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pairing: rhaenyra targaryen x fem!hightower!reader
description: the dance is over, the blacks have won. rhaenyra has taken control of the red keep, making quick work of executing those who have wronged her, save for alicent, who would be locked in a tower for the rest of her days, and gwayneâs daughter, who she has special plans for.
warnings: SMUT, canon-divergent (blacks win au, rhaenyra does not take kings landing until she wins), slight dark!rhaenyra but just glimpses, slight dubcon in beginning but after that itâs 100% consensual, mentions of death, several mentions of b&c, doesnât follow plot to a t but def contains spoilers, violence, and all other got/hotd triggers just to be safe
words: 8K
date posted: 13/11/24
Kingâs Landing had been nothing but chaos since she had arrived so long ago, accompanied by her cousin Daeron who had been called into the fight for the throne. Her father, while off fighting this senseless war alongside the Hand of the King, had requested that his only daughter be brought to stay in Kingâs Landing as a means of protection. That was, of course, long before Aemond and Vhagar were killed in battle and Rhaenyra descended upon Kingâs Landing on Syrax, flanked by five other fully-grown dragons and their riders. If she had thought things had been chaotic amidst the war, there were simply no words to describe the capitol in the days to come.
She had been with her aunt when the Blacks landed, spending most of her days with the Dowager Queen in the wake of her own daughterâs death. She did not mind, knowing herself to be Alicentâs greatest comfort in that period, as well as the fact that she had also gone without the gentle touch of a mother since she was a child. Jaehaera often joined them, blissfully unaware to the fact that her mother had died months earlier, These prayer and tea times that they spent together were sacred to each of them, until, of course, they turned their gaze to the window, where Syraxâs golden scales glittered in the sunlight as she landed in the courtyard with grace.
Aegon had been in no position to defend his crown. He was dragonless and crippled, both at the hand of his younger brother, and Daeron was still leagues away from the capitol with his own dragon Tessarion. As Rhaenyraâs mount snarled and snapped at the white cloaks around her, they were quick to surrender as they took in the sight of the five other dragons circling in the clouds above; there was no way out.Â
Those loyal to Rhaenyra were quick to storm the castle, keeping everyone inside until she could discover exactly who her enemies were and who were simply complicit. She had swiftly had Aegon executed, as well as Otto Hightower and the rest of the Small Council, save for Alicent. Sheâd been far too close with the Dowager Queen to have her publicly humiliated and put to death, and considering that she had admitted to making such a grave mistake in regards to the succession, she instead had her locked in a tower until further notice. Her only request was that she would be joined by her niece and granddaughter until Rhaenyra made other arrangements for them, which Rhaenyra was merciful enough to oblige. She was not a tyrant, and felt no desire to punish the innocent for the crimes of men.Â
Nine days they were locked in the tower with no word from Rhaenyra. The white cloaks guarding their door were curt when asked, and only opened the door for their meals and the bare necessities to be delivered to them. It was a tight space, one that was likely intended to be a luxurious cell for one, though luckily Jaehaera took up little to no space at all as she was usually physically attached to either her cousin or grandmother. Both women made an effort to keep the young princess comfortable and entertained in some way, whether it be by telling her stories, singing with her, creating makeshift games for them to play togetherâŠthey both understood that she was just about that age where everything could suddenly begin making sense, and they wanted to delay her realisation of the situation as much as possible. They spent their nights huddled together for warmth, being so high up in the castle as winter came upon the realm made for some very cold nights, and they were all eager when a handmaiden arrived in the morning with a jug of warm water for them to clean up with.Â
Finally, on the tenth day, Alicent had decided she had had enough. She had woken the two younger females up with her banging and yelling at the door, demanding to see the queen. Jaehaera clung to her cousin in fright while Y/n watched in anticipation as the door swung open, one of the guards stepping forward to confront the Hightower woman.Â
âItâs been ten days,â she hissed, straightening her back in an attempt to reclaim any authority that she may have left, âI demand to see the queen. Not for myself, but for the sake of my niece and granddaughter, who are being punished for crimes they are wholly innocent of.â
The white cloak rolled his eyes, âYou demand? Just as you have for the last ten days? The queen is busy, she has a realm to recover from the war you caused. Now, be quiet, your concerns will be brought to the queen and, no doubt, be dismissed, just as all of your others have.â
The door rattled with the force that he closed it with, leaving Alicent to slouch and huff in disbelief. How had her life turned out this way? How had she fallen so far from her position as queen to become nothing more than a prisoner and a nuisance to her guards? Her shoulders began to tremble as a sob tore its way from her throat, though no tears escaped her watery eyes. This was not sadness or anger that she was feeling, nor was it grief for the loss of each of her children, having received word of Daeronâs death in battle only days earlier. No, this was complete and utter defeat; everything she had ever worked towards gone and abandoned beneath the rubble of utter destruction. Her family and legacy, destroyed because of a simple misunderstanding on her part, because the lords of the realm would see the world in flames before a queen sat the Iron Throne.Â
Alicent sank into the embrace of her niece and granddaughter as they gathered around her. She stroked each of their hair, absorbing the last ounces of love that she would be offered in this world.Â
âDonât cry,â she whispered, her thumb caressing Jaehaeraâs soft cheek and wiping away the tear that slid down her flesh. In that instant, she was transported back, staring down at her sweet Helaena; what she wouldnât give to have only a few moments more with her, to have been able to be there and wipe away her tears and stop her from throwing herself to her own demise. âEverything is alright, my little dragon. And you, my sweet niece, you are both going to be alright.â
A few hours later, the three were stirred awake as their guards banged on the door, announcing their oncoming entrance. Alicent bounced to her feet, placing herself between the door and the two younger girls.Â
The knight stepped inside the room, his face as stern as ever, âQueen Rhaenyra has decided to be merciful, and meet your demands. Come at once, or not at all.â
The Dowager Queen was quick to motion the other two to follow, taking each of them by the hand as she rushed after the knight. She would not waste the one opportunity to help what was left of her kin as much as she could, even if it meant that she would face a long and desolate future all on her own.Â
They finally reached the throne room, and of course Rhaenyra would only agree to meet the remaining members of her enemyâs family in front of the entire court. Y/n noticed immediately how empty the room appeared, numbers dwindling quickly within the Red Keep and leaving only those who bent the knee behind. Some were blindly faithful to the Hightowers, even to their graves, which brought the girl some comfort, but very little considering that it meant that she too would need to abandon every value sheâd been taught since she was able to walk.Â
The remaining courtiers leered at them, no doubt having the most offensive swears and curses on their tongues, only holding back out of fear of the new queen. Regardless of the fact that they had bent the knee, more than half of these lords were undoubtedly hating the fact that a woman had ascended the throne and only surrendered out of fear. Y/n hoped that Rhaenyra might have some mercy for Jaehaera at least, if not for herself. Of course, she mourned the deaths of her father, grandfather, and cousins; she had once accepted a betrothal to Jason Lannisterâs eldest son on behalf of her familyâs cause, so there was some evidence against her own odds. The young child, however, could not be blamed for the work of her father by anyone with half a mind, though she has heard that Rhaenyra has grown mad since the death of her son Lucerys, so half a mind may have been too much to ask for.Â
Rhaenyra herself looked nothing short of regal as she sat upon the Iron Throne, the crown placed neatly upon her tight nest of braids previously belonging to her father, and her great grandfather before him. Her violet stare was piercing as they grew closer, but her eyes were trained entirely on Alicent as she tucked her niece and granddaughter behind her, jaw shifting back and forth, signalling that she had been grinding her teeth in anticipation.Â
Beside her stood her two remaining children, Aegon and Viserys, both seeming far too young to truly understand what sort of position they were currently in, how much power they wielded over the rest of the souls in this room. They were both toddlers when the war began, and Aegon did not appear to be any older than six or seven.
One of her queensguard stepped forward, his booming voice echoing around the partially empty chamber, âYou stand before Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm. You come before her as traitors for conspiring with the pretender and usurper Aegon the Weak. How do you answer these claims?â
Alicent let out a shuddered breath, âYo-your Grace. Iâwe come before you to humbly askââ
Rhaenyra let out a pitiful laugh, one that held nothing but malice behind it, âHumbly? You come before me humbly?â
The court let out a unanimous, nervous chuckle, all anticipating the queenâs next words.
Alicentâs face drained of colour, âYou-your Grace?â
âYour niece and granddaughter who you hide away from me, they may come to me to ask for mercy, humbly, as you say. They are innocent in all of this, only the pawns of a greater game.â The queen grinned, âA game that all began with you.â
Alicent scoffed, quickly wiping the single tear that fell down her cheek, âYour Grace, last time we spoke face-to-face, we seemed on the same page. Forgive me for my confusion at your animosity.â
âAnimosity?â Rhaenyra leaned forward, fingers gripping the arms of her throne in rage, âWhen we last spoke face-to-face, you swore to me that your usurper of a son had agreed to abdicate, that he was too crippled to even sit his own throne. Then, I come to learn that none of this was true, and that he had instead taken advantage of my lack of preparedness and had instead invaded the territory of my own allies. So explain to me exactly how my anger at your lies and betrayal to be displaced animosity.â
âRhaenyrââ
âYou will address the queen with respect to her title, traitor.â The same member of the queensguard spoke with an edge to his voice.
Alicent sighed, âYour Grace, I come to you, humbly, as a woman of the Faith, as you well know.â
âFaithful enough to take a lover before my fatherâs corpse was even cold,â She laughed, eyes looking out at the members of her court, who all seemed in shock at the admittance, âThe words came from your own lips when we last spoke face-to-face, do not deny it to me now.â
Y/n frowned, tears pooling along her waterline as she tucked Jaehaera into her side. As if to protect her from these slanderous words, although she did not doubt any truth behind them. Her aunt had always been a faithful woman, so chaste it was almost impossible to believe, so it did not surprise her to find the woman who had once been her closest confidant airing out her darkest truths before the court. She did not blame her, despite the fact that she had drilled into her head the importance of virtue and chastity as a woman, but in truth, her aunt was the strongest woman she had ever known; she was forced into a marriage with a man who was more than double her age, taking on the role of queen at sixteen and consequently losing her best friend; she was the mother of four mentally unwell children, one unable to keep his wits about him, one who was tragically more in tune with the world than anyone gave her credit for, one who was maniacally vengeful, and another who grew up away from her protection. Perhaps Daeron had been the luckiest of them, considering how his siblings had fared, but Y/n knew that he had experienced his own ailments that had been kept well concealed on behalf of her great-uncle, the Lord of Oldtown, and she also knew exactly how the lack of a maternal figure affected a child.
Her father had done his best, but often admitted that he wished his sister had been there to help him guide her to womanhood. The septas could only do so much, though they taught her more self hatred than anything. Her great-aunt was a stern woman, and had no patience for her questions or girlish dreams, and pushed her away as much as humanly possible.Â
âYour Grace,â her voice carried through the hall before she could even think, all eyes turning to the meek figure hiding behind her aunt and standing before the queen as a traitor. Rhaenyra herself seemed surprised to hear from her, violet eyes staring down at her curiously, âForgive us. Forgive us for our crimes against your reign. My lady aunt speaks the truth when she tells you that we come to you humbly, three women guilty of nothing but being under the control of the wrong men. You, yourself, have experienced this cruelty, as has every other lady in this room.â
The queen seemed taken by her words, sitting back against her throne thoughtfully, âYou mean to appeal to my mercy based on our shared experiences? On our mutual sex? Do you truly consider the three of you completely innocent of any crimes?â
âInnocent?â Y/n asked, âIââ
âStep forward,â the queen commanded, âYou muster enough courage to speak before me. Speak to me plainly and speak to me truthfully.âÂ
Y/nâs gaze fluttered to the ground, then to her aunt, whose eyes were wide and glossy with fear. She shook her head, pleading with her not to speak any further. She inhaled deeply, sliding her palm over the crown of sweet Jaehaeraâs head before she finally stepped around her aunt and stood directly before the queen.
âWe do not have all day,â the queen smirked.
She clenched her jaw, growing angry with how much the woman seemed to be enjoying their humiliation, âMy aunt admitted to her mistake, and yes, she is partially responsible for this war and her lapse in judgement is one that cannot be so easily forgiven or forgotten.â
âThere we agree.â
Y/n swallowed harshly, âBut you must not forget, that the plan toâŠusurp your throne existed from the moment that Aegon was born. You better than anyone must know that. While your father lived, you were protected, but he was the only man in this world who has ever wanted you to succeed.â
Rhaenyra gulped, âYou speak as if you know me. As if you know my life, or the people in it.â
âI do not mean to offend Your Grace, I only wish you to understand,â a stray tear trickled down her face. âI accepted a betrothal made for me on behalf of my grandsire, a man who you executed for his crimes. I have never met the man I was meant to marry, nor was I ever going to prior to our marriage. I was nothing short of a game piece. My sweet cousin, Jaehaera, barely old enough to understand the fate of her own mother, or her brother before her,â Rhaenyraâs face paled at the mere mention of little Jaehaerys, âI have no doubt that my grandsire had similar plans for her in the coming years. As for my aunt, she has made mistakes, yes, many of which she will never be able to repent for, but she was victim of only the same treatment as I, only she was given to a gentle man rather than one who is known for nothing but his ability to hunt, as I was. If you cannot find the forgiveness to spare myself or my aunt, I beseech you to take your niece into your care, for she is the only one of us completely innocent.â
Rhaenyra averted her gaze, silent for a moment before she finally waved her hand dismissively, âIâve heard enough. Take them away.â
Y/n kept her eyes steady on the queen as the guards dragged her away. She wanted nothing more than to climb those stairs and weep directly at her feet, to beg for mercy, whether it be through a quick death or a pardon, but instead she held her stare firmly, forcing the queen to stare into her eyes as long as she could before the guards dragged her into the corridor, and back up to the tower.
A day passed before they heard anything more about or from the queen. Servants came and went with their meals and the guards ignored Alicentâs insistent yelling, until the door finally opened and a white cloak stepped inside the small room.Â
âThe queen has summoned you.â
Alicent stood from the small writing desk near the window, wringing her fingers as she took a nervous step forward.Â
âNot you,â his voice stopped her, his gloved finger extending to point at the younger woman who cradled the child on the bed, âHer.â
âHer?â Alicent barked, âNo, she is innocent. What could the queen possibly have to speak to her about?â
âThat isnât any of your concern, traitor,â he scowled at her, âShe can come with me peacefully, or we can do this the hard way. I have no preference.â
Y/n shared a glance with her aunt, slowly moving to slide Jaehaera out of her lap. The child clung to her, small hands grabbing her tightly as she wept in resistance.Â
âJaehaera, please,â her voice cracked at this rare burst of emotions from her cousin. The girl had been through so much in such a short amount of time, and she didnât even truly know it. âIt will be alright. I will return.â
Alicent peeled the child away from her, cradling the child as she screamed while her niece was grabbed by the arm and roughly led out into the hallway.Â
Y/n was shocked when the guards led her away from the throne room and up into the palace where the royal bedchambers were kept.Â
âWhere are we going?â She asked the guard.Â
He ignored her, finally stopping before the largest door in the corridor, a room she had once known as Aegonâs chambers, but were now Rhaenyraâs. A shiver worked its way up her spine as the guard knocked, roughly forcing her through the door when the queen called out for them to enter.Â
The queen sat in a large chair before the roaring fireplace, far too close to such heat for anyone but the blood of the dragon. Her eyes were pulled to the door, a small curve appearing on her lips at the sight of the woman in front of her.Â
âMy lady,â she nodded her head, âYou may leave us, Ser Rychard.âÂ
The guard gave her a slight shove forward out of the way of the door as he closed it behind them, leaving the two women almost alone, save for the handmaidens that scurried around the room around them.Â
âYour Grace,â she lowered into a curtsy, âI must askââ
âSave the pleasantries,â the queen hummed, turning her gaze back to the fire, âYou were bold enough earlier. Do not tell me it was all for show.â
âI apologise if I overstepped earlier. I believe that you, of all people, can understand my desperation to preserve my cousinâs innocence.â
âI can,â the queen reached for the cup of wine at her side, taking a slow drink, âI have no intentions of harming a hair on Jaehaeraâs head.â
âYou mean it?â a weight was lifted from her shoulders, âWhat will you do with her?â
âI will keep her as my ward. Regardless of her parentage, she is a Targaryen princess and will be raised as such. She will know her histories, and she will have the finest things.â
âAnd will she know of her mother?â
Rhaenyra paused, âHelaena, for better or worse, is involved in such histories. I want the child to know not only of this war and the losses she has faced, but why they occurred and what we could learn from them.â
Y/n tilted her head and frowned, âNo.â
âNo?â the queen gasped, disbelief clear in her voice, âTell me then, what would you have me do.â
âFor better or for worse,â the younger woman scoffed, âFor better or for worse, Helaena was nothing short of a victim. I understand that you had little relations with your siblings, for reasons I cannot fault you for. But in this war, for better or for worse, there were innocent lives lost on both sides.â
âHelaena took her own life.â
âOut of grief!â Y/n paused after her voice rose in volume, collecting herself before the queen, âPerhaps you had no part in the butchering of her son, as you say, but her death was nothing short of a casualty, Iâm sure you can agree.â
Rhaenyra stood from her chair, crossing the room at a frightening speed, âYou dare question my involvement in suchâŠsuchâŠâ
âSenselessness?â
The queen paused, staring at her with that same curious stare she had worn the day before in front of the court.Â
âI believe you when you say that you had no part in this, Your Grace,â the young lady diverted her gaze to the floor, âBut regardless, the order came from your late husband. The job was done in your name. Jaehaerys was not the first victim of this war, but the pain that this caused Helaena is one that you can almost understand yourself.â
âDo not speak of it.â
âThis war has caused nothing but loss and heartache. Do not teach Jaehaera that her brother was butchered with purpose, or that her mother was a tyrant who chose to leave her.â her eyes had glossed over, and her grief had overcome the strength in her voice, âHelaena was special, she mattered, and for better or for worse, she was forced to watch as her son was brutally slain in his own bed, forced to submit to their will in order to not only save her own life, but Jaehaeraâs as well. Teach her of her mother, and who she truly was. Do not paint her as a villain or a coward for her choice to leave this world.â
Rhaenyra stared at her for a moment, a rare glimmer of understanding appearing in her violet gaze before she lunged forward, taking the younger woman in her arms. Only then did the Hightower woman allow herself to weep for the first time since her imprisonment.Â
The queen soothed her and brushed a hand over her hair. She held her close, allowing the younger woman to nuzzle into her neck as close as she needed. After a few moments, she pulled away, wiping her cheeks dry as she attempted to compose herself.
âMy apologies, my queen. I do not know what has overcome me.â
She shook her head, hand coming up to brush her thumb across her cheekbone, âDo not apologise. You are right, I know just as well as anyone that you and Princess Jaehaera are innocent of any crime beyond being born a woman. I understand your grief. The princess will learn of her mother as she was, not as she will be remembered. She will know her brother and she will understand that I had no hand in his death. She will know her father, who, beyond his many faults, I am told, was as attentive a father as he could. When she is older, I will propose a marriage between her and my own son Aegon, so that she may carry on her motherâs legacy as queen consort and finally end this feud.â
âOnly if she agrees,â Y/n whispered, âYou claim yourself to be different from men like my grandsire. Do not force her into an unwanted marriage.â
Rhaenyra scoffed out a laugh, âYou are a demanding little thing, arenât you?â
The younger lady let out a small giggle of her own, glossy eyes staring into those of the queen. Neither of them took any notice of the curious stares of the servants around them as their foreheads came together, noses brushing as Rhaenyra teased her lips against the younger ladyâs. She smiled at the surprise on her face, testing the waters once more before finally pressing their lips firmly together.Â
Y/n was still, unsure of how to react. She had not been so intimate with anyone before, let alone another woman. She had been raised as a woman of the Faith, which warned against the dangers of such temptations, but there was something so alluring about the silver-haired woman that made her not want to pull away.
The kisses shared were soft at first, but slowly grew in passion as Rhaenyra took a handful of the younger womanâs hair in her hand, guiding her mouth along with her own.Â
One of the servants cleared their throat, clearly uncomfortable with the display. Rhaenyra pulled away just enough to turn her head.
âYour Grace, your bath is ready.â
âThank you,â she nodded, âleave us.â
The handmaidens made quick work of fleeing the queenâs chambers, no doubt eager to spread such gossip through the staff of the Red Keep. Once they were gone and the door was closed behind her, Rhaenyra turned her attention back to the starry-eyed girl in front of her.
âTake off your clothes.â
âYour Grace?â
âYou heard me. I imagine you have been longing for a proper bath after days in confinement. Take off your clothes, and get in the tub.â The girl stared at her for a moment, causing some concern to appear in Rhaenyraâs eyes, âForgive me. You may leave if you wish. I will send some servants to your quarters for you to bathe in private if you so choose. However, I would like you to stay.â
At a loss for words, she mumbled out her most pressing concern, âWhat of the servants? Word will spread quickly, especially among suitors.â
âSuitors,â the queen snorted, âyou complain of betrothals one minute, and demand one the next.â
The lady shook her head, âNot for me. Forgive me, Your Grace, but I had assumed you would wish to remarry once the throne was secured.â
âI have no desire to remarry. I have been widowed twice over, and not a single one of my lovers outlived this war. I do not wish for more children, or for company offered to me by any man. I cannot deny that we would face ridicule, but if you were to become my lover, I can protect you from unwanted betrothals and you will never face hardship again in your lifetime so long as I can protect you. Regardless of your answer, you are more than welcome at my court, and I encourage you to speak to the princess of her family, for no one could do her mother justice as I know you could.â
Y/n was stunned at the sudden change in demeanour. The woman who had called them before the court to interrogate and humiliate them for their parentage was now offering her a place in her bed. The woman who had only just gotten cross with her was here offering her a permanent position not only in her court as a subject, but also as an equal within these rooms.
âSay the word,â Rhaenyra breathed into her flesh, dragging the bump of her nose down the column of her throat, âAnd you will be free of me. I shall never ask you of this again. Or, take off your clothes, and you may have everything you could ever want.â
Y/n inhaled sharply before a nervous smile appeared on her lips, âHelp me with my laces?â
Rhaenyra smirked, pressing one more kiss to her lips as she took her by the hand, leading her further into her bedchambers to where the large wooden tub had been prepared. She forced her to turn, making quick work of the laces at the back of her gown and helping her strip. Luckily, the gown was rather plain, simple blue cotton over her shift, and she was bare before the queen within moments.Â
Rhaenyraâs eyes scanned up and down her figure, a satisfied smile rising to her lips, âYour beauty exceeds my expectations, my love.â
The shift from enemy to lover was swift, so quick that Y/n felt like her head would begin to spin. She felt heat rise to her cheeks as she gingerly allowed the queen to take her by the hand, guiding her to step into the steaming water and sink into the warmth. She sighed at the feeling, having only had access to a small basin of lukewarm water between the three of them for the past fortnight.Â
âWould you like some wine?â Rhaenyra asked her, already beginning to pour her a cup before she answered.
âIt couldnât hurt,â Y/n answered bashfully, accepting the cup and taking a long sip from it before allowing Rhaenyra to set it aside.Â
Rhaenyra allowed Y/n to bathe in silence, sitting at her side and helping to scrub the oils away from her scalp with tender hands, manicured nails massaging the gentle skin and causing the girl to tip her head back and let out a small noise of contentment.
After she was cleaner than she had ever felt in her life, Rhaenyraâs hands moved down the back of her neck, softly massaging the tense muscle until she reached her shoulders. They then pushed down her back as far as she could reach before her flesh met the side of the tub, and began crawling around her front. Her nails tickled the flesh over her ribs, settling just beneath the slouched underside of her breasts, but made no effort to crawl any higher. Her soft pink lips ghosted up the side of her neck, inhaling the fresh scent of the oils in the tub.Â
âTell me to stop,â the queen whispered, âAnd we will never speak of this again.â
The younger woman exhaled shakily, slowly turning her head to come face-to-face with the queen. Their noses brushed one another for a moment as Rhaenyra waited with bated breath as she waited for her answer.
âDo not stop.â
The words were out of her mouth no more than a second before Rhaenyraâs lips descended on her own, fingers crawling up and firmly cupping her breasts in her palms. The younger woman gasped in surprise, but quickly relaxed into the queenâs touch as she rolled her already pebbled nipples between her fingers, completely disregarding the fact that the long sleeves of her gown were now doused in the water. One hand began to descend further into the water, tracing across her ribs, the soft pudge of her belly, and just barely reaching the thatch of curls that just barely protected her modesty.Â
She pulled away with a gasp, âWha-what are you doing?â
Recognition appeared in Rhaenyraâs eyes, her features softening, âYou are a maiden?â
The girl shook her head, âMy great-aunt once told me that if I was not chaste until my wedding night, I would be damning not only myself, but my entire house as well.âÂ
âIf that were true, I can promise you that many of these great houses would be damned, my own included,â Rhaenyra scoffed, âWith a man, it can be painful, but nice. I admit, I am not quite as experienced with my own sex as I am the opposite, but I find it just as if not even more enjoyable. Women are moreâŠin-tune with one another.â
She stared at the queen inquisitively, âWhat do you mean?â
âYou would understand what feels nice to you based on your personal explorations, just as I do.â
âExplorations?â
A small chuckle escaped Rhaenyraâs throat as she pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek, âMy sweet, you are truly so innocent, arenât you. Do not tell me you have never pleasured yourself.â
The girl shook her head, brows furrowed. Pleasure? What could she mean? Everyone had told her that coupling with her lord husband would be unpleasant for the first while, but may begin to feel nice after some time, but no one had ever mentioned anything of her own pleasure.Â
âThen I would humbly request that I be the first to show you,â Rhaenyra smirked at her, âjust say the word.â
Her nimble fingers played with the hair between her legs, tracing over it playfully and laughing to herself at the jump of the younger womanâs hips under the slightest of touches. Her thighs clamped together, this familiar feeling pooling between her thighs becoming more overwhelming than ever; she would normally wait this out, clean the wetness away and carry on, but she did not think that the queen was going to allow her to this time.
âYes,â she uttered out, mouth feeling impossibly dry, âyes, please, Your Grace.â
The title sent a shiver down Rhaenyraâs spine, perhaps something to be reused at another time when she did not need to be so gentle with her.Â
âIn here, we are equals, my love. You may call me Rhaenyra, or whatever you wish.â
The queenâs name rolled off her tongue fluidly, and Rhaenyra revelled in the sound. She finally pulled away, standing to her full height and extending a hand to the woman and carefully helping her step out of the cooling water and onto the stone flooring. She led her back to where the fire continued to roar within its hearth, and turned her back to her.Â
âHelp me?â She called over her shoulder, moving her long braid to the side as the younger woman eagerly helped her undress.
The young Hightower woman stared in awe at the sight of her queen, appearing like a goddess before her as the firelight flickered off of her milky-white flesh. Rhaenyra was nothing short of beautiful, if that word was even suitable for a woman so divine. Y/n felt an overwhelming urge to bend to her every whim and desire.
âYou are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,â she whispered as Rhaenyra turned back to face her, chests brushing against one another with every heaving breath.Â
âHave you seen many women in such a state, my lady?â Rhaenyra teased, an easy smile appearing on her lips.
The younger woman looked down bashfully, âI have not. But I doubt any other could rival you.â
Rhaenyra shook her head, kissing her so slowly it felt more like heavy breaths falling from their lips than anything else, âBut you do, my sweet.â
Rhaenyra pulled her impossibly closer, deepening their kiss until her tongue was able to familiarise itself with the interior of her mouth. Y/nâs gentle fingers found their place on the queenâs jaw, holding her close as Rhaenyra reached around her, one hand gliding up and down her back while the other shamelessly grasped at her bottom, softly massaging one cheek in her grasp and smirking at the squeak of surprise it drew from her new lover.Â
âLay down,â she breathed into her, guiding the younger woman down to lay flat on the luxurious white fur rug in front of the hearth, wasting no time in dropping down to lay on her side next to her. âI need you to relax, I have nothing but pleasure in store for you, my sweet.â
Her pink lips traced down the length of Y/nâs throat, quickly descending further down to engulf her pert nipple between her lips, tugging and nipping at it as gasps and whimpers began escaping her lover. She moved to the other breast, taking her time in worshipping the flesh and nipples alike.
âHow does this feel?â She asked between kisses pressed to her sternum, âI wish to hear you always, my love.â
âG-good. I cannotâI cannot explain it, butâŠâ
âI understand, sweet girl,â Rhaenyra kissed her lips again this time, the hand that had once been resting on Y/n belly had slid further down to rest between her thighs once more, fingers tracing delicate patterns on the skin, âWill you allow me to feel you?â
The younger woman hesitantly nodded, breath hitching as Rhaenyra parted her thighs and finally breached the curls with her fingertips, a soft sigh falling from her lips as she felt the wetness pooling at her core.
âFeel this?â She asked, moving her fingers around to collect some of her slick before drawing small circles on her sensitive pearl, âfeel how much you desire me? Nothing could stop me from having you, my sweet.â
For a split second, that same dark glint appeared in Rhaenyraâs eyes, the one she had the day prior in the Throne Room. For better or for worse, Rhaenyra was a Targaryen, all bound to have some darkness within them. If she were not so disposed at the moment, Y/n may have felt a sense of fear, but instead it only furthered her desire.
âOh,â she jolted at Rhaenyraâs movement, legs widening at the warming sensation that appeared in the pit of her tummy, âmy love,â Rhaenyra grinned at the name, âI feelâŠâ
âGood?â Rhaenyra asked.
The girl nodded enthusiastically, tilting her head back into the plush rug as Rhaenyra dared to breach her entrance with her fingertips. Rhaenyra watched her face for any discomfort as her finger easily sank into her sweet heat, glad to find none even as she inserted another.
Y/n let out a cry of protest as Rhaenyra removed her fingers entirely, bringing them up to her lips and sucking every drop of her juices off of her digits. Y/n watched in awe, her kiss-swollen lips parted in surprise at the vulgarity of it all.Â
âYou taste divine,â Rhaenyra cooed, moving to kneel between her parted thighs, âand look how beautiful,â the girl let out a whimper as she traced her finger around the entirety of her cunt, âI fear I may perish if I do not taste you this instant.â
She left no room for questioning or protest as she settled on her belly, back arched with her ass high in the air behind her. Y/n only wished she could step out of her body for a moment to admire the sight from behind, but was quickly brought out of her thoughts as Rhaenyra dragged her tongue slowly up the entirety of her core, from taint to clitoris.Â
She pushed herself up on her elbows in surprise, thighs clamping shut around Rhaenyraâs head as she began to alternate between licking around her entrance and suckling on her sweet, swollen pearl of nerves. The first true moan of pleasure was dragged from her throat as the queen sucked her clit, tugging at it with her lips for a moment before letting it slip back beneath its hood with a soft gushing noise. Rhaenyra chuckled, taking great pleasure in noticing how wet and responsive the young lady was to her touch, finally conceding and nuzzling her face into her wetness and focusing on bringing her to the brink.
She was not far off, having never felt such pleasure before in her life. She supported herself with one hand behind her, back arching into her touch as the other hand planted itself on the back of Rhaenyraâs head. Her eyes suddenly widened in shock, the feeling in the pit of her stomach far too strong to fight off any longer.
âOh, oh,â she panted, âYour GâRhaenyra, you must stop. I think I am going toâoh!â
Her face burned with embarrassment, thighs closing together as Rhaenyra pulled away. She could not believe that she had justâŠthe feeling had been so similar to that of when she needed to use the chamber pot. Had she truly just peed on the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms?
But Rhaenyra was dry as she returned to her side, save for the wetness smeared from her chin to her nose and across both cheeks. She was quick to press an eager kiss to her lips, allowing the girl to taste herself on her tongue as she smoothed her hand over her soft belly comfortingly.Â
âYou are so lovely,â the queen mused, âevery part of you. Now, let me clean youââ
âNo,â the lady protested, âlet meâŠI wish to return theâŠâ
Rhaenyra grinned shamelessly, âYou wish to pleasure me?â
She nodded bashfully, feeling so vulnerable yet so connected at the same time as she came down from her own orgasm. Rhaenyra nodded, shifting herself across the rug once more until she was facing the opposite direction, stroking her loverâs hair gently.
âTap my leg if this is too much. Just lay back, and allow me to take my pleasure from you.â
Rhaenyra quickly swung her leg over the girlâs head, straddling her face as she slowly lowered herself.Â
âStick out your tongue, my love. Remember what you liked, kisses and licks, remember?â
Y/n nodded, brushing her own hair away from her sweaty cheeks and following her instructions as the queen lowered herself onto her face, a low moan rumbling from her jaw as her dripping cunt settled onto Y/nâs awaiting tongue.Â
Rhaenyra gripped her hair, slowly beginning to grind her hips down against her as the girl lapped eagerly at her core, moaning at the musky taste of the queenâs most intimate centre. She did her best to follow the movements that Rhaenyra had administered on her own core, licking and kissing until she was eventually engulfing the entirety of her cunt in her hot mouth, slurping and sucking at her juices. Rhaenyra laughed in surprise at this, grinding her hips harder.
âI had no idea you could be so greedy, my love,â she chuckled, rolling her head back in pleasure, âOh, yes, yes.â
The girl was spurred on by the praise, testing the barrier of her clenching hole with her tongue as Rhaenyra rocked her hips harder and harder, forcing her clit down on the girlâs nose. Her words of praise became slurred as her movements sped up, loud yells of pleasure leaving her, no doubt revealing to the guards outside her chambers exactly what was happening between the queen and her prisoner.
Rhaenyra, having gone without touch since long before she invaded the capitol, was almost as quick to finish as her sweet maiden had been, moaning in pleasure as thick drips of white fluid oozed from her tight hole, covering the entire lower half of the younger womanâs face.Â
The queen was pleased to find a grin on her loverâs face as she climbed off of her, quick to greet her with a kiss of dying passion, tiredness overtaking each of them as they laid together, hands wandering across naked skin.Â
âStay with me tonight,â the queen murmured, âand I will bring you so much pleasure you will not even remember your own name.â
Realisation dawned on the Hightower maiden, remembering Jaehaera and Alicent locked in that tower while she could sleep in the queenâs own bed that very night. Guilt gnawed at her conscience, though she would never find it within herself to regret any of what had transpired between them that night.Â
âI cannot,â she frowned, âJaehaera, she wept when I was escorted away. I promised her I would be back.â
A soft smile appeared on her face, âYou care for her as your own. I admire that.â
Y/n shrugged, âAs I have said, she is innocent in all of this. She does not even understand why she does not see her mother anymore.â
Rhaenyra pursed her lips, âYou and the princess will be given proper chambers on the morrow, just allow me some time to arrange it. I would not dream of sending her back to that nursery, so she may stay in the rooms near my own children out of convenience for the maids. You, however, my love, will have the queenâs chambers.â
Her eyes bugged out of her head, âTheâRhaenyra I cannotââ
âYou can, and you will.â She pressed, âas I have told you, I have no desire to remarry or take another man to bed. You are the closest I will ever have to another spouse, I swear it to you now. If I could take you to wife and make you consort at my side, I would.â
The Hightower woman felt warmth spread across her cheeks, but a gnawing question tugged at her, unable to deny herself of seeking the answer.Â
âAnd my aunt, the Queen Dowager?â
Rhaenyraâs face hardened, âI shared a love with Alicent as a child, one that I have never been able to replace. For that, and for your sake and Jaehaeraâs, I swear to be merciful to her. However, she began this war, and plotted against me from the moment my sweet Jace took his first breath. For that, I cannot forgive. She will be treated well, but she will remain in confinement for the rest of her days, as she has requested in exchange for your own freedom.â
Y/n was silent for a moment, knowing that this truly was the best outcome possible for her aunt at this point, âWill we be allowed to visit her? I knew Helaena enough, but Jaehaera would benefit most from Alicent, who knew her better than anyone.â
She pondered for a moment before coming up with her response, âSo long as she bends the knee and accepts her fate, I will grant you visitation once a week, and you may pray together if you must.â
Y/n nodded, leaning in and trailing her own sweet kisses up Rhaenyraâs jaw and to her lips, âThank you, my love.â
She jumped in surprise as Rhaenyraâs hand enclosed around her throat, applying no pressure except for the slight press of her thumb on her jugular as she pulled her in to meet her kiss once more, this one slower and lazier than the others as their lips dragged across one anotherâs softly.Â
âFor better or for worse,â the queen whispered into her, âyou are mine, now and forever.â
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cw: modern au, mdni, 18+, f!reader, substance abuse (alcohol), hallucinations, mental health problems, obsession, darkish daeron
ââââ â ââââ
àč he is certainly mad, the town folk liked to say, utterly insane. they called him the dreamer and told their kids haunting stories about the lighthouse keeper, who moved to the coast, trying to run away from the visions
àč some say he is from a wealthy family sent here as punishment, some say he is a fisherman's son, dutifully doing his job, some say he is a hopeless alcoholic, some say he is a real seer, connected to the old spirits
àč no one knows enough, so every statement is just a speculation. the town sits around a harbor. a few miles away, on a rocky cliff that juts into the sea, stands the lighthouse. the lightkeeper lives in a cottage beside it. that was everything people had, which only fed the whispers of the supernatural
àč what was certain is that he is a recluse. everyone in town knows that daeron doesn't need or want any sort of company besides his black newfoundland that barked and snarled at the mere sight of another human approaching
àč the visions, the voices, the dreams have never left him, even here in this godforsaken place, they were torturing him, stealing any hope of peace. many mornings, he found himself lying in the sand, wet and shivering, even though he was sure to close his eyes in his bed before falling asleep
àč though sleep was a generous word for the scraps of unconsciousness he was able to get. his days were cold, draped in a thick fog of agonising dread, while nights were hot, full of distant fire and pain, he never fully witnessed but felt deeply
àč sometimes it was more than just dreams, sometimes nightmares leaked into daylight as voices calling his name somewhere far away, sometimes they came as visions, twisting his sanity into something barely recognisable
àč daeron drank more at such days. much more. alcohol never fully helped, only dulling the gnawing never ending terror that lived in his mind, poisoning everything that was unfortunate enough to appear in his pathetic life. he could go days without showering, barely eating a thing, drowning all his feelings in brandy
àč his days were repetitive and simple, barely differing at all. sometimes he felt like he was living one never ending day. not that it really matter. daeron treated his job seriously, because it was the only thing in his life he could keep under some sort of control. so he checked the weather, repaired railings, walked the cliffs with his dog, lighted the beacon and drank
àč still it was better than in the city. it made sense, for him being here. even though, mostly because here he had you. his salvation. his ethereal curse. his safe place. his siren. the first time daeron saw you he was convinced you are one of his hallucinations, soaked wet from the rain, banging on his door
àč once you appeared in his life, many things started to make sense. the only thing that didnât make sense was how you found him and why you stayed. daeron didnât dare to ask. he was simply grateful, no, more than that. he was in utter disbelief, praying to whatever gods he believed in for you not to vanish, not to be a trick of his ill mind
àč you were always leaving in the morning and coming back in the evening, and it was the first time in his life that he had caught himself eagerly waiting for the day to end, just to see you again. no liquid could ever sedate him like your scent could. nothing ever could bring him the peace he felt when you were holding him close
àč sometimes he woke you up in the middle of the night, babbling nonsense and drenched in sweat, calling your name and begging you to stay, not calming down until you pressed your lips against his, shushing his feverish mumbling with your tongue
àč on good days, when the dread somewhat feels bearable, he is completely different: attentive, sweet, happy. daeron is so touch starved. ideally, he would keep you in his bed forever, spending hours between your thighs, listening to your moans and whimpers
àč daeron is deeply affectionate. holds your hand constantly, lays his head in your lap, and nuzzles your neck, feeding you breakfast, pulling you into his lap whenever he can. boring days suddenly evolved into your personal version of heaven. he smells of sweat, salt, and the lingering sweetness of liquor, mixed with something uniquely him. something that you associate with happiness
àč daeron is all raw emotions and insatiable desire. he is a deeply obsessive man, and he is starved. derranged and filthy, gross and perverted. in his eyes, you are still unreal, something ethereal, overworldly that he has a chance to put his greedy hands on.
àč daeron doesn't just adore you, doesn't just worship you, he devours. devours the same way he empties the endless bottles of alcohol he drinks you in, fucking, kissing, sucking, licking until you physically can't take it anymore
àč you are his magic pill to everything. his treat, his painkiller, his favourite meal that he can never get enough of. the more you spend time with him, the more daeron hates it when you leave, fueled by the fear of you never returning, vanishing, dissolving in the sand like another dream
àč to him it's not just. it's a ritual. an overworldly way of showing his devotion, of letting go of his ache, at least for a few hours. it is a soul merging bonding that makes the horrors feel survivable and the life worth living
àč sometimes he fucks you slow and tender, guiding your hips down on his throbbing length as hard rain drums against the windows. sometimes he is fucking you hard and fast, pressing you against the slick stone wall of the lighthouse, biting your lips until your saliva is filled with the coppery taste of blood. sometimes he is making you sit in his lap near the fireplace, toying with you, his fingers teasing the dampness between your thighs with agonizing slowness, pretending not to hear your pleading and begging. sometimes he is eating you out with your back against the hard shore cliff, hiking your leg up his shoulder, taking his time, savouring the moment of complete power he has over your pleasure
àč he is certainly mad, the town folk liked to say. and perhaps he was. but it doesn't really matter when you are the one driving him mad, does it?
this was so good i need to take a moment to really absorb it. such clear, bright imagery. greys, dark greens, grey blues. the description is unbelievable, i want to eat it
Hii, dearđ Just wanted to check in case I've missed smth-in "Heavenly mother" lady D is pregnant with fawn number 4 but in "Blood upon the horns" only 3 kiddos are mentioned and I take it she's not pregnant still?đ
My love your comments are absolutely giving me life right now! Thank you so much. đ
Sorry it is a bit chop and change. Must be confusing. I did set the âblood on the hornsâ piece before the âheavenly mother.â
I was going to go the whole hog and have her pregnant when she was attacked but I thought that was too meanâ
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TW; more violence and blood and death threats. Lyonel is struck with agony to see how badly injured you are, after being attacked by bandits- angsty angst angst
Lyonel canât fathom the sight heâs watching happen in your very bed. Bitterly, he supposes, he must come to terms with it.
Heâs stood at the foot of it. But he seems to see it from outside himself. To survey the scene as if heâs become a watcher on the wall; Someone placed outside his very body.
Through the thronging crowd of people in the room, he can barely make out your shape. Laid on the bed. Limp. Still unresponsive. Hair curling dark and wet, unbound sticky vines across a pillow thatâs slowly being soaked with filth. Blood and road dirt upon your fine sheets.
He carried you up the stairs himself; cradled in his arms. Felt the hot blood and cold rain seeping off you. Hair dripping. Body trembling. Leaving pink rainwater droplets behind on the stone steps. He burst into the room and placed you kindly on the bed.
Now you are flooded with people. So much so, he had to take a step back. Slait and a maid are cutting you out of the dress and shift because they need to tend to the wound Seldan told them about. Another maid is yanking off your muddy boots.
He hears shouts. Calls in strange voices for clean linens. Wine. Willow bark. Milk of the poppy. More candles so they can see proper.
He tips his chin down. His black tunic is half drenched. A sheen hits it in the dull candle light. Your blood. When he cares to raise his arms, itâs gathered on his trembling hands. Sunk into the cracks on his palms. The rings he wears. Caked in the round of his nails. Some smeared across his cheek where he wiped searing hot tears with the back of his sleeve.
And now heâs helpless;
When they cut open the front of your dress. Lyonel chokes; his throat constricts and squeezes and no sound comes crawling out of him. But he feels his entire being seize. His famously sturdy spine puddles to the floor.
A nasty diagonal wound lay in the crook of your shoulder. It is by a dagger he is certain. Too small for a sword. Bleeding furious and welling with dark blood. Edges red and inflamed. Crimson rolling down your bared shoulder to the bed. Slaitâs hands are caked in your blood as he mops the wound, finds herbs and does whatever the fuck else he can to stem it.
Your neck bears marks too. Scratches and red welts. Marks of where jewellery has been savagely ripped from you. The metal digging into your skin. All your rings are missing. Your earrings too. Every mark of nobility has been stripped from you. Yanked off by the filth that put you here.
His gaze finds itself stuck on your hand. Curled on the bed like a dead, limp root. Dirt crusted. Knuckles red, bruised, bearing scuffs that spoke of your fighting back. A nail or two torn. He watches a kindly maid take your hand and dunk it in a bowl to flush the clinging earth from your skin.
Itâs then he notes the most gaping absence. It festers something new within him;
Your wedding ring is gone.
Even that too, they had torn from your body. Stuck you like a swine. Uncaring if youâd live or die. So long as they had their gold to sell.
He hears himself speak. Eyes shaking with tears as looks down the bed. âHow bad? And donât fucking feed me riddles. Give me truthâ He rasps. Voice raw as brittle rushes.
Slaits mouth in pulled into a grim line. Expression dour. He turns back over his shoulders. Surveys his Storm Lord to give answers.
âThe bleeding I can slow. My lord. But I fear for the fever that now grips her. We will starve it. And see-â
âSee what-â Lyonel snaps. His lash line trembles with tears. Hot and bitter.
âSee if she will last the night.â The maester tells. Sorrow turns his words to long, gleaming coffin nails.
Lyonel turns away. Spitting profanities. Cursing the gods. The mother and the crone. Spittle flying into his palm as a sob breaks out of him.
Hand running down his face to finish smothering his mouth. A sound that came wrenched out, the way one would tug shrapnel from a wound. Birthed this burst of fear from his gut. Bone deep and awful.
His chest wracks once. He squeezes his eyes shut so tight, lashes stinging with salt. Chest heaving on the cry. Fury warring with the grief in him. A great battle indeed. One that fills him with broken glass. Viscera. Sharp broken bones. Shattered lances. Blunt swords taking to his courage.
He wants to yell; he wants to stalk to the headlands and howl into the winds til his voice grows hoarse. Pound the earth with his fists til they crack and break. Spit profanity in the eye of a lashing storm. He wants to take his long sword and personally cleave every bandit into four pieces like a butcher carving up bloodied haunches of meat.
He wants a slaughter. The burst of blood spraying across his teeth. The fetid stench of his enemies fear- the rolling white of their eyes when he comes for them. Heâd make them beg for the stranger before ripping out their tongues. He wouldnât grant them the sweet mercy of death. Heâd give them nothing but desolation. A fraction of what heâs owed.
He finds himself thinking of the stranger. Dark robes. Hanging over this room like a vulture trying to wear a manâs skin. More animal than man. Skeletal hand clawing at the bottom of the bedclothes. Tugging. Slipping you to him. Ready to enfold you in his dark robes as his wraithful shadows sneak in from the corners.
He prays so hard the mush inside his skull rattles with it.
You will not take her. You hear me? You cursed cunt. Her you will not have. I forbid it.
Tears squeeze anew down his cheeks. Helpless grief sits plain, and crushing in his blooded hands. Heâs ready to drown in it. All this wealth and power he wields and at the end of it. He is simply a humbled being, stood on this earth, asking the gods one thing;
Please. Donât take her from me.
âFather?â
Horror fills him in a sickly-clammy wash, when he turns to the doorway. Spying his eldest son stood at the threshold.
Feet bare on the stones. Brown eyes wide as dinner plates. Sleep clothes rumpled. A wrinkled tunic and braies. Dark hair mussed.
Heâs looking at the trail of blood across the flagstones.
When he speaks. His voice comes as no more than a weak shadow of its usual bold self. âJory.â
Lyonel rubs his fingers into his burning eyes. He crosses the room in four strides. âYou shouldnât be up. Please. Back to your bed.â
He takes his sons small shoulder in his hand. Tries to steer his own body between the room and the view of you on the bed. âPlease. Jory. I donât want you seeing this.â
Heâs no fool. He saw the pinched look on servants faces. Grief doesnât lie. Nor spare. Everything that wasnât being said. Clipped tones and maids scurrying with a weight of sorrow on their brow.
The blood on the stairs. His own father stood, leaking tears and looking smaller than he had any right too. The legendary laughing storm brought mightily low.
Jorys looks up at him. Eyes begging to understand. Mouth floundering. Hurt confusion etched across his face. Lower lip wobbling.
Lyonel breaks.
He cuffs the back of his boys neck and draws him bodily to his chest. Jorys sags into him like a boned fish. Crosses his arms around him. Feels him sob. His sons hands digging like hooks in the back of his tunic. Grief bridging between them like spiders silk.
He canât even placate him with kindness or hope. Because he canât grab onto any of it. He lets him get the tears out. Letâs him exhale and cry and be scared. Because Lyonel was right there with him.
His hand cups the back of his head. Small boyish hair tufted soft in his palm. He can do nothing but hold him. His tongue wonât spill with lies. Not for his blood.
When Jory pulls back to smear tears across his cheeks. He sinks to a crouch. âLook at me. Look. Listen-â hand slipping for his shoulder again. Eyes intent and pleading.
âI canât have Ceres or Liri waking and seeing your mother like this. You must go to them and be brave for me. Promise me? keep them in their rooms⊠and away from this. I will come get you if there areâŠâ he inhales. âchanges.â
âWill she die?â His son cries. Earnest. He can see every spec of emotion warring across his little face.
Lyonel falters. He canât feed that fetid beast of a thought. If he does, he may just throw himself into the sea with stones in his pockets.
âQuickly now. My lad. Off you go.â He sobs. âDo this for me.â
Jorys turns for the door. More tears welling. They catch in the golden lowlight. The door creaks. A flit of a shadow and heâs gone.
He walks quietly back to the bedside. Fists a hand in slaits sleeve. âAnything you can do for her. Will be done. No remedy spared. Am I clear?â He barks. Mouth designed to cut in his bitten off rage.
Slait confirms with a nod.
Lyonel rolls his sleeves. âWhat can I do. Occupy me.â
âMy lord-â Slait begins.
âIf you tell me to wait outside I will fucking geld you and hang you from the highest cross beam. This is my wife. The mother of my children. I am not sitting in the corridor twiddling my thumbs like an idle cunt, as the stranger looms for her. Tell me what to do.â
Even stalking the fringes of his desolation, the laughing storm can still bite when needed.
He feeds you milk of the poppy of a wooden spoon as they stitch you closed. Cups your cheeks and wipes your mouth when he spills some. He soothes your burning brow with a cloth. Hands icy and he presses the cloth into cool water again and again again. Til his fingers prune and his hands go numb.
Wordless. He watches his maester attend your every cut. Every bruise and scratch mopped. He helps lift you. Clean you of dirt and manoeuvre you into a new clean shift. A task usually left to maids.
Then comes the worst part. When the maids and the helping hands drift away. Slaits remedyâs all applied. When they are tipping away bowls of blood stained water. Used bandages. Tucking ointments and vials away. Then the dreadful waiting comesâ silent and heavy as a dreadful crypts air.
He watches you. Limp and broken. Chest moving shallow. Rising up and down. Poppy milk on your tongue. A false sleep and fever claiming you. Brow dewy. Neck and shoulders glazed with sweat. They will starve the fever from you.
He settles into a hard, creaking chair by your bedside. The fire roaring high. He watches you succumb fully to the fever. Eyes glassy and unseeing. Not asleep nor are you awake. Suspended in the space between. Sighing when he presses that cloth to your brow again.
The soft wet gasp of your breath, the snap of candles in the room are the only sounds that then reign. The storm hounding tooth and claw at the walls softens. Yields a little. Soft rains sweep by.
He takes your hand. Skin bleeding unnatural heat. Never like you. Like youâd been left too long under a fierce Dornish sun.
He watches you writhe on the bed. Insensate. Twitching in a unnatural sleep. Slaked in fever sweat. Covered in bandages and half treated cuts. Hair damp and laying dark at your temples. He reaches over and pulls pieces of it from sticking to your skin.
He shakes his head. Tears sparkle in those huge expressive eyes. Swallowed in grief.
The only thing he has left is to beg.
He does it with your hand scooped in his. Sweat slicked fingers pressed to his lips. His bread abrading skin youâd usually smile at the feel of. He speaks. Words falling like hot silken petals across your skin.
âPlease donât.â His voice wavers. âNot like this. My love. Please not like this.â
You were his lightning storm. The fact you might, in all your stormy powerful fury, get taken from him in a silent, fevered sickness that could sneak your soul and spirit away in one long breath. Thatâs something he canât pretend to stomach.
âDonât.â He begs. Lacing your fingers together. Determined to watch the rise of your chest, til dawn creeps its sly pink reach across the ceiling.
He sends for Ser Seldan.
Time has slowed to a slow trickle. Midnight black, and heavy as fig syrup.
Lyonel splashes water from a clean new bowl across his face. Rinses his hands. Sheds his outer garments to leave him in boots, his loose collar dark shirt and breeches. Just the other side of the room.
Anything else would require taking him out this room, and heâs loathe to leave for even a slither of a second. He stays.
The air in here is now fugged, heavy and falling close, with the smell of geeen antidote and balms of Slaitâs design. The roar of the fire is intense. They mean to sweat the fever out. Only one window is cracked, a cool slit of night air comes spilling in. Spliced with salt.
His attention is solely fixed on the rise and fall of your chest. The steady breaths that come. Even though he knows milk of the poppy can dampen them.
He doesnât care if itâs late enough to be surprising. Or early enough to be rude. Hour of the nightingale or the wolf; this situation has robbed Lyonel of any of his - already limited - courtesies.
He knocks. Lyonel bids his entry with a clipped word.
The maid who was currently laying a tray of food at the far side of the room - one he will leave untouched much to his cooks chagrin - steps briskly to answer it. Swings it open.
The knight limps into the room. Not unbuttoned. Not dressed down. Heâs never that. Incapable of relaxed dress. Heâs still all leathers, axe blade angles, and darkness. Like heâd dressed to fight the shadows that appear in the way from his rooms to here.
A surcoat of black leather he wears. One that was so dipped into the scent of the armoury itâs a scent that never leaves him. Oil, and old iron. His coat layered over a washed grey shirt thatâs loosed at his wrists. Raven hair swept back, wetly, to dry in curled ribbons in a way that suggested heâs bathed. A scuffed pair of grey boots hug his feet, scratched from hard Winterfell stones.
His arm and injured shoulder is bandaged. His face openly wore the cuts and bruises. His knuckles also torn to bloating, swollen shreds. He stands tall as usual but his shoulders sag. The seams on his old wolf are showing. As theyâve every right too, after the days events.
He realised how truly shocking that is; if this new scandal of his house can pit holes in even the sheer stubborn rockiness of this northerner.
Lyonel doesnât stand. Heâs too sapped. Stays to his chair. But he finds the energy to pin the man with a look so poignant, Seldan alters a little in his strong step. Not softens. But alters only a bit.
âLeave us, if you would.â Seldan asks the maid with a firm nod. Brow stern. She does. Bobs a curtsey. Slips out the door and latched it after herself.
Two words. Thatâs all Lyonel says. Itâs been running in his head since they brought you in. Half tattered, stabbed and bleeding.
âWhat happenedââ
Seldan looks to his feet. Flicks his dark eyes up again. Swallows. Lyonel tracks it down his dark bristled throat.
âAre you sure you want to know, Miâlord.â
Those stormlander eyes flash. Snapping to the man in a way that would have lesser men taking a step back to shrink from the sheer weight of a grieving husbands fury.
The northern wolf has tempted the storm. And the storm has weighed that mighty black direwolf, and found it wanting-
âMy wife was stabbed. Her horse shot with arrows. My bannermen killed like they were no more than game for sport. Yes I want to fucking know.â
âI donât think it will ease your pain.â Seldan prompts. Mouth made for flat truths and he gives them bluntly. âIt will worsen it.â
âThen best you say it and let me judge.â He commands. Snappish. Done with the nonsense of courtly politeness.
Seldan nods. He folds his hands at his front. Takes his eyes from his Lord for a minute. Landing on you. Shame flattens down those proud, wide shoulders by an inch or two. Had he acted quicker, a dagger may not have sunk into your flesh.
âThe reports you had were right. There were a great number of them. The party that ambushed us was near twelve by my own count. We managed to slay four.â
âThey showered us with arrows. Came out the sides of the hedgerows with bows drawn. Told her ladyship and myself to get down off our horses.â
Lyonelâs chest is slowly churning to molten fury. Anger was softer. Quick burning like a fast flash of flame. Anger was something that could happen to a man. Fury consumed. Ate whole. Dissolved bones. Fury could made a man become something else entirely.
He was beyond furious.
He doesnât know where to set it down yet. Doesnât know how heâs supposed to deal with the weight of something so mighty. So he must shoulder it until they find the culprits responsible.
âWe obliged them. We got off the horses and their presumed leader stepped forwards. Had the audacity to inform us of the tax on their road that we were travelling down. âThe fucking fat nobles pay their way here. Because we say soâ he says.â
âThey wanted our weapons. Waterskins. Coins. The last of the supplies we were carrying. They made threat to take her at sword point out beyond the treesââ his voice drops, grim.
Lyonel gets the grim picture. Eyes closing. Turns his head away in disgust. His tongue curdles up in his mouth at the thought. His eyes linger on your form on the bed. That bruise turning dark nightshade around your eye. The cut lacerated to your cheek from a fist.
âThey made plain would be bloody and violent if we didnât comply. And that they would cut her throat after they were all done taking turns.â Seldan sneers with vehemence. His northern chivalry balks at the mere intimation.
âWe gave them what we could. But they pushed it. Grew selfish. Lady Baratheon acted in every right way. She made sure none of us came to harm. She told the guards to put their weapons down. We gave them what they asked for. But, the leader saw her wedding band.â
âHe got itâŠâ Lyonel asks. âItâs missing from her hand.â
âShe didnât give it.â Seldan informs lowly.
âThey took it by force. Thatâs when the violence broke out. She told them the only way they could get that ring off, would be to break her fingers, or cut off her hand. And one of them produced an axe- and made move to grab her andââ His words end, tearing out his mouth like ripping a bandage off a wound.
âI acted. My lord. I couldnât stand to let them.â He explains. âMaybe that was wrong of me and if it is Iâll take the due punishment-â
He always spoke with a soldiers repeat of events. A report or a tally. Spoken harsh and true. A northern mouth that doesnât waste its time spouting niceties.
For once. Lyonel is glad of it. Now he knows the depth of which his vengeance can plummet too-
âWillard told me you rode back for miles. Pouring rain. Clasping her to your chest, injured yourself. Riding your horse so hard you damn near killed the beast. You got her home, Seldan. Youâll see no punishment from me.â
âDid they know precisely who she wasâŠ.â Lyonel asks.
âNo, my Lord. When they asked. She said she was a cousin to house Baratheon. She knew well enough not to crow about who she really is.â
Because even if youâd hissed threats. Men like them soundly would not care. With nasty rotten grins and conniving hunger. Better a white lie, to let the true enormity of your power slip their notice. A wife of the powerful storm lord would fetch a pretty price. Dead or alive.
Or maybe just for your pretty head-
You made yourself small and insignificant. You protected your men. You did everything right- and it all went sour wrong anyway.
âShe was smart to deceive. Heaven knows what sheâd have been subjected too had they figured her a woman worth capturing.âSeldan remarks darkly.
Lyonel swallows a bitter bile back off his tongue.
âShe is smart.â He nods in agreement. Eyes on you. âQuicker on her feet and a faster tongue than anyone I know.â
He hates speaking of you as if youâre already in a grave. The toll itâs taking. Already he has bags swelling to mulberry purple under his eyes.
Seldan looks down to where your fingers are linked through Lyonelâs. Slotted and melting as if you were one. Your hand limp in the hold was unsettling.
âI should have been there with you all. I should have moved heaven and earth to make sure she wasnât out there, exposed.â He laments. Shame curling up his tongue.
An odd taste in his mouth. He finds; coming from the man who never seemed to know the shape of lament or regret.
âI want a new guard patrol on that route. Twenty. Thirty men Iâd needs be. If thatâs the one they were using. I want them hunted and found. And I will string every last one of them up in the dungeons by their necks.â Lyonel insists. Snarling.
âI do have some information on that front. My Lord.â
Of course, this old wolf has not been idle. Lyonel reckons.
He didnât mope. He was a military man. He acted. He didnât care what captains he had to rouse from sleep. What soldiers he had to chase through the halls. They kicked the north wolf, now they must deal with its teeth. He was changing routes and patrols. Rerouting soldiers. Pulling men off gate duty.
Sending ravens to their men in the ports and harbours. It struck Lyonel that the man would rather be riding back through the rain right this minute to collect his fallen men, than to linger on here in incertitude. His hands fall rough from use, and heâd beg to be useful otherwise theyâd have to slaughter him. He knows no other way to be.
âSpit it out.â He commands.
âYou might wonder why I sent the maid awayâŠâ
Lyonel leans forwards in his seat. A dreadful realisation dawns. No-
âItâs because I believe the word of our route was betrayed. Once more, betrayed by someone inside this house.â
Lyonelâs mood drops from grim, to somehow worse than that. Six foot deep of fury and cold, fierce rage. Rotten, conniving seeds of dissension and ruin sown from within his own walls.
âI heard the ruffians speaking behind as they came to snatch our supplies. I was able to glean enough. Theyâve not been using roads. Not like we have. They were using shepherd lanes. Old paths barely carved in the land, that only a stormlander would know exist.â
âNo sensible man would risk that path Those lanes are impassable after the heavy rain.â Lyonel insists gravely.
Seldan tilts his head. Openly. âThey chose them precisely because they are unwatched. These men have more sense than we first thought.â Seldan mutters. âOur position was given away to them. How else could they happen upon us with the exact men to outnumber our party.â
âI trust youâve set about to remedy this news.â Lyonel asks.
Seldans eyes take a dark and terrible shade. âDiscreetly. My lord. Aye.â
âTheyâll think us shaken to inaction for now. But thatâs a path that ill suits me.â
âMe too. My lord.â
âIf we move quickly, theyâll just scatter and regroup elsewhere. Crawl back into their ditches and hedges. I hate to say it, but we draw them out slow. Appear like a house in mourning. The families of those fallen guards I want written too with honour and support.â
âAye. That Iâve had done already. Word has been sent. I have men combing the halls as we speak, too. Gently. If thereâs messages going beyond our walls that weâve unseen, we will catch them. It may take time. But I trust my men implicitly. They will reveal the source. And I shall be the first to come to you with news.â
Lyonel trusts Seldans word. He knows the route of this place like the back of his scarred hands. Knows when to dip into the mundanity of life to find an outlier.
A question asked too loudly by a waif of a stable boy. The prying eyes of a merchant lingering at the gate. A maid who dithers in cleaning a room for too long. To catch sight of the parchments on a desk. The washer woman who listens at a shadowed doorway where she ought not be.
His grizzled wolf has blood in his nose, and he wonât soon forget the grudge to his house.
âGood.â Lyonel sighs. Tired as he was. This news did not ease much of the tension hunching his shoulders. It was welcome, yet foul, and much as he disliked, he needed to hear it spoken.
âGo and get some sleep.â He dismisses. âYou look done in. You old dog.â
âI wonât yet. My lord. Thereâs still much to be done.â
âDawn must be soon on the rise. Seldan. Youâve been injured. I wonât have my best Knight drop dead.â
A flick of humour takes one side of his mouth. A flick of a carving etched in granite.
âIâd be amused to see him try. The stranger had already loomed for me once this night. My lord. He wouldnât stand a fucking chance the second time around.â He grits.
He nods to you on the bed.
âSame goes for our lady. I reckon with her lightning temper, she wonât be easily gotten rid of. Try not to fret.â
Lyonel closes his eyes. Chest bouncing on a ln exhale. It felt like the first kind feeling thatâs entered his body all day. He needed to hear that. A reminder of the exact shade of your pig-headedness. One Seldan gleaned from experience of you.
When your eyes spark to danger; when you give that wilful tilt of your chin. Shoulders square. Seven help any poor fucker that tries to disagree with you. Or get in your way. Theyâd come off bruised and blue. Cowering. They would yield because the lightning in you, never backed down
âBid you good day. My lord.â He motioned to the day that started to break across the horizon. The cool purple slit of dawn. Punched with oranges and reds like a flamed dragon breath. Light climbs higher in the sky.
âSeldan?â
The man looked at him. Awaiting orders. Ready to decimate.
âIf theyâre found. Bring them to me alive.â He demands. Every dark, insidious meaning fully taking his words. His eyes remain on you.
Seldan bows his sturdy, stubborn head. Stalks for the door. And takes his leave through it. Back to the shadows. Back to his ruthless task of a manhunt. Heâll see it done. Leave one wolf alive, the sheep are never safe.
Lyonel sighs. Leans back in his chair. The creak of it cradling his back and aching shoulders. Neck strained and stiff. The burning in his bloodshot, salt stung eyes unceasing. An impolite reminder of his age.
He wonât break his fast. Even though he sees a breakfast left for him on the side. Carved ham and eggs. A bowl of porridge. Grilled small fish. A heel of fluffy buttered bread. A dark, red beer. He lets it all grow cold.
He wonât even move to go change, or bathe though his clothes must be ripe with sweat. He wonât dare leave your side. He vowed that much.
He goes back to the horrible trap of waiting. Detesting every passing second.
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