to your back, close enough that you can smell him, that his heat is your own, as he hums, peering below as you have.

"Have you been drinking, zaldrītsos little dragon?" he whispers, tangling his fingers through your hair, running a lone finger down your neck, up and down in a tantalising movement. You can't help it, it feels comforting, leaning close to it despite such a breathy huff out of your lips.

"Since when am I dragon, kepus uncle? Haven't you always likened us muddied blood, filthier than dragonseeds?"

"I see that I am wrong," he says, almost idle as if he isn't devouring you in his gaze. How you feel soft, pliant under one finger after weighted in wine and the ruins of your anger, how you're almost purring and sweet like this, your fire alive but consistent. "Aōha perzys burns jehikagrī. Nyke hae ziry. Your flames burn bright. I like it."

"Hm. You've had sons, don't you uncle?"

"I have," he replies, amused.

"And many a children." You reach for his chin, your thumb rubbing his bottom lip. He's old, sure, but men don't have the same bodily issues as women. You know he could reach your father's age and be able to produce five more brats.

But his shoulders are strong, spry only as a swordsman can be.

And he isn't like he's loyal to Nyra, turning fully to you with a hand caressing your side.

His hand comes for your neck, halting your movement as he tests a squeeze. There is only much hatred as there is lust. And his cock is winning over his mind, for when your free hand, watching him intently, reaches for the hardness straining against his breeches, giving it a stroke, his breath stutters into a groan whilst his hips push into your hand.

"Dragons do not seek permission, niece of mine," he hums darkly. "Dragons take, or do you have too much of your Hightower cunt of a mother that you—"

You curl your hand over his cock until his breath hitches.

"I want a son. Surely you'd rather want for your true blood to sit on the Iron Throne? Your wife would remain Queen, her and her heir none the wiser. Any son of mine would be King regardless." Your voice is barely above whisper, stroking him as your squirm in his hold, his breath heavy by each promise, each tale you spin so tall. "Wouldn't you like that better? I am a Targaryen, as are you. Our blood would be pure."

"I have pureblooded sons, riñītsos little girl."

"But will they be king? With my husband as your wife's heir?" When his hold softens on your throat, you push yourself forward, pressing yourself against him. "Wouldn't you want your family's legacy, your legacy, unsullied with prettier blood?

"I want a son, uncle," you whimper, thickened with need and desire, willing him to bend and fold because men like Daemon are easy, because a loving marriage is one thing, a man who holds his house as his pride in another fist is another. "I want your seed to take root in me."

And it isn't like you're asking him to betray his Queen.

Daemon is surprisingly a soft lover, prone in a way to worshipping you even as you had gotten impatient and tried to get your way. His punishments are quick and precise, a hit on your thigh, a tighter squeeze in your throat, a firm bite in your breast enough to draw blood. He's soft but by choice, almost as if he is amusing you in each caress while one hand is holding you by your hair, fucking you down into the sheets.

His words aren't better, spun in hisses and spits, mocking laughter and groans.

"Do you want my seed, you little whore?"

"What would your husband say now, his pretty wife mewling for another? Or would he even care?"

"Your tears are pretty, if you want my seed, I think you need to be sobbing, hm?"

When he finally spills inside of you with nothing less of a broken, guttural roar, hips chasing the high, meeting your sensitivity once, twice, again— you are shattered in pieces and contradictions, floating and wide awake, pleasured and in pain.

He slaps your face gently after he's cleaned himself up, tucked his flaccid cock back in his breeches as he comes to your eye line. "Come to me again when you want my seed, hm? I shall prioritise your wants for the good of the realm but I dare say—"

He cocks his head with a smirk, feeling stirrings at the sight of your fucked out state, his seed spilling from your pretty hole that he can't help himself as he chases it with a finger, forcefully pushing it back in while your body trembles and twitches.

"— you may be with child soon enough, niece. I shall congratulate you and my son with the happy news."

Your eyes flutter close at the echoes of his disappearing footsteps.

Nine moons later, through a hearty, blood-soaked birth that rocked the keep with your wails of pure pain— much more painful than when your girls had come into the world — a baby boy is born of pure Valyrian colouring.

A fat babe who cried murder in his first seconds of life, and it is Caraxes who snarls and screeches into the high noon sky.

"I shall name him Daemon," you say to your husband beside you as you beheld the babe with a wondrous smile and a full heart.

"After your brother and my father," Jace says, smiling. "That is wonderful, my wife. He does look much like them."

Your smile curls, a finger rubbing your babe's fat cheek. "He does. And he will be strong swordsman." Your lashes flutter to Jace, poisoned vowels in each word that he blinks, startled. "Just like his father."

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dilemmaontwolegs · 1 year

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Already Gone || MV1 {6}

Pairing: Max Verstappen x spy!fem!reader Summary: The brief moment of quiet comes to an end when Ferrari go on the attack for retribution. Warnings: 18+ only, oral, smut, violence WC: 2.7k

F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven

You had fired the warning shot and there was nothing to be done but wait and see how Ferrari would respond to their stocks plummeting.

With no races for the next two weeks you had too much spare time that it left you itching to do something, anything. After years of living life on a whim, moving from place to place faster than Max with his DRS, all this time at home was taking some getting used to.

The house was tidy, the laundry was done, you even started to log into the dark web to see if there were any jobs waiting before realising that it wasn’t your job anymore. You were part of a small team that worked under the very loose term of security but reported directly to Christian. With Ferrari scrambling for sponsors to finance their team, it had been relatively quiet for you in recent weeks.

After pottering around in the kitchen you decided it was five o’clock somewhere in the world and broke out the blender. Armed with two cocktails, and nothing left to keep you busy while Max streamed, you made your way upstairs and decided to watch his race with the rest of the Redline team.

You saw his smile grow in the small box in the corner of his screen when he spotted you pass through the doorway behind him and he risked crashing as he steered with one hand so the other could pull you onto his lap.

“I wondered when you would get bored,” he commented as he continued leading the race.

“It seemed the perfect excuse for some day drinking,” you said as you held his glass up to his lips so he could take a sip as he steered.

“Oh fuck, that’s strong,” he said with a cough before taking another drink anyway.

The chat box started to go crazy with the amount of comments coming through and you scanned over them until one caught your eye and you snorted a laugh.

user1: Max, I hacked your computer and have your sex tape. Pay me €1m or I’ll release it.

“No one can get past my firewalls, but nice try!” you said before you leant towards the camera and childishly poked your tongue out.

“Babe, babe,” Max called as he shifted around trying to see the screen before his car crashed and he threw his hands in the air, nearly sending the drinks flying. “Ah, come on." His head dropped to your shoulder with a groan before he placed a quick kiss in the same spot. "Gianni says thanks.”

user2: Uh-oh! Someone’s in trouble now. user3: Y/N coming and ruining it for the rest of us.

“I was just giving the other guys a chance to win,” you said for the chat before turning to Max and kissing his cheek, “so your friends will still want to play with you.”

user4: such a mommy thing to say user5: Did everyone else miss the fact Y/N just confirmed they made a sex tape!

Since Max no longer needed his arms to drive, they curled around your waist as he read the comments with you, answering some questions along the way.

“No, we haven't…well, not on purpose,” he said as he saw the last comment. “I forget how many security cameras she has set up around the house and there’s always new ones, so it just happens.”

user3: Sounds like Y/N is keeping Max in prison. Blink twice if you need help.

His laugh teased your skin as he rested his chin on your shoulder and unplugged his headphones so you could hear Gianni and Diogo teasing him.

“Alright,” he cut them off with a roll of his eyes when they took things too far as always happened. “That's enough internet for one day, I’m going to go and get drunk with my lovely warden.”

“That’s sarcasm, for those about to call the police,” you pointed out as you held his bored face up to the camera. “I know it’s hard to tell with this stoic, handsome face.”

Max chuckled as he closed the platform and you shifted on his lap to get more comfortable. “Are there any videos?”

“Oh, without a doubt,” you confirmed after finishing your drink while you thought of all the places in the house you had gotten carried away with each other. “I haven’t actually checked though, but now I just might. Maybe I can make a video for when you’re away.”

“For you or for me?” he asked as his hands ran up your thighs slowly.

“I might share with you if you ask me nicely.”

The sim chair went sliding back before Max stood up with you in his arms and he navigated the hall to cage you beneath him on the bed. You could taste the gin on his tongue before he trailed his lips down your neck and across your collarbone.

“Is this you asking?”

He hummed his answer against your skin and his fingers popped the button on your jeans. “Nicely.”

“You certainly know how to get your way,” you praised, lifting your hips so he could drag them down your legs before you sat up just long enough to pull your shirt off.

“I learned from the best,” he teased with a wink before he tugged your body to the edge of the bed and fell to his knees between your spread legs. His breath was warm on your thighs and the short hairs that shadowed his cheeks left you writhing before his lips even made contact.

“Maxxxxx,” you whined as he kissed everywhere except where you needed it most.

“Yes?”

You pushed yourself up on your elbows so you could see the smirk on his lips. “This is not my definition of ‘nicely’.”

“Patience, liefje.”

“Patience was never my strongest virtue,” you warned before you used a move that was meant for close combat and ended with Max on his back on the carpet and you straddling his chest. “I want you.”

