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If you take the time to leave comments on every single chapter of a multi-chapter fic, I can guarantee you that there's at least one author out there who thinks you are the greatest person in the history of people.
Pairing: Dark Maekar Targaryen x FemBlackfrye reader
Summary: She was born from a fallen legacy, forced to wed on of her father's killers, and bound to a fate she never chose. She must survive a world where power is cruel, loyalty is fragile, and dragons rule through fear. and shell soon find out that some dragons thrive on extinguishing any flames that come to the light
Note: All rights belong to their respective owners, I don't own these characters, and i am simply inspired by the writing and world creation that the creator made, this is a work of fiction.
TW: 18+, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, Age Difference, Rape/Non-con, Rough Sex, Power Imbalance, Size Difference, Targcest, Older Man/Younger Woman, Loss of Virginity, Angst with No Happy Ending
WC: 3.9k
[Masterlist] [AO3]
She had thought that this moment wouldn't ever happen. As a girl her father would tell her that her Uncles were hellions, a plague by the Seven sent to punish the small folk; That her family were a gift from the Gods so that they might rid out the sins of House Targaryen and bring them back to their former glory.
And yet here she was, shackles against her wrist and ankles, the sharp sting of the cold nipping at her skin as she rested her head against the wet stone of the dungeon. Her clothes torn and damp in the dungeons of what she could only assume was the Keep.
She could recall tales that her father would tell her as a girl, how the traitorous Blood and Cheese were sent to the cellars of the keep, where King Aegon II had sentenced them to death over the murder of his heir. A just death against he would claim it. She could remember tales of the Dance of dragons that her father would tell her, how the Black Queen demanded it because she wanted it, how Aegon was the rightful heir, that if the Gods deemed her worthy, then why did they grant her father with a son instead of leaving him barren?
But her Father wasn’t here to tell her tales of old any more.
And yet, she wasn't a murderer, nor traitorous the realm, she had merely been caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. Perhaps she knew that she bargained too low for the fruit, how she had slighted the hand of the man who would normally feed and house her; Yet she hadn't expected him to be so quick in his haste to throw her to the dogs of the royal house.
Her once platinum hair of which she had been dusting in dirt, now caked with mud and hay from her struggle against the Gold Cloaks. How she strained against them as they tried to grab her. how she sprinted through the streets only for one of them to wrap their large arms around her as she rounded a corner.
She could still feel their hands grabbing at her, one hand around her wrist, another around her bicep, one on her waist, and one gripping as her thighs.
Her attention was drawn to a small spider walking across the floor, it’s little legs moving keeping it’s body upright, Black like a dragon, it’s legs against stone.
Yes, she could see it even as the darkness invaded her vision. A dragon as dark as steel against stone, it’s screams piercing the red sky above it. A dragon as green as the Jade palace of Yi-Ti falling from the sky, a dragon frozen in time, it’s eyes a blinding white against the gray of the Northern snow.
The sting of a slap interrupt her visions as she felt the cold of the cellar floor meet her body, a soft groan leaving her as she attempted to clamor to get back up again. Despite the stinging pain in her cheeks, she whipped her head to glare at her assaulter, only to find her face meeting with the hard iron of his gauntlet.
"That is enough Sir, I believe we have her attention now" Says a cold voice, one dripping with disdain in a demand that one could mistake at a suggestion rather than an order.
She could feel her blood running cold, as her body shivered out of fear and rage, her ears ringing in a way that make her sway against the chains that set her in place, but despite all of this, she forced herself to look up at the men. Here she sat, in front of the man who killed her father. A man who deemed his death as a victory for the 7 kingdoms. a man who damned her of a life without a Father.
The king was growing old, his eyes holding a yearning for sleep as they met her gaze "you must be Daemons spawn then?"
He was older that she envisioned, though in truth she wasn't honestly sure on what to expect, it had been 18 years since he had slain her father. he seemed weaker almost, but she could see under the sheep's skin that a dragon laid dormant, but no amount of scale or fire could distract that the dragon was born from sheep, raised by sheep, and would most likely die a sheep
"Kinslayer" She bit out as she gave him a mock bow, or at least as much as she could while chained to the wall. she could feel her fear flowing through her blood, fear of years of hiding, but years of hiding came with years of playing pretend, so if she had to pretend she would.
He didn't speak for several moments simply looking down at her as if he had stepped in shit.
“I should have you killed,” he says without any conviction in his voice, as if he meant to ask what supper would be. “many in my court wouldn't fight me on such a dision”
She stayed silent as she glared at him. She never though she see him and yet here he was.
“The people would surely be entertained by an execution. perhaps we should -”
“Your people would praise any form of entertainment. they do not care for how dragons dance old man.” She mocks him, her tone shape as if snapping at him. Yet she didn’t miss how the guard closest to her tightened his grasp over the pummel of his sword.
His gaze seemed to shift slightly as she mocked him, his brain racing though a millions thoughts in a moment as she watched her. He almost seemed like stone in that moment, his face hardened to stone, as if cursed by his own history with the dragons. Perhaps it was everything she heard about her Grandsire, how he favored her father than the false king. or the rebellion that her father and brothers enticed upon him and his brother.
It wasn’t often that she felt her blood run cold. she was the blood of the dragon, her blood was as hot as wildfire and her venom just as dangerous. yet the next words he spoke insisted a fear she had yet to experience in her life
“I know just what to do with you”
That’s when he saw it, her mask slip, her eyes widening slightly, her chin quivering gently as she watched him with woe in her eyes. for what strength could a baby dragon have when it was in another territory?
“Have her cleaned up, if she is to marry my son, then the pretender must at least look the part” he quips with a smirk as she turns his back on her.
Her fate once more decided without her. She fought once more as hand grasped at her, her screams of protest filling the stone halls as she was dragged by her arms, her knees scraping against the jagged concrete as she attempted to make her feet work.
She hated him.
She hated all of them.
That was all that plagued her mind as she stepped inside her new bedchambers. The room was coated with luxurious fabrics, the fire lit and illuminated the room as she watched her now husband staunter across the room towards the carafe.
She gingerly took another step inside the room, taking in the ancient accents of her house's colours, before her eyes lingered against their marriage bed. The large canopy covering the mattress clearly intended for the royal party to have watched the consumption between the two, but yet, there was no one but them there.
Maekar watched her with a cold disdain as he drank from his goblet, watching her unknowing walk towards the bed in a daze, her fingers ghosting against the sheer golden fabric draped over the bed, as if she were engrossed inside a memory she couldn't escape.
"Take your clothes off,” he demanded, letting his groan fill the room as he languishing sat against one of the two chairs by the table filled with wine and other spiced liquors. “My father dreamed up to consummate this union and I'd like to get some rest sooner rather than later"
She looked over her shoulder towards him, she could feel the pit of dread forming inside her gut once more as she watched her husband glare at her.
He watched her the same way a dragon watched it kin, assessing, dominant, assertive. Maekar sat there, eyes trained against her small figure as she slowly undid her lacing on her dress, watching the tips of her ears flush as she lingered on one part too long.
He couldn't help but huff in amusement knowing that she'd be forced to ask for his assistance. Forced to ask one the man, who help take everything from her for help.
He watched as she hesitated, knowing that within any second, she'd be forced to ask for assistance. He'd had more than enough with her constant scowl and distant gaze as if she thought she were better than House Targaryen. As if she deserved better.
"Can you please assist me Husband" she weakly asks, risking a look over her shoulder to see that knowing smirk he would have had at her compliance. But all she saw was him already moving out of his chair towards her - his wine discarded - face as smooth as stone.
She looked back against the bed as she felt his fingers grasp the laces of her gown. his movements felt slower that what was necessary, as his he meant to draw out her torment in prolonging this night.
She was pretty; he'd give her that, standing with her back to him as she stood there in her soft blue chemise, the cold night air nipping at her skin as the urge to wrap her arms around herself persisted.
His hands barely lingered over her, only coming to her straps before gently guiding the loose fabric off her shoulder and letting the remainder of her clothes drop to the ground.
Her refusal to look at him made his gut stir in a way he had yet to feel in years, not since the day he was named the Anvil.
"Daor" she whispered as she felt his hand against her waist, caressing the soft skin under his rough hands. Hands that she imagined bore the blood of thousands of Blackfyre kin. Hands that would now bore his blood from within her kiln.
"Shush." He said as she slowly kneaded the skin against her hips as a displeasured hum escape him, as if she weren't pleasing for him "Get on the bed woman"
Several moments passed before she eventually moved, her pride hurt knowing that he was watching her crawl onto the bed like some common whore. Each creak and groan only making the tears in her eyes sting more.
She could remember as a child, her father telling her how he would never let anything bad happen to her, how she would marry the sweetest man he could find, and an honorable one who would treat her with nothing but devotion. How he would tell her about how after the war. how they'd all live happily in the Red Keep dining on lemons cakes and drinking fancy wines from the east.
But dreams are just dreams, and dreams are pretend. And she was a grown woman now, with an empty womb and a traitor's name. She had no family nor lands she could hide behind.
She was but a scared little girl in a woman's body, clinging to her pride and dreams.
Though, she supposed that she'd be grateful that he wasn't like the spawn he'd sired. Her mind racing imagining his sons in place of him. How his eldest would have been lazy and forced her to do the work, only for him to get wine dick and humiliate her further, or his other brat…
That thought frightened her.
Imagining him demanding everyone present at the ceremony, all the while he'd savagely take her, probably more than once. She imagined him smiling wickedly as he'd bite into her skin, like how a dragon would lay claim on a lamb that was theirs.
She could see it now as she looked up at the canopy ceiling; a bedding ceremony, lords and ladies alike, watching two dragons, a bother tarnished in their own madness and anguish, how the larger with nails like talons would clip the younger wings.
How people would look away at the pained cries, how fathers and mothers would watch as the dragons battled in a dance they'd set for generations.
Her thoughts were only interrupted by the warmth of his hands against her calves, and the dragging of her body on the bed. She met his gaze once more and instinctively covered herself gingerly.
The heat of his stare only made her fear worsen, though she tried her best to not let it show. Tried not to let her would-be uncle see how truly scared she was in that moment.
Her calves rested in his hold as he watched her like a hawk, his eyes making her feel as if he was inside her head, hearing her thoughts and watching her dreams.
"Uncover yourself," he demanded, her voice darker than before, though she only just noticed the gentle tone in his voice, as if he knew how frightened she truly was. Yet she did not move, she only looked away from him, her blood rushing as she felt his thumb gently brushing over the soft skin of her thigh.
The soft throw of fur against the bedding comforted her more than his menstruation, the fur wouldn't harm her, for it the animal was already dead. But the man leering down at her was not.
He was much too alive for her liking. And gentle.
That was what was confusing her most, she had expected him to be hardened, void of any like of affection or tender touches, and while his gaze made her stomach churn, his lingering touches and soft grazing against her skin made her want to weep.
Perhaps if he were rougher, more violent, then her mind and body would not be so at war with each other. It would have been easier to resent a man who treated her like an object yet here he was, giving her nothing but gentle touches and demands.
He lent down to grab her jaw, releasing her leg to do so, the plush skin of her cheeks molding around his fingers. Though the second her forced her to look at him her hands her against his arm, the muscle straining under her touch as she tried to look elsewhere
“Stop” He says as if she were a child, firm and strong, as if his voice was cut from stone. His words making her cease her wriggling as her tears threatened to spill over.
The feel of her hand against her jaw relaxed ever so slightly as she watched her face mold from once of firm indifference to the ever-growing fear that radiated through her, her shaking limbs under his hands only made him more aware.
Rumors had spread that the Blackfyre daughter Daemon had often spread her legs for her brother's. The families long held belief of purity though their ancestral practice only being fueled by the anti-Blackfyre propaganda Maekar's father had put into place with vile rumors around the family they once had.
