SUMMARY: YOU'VE BEEN MARRIED TO JACAERYS FOR A WHILE NOW. YOU HAD YOUR RITUAL OF WAKING UP TOGETHER IN THE MORNING. YET, THAT MORNING, JACAERYS WOKE UP WITHOUT YOU AND WITHOUT HIS PRECIOUS COAT.
WORDS: 1280
RATING: GENERAL AUDIENCES
CONTENT: READER IS A TARGARYEN, READER IS JACE'S SISTER, MARRIED COUPLE, A LITTLE BIT OF FLUFF, READER HAS AN UNNAMED FEMALE DRAGON
WARNINGS: BROTHER/SISTER TARGCEST
Jacaerys sighed as the sun streamed through the window in thin rays. He turned over in bed, burying his face in his pillow. The night had been long with you, and the last thing he wanted to do was get up. One of his hands went to the side, trying to find you to hold you close, but he found nothing. Then he sat up, opening his eyes; your place in bed was empty.
It wasn't the first time you'd woken up before him, but it still bothered him. He loved it when you were the first thing he saw when he woke up, cuddling you for a long time without worrying about the breakfast you should already be having.
He sighed again as he lay back down, his elbow over his eyes. Now he was even less motivated to get up. He didn't even get his morning kiss, so it was an unpleasant start to the day.
So it was after several long minutes that he finally got out of bed. He stretched, shivers running through his body, still naked since the previous night. He had almost finished getting dressed when he noticed that his coat was missing. He looked all around his room before realizing: it was you who had it now.
He let out yet another sigh after getting up. Today was really going to be an unpleasant day. He left his room and walked through the corridors of the castle, hoping to eventually find you. After a while, he found your mother. He knew you liked to tell her about your life, so he decided to ask her for information.
“Do you know where my dearest sister is?”
Rhaenyra heard the sarcasm in her son’s voice, and a smile was already forming on her lips. She knew you must have played a trick on him. She turned to face Jacaerys, but remained speechless.
“Have you seen your hair?” Rhaenyra asked him.
Jacaerys ran a hand through his hair, feeling ribbons tied here and there. Jacaerys closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Rhaenyra pursed her lips, holding back a snicker at the situation.
“She told me she was going to see her baby,” she said.
Jacaerys nodded in thanks, then headed towards the outside of the castle. While walking, he removed the various ribbons you had tied in his hair. How dare you play such a trick on him when he treated you like a goddess the night before, making you dig your nails into his back? In addition to that, he had run into people in the castle, and they had probably all seen the ridiculous ribbons in his hair.
Jacaerys knew where to go. When you talked about your baby, you meant your dragon. You were very attached to her and treated her like your own child. She was already quite big, but she will always remain your little baby. So he headed to your dragon's usual hiding place. He was already thinking about what he was going to tell you.
However, when he arrived there, he didn't see you. Your dragon was there, lying down, but there was no sign of you. Before he could say or do anything, she turned her head towards him, huffing a little bit of smoke before nudging him further away with her snout, then growling.
“Well, that’s new…” he murmured.
Usually, your dragon adored his presence. Yet, now, he seemed to bother her. He looked at her for a few moments before turning around, continuing to walk hoping to find you.
After walking for a while, wondering what you could possibly be doing, he stopped when he heard your voice a little further away.
"You evil Vermax!"
Jacaerys raised his eyebrows before walking towards your voice. Then he saw you facing his dragon, whose head was bowed like a guilty dog, you wearing the coat he loved so much.
“Kōz Vermax!”
Upon hearing his dragon called evil in every language imaginable, Jacaerys approached more quickly. The last thing he wanted was to see you burned to a crisp. It wasn't certain that it would happen, since you were as close to Vermax as Jacaerys was to your dragon. It was a bond you had formed early on, spending time together alongside your dragons.