“I can see that,” he chuckled as his hands gripped your thighs and pulled you higher up his body, lining your centre with his lips. “Impatient little minx.”

You moaned as his tongue finally found your sweet spot after all the teasing and your hips rolled as you buried your hands in his hair and rode his face.

You had never had a lover like him, one that was more focused on your pleasure than his own. One orgasm wasn’t enough, he wanted you weak and overstimulated, your arousal running down his chin as he held your hips tightly so you couldn’t escape his tongue.

Your body was more than wet enough to take him when he kicked his shorts away and you sunk down his hard length. But your cunt was tight from the orgasms and the air left your lungs as he filled you so deeply it was almost to the point of pain.

“Need a moment?” he asked as his thumb reached between your legs and found your clit.

You did but, as he said, you were impatient and planted your palms on his chest as you slowly started to ease yourself up and down his cock. The sounds of your breathing changed as pleasure began to build and Max grinned as he gripped your hips knowing you were ready for more. He shifted beneath you, his knees bending so he could have the leverage he needed before he slammed up into you.

You cried his name out as your bodies slapped together and his strong hands bounced you in time to his thrusts. Every stroke dragged him along your walls that fluttered around him and you swore in ecstasy as his head hit your cervix.

Sweat beaded on your forehead, your legs trembled uncontrollably and you could barely open your eyes when his hold finally eased. There was no way you were going to be able to make it to the bed as you rolled off his body and collapsed to the carpet beside him

You were just about to open your mouth and ask him to drag the bedsheet down to the floor when your smartwatch lit up on your wrist. The alert was for the silent alarm that had been triggered on the perimeter of the property and all the oxytocin and dopamine released thanks to Max was replaced with adrenaline. Strength flooded back to you as you rose to your feet and grabbed a white shirt of Max’s that was close by.

“Lock the door behind me,” you ordered Max with a whisper as he noticed the change instantly. “And call Christian.”

“What’s going on?” he asked, pulling his shorts up as he made his way to the door too.

“Someone’s in the house.” You grabbed his shoulder as he went to step out of the room and pushed him aside. “Do not leave the room until I’m back. This is my job.”

“You’re my girlfriend, I’m not going to let you go alone.”

“Right now I’m your security,” you hissed quietly as you watched the camera feed in the small device, “and I will knock you out if it means keeping you safe.”

He held his palms up and took a step back into the room until you nodded in satisfaction. “Be safe.”

The worry in his tone brought a small smile to your face. “Always.” The door clicked shut behind you before the lock slid into place and the smile faded. It was time to go hunting.

You swiped across the device on your arm, flipping through all the cameras to determine there were three men in the house. They were still on the ground floor and making their way around each corner with the ease of a group that was used to working together.

Pulling Max’s shirt over your body, you wished you had time to at least put on a pair of panties. That was the last thought you spared before gripping the handrail of the stairs and shutting out everything but the task ahead of you. These men would not make it to the stairs, they would not make it to your bedroom, they would not make it to Max.

You timed it perfectly.

The billowing shirt caught the air as you leapt over the handrail and crashed feet first onto the man who had stepped into your path. He was lucky he didn’t look up because Max would have probably killed him for what be would have seen. Instead your heel connected with his head and he was a crumpled heap on the floor before you had even got back on your feet.

“She’s in here! You, find Verstappen and break his fucking hands.”

You dropped your hips low as you spun to face the voice behind you, tucking your head behind your forearms as a fist tried to kiss your cheek. The blow glanced off your arm but the crunch on knuckles on plastic rendered your smartwatch broken.

“Dick,” you growled as you lost the camera feed, and the position of the third asshole who had broken into your home. Angered even more so, you took the offensive and attacked.

The man was well trained as he dipped and dodged your 1-2 combo but he wasn’t expecting the furious headbutt you threw when he stepped in for a body shot. Light exploded behind your eyes as the man stumbled back with a groan before he stabilised himself with the wall.

“You’re a scrapper, aren’t you?” he laughed as he wiped the blood from his forehead before it ran into his eyes.

“Raised in the streets, sweetcheeks,” you smirked. If it wasn’t for the gin and adrenaline your head would probably be aching beyond belief but you couldn’t feel it just yet. “Who hired you?”

“I’m not going to tell you.”

“Worth a try,” you said with a shrug. “At least I know there’s no reason to leave any of you conscious.”

This time when the man attacked you didn’t try to stop him, you let him shove his weight into you and took him with you to the floor. Your knees caught his gut and when the momentum shifted, you pushed up with all your strength and sent him barreling into the solid oak front door. The wood cracked under the hit it took and you waited a moment to see if the man would rise.

A sound of annoyance rumbled from your throat as he tried to crawl on his knees and you shook your head. “You have one hard head, sweetcheeks.”

“Fuck. You,” he spat back, using the door handle to pull himself up.

“No, thanks,” you swung your knee up and knocked the air out of him, satisfied he wouldn’t be trying to get up again when he slumped to the floor. “I have taste.”

A shadow crossed the floor from the other end of the hall and you spun around to see the last assailant darting from the kitchen to the living room. Aiming to cut him off, you took the other archway into the large room and found him armed with a very expensive vase.

“We weren’t interrupting something, were we?” he asked as he eyed up the length of skin showing beneath Max’s shirt and you pulled the material back into place as you narrowed your eyes at him.

“Lucky for you we had just finished. If not, your friends would be dead.”

The vase was a gift from Max’s mother no less, and the man threw it at your head. You were torn between trying to catch it and self preservation but self preservation won as you slid out of the trajectory and it shattered across the living room floor. Shards went flying and Achilles hissed as he shot off the couch with the fright.

That’s when you saw red.

A sound akin to a warcry erupted from you as you ran and tackled the man around the waist, shoving your shoulder into his ribs as you both went down.

“You.” Your fist splattered blood across the carpet as it broke his nose. “Scared.” The skin on your knuckles split with a hard punch to the man’s side. “My.” Your nose wrinkled at the sound of his ribs cracking. “Cat!” You fell back on your heels panting as the man struggled to breathe.

The rapid thumping of feet running down the stairs had you rushing back to your feet thinking there was a fourth intruder but it was Max who skidded around the corner.

“You’re meant to wait for me,” you said as the fight left you exhausted and you swayed on your feet.

His arms were there to catch you and he scooped you off your feet and he kissed your sweaty forehead. “I heard you scream.”

“They scared Achilles,” you said with a wince at the touch and he pulled back, his eyes widening as he saw the swelling of the bruise beginning.

“You’re hurt.” The living room gave way to the kitchen and Max placed you on the countertop as he grabbed the first aid kit from under the bench.

“I might have a headache.”

“Stop being so tough,” he warned as he cracked the rapid ice pack open and placed it to your head. “Brett’s on his way, so is Christian.”

You bit your lip as he wiped your knuckles with disinfectant and the alcohol burned the cuts before he gently wrapped them with gauze.

“Does this mean we have to move?” he asked as he stepped between your legs and took over holding the ice pack in place. It was almost hard to imagine that on the other side of the wall there were three men unconscious when he stood in such an intimate position.

Your head snapped back to look him in the eyes. “No, this is my home. I’ll be damned if I let anyone take that away from me again.”

He swallowed before nodding in agreement. “Okay, then teach me to fight.”

Your eyebrows shot up your forehead and you winced as it sparked fresh pain. “What?”

“This is our home. I’m not going to let you defend it alone, again.” He pressed a quick kiss to your lips as the doorbell rang and Brett called out. “This is my fight too.”

“Your fight with Ferrari is out on the track.”

“Not anymore.”

Click here for chapter seven.

Tagging: @octaviareina @omgsuperstarg @mvclff1 @alwaysclassyeagle @icantcomeupwithamusicalname-blog @laneyspaulding19 @booknerd2004-blog @mimimarvelingmarvel @chonkybonky @vita-di-moda @formulas-bitch @untitled1279

#max verstappen x you #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen smut #f1 smut #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #formula one fanfiction

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xzhdjsj · 1 month

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Kisses with Elias

Ahem ahem I miss my local bad boy

Everybody say thank you to @chilliesillie for this because THIS is the only reason it exists😍

"I missed you." You snuggle closer to Elias, pressing your face into his neck.

He had left earlier in the morning to meet his father, leaving you alone in the safe house. It was the first time you'd been by yourself in a while and you just couldn't help but jump onto him the first chance you got, so as soon as he returned you took it upon yourself to push him onto the couch and smother him in hugs.

"Really? I was only gone for two hours babe." He giggles at the feeling of your breath on his skin.

You pulled away, a faux frown on your face, "Okay but you left without telling me. I woke up and the bed was empty, actually the entire house was empty!"

"I'm sorry babe. You looked so peaceful sleeping, I didn’t wanna wake you up." He placed a hand on your cheek, and you eagerly lean into his touch. "Besides you knew I had to see Warden today."

"Yeah, but that didn't make me feel any less lonely. I really really missed you."

The state he's in right now is just tempting. The way he leans back giving you full access to his body, his hands gently caressing your thighs on either side of his body. And his eyes, his fucking eyes that keep looking at you with that dreamy expression.