Though, she didn't act like a whore. A whore like that would have kicked and screamed with defiance, yet there she lay, like a lamb brought to the slaughter; her body shivering with every touch.
Yet sin and curiosity to know the unknown intrigued the Anvil as his hand moved down her chest, his rough fingers gliding down between her supple breast before gripping one in his hand.
The soft pillowy skin felt like silk under his palm as she whimpered out a shape breath, her eyes trained against the canopy longing for her dreams to come and haunt her, to take her away from his hands against her skin.
She hated how the feel of his rings nipping against her skin, the way his palms kneaded her breasts as if it were dough, how she felt her hips squirm underneath him
The ache in her core was something strong, yet she didn't know if it was from the fear she held or from desire. His thumb played with her nipped before seemingly growing bored before trailing down her ribs, his glare only growing more firm in discontent.
‘Perhaps he's had prettier whore then I, ones with fuller breast and skin a differing complexion. Ones who look more like his late wife’ she wondered to herself as she watched his scowl.
“You're too thin” he grimaced as his opposite hand gently moved towards her rear. His other hand now resting against her hips in ana attempt to still her moving hips.
oh.
“I…” she wasn't entirely sure how to respond. She had been so started in town she hadn't realized, perhaps she had lost some of her figure due to lack of food, but she hadn't figured it would have been so drastic.
His gaze met hers once more, her voice drawing his sight to her lips rather than her small figure. His eyes were so dark they almost looked black in the light of the candles. Her mind raced as she watched his face, his jaw tightening as his eyes seemed to narrow at her for simply making noise.
Yet, before she knew it, she felt the relief of his hands against her waist as they moved to his breaches, the string curling around his long fingers as he did so.
The sound of a Crack whipping in the air as blood seeped into the dry dirt below, the cries of an ancient language ringing in her ears. Dragons on old commanding the young, silver lost to the seas of the red sand.
It was only when she felt the protruding head of Maekar's cock that she released her from daydreaming. One hand against her waist, while the other held his member in his palm. Dragging his tip up and down her slit before groaning in displeasure.
It was lewd, it was all to sinful. How she felt, how her heart pounded against her chest as she wriggled in his grasp. Her silver hair fanning out around her like a halo as she shook her head, her hands grasping at the furs.
She hadn't watched it, but she felt his spit land against her cunt, the light peach fuzz slowing the wetness dripping down her slit, making his cock slide against her entrance all the more easier.
Maekar watched as the swollen head glistened against her, how she spread for him so easily, as if the Gods had made her for it.
Beads of sick desire escaping the head of cock.
She was a frightened little mess, younger than his eldest. She was everything Dayana wasn’t, where his late wife's body had soft roundness, hers was skin and bone, where Dayana had dark hair that glistened almost red in the sun, hers seemed to shimmer like steel in the moonlight.
She was but a scared child forced to lay with a man old enough to be her father, yet as he thrust his cock inside her. He couldn't have cared less.
Her soft walls clenching around him only made him throb with an intense desire he had not felt in many moons. A sharper scream filled the room as her eyes squeezed shut, tears slipping over her cheeks as she attempted to conceal her pain.
Maekar could remember the days when he and his brother would be at war against her kin, fucking virgins in brothels and planning war strategies with men who saw them less as men, but as boys in Armour.
It felt like repayment, for all the months away from Daynna, for his children. For all the scars he'd forever be burdened with all due to her fathers rebellion, all the grief her brothers caused him.
Her little hand balled up against the bedding as ripples of pain shoot through her hips, her thighs clenching around his hips as he moved without mercy. The feeling of his hand against her chest, holding her down, the room filling with the sounds of her soft cries and skin violently slapping against skin.
His hips slamming against hers as he forced her down into the bedding, his movements measured and defined like how he was with everything he did.
She could feel herself churning from the inside out, her body rejecting him, his hand, his gaze, his cock. It was all wrong, bile threatened to rise as her cries became louder.
The worst part of it wall wasn't the blood, or even the pain, it was the growing bloom of something tight in her core that threatened to burst with every sharp thrust he drove into her.
It was how every gasp she let out, sounded less pained then the last; or perhaps, even how his hands, the ones that bore the blood of her brother's, had invaded her mind. All she could focus on was how small she felt under his grasp as he took the only dignity she had.
How he claimed it for himself as a dragon, as if her purity was nothing but gold for him to horde away.
The pain felt as if would have lasted years if not for the soft bloom of pleasure growing in her core. but she wouldn’t have allowed herself to ever reach that peck with him, with the man who stole the last shred of worth she had to her name. to a man who raped her as if she were begging him too.
She felt hollow as he withdrew himself from her, she let out a pained whimper as the action her head lifting to look down between her thighs only to see his hand wrapped around his bloodied cock, stroking it vigorously.
She twisted her body as if an attempt to get away from him, but the pain that lingered, and his hand that tightened around her hips prevented her from doing so.
Yet that didn’t stop her from struggling, even as he spilled his seed over her torso, thick ropes of his seed coating the soft expanse of her stomach, she could feel herself growing sick as she felt some drip down to her navel before pooling there,
Or perhaps it was the feeling of her cunt leaking between her cheeks and against the bedding.
She hated him, with more animosity than she had ever felt before. She understood how easily her father could grow to hate such a family like the Targaryen's, they were vile, they took without ask, enslaved and rewrote history for their preference.
They were just as rotted as a her brother claimed, they were the dragon that would eat its own tail, forever hunted by their actions of Fire and blood yet their pride would prohibit them to take notice of their own demise.
They would burn, all of them
“Burn them all,”
The gold of the canopy seems to shine more green that the tower of Oldtown, the golden light flickering as green wrapped around the silken sheets. the soft fabric burned overhead, the smell reaching her nose.
“Burn them All”
It was like flesh, flesh and rot, as if a wound had been left for the dogs, left to fester and decay while blood corrupted the blackened skin.
“Perzdaghon pōnta pōja” she muttered under her breath.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Pairing: Sandor 'The Hound' Clegane x Baratheon OC
Summary: In the halls of Winterfell, Alayna reflects on her place in the world as she navigates the expectations set upon her and what begins as a simple visit to the North, soon starts to feels like the start of something much bigger growing against the horizon.
Note: All rights belong to their respective owners, I don't own these characters, and i am simply inspired by the writing and world creation that the creator made, this is a work of fiction.
WC: 2.3k
[Masterlist] [AO3]
If you were to ask The Realms Bambi how she felt in the halls of Winterfell, she would respond with an answer fit for a princess; That she felt comfort in halls away from home, yet longed for the heat of Kings Landing.
If you asked Alayna Baratheon, she would say that she wanted to go home, that the cold didn’t agree with her - a polite response - yet Baratheon in the nature of letting you know her truth behind such pretty words.
But, If you were to ask Alayna, she wouldn’t answer, as she had yet to make up her mind over the North. She enjoyed how the chill of the halls grazed over her skin like a lovers touch, how the winds howled like the wolf's hiding in the distance. Perhaps even the smell had swayed her decision, how the wet stone smelt as it hit her morning nose, how the yard smelt more pleasant despite the stank of men lingering in the area.
Yet she knew she liked the halls the most.
That she was certain of.
She imagined herself walking along them for hours, fingers tracing the walls as her path was guided by torch light, perhaps even children running along to their father's chambers in the middle of the night when sleep couldn’t catch them.
It was often when she would let her imagination lead her astray from reality, immersing herself with the ideas her mind would conjure up with. Her uncle Renly often claiming she had the dreams similar to her distant ancestors.
Oh how she used to dream of being like them, dreaming up future and past, dreaming of having enough dragon in her to hold magic the way the Targaryen's of old use too. It was in times like these, while the morning light carried through the corridors, where she would disappear from the world till something brought her back.
This time, it just so happens to be the cheerful boom of her father's voice reaching her ears. the worlds crashing back down against her all at once as she focused on the two Kings-guard at the door.
Ser Boros Blount, God she hated the fat cunt. She had always noticed how his eyes would linger on her, though, it wasn’t as bad as she aged into her womanhood, yet she could still feel the heat of his stare against her bosom, her neck would heat with a chill that reached her bones each time.
She watched him linger, his eyes trailing her for a moment before he smirked her a flash of his yellowed teeth, as if he had gotten some sick pleasure knowing that he was in between her getting what she wanted.
“Surely you do not expect me to command you what to do Sir? or as you less trained than a tavern maid?” she bites out as she returns her stare toward the door, she heard his grumbling but she tried to pay it no heed.
‘Never let them see your true emotion, use them the way a man would.’
She kept silent as he opened the door before stepping in before her,
“Your grace, the princess Alayna is here -” he stared to announce before her fathers eyes met hers, his smile brightening even more as he looked at her as she step around Ser Boros to get inside.
“Ally! My dear girl” He roars as he spotted her, she watched for a moment as he moved to stand from his chair at was once formally the lord Starks work chambers. She couldn't help her smile at her father's excitement.
He was the one constant in her life, one of the few joys she felt. It was in the small things she noticed that helped her come to this conclusion, how he would have flowers planted that she would stare at longer than others, how quickly she ate certain foods compared to others and would have them maid more regularly, how she would fidget with her rings whenever she was nervous.
She in-turn grew to notice the small things as he had, and you didn’t have to be Tywin Lannister to notice how his glare of anger and frustration directed towards the Kingsguard who had interrupted him and lingered at the door.
“Was your mother a you fat oaf with the brains of a goat Boros, my daughter -”
“I don't want to marry the Stark boy” she interrupts. Her heart pounding with anticipation as she watches her father falter in his movements. She watched as he waited for a few moments before waving his hand at Ser Boros, the tensions in the room thicker than the fog rolling over the hills as the royals waited for the door to close.
She was no fool, she knew how powerful the Starks were and how they had plead their loyalty to house Baratheon after the rebellion; her history lessons would have been put to waste if she had forgotten such a fact. She was also aware that loyalty required maintenance. And what better maintenance than a royal marriage.
“Alayna-” He starts, she could hear the strain in his voice as she watched him rub the bridge of his nose. she knew he would fight her, claim that whatever union he would force her to to have would be for the greater good of the realm.
But she'd be damned if she didn’t try to fight him on it.
“He is good and just, I know this. But if-”
“Alayna” he says once more trying to garner her attention. it was the firm warning that made her pause as a girl, how her tears would well in her eyes as she looked up at him scared of his punishing words that would follow only to be coddled by a father her loathed seeing his little fawn cry.
“-you'd let me I would be able to find me own suitor so that-”
“Seven fucks girl you're not wedding the boy” he bellows as his fist meets the hard oak of the table taking her by surprise. She watched as her father face turned red as he shouted at her. Her words falling loose upon her tongue as she looked at her father.
“I don't…" she was speechless as she stared at him, allowing her guard to lower as she did so.
It didn’t make sense, she was a princess, and the young lord made the most sense. perhaps he had planned on wedding her to another lord, a Frey perchance, maybe even the young lord Willas Tyrell, though she doubted he would let any one of his children marry a cripple, no matter how large their armies or vast their resources were.
“Do you remember when you were a girl, when I left for several moons to abolish that idiot Greyjoy rebellion?”
She wasn’t sure where he was going with his words, but she knew better than to deter a man for explaining something to her, no matter how much it pissed her off when they did so.
It was another one of the many lessons she had learned over the many moons her Grandsire hosted her as his ward. How men would assume, that as a women, she were duller than men, and how men of high status would feel more powerful to educate a princess. How most men who felt as though a woman should stay meek and pretty, those who would tell her secrets and attempt to groom her for their own sick longing for power and status.
“You came back with his sword and claimed that all wars were over for as long as you lived.” she says as if urging for more information on memories he clearly replayed over the years.