Seeing you like that brought back memories for him. Just like now, it was really a bad idea. The number of times when you were a child, and your egg hadn't yet hatched, that you launched a Dracarys farm at Vermax was immense. You had several near misses getting burned by the beast, which would only respond with Jacaerys. But over time, once your egg had hatched, you had both forged a bond with each other's dragon.
“You know that, at this rate, you’ll end up as cooked meat?”
You turned your head towards him, a pout on your face with furrowed brows. He stopped once he was close to you.
“Coat thief and minx,” he resumed, lifting the small ribbons previously in his hair.
“There are much worse things in life!”
You took the ribbons from his hands before looking back at Vermax. He wasn't really impressed by the anger you seemed to feel towards him.
“What happened?” he asked you curiously.
“Didn’t you see the state my baby is in?”
Jacaerys shrugged. He had noticed that she wasn't herself, but he hadn't given it much thought.
“I found her strange lately. She didn't want to fly with me in the sky anymore, even though she loves it! So I studied her a little more until I got the answer,” you said before pointing your finger at Vermax. “That scoundrel bred her!”
“Oh.”
Jacaerys looked at Vermax, who gave him a hesitant look. Jacaerys then gently rubbed Vermax, not as outraged as you were.
“Don’t you know that she reached maturity only a few moons ago? She has been able to be bred for a few moons now, and Vermax apparently hasn’t wasted any time!”
“It looks like they’re taking their riders’ cues,” Jacaerys commented with some amusement.
“Vermax is following suit. He barely has the chance to fertilize her before he does! Like rider, like dragon!”
“Hey! You’re the one who initiated the consummation of our marriage!” he exclaimed indignantly.
“I don’t want to hear any more of this!”
Jacaerys frowned before sneering, shaking his head. He moved behind you to take you in his arms, your back against his chest. He then rested his chin on your shoulder.
“I’m afraid they’re better than us at this…” he murmured.
Vermax took advantage of your cuddle to escape, flying calmly to your dragon's shelter to lie down next to her, which she accepted with great pleasure.
“Look at them… they remind me of a certain couple…”
“Mh. I suppose we really influenced them,” you said, nodding slightly.
“Well, I think we should let ourselves be influenced by them instead.”
You turned to look at him, your hands resting on his shoulders. You could then see a mischievous look on his face, something that clearly let you know he had an idea up his sleeve.
“I think it’s a shame that they’re better than us at conceiving,” he added. “Let’s try again.”
“I knew it… it really is like rider, like dragon.”
Jacaerys gave a bigger smile before grabbing you and lifting you onto his shoulder, then walking towards the castle.
“I’ll take this opportunity to remind you not to steal my jacket, and even less to put ribbons in my hair while I’m sleeping.”
Then you felt his hand tap your ass, your laughter echoing with the happy cry of your dragon.
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After a long day of dealing with hard minded northerners Cregan finds his way into your shared chambers. And there you are, little Rickon in your arms, both of your eyes closed having dozen off while waiting up next to the fireplace.
You stir awake hearing Cregans heavy footstep getting closer. “I didn’t mean to wake you” Cregan whispers as he kneels next you, keeping his voice down not to wake the little babe in your arms. “I was trying to wait for you and he demanded to stay up with me” you say as you think back to earlier when Rickons fist found its way into your dress holding on tightly as he insist to wait up for his father with you “he has your stubbornness” you add, which earns you a chuckle from your husband.
“You know I’ve told you not to wait up, is not good for your health” he lectures as he kisses the top of your head and picks up the little boy holding onto him tightly as Cregans other arm finds way around your waist helping you lay under the warm furs “rest. I’ll be with you soon my love”
Summary: The most precious possessions in Prince Aemond Targaryen's life are his gentle wife and his sweet, beloved daughter, Rhaenys. May the gods have mercy on the poor soul who, even inadvertently, causes them any harm.
WARNING: No age restriction. Unhealthy amounts of cuteness and softness, a tiny bit of pain, mentions of blood and anxiety attacks.
