#got reader insert

Littlefinger felt the hangman's noose around his neck.

If word were to get out and betray him, Robert Baratheon could easily request his head. The king's retribution wasn't all Petyr feared. Ser Jaime Lannister, your uncle, was always on your guard. Keeping his well trained eyes roving for any threats that may come toward his nieces way. And it was known Ser Jaime didn't allow anyone to take a step toward you without his permission. Your mother, Cersei, was equally protective of her first born. To her, there wasn't a man who was good enough for you.

While he was a valuable asset, that gave him no liberties when it came to the princess. You were first born and the only one of your siblings who really received the king's attention. Maybe it was because you were the only one who came out with dark hair like the king. It could be a number of reasons why Robert simply found you endearing. It was an easy thing to fall in love with you.

Which is why Petyr did little to discourage your behavior.

He certainly didn't mind how your greeting toward him had changed from a casual hello to you kiss his cheek. Catching when you'd softly inhale his scent. You'd bring up the memory of his scent when you were alone in bed. Coming upon one another in corridors, you'd brush up against him. Fingers sneakily graze against his arm as you pass without looking at him. Purposefully putting a pop in your hips as you retreated.

Caution in games like this were required in order for him to keep his head. Petyr kept you at arm's length yet within his sight.

That was not enough for you.

You knew of the secret tunnels all through out King's Landing. The schedule of your guards was etched into your memory. And you also happened to have previously stalked Petyr on a few occasions to get a feel of his daily routine. One day you left your chambers, the knights outside your door none the wiser and went out in search of Littlefinger.

You caught him as he left the Small Council meeting room. The second he walks past your hiding spot, your hand shoots out and grabs his arm; yanking him into the dark chasm.

Completely taking him by surprise, he's about to struggle against you until he hears your voice whisper his name. When he inhales to reprimand you instead you capture his lips hastily before he could escape from your grip.

This may be your only chance to do so. You'd caught his stares many times and thought he reciprocated the attraction.

When you pulled away, you wait for his reaction and try to tame your wildly beating heart. Your eyes are somewhat adjusted to the inky black of the secret passage but making out the features of his face were difficult.

Slowly his hands descend on your hips and finally draws you close to his body. One hand lifts to your face, tilting your jaw upwards so he could be the one to initiate another scorching kiss. He near smothers you against him, aching for you to be closer to him. You managed to do what very little people could ever hope to accomplish: having Littlefinger surrender to their whim.

With that, the game was truly on and the dye cast.

You'd left him stumped after the kiss as you proceeded to push him back out with a giggle and slam the hidden door shut. Petyr's heart was thumping so hard it rattled him to the core. For so many years he thought the only person who'd be able to get such a reaction from him was Catelyn. His heart had always been her's though she made it very clear that she would not have him. Now he finds that you have leashed up his attention like a loyal dog tethered to you.

He was titillated.

From then on you upped your mischief around him. Became emboldened from that kiss for it gave you the answer of Petyr desiring you as much as you desired him.

More than that, you wedged your way into his personal life; his true life of secrets and planning. The wonderful mechanisms of his conniving brain. That only made him more attractive to you. It wasn't brute power Petyr wield, not like the knights who primp and preen around you or the pathetic young lords your father hoped to marry you off to.

No one knew that the most dangerous man in King's Landing sat beside them, sharing a simple meal with a brilliant mind they would never be able to comprehend. They were all fools.

Your antics didn't always please Petyr. Sometimes they irritated every last nerve when he was trying to save face in front of others. In the privacy of his chambers though, he'd only halfheartedly reprimand you once you start planting kisses all over his face.

"Forgive me." You'd mewl into his ear, hands digging into the expensive fabric of his clothes.

He could never stay mad at you.

Petyr would concede the moment your plush lips land on the corner of his mouth. Even worse was when you'd envelope him in your arms, hold him close to you as you cherish a moment alone together in a simple cuddle. Who would have thought that syrupy sweet embraces were the branding irons that scorched your name in his heart.

You hardly ask anything of him and when you do, Petyr leaps for the opportunity to please his beloved princess. No task was too small or too big to Littlefinger. Whatever you wanted, he'd make sure you got it. Another prominent lady of the realm slighted you? Petyr would make sure that her house crumbled to the ground so that she and her family were reduced to beggars. Some pathetic lord being a creep around you? You needn't even say anything for Lord Baelish is already planning on the man's demise.

You were his. Whether he was allowed to put a claim on you or not didn't matter to Petyr. Petyr was a greedy man and didn't like any other man giving you special attention.

Being Master of Coin, he was even able to deter Robert from marrying you off as you were considered of marrying age and eligible lords were already hounding the king for your hand. That may have been the most difficult task to achieve since the flow of suitors was nonstop. All wanted close to the Iron Throne. They didn't care about you. Not like Petyr did. You were his goddess, his muse, his everything. Since being enthralled by you Petyr hadn't given Catelyn a second thought. May she rot in the North with her surly lord.

"What's this?" You inquire, delight shining in your eyes when you examine the beautifully carved box Petyr hands to you when the two of you next meet up in his apartments. You're sitting so pretty on his lap, the complete picture of comfort.

You didn't have to do anything to make Petyr's heart squeeze with adoration. How was he so lucky to have a pretty girl like you on his lap?

He taps on the top of the box. "Open and find out for yourself."

Puffing out your cheeks in faux annoyance, you do so. Smile broadening across your face. "Oh Petyr, its beautiful." You lift the choker styled necklace out of the small box to better admire it. pearls composed most of the necklace with the center piece taking shape of a small bird with a long beak among pink, yellow and green gems.

"Do you like it?" He's smiling to himself as he watches you.

"I love it!" You're practically singing and push the necklace into his hands. "Put it on for me, will you?"

"Whatever my princess desires." Petyr chuckles and easily clasps the necklace around your pretty neck. Placing a small kiss at the nape of your hair.

You hop off of his lap and rush over to the closest mirror to admire yourself. Catching his warm gaze from the mirror, you smile softly. "Why a hummingbird, Petyr? Why not a mockingbird?"

"Too obvious, my love. That and I don't see you as a mockingbird."

"Oh?"

Petyr stands and though his stature is not very tall, he still commands confidence. "No. You arise joy in everyone who comes across you." His hands find their spot upon your hips. "Many pray for the opportunity to catch you standing still."

You lean against him, using your own hands to guide one of his across the plane of your stomach. "And I have such lovely plumage too."

That makes him genuinely laugh. You're the only person who could summon such a hearty laugh from Littlefinger. A badge of honor.

"Yes my darling. The most beautiful plumage in the seven kingdoms." Kissing a trail up your neck, you can't contain a giggle from bubbling forth from you. His facial hair made you so ticklish.

Tyrion was in deep shit, and he knew it.

He hadn’t meant to miss dinner again. He’d had every intention of leaving the hand’s office at a reasonable hour, but as always one thing lead to another and suddenly he was sitting in a dark office with the moon peeping through his window and his candles burnt down to stubs.

It wasn’t his fault that Joffery ruled the kingdom with all the skill and tact of a blind, inbred pig that had fallen into a barrel of ale. It also wasn’t his fault that the Small Council expected him to pull miracles out of his shapely arse on a daily basis, but he also knew that after dining alone for what was to be the fifteenth night in a row, you weren’t going to be in a forgiving mood.

When he arrived at your shared chambers,the only thing that greeted Tyrion was a cold fireplace and an eerie, oppressive silence. The dining table had long since been cleared, without even a plate of cold meats or bread waiting for him. He knew this meant you were mere moments away from giving into your Bolton roots and flaying off every bit of his sorry hide to make yourself a dwarven hearth rug.

With all the enthusiasm of a man going to the gallows, Tyrion approached the door to your bedroom. It was shut fast, the carved lions seeming to judge him from their wooden faces. As much as he wanted to turn tail and make for the farthest inn at the edge of the city, he knew prolonging things would only make matters worse. Taking a deep breath, Tyrion gently knocked on the door and prayed to whatever gods were listening that you’d at least make his demise a quick one.

When no answer came, he knocked again, a little louder this time. He knew you were there, and that you were listening. He could see a shadow cutting through the candlelight that shone out from beneath the door.

“Darling?”

Again, he was met with a bitter silence. Somehow, that stung worse than a biting word or scolding ever could. With a sigh, Tyrion reached for the door handle and was surprised to find it stayed stiff in his grasp. Not only were you refusing to speak to him, you’d locked him out.

“Dearest? Please, open the door. I know I’m horribly late, but how am I meant to make it up to you if you’re hiding from me?”

You didn’t want Tyrion to make it up to you. In fact, the only thing you seemed to want was for Tyrion to starve to death in front of this bastard door, as a reminder to your next idiot husband about what would happen if he crossed you.

All too quickly, Tyrion’s guilt gave way to frustration. He was tired. He was hungry, he’d walked up all those fucking stairs on his stunted legs and damn your stubborn hide, this was his tower! He had paid for the bed you were keeping him from and gave you the key for the door you’d shut in his face. If the blasted thing didn’t lock from the inside, he would’ve long since gone in there and made you see sense.

But that wasn’t going to happen, not anymore than the likelihood of Tyrion growing to the size of the Hound and putting his foot through the wood like it was wet paper. No, he was going to remain stuck out here until you had a change of heart or until the Seven Hells froze over, and at this moment the odds certainly seemed better on that second thing.

Cursing, Tyrion struck the door as hard as he could with his fist. It felt good, so he did it again. And again, punctuating each strike with “shit!” or “bugger!” or “fuck” in increasingly creative combinations. If you weren’t going to forgive him, at the very least he could annoy you into submission.

“Tyrion Lannister, you stop that this instant!”

“Let me in and I will!” Gods, did he ever sound petulant, no better than a child throwing a fit. Couldn’t you see what you’d reduced him to?

“Absolutely not. Your sorry arse can sleep in the stables for all I care.”

“If you don’t open this fucking door-” his voice had taken on a shrill whine that was a little too alike to Joffery for his tastes, but he didn’t give a shit. This was your fault.

“What? What exactly are you going to do from out there? Make some more dents? Wonderful, the woodcarvers guild will be so pleased”

“Fuck!”

In a fit of passion, he took off his boot and threw it against the nearest wall. It hit with a hollow thud, before sliding down and landing uselessly on the floor. Tyrion stood, shoulders squared and breathing hard. Then he heard it. A soft sound from behind the door, one that nearly shattered his sorry, shrivelled heart into a thousand pieces.

You were crying.

Immediately, the fight left him. He hobbled over, collected his boot and resumed his post at the door with his head hanging in shame. He had really done it this time, and if the first thing you did tomorrow morning was chuck him off the castle walls, he wouldn’t blame you. A simple apology wasn’t going to be enough tonight. If he had a prayer in Hell of getting back into your good graces, there was only one thing that he could try.

He always felt that his voice wasn’t much when it came to songs, but you loved it. He’d sung to you, the first time you’d met just after your betrothal. It was a song that made you love him then, so perhaps if he was lucky, it would work again.

“The water is wide. I cannot cross o’er. And neither do I have wings to fly. Give me a boat, that will carry two, and both shall row, my love and I”

His voice was shaking slightly, and he knew he was off key, but a poor offering was better than none at all.

“There is a ship and it sails on the sea. Loaded deep as deep can be But not as deep as the love I'm in. I know not if I sink or swim.”

No sooner had he stopped singing the last note, than he heard the sound of tumblers clicking in the lock. He all but sobbed with relief when you opened the door, falling to his knees and ready to beg for all he was worth.

Much to his surprise, you joined him on the floor, throwing your arms about his neck and burying your face into his shoulder. He held you tight, with a hand around your waist and one in your hair. You were crying still, but you were with him now, and that was all that mattered.

When your tears subsided, he pulled back slightly, trying to see your face. You ducked your head to the side, refusing to meet his eye.

“Beloved, look at me, please?”

“No.” your hair was loose and hung around your cheeks like a curtain. Your voice sounded thick and tight from tears, but with none of the anger from before.

“Why?”

“Because if I look at you, I’ll smile. I can’t smile at you, I’m mad.”

Tyrion chuckled softly and shook his head. He was by no means out of trouble yet, but hearing you jest meant he’d be married to you and alive for at least one more day.

“Well, how about this. We can talk about what an idiot I am, and once you’ve had your fill of that, I’ll write a thousand page sonnet about what a wonderful wife you are, and then if you find you’re still upset with me, I’ll kiss you until you’re happy again.”

“…what if it takes a lot of kisses for that to happen?”

Tyrion placed a quick kiss against your temple, then nuzzled his face against your own. Your familiar scent made him feel like he’d finally been let back into paradise.

You never enjoyed the death matches. You weren’t a fan of blood and gore, but you especially hated the “trials by combat”. You weren’t sure how exactly slicing the head off of another man proved your innocence. You sat next to your older half sister, the reigning Queen Regent, right in the front row. She was in much better spirits since her husband had died and her son crowned King. She had never been cruel to you, her attention was usually focused on Tyrion, but she had now been almost kind to you in the time since becoming widowed. 

“Lady Lannister,” You heard from your side. You couldn’t help the smile that came across your face when you looked up at the large man who had appeared at your side. His place was technically by the King, but no one would question if he stood by the Queen’s sister. He had been charged with guarding your chambers more than a few times. That’s when you had gotten to know him. But it wasn’t until last night that you had first kissed him. You smiled a bit wider remembering it. 

“Nice to see you, Hound,” You said. You saw his mouth twitch, but he kept his mask of stoicism. You couldn’t help but think what would have happened last night had you not been interrupted by your brother knocking on your door. You wondered if he would have taken you right there in your chambers. You were hoping he would. He had seemed just as disappointed as you were when he had to pull away and stand in the corner of your room, pretending he hadn’t been on top of you in your bed just moments before when Jamie entered the room. Jamie didn’t question why the Hound was there, he assumed he was doing his job and protecting you. You hoped he would be assigned to guard your room again tonight. Maybe then he would finish what you started last night. 

If it were your choice, you would grab his hand and take him back to the castle. You were sure he would rather be there too, knowing how he felt about his brother. He had told you how much he hated seeing the Mountain and he was once again the champion for the King in today’s trial against a Dornish man who was accused of stealing from the Red Keep. 

The usual cheers came for the Mountain as he entered the arena. Any hint of a smile left the Hound’s face immediately. Boos rang out over the crowd as the Dornish man was pushed into the center. He was a big man, not as tall as the Mountain but at least as wide. Maybe he would have a shot. The Mountain did his usual rounds, getting cheers louder for him. The Dornish man took the opportunity to lunge towards the Mountain, toppling him over. The Dornish man held his own for just a moment, but the Mountain flipped them over, sitting his whole weight on the man’s chest. He squeezed the man’s head with both hands. You gasped, grabbing onto the Hound’s arm in surprise as the Mountain ripped the man’s head off of his body, the spine coming with it as blood poured onto the ground. You felt sick to your stomach. The whole thing lasted less than a minute. At least it was over. 

You realized your hand was still on the Hound’s arm and you pulled away, placing your hands in your lap. 

“Well, that was quick,” Cersei said with that polite smile of hers. “The Gods must not have wanted their time wasted.” 

“Or the Mountain is just a beast,” You said. Your sister shot you a look. 

The King stood up, clapping excitedly with his wicked grin on his face, his betrothed looking as horrified as you felt next to him in her chair. “Gregor Clegane, a good show as always. How many battles have you championed for my family? Over a hundred I expect.” 

“Yes, Your Grace,” The Mountain confirmed.

“It is high time you were properly rewarded,” The King said graciously. You heard an annoyed laugh from the Hound next to you. “You are a man I would be disappointed to see be the last of his line. You may have your pick of a wife, I’ll seek out the most beautiful women in King’s Landing for you.” 

You felt sick to your stomach. Of course, Joffrey’s idea of fun was torturing some helpless woman by wedding her to the most cruel and violent man in the country. It wasn’t enough that he had that poor Stark girl torment. You had never liked your nephew. You were closer in age to him than to his mother, he had no respect for you. 

“Any woman?” The Mountain asked. 

“Be sure to pick one with some lands and a good name,” King Joffrey smirked. “Get your money’s worth, Clegane.” The Mountain’s face split into a grin as horrible as Joffrey’s. You realized he was looking right at you. 

“That one,” He said, pointing a blood stained finger at you. You saw the Hound clutch the hilt of his sword beside you. 

King Joffrey clapped again gleefully as you looked to your sister. Even her eyes were wide in fear for you, and she didn’t even like you all that much. “My son,” She said, her tone warning, but Joffrey ignored her as he came over to you, pulling you out of your seat and towards the arena. 

“My dear aunt, a wonderful choice,” He said as he nearly pulled your arm out of its socket dragging you into the arena. You could smell the death that clung to the air as the hem of your dress dragged in the blood. Joffrey shoved you into the Mountain and the beast swung you up into his arms, holding you like a prize. You stared back helplessly at the Hound as the crowd cheered.

*

His bandaged knuckles throbbed as he took a swig from his wineskin. The Hound sat on a bottom step, the noise from the feast still audible. He had to resist throwing a punch into the stone wall of the corridor. His bed chambers were still a wreck, his table in several pieces. The maids were too terrified of him to try and enter. If the Hound thought that he was angry the day after the betrothal, when he had beaten his own hands bloody on his walls, it was nothing compared to how he felt after watching you stand before the everyone in the sept, draped in the cloak of his house, declaring that you were now his brother’s property. 

He had barely seen you before the wedding and part of him felt like that was the Queen’s doing. He was sure that she knew how he felt about you. He thought that he had hidden it well, trying not to let his eyes linger on you for too long. Maybe he was always too ready to take guard duty by your chambers, or too pleased when she ordered him to walk you through the city when you asked to venture off. 

The Hound had wanted to kiss you for some time now. He had been surprised when you had done it that night, just a week ago. Gods, it felt so much longer. If he could, he would go back to that night and take you away. Or at least tell the Kingslayer to fuck off. 

Almost as if summoned by his thoughts of you, you turned the corner to the corridor he sat in. You spotted him, your face breaking into a soft smile as you walked towards him. 

“I was wondering where you had wandered off to,” You said, standing above him where he sat on the step. You weren’t used to looking down at him. “Plenty of ale in the dining hall.” 

“No offense, milady,” The Hound said, still not looking at you. “But I’d rather get my balls ripped off by a direwolf.” 

“You think it’s fun for me?” You said, anger rising in your chest. You didn’t know why he was upset at you. You didn’t want to be married to Gregor Clegane. You had no say in the goings on of your life. Your father had tried to sway the King, but Joffrey was changing his mind. You suspected Tywin hadn’t tried all that hard anyways. 

“Didn’t say it was,” The Hound said, taking another sip. “He’s going to beat you bloody.” 

“You’re being a dick,” You said, your hands on your hips. He gave a humorless laugh. “You’re acting like you don’t even care. You always act like you don’t care.” 

“You think I don’t care?” The Hound said, rising up to his full height, towering over you, but you didn’t back down. You knew he would never hurt you. He could never hurt you. “You think I don’t want to kill my brother?” 

“You always want to kill your brother, Sandor, that’s nothing new.” Any time you used his name, his real name, his jaw tensed. No one called him anything other than “hound” or “dog”. 

“He will hurt you and that little cunt Joffrey thinks it’s a game, a joke.” The Hound grabbed your arms with his large hands, startling you. “He doesn’t deserve to call you his wife.” 

“I don’t want to be his wife,” You said, reaching up to touch the burned flesh of his face and he let you. 

“You don’t want to be mine either,” He said firmly, grabbing your wrist. 

“Why not?”

“You need a good man,” He said. “And there aren’t any here.” 

You stood on your toes, lifting yourself just enough to kiss him. He stooped to pick you up, his arms wrapped around your waist. He carried you into the next corridor. You could still hear your wedding feast as you kissed your groom’s brother. He pressed you into the rough brick wall and you wrapped your legs around his waist, your wedding gown racked up to your thighs. 

“I may be his wife,” You said breathlessly as he kissed your neck. “But I’m yours. From this day until the end of my days.” You said these words earlier in the sept but now you felt the meaning of them as the Hound’s lips stilled on your neck. 

“Aye,” He said finally, kissing your lips. “You’re mine.” 

“And you’re mine.” 

“And I’m yours. Til the end of my days and all that shit.” 

You threaded your fingers through his hair, kissing him as fiercely as you could. You didn’t care that someone could easily turn the corner and find you in a very compromising position  with the king’s bodyguard. 

“I need you,” You whispered, your teeth raking his ear lobe. He groaned his hands sliding further up your legs to grab your ass.

“Here?” 

“Here.” 

His hand slid in between your legs, feeling the pooling wetness there. “You’re fucking dripping, milady,” He said, smugness edging his tone. He liked that he had that effect on you. 

“Sandor,” You begged, hitting his shoulder with your fist lightly. “We don’t-,” He cut you off, slipping two large fingers until you and making you gasp. He watched your face, a smirk playing at his lips as he rubbed you from the inside out. You bit your lip to keep from crying out when his thumb found your clit. He kissed you roughly, rubbing faster and faster until you moaned into his mouth as you came. 

He wasted no time in undoing his pants, just enough to shove his hard cock into you full hilt. You couldn’t help the near scream you let out as he filled you, your nails grabbing at his chainmail armor. He clapped his hand over your mouth as he thrust into you. 

“Keep quiet,” He warned with a grunt. The brick scraped at the skin on your back that your gown didn’t cover but even that felt good. You liked that you would be able to feel him even later. 

His fingers felt like fire across your thighs as he gripped you tightly, his thrusts becoming wilder as he got closer. You wished that you could have your wedding night with him, in a large bed where you could curl into him afterwards, but this sloppy and quick encounter would be enough. For now. 

He moved to hold you with both hands, kissing you hard. “Fuck, you feel so good,” He grunted. 

“Finish inside me,” You said, making him groan. You were trying to remember every inch of him, from the way he stretched you to the way his beard scraped at your face. “I want to feel it, Sandor.” 

You felt a shudder run through him as he released into you, holding you tight to make sure you didn’t fall to the ground. He rested his head in the crook of your neck for a brief moment. 

He finally set you back down on your feet, letting your gown fall back into place. You could feel the stickiness creep down your thighs and it almost made you want to go again, but you knew you didn’t have time. 

The Hound bent to kiss you again, his hand cupping your face. He knew what would happen later that night and he didn’t want to think of it. He wanted to just keep thinking of how good you felt around him, saying his name in that breathy moan of yours. 

“Lady Clegane,” You heard from the main corridor. You gave the Hound’s hand a gentle squeeze as you saw the look on his face. You were a Clegane now, taken under the family’s cloak. It just stung more than he ever thought it could.

You walked out, the Hound shortly behind you, finding Podrick looking around the corridor. He gave the Hound a frightened look before looking back at you. “Sorry, milady, Lord Tyrion asked me to find you.” 

“Yes, of course, thank you,” You said. With another side eyed glance at the Hound, Podrick turned back and left for the dining hall. 

You felt the Hound’s rough hand on your shoulder, fixing the back of your gown that had gotten mussed during your encounter. You looked back at him, offering him a gentle smile, but he avoided your eyes. 

“Better get back, Lady Clegane.”

*

He couldn’t stay away from you. He tried. Gods know he tried. He hated thinking about you sharing his brother’s bed, knowing exactly what Gregor would do to you. What was worse was knowing he couldn’t do anything about it. It wasn’t until nearly a fortnight after the wedding that he finally swallowed his pride and sought you out, going to the chambers you now shared with the Mountain when he knew that the Mountain would be off somewhere, killing someone in the name of the Lannisters. 

You had been so happy to see the Hound that you nearly forgot how miserable you had been since your wedding. You didn’t even speak, you just pounced on him. The arrangement wasn’t ideal, but at least you got the Hound, even if it was just stolen moments that you could sneak away. Sometimes you even got lucky, when Gregor had to go off on a task set forth by King Joffrey, you were able to spend the night with the Hound, wrapped in his arms, in his bed, sleepy and sated after he had fucked you until you screamed his name, forgetting that he wasn’t the Clegane you had married. Your husband had his whores, you had his brother.

“If we left right now,” You had said, on one of these nights, the Hound’s hand tracing circles on your back lazily as you laid your head on his broad, hairy chest. “We could make it at least to Stokeworth before anyone even realized we were gone.” 

“Is that what you want?” The Hound asked, his eyes already closed. He always fell asleep almost immediately after he finished. 

The question had thrown you. Of course it was what you wanted. You had fantasized about it every moment since you took your vows. Except it would come at a price. Yes, here, you had to be married to that awful beast of a man, but you if you ran away, you would never see your family again. Even if your sister was standoffish and her first born a spoiled shit, you still loved your brothers, and your niece and nephew. You hated to think what would happen to sweet Mrycella and Tommen if left alone here. They were good children, you didn’t want to see them grow into the same sort as their elder brother. Not to mention, you would spend the rest of your lives with a bounty on your head, living in fear of being caught. 

“I want to be on top this time,” You had said instead, rolling over onto the Hound. 

“Again?” He had chuckled under you, squeezing your hips. He had grunted when you slid his quickly hardening cock back into you. It was a good enough distraction, it kept you from having to burst your bubble. 

Until now. 

You were good at keeping the peace. It was what your father said you were best at, in fact. But even you couldn’t calm Gregor Clegane when he was in a rage. Over something stupid, as well. A lost bet. The Maester said you were lucky he hadn’t broken any bones when he had flung you across the room. Just bruised and a bit bloody, but after you were bandaged up, you were free to go back to your chambers. You were safe, as well, as Gregor had been called away by the King, yet again, sent to Harrenhal. But it wasn’t it the bruises or wounds or even your husband that weighed on you. It was the news that the Maester had for you. 

You walked in the exact opposite direction of your chambers, towards the Red Keep where you knew the Hound would be standing guard outside the King’s door. Normally, you were much more discreet, never daring to visit him when you knew your nephew could see, but you needed to see him and it needed to be now. 

You turned the corner, feeling the weight on your chest lightening just slightly when you saw him. He had heard you coming, his hand on his sword just in case you had been a threat, but when he saw it was you, his hand dropped. When he saw the bandages, he stepped away from his post. 

“What in the hells happened?” He asked, his hand on your cheek. You placed your hand over his, looking up at him. You didn’t even need to answer for his jaw to tense. “I’m going to kill him. I’m going to fucking-,”

“Sandor,” You said softly. “We need to leave, tonight.” 

The Hound stared at you, studying your face to try to tell if you were serious. “You want to leave?”

“We need to leave,” You corrected. You kept your voice low, pulling him away from the door. “Gregor won’t be back for a few days, if we leave right when your watch ends-,” 

“What happened?” The Hound asked. 

You took a deep breath. You still hadn’t quite processed what the Maester had told you just moments before, it didn’t feel real. But you needed to say it and say it now, otherwise he would overhear when the Maester no doubt told Cersei and you couldn’t think of a worse way for him to find out. “I’m pregnant,” You said, your hands placed on your still flat stomach. You don’t think you had ever seen such genuine fear on his face. “Sandor?” You asked. 

“And you don’t know if…,” He trailed off. You didn’t need to hear the rest of his question to know what it was. It had been your first thought as well. 

“There’s no way to know, not for sure,” You said. “But if you come with me, if you leave with me tonight, it doesn’t matter, not to me. You’re mine, remember? And I’m yours. I love you, with my whole heart I do, but I need to leave tonight. I’ll go with or without you, but please, don’t make me go without you.” You could feel yourself rambling, the tears starting to fall down your cheeks. He stared at you, dumbfounded. You showed him countless times how much you cared for him, but this was the first time he heard it, heard those words, I love you. You wondered if he had ever heard those words before in his life. 

“I’ll leave with you,” He said finally. You pulled him down, kissing his lips with as much force as you could. He lifted you off your feet, holding you close. “You’re mine, it’s mine.”

*

You stretched your arms high above you, feeling your sore back crack. The morning sun beamed in from the small window of the cottage. You laughed slightly as you looked at the empty side of the bed next to you. You struggled to your feet, wrapping your dressing gown around yourself. You knew exactly where to find the Hound. 

You could already hear the swing of the hammer before you walked outside. It was such a common sound now a days, it hadn’t even woken you. 

“Sandor,” You said with a laugh. “It was fine yesterday. It was fine the day before. And the day before that. If you keep fucking with it, it’ll just be a pile of kindling by the time the baby gets here.” 

The Hound didn’t even look up from the excellently built crib as he kneeled in front of it, examining it for imperfections that weren’t there but he was convinced he could find. “What do you know about crib building?”

“What do you?” 

“Exactly,” He grumbled. 

You walked over to him and patted his head as he stared at the crib. He sighed, plopping down onto the grass in front of it. You lowered yourself into his lap, with some difficulty. He placed his hand on your large stomach absently as he looked at his creation. Any time you were near him, it was like his hand was drawn to the child inside of you. He even slept with his arm tightly around you. 

“What if it breaks when she’s in there?” He asked. 

“It’s not going to break,” You said. “And I still think he’s a boy.” 

“And you’re wrong.” 

“I’m the one carrying the damned thing,” You laughed. 

“So? Doesn’t mean shit,” He said. 

“You just don’t like my name.” 

“James is a cunt name, no, I don’t like it,” The Hound said. “I’ve killed men named James, I’m not naming my son James.” 

“So you decided that means we’re having a daughter then?” 

Sansa looked toward the front of the Sept sadly. She saw Tyrion standing there and sighed. This wasn’t what she wanted. She had thought she was going to marry Loras. That was who she wanted. Not someone that was related to those that killed her family. Though she knew Tyrion wasn’t like them. It didn’t make her feel any better. She held back her tears and kept her head high. Right as she reached her soon to be husband the back doors swung open loudly.

You stormed in, glaring at Tywin along with Joffrey. You hated them both with a passion. They had destroyed your family. Your twin, Robb, was lost to you. Though you looked nothing like him at all, you had the Stark sense of honor and your father’s stubbornness. “This wedding is not happening! My little sister is not marrying Tyrion.” You wouldn’t let her go through that. You knew this wasn’t what Sansa wanted. However, you had another motive for stopping the wedding.

Tyrion looked at you in confusion. The two of you had gotten on well from the moment you met. He even found you to be beautiful, but your families didn’t get along. So he had moved on. He had found Shae, but now he was being forced by his father to marry your sister. It wasn’t right. She was a child. He wanted someone older, someone that knew what they wanted. He had one night with you in Winterfell before he thought you were lost to him. Now he was thinking you might have a second chance.

Tywin raised a brow. “Oh? You believe you can stop this from happening? You have no say. Your family was traitors and they lost. We now have control over your sister and what happens.”

Joffrey snorted. “Wait grandfather. Perhaps she’s wanting to marry him. Oh this will be even better. Yes! I have decided that she shall marry him instead.”

You acted mortified by the thought, not wanting Joffrey or Tywin to know how much you actually wanted that. “What? You...you’re serious?” You prayed to the old gods he was. You had wanted to be with Tyrion since you met him at Winterfell; even against your father’s wishes.

Joffrey nodded. “I’m very serious. Get up here. Sansa put the cloak you’re wearing on your big sister. Go on do it.”

You walked up and helped your sister remove the cloak and put it on yourself. You could see Sansa felt sorry for you, but was also relieved.

After the ceremony was to be the wedding feast. You sat beside Tyrion, enjoying a glass of wine. You placed your hand on his knee under the table and squeezed gently. “I hope you know this is what I wanted,” you whispered.

Tyrion looked up at you, smiling softly. “To marry me or save your sister from a monster?”

“Stop that! You are not a monster. I’ve never seen you as one and I never will either. Yes, I wanted to save Sansa. Not because you’re a monster, but because she is still a child. I meant marrying you though. I’ve wanted to since that night in Winterfell.”

“My dear wife.” Tyrion placed his hand on top of yours. “I would have married you then if I thought I could. I know your father would have had my head for even asking. He would have taken it had he known I laid with you, but I digress. I’m glad that this is also what you wanted.”

You waited until the two of you were alone in your chambers to show him how much you truly wanted this. You kissed him softly yet passionately, pouring all your love for him into the kiss. “You’re mine now and I’m not letting you go.”

“Nor will I ever let you go.” He pulled you back down for another kiss, walking back toward the bed. He was eager to relive that night in Winterfell all those moons ago.

You walked with him and followed him onto the bed. “Both of us are wearing too many clothes.” You grinned. You tugged at the strings on his doublet, making it come loose. A small smirk graced your lips as his chest hair came into view. “That’s already a bit better, but…” You sat back and helped him up so you could take his shirt off. You purred when his upper body was revealed. “Much better.”

Tyrion chuckled softly. “It is, but you’re still wearing too much.” He helped you out of your clothing before removing his boots and trousers. “I believe this is much better than moments before. Don’t you?” He teasingly circled your areola with his finger.

A small mewl left you at the teasing and you nodded. “I do. Much better.” You kissed him, letting your tongue explore his mouth. He tasted of the wine you’d both been drinking and it fueled your desire for him. Without anymore hesitation you mounted him and slowly rocked your hips. He felt so good filling you up and stretching you. “I haven’t felt this good since that night. I’ve pleasured myself to the thought of you, but it was never enough. This is what I needed.”

His hands came to rest upon your hips. He helped guide you back and forth, up and down on his thick cock. “Fuck. I’ve been with others since then. I won’t lie. They don’t compare to you though. I love how tight and warm you are. This fucking pussy is mine and I want to stay buried in it.” He placed his thumb on your clit as he spoke, beginning to make small circles on the sensitive bundle.

You gasped and shuddered. You placed your hands beside his head and bent down to kiss him. “It’s yours. I’m yours. This feels so fucking good.” You picked up your pace. You had missed him and how good he made you feel. This time would be fast and quick, giving you both what you needed. There would be time for slow love making later.

Tyrion bucked his hips in time with your rocking, driving him further inside. He drug across that sweet spot inside while he kept teasing your little bud. “Shit!” You screamed in bliss as you clenched his cock. You were milking him for all he was worth as you gushed on him, soaking both of you and the bedding. You laid over him and panted softly.

“Holy fuck. You...love I’ve never felt anything that amazing before. We won’t be leaving this room for some time.”

You smiled blissfully. “I’m perfectly okay with that.”

***

You wanted to crawl against Latilth and siphon off her immense warmth. She had kept you warm all through the night. How Inniros had slept through the night without snuggling with the dragon, you didn’t know. Perhaps he was used to it from his childhood living in the mountains.

He sat in the room with you along with Loviisa, the silent Ulian and Rhiannon whom Master Batur deemed less of a threat opposed to her other temple companions. While Rhiannon was tempted to bite back at that slightly deprecating comment, she didn’t want to risk it if she was being allowed to go with you.

“Any advice on Lady Nazneen before I meet her?”

Loviisa lowly chuckles. “From what we saw, you have nothing to worry about when Lady Nazneen is concerned. Her acolyte Syzhal though, well, she’s a bit-“

“Tightly wound?” Inniros takes the words right out of her mouth making the blue haired darkin form a smile as her response. “She’s always acted so superior because she’s the first student ever to train under Lady Nazneen.”

“Even worse is that her powers are actually awe inspiring.” Groans Loviisa.

“I’m guessing no one has really changed since you were last here?” Rhiannon, watching their playful banter and the returned smile from Ulian, put her at eases. Not all darkin were as unsettling as that Qheen or Master Batur. Even after acknowledging that you were the reincarnation of Azor Ahai didn’t make him warm up to you exactly. His responses were snipped and curt in his usual manner. The one thing that has transformed was the mild respectful tone that lay underneath his outward bitterness.

He and Loviisa confess that it was comforting in some odd way to come back after so long. At least the Manor of Shades hadn’t succumbed to the passage of time. Ulian though was one reminder that time did hold sway in the Shadowlands. Apparently he had been a young boy when Inniros had left and only slightly older when Loviisa had departed. Now he was a proper young man. Ulian had blushed and made more hand gestures that only the other darkin understood. Loviisa who sat next to him gently elbows him in the side. The three darkin there appeared warm with one another. Growing up in the Manor of Shades may not have been the easiest childhood, but they had survived it together.

“Jalsolin is pleasant at least.” Loviisa hums. “Bright like fire.”

“I knew you liked me all long, Lovii.” You and Rhiannon turn around to find someone leaning against the back wall. Neither of the darkin there seemed too surprised, having already sensed his presence. His hair was like fire. Not a dark red like Inniros’, but it held hues of orange and yellow; only contained by a simple hair tie. His face and arms were splattered with freckles and scars that raced against his skin. One especially large one sliced across the bridge of his nose and across his cheek barely stopping at his ear.

His disfigurement did little to dim how dashing his smile was. While he wasn’t as handsome as your Rhaegar or even like Jaime, Jalsolin had a charm that was entirely his own. He even somehow managed to warm up the desolate room with his personality as he made his way around the couch to finally drop to one knee in front of you. “I’ve been waiting to meet you since I felt you and your group enter the Shadowlands. Azor Ahai Reborn, the greatest honor to finally meet you.”

Definitely all charm, when he registered Rhiannon’s presence you noticed his facial expression freeze for a split second. His rich brown eyes widen and even if Rhiannon wasn’t aware in that moment, you knew what his expression meant. You must have had the same expression on your face when you first met Rhaegar. Love at first sight. Jalsolin had immediately been smitten by the red priestess who sat next to you.

Rhiannon on the other hand observed him with amusement. No other darkin she had met had been quite this friendly. They had all been reserved during the first introductions. Her own honey hued pools take him in for his unique features yet didn’t notice the warmth that sprung on his freckled cheeks.

Jalsolin quickly schooled his features, his lazy smile returning as he kissed your hand. “And who is your red companion?”

A smile curls at the corners of your lips. “This is the red priestess Rhiannon. Not just that, but she is my greatest friend. I consider her my sister.”

She looks at you warmly, touched that you would admit it to everyone in the room of your special bond with her.

“Rhiannon.” He sighs at the way her name rolled off his tongue.

You wanted to giggle at how obvious the attraction he had for your friend and how oblivious she was. Even Loviisa held a hand in front of her smirking lips. Inniros and Ulian merely roll their eyes, perhaps used to Jalsolin’s tendencies.

The heavy oak door groans as someone from the other side opens it. A tall, statuesque woman is ushered in. Her long dress trails behind her, Master Batur easily sidesteps around it so he doesn’t tread upon her fine fabric. She towered over everyone there yet her grace was still retained as she swoops into a curtsy.

“I am the Lady Nazneen.” Waves of her mauve hair trail over her shoulders and curtain her features as much as her half veil did that obscured the lower half of her face. “Our kind have been awaiting your arrival for centuries.”

Her eyes were a brilliant green, more rich and mossy than your own. Even Cersei’s wouldn’t be able to compare to such precious gems that took home in Nazneen’s sockets.

“The wonders you have already brought to the manor are even more than we could imagine. I have not seen a dragon up close in years and your’s is by far the most beautiful. You even managed to put Batur in his place.”

The master grumbles at that. “Watch it, Nazneen.”

Lowly chuckling, she rises to her full height. You had never seen a woman quite her height. Hells, even Yophiel couldn’t compete with her.

You stand from the cushions and return the courtesy of a bow. “A great honor for me to meet another master darkin. I’m excited about meeting more shadow dancers. I was told you have another pupil.”

Something like a disgruntled scoff makes her face tense. “Syzhal was supposed to be here already. That girl does like to test me.”

“Most of the darklings do.” Batur shot a look at Inniros who impassively stares back at him with that single blue eye of his that eerily held the same shade as Batur’s. The tension didn’t last long; skilled in diffusing the situation, Nazneen sweeps along the room over to Inniros.

“My, what happened to your hair? Last time I saw you, you had such lovely red locks.” Nazneen clicks her tongue against her teeth as her long fingers brush against Inniros’ short, red tufts. It had grown quite a bit during your sea voyage, but it was nowhere as long as it had been before.

He still hadn’t told you who exactly had forcefully sheared his head, but you had a feeling that members of the Fiery Hand had a great deal to do with it.

“Consider it an induction into the Red Temple.” Is all he mutters.

Prickling at the mention of the temple, her eyes were drawn to the red priestess sitting next to you. Rhiannon straightened up, putting on an expression of radiating dignity and strength. She would not quaver in front of such a domineering woman. She hadn’t in front of the other darkin and refused to now. You envied and admired her self-confidence.

“Yes. . . I had heard you brought members of the temple with you. The others-“

“Are in the tower.” Inniros says. “Qheen has his shadows monitoring them. As you probably are doing right now.”

An arched, finely sculpted eyebrow lifts at someone younger than her interrupting her. Yet his words settle her down. Nazneen rolls her shoulders and turns her face back to you.

You felt an urge to defend them. The Red Temple had, after all, housed and fed you, taught you how to finesse your skill with a blade so that you could thoroughly protect yourself in any given situation. It had been your lone bastion in the world. The only other place that had treated you with such kindness was Dragonstone. Back in the days when you had Thalina and Rhaegar and even his mother Rhaella. “I assure you, this visit is one of only friendship. I know the history of the darkin with the church. Like I told Master Batur, what they did was a horrible act against you.”

Her eyes revealed the sad, hidden smile that was cloaked by her veil. “Yes it was. But it wasn’t Azor Ahai’s fault and it isn’t your’s. We anticipate joining you once more on the battlefield. When the time comes.”

Heart swelling with joy, your smile is full blown. You had succeeeded. Much sooner than you had anticipated too. You could go back to Volantis and see your brothers. And. . .

And you were that much closer to returning to Westeros. Returning to Rhaegar. You had told Jaime that that would always be your goal. And now since the word had spread of you and Latilth, the news must have reached Westeros. That is if the civil war didn’t interfere. No more news had come, not since Ser Barristan Selmy.

Instantly your hand went to grasp Rhiannon’s awaiting one. She gave it a tight squeeze to signal her own happiness of returning sooner than scheduled.

“Now, may I meet the hatchling?” Nazneen says, excitement in her voice betraying her.

“Really? You don’t think Aegon was the greatest Targaryen king?” Rhaegar appeared surprised that you did not share the common opinion of Aegon the Conqueror being the greatest in his family lineage. You instead had picked Jaehaerys. That was who you wanted to name your son after. The child in your womb was beginning to make your abdomen swell along with the attention Rhaegar had been giving you.

Lyanna was an unspoken phantom that still lurked in the corner of your mind. So many times he had apologized for hurting you. You knew it was never his intention and he had proven how true his apology was time and time again.

Your wounded heart was still healing but the baby you wer anticipating made everything prior feel so inconsequential. Nothing else mattered anymore now that you were going to give Rhaegar an heir so soon into your marriage. This baby would literally be your pride and joy.

You admire the sight of your beautiful husband as he’s leaning against the trunk of a tree in the main courtyard of the Red Keep. Thalina was off in the distance; needlework for the baby kept her busy. Tyrion sat at her feet, reading a book. All seemed perfect. You wanted this to last forever. “Well, Aegon may have united the Seven Kingdoms, but Jaehaerys established and kept the peace. Never again has there been a reign like his. I mean. . . I’m sure you’ll be just as kind and just when you become king.”

He sets aside his harp and places the palm of his hand against your belly. So warm his hands were that it even reached the baby for you felt a tickling in your tummy. The grand maester had said that it was a sign that the baby was kicking.

Rhaegar felt it too for his eyes grew and shined. “I think he agrees with you on the name. Very well, Jaehaerys it will be.” He grins and pulls your face towards his for a kiss. You cherish the kisses he gifted you.

You didn’t know what they meant exactly, but you would accept them selfishly. He was acting like the husband you wanted. To you, you didn’t feel like it was faked. There was a part of him that truly loved you. But it didn’t escape you that the fact of the matter was that he possibly still viewed you as the little girl he met in Lannisport. Maybe even like a little sister. That didn’t quite make sense either since he still had sex with you almost every other day. Unless those were out of duty and pity. You weren’t an expert on the mind of a man. Asking Jaime about it was out of the question. He still hated Rhaegar for what he had done and you were not yet ready to face him about Cersei.

Rhaegar pulled away from you and smiled down at his hand on your stomach. “Prince Jaehaerys. Third of his name. There are too many Targaryens named Aegon anyway. Who needs another Aegon when we can have another Jaehaerys.”

Your eyes snap open to the darkness that was wrapped around you. Tucked securely under Latilth’s wing, Rhaegar’s words ring in your ears.

Fear gripped you. What if the two of you were both changed too much that whatever love he once held for you was gone? That would break your heart all over again. War changed people, that much you knew. And you were no longer that sweet little mouse he saved from a den of lions. You were much more than that now although you would never forget those painful years spent alone in Casterly Rock.

You turn against your makeshift sleeping bag, lifting Latilth’s wing with your back as you squirm out. While she kept you warm you needed fresh, cold air to cool down your burning face. A few moments after, you hear Inniros move out from under Latilth’s other wing where he too had been sleeping.

“Are you okay?” Both of you had willingly chose to sleep outside again to keep Latilth company. You couldn’t sleep in the room Batur had provided you with good conscious. It was too quiet and too lonely in there. You had grown accustomed to sleeping in a jam packed room with Inniros, Rhiannon, Melisandre, Weles and Ray along with your fast growing dragon that had still been small enough to sleep under your cot.

”Yeah. Sorry, did I wake you?”

“A little but that’s okay. I’m naturally a light sleeper.” Inniros stood next to you and looked up at the star filled sky. So many that they reminded you of the beads in the wedding gown you had worn. Everything else in Asshai was scary except for the night sky. By day it appeared sullen and overcast, but at night the clouds parted to reveal its wealth in stars.

Much like Inniros. This man who had been hired by your sister to kill you was now one of your most trusted allies. “Guess its an occupational hazard, huh?”

Lowly chuckling, Inniros nods. “Yes. And from living under Batur’s roof.”

“Do you regret the childhood you had?”

“Absolutely not.” It came out of his mouth before you could even finish your question. “While I would have very much liked my mother to be alive, it’s because of my childhood that I’ve honed my darkin powers. All that hardship and pain gave me the tools I needed to claim my freedom.”

You couldn’t agree though. Your life, while you were still terrorized by Cersei, had been astronomically better when your lady mother was still alive. Nothing was the same and each day you longed for her guidance and gentle hand. Especially when matters concerning the heart arose. She had always given such great advice. You felt lost when she died.

Behind you, Latilth stirs letting out a low cooing noise. Her head lifts up like she’s beckoning both you and Inniros to go back to sleep. You laugh in unison and appease her. Your hand runs over the smooth scales on her nose as Inniros affectionately pat her on the neck. She settles back down and opens up her wings for the both of you to return.

You pause for a moment and look over at Inniros who is crawling back to where he had been sleeping.

“I’m scared about seeing my husband again.”

That made him halt and backtrack. Even Latilth looked at you and lowered her wings.

“Before everything happened, I thought that maybe he was beginning to love me back. But too much has happened between then and now. I’m worried that he won’t love me anymore.”

“If he doesn’t then he’s a fool. Love is not something that disappears with death. Now that he knows you’re alive, it should be reinforced.” Inniros pauses with his hand on one of Latitlh’s spikes that lined her jaw. “Relationships in general aren’t my area of expertise. But that much I know is true. Even after my mother died, I never forgot the love i had for her and the love she bore me.”

Yes, Joanna had been very much the same. “You had a good mother, Inniros.”

His gentle smile took you by surprise. “I know.”

Looking back at the mountain range that hid the castle, you close your eyes. “Ray and Rhiannon will be leaving tomorrow morning to give the captain of our ship a heads up of our return. Any idea of how long their preparations might take?”

Inniros sighs just thinking about it. “The crew is afraid to even set foot in Asshai. To replenish supplies we’ll probably have to stop somewhere else for a few days. Maybe in Leng or Yi Ti. We definitely can’t go far. It will take probably another four days to reach one of them.”

There was still a long way to go before you saw Rhaegar again. You decided it was for the best. It would give you more time to figure out what you would say to him and a list of scenarios that could play out.

“If your husband is smart, then he will be waiting for you with open arms.” Inniros hesitantly adds before crouching back down to get under Latilth’s wing.

They were worries to have another day. There was nothing you could do now but prepare and deal with the other problems at hand. You completed the task of stretching a friendly hand out to the darkin. Now you had to convince at least one or two of them to go with you back to Volantis and make the long journey back.

Ray and Rhiannon left earlier that morning to inform the captain of your eminent departure. Inniros and Loviisa left with them as extra backup if they encountered some demented Asshai’i creature. The entire trip to and from would take hours.

In the mean time, you and Weles ran drills in the mountain courtyard as Melisandre silently watches from the sidelines. Jalsolin and Qheen also stood in observation as you wield Lightbringer with fluid efficiency. Latilth crows happily above as she spreads her lavish wings. It may have just been you, but you could have in the three short days you had been there Latilth had grown exponentially. The beating of her wings sent powerful gusts that whipped your short hair around your face.

Maybe it was whatever ancient magic that the Shadowlands held in them. You did spot the carcass of some horned animal in the small nest Latilth made herself so she was definitely hunting the local wildlife.

“Remember, nuha kosh, steady and easy breaths only. In through the nose and out of the mouth. Conscious breathing.” Weles reminds you when he notices fatigue sweating on your face. You nod with steely focus and readjust how you were inhaling. While your attention was solely on Weles, a newcomer to your impromptu training ring catches your eye.

Jalsolin calls out to the figure. “Syzhal! We missed you last night. What on earth were you so busy with?”

Lady Nazneen’s other pupil.

Scars of all sorts devastated her face to a disfiguring degree, her dark eyes void of life as they move from Weles, to you, to Latilth. “I was in the study.” Her entire being prickles immediately at the sight of the red woman. The crinkling of her nose tugs at one of her scars and twists it.

Weles, while having no affection for Melisandre, would stand up for any member of the Red Temple. Especially one as renowned as she was. He takes a calculated step to obscure Syzhal’s view of her. This posture was enough to intimidate anyone except maybe a darkin. Only the tattooed on his face and the blessed metal of his weapons kept Syzhal from taking immediate action.

Cold eyes turn once more to you. Her bangs were cut in a perfect, straight line above her brows. The rest of her deep brown hair coiled around her shoulders in a braid. “Azor Ahai.”

“I actually go by (y/n).” Putting Lightbringer back in its scabbard, you boldly out your hand, the one with the scar that ran across your palm.

She looks like she’s about to recoil, but Jalsolin clicks his tongue against his teeth. “Remember what Lady Nazneen told you. Play nice.”

Whipping a sharp glare at him, Syzhal all together steps away from you. “Don’t chastise me like I’m a child, boy. If you ever paid attention during Master Ameer’s lessons, you’d be wary too of trusting anyone from the Faith of R’hllor.”

“That was in the past.” Jalsolin grumbles with a roll of his shoulders. Her combative tone had Jalsolin on the defensive. Qheen was taking pleasure in watching his fellow darkin squabble. Like he thrived off of conflict. You were still trying to figure out the masked darkin as he hadn’t spoken a word to you but you learned from Inniros that Qheen could indeed speak. Unlike Ulian who physically could not. He’d been born a mute but for a darkin that was even more fortuitous.

She lets what Jalsolin said soak in. Folding her arms in front of her chest, she lets slip a sigh. “I suppose we have to trust that Master Batur knows what he’s doing. If he believes in this sunny haired child, then we must abide by his word.”

Melisandre appears like she wants to say something in retaliation but you quickly shake your head at her in warning. Meekly, she obeys and stands down along with Weles.

Turning on her heels, Syzhal stalks back to the front door of the Manor of Shades without so much as looking back.

Jalsolin runs his fingers along his forehead. Apologies fill his eyes. “Wish I could say she wasn’t normally like that. That’s actually Syzhal on a good day.”

“No, it’s alright.” You understood what your presence and those of the red priestess and priest meant here. It threatened their very existence. You knew, of course you did, that High Priest Benerro must want to control the darkin like the temple tried to do hundreds of years ago. Having the darkin in their military could flip the tables and make them seen as a power figure. You wouldn’t let that happen. You planned to tell him so once you returned to Volantis. The darkin were sworn to Azor Ahai, not the church.

Weles mutters something to himself in Valyrian as he swings his blade through the air, imagining it was the disrespectful darkin female. “Are there any other darkin we need to prepare for?”

Grinning at the obviously stressed soldier, Jalsolin puts on an easygoing smile. “Ah don’t worry, general. Only three others are missing. Most likely they’ll meet us there in Volantis.”

The reminder that the darkin were going back with him to the temple has Weles making a sour expression but he refrained from saying anything.

He goes on. “I’m really excited. I can’t say I’ve ever been to Volantis before. We tend to stay away from countries that house any semblance of R’hllor followers.”

“It’s a beautiful place. I’d say the Red Temple has become more of a home for me than I’ve ever had.” You reply with a smile and swipe your hand over your sweaty brow. Before Syzhal had interrupted you were getting quite the needed workout. Training at the temple gave you much appreciated structure and you found your body getting restless without at least some form of exercise.

Being on the ship was torture, and due to your nausea, you weren’t able to train much. While the past two days allowed you to test your skills, you missed the relative repetitiveness that drills offered you.

“It must be true then for you’ve probably been to as many places as I have.” True when speaking of Essos, there was still much of Westeros you’d never been to. That would definitely have to change when you returned to Westeros.

By then you hope Latilth will be large enough for you to mount. It would be easy to travel all of the continent on dragon back.

You envision yourself riding atop of Latilth with Rhaegar behind you as you tour the Seven Kingdoms.

If. . . If he wasn’t already remarried to Lyanna Stark. You would have to wait until your return to find out. The news Selmy brought said nothing of a new potential bride. Back then, no one knew you were alive, so you made yourself come to terms with the idea that Rhaegar might have a new wife. Especially if he was now campaigning for the throne, a queen candidate would be required. Perhaps to make close allies, Rhaegar was forced into taking a daughter of a ruling lord to marry.

You worry that with the opportunity your death granted him, Rhaegar would follow his heart and finally proclaim his love publically to Lyanna Stark. If that was so, then all his touches, all the kisses he left upon your skin, really meant nothing.

The child you would have had would have meant nothing.

Jaehaerys.

Jaehaerys wasn’t an accident though. He was your blessing. Always had been since the moment you discovered you were pregnant. Whatever Rhaegar had thought of Jaehaerys, you hadn’t cared. He was someone who would be entirely of you.

Latilth’s exciteful cry snaps you out of your somber thoughts to crane your neck up to the sky. She was piercing through the sky with ease and indeed made holes in the large clouds. She punches through them like a needle through fabric.

In a way, Latilth was sort of like your child. She hatched in your arms, small wings pressed tightly to her sides as she curled tightly against you.

And what a beautiful child she was.

Wind gusts from her landing has your hair whipping your cheeks. Sharply. Melisandre nearly stumbles from the moving of the ground when Latilth made contact. She’s practically singing, at least that’s what you thought she sounded like. There were so many strange sounds that Latilth was capable of producing.

“ Skorkydoso iksin se jēdar, ñuha prūmia?(How was your flight, my treasure)?”” You reach your hand out to run your palm along her bumpy scales.

Her purrs make her body wiggle in delight as she presses into your hand. You would have never anticipated a dragon being this loving. Westerosi historians did claim that a bond between dragon and rider was a strong one, developed far before the rider actually takes their first flight.

Those had all been Targaryens though. A bond between a dragon and someone who wasn’t of Old Valyria was unheard of. And as far as you knew, the Lannisters had not intermarried with the three-headed dragon before.

“Can’t say I’ve seen a dragon as docile as this one.” Comments Jalsolin as he takes small, tentative steps forward; he almost appears shy to encounter Latilth. “What lovely scales she has.”

Her egg had been even more lovely, resembling a massive opal. “Yes, each like a tiny gemstone.”

“You mentioned three others. Are there only twelve darkin that reside here?” Weles asks brusquely. The temple had been hoping on more.

Jalsolin shakes his head. “Our numbers have always been small. Since the days of Azor Ahai. Too many darkin in the world could lead to unbalance.”

Pausing to mull the numbers over in his head, he turns to the red lady. “Will a dozen be enough?”

From Melisandre’s face there was doubt. “Not ideal but it will have to do.”

It may not have impressed either Weles or Melisandre, but you thought a dozen darkin would be more than enough to defeat the Others when that prophetic day came. Then again, you didn’t know the numbers that the offending army would have under their belt.

Inevitable war was in your future. The most important of all battles for it could mean mass extinction. What you learned in the Red Temple could hardly help you mentally manifest an enemy you had never seen before. Priests and priestesses read you passages regarding your foe. They brought with them freezing cold gusts of wind that wrought the world into a hellish winter. In their ranks were the dead risen back to life and other creatures that were born of nightmares. Fire seemed to be their biggest weakness.

Perfect. You had plenty of fire.

“Not for lack of trying to induct more darkin. That’s why the other three members aren’t here. They’ve been traveling Essos for years trying to find more darklings. It’s a thankless job and incredibly disappointing. Ulian was the last child with darkin power to be found.” Jalsolin explains with a hint of remorse.

“Jalsolin! Qheen!” Came the short barks of Master Batur. In seconds the two men snap into attention. “There’s a disturbance coming from the eastern mountain range.”

Nodding his head, Jalsolin addresses the old master. “We’ll look into right away.”

Master Batur watches them with stony eyes as they pass by him to get back to the Manor. There were many secret passages that led to inside the mountain where there were numerous exits only the darkin could find.

Latilth got his attention for she bore her teeth at him in warning. It would take some time for her to warm up to Master Batur and vice versa.

“What kind of disturbance is it?” Security was high on Weles’ priority list. He knew no place was truly impenetrable, but he at least thought the Manor of Shades would be pretty close to it.

“Sometimes we get lurkers.” The darkin master replies nonchalantly, like it happened frequently. A sense of dread lingers in the air though.

The part inside of you that wanted to learn all about this strange land wanted to ask him what he meant by lurkers. What kind of monsters had he encountered?

You were silent though because if you were being honest with yourself, you didn’t want to actually know. What you had seen in that decrepit city told you of what type of beast resided there.

Hours later, Jalsolin nor Qheen had returned but Rhiannon and the others had. They looked utterly weary.

You stand up from your chair and hurry over to them. “What happened?”

Rhiannon didn’t even have the energy to pretend to be positive. “We have a problem.”

Your heart slams to the bottom of your stomach. That was the last thing you wanted to hear.

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