"How about I make it up to you?" He’s looking up at you all starry eyed and expecting. "You can use me as you please. Anything you want, you can take it from me."

Your heartbeat quickens and if you didn't look away now, you might just lose yourself in the depts of his gaze.

"Why do you say things like that?" You try to hide your flushed cheeks with your hands.

"Hey," he turns your face back to look at him, "You said you missed me, I'm just giving you the opportunity to show me how much."

"Shut up"

He takes your hand from your face, placing it right on his chest, “I feel a little stuck in this jacket, will you please help me get it off?”

You don’t respond, scared that some other sound might escape your throat that most definitely aren’t words ,especially when he’s pulling you further up his lap, closing the space between your bodies.

Wordlessly, you push his jacket further down his shoulder, swallowing hard as more of his arms is revealed. No matter how many times you've seen them, even if he parades the house in shirts without sleeves all the time, you'll never get over how attractive they are.

"Keep going." He leans up to whisper in your ear and you promptly shove him back down. He stays down, chuckling at how dishevelled you are from just some light teasing.

"You'll be the death of me.” You huff.

“Don’t be dramatic, I know you want this just as much as I do. I know you’ve been wai-”

He does not shut up, does he? So, you shut him up, pressing your lips onto his. He’s still laughing at your impatience in-between kisses, it reverberates through the kiss and annoys you even more, so you push him further into the plush cushions. He helps you stay anchored to him with his hands on your hips, squeezing more and more as the kiss escalates. He willingly opens his mouth granting you access to his tongue, and you willingly accept.

When you finally pull away, you’re both out of breath. He’s still looking up at you with the same awestruck expression and you wonder just what’s going through his mind.

“I… I like it when you look at me like that.” You confess, “It’s the same way you look at the stars.”

He’s grinning below you, gently guiding your face back down to kiss him again. The way his body reacts to you is astonishing, willing to bend and comply at your every touch. In turn, it makes you want to give in to his every request and need. In the end of it all, it’s just you and him indulging in each other to satiate you own wants.

“You- god you.” You’re dumbstruck.

“Come on, kiss me more." He pushes, voice raspy and filled of need. "Paint galaxies on my skin with your lips.”

The hairs on your skin raise, sending tickles and shivers down your spine. This man needs to be stopped. But...

If that’s what he wants, who are you to deny him?

#zsakuva #sakuverse #asmr #elias #elias x reader

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vind3miat0r · 1 month

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things my classmates have said as Redacted Characters pt 2

you know the drill (long warning)

“Does anyone have a math problem? I know [Eridanus] doesn’t I can see his page” — Avior

“I haven’t done a problem like that in like 20 years” — Warden

“Weren’t you a teacher?” — Vega

“But did you sing the song?” — Angel

“No, I never learned the song :3” — Asher

“I wanna see a 12-D movie” — Guy

“I hate it when the silly spine disease makes my back hurt :(" — Freelancer (oh wow i wonder who said this one)

“[Fred], do the problem” — Sam

“[SAM] WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU” — Bright

“It’s like a crescendo in music” — Babe

“Nintendo?” — Asher

“You don’t have a license, do you?” — Damien

“That doesn’t matter” — Gavin

“I vote [Sam] goes next” — Bright

“Wait what-" — Sam

“A maths joke? Why-“ — Angel

“[Angel], shut up.” — David

“This is working out great! I did not do this wrong at home!” — Asher

“‘Cogeret’… It looks French” — Avior

“✨Cogerét✨ (🇫🇷)” — Starlight

“I’m totally exhausted” — Darlin

“What have you even been doing?” — Milo

“I don’t even know” — Darlin

“Exactly” — Milo

“Close your eyes. What do you feel?” — Coworker

“Tired” — Freelancer

“We should nuke Mars :3” — Babe

“… I think that’s from Meriam-Webster” — Starlight

“Did you just quote a dictionary????” — Avior

“Well, lets put them into that position and then we’ll go from there :3” — Gavin

“I left it on the door-" — Angel

“ON the door??” — David

“BY the door-" — Angel

“He’s talking to himself” — Fred

“The voices” — Bright

“Like the creep he is” — Fred

“The voices :3” — Bright

“what do YOU think about ✨Organ Donation✨?” — Lovely (its the vibes guys trust trust)

*sounding it out* “‘Ce-pha-lo-thor-ax’” — Starlight

“The cephalothorax-" — Avior

“Oh wow. That was beautiful 😒” — Starlight

“Thank you 😌” — Avior

#im only tagging the first few cuz damn #theres a lot #redacted asmr #redactedverse #redactedaudio #redacted avior #redacted warden #redacted vega #redacted angel #redacted asher #redacted guy #yuh #redacted quotes #but incorrect #yeah #vinn says fandom things #vinn says really dumb stuff #vinn yapping

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deimcs · 1 year

Photo

FREYA TREVELYAN | nine years later. (x/x)

#daedit #daiedit #dragonageedit #gamingedit #trevelyanedit #inquisitoredit #dragon age #dai #edits #freya trevelyan #there she is! my very first inquisitor revamped as she deserved :')#i post so sporadically here i realized it seems like i only have random trevs girls #but i actually have 9 wardens 4 hawkes and 20+ da:i ocs both canon and npcs #so like. i have range i swear.#anyway kiss on the forehead for my og babe!

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minuteminx · 1 year

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My biggest frustration as a Preston fan in the Fallout 4 fandom is not actually the people who make hate content (that’s annoying and awful but my block button is a pretty great balm for that); no, it’s actually the multitude of people who “would like him if…” “would have been more willing to spend time with him if…”

Call me crazy, but aside from the annoying radiant quest mechanic (which can be circumvented if you 1. Listen to Radio Freedom everyone once and a while, 2. Don’t do the quests you’re assigned bc you’ll only get a couple at a time before it stops, and 3. Make sure your settlements are in good shape. You have so much less to do if you settlements are taken care of on the front end. If they have a high enough defense and they’re under attack? THEY DEFEND THEMSELVES. Imagine that. Anyway) I actually LIKE how the game handles Preston and the MM.

Maybe it’s just me coming from Dragon Age fandom, where in the very first game, my fresh out-out-of-orientation Grey Warden is asked to take the lead by someone with more seniority because the more senior person is riddled with grief, survivor’s guilt, and insecurity that they’d be able to do a good job… sound familiar? Preston asks you to be the General because after everything he has been through, he’s not ready to fill that role. He can’t stomach the responsibility because he is afraid he’ll mess it up, that he’ll let people down.

But the thing is, he still does the General Stuff. He is the one organizing, communicating with settlements, strategizing, expanding, recruiting, giving orders, etcetera, etcetera. The sole who agrees to be the General is honestly just a figurehead for the settlers and a sounding board for Preston’s ideas. At the end of the day it is not the Sole Survivor who settlers run to, excited to thank them for all their help and make donations. It’s not the Sole Survivor who is viewed as the face of the MM. It’s Preston.

Do I wish the game came full circle and acknowledged that? Oh yeah I do, which is why I’m writing fanfic. I think that Preston deserved a personal quest where you retake Quincy from the Gunners and get revenge on Clint. I think the end of his story should be the Sole Survivor acknowledging that he’s been the General the entire time and bequeathing that title back to him now that he is recovering and ready for it. That’s really all I would have needed to feel like his story was complete.

As is, I enjoy traveling with Preston in game. He is refreshing. He has a lot of hopeful commentary about the Commonwealth, a lot of sarcasm and dry humor, and it’s great. He actually gives you less quests when he’s traveling with you as a companion, too.

His romance is lovely. It is the only one with some additional dialogue if you do the flirts, successfully initiate, then back out when he asks if you’re sure. He will come back later and say “listen, I know last time we talked, you said you weren’t ready to move on, but it’s been a while now and I still feel the same about you. I was wondering if you thought you might feel the same about me.” He also is genuinely so happy and excited to be with you. He gets a little more flirtatious. talking about MM regulations not covering your little situation (little eyebrow wiggle included). He calls you babe and tells you to be careful. It’s just as rich of a romance as literally any of the others.

I’m not sure where I’m going with this, but I’ve been seeing a number of new posts in this vein lately and I guess I wanted to add my thoughts. 😌

#preston garvey #fallout 4

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silens-oro · 1 year

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Spoils of War: 6. The Stars Above

Aemond Targaryen x F!Targaryen!Reader

Spoils of War Masterlist House of the Dragon Masterlist

Synopsis: The pieces of the chessboard begin to move.

Word Count: ~10,292 (holy shit)

Warning: 18+. Targaryen uncle/niece incest (lite, nothing truly weird other than they are both Targaryens), starvation, force feeding, torture, blood, murder, imprisonment, anxiety, psychological trauma, ptsd.

AN: I'm cryin' at the response to Ch. 5. Thank you to everyone who reached out! We get to see a bit of everyone in this one. Is Cregan a lil ooc? Mayhaps. Is Aemond heading into WackyTaffy territory? Mmmmmyeah. Do I care? Nohaps. I create my own false realities, babes. It's just past 1am where I am and this has taken 2 days to edit, so I hope you all enjoy it. Also, my Cregan Stark faceclaim is 100% Arnas Fedaravičius as Sihtric from The Last Kingdom. Season 3 specifically. You're welcome.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated.

It had been three days since Jace landed in Winterfell. It took him no less than half a day along his journey to garner the support of Lady Jayne Arryn within the Eyrie, just as his mother had said. Lady Jayne had apparently laughed Aemond out of her keep more than a week prior, her threat of sending him through the Moon Door not subtle, before he made his rounds to other Houses of the Kingdom.

Jace had been welcomed to the North by Lord Cregan Stark nearly a week later. They had taken to each other like ducks to a pond within moments of meeting. Jace felt familiar to Cregan; he held a striking resemblance to the brother he had lost and Jace's earnestness was not lost on Cregan. Jace spoke truth with every word he shared, and it was a trait that the Lord appreciated greatly.

Cregan welcomed the Prince into his Keep, introduced him to his family, and supped with him at his table. The North was nothing like the young Prince had imagined. It was wet and gray, cold and dreary, but the people fascinated the young Prince. He went hunting with the Lord, bonding even further as if they were already brothers. He introduced Cregan to Vermax, and told him of Maestron. He described how the dragon’s pale scales would blend in with the snow and how the beast would create his own legend up North.

It was equal parts terrifying and fascinating to Cregan. The prospect of having a dragon in the North was daunting. The cost alone to feed it caused a spike of anxiety, not to mention just how safe his people would be with it roaming the countryside freely. There was also the thought of security. The North was a formidable enemy to have without a dragon, but with one…no one in the seven Kingdoms, or elsewhere, would dare to make them their enemy.

The topic of a betrothal to the Princess had been brought up a few times in passing, and while Cregan was not completely for it…he was receptive to the idea. Jace only spoke kind words of you, praises that only went higher and higher. In the end, his words seemed to win over the Warden of the North. If you were only a fraction of what Jace had described in the few days he had been in Winterfell, you would make a fine Lady of the North.

All of this brought Jace to this current moment in time.

He walked next to Cregan through the grounds of the Keep until they reached the Godswood. The vibrancy of the weirwood trees, their blood red foliage a stark contrast to the grays and browns surrounding him, caught his breath at their beauty. Cregan stopped him as they reached the raised and twisting roots of the first tree. He put a large hand upon Jace’s shoulder in a friendly gesture, but his face was serious. His dark brows were furrowed as he looked down to Jace.

“The fact that the Princess has not made her way here yet has not been forgotten by me.” Cregan said with a sigh as he dropped his hand. He could see the panicked thoughts racing through Jace’s eyes as he spoke. “You have been honest with me thus far, Prince Jacaerys, and for that I will give you the benefit of the doubt regarding the Princess’ absence.”

“I thank you for your hospitality and your courtesy, Lord Stark.” He said with a sigh of relief. “I assure you that this is quite unusual behavior with respect to my sister. She was supposed to be here yesterday at the latest.”

“She was.” He agreed. “You are worried?”

“I am.” Jace responded truthfully. Cregan seemed to respect the truth, even if the truth was not appealing.

“And you are sure she has not fled? I can’t imagine the prospect of living in the North would be appealing to a Southern Princess.” It would’ve sounded like a baited question had it been anyone but Cregan Stark. He knew it wasn’t a stretch for a Princess to shun the idea of relocating her life to live in the cold, wet, harsh climates of Winterfell.

“She would not flee.” Jace reassured Cregan, though the crease between his brows let Cregan know that the very idea that she would flee was a slight against his sister. “My sister is a great many things, Lord Stark. Dutiful and punctual are amongst her greatest attributes, I assure you.”

“I meant no offense, my Prince.” Cregan bowed just the slightest bit in respect. “If it would ease your worries, I will have the maester send a raven to Dragonstone. Worry not, Prince Jacaerys. We will get to the bottom of this.” Cregan extended a kind smile that just barely tilted at the corners of his lips.

“I would appreciate that, Lord.”

“Aemond,” Alicent greeted softly as Aemond let himself into her Solar. He allowed himself some time to clean himself up before seeing his mother so he at least didn’t look as he felt. Anxiety swirled in the pit of his stomach and he knew she could see it in his eye. He took a deep breath, steeling himself to rip the bandage from the proverbial wound. He stood with his feet a shoulder’s width apart, his hands clasping tightly behind his back.

“Lucerys is dead.” Alicent’s jaw dropped, as did the cup held within her hand. “As is the Princess.” It felt like the rug had been pulled from beneath her feet.

“How do you know this?” She whispered, taking slow, measured steps towards Aemond. Her breaths quickened, dread filling her chest.

“I was there.” He replied simply. An understatement, perhaps.

“Where?”

“Somewhere between Bronzegate and Stonedance.”

“They were at Storm’s Landing?” She questioned as she stood before him.

“They were.” He swallowed thickly, not able to meet his mother’s eyes. He looked just over her head and out the window. Darkness had since fallen over King’s Landing, shrouding it in shadow. “For the same reason I was.”

“What happened?” Her jaw was clamped tightly, anger rising as her son refused to meet her eyes. He was involved, she concluded. “You will explain yourself now!”

“Vhagar took them from the skies.” The lie was only partial. A gasp fell from Alicent’s parted lips.

“What have you done?” She grasped Aemond’s face in her hands harshly, pulling him down so he would look at her. Aemond could feel his mother shaking with rage. “What have you done?!”

“I could not stop her.” He whispered. “I gave chase to both of them, for that I am guilty. Arrax drew dragon fire onto Vhagar and she did not let his action go unpunished.” He explained. “She went after Arrax and I was unable to stop her.” Alicent could read between the lines. Young Luke, though she held no love for the boy, died horrifically. She let go of her son’s face, stumbling back.

“And the Princess?” She mumbled, shell-shocked.

“She tried to save Lucerys and perished as he did somewhere along Massey’s Hook.” Aemond lied.

“The Massey’s are aligned with the Blacks, Aemond. Surely a raven has reached Rhaenyra by now.” Alicent hissed, angry, frustrated tears welling in her eyes.

“I would assume so.” His tone was indifferent, but inside he was screaming.

“There is no way your beast was not seen. They will know this was you. Daemon will kill you for this, you stupid boy!” Alicent shouted.

“Daemon would kill me for less if given the opportunity. I am not sorry for what has transpired. Neither would’ve made it through this war.” Alicent looked at Aemond like she did not recognize him. “It was a mercy, if anything.”

“War is brutal, mother.” He explains. “Boys like Luke -soft- do not last long, and the women who create that softness survive even less.” Alicent shook her head, her loose curls bouncing in the light of the fireplace.

“The Blacks will strike with everything they have!”

“They have little!” Aemond assured her.

“And now more will flock to them!” Spittle flew from her mouth. “You’ve killed two of Rhaenyra’s children! Your niece and nephew! How could this happen, Aemond? How?!” Alicent screamed, tears falling down her cheeks. “If any House was on the fence that could've swayed to us, we’ve surely lost them!”

“I shall not lose sleep over it, I assure you.” Aemond fronted with a roll of his eye. “They took their chances against Vhagar and got as they deserved.” Still his stomach twisted at his own words. Alicent stared at Aemond, her lip trembling.

“You loved her!” She said in confusion. “Just one month prior you were asking for her hand, and now she is dead?” Alicent sobbed, holding a hand to her chest as she held herself against the high back of a chair. “There is no forgiveness in the eyes of the Seven for this, Aemond.”

“She is better off dead than in the hands of a lord that isn’t worthy of the air she breathes. Mmm,” Aemond hummed. “I suppose it is fortuitous that war is upon us to shield me from further judgment.” He spat. “I’ve secured the bannermen of Storm’s End as I’ve been tasked to do. I shall be wed to the Baratheon girl in a week’s time. I’ve done my duty, mother, and I’ve managed to kill two birds with one stone to keep my brother on his throne. Sacrifices must be made. You said those words yourself.” Alicent had no response. Her lips tilted into a deep frown, her eyes glassy. Her shoulders had hunched as she watched Aemond turn on his heel and leave.

What’s done is done.

Three more days had passed in Winterfell and the weight of your absence felt heavier and heavier upon Jace’s shoulders with each passing day.

A maester quickly approached Cregan and Jace, who were showing off their skills with archery -Jace moreso showing just how un-skilled he was with a bow. The Lord was trying to keep the boy occupied until he got word from Dragonstone. He had other duties to attend to, but something did not feel right in his gut. It was an instinct he learned to trust early on.

“Lord Stark!” The elderly man called, waving a rolled parchment in his hands. Jace let an arrow loose and it did not hit within the circular target, but it did lodge itself just to the right within the wood.

“Progress!” Cregan commended. Jace smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. He was ready to notch another arrow when the maester stopped him.

“My Lord, my Prince,” He bowed, completely out of breath. “I have word from Dragonstone. May we converse somewhere privately?” Cregan looked down to Jace, whose face dropped instantly. The raven the maester sent to Dragonstone still had days before it would reach his mother, so if a raven was here from Dragonstone…something had to have happened.

Cregan took the scroll from the maester and began walking to his council chambers. He unraveled the parchment and read it as he walked with haste. Jace had to nearly run to keep up with his gait. The maester trailed behind both, panting furiously. Once the door to the council chambers was closed, Cregan turned to Jace who looked at him with fear shining in his eyes. His own eyes held a deep sadness, which did not bode well for Jace. Wordlessly, Cregan handed the scroll to the younger boy.