Word cont: 6.700 k
Author's note: This story can be read on its own or as a continuation of my other one-shot bravery in love with these same characters. For the kind readers who asked me to see more of this family together (especially this suggestion), here it is! 🥰💖
The first rays of sunlight shone through the King's Landing sky, slowly bringing the warmth of a new day. Prince Aemond and his lady wife lay against the pillows, tangled together, talking. She stroked the ends of his silver hair lovingly, and he smiled sideways.
Y/n was wearing the silk nightgown from the night before, and Aemond wore only his comfortable sheepskin pants. They both felt so soft against each other, just talking and occasionally exchanging sweet kisses. The moment was interrupted when the bedroom door opened with a bang, and they could hear soft, hurried footsteps coming toward the bed.
-Kepah! - Rhaenys's sweet, childlike voice sounded from beside the bed as she reached out her arms toward Aemond, hopping lightly on the floor, as she wasn't yet big enough to climb into bed without effort.
-What are you doing barefoot on this cold floor, Byka sõvion? - (Little butterfly) He asked in a soft voice and a crease in his forehead, already lifting her onto the bed by her armpits and placing her under the covers next to him and his wife.
-Ziry'll zīragon aōha byka dekossa raqagon bona. - (You'll freeze your little feet like this.) He placed a kiss on his daughter's soft foot, making her giggle and writhe with tickling as she clung to her mother.
-Muña, Kepa is tickling! - She cried, writhing with laughter.
-Husband! - Y/n scolded playfully as she snuggled Rhaenys close. -You know very well that's no way to treat a young lady. - She said, leaving smacking kisses through her little daughter's silky hair.
-My apologies, my ladies. - He smiled, snuggling into them and pulling his wife and daughter closer, making Rhaenys laugh and hug him.
The door opened again, but this time much more gently, and Rhaenys's nursemaid's voice rang apprehensively through the room.
-A thousand apologies, Your Highness. - She bowed her head as she spoke. - The princess asked me for water and when I turned to get it she had already run.
Before Y/n could answer, Aemond had already taken the lead, his voice firm and serious.
-It's fine, just leave us.
The young woman didn't need to be told twice; she simply turned and walked as quickly as possible out the door.
It wasn't long before Aemond felt the soft tips of Rhaenys's fingers on his cheeks, near his lips, pulling them upward.
-I like it better when you're smiling, Kepa. - She spoke in that sweet voice that had enchanted him since the first time he heard her speak in those same rooms.
-Then I will always smile Byka sõvion. - He smiled at his daughter and kissed the palms of her hands gently, making her smile and hug him.
-Muña, can we go pick flowers in the garden? - She asked, still leaning on her father's shoulder as she looked at Y/n eagerly, her eyes shining with excitement. - I want to look at the butterflies!
-Of course. - Y/n smiled and placed a loving kiss on her daughter's nose. - The flowers are beautiful this season, I'm sure there will be plenty of butterflies for us to watch!
Rhaenys practically screamed with excitement at her mother's answer, standing up on the bed, slipping on the covers in the process with a soft yelp and falling off the bed. But before she could hit the floor, Aemond caught her ankle and pulled her back onto the bed with a hiss of concern. The girl's eyes were wide as she stared at her father.
-You have to be careful, Byka sõvion. - He warned her gently as he pulled her toward him and his wife again, cradling her between them. - Kepa doesn't want you to get hurt.
Rhaenys just nodded, already smiling again after the scare as her messy silver hair fell into her eyes.
-Did Kepa know I saw a blue butterfly as bright as your eye? - She ran her fingers over Aemond's sapphire eye, which always caught her attention, gently caressing the scar that ran down his cheek.
-Truth? - Aemond asked smiling as he pulled his daughter's little hand and left a kiss on her fingertips, making her give a small childish laugh.