“Ai, I can remember now, how I made the daft Greyjoy cunt scuttle off to his cave with his slimy tentacle behind him. How I carved in his sons with my hammer” he says almost with reverence, the longing in his voice for the glory days, much like how he would think back on the Trident. “Days would pass were I'd make myself sick thinking about them hurting you, taking you like some common whore”
That made her bristle.
She was barely even seven when the rebellion took place, and knowing that even as a child she wasn’t safe from the sins that a man would bestow on her. The tales of the Greyjoys plunders weren’t for the faint of heart, she knew this from her books, how before the conquerors, they use to take like pirates, taking women and children alike as their salt brides.
"There's a war coming Alayna,” he says once more drawing her eyes to glance down at the papers against the desk before back up to his eyes “and Gods be damned if I lose the one thing that makes me feel whole again.”
She knew better than most that the crown didn't have to money to afford a war, this was meant to be a time of peace, where the sons and daughters of the lords who defeated the dragon were to be wed. How could the people find peace and joy when they are starving and/or fleeing the capital during wartime.
“Why has no one in the small council said anything? The crown simply cannot afford-”
“Tywin I'll find some way to pay it off, the old bastard always piss out gold as if it we-”
“Father” she scolded as she looked father as she looked back at him. Her gaze hard against the king, the only person in the Seven Kingdoms who had that privilege.
She wasn't foolish girl like she had been when she was first named the cup bearer in council meetings, her knowledge and the understandings of politics and power only nourished her mind, the same way water does to flowers.
She knew better than to brush of something as drastic as war. Her mind instantly rushing to think of which lords would even dream about rebelling against the crown.
Perhaps the Martells, they had had strenuous ties to the crown since the sacking of king's landing, or maybe the Greyjoys, the had always been a stray on the crown even during the Targaryens.
But it was his voice that interrupted her train of thought “You always look like your mother when you think” it was a observation, and yet, she knew it was laced with a longing for her to resemble another.
She was silent as she looked at him, her brows knitted together as if she were pained, a sad look for a princess to have.
“I'd there is a war brewing, then let me make the decision that you do not wish to make, let me plan mine and Mycella's suitors under your name, allow me to pull the strings at court so that peace will prosper when you are gone” Her words were gentle as if dealing with a child as she moved closer to her father's side. She could practically see him melting into the chair from the burdens against his shoulders.
“The Warrior would have to come down and strike me dead if anyone tried to take you from me”
Alayna sat against the desk, the hard wood hitting the back of her legs as she watched her father threaten the gods for her. “they would not be taking me father, I would be willing”
Yet she knew her explanation would more than likely fall against death ears.
She watched her father sigh into his chair as he looked up at her as if she were the prevailing reason for his troubles. She loathed moments such as these, were she pushed her father to mistrust or argue with her on issues that needed to be addressed. she had often done them in her younger years regarding matters that required his attention in the small council meetings, issues the lords would deem unsuited for the kings ears.Issues that deemed the undivided attention of the King.
“There will be a hunt in the next hour, you are coming with.” Was all he said on the matter, her heart aching at his disregard for her words. She wanted to fight, to scream at him for how little he seemed to cared over her woes, to yell at him that if war were truly on the horizon then house Baratheon would have to prepare for it so that they wouldn't be fighting needless battles.
“We will talk about this we we get back to King's Landing, you can talk with Ned over what you think need to be done for the good of our house.”
That took her by surprise. She looked back over at her father, his frown present as one of his large hand grasped hers in a tender hold, one that she had grown accustomed with, a hold that reassured her that he would stand beside her no matter the issue.
In that moment, she allowed herself to imagine the kinds of pressure that were placed on him as king, how many people looked to him to resolve their issues and transgressions, or how he was the scapegoat for everyone ailments even during times of peace. Her mind racing through all the Nights he wouldn’t be at supper during her youth, how pained he would seem during the few council meeting he attended.
“I only ask these thing of you Father so that they will not plague you at night should things go south” she explained gently as she squeezed his hand. And she would have done it for all in her family, even Joffrey if needed. She loved her family, they were her everything, the reason she smiled, the reason to awake in the morning, the reason she hoped to keep the seven kingdoms in peace - Anything to protect those she loved.
“You'll attend the hunt and that's the last I want to hear about this.” he brushes off once more, only this time, he sounded less pained, the anguish over such a topic dissipating in his voice. she couldn't help but fight her smile, her baby blues twinkling at her father's words. to anyone else, they would have sounded hard, disregarded, but she knew Baratheons better than anyone, and she knew that this was the closest he would grant her to a gentle answer.
“Thank you Father” she grinned looking down at him. Her smile soft and weak, as her mind raced rather than quietened. She vowed to allow herself the childhood nativity to think that all would be fine for the upcoming years, that war and deception were a thing for that books of history rather than the impending future.
Yet, when the time would come, when she would look towards the horizon, and long for a moment like this, with her father, just one more time.
Pairing: Sandor 'The Hound' Clegane x Baratheon OC
Summary: Alayna finds herself caught between honor and duty as feasts, whispered promises, and hidden truths unfold around her. She finds her fears coming to light as Winterfell begins to feel less like a welcome, and more like the start of a game she was never prepared to play.
Note: All rights belong to their respective owners, I don't own these characters, and i am simply inspired by the writing and world creation that the creator made, this is a work of fiction. I also realized that I forgot to say in the previous chapter that I have aged up some of the characters just so my moral compass doesn't feel like shit for some of the stuff I will be writing about
“You’ll sleep through the dinner our host have prepared for us, sweet sister” Alayna let out a groan as she moved her body away from the warmth of the bedding to look over her shoulder, only to find the familiar smirk of her Brother looking at her. A smirk she couldn't help but roll her eyes at as she relaxed back against the bed.
Her face pressing against the pillows as she laid on her front, her gown had ridden up past her calves as she cuddled one of the large pillows close to her, her body urging her to drift back into her dreamless sleep. And yet, her Brother thought otherwise.
“Father might allow you to be late, but I don’t think Mother would be too happy with your lack of attendance.” She could practically hear the smirk in his voice as he spoke to her. However, when she looked over her shoulder once more expecting to see Joffrey's smug grin smiling down at her, she was met with the Hound's dark gaze against her.
Her body, more than her face that was.
His eyes quickly met hers, but he never looked away from her. His eyes kept her gaze - unwavering.
She could see her younger Brother out of the corner of her eye, filling up a chalice of wine. She couldn’t help the frown that formed across her face as she rose from her bed and quickly moved without thought towards him. Her bare feet against the wooden floor of the castle making her breath catch before she grasps the carafe from Joffrey.
“You will do no such thi-” she threatens him, her gaze sharp as she stood face to face with him. She was only slightly taller than him by a few inches, but it was always enough to make the young lion cower.
“Maybe I should make the Hound carry you into the hall?” he says, his voice dripping with faux confidence that convinced no one in the bed chambers. “Then maybe Lord Stark would think differently about wedding one of his spawn to you.”
“Is that why you aren't in attendance? So that Lord Stark will deem you an unfit match for his daughter?" she questioned her younger brother, her voice sharp as she made her point. She remembers the way he looked at the Stark girl in the courtyard when they arrived. His stair against the young wolf made him look like a predator, the same stair she’d seen from many lords since the day her womanhood was announced.
Joffrey was silent as he huffed, looking up at his sister. His anger present, and yet he didn't react like he normally would with others. He'd always made an effort to be kinder to his older Sister. Alayna had always thought it was on account to her soft upbringing with her Brother when they were children, how she was desperate for the crying babe to soften to her, dotting on the babe more than her Mother would.
There was once a time when he couldn’t speak, only a little boy trotting around after his giggling sister, there was once a time where he was a rather glad child, one who was softer, sweeter even. Sometimes she would dwell on the memories for too long and find herself praying to the Mother for that little boy once more. But she knew better than to pray for someones character.
Alayna looked past her brother toward the Hound. She'd seen him carry out orders under her brother's command before, some more difficult to watch than the other, while some she’d only heard about within the thin walls of the Red Keep.
And yet, despite all the talk around him, she couldn't help but feel guilty for the comfort she found with him in quiet moments of protection.
She was silent as she looked back at her brother, the Heir.
Alayna lowers her head as she let out a soft sigh, the sound filling the room accompanying the fire… in which she concluded that a servant must have lit while she slept. She knew better than to skip a host's dinner, yet that didn’t stop her longing for a quiet night spent inside her room, a moment of rest where no one expected anything of her.
“Tell Mother that I’ll be there soon, I just need to get ready” she says in resignation as she places the carafe of wine back on the cellarette. The red liquor she knew would be drunk before she left the room.
She slowly raises her head to look back at her Brother, but her eyes flickered toward the Hound. His imposing figure captured her attention as he silently watched the royal siblings bicker.
His large build filled the expanse of the door frame, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. Alayna couldn't help but notice how he never lazily placed his hand against the hilt of his sword like her Brother. But rather chose to hold it, as if he feared that if he lowered his guard then he would be the first to bleed in a fight.
What a shame to be the guard dog of such a Prince, forced to listen to his incept opinions, to be tied to such a boy till he is named King.
Her gaze wandered back to her Brother noticing the angry sway he always did before he'd walk off. He always thought himself more like Tywin, he’d pretend to keep his emotions in check when in truth, he wore them the same way a whore wore clothes. He was to brazen, to loud when silence was demanded, always roared when silent fury was required.
“You better be there” he tries to bite out but the faux venom in his voice had no effect on her. To her, he looked like a little lion trying to roar for the first time. it would have been sweet if she hadn’t known what effect he desired from his words.
She stood there silently watching his spin on his heels as he sauntered out of her chambers, her glare remaining on the back of his head, and she silently hoped that he would feel the burn of her gaze as he walked into the Grand Hall.
As the door shut behind them she couldn't help but feel that the silence that followed as loud, louder that anything she'd experienced. The heat of the hearth filing the room and flushing her cheeks as she felt the bed give way under her as she sat down. the tension she felt since the moment she woke up finally dissipating, if only for a moment.
The Halls were filled with the sigils of both house Baratheon and house Stark as she walked in, her body lingering in the doorway as she mentally talked herself into entering the Grand Hall. The scent of warm breads and roasting meats making her mouth water, but she had no real hunger.
"Hiding will do you no good little Doe" She heard his whisper out from behind her, causing her to spin around to meet his eyes.
It was in quiet moments like these where her Brother's dog would crowd her, making her blood rush with feeling she was accompanied with. How he'd stand close enough to her to force her gaze up to meet his, yet far enough so that their interactions would seem as just that, conversations.
Not that they weren't ever anything else. The two only ever spoke in passing over the past few years, both aware of each other's presence but only having acknowledged it on her name day a few years back.
“Don’t act as if you have some moral grounds to protect me Clegane. Did Joffrey send for you to check on me?” she bites back, yet her words didn’t hold as much bite as his did, they never did. It was a talent she thought that only he had ever possessed, how his words would make her skin shiver out of anticipation for his next word.
But he didn’t speak, choosing to let his silence carry between the two as his eyes slowly trained down her body, eyeing over the dress she chose to wear.
Now out of the comfortable dresses she wore on her journey North, her cottons now replaced with golden silks that she was so often seen wearing, her collarbones on display that would have been unsuitable for an unwed Princess, yet she wore it anyways; the edges covered by a thin line of brown fur.
As for her arms, she had them covered in an almost velvet red in honour of her Mother's house. Her waist cinched with a simple ribbon wrapped around just under breasts leaving her looking mature, while hiding her womanly figure behind the fabric.
But it was her jewelry that Sandor always noticed, not because she favoured brightly colored gems like her mother, or desired crystals from Yi-Ti. But because of how she favoured more simple gems. Her fingers were only covered with the three bands she’d usually wear, often large enough for her to loosen around her fingers before rotating them around her digit whenever she had thoughts that would linger in her head. Her neck was adorned with a simple gold chain that was laced with rubies which only complimented the beating pulse in her neck that he could see if he often focused on her too much.
“Be a good dog and go tell your master that I don’t need to be watched over like a child.” she hissed as a grimace formed against her chimeric face. Her body moved without thinking, but so did his.
The second he saw her turn in an attempt to walk away from the hall, from her duties, from him.
His rough hand wrapped around her upper arm before pressing her against the cold stone of the castle. Her breath left her lungs as she looked up at him wide eyed, half with shock that he would touch her in a way that was unbecoming between a knight and a Princess, and half almost daring him to go further.
The sound of the great Hall behind them as they remained there looking at one another, his hold against her arm firm as his other hand moved up to her collarbone, rough pads of his fingers almost reverently ghosting over her skin.
The gentle reminder that should someone with to walk out to the corridors for air, they would be discovered and Alayna couldn't help the gentle flush that spread against her ears at the idea. Her reputation would be ruined, although she doubts her Father would allow that, he'd more than likely place the blame against the Hound, claim him no better than a dog and have his blood staining the snow by morning.
“You should change” was all he muttered under an almost pained breath as his lip curled up, as if he were disgusted with himself for touching the soft expanse of her skin, skin that no one had dared touch except him.
“Because you think the Stark boy would like it?” she couldn't help it, she was her father's daughter in not just looks, but in fury and her stubborn nature.
“Do you think that maybe I would catch the eye of some other lowly Lords too perhaps, maybe even invi-"
“Because your Brother would enjoy seeing you in such a dress” he cuts her off with a curt bark, her eyes showing nothing but fire that seemed to have been trapped in his skin as he paired down at her before releasing her with a gentle shove and taking a few languish steps away from her.
She was silent at his claim, the hidden meaning behind his words making her skin crawl differently, as if she had thousands of little spiders crawling over her most intimate areas, spiders that she couldn't brush off no matter how much her thoughts strayed from his meaning.
“You don't understand the words you speak” she gritted out, hesitancy filling her voice as she wavered. When push came to shove, her Brother could be a spoiled cunt, but he never seemed Targaryen in the nature of his proclivities.
Alayna could see his thoughts running wild, his jaw clenched in restraint as he fought the urge to speak words that should never reach the ears of a maiden. “Go change little doe. Before some northern cunt decides to go hunting for deer.”
Without waiting for her responses, he sauntered away from her and towards the bustling noise in the hall. She watched him as he moved away from her, his shoulders swaying ever so gently as he disappeared from sight.
A heavy sigh leaving her lips, one she hadn't been aware of her holding in. her shoulders relaxing as a result as she leaned back against the stone walls once more, and resting her head against the stone, her eyes resting for a moment as she tried to compose herself.
Who did he think he was, telling her what to do, or telling her lies that would differ her opinion on her younger Brother.
She hated this feeling, as if she were some helpless little girl, one who still needed to be watched over as if she were made up of glass. She wanted nothing more than to prove him wrong; to rub his false truths into that scared face of his.
But she knew better than to let her emotions lead her, her Grandsire taught her better than that, 'one day you'll be a woman, use that, but never let them see inside' she remembers him telling her during the long winter. How she kept him company in Casterly Rock, nights spend reading ledgers with him by the fire as the two drank, her her warm honeyed milk, and him his Dornish red.
She used that knowledge close to her chest as she grew; if often wasn't needed but in times like this she was grateful for him and his teachings. she could feel all eyes on her as she walked into the Hall, the sounds of people laughter and cutlery against plates grinding against her eyes, but she never showed it.
She never did.
Her seat was cold as she sat down at the table full of the Stark kids, her seat next to the heir of Winterfell making her throat close with the notion that she'd be forced to converse when she had no real desire for it.
“Princess, we were getting worried” Robb whispered to her as she sat strong in his seat. “We're the beds just that comfortable here compared to King's Landing?” he teases.
She had to fight the smirk forming against her lips at his jest as she looked to the table at the vast array of foods. Roasts and seasoned root vegetables litter the table, large vases of northern wine being replenished by the servant every few minutes.
It made her mouth water. It had been so long since her family had had a real meal like this, to the point where she had even heard Myrcella and Tommen complaining about their lack of gourmet food on the ride up North.
“Clearly, you've never been on the roads for over a month lordling” she says as she grabs one a goblet of wine and takes a leisurely sip, all the while looking at the Young Wolf with a cheeky glint in her eye.
“I do hope the roads weren't too strenuous. Tell me, how are you fi-
“Robb! Stop hogging the princess, I want to talk with her”
“Arya, you can't interrupt brother when he's speaking to the royal family”
“Forgive my Sis-”
“Is it true that you know how to fight? My Brothers Robb and Jon says that you know sword and bow”
“ARYA”
Alayna couldn't help the laugh that rippled through her, her hand holding her stomach rather than politely covering her mouth as a girl of her position should. The sounds of her laugh only mirrored the ones her Father made on the other side of the room; two stags letting themself drown in their hedonistic proclivities.
She felt the heat of a dozen eyes on her as she allowed herself to laugh freely at the young Stark girls, the noise lingering in the air the same way the Stags before her did. The sound fading from existence just as quickly as it came.
"Yes little wolf, although I am most likely not as skilled as your Brothers" Alayna chuckles before she
The memory was still fresh, even after all the years of embroidery classes, as history lessons that her Mother forced upon her. how she watched her Father in the training yard after he had fought against the Iron Isle, how she would hide in the dark corners of the yard as she would try her best to copy his moves with sticks rather than steel.
Her little tongue sticking out in concentration as she tried to make her feet move the same way he would, how she would put sticks in her hair and pretend she had a helm like him, her little hands garnering small scratches she would tell her Mother were from her sowing rather than fighting.
She remembers how her Mother and Father fought hard the night he made the demand for her to learn how to wield a sword, how he demanded the best blacksmith in all of King's Landing make his Daughter her own blade, one that she'd be forced to hide the more she came into her age.
How quickly her Mother forgave him that night when the six-year-old doe wander the Halls from a bad dream, hoping for the comfort of her Mother only to hear her own pained cries coming from her chambers; or how Joffrey came nine moons later.
The way Aryas' eyes lit up reminded her of her own Sister, whenever she would allow her to win at Cyvasse or when she would see a new rose blooming within her garden.
"Do you know how to wield a sword my lady?" she questions looking at the young girl down the table.
Alayna watched as she looked back at her mother for a moment as if she were nervous about openly saying her answer. The Princess followed her line of sight only to see her mother staring down at her before looking back into the crowd, the look of indifference that she'd grown accustomed to, never once leaving her Mother's face.
She turned back to the children at the table before glancing her gaze over to the other Stark girl. Her glare at the younger, similar to Alayna's mothers whenever she had been slighted by another woman at court.
“My Brothers have shown me how to protect myself Princess” Arya explains cautiously looking up that the princess, her words careful chosen as the young girl felt her Mother's eyes lingering on her.alayna forced a smile, her heart clenching for the young girl, how she must have longed for the sound of steel sarking in the cold of the morning, or how the saddle would bruise the inner of their thighs after hours of riding, how duty demanded that she hold a needle rather than sword.
“You must be very lucky to have such honorable brothers who would help you my lady, tell me lady Sansa” she says politely looking towards Sansa, her posture immediately lifting as the princess finally noticed her rather than her younger and more rebellious sister. “I heard rumour that you were proficient in your sowing, you must have a favorite form of stitch work”
Alayna knew how to make young girls in the Red Keep feel seen, it was a talent that her Father deemed her to be a delight to have in King's Landing, having someone with their head on tight, who knew how to work the masses that he could not - how could a Stag like him relate to the pretty girls of court without a drink in on hand and a hand full of ass in the other.
And Alayna knew she hit the jackpot when Sansa practically jumped from her seat, her smile wide as her eyes crinkled, it was sweet. Seeing a girl who had a genuine love and passion for something, a Lady nonetheless, Alayna spent half the night drowning as she was assaulted with questions from the Stark girls, her smile tried and true as she answered them, making sure to give both the girls the respect that they deserved.
She would often look to her side to notice how Robb watched her with a gentle smile adorning his pretty face, on that, she wasn't entirely sure if it was a smile or just a look of warmth at how she treated the girls. How she made them feel listened to and as if their thoughts and ideals mattered to her.
The more the night drifted into the dark hours of the morning, the more she thought on the idea of spending her life within the walls of Winterfell, having a Northern husband, leaving her family behind. In truth, it scared her, she often fought the idea of marriage with her Mother, and her Father let her get away with it out of the love he had for his Daughter, the idea of his little girl, the one who reminded him of the life he could have had, leaving him once more?
He wouldn't have it.
And the king's word was law.
"I hear we are to become family soon" Alayna heard her Mother say at one point, her head turning slightly to catch onto even a sliver of the conversation, but she was unable to hear much more other than a few fleeting words over the sound of the crowd.
The familiar dread forming in her gut once more, only this time she didn't feel the familiar sickly tingle over her spine like she did in the halls, she felt her cheeks flush as her dress felt uncomfortably hot against her body, the feeling of her skin prickling, her stomach churning, his fingers against her.
Her eyes traveled across the room, glancing over the sea of dark hair, finding her father with a bright smile and a whore on his lap...
Typical.
She turned her head to quickly look away from her father. Her love for him was immeasurable and unconditional, but that did not stop her from being repulsed by how he disrespected her Mother. Yet she was met with eyes staring down at her. Her breath caught in her throat as she felt the hair on her neck spike, her gaze unwavering as she held his gaze; determination to not let the violent dog frighten.
"ARYA!" shouted Sansa, forcing Alayna to look over at the girl only to find her cheek covered with a mix of mashed potatoes and gravy. Her poor ladies maid attempting to help clean her up as Arya readied another spoon ready to fling it back at her sister.
"Forgive me princess" Robb whispers against her ear, his breath gently fanning against her cheeks in a way he more than likely didn't mean too, but that didn't stop her from looking up at him like a Doe caught in trap, all wide-eyes as she watched him stand before hulling Arya away from the table.
She watched as Robb escorted his younger Sister to bed, walking her through the crowd in a way an lordling should - firm and broad - walking as if he had the weight of Winterfell on his shoulders, as if he were the wolf of the North simply because he was the oldest. but Alayna knew the truth, just because he had been made during the ends of war, didn't ensure that he had the knowledge of war within him. He was as much of a war lord as she was, the two being born only nine moons apart, they may have been born screaming and covered in the blood of another, yet she doubted that either of them would leave the world the same.
Alayna's eyes traveled back to Sandor's once more, but his gaze was elsewhere. She felt her gut twist as she reached out for her chalice of wine once more before allowing herself to indulge for the rest of the night, especially as Sansa now had the princess all to herself to talk about her 'studies' in the art of being a noble woman for her future lord husband.
Gods be damned
Alayna spent the next morning sleeping off the ache in her skull, she didn't indulge in wines and meads as often as her father did, and she could only assume that that was the reason for her discomfort.
It was easily noon before Sir Barristan knocked against her door pulling her from her slumber as she granted him entrance.
She remembers how as a girl, her father urged her to take a knight for a sword sword, but once again, Alayna refused, just like how her mother deemed it fitting that she have a posse of handmaids to keep her company at all times. She couldn't imagine anything worse than having a group of her peers as little spies for her mother, or perhaps for even Littlefinger or Varys if they were so cunning.
Alayna much preferred her own company as well as that of her younger sibling, watching Tommen practice his Ledgers while Myrcella her embroidery, and while there were time where she had been forced to attend tea with the the ladies of the court, she always found a reason to be excused from their incept conversations.
Always talking about the most recent fashions from Drone, or how comely some of the young lords were becoming, she could even recall one time where the topic of flower was the main destruction, her mother the whole time forcing her to sit there and join when she would have rather listened to Renly complain about the taxes against the small folk for a millionth time.
Yet, all of these memories did nothing to rouse the princess, not until she heard the sound of the wooden panels against the window hit the stone walls with a thud, the light shining against her face - which surprised her with how brightly it shone into her room despite how dark and gloomy Winterfell was - she couldn’t help the groan leaving her as she tried to nestle herself into the bedding even further.
“Your family is breaking their fast Princess,” she heard his voice before she say him, “if you’re fast enough you might get there in time for it to still be warm” She let out a sting of murmurs against the furs in response, yet her words barely made sense to the knight.
“Forgive me Princess, I don’t speak bed unfortunately” he teased with a smirk against his ageing face.
“Perhaps your age is finally betraying you” she quipped as she rolled over onto her back as she let out a very unladylike noise closer to a growl and a whine. the sunlight against her eyelids only making her aching head double over ten-fold.
“Perhaps after breakfast I'll spar with you and show you just how good my hearing is princess;” that make her smile, it was something soft and true, and yet, Sir Barristan was one of the only few men in the Seven Kingdoms who had been enabled to entice a genuine softness from her, a softness that few had the privilege of seeing.
“With how much my head is pounding, I hardly doubt that will do much to quell me pain” she says as she moves to sit up, her muscles aching from whatever dancing she assumes she might have done last night.
Flashes of her spinning and laughing on the dance floor came to fruition, her hair whipping around her face as her dress fanned out around her - A Northern dance - and while not the most fun, they did at least know how to dance.
Images of the younger Stark come to her mind, how he spun her around, his hand firm against her waist as he hoisted her into the air. She remembers brown eyes almost as dark as knight watching her.
She remembers his gently scared hand brushing hair out of her face as he rested her against her bed.
Alayna slowly moves off the bed, her movements sluggish as the lingering mead remains in her system, wrapping the soft pelt against her shoulders as her bare feet hit the floor. it was a feeling she was becoming increasingly fond of. the cold stone against her feet, her shoulders relaxing each time as she lets out a small sigh.
“I think I would prefer to eat in my room this morning” she mutters, her eyes cast downwards as she ponders the storm it would cause her Mother internally.
“Is that all Princess?” she hears him as as he stops towards the door of her chambers. he was always good like that, caring that is. As a girl he often made sure that she was without nothing in terms of her comfort, and as a young maiden she appreciated him even more.
Pairing: Sandor 'The Hound' Clegane x Baratheon OC
Summary: Alayna Baratheon was the oldest child of the royal family. but as whispers of marriage close in and tensions rise during a royal visit to Winterfell for a new Hand of the King, Alayna is pulled into a web of expectations, uneasy alliances, and a growing connection with those she never expected to trust.
Note: All rights belong to their respective owners, I don't own these characters, and i am simply inspired by the writing and world creation that the creator made, this is a work of fiction.
This is also my first piece of fanfiction so the grammar and use of language might not be great, but I'm doing this for the love of the game rather than exposure.
Alayna (Ah-lay-na)
WC: 3.3k
[Masterlist] [AO3]
Alayna had sat on the Iron Throne once, perched on her Father's knee when she was slightly older than a babe. Her Father had spent the night before celebrating that his only child had finally started walking towards what she wanted. Her soft brown wisps of her hair formed gentle ringlets around her neck as she had happily sat on his lap.
Her pudgy fingers played with the embroidered stag against his surcoat, as he dealt with the almost never-ending line of small folk that came to him. All of them, still looking for answers; grain rationing, grieving families who lost during the war, labour shortages.
The only peace he found during the whole ordeal was the gentle movements of his daughter. Her soft cooing filled the throne room as she happily made herself content with the strings on his tunic. The sounds filled the room with hope and softened the anguish the lords and small folk still felt years after the Battle of the Trident; she was a symbol of hope, of the realm going into a new era under Baratheon rule, a child, but not an heir.
She was not fortunate enough to have been granted that grace by the Gods. Her brother passed in the cradle just days after the two had been born, the summer sickness having taken him quickly before either could have been named.
The Queen - in her anguish - worried herself sick over her feverish daughter. However she prevailed despite the Maesters warning the King and Queen that she likely wouldn't have survived till the next moon.
Her wails no longer filled the halls now, instead they were replaced with an infectious laughter of an easily entertained babe. She found joy and humour in most things, but her Father brought her more joy than anything in the world.
A few moons after her fourth name day, her Mother brought another child into the world. A screaming boy who always cried in Alayna’s presence and who stole all of her mothers attention. She was, however, lucky enough to have been asked what to name her brother; and so Joffery Baratheon was born, Prince of Dragonstone and rightful heir to the seven kingdoms, while she remained the king's daughter.
As she grew older, she could remember her mother becoming pregnant twice more, carrying a sister and then a brother. All of them with golden hair and eyes like the emeralds her mother favored during her childhood. Whereas Alayna took after her father, hair so dark it was almost black and eyes like the deep sea. She remembers how her father would tell her she had her grandmother's eyes, deep and swirling with curiosity and wonder of the world.
Over the years Alayna had become content with her mothers displeasure towards her. She remembers how her younger siblings were coddled while she lived in harsh judgement. Her mother’s cold gaze made it easy to feel as though she could never do anything right.
Alayna preferred her fathers company over anyone else. Oftentimes, she would sneak into her fathers study or into the council chambers and take the role of cupbearer for her father and the other lords as they discussed trivial matters. She'd always been accommodating according to the red keep; a soft smile adorning her face able to sway people to her favor, The Royal Bambi.
Alyana had known of the Hound ever since she could remember. As a child, he had always scared her, but she was a child, and him a very large young man, with a sword larger than her.
As she aged, growing into her mind and body, she heard rumors around what had happened to him during his youth from the people in the Keep and she couldn't help the pity she felt for him; not the grown man but the child who simply wished to play with his brother's toys.
There was also a rush of embarrassment that she would feel whenever she was in his presence after that moment, largely because of her previous reactions she had towards him as a child… how she would run to her father and hide behind his leg, only barely able to look up at him with her hand held onto her fathers.
But she was no longer a child, she remembers her tenth and sixth name day, how she had left the throne room to catch her breath in the garden only to have been followed by her brother's sworn sword.
"You shouldn't be out here alone Bambi" he says gruffly looking down at her from a fair few paces back, her hands splayed over the stone railing that looked over the Blackwater Bay.
Her heart was still racing at a comment made by one of the lords; she hadn't even thought of marriage and now it was all she could think about. She was trying to catch her breath, and now the hound was behind her scolding her like a child.
"I needed a moment" she declared simply as she looked over her shoulder at him, she had quickly swatted away the tears that had been streaming down her cheeks, causing her rouge to dissipate, but the damage was done.
Sandor could already see the rosy flush of her checks, the rims of her eyes red as if her tears wouldn't calm. He took a few measured steps forward, his boots crunching against the gravel made her take a step back. The small of her back pressed against the railings as she fully turned to him before raising her hand to stop him.
"I don't need your pity Sir, I just needed air" she says with a small frown, but his movements didn't stop once.
His steps were measured, and his eyes unyielding as he walked next to her and looked over the bay.
"I'm no knight little doe, the gods would be damned if they made me one" he grunts, never once looking at her or acknowledging her pitiful state. She looked up at him and his towering figure as he stood next to her; an appropriate distance from her.
His scarred skin on display for her to see as she stood there, her eyes trailing over him before looking over the waters, the smell of the salt and the smell of metal filled her senses.She'd never been this close to the Hound before, he was her brother's sworn sword, not hers… not that she needed one, she wasn't the heir.
But ever since her ninth name day she’d grown curiouser of him, no longer frightened by his appearance or his demeanor.
“The gods work in mysterious ways” was all she responded with, her brows pressed together at the irony of her words. The gods did work in ways she didn't understand, but she'd be damned if she admitted that to her brother's knight.
She’d probably get into trouble with her septa if she had found out her thoughts on the gods. But the gods were cruel, she knew this dispute, her lack of knowledge of life beyond castles and her stitchwork. The Gods don't give a fuck, that's why they're Gods.
She heard him grumble, but she paid him no heed. However the heat of his stare made her cheeks flush with a feeling close to embarrassment, she hated being looked at as if she were expected more from.
"I don't need your pity Sir" she spoke without thinking as she turned to look up at him, her brows knitting together as she watched him. How his eyes were on her taking her in, the gentle observation that he was already making in his mind made her feel the urge to defend herself. She kept silent as she retained his gaze, his harsh eyes watching over her youthful face.
She'd grown rather comely in the past years, it was good for her now that there was talk of her being married off, most likely to houses with wavering loyalties, probably to an old friend of her fathers. Her once short black hair now cascaded over her shoulders as her braids kept the stray hairs from flying into her eyes.
Sandor knew that she would only grow into her looks more as time continued, her round cheeks becoming more angular like her Mothers, while her nose sloped down like her Fathers; before he'd broken it.
He leaned down close to her, making her feel crowded against the railing, but left her with enough space to pull away from him if she were truly that frightened of him
She didn't move."Pity's for little creatures that beg for attention, not ones who demand it little doe" he says groufly, the heat from his breath against the shell of her ear warming her neck with a gentle flush, she pulled her head back slightly to look into his eyes. She scanned his face as her confusion took a hold of her, but before she could respond he had interrupted her.
"Get back inside Doe, your Father will be missing you"
The journey to Winterfell was a long and strenuous one that she dreaded to take again. A whole moon had passed since her family had set off to summon Lord Stark, with the hopes that he would accept the position of becoming her Fathers hand after the death of Jon Arrye.
The trip made her long for the comfort of a warm hearth, the taste of warm breads and cheeses that her Father allowed her to indulge whenever she wished to break her fast in the middle of the night with him. How the sound of the flames would flicker as the wood cracked, or the scuffling of rats against stone, filling the quiet moments between her Fathers' laughter that would echo throughout the halls and covering her own.
Now she was near approaching her eighth and tenth name day. She knew that she would miss it in accordance with her family traveling back from Winterfell - hopefully with Lord Stark in tow - but it was a small relief she was willing to sacrifice if it meant another moon passing without the conversation of marriage looming over her shoulder, like the Stranger during a plague.
The rocking of the carriage was the worst part of the journey. Alayna had originally thought the biggest challenge would have been dealing with her Mothers snide comments about the north while simultaneously being forced to listen to her Tommen and Myrcella excited remarks on every farm creature that they passed.
Alayna didn’t mind her sibling all too much in those moments, especially since Joffrey wasn't permitted to ride in the carriage like he normally would have. Instead she remembers her father yelling at him that he needed to step up to his name as heir and stand united behind his Father as they rode up north on their horses.
Alayna couldn't help but feel the ugly sin of envy at her brother's annoyance, tradition and duty required her to ride in a carriage, but she wished she had at least been given the option to be able to ride alongside her father as they entered Winterfell. Then perhaps she might have been able to watch the green hills turn to snow caps more openly, watching the daylight shift into the night as they would make camp in a nearby inn that her family would occupy.
The smell of salt and incense now replaced with the scent of wet stone and moss as they got closer to the castle. Her clothing now replaced with thicker dresses and her newer pelts covering her shoulders as the chills started to nip at her skin.
She couldn't help the relief flooding through her as they finally entered the gates of Winterfell. The doors opened allowing her to feel the true chill of the north nipping at her nose. She finally stepped out of the carriage after her youngest brother and sister, before standing beside them, her eyes looking over her shoulder back to her mother exiting the carriage herself, and walking toward the Stark family. She watched as lord Stark kissed her mothers hand, but she didn't care, her eyes scanning the crowd with mild interest before looking back over at the royal party she had traveled with.
Her eyes landed on her brother eyeing up the red headed stark girl, the same way he would look at Tommen's cats before they went missing the next day. His smile charming, as if he was meaning to bewitch the poor girl, but as Alayna looked back to the lane of the Stark children, it was clear that she wasn't the only one who noticed the look the two gave each other.
Robb, she thinks his name was, he was pretty for a northern, with blue eyes and soft brown curls, she imagined that her Father would discuss marriage with Lord Stark between the two. She knew he'd been born a few months before her, and he was nice to look at. And yet the idea of marrying a Stark made her feel queasy.
She knew the history between her Father and Lord Stark, how they were like brothers, had fought in wars together, and at one point were meant to be family. She knew the Starks were known for their hardened demeanour, how they were considered more thoughtful of their actions, led by honour and tradition, rather than self interest and duty.
But when she met his eyes she noticed almost every little expression on his face. How his chin slighted upwards as if he thought himself better, how his eyes trailed down her body as if he was making assumptions about her without the chance to defend herself.
She could feel the unconscious clenching of her jaw at his demeanor, but the heir of Winterfell was not the only one watching her. The warmth of his gaze lingered on her neck from behind, even through his dog helm that she hated, though she would never voice that opinion openly.
Normally it was a grace Sandor would allow her, letting her look at him so openly. Whenever the courts were trialing in the throne room, or when her Father or some other lord would host tourneys that the royal family would be required to attend, she'd always look towards his unyielding figure, not with longing, or in any kind of way, but just from the simple fact that if the Hound could manage a royal procession, then she would be able to manage herself as well.
"We’ve been riding over a month, my love. Surely the dead can wait." she heard her Mother say sweetly to her father, the voice she only used when people outside of the family were around. They weren't close by any means, but Alayna knew her Mother well enough to know that she had felt slighted by the dead. Her Father walked away with lord Stark leaving her Mother standing in front of lady Stark, she could only see the back of her Mother's head, but she knew that her smile was strained.
The silence that covered the yard was as thick as the fog rolling over the mountains. Alayna moved forward, a polite smile adorning her face, her expressions changing from quiet curiosity to the endearing smile she'd perfected when navigating the courts, and in turn, the kingdom.
"Lady Stark, my Brother and Sister would like to express our gratitude toward your hospitality. Winterfell is even more beautiful than expected" Alayna says gently, before giving the Tully woman a small bow in appreciation.
She watched as Catelyn’s eyes trailed from her mother, back to her. It was clear that the Tully woman was more familiar with wearing her heart on her sleeve than others Alyana was familiar with, it was foolish to allow one's self a luxury of doing so in the capital, and yet, Alyana couldn't help but respect it from the older woman.
“Wheres the imp?” she heard… Aya? she thinks her name might be. She'd been forced to learn so many names in the past moon that she was struggling to remember them all.
She knew where her Uncle was, most likely indulging himself in northern cunt and wine instead of fulfilling his duties. Alayna had been fortunate enough to have never seen him in such a state, but that didn’t stop the walls of the Keep from keeping his proclivities quiet.
She watched as her mother looked towards the younger Stark, her face holding a hidden grimace that only Alayna would recognize as disgust, before walking off towards her Uncle Jamie, draped in his white cloak. The Queen's gaze caught on her daughters, as if she were the one who had brought mention of the Imp of Casterly Rock to light.
"Thank you, your Grace" Catelyn says with a gentle smile and a soft bow, bringing Alayna back to her conversation with Lady Stark. She could see how she would have easily been a good mother, northern enough to be firm, but southern enough to hold softness for her children that any child would love to have in a mother.
"Perhaps my son Robb could escort you to your chambers, I'm sure a familiar face would help after such a long journey" she suggested as she looked over at her son.
The implication was clear, the two first born had met only a number of times, enough to count on one hand, and it had been over 9 years since she had seen his face or written to him. Nonetheless, she forced her shoulders to relax as she wrapped her hand around the arm he held out for her, following his lead.
She walked with Robb as they moved throughout the halls towards her quarters, a move that only validated her thoughts on the idea this journey was not only a diplomatic trip to gain a new hand for the throne.
"Do you like Winterfell?" she says, breaking the silence as soon as they walked inside the halls of the Red Keep. The warmth of the candles helped her chills running over her arms.
"It is my home, Princess," he responded, his accent pleasant to her ears as she walked alongside him, her fingers urging to play with the seam of his sleeves, she imagined the feeling would soothe the headache that was growing present from the traveling she had done.
She looked up at him, still following his lead as he walked her towards the guest wing of the castle, "lots of people have homes, that doesn't mean they like them" she wanted something from him, something.... un-Stark of him, a glimmer of the Tully boy remembered seeing at a tourney when she was younger.
The two stopped in front of her door, his gaze now falling to her, his blue eyes looking into hers before dancing over her face, as if trying to find what angle she was taking with this small talk.
"Ai', I like Winterfell."
That made her smile, the gentle shift in his tone made her shoulder almost soften at his admission.
"I am glad," was all she responded with, before she unwrapped her hand from him and opened the door to enter her new room for the next moon. "Thank you Robb for showing me to my room,"
He gave her a firm nod before walking away, but not before she caught the corner of his lips twitching up at her calling him by his name, something she used to do as a child when they were at the tourneys, which it now seems as though he remembered too.
The room was fine, smaller than her chambers in the Red Keep, but almost homelier than them. Candles from hundreds of years past dripped over the mantle, the walls held the scent of moss, and thick pelts covered the beds. It was painfully northern, and yet, not unwelcome.
"'It's not the worst." she whispered to herself. As she lay down against the plush bedding, letting sleep take a hold of her, her imagination ran with the thoughts that the next time she comes to the North would be for her wedding.
Now walk with me here... the red priestess revives Dany and sends her back to the one chance when house targaryen could have flourish. She's once more alone in a strange place, not only feeling like an outsider in a place that should be home. That is until Baelor finds her wondering the field of Ashford with a white stag following her.
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Pairing: Sandor 'The Hound' Clegane x Baratheon OC
Summary: Alayna finds herself caught between honor and duty as feasts, whispered promises, and hidden truths unfold around her. She finds her fears coming to light as Winterfell begins to feel less like a welcome, and more like the start of a game she was never prepared to play.
Note: All rights belong to their respective owners, I don't own these characters, and i am simply inspired by the writing and world creation that the creator made, this is a work of fiction. I also realized that I forgot to say in the previous chapter that I have aged up some of the characters just so my moral compass doesn't feel like shit for some of the stuff I will be writing about
“You’ll sleep through the dinner our host have prepared for us, sweet sister” Alayna let out a groan as she moved her body away from the warmth of the bedding to look over her shoulder, only to find the familiar smirk of her Brother looking at her. A smirk she couldn't help but roll her eyes at as she relaxed back against the bed.
Her face pressing against the pillows as she laid on her front, her gown had ridden up past her calves as she cuddled one of the large pillows close to her, her body urging her to drift back into her dreamless sleep. And yet, her Brother thought otherwise.
“Father might allow you to be late, but I don’t think Mother would be too happy with your lack of attendance.” She could practically hear the smirk in his voice as he spoke to her. However, when she looked over her shoulder once more expecting to see Joffrey's smug grin smiling down at her, she was met with the Hound's dark gaze against her.
Her body, more than her face that was.
His eyes quickly met hers, but he never looked away from her. His eyes kept her gaze - unwavering.
She could see her younger Brother out of the corner of her eye, filling up a chalice of wine. She couldn’t help the frown that formed across her face as she rose from her bed and quickly moved without thought towards him. Her bare feet against the wooden floor of the castle making her breath catch before she grasps the carafe from Joffrey.
“You will do no such thi-” she threatens him, her gaze sharp as she stood face to face with him. She was only slightly taller than him by a few inches, but it was always enough to make the young lion cower.
“Maybe I should make the Hound carry you into the hall?” he says, his voice dripping with faux confidence that convinced no one in the bed chambers. “Then maybe Lord Stark would think differently about wedding one of his spawn to you.”
“Is that why you aren't in attendance? So that Lord Stark will deem you an unfit match for his daughter?" she questioned her younger brother, her voice sharp as she made her point. She remembers the way he looked at the Stark girl in the courtyard when they arrived. His stair against the young wolf made him look like a predator, the same stair she’d seen from many lords since the day her womanhood was announced.
Joffrey was silent as he huffed, looking up at his sister. His anger present, and yet he didn't react like he normally would with others. He'd always made an effort to be kinder to his older Sister. Alayna had always thought it was on account to her soft upbringing with her Brother when they were children, how she was desperate for the crying babe to soften to her, dotting on the babe more than her Mother would.
There was once a time when he couldn’t speak, only a little boy trotting around after his giggling sister, there was once a time where he was a rather glad child, one who was softer, sweeter even. Sometimes she would dwell on the memories for too long and find herself praying to the Mother for that little boy once more. But she knew better than to pray for someones character.
Alayna looked past her brother toward the Hound. She'd seen him carry out orders under her brother's command before, some more difficult to watch than the other, while some she’d only heard about within the thin walls of the Red Keep.
And yet, despite all the talk around him, she couldn't help but feel guilty for the comfort she found with him in quiet moments of protection.
She was silent as she looked back at her brother, the Heir.
Alayna lowers her head as she let out a soft sigh, the sound filling the room accompanying the fire… in which she concluded that a servant must have lit while she slept. She knew better than to skip a host's dinner, yet that didn’t stop her longing for a quiet night spent inside her room, a moment of rest where no one expected anything of her.
“Tell Mother that I’ll be there soon, I just need to get ready” she says in resignation as she places the carafe of wine back on the cellarette. The red liquor she knew would be drunk before she left the room.
She slowly raises her head to look back at her Brother, but her eyes flickered toward the Hound. His imposing figure captured her attention as he silently watched the royal siblings bicker.
His large build filled the expanse of the door frame, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. Alayna couldn't help but notice how he never lazily placed his hand against the hilt of his sword like her Brother. But rather chose to hold it, as if he feared that if he lowered his guard then he would be the first to bleed in a fight.
What a shame to be the guard dog of such a Prince, forced to listen to his incept opinions, to be tied to such a boy till he is named King.
Her gaze wandered back to her Brother noticing the angry sway he always did before he'd walk off. He always thought himself more like Tywin, he’d pretend to keep his emotions in check when in truth, he wore them the same way a whore wore clothes. He was to brazen, to loud when silence was demanded, always roared when silent fury was required.
“You better be there” he tries to bite out but the faux venom in his voice had no effect on her. To her, he looked like a little lion trying to roar for the first time. it would have been sweet if she hadn’t known what effect he desired from his words.
She stood there silently watching his spin on his heels as he sauntered out of her chambers, her glare remaining on the back of his head, and she silently hoped that he would feel the burn of her gaze as he walked into the Grand Hall.
As the door shut behind them she couldn't help but feel that the silence that followed as loud, louder that anything she'd experienced. The heat of the hearth filing the room and flushing her cheeks as she felt the bed give way under her as she sat down. the tension she felt since the moment she woke up finally dissipating, if only for a moment.
The Halls were filled with the sigils of both house Baratheon and house Stark as she walked in, her body lingering in the doorway as she mentally talked herself into entering the Grand Hall. The scent of warm breads and roasting meats making her mouth water, but she had no real hunger.
"Hiding will do you no good little Doe" She heard his whisper out from behind her, causing her to spin around to meet his eyes.
It was in quiet moments like these where her Brother's dog would crowd her, making her blood rush with feeling she was accompanied with. How he'd stand close enough to her to force her gaze up to meet his, yet far enough so that their interactions would seem as just that, conversations.
Not that they weren't ever anything else. The two only ever spoke in passing over the past few years, both aware of each other's presence but only having acknowledged it on her name day a few years back.
“Don’t act as if you have some moral grounds to protect me Clegane. Did Joffrey send for you to check on me?” she bites back, yet her words didn’t hold as much bite as his did, they never did. It was a talent she thought that only he had ever possessed, how his words would make her skin shiver out of anticipation for his next word.
But he didn’t speak, choosing to let his silence carry between the two as his eyes slowly trained down her body, eyeing over the dress she chose to wear.
Now out of the comfortable dresses she wore on her journey North, her cottons now replaced with golden silks that she was so often seen wearing, her collarbones on display that would have been unsuitable for an unwed Princess, yet she wore it anyways; the edges covered by a thin line of brown fur.
As for her arms, she had them covered in an almost velvet red in honour of her Mother's house. Her waist cinched with a simple ribbon wrapped around just under breasts leaving her looking mature, while hiding her womanly figure behind the fabric.
But it was her jewelry that Sandor always noticed, not because she favoured brightly colored gems like her mother, or desired crystals from Yi-Ti. But because of how she favoured more simple gems. Her fingers were only covered with the three bands she’d usually wear, often large enough for her to loosen around her fingers before rotating them around her digit whenever she had thoughts that would linger in her head. Her neck was adorned with a simple gold chain that was laced with rubies which only complimented the beating pulse in her neck that he could see if he often focused on her too much.
“Be a good dog and go tell your master that I don’t need to be watched over like a child.” she hissed as a grimace formed against her chimeric face. Her body moved without thinking, but so did his.
The second he saw her turn in an attempt to walk away from the hall, from her duties, from him.
His rough hand wrapped around her upper arm before pressing her against the cold stone of the castle. Her breath left her lungs as she looked up at him wide eyed, half with shock that he would touch her in a way that was unbecoming between a knight and a Princess, and half almost daring him to go further.
The sound of the great Hall behind them as they remained there looking at one another, his hold against her arm firm as his other hand moved up to her collarbone, rough pads of his fingers almost reverently ghosting over her skin.
The gentle reminder that should someone with to walk out to the corridors for air, they would be discovered and Alayna couldn't help the gentle flush that spread against her ears at the idea. Her reputation would be ruined, although she doubts her Father would allow that, he'd more than likely place the blame against the Hound, claim him no better than a dog and have his blood staining the snow by morning.
“You should change” was all he muttered under an almost pained breath as his lip curled up, as if he were disgusted with himself for touching the soft expanse of her skin, skin that no one had dared touch except him.
“Because you think the Stark boy would like it?” she couldn't help it, she was her father's daughter in not just looks, but in fury and her stubborn nature.
“Do you think that maybe I would catch the eye of some other lowly Lords too perhaps, maybe even invi-"
“Because your Brother would enjoy seeing you in such a dress” he cuts her off with a curt bark, her eyes showing nothing but fire that seemed to have been trapped in his skin as he paired down at her before releasing her with a gentle shove and taking a few languish steps away from her.
She was silent at his claim, the hidden meaning behind his words making her skin crawl differently, as if she had thousands of little spiders crawling over her most intimate areas, spiders that she couldn't brush off no matter how much her thoughts strayed from his meaning.
“You don't understand the words you speak” she gritted out, hesitancy filling her voice as she wavered. When push came to shove, her Brother could be a spoiled cunt, but he never seemed Targaryen in the nature of his proclivities.
Alayna could see his thoughts running wild, his jaw clenched in restraint as he fought the urge to speak words that should never reach the ears of a maiden. “Go change little doe. Before some northern cunt decides to go hunting for deer.”
Without waiting for her responses, he sauntered away from her and towards the bustling noise in the hall. She watched him as he moved away from her, his shoulders swaying ever so gently as he disappeared from sight.
A heavy sigh leaving her lips, one she hadn't been aware of her holding in. her shoulders relaxing as a result as she leaned back against the stone walls once more, and resting her head against the stone, her eyes resting for a moment as she tried to compose herself.
Who did he think he was, telling her what to do, or telling her lies that would differ her opinion on her younger Brother.
She hated this feeling, as if she were some helpless little girl, one who still needed to be watched over as if she were made up of glass. She wanted nothing more than to prove him wrong; to rub his false truths into that scared face of his.
But she knew better than to let her emotions lead her, her Grandsire taught her better than that, 'one day you'll be a woman, use that, but never let them see inside' she remembers him telling her during the long winter. How she kept him company in Casterly Rock, nights spend reading ledgers with him by the fire as the two drank, her her warm honeyed milk, and him his Dornish red.
She used that knowledge close to her chest as she grew; if often wasn't needed but in times like this she was grateful for him and his teachings. she could feel all eyes on her as she walked into the Hall, the sounds of people laughter and cutlery against plates grinding against her eyes, but she never showed it.
She never did.
Her seat was cold as she sat down at the table full of the Stark kids, her seat next to the heir of Winterfell making her throat close with the notion that she'd be forced to converse when she had no real desire for it.
“Princess, we were getting worried” Robb whispered to her as she sat strong in his seat. “We're the beds just that comfortable here compared to King's Landing?” he teases.
She had to fight the smirk forming against her lips at his jest as she looked to the table at the vast array of foods. Roasts and seasoned root vegetables litter the table, large vases of northern wine being replenished by the servant every few minutes.
It made her mouth water. It had been so long since her family had had a real meal like this, to the point where she had even heard Myrcella and Tommen complaining about their lack of gourmet food on the ride up North.
“Clearly, you've never been on the roads for over a month lordling” she says as she grabs one a goblet of wine and takes a leisurely sip, all the while looking at the Young Wolf with a cheeky glint in her eye.
“I do hope the roads weren't too strenuous. Tell me, how are you fi-
“Robb! Stop hogging the princess, I want to talk with her”
“Arya, you can't interrupt brother when he's speaking to the royal family”
“Forgive my Sis-”
“Is it true that you know how to fight? My Brothers Robb and Jon says that you know sword and bow”
“ARYA”
Alayna couldn't help the laugh that rippled through her, her hand holding her stomach rather than politely covering her mouth as a girl of her position should. The sounds of her laugh only mirrored the ones her Father made on the other side of the room; two stags letting themself drown in their hedonistic proclivities.
She felt the heat of a dozen eyes on her as she allowed herself to laugh freely at the young Stark girls, the noise lingering in the air the same way the Stags before her did. The sound fading from existence just as quickly as it came.
"Yes little wolf, although I am most likely not as skilled as your Brothers" Alayna chuckles before she
The memory was still fresh, even after all the years of embroidery classes, as history lessons that her Mother forced upon her. how she watched her Father in the training yard after he had fought against the Iron Isle, how she would hide in the dark corners of the yard as she would try her best to copy his moves with sticks rather than steel.
Her little tongue sticking out in concentration as she tried to make her feet move the same way he would, how she would put sticks in her hair and pretend she had a helm like him, her little hands garnering small scratches she would tell her Mother were from her sowing rather than fighting.
She remembers how her Mother and Father fought hard the night he made the demand for her to learn how to wield a sword, how he demanded the best blacksmith in all of King's Landing make his Daughter her own blade, one that she'd be forced to hide the more she came into her age.
How quickly her Mother forgave him that night when the six-year-old doe wander the Halls from a bad dream, hoping for the comfort of her Mother only to hear her own pained cries coming from her chambers; or how Joffrey came nine moons later.
The way Aryas' eyes lit up reminded her of her own Sister, whenever she would allow her to win at Cyvasse or when she would see a new rose blooming within her garden.
"Do you know how to wield a sword my lady?" she questions looking at the young girl down the table.
Alayna watched as she looked back at her mother for a moment as if she were nervous about openly saying her answer. The Princess followed her line of sight only to see her mother staring down at her before looking back into the crowd, the look of indifference that she'd grown accustomed to, never once leaving her Mother's face.
She turned back to the children at the table before glancing her gaze over to the other Stark girl. Her glare at the younger, similar to Alayna's mothers whenever she had been slighted by another woman at court.
“My Brothers have shown me how to protect myself Princess” Arya explains cautiously looking up that the princess, her words careful chosen as the young girl felt her Mother's eyes lingering on her.alayna forced a smile, her heart clenching for the young girl, how she must have longed for the sound of steel sarking in the cold of the morning, or how the saddle would bruise the inner of their thighs after hours of riding, how duty demanded that she hold a needle rather than sword.
“You must be very lucky to have such honorable brothers who would help you my lady, tell me lady Sansa” she says politely looking towards Sansa, her posture immediately lifting as the princess finally noticed her rather than her younger and more rebellious sister. “I heard rumour that you were proficient in your sowing, you must have a favorite form of stitch work”
Alayna knew how to make young girls in the Red Keep feel seen, it was a talent that her Father deemed her to be a delight to have in King's Landing, having someone with their head on tight, who knew how to work the masses that he could not - how could a Stag like him relate to the pretty girls of court without a drink in on hand and a hand full of ass in the other.
And Alayna knew she hit the jackpot when Sansa practically jumped from her seat, her smile wide as her eyes crinkled, it was sweet. Seeing a girl who had a genuine love and passion for something, a Lady nonetheless, Alayna spent half the night drowning as she was assaulted with questions from the Stark girls, her smile tried and true as she answered them, making sure to give both the girls the respect that they deserved.
She would often look to her side to notice how Robb watched her with a gentle smile adorning his pretty face, on that, she wasn't entirely sure if it was a smile or just a look of warmth at how she treated the girls. How she made them feel listened to and as if their thoughts and ideals mattered to her.
The more the night drifted into the dark hours of the morning, the more she thought on the idea of spending her life within the walls of Winterfell, having a Northern husband, leaving her family behind. In truth, it scared her, she often fought the idea of marriage with her Mother, and her Father let her get away with it out of the love he had for his Daughter, the idea of his little girl, the one who reminded him of the life he could have had, leaving him once more?
He wouldn't have it.
And the king's word was law.
"I hear we are to become family soon" Alayna heard her Mother say at one point, her head turning slightly to catch onto even a sliver of the conversation, but she was unable to hear much more other than a few fleeting words over the sound of the crowd.
The familiar dread forming in her gut once more, only this time she didn't feel the familiar sickly tingle over her spine like she did in the halls, she felt her cheeks flush as her dress felt uncomfortably hot against her body, the feeling of her skin prickling, her stomach churning, his fingers against her.
Her eyes traveled across the room, glancing over the sea of dark hair, finding her father with a bright smile and a whore on his lap...
Typical.
She turned her head to quickly look away from her father. Her love for him was immeasurable and unconditional, but that did not stop her from being repulsed by how he disrespected her Mother. Yet she was met with eyes staring down at her. Her breath caught in her throat as she felt the hair on her neck spike, her gaze unwavering as she held his gaze; determination to not let the violent dog frighten.
"ARYA!" shouted Sansa, forcing Alayna to look over at the girl only to find her cheek covered with a mix of mashed potatoes and gravy. Her poor ladies maid attempting to help clean her up as Arya readied another spoon ready to fling it back at her sister.
"Forgive me princess" Robb whispers against her ear, his breath gently fanning against her cheeks in a way he more than likely didn't mean too, but that didn't stop her from looking up at him like a Doe caught in trap, all wide-eyes as she watched him stand before hulling Arya away from the table.
She watched as Robb escorted his younger Sister to bed, walking her through the crowd in a way an lordling should - firm and broad - walking as if he had the weight of Winterfell on his shoulders, as if he were the wolf of the North simply because he was the oldest. but Alayna knew the truth, just because he had been made during the ends of war, didn't ensure that he had the knowledge of war within him. He was as much of a war lord as she was, the two being born only nine moons apart, they may have been born screaming and covered in the blood of another, yet she doubted that either of them would leave the world the same.
Alayna's eyes traveled back to Sandor's once more, but his gaze was elsewhere. She felt her gut twist as she reached out for her chalice of wine once more before allowing herself to indulge for the rest of the night, especially as Sansa now had the princess all to herself to talk about her 'studies' in the art of being a noble woman for her future lord husband.
Gods be damned
Alayna spent the next morning sleeping off the ache in her skull, she didn't indulge in wines and meads as often as her father did, and she could only assume that that was the reason for her discomfort.
It was easily noon before Sir Barristan knocked against her door pulling her from her slumber as she granted him entrance.
She remembers how as a girl, her father urged her to take a knight for a sword sword, but once again, Alayna refused, just like how her mother deemed it fitting that she have a posse of handmaids to keep her company at all times. She couldn't imagine anything worse than having a group of her peers as little spies for her mother, or perhaps for even Littlefinger or Varys if they were so cunning.
Alayna much preferred her own company as well as that of her younger sibling, watching Tommen practice his Ledgers while Myrcella her embroidery, and while there were time where she had been forced to attend tea with the the ladies of the court, she always found a reason to be excused from their incept conversations.
Always talking about the most recent fashions from Drone, or how comely some of the young lords were becoming, she could even recall one time where the topic of flower was the main destruction, her mother the whole time forcing her to sit there and join when she would have rather listened to Renly complain about the taxes against the small folk for a millionth time.
Yet, all of these memories did nothing to rouse the princess, not until she heard the sound of the wooden panels against the window hit the stone walls with a thud, the light shining against her face - which surprised her with how brightly it shone into her room despite how dark and gloomy Winterfell was - she couldn’t help the groan leaving her as she tried to nestle herself into the bedding even further.
“Your family is breaking their fast Princess,” she heard his voice before she say him, “if you’re fast enough you might get there in time for it to still be warm” She let out a sting of murmurs against the furs in response, yet her words barely made sense to the knight.
“Forgive me Princess, I don’t speak bed unfortunately” he teased with a smirk against his ageing face.
“Perhaps your age is finally betraying you” she quipped as she rolled over onto her back as she let out a very unladylike noise closer to a growl and a whine. the sunlight against her eyelids only making her aching head double over ten-fold.
“Perhaps after breakfast I'll spar with you and show you just how good my hearing is princess;” that make her smile, it was something soft and true, and yet, Sir Barristan was one of the only few men in the Seven Kingdoms who had been enabled to entice a genuine softness from her, a softness that few had the privilege of seeing.
“With how much my head is pounding, I hardly doubt that will do much to quell me pain” she says as she moves to sit up, her muscles aching from whatever dancing she assumes she might have done last night.
Flashes of her spinning and laughing on the dance floor came to fruition, her hair whipping around her face as her dress fanned out around her - A Northern dance - and while not the most fun, they did at least know how to dance.
Images of the younger Stark come to her mind, how he spun her around, his hand firm against her waist as he hoisted her into the air. She remembers brown eyes almost as dark as knight watching her.
She remembers his gently scared hand brushing hair out of her face as he rested her against her bed.
Alayna slowly moves off the bed, her movements sluggish as the lingering mead remains in her system, wrapping the soft pelt against her shoulders as her bare feet hit the floor. it was a feeling she was becoming increasingly fond of. the cold stone against her feet, her shoulders relaxing each time as she lets out a small sigh.
“I think I would prefer to eat in my room this morning” she mutters, her eyes cast downwards as she ponders the storm it would cause her Mother internally.
“Is that all Princess?” she hears him as as he stops towards the door of her chambers. he was always good like that, caring that is. As a girl he often made sure that she was without nothing in terms of her comfort, and as a young maiden she appreciated him even more.
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I keep seeing people theories as to who in AKOTSK would have would hand would have dragons and every time I see them, a small part of me dies cause I don't think it accurately portrays the characters and their motives in Universe. So here is my theory and my reasoning behind each one.
This is a joke. Everyone is entitled to their opinions, but I genuinely love seeing peoples opinions on this, I think its really interesting hearing peoples opinions 🖤❤️
Aerion: Claimed Caraxes
Starting out strong, I think this kind goes without saying. The two of them are very much kindred spirits. I don't think Caraxes would bond with anyone after Daemon, they were both outcasts by both dragons and people, they found themselves whole together so I imagine that after his (Daemons) death that hole would fester until he found Aerion.
I can imagine them bonding a few weeks after Aerion turned 11 on a family trip to Harrenhal, the rumor that a dragon had been haunting the lands for over 150+ years only enticing the him. He'd spend days leaving his chambers in the middle of the night, searching for even a glimpse of wings within the clouded sky's. Something to quell is hunger. Eventually, he'd give up one night and cry by the Gods eyes, cursing the gods for with holding the one thing he wanted. He was a Dragon, yet no one in the family took him for one. He'd eventually fall asleep against the wet mud, his small body curled up into a ball.
Caraxes would see it, the little boy much like Daemon, and Aemon, cursing, screaming at the air, kicking where water met dirt. Before, he'd eventually fall to his knees before crying himself to sleep. He'd crawl from the cave along to mountains, towards the sleeping boy, his nose nudging him gently to see he was alive before crawling up next to his new rider. The small boys back against a warm wall of scales.
Baelon: Claimed Melyes
I AM VERY FIRM IN THIS. Meleys had would have had Daenys the defiant as a rider after Rhaenys. After her death, she'd be rather content waiting on Dragonstone for another rider, oftentimes going to Harrenhal and Kingslanding from time to time. I don't think she ever expected 21 year old Baelor to find her as her wandered the vast hills of Dragonstone.
The threat of threat would be brewing as Aegons III was nearing his deathbed, and yet he found himself in the middle of everything, his father in talks of naming him his hand when he takes the throne, the constant reminders of marriage and matches lined up for him, his brother wife expecting a child. He needed a moment, a sliver of tranquility, before he devoted himself to the realm for life.
He sat against the grass, only to hear deep rumblings beneath himself. He knew that dragons rested in the hills of Dragonstone, and yet he had yet to see one up close. He'd let his leg carry him towards the sound source, unconsciously entering the cave before slipping against the wet rock, only to land in front of the Red Queen herself.
She'd watch him as if contemplating eating him, but as she took note of how he didn't cower like Daena (The Defiant), only watching her with eyes like Alyssas and hair like Rhaenys, she couldn't do it do it. So, she'd rest once more, letting her only male rider claim her in silence.
Maekar: Claimed Vermithor
Oh boy, Vermithor at his old grumpy age would love this man. After the dance, I feel like he'd go into hibernation and grow to the size of Vhagar. He's reclusive, rough, yet he's got a lot of loyalty to give to a Rider worthy of him.
Maekar would be claimed him no less than a week after Baelor claimed his dragon. Rumors of his family not being 'Targaryen enough' plaguing him, and his brother. Baelor grew to ignore it, Aerys too engrossed in his scriptures and while Rhaegel... he didn't understand it even if he tried.
But Maekar wasn't his brother's. He'd hear it in the streets, in halls. The servants and guards always having something to say behind closed doors. And now it seemed ten-fold as Dyanna grew closer to term with their child. Theorys as to the child's coloring coming into question one night lent him to wander the beaches of Dragonstone. His mind racing with thoughts and fears he'd take to his grave.
He never told anyone how he claimed Vermithor, only that he claimed him as the night turned to dawn. Two moons later, his son was born, and after another moon, her took his firstborn on a ride around the island; promising him sweet nothing and oaths of protection only the two fathers would remember
Valarr: Hatched
After Aegon the Unlucky, dragons being born in the cradle were a rare thing, his distain for them only grew more until the practice being a rarity for the house of the dragon. It wasn't until Valarr was born that Baelor deemed to try and bring the tradition back to fruition.
A baby boy, hair as dark as night, say for the silver streak in his hair. Baelor knew which egg would have been perfect for his sweet summer child. Elaena dragon egg, Baelor had begged his aunt for the privilege. It was only her the joys of her own children getting their eggs to hatch, that she accepted his pleas.
The egg hatched within two weeks of being placed in the crib. A slender little dragon, her spine adorning small golden horns while the rest of her was covered in an almost white silver, her scales almost reflecting the sun as it would shine against the two.
It was his mother who found them first, the remnants of the shell littering the floor. Tales of babes from old vealyrea used to tell of dragons who would reject their birth rider, how they would knaw and bite against the babes plush skin till there would be nothing but bones and flesh. Jena had run up to her babes crib, fearing the worst, fearing what the powers of the house of the dragon would have inflected on her sweet boy, only to find him resting peacefully, with his new dragon curled up beside him, her tiny head no larger than a lime resting against his tummy.
Daeron: claimed Moondancer
I see so many people claim that Dreamfyre is a dragon of fertility, and while I agree, I believe that she's also a dreamer dragon.
Dreamfyre was almost claimed by Daemon II multiple times, yet every time he'd attempt to touch her, she'd screech and fly away. It was only after the first Blackfyre rebellion that she'd return to Westeros. Opting to hide in the caves of Dragonstone and laying small clutches of eggs for future generations.
Daemons dreams stared when she returned. Often running to his parents' room with tears in his Lilac eyes, begging his parents to keep him safe in his dreams, and believing him when they said they would. It wasn't till his nineteenth name day that his dreams of blue wings fanning across medows of green, song of the past and tales of tomorrow's finally damped.
His father would have deemed a hunt necessary for his nameday, this hardened caution lingering in Daerons ears, he refrained from all kinds of drinks that day, his endless nights of unrest finally catching up to him as he lingered behind the pack of men, hungry for a taste of the hunt. Yet he wished for no part in it. His dreams would slowly settle into the day, often at times making him unaware of if he were hallucinating or just imagining things.
The blue against the lush greenery was what drew him in first, his horse begrudgingly obeying his commands to move closer. Yet as the head of a dragon arose, he could not bring it in him to feel frightened. He'd dreamt of her before, with riders whose hair was as white as silver. Surely, he was dreaming once more.
Aemon: Unclaimed
Aemon grew up watching his brother claiming and training with dragons and swords, as a child he would watch them and let his imagination run wild, yet Daemon and his father were the only ones he could remember taking him on dragon rides.
Yet while he watched the dragons in the sky, he stuck to his books, often time being found in the libraries with his Uncle Aerys whenever he and his wife were in Kingslanding or Harrenhal. He'd read about histories with dragons rather than riding them. It was when he first read about Aerea Targaryen - how she traveled with the Black dread only to come back to Kingslanding only to die in ways the histories and maesters were unsure off.l
As a young boy at 12, the thought of his brother's or anyone else in his family suffering the same fate only brought him dread. So he vowed to himself that he would do everything in his power to avoid anything happening to his family.
I feel like if his Egg ever did hatch, it would do so at the Wall. A small thing with wings of cobalt and scales of black. The poor thing would barely grow larger than a cat (much to the Rangers dismay). But it would be adored by the it brother's of the watch all the same
Aegon 'Egg' : Unclaimed
Aegon always felt as if he was an outsider, reading about dragons while his egg remained resting against the fireplace, attempting to heat it. Yet he refused to listen when people said it would have turned to stone; it in turn, became one of the reasons his older brother started to call him Egg, as the boy would never be often seen without his clutched to his chest.
Egg would watch as his brother would each claim a dragon, only Aemon and his never moved, never giving the incling that they would either. He'd inturn, only grow closer with his rider less brother, opting to read stories about dragons, while Aemon studied in the hopes of traveling to oldtown to study.
It wasn't until Ashford, while he and Daeron were on the road (Maekar would force the two to ride there, claiming it was the way a knight should travel.) That he ran into Sir Duncan the Tall. A knight, a man as tall as a dragon in his eyes and more than likely stronger than one too. And for a split second, he thanked the Seven for finally awnsering his prayers
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