The room was silent as Jace read the message.

He had to sit, lest his legs give out from beneath him. Cregan helped lower the shocked young man, his hand never leaving his shoulder.

“My most sincere condolences, my Prince.” The baritone of his voice vibrated to Jace, who let the parchment slip through his fingers and fall to his feet. He could not feel. He could not think.

Jace dropped his head to his hands in utter agony.

Surrounded by darkness, you did not know if your eyes were truly open or not. Were you alive? Were you in a purgatory of sorts? Was this the afterlife? Hell?

The back of your head pounded angrily and your back felt stiff. You reached to touch the tender flesh, but a weight around your wrists stopped you.

Alive, it would seem, you thought. but Hell all the same.

Chain links clinked together as you moved your hands to where you thought your face was, but even inches from your own eyes you could not see through the void. Your thumbs rubbed over the scabbed skin of your palms. The skin was taut and each stretch of it caused you to hiss in pain. Sighing heavily, you rested your hands back onto your stomach and closed your eyes to let your mind spin.

Lucerys was truly gone. Never would you see his young face mature into that of a man. Never would you hear his voice, his laughter. Never would you see him grow, and learn, and change. He would never become a father or an uncle. He would never be.

Tears cascaded down the sides of your temples with renewed fervor as you sobbed into the darkness. Your stomach clenched as you let the raw emotions take over. Gone was your strength. Gone was your fight. Even if you lived through this -whatever your current situation may be- you would never be able to face your mother again. Guilt began to fester insidiously within your brain. Had you simply kept your mouth shut, would Aemond have given chase? Had you not thrust your own proverbial dagger into his heart and twisted without remorse, would Luke still be alive?

Has Luke’s death been your own doing?

Blame encumbered you like a thick, suffocating blanket that left no air to fill your lungs.

The thoughts of what could have been no longer mattered. The reality was this; Luke and Arrax were dead. Maestron was dead. You were held prisoner somewhere. Luke’s death and your disappearance would surely be the start of a kingdom-wide catastrophe; a deadly dance of dragons that would leave no survivors in its wake.

You did not know how long you had been in your cell before you woke. You did not know if word had reached your father yet. Would he believe you dead? Or would he think you left with Aemond willingly to not marry Cregan Stark? No, you berated yourself. He’d think me dead before believing that I’d willingly betray my family. Still, if they thought you dead, would they have reason to look for your body? One they wouldn’t find? Or would they assume Vhagar had consumed you as she had Luke? A million thoughts raced through your mind. With only the darkness and the rats for company, there was nothing to stop them.

When your eyes opened once more, they shut just as quickly as you buried your face in the itchy wool of your blanket. A hiss left your lips as the light of a torch burned your eyes mercilessly. You re-opened them slowly, allowing them to adjust to the light. Your head throbbed at the intrusion.

Aemond placed the torch into the holder that was fastened to the wall just to the right of the staircase he descended from. This was the first you had seen of your surroundings and they were just as desolate as they had been in the dark.

Your cell was a small rectangle, six feet wide and twice as deep. The foot of your cot faced the bars of the cell. There was a bucket in the furthest corner and that was it. You were in a dungeon, that much could be deduced. The silence that filled your time let you know that you were the only poor soul down here, wherever here was.

Aemond stood at the bars, a tray of food in hand and a cup snugly held to his chest with the crook of his elbow. Your stomach growled loudly at the sight. He pushed the plate through the gap at the bottom of the bars and put this hand through the bars to place the cup next to it.

“Do you fear what I would do to you if you opened the cell door?” Your voice cracked as you spoke. Still you taunted him. You had nothing more to lose.

“I could never fear you.” His voice was soft and his words were not arrogant.

“You should.” You hissed, standing on your bare feet to pick up the plate and cup. Your blanket fell to the dirt floor in a heap. Aemond watched as your chains clinked with your movement until you sat back down on the cot, legs pulled up to sit under you. You tore a piece of bread from the roll on the plate and stuffed it into your mouth. “If I ever get out of these chains, I’ll pluck your remaining eye and make you eat it.” You said it so plainly as if you were discussing the clouds in the sky. Aemond sighed heavily.

“You are in pain. I know you do not mean your words.”

“You know not of the pain I feel.” You snapped, dropping the bread back onto the plate. “You’ve murdered my brother and you think I know not of the words that fall from my lips? This is a betrayal that I will never recover from, Aemond.” Aemond let your words permeate the dungeon for a few moments before he leaned against the bars.

“I did not mean for this to happen...” His voice was just above a whisper. He did not look at you as he spoke. Aemond did not have it in him to truly face you.

“If you’ve come down here to apologize, don’t. There is nothing you could say to me. Nothing.” You shook your head, burying your face in your blanket.

“I do not seek your forgiveness.” Aemond’s voice cracked as he spoke.

“Good.” You hissed. “Because you will get none from me.”

“I do owe you an explanation.”

“You owe me my freedom.” He finally brought his eye to look at you. Your hair was in a rat’s nest, nearly completely free of the braids they were in when you got to Storm’s End. Your eyes were red and swollen, your face blotched with irritated skin and dried blood. You had removed your leather jerkin, leaving your undershirt, riding pants, and smallclothes as the only garments you had on.

“Be that as it may, I cannot let you go.” Aemond sighed and started pacing in front of the cell. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before he settled on his next words. “I tried to stop her.”

“Shut up!” You pressed your hands to your ears as best as you could within your shackles. Aemond only spoke louder.

“I did not intend on killing him! I meant to scare him, to scare you and give you both chase. Him for being a little prick and you for my heart! Vhagar did not heed my commands once Arrax had set fire to her.” You brought your hands down and set Aemond with a beastly glare.

“You thought Vhagar -a dragon so vast and old, so battle-hardened, so deadly -does not do as she wishes? That you command her?” You scoffed, leaning back against the stone wall. “No dragon can be tamed, Aemond. She’s bonded to you, not for you. You were stupid to think otherwise.”

“She has never disregarded me-”

“-You goaded your dragon who has fought wars -who has killed men and beast alike- to kill once more and you are surprised she did it?!” You shouted from your cage.

“Had Arrax not attacked with fire he and Luke would be alive! Maestron would be alive!” You stood suddenly, shuffling towards the bars of the cell. Flames would have burst forth from you if they could.

“Had you not given chase in the first place, they would be alive! You’ve done this, not Luke! Not Arrax! My brother’s blood is on your hands, Aemond, and still you play the weak man. Putting blame to anyone’s hands but your own!” Tears had risen once more to your tired eyes. “You were man enough to take flight, to taunt and chase! You will be man enough to take responsibility for what you’ve done!” The rage would never leave you, you vowed. If it took until your last breath, you’d make Aemond pay for what he did. “Vhagar felt your disdain for Luke through your connection. You’ve wanted him dead since we were children, Aemond! Do not lie to me!”

“Yes, I’ve wanted him dead, but not like this.”

“He died for nothing!” You screamed in High Valyrian. Depredation filled Aemond’s very core and overfilled into his soul as he stared down at you. There was nothing he could do or say to put this right. Nothing could fix this disaster he had caused, putting you at the center of the crossfire and Luke as the first casualty of the impending war. “He died for nothing.” You repeated in a whisper, dropping back onto your cot. Your head dropped to your shackled hands and you pulled at the roots of your hair to feel something, anything, other than hellfire within. It was all-consuming. A few moments of still silence passed before Aemond spoke again.

“I am undeserving of any kindness from you, but that does not lessen the blow of each hate-filled word you’ve thrown my way. It felt the same in the Pits, at Storm’s End, and it feels the same here. I will never forgive myself for the pain I’ve caused, the nephew I’ve slain. That is something I must live with until my final breath. And I will.” Aemond sniffed and you knew then that he was shedding tears, or close to it. “I love you...so deeply. If I could rip my own beating heart from my chest, I would if it meant an end to this torment. I’ve been broken my whole life…but I’ve never felt completely broken until the day you denied me in the Pits. I felt the ground crumble beneath me and I fell into an endless misery.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “I am still falling.”

You did not respond to Aemond. You could not take a single word more from him. With each word that tumbled from his lips, your stomach flipped. Pulling the itchy blanket over you, you turned your back to him and faced the wall in the fetal position. Aemond granted you the small mercy of rest, but he also took the torch with him, blanketing you in darkness once more.

The passing of time was impossible to gauge accurately. Aemond hadn’t returned to see you in what you assumed were days. In his place a young woman of -at maximum- six and ten visited your cell to leave you a tray of food and a cup of water. An estimated six days had passed, based off this timing assumption, and this was the seventh.

A week.

The news had to have reached your family by now. You couldn’t imagine the devastation that would ravage them. Your mind went to Jace first, who always tried to be mature and brave. He would be absolutely gutted. To lose both of his eldest siblings was going to be the most trying thing he had ever encountered, and you didn’t want to think of the psychological breakdown he would inevitably have over this. Young Joffrey would surely miss you and Luke, though he was just young enough to not fully grasp the situation. The same went for Aegon III and Viserys II.

Next you thought of your mother. You hoped this would light a fire so deep within her that she’d lay waste to everything the Greens held dear. If there was any good to come out of this, it was the hope of more support would gather for her within the realm. You felt genuine fear in the pit of your stomach at the thought of seeing her again. Would she blame you for what happened to Luke? Would she resent you for living? You would not blame her if she did.

You knew the prospect of your death would send your father to the brink of no return. He truly loved Rhaena and Baela, but you…you were his firstborn. You were his pride and joy, his near likeness. You were everything he could’ve hoped for from a child. He loved you from the very second he lay his eyes on you, and much like the bond your lineage had with the dragons, you had one with your father. You hoped the connection hadn’t been lost to him, that he held hope. Without it, you would surely perish in this dreaded darkness.

“You finally grace me with your presence.” You spat as Aemond set his torch down in the holder. He did not have a tray with him this time around, and you wondered if you would be eating this night. “I’m flattered.” Your tone stated the contrary.

“You asked me a question…down in the Pits. The answer seemed obvious until now.” Aemond’s hands were clasped before him as he spoke. You did not bother giving him your attention.

“You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Would I choose you?” Aemond stared at you as you finally looked at him, and it felt unnerving. “I did.” He whispered. “I chose you when I made the decision to take you. I know what the question implied. Love does questionable things to the brain, I suppose, but in the end I chose you.” All you could do was shake your head as tears built back up, your throat constricting.

“You do not love me. You may have…once, but not anymore.” You choked out. “You’ve killed my brother and I am caged like an animal. You do not extend your love with the likes of brutality.”

“This is not a kind world, Princess, and I am not a kind man. Still, my affections remain.”

“Before all of this madness, you have been kind to me!” You reasoned. “You cannot stand there and tell me otherwise! You can be a kind man but you choose not to be! You can fix this, Aemond! I’ve known you to be a great many things, but stupid is not one of them. This…this is stupid.”

“In that you are not wrong.” He relented. “My love for you will never die, this is true…which is why you are still alive. I could have let you run off that cliff. I could have. You are here for your own safety.”

“You cannot keep me locked down here in the dark with the rats forever! This is a fate worse than death!” You shouted from your cot.

“Once my sister and uncle have fallen, there will be no more need to keep you hidden. You shall be placed on a pedestal for all to see; my spoils of a war won. We shall live out our days peacefully.”

“You will not win this war, Aemond. To believe so is a naïveté that I did not believe you of all people capable of harboring. You have taken two of my mother’s children from her. I know she believes me dead. You will not live to see the end of this, she will make sure of it. My father will make sure of it. Jace will make sure of it. You’ve signed over your own execution is all you’ve done!”

Aemond breathed in at the mention of Daemon. He knew the road ahead would not be easy, and if there was a foe that would be hardest to best, it would be him. His will to persevere would surely bring success. It had to.

You stood, inching your way over to the bars of the cell. The shackles on your ankles left little room for steps, but you made due. Your shackled hands grasped at the bars, iron clanking against iron as your face pushed between them to get as close to Aemond as you could, eyes pleading with him to see reason. “Free me and we may be able to stop this! If they know I am at least alive-”

“I’ve killed one of her sons. I have done the unforgivable. Returning you will not change that fact.”

“My return will lessen the blow!” Frustration laced your voice.

“It will not. Regardless, no one knows you’re here with the exception of my Shadow, and no one else will know. Once this war is won,” Aemond reached his hand through the bars to cradle your cheek in his palm. A nimble finger delicately traced over the bridge of your nose. The slight bump was a reminder of what his brother did to you during the last time your families would ever join together as one, of what started the whole domino effect that led you both to where you stood currently. “We shall marry as we intended.” His grip on you tightened. “I will love you, honor you, give you all the children you wish. All that you desire, you shall have.” You sobbed openly, though they were cries of devastation and not happiness as they would’ve been previously. The life you once dreamed of, would have sacrificed anything for, was being given to you in a way you did not bargain for nor want.

“And your marriage to the Baratheon girl?” The look that overcame Aemond’s face was unsettling, his thumb stroking the apple of your filthy cheek.

“My duty has been fulfilled.” His voice was just above a whisper, a tone used between lovers, not of a hostage and her captor. Your eye twitched as tears continued to well. You looked up at Aemond. “But do not fret; There are ways to end an unwanted marriage.” Anger filled your heart once more as your jaw clenched.

“Delusions.” You spat. “Any love I have harbored in my heart for you died with Lucerys, and my Maestron, you fool!” You pushed yourself away from the bars, Aemond’s hand falling back to his side. The chains imprisoning you rattled as you pulled them with you to the back of the cell, as far as you could be from Aemond’s searing eye.

“I have loved you truly!” You screamed, “I have loved you willingly!” Aemond’s chest tightened at your confession. His brows furrowed as he looked to the ground. He bit his bottom lip then rolled his eye back up to meet yours. “Instead of happiness, this is the path you’ve chosen! One of cruelty and viciousness! Death and destruction! Murder and blood! Of treachery and devastation! You may have me physically, but you will never truly have me, Aemond. Never. Not after what you have done.” Your chest heaved and you felt much older than your years. Aemond stared at you for a moment, taking your feral appearance in.

“We shall see.” The corners of Aemond’s lips tilted up just slightly before he turned, taking the flame of the torch with him.

You had no idea what time had passed since you last saw Aemond. Your conversation must’ve sat heavily with him if he could not face you. The coward, you thought. Scratching in the distance caught your ear, as it had the last couple of nights. It was grating on your nerves as it continued night after night. Damned rats, you thought with a scowl.

You could only time your days by the meals that were brought to you by a mouse of a girl -his Shadow, Aemond had called her. She was the only human that you interacted with besides Aemond.

No matter how much you begged upon your arrival, the girl would not sway in releasing you. There was a reason she and she alone attended to you. Her devotion to Aemond was baffling.

By the third meal cycle since you saw your captor, you refused to eat. Each meal after that was left at the foot of your cell and was taken away hours later just the same as it had been brought, some bits picked at by the rats that scuttled in the darkness. It was four more meal cycles before Aemond himself reappeared.

“You are starving yourself.” You were huddled in the furthest corner of the cell on the ground, your knees bent up to your chest. A clean woolen blanket was cocooned around your body as you shivered in the darkness. “Why?”

Your voice was hoarse from the minimal water you consumed, and underused from lack of speaking. You did not beg the Shadow for help after the third meal cycle.

Your dry lips cracked and bled as you moved them. Your tongue stuck to the roof of your dry mouth.

“What need do I have of food? I will die down here, I am sure of it.” You didn’t bother looking at him. “No need to prolong the inevitable.” Your strength had left you as your body started to waste away.

The bright flames of the torch burned your eyes as you tilted your head from your knees to look at Aemond. He placed the torch snugly into the holder in the wall as you pushed your face back down into the blankets.

Aemond crouched down on the other side of the bars, hands clasped together as his forearms rested on his thighs.

“You may eat willingly, or I will force it into you. One way or another, you will consume it.” You did not look up as he spoke, just let your silent tears soak into the wool. You did not know how many more you had left to give. “You will live.”

The two strangers, a man and a woman, looked nervously between Daemon and Caraxes, who stood menacingly on the shore’s cliff behind his rider. The winds of Rosby’s shores were fierce as they blew around the trio standing in the sand.

“We thank you for meeting with us on such short notice, Prince Daemon.” The woman spoke first. Daemon merely held up the scroll that was sent to him, the information within it was either damning or a true revelation.

“Speak plainly. You do not give this information out of the goodness of your heart, I’m sure.” Daemon’s already short fuse was nearly non-existent now.

“She lives.” The woman spoke earnestly. “The Princess lives.” Daemon took slow, deliberate steps to her, eyes squinting against the wind. The large man next to the woman was quick to draw his sword, but a warning snarl from Caraxes was all he needed to stand down.

“For your sake, the words you speak better be the truth.” Daemon warned.

“They are, your Grace.” The woman assured Daemon.

“What proof do you have?”

“The Princess is locked in a cell beneath the Red Keep. She has none of her own belongings with her. If I could’ve brought something to you, I would have. To stand before you, empty handed with naught but my own word, is terrifying -I will not lie, but alas -my word is all I have.”

“Is it silver you’re after? Money? Land? What would you have me give you for your word?” Caraxys chittered behind his rider, sensing the irritation flaring in Daemon. “You wish to be fed to my dragon for a ploy?”

“N-no, your Grace! We are f-firm supporters of Queen Rhaenyra,” The man spoke, trying not to stutter. “Just as our Lord is.” The thick accents had caught Daemon’s attention when the woman had spoken initially. Daemon’s eyes narrowed. “What has happened to Prince Lucerys and the Princess was a travesty, my Prince. This is why our Lord sent us here.”

“Your Lord?” Daemon pushed.

“Lord Cregan Stark.” The woman answered. Daemon made a face at the pair.

“Cregan Stark does not bother with matters outside of his own land, especially of those so far South.” The woman nodded and explained further:

“Lord Stark initially accepted the offered betrothal to the Princess, even if that acceptance was known only to Prince Jacaerys. This treachery by Prince Aemond is an affront to House Stark as it is to your own House.” The wind blew her auburn hair in a tornado of red. “As you know, our Lord is a man of his word. To break an oath is an offense met with the swing of a sword. Lord Stark accepted the betrothal and feels it is his duty to do all he can to ensure the Princess is returned safely.”

“He has never met my daughter. He holds no love for her. He has nothing tying him to her other than a botched betrothal and he sends spies to King’s Landing?” Daemon could only feel suspicion towards the pair before him.

“Prince Jacaerys was not convinced that Prince Aemond would kill the Princess.” Ah, Daemon thought. Of course Jace was involved with this nonsense. “Not after their shared…history.” She treaded softly around her choice of words. “It was by the Prince’s request to our Lord that we be sent to infiltrate the Red Keep. We did, and we found her, your Grace. Truly.” Daemon stared at the pair, gauging their words carefully.

“Is it a reward you are looking for in return?” He questioned. The woman shook her head.

“The only payment we are requesting, your Grace, is that you keep your end of the offered betrothal to tie the Houses of Targaryen and Stark together as promised once she is free.”

“If you deliver my daughter to Dragonstone alive, I will supp with Cregan Stark myself to complete the terms. If my daughter is alive, there is no telling what condition she will return in.” Both strangers nodded, relief evident on their faces.

“We return to King’s Landing tonight. Should all go according to plan, we should reach the shores of Dragonstone in no later than a month’s time, your Grace.”

Weeks -or what you thought were weeks- had passed. Aemond and his Shadow watched over you diligently after your failed hunger strike. You gave most of the food to the rats, who had made themselves comfortable in your cell with you.

There was one rat in particular who kept you company most days. He had a healed stump where one of his front paws should’ve been. Simon, you had named him. A simple name for a simple creature. He was a curious little rodent, and had an easy temperament -as easy as a rat’s could’ve been. His brown fur was soft the handful of times he allowed you to touch him with the tips of your fingers. You’d gained his trust with pieces of bread, fruit, and the occasional marzipan cake that was on your tray.

I know they are your favorite, Aemond had told you the first time he brought a tray with one down.

A small comfort, he said.

Not once did you eat the cakes out of principle alone. The little rat, however, loved to pick at the pomegranate seeds and dried fruit that usually topped the cakes before dragging the sweet confections off into the darkness.

Simon lived like a little King of the Dungeons thanks to your offerings.

Still, you only picked at the food on the tray enough to stay alive as of recent. Aemond had made good on his promise of force feeding you after nearly ten days on your hunger strike, and you wished to never experience that horrifying series of events ever again. Drinking water was enough to trigger you on some days, your gag reflex not allowing the liquid to go down without choking you.

What an agonizing existence.

The creek of the iron door was the only warning you got before you were pulled up on your cot by rough hands. Your arms were pulled up and the shackles around your wrists were attached to a hook above the cot, leaving you incapable of using your arms.

Aemond was furious when you looked into his eye. Your confusion and exhaustion did not give you the proper mindset to ask what was happening until it was too late. His body was draped over yours on the cot to hold you still, a calloused hand held your jaw firmly, his fingers bruising your gaunt cheeks as he held your mouth open with painful force. The fingers of his other hand pinched your nostrils closed.

“Now.” He ordered, tilting your head back causing you to cry out in pain. You didn’t even see his Shadow until she was pouring warm broth into your mouth. You choked and sputtered, spitting it all over yourself and Aemond before he could push your mouth closed. He held his hand over your lips, fingers still holding your nostrils closed to force you to swallow. Tears fell from your eyes as you begged silently for air and pulled at your chains. The raw skin of your wrists ripped open as you fought against the irons. The warm trickle of blood only caused you to panic even further.

Once Aemond saw the bulge of liquid go down your throat, he freed your mouth just enough so you could cough and draw breath for a mere moment before he held your jaw painfully once more.

“Again.” He ordered, and the Shadow poured more broth into your mouth as you cried out. “I told you.” He spat as your eyes bulged, tears cascading down your bruising cheeks. “I told you and you did not listen.” He removed his hands from you completely, but he did not move away. You fell to the side, gasping for air and coughing out the broth that snaked its way to your lungs. Your brutal coughs echoed in the bare dungeon, the chains of your shackles rattled with each pull of haggard breath. You pushed your face into your arm as you sobbed hysterically. Aemond grabbed your chin once more to make you look at him.

“Though it pains me, I will continue to do this…or you will eat on your own.” He gave you your choices once more. You merely nodded, unable to look at him.

You stopped speaking to him entirely after that. You spoke to Simon when something needed to be said aloud. The rat’s company was much more preferable to Aemond’s, too.

Aemond hadn’t been down to see you in days, though his Shadow was diligent. It was equally relieving as it was troublesome when he was absent. It was a relief to not see him, or hear him speak to you. It was troublesome because the Gods only knew what terrors he was unleashing upon the realm.

Sat on the ground, cocooned in your blanket, you watched as Simon carried little bits of bread in his mouth to a hole in the wall of your cell. After so long in the darkness, your eyes had adjusted just enough that you could spot his small black mass moving about the cell. He stopped before you and you reached your fingers out to give him a pat on his little head before handing him a grape. He took it greedily within his mouth and hobbled back into the hole with his bounty, surely building up quite the store to snack on later.

“My Princess,” A voice called out, a whisper in the vast nothingness of your dungeon. “Please hear my words,” I’ve finally reached madness, you thought. Words without a mouth had reached your ears. “You are not alone. You have friends in the darkness of the Red Keep, Princess. The black flames will bring life to you once more, you must hold fast.”

Was it Simon that had spoken? Your eyes watched as his hefty little body scurried up to your feet. Your cellmate looked up at you, standing tall on his two back feet. “Have faith. You will be free of this wretched place soon, but you must first gain your strength. Eat.” Simon’s tiny mouth did not move as he looked at you, but you heard the words nonetheless. “Wait for my word and look to the stars for guidance.”

“Targaryen madness,” You mumbled out loud, burying your face into your blanketed knees dejectedly. Your eyes closed as the rat scurried away.

The sound of metal clinking together made your head perk up. A small sack was tossed into your cell from the darkness outside of it. You stretched your arms as far as you could without moving your aching body and took it within your bound hands. You winced with each rub of the irons against your already raw and torn skin.

The sack was not large, and it was not weighty. Undoing the drawstring and poking a hand inside, your fingers caught a keyring. Pulling it from the sack, a single rusted key dangled from it. Placing it carefully on your lap, you felt around the sack once more and was met with the handle of a small dagger. Its blade was sharp, the end pointed dangerously. Your breaths quickened in anxiety.

Shakily, you know unwrapped your bare feet from the blanket and tested the key on the irons around your ankles. To your surprise the latch popped open with a creak.

Testing the shackles on your wrists, the same happened. The relief you felt with the irons fell away from your raw flesh brought tears to your eyes.

Soon, you thought. Just a little bit longer.

Stuffing the key and dagger inside a small slit on the side of your mattress, you re-shackled yourself and wrapped the blanket around you once more.

There truly was hope yet.

Each day that passed you slowly ate off the trays, little by little.

It was three meal cycles before you heard the voice again. It had awoken you from your dreamless void, a hopeful whisper in the darkness.

“The dragon flies tomorrow, Princess. Do what you must. I will be waiting.” Do what you must. Your hand felt the side of the mattress for the dagger that hadn’t moved since it was thrown into your cell. Feeling the solid butt of the handle, you resigned yourself to what would surely be a point of no return.

You would escape or you would die trying.

The Shadow brought your tray of food the following day, just as she always did and as she was putting it on the ground to slide under the bars, you stopped her.

Your ankles and wrists were unshackled, but the chains still led underneath your blanket so anyone who looked into the cell was none the wiser.

“My bones ache,” Your voice sounded like a crack of fire. It startled the Shadow enough to nearly drop the tray of food to the ground. You hadn’t spoken to her since your first week in the cell. There was no reason to.

Your eyes burned as the light from the torch on the wall glowed brightly. “I cannot so much as stand to crawl onto my bed. Please bring it in. Hunger burns my belly and I cannot move to reach the tray. Please.” You feigned absolute weakness, burrowing your face back into the blanket. You took a few deep breaths, stealing yourself for what was to come should she take the bait.

She studied you, deeming if your change of heart was a ploy. It seemed that she harbored some pity towards your dwindling existence by the look on her face.

“I will live,” You spoke again. “Out of spite, I will live.” Your words held a double meaning, though she wasn’t privy to that. She will be soon.

The Shadow sighed before opening the cell door and cautiously took steps towards you. It seemed poor judgment was a trait she had with all things, much to your good fortune.

The dagger was grasped tightly in your shaking palm beneath the blanket.

The girl kneeled down to set the tray down softly next to you and as her eyes rolled up to meet yours, hers widened in fear. Your very alert, lucid eyes were glaring back at her furiously.

Before she could make a sound, you tackled her with the little strength you had built. You pushed your filthy blanket over her face to muffle her screams and plunged the dagger anywhere it could find purchase. The Shadow’s nails scraped across your face and neck as she swung blindly, doing everything she could to get you off of her until she did not have the strength to flail her arms any longer.

Blood splattered across your face and body, the walls were streaked with it. The Shadow’s sick gurgling slowly faded as blood seeped through the blanket via her mouth. The twitching of her legs continued for a moment until it too stilled.

You stayed leaned on her placid body, continuing to push the blanket into her face for good measure as you tried to catch your breath. The blade felt heavy in your hand and it felt as if your lungs would collapse from the adrenaline coursing through you.

Knowing you had to move quickly, you gathered your courage and stood. Stealing the bread from the tossed tray, you stuffed half in your mouth, then tossed the other half to Simon’s hideaway for him to find later. You would miss your little friend.

Taking your first bare step out of the cell, it felt like the weight of the world had fallen from your shoulders for the briefest of moments. You grabbed the torch from the wall with a shaking hand, the heat like nothing you’ve felt since your capture. You felt like a moth to its flame. The dagger was clutched firmly in your other hand.

Looking in all directions, you didn’t have the first clue on where you should go. The only direction you knew you couldn’t go was up the staircase that Aemond and his Shadow used.

“Look to the stars,” She had said. Your eyes rolled up to look at the stone above you. Raising the torch with a weak arm revealed small x’s that had been scratched into the stone.

ScratchingScratchingIt wasn’t the rats scratching at the walls, driving you to madness night after night.

The trail led you down a corridor that housed a row of more empty cells. This wing had been long abandoned, if your own imprisonment told you anything. Your head stayed on a swivel to make sure you were alone in your travels.

The x’s stopped at a nondescript cell. You held the torch in front of you, trying to see what was inside. By all accounts there was nothing to behold. It was just as your cell was, bare but for a cot and a bucket, and a hook to hold shackles.

Curiously, you stepped within. You held the torch as close to the walls as you could to inspect. There was nothing on the ceiling, nothing on the walls. Becoming frustrated, you kicked at the cot, sending it skidding across the dirt of the floor. Your eye caught it just as you were turning to leave. An x marked in white just inches above the ground.

You fell to your knees as you brought your trembling hand to the stone. It shook loosely causing you to gasp. You dropped the torch, using both of your hands to pry at the stone. Your malnourished nails broke and splintered as you tried to claw the stone from where it sat. It finally came loose and with it came your first breath of the fresh ocean air outside of the walls of the Red Keep. A sob tumbled from your lips as you tasted freedom. Your hands were bloodied as they pulled stone after stone from the hole to make a space big enough to squeeze through.

Sunlight did not filter through the hole, and as you peaked through it you saw nothing but the moon illuminated over the ocean. Night. How many moons have passed since your capture? How long have you been living in torment?

Please, please, please, you begged the Warrior. This was not a battle, but it was certainly a war for survival. Please see me to safety under your protection, I beg.

“She is here.” A voice said in a hushed manner as you were halfway through the hole. “Pull her out. Quickly!”

A pair of hands grabbed you by your biceps and tugged you from the dungeon. You lay on your stomach for a moment, the touch of wild grass on your skin was nearly too much for you to take.

“We must hurry, my Princess.” The voice from the dungeon called to you softly. Looking up, you saw two people shielded by their cloaks under the cover of darkness. “You need to change,” She handed you breeches and a tunic before motioning for the other person to turn around. “I apologize for how untoward this is, but you must redress. There are boots here,” She pointed next to the hole in the dungeon. You did not care for your modesty. You were outside of the walls of the Keep, outside of the dungeon. You’d do just about anything to leave this place.

You ripped the soiled and bloody clothes from your body and redressed as quickly as you physically could. The woman helped you keep your balance and let you go once you were upright with the boots slipped onto your feet. She grabbed a cloak from the second stranger and draped it over you with the hood covering your hair.

“We are to head down to the port. A boat will be waiting for us and will set sail the second you step foot aboard. We do not have much time, so we must act with haste.” You could only nod as you allowed her to lead the three of you through a broken grate that led you back into King’s Landing. It would be far more difficult to pick you out in a city of people than it was to take your chances on the outskirts of the walls.

The muscles of, or lack thereof, your legs screamed with each step. After weeks of not using them, the muscle had begun to deteriorate. Had you not had adrenaline still coursing through your veins, you don’t think you would have made it even halfway through the city.

“We must push forward.” The woman encouraged you with a gentle hand on your back. “We are almost there.” You were not almost there, but you were getting closer with each step you took and that was encouragement enough for you.

You pushed yourself for maybe fifteen more minutes before your legs collapsed. The second stranger, a man, caught you before you hit the ground.

“My legs. I cannot go any further.” You were close to tears from pain and frustration.

“We are close.” The woman noted, taking a look at their surroundings. “On your back,” The woman ordered the man. He nodded and lowered himself so she could help you climb onto his towering form. His hands were firm around the backs of your legs and you held onto his shoulders with shaking arms. “Fear not.” The woman’s voice was light so as to not worry you. You had heard that tone enough from your mother growing up to recognize it.

Resting your head against the man’s back, you trusted both of these strangers to lead you to safety.

A little over a half hour later and the jostling of going down a set of stairs woke you. Your grip on the man’s shoulders tightened as you came to. Ships met your eyes, and even at night the docks were bustling. The woman went ahead, slipping a coin pouch to a shipmaster who was documenting which ships were coming and going from the port. He simply took the pouch and looked the other way as they hurried down the dock.

All three of you loaded onto the ship, and just as the woman said, it was undocked immediately and set sail.

The voyage to Dragonstone did not seem real. Paranoia seemed to settle deep within you, waiting for Vhagar’s gargantuan Shadow to descend upon the small vessel at any moment, plunging it to the bottom of the bay to rest eternally in the briney sediments below.

You could feel every fiber of muscle, every tenon, ligament and bone within your body. Every nerve sang in pain. The sun, that you hadn’t seen in months as it would turn out, hurt your eyes. Its reflection upon the water’s surface made it worse.

“We are nearly there, Princess.” The woman assured you with a kind smile. Nearly two weeks in the boat had nearly killed you. The first two days you could not keep food down between the rocking of the waves and the anxiety of being found. By the fourth day you could keep bread and water down. Your stomach was still shrunken so it did not take much to satiate you.

Halfway into your second week, you were gaining your strength. You weren’t a fraction as strong as you used to be, but it was a step in the right direction.

Even aboard the boat as long as you were, you knew nothing about the group that rescued you. They would not give you any details other than they knew who you were and where you belonged, and that they were tasked with getting you home.

Home, you thought as you looked out over the open ocean. I’m going home.

Menial conversations were had between you and the woman who spoke to you from the Shadows of the dungeon. In your mind, you nicknamed her The Rat for the mistaken identity you had given her at your lowest point within that cell. The real Simon had never spoken to you as it turned out, but she did. It was a silly association that you’d keep to yourself. The last thing you wanted was to offend the person who stuck their neck out to release you. Even still, if she would not give you a name, she’d keep the one you silently gave her.

The Rat would answer your questions in such a roundabout way that it wasn’t worth asking them after a certain point. You’d get no answers from her, nor the three others aboard.

The blurred sight of a dragon against the sun in the distance caused your stomach to turn violently. Panic took hold of your mind and you started to hyperventilate. Your breaths were shallow and uneven, the air not filling your lungs entirely. You felt lightheaded within moments, ready to faint.

He found you. Was the only thought you had. Aemond found you.

Now, surely, you were going to die and so were the people that aided in your escape. In true fight or flight fashion, or delirium as the Rat called it after your first freak out early on in the voyage, you made ready to jump from the side of the boat as the beast got nearer.

You would not return to the cell, nor would you meet the fate your brother did. You’d gratefully take gulps of the sea until you sank to the ocean floor before you let Aemond put his hands on you ever again.

“My Princess! No!” The woman yelled, pulling onto your arm with all her strength so you could not jump. Your other held firmly to the edge of the ship, your legs in a wide stance as she pulled.

“He’s come!” You shouted frantically. Your eyes were manic and could not remain still as you looked upon her. The Targaryen Madness was still present, the Rat thought with sadness. She cursed the Prince for what he had done to you.

“You must jump too!” You tried pulling her with you. “All of you!” Tears fell steadily at the thought of more death that was surely to befall these poor souls who did not deserve it. “He will show no mercy to conspirators!”

“Princess, I beg you! Look!” She held you tightly, grasping your chin to look towards the dragon that came closer into view. The red scales and signature long neck of Caraxes came into focus and you fell to the deck of the boat. The Rat fell with you encircled in her arms, holding you tightly between her legs. You held onto her arms, nails digging into her skin.

Hysterical sobs overtook your body as Caraxes flew over the small ship, causing the vessel to rock. You could see your father atop him, though he was only a speck. His long hair flowed in the wind valiantly. This was one of the things you thought you’d never see again in this life.

One of the men in the boat waved a banner with the emblem of a gray direwolf on it to let Daemon know exactly who they were and who they had with them. Your mind could not piece together the banner with the people, your confusion only causing a dizzy spell to overcome you.

Daemon circled the boat a few more times to make sure your vessel hadn’t been followed by man or beast. The Blood Wyrm’s screech filled the air, blanketing you in safety and security as he made his way back to Dragonstone.

“I told you, Princess!” The Rat held your face in her hands as she spoke with a toothy grin. “I told you we were almost there! You are home!” You sobbed into her chest and she held you to her like a mother would her child.

You made it.

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