-Truth, Kepah! - Rhaenys's eyes sparkled as she spoke, and she turned toward her mother, still smiling. - Isn't that right, Muña? Wasn't she beautiful?
-One of the most beautiful we've ever seen. - Y/n agreed, smiling and stroking her daughter's silver hair.
-Muñaz said I'll be able to have a tiara when I get a little older, Kepa! - (Grandma) Rhaenys smiled excitedly at Aemond, her eyes shining with anticipation. - I said I'd like one with a blue stone! To be just like you!
The girl chattered happily and smiling, completely oblivious to the effect those words had on her father, how his heart instantly warmed with emotion upon hearing those sweet words from his sweet little girl.
Y/n, on the other hand, couldn't help but see the emotion in her husband's eyes, who leaned in and left a soft kiss on his daughter's silver hair, still ruffled from sleep, making her laugh and hide under the blanket.
•●○●•
The day was sunny and warm, perfect for sitting in the garden and perhaps even having a picnic. As much as Aemond longed to spend the whole day with his wife and daughter, as was his usual habit, he was prevented from doing so that afternoon. Due to the need to participate in one of the small council meetings at the request of his grandfather since Aegon had disappeared to where only the seven knew.
The prince paid attention to everything, occasionally offering his own opinions or rolling his good eye at the rather idiotic opinions of others. The hours passed slowly, and at times his mind would wander to his wife and daughter, causing him, unconsciously, to let out a soft smile that confused those who saw him.
It was almost the end of the meeting when the table fell silent upon hearing the beginnings of a commotion in the Keep's corridors, causing the council members to frown as they looked towards the chamber door. Until Aemond's heart skipped a beat when he heard a pained, childish cry that he recognized almost immediately as his little daughter's.
Without even thinking, taking a breath, or answering his grandfather, mother, or the other members of the small council, Aemond simply dragged his chair back, running toward the sound with long strides and a frightened look. Finally spotting Rhaenys at the end of the corridor, being held by one of the guards, the moment Aemond saw her, it was as if his body were freezing.
There was blood on her lips. Blood on the lips of his little butterfly. The torpor instantly passed at the thought that someone had had the audacity to hurt his daughter. Eyes blazing, the prince marched toward the guard holding her and took her from his arms into his own with careful gentleness, even though at that moment his fury was deadly.
-Ziry iksos byka sõvion. - (It's okay, little butterfly.) Aemond murmured, rocking her gently in his arms while caressing her back with the palm of his hand. -Aōha Kepah iksos kesīr sir. (Your papa is here now.)
Instantly, Rhaenys laid her head on her father's shoulder, hugging him tightly as she wept. Little by little, her crying subsided, leaving only sobs and soft, shaky gasps as she held tightly to Aemond's neck.
When she finally removed her head from his neck and Aemond could face her properly, his stomach dropped with the realization that one of Rhaenys's upper front baby teeth was missing.
At that moment he saw red like he had never seen before in his entire life. He could feel his hands shaking with anger and his breath coming in short gasps, and it took all his self-control not to yell at the guard in front of his daughter and scare her again.
-What happened, Byka sõvion? - Aemond decided to ask Rhaenys gently, trying to understand what had happened, blowing softly against the little girl's face in an attempt to ease the pain.
-I was watching the butterflies Kepah. - She sobbed, her voice trembling, her bloodied lips curled into a pout, her beautiful little eyes shining with tears. - But then they pushed me, and I fell into the flowerbed.
Amidst her sobs, she began to cry again, trying to wipe away her tears with her dress. Standing there with Rhaenys in his arms, Aemond felt as if his own heart were being crushed by that painful sound. Watching his daughter's every movement closely, he noticed that her beautiful lilac dress was stained with dirt and a little blood, as were her small hands, and that a few leaves were stuck in her silver hair.
The prince could barely hear the sound of footsteps running towards him, such was his discontent at that moment. The only thing on his mind was trying to calm his little girl's cries. He only realized his wife's presence when he felt her savage touch on his forearm and heard her shrill voice close to his ear.
-What happened? - Y/n's worried eyes were filled with tears that she held tightly as she looked at her husband and daughter with trembling lips.
-I fell Muña. - She whimpered, laying her head on her father's shoulder, who stroked her silver hair while glaring deadly at the guard above Rhaenys's head.
-Let's take her to the Maester! - Y/n practically begged, her voice cracking as she looked at her daughter, carefully holding her hand in her own and placing a tender kiss on it even with the blood and dirt clinging to it. This instantly made Aemond nod in agreement, his thoughts returning more clearly, his stupor so severe that he hadn't even remembered the Maesters' existence at that moment.
Amidst slight sniffles and tremors, Rhaenys clung even tighter to her father's neck. Hiding her face there, her lips never touching the leather of his jerkin, so as not to hurt her gums, Aemond walked quickly toward the room with Y/n at his heels, staring at his daughter with watery eyes and lips trembling in pure anguish.
Meanwhile, the guard responsible for Rhaenys's care, Sir Jorson, didn't even wait for an order to rush forward, eyes wide as saucers in panic, and ordered the Maester to go immediately to Prince Aemond's chambers to examine the young princess.
•●○●•
-The princess will be fine, my prince. - The Maester declared in a slightly weary tone after examining Rhaenys once more at Aemond's request, as she slept soundly in her parents' bed, clinging to the blanket wearing only a white nightgown with colorful hand-painted flowers and soft socks on her feet that Y/n had put on her after giving her a warm bath as the maester had instructed.
-The impact only knocked out her baby tooth, nothing permanent.
-Only? - Aemond grunted, widening his eyes, causing the maester to swallow hard and lower his head at the same time. -You mean only?- He hissed with a furious look, taking long strides towards the maester, not shouting so as not to wake his daughter. - The fucking impact it takes to pull out a tooth that hasn't even loosened yet!
-Forgive me for my boldness, Your Grace. - The Maester muttered as he finished gathering his things from the table as quickly as possible, eager to get away from the prince's barely contained anger, which seemed on the verge of boiling over and sweeping everything in its path.
Glancing impatiently at the maester, Aemond walked to the door and opened it angrily, no longer bothering with the man's presence in the room now that he was no longer tending to Rhaenys, only refraining from slamming the door furiously behind the elder when he left so as not to disturb his little one's sleep.
-What happened, wife? - He asked as soon as the Maester left them alone, walking to where his wife was watching her daughter near the bed, still with a distressed look. Holding her hands firmly between his, his tone wasn't accusatory, just irritated and filled with concern.
-I don't know. - Y/n sobbed, hugging her husband tightly as she buried her face in his neck, still frightened by the sight of her daughter hurt and crying. -We were both in the garden picking flowers, and she was playing with the butterflies. - She sighed against the leather of her husband's clothes as he gently stroked her hair, soothingly.
-She said she was hungry, and I went to ask a maid to bring her some refreshments, but there wasn't one around, so I moved away a little. -Y/n lifted her head and looked him in the eye as she spoke. - When I returned she had disappeared and I found her next to you.
-This isn't your fault, ābrazȳrys (Wife). -Aemond murmured softly, breathing deeply, trying to contain his anger so as not to take it out on the wrong person.
-It isn't. -He gently pulled her back to him, and Y/n leaned against her husband's chest.
-It's the fault of that damned guard whose sole function in life is to protect you and our daughter. - He practically growled, tightening his hold on his wife as he watched Rhaenys sleeping in the center of the bed, clutching the covers, her lips parted, exposing the empty space where her lost baby tooth had once been.
-But I assure you, ābrazȳrys, it won't stay that way! - The prince growled in a low voice, leaving a kiss against Y/n's scalp, making all the hairs on her body stand on end. With a smoldering look of anger, Aemond left the shared chambers, heading off in search of the guard supposedly watching his daughter.
•●○●•
The door to the courtyard's weapons storage room opened with a dry, ghostly rumble, announcing the furious presence of the Targaryen prince, a sight that would make any man rather face the seven hells than him. Rhaenys's white cloak trembled from head to toe as her gaze met his enraged gaze.
-Mmmh… Now Sir Jorson you will tell me exactly what happened. - Aemond hissed in a dangerously low voice, almost spitting the words at the man as Sir Criston watched him closely at the door.
-T-the princess… S-she fell… - The guard began to stutter, barely able to keep looking Aemond in the eye.
-And how in the seven hells did a simple fall knock out one of my daughter's teeth? - Aemond shouted voraciously, taking long strides toward the man, making him shrink even further, if that were even possible.
-T-the princess was playing m-my prince. - The man stammered, trembling and looking at the ground while tightly gripping his hands together. -She was just picking flowers like she always does. - The guard sighed, shuddering, as he faced the prince and found his eyes shining with barely contained fury.
-Lord Dargood's son… naughty boy… was running and pushed her. - He looked away again, unable to keep his eyes fixed on the prince's angry gaze, his voice falling lower with each passing moment. - In the fall, she hit her mouth on the stones surrounding the flowerbed. I-it was an accident. - The man stammered and whispered the last words, looking at the ground as if he were a scolded child.
The prince's blood boiled in his veins at the thought of that boy, who must have been three times the size of his Rhaenys, pushing her into the damned flowerbed. It wouldn't be a fucking accident when Aemond personally pulled out every single one of that damned Dargood brat's teeth.
-You have only one fucking job within this Keep, which is to keep my daughter safe! - Aemond growled lividly, approaching the man even closer, cornering him as he would a cockroach. -And now she's lying in bed, wounded!
-I got distracted for a moment, my prince. - The man begged in panic, his gaze darting in every direction in pure desperation, with nowhere to run. - It won't happen again, have m-mercy! - He begged with wide eyes.
-You are relieved of your duties! - Aemond hissed through gritted teeth, his red face contorted with fury. - We're not keeping you here to distract yourself.
-My prince, I'm truly sorry… - The guard began, kneeling before him, but was interrupted at the same moment.
-You're sorry? - Aemond practically shouted, still maintaining his fierce tone, his eyes wide and his face contorted in fury. -If anything worse had happened to my daughter, I'd have your fucking head for it!
Sir Jorson cringed even more at that, if that were even possible.
-Don't you ever dare step foot near that fortress again if you want to keep your head on your fucking shoulders, you bastard. - Aemond grunted, clenching his jaw before finally leaving the room under Sir Criston's watchful eye.
•●○●•
-Husband, he's just a child! - Y/n tried to reason with Aemond a few moments later, after her husband returned to their shared quarters even angrier than before and told her everything he'd discovered while threatening the Dargood boy, too crudely to be just lip service.
-Our daughter is just a child too! - He growled softly, pointing toward the bed where the little girl slept soundly, sighing deeply, clutching the blanket.
-I know that, I'm furious too, but you couldn't demand physical punishment for Rodd Dargood. - She sighed, approaching him with a frown. -It would be wrong, and he probably wouldn't even understand the reason for the punishment!
-Do you know what happened the night I lost my eye? - Aemond asked her in complete dismay, his eye wide and bloodshot as he stared at her. -My father barely cared! I was covered in blood and scared, and he interrogated me about what happened as if I were a common criminal!
Y/n's heart sank when she heard those words, Aemond had already told her about that night in Driftmark, but hearing it said in such a raw and painful way made her want to pull him into a hug and never let go.
-What happened went unpunished, he acted as if that bastard had the right to do what he did to me! - He spat the words furiously, pressing the missing eye over the eyepatch with his fingertips amidst growls of rage. -I won't let that happen to Rhaenys! I won't let our daughter feel unprotected and helpless, like her father doesn't care about her, even if I have to pull every tooth out of that little bastard's mouth!
Aemond swore furiously, shuddering as he spoke, his hands clenching, the air he breathed growing thinner as memories of that horrible night mingled with memories of his precious little girl, covered in blood and dirt, huddled in his arms as she wept. Little by little he felt as if he lost his balance and leaning against the sofa he lowered himself and sat on the stone floor staring at the crackling fire in the fireplace.
At the same moment, Y/n crouched down beside him and touched his forearm, feeling him flinch at the touch and slowly pulling her hand away before sitting on the floor beside him and hugging him with all the care and affection she had in her being, her heart breaking at seeing her dear husband, always so strong, helpless like that.
-Husband, I'm here. - She murmured against his neck, trying to comfort him, leaving a gentle kiss there and caressing him through his hair. -I'm here, Aemond, you don't need to be afraid.
-What's the point, wife? - He whispered, raising his head towards Y/n with his eyes full of unshed tears. - Having done so much, having gotten to where I am… If I can't protect our daughter?
Y/n's heart felt like it weighed hundreds of tons as she heard those words leaving her husband's lips so rawly while his eyes looked as sad as she had ever seen them.
Slowly, she raised her right hand and tenderly caressed his face until her fingers curled around the eye patch and she carefully removed it, placing it on the rug and then pulling him closer to her.
-Aemond, I know you try, but you couldn't protect her from everything. - She stroked his back soothingly. - Accidents happen, our daughter will be fine.
The prince let out a shaky sigh against his wife's hair at that.
-Besides, you know… our daughter doesn't think that way of you. - She shrugged subtly.
-What do you mean? - He frowned in confusion the instant he heard the words.
-Aemond, you're the knight in shining armor from her stories. Her hero! - Y/n smiled, stroking her husband's hair tenderly and sweetly. -Didn't you notice how she was today? She was scared, in pain. And she didn't want to leave your arms for even a moment, because she feels safe with you. Because she knows you will protect her no matter what, our daughter doesn't doubt you. You shouldn't doubt yourself either.
Those simple words were enough to, albeit gently, calm the anger bubbling inside the prince. Even though a mere glance toward the bed made his stomach twist again at the sight of his little butterfly so still.
-I don't want her to think that I didn't give due importance to what happened. - He sighed, laying his head on top of his wife's head as they snuggled together on the plush rug. - I want her to know that the aggression she suffered was duly punished.
-What would you have preferred? For your father to have ripped out Lucerys's eye or to have taken you in and given you a hug? - Y/n asked him softly as she stroked his hands between hers, the two of them practically embracing each other on the floor now.
Aemond didn't answer her, but he knew exactly what he would have preferred when he was just a little boy.
•●○●•
That night passed as quickly as the wind, and the prince had barely slept, lying awake all night beside his wife and daughter, keeping watch, as if something might happen to one of them at any moment and he needed to be alert.
When Rhaenys woke and smiled at him, hugging him and leaving a kiss with a hint of drool on his cheek still sleepy, then laying her face on his shoulder, Aemond simply held her close, pressing her close as if she were suddenly going to disappear.
At that moment it seemed like nothing had happened, if it weren't for the missing tooth in the front and the slight purple bruise near the lip, the incident would barely have been noticed.
-Kepah? - She called him in a soft, sleepy voice, still lying against him, playing with the thread of her father's shirt.
-Yes, byka sõvion? - Aemond whispered, rubbing his palm against her back.
-Kotago nyki emago cookies syti breakfast?- (Can I have cookies for breakfast?) She whispered in high Valyrian, as always, mixing it with the common tongue and mispronouncing a few words.
-Hen rhinka, Kepah jāhor epagon zirȳ naejot maghagon" (Of course you can, dad will have them bring your favorites). He smiled, tenderly stroking his daughter's silver hair, who snuggled even closer to him.
The moment Aemond looked away from Rhaenys he could see his wife already awake looking at them both with a smile on her lips, and with a sigh the prince guided his free hand to her and tangled it in a soft caress through her hair.
•●○●•
Their morning was uneventful, except for the moment when Y/n gave her husband a subtle scolding for giving in so easily and letting Rhaenys eat three different types of biscuits for breakfast just to make her happy.
As the sun rose high in the sky, Aemond and Y/n shared a delicious pheasant pie with wine, while Rhaenys ate her favorite stew of shredded chicken with carrots and a few other fresh vegetables, prepared especially for her at Aemond's request.
After the meal, the prince could no longer avoid his daily duties, being forced to leave the room with a scowl, which intensified even more when Y/n announced that she was taking Rhaenys for a walk in the garden and some fresh air. He had barely stepped out of the room when he was already scolding the new guard Criston had chosen for Rhaenys earlier, standing by the door next to Y/n's sworn shield.
That afternoon was undoubtedly one of the most irritating of Aemond's life. Lord Dargood's pathetic voice, trying to apologize for the behavior of the wild animal he called his son, made his blood boil in his veins. The only thing stopping him from rushing the man and killing him on the spot was the fact that he had taken Criston with him precisely for the purpose of preventing him from doing so.
Even when the matter had been resolved and his thirst for revenge partially sated, anger still gnawed at Aemond, and with every step he took through the halls of Kepp, people seemed to move out of his way, as if afraid the prince's fury would spill over onto them.
The moment Aemond flung open the bedroom door and entered, Rhaenys's eyes lit up, and she ran toward him, calling out excitedly as she jumped into her father's arms. And as angry as he had been before, Aemond couldn't help but smile as he scooped up his little girl, lifting her into the air as if she weighed nothing.
-Kepah, I found an injured bird in the garden with muña and she said we can take care of it until it gets better. - She smiled excitedly at her father, and Aemond's heart ached at the sight of the missing tooth.
-Truth Byka sõvion? - He glanced around the rooms slightly, searching for his wife as he spoke, finding her organizing his books near the fireplace while Rhaenys merely nodded, wriggling out of her father's arms and pulling him by the hand.
-Look him, Kepa. -The girl's eyes shone with delight as she pointed to the small bird with gray and white feathers and an injured wing, huddled inside the wooden box lined with cloth and a saucer filled with cut fruit. - It's so small.
-But muña said he'll be fine. - She smiled expectantly, looking at Y/n who just watched their interaction with a smile after putting away her husband's last book.
Y/n was so worried about Aemond, afraid that even though they had talked about it at length, he would make some rash move, driven by anger at seeing Rhaenys hurt. She smiled at her husband, but Aemond could see the question mark over her head from miles away, and with a sigh, the prince crouched down, looking at his daughter.
-Are you feeling better, Byka sõvion? - Rhaenys nodded, smiling toothlessly at her father.
-Better! Sir Criston found my tooth in the garden, he came with Muñāz (Grandma) to bring it to me. And Muña said that if we put it under my pillow, a magic dragon will bring me cookies tonight! - She practically squealed with excitement, her eyes shining as she told Aemond everything in a very credulous way, and Aemond arched his eyebrows at his wife as he listened to his daughter speak. Y/n just shrugged, smiling, approaching them both.
-He will come, my love, but only when you sleep. - Y/n stroked her daughter's silver hair, smiling lovingly at her.
-See Kepah? - Rhaenys looked at him excitedly, almost skipping with her bare feet in just socks on the floor. - I want to hear my story earlier today so I can fall asleep faster and get my cookies!
Aemond nodded and smiled at his daughter's excitement.
-Kepa wants to know something very important now, Byka sõvion. - Aemond sat down on the rug and gently pulled her onto his lap, and the girl simply tilted her head to the side as she stared at him. - Do you know who pushed you yesterday in the garden?
-I think it was Rodd who knocked me down. -She whispered to her father as if it were a secret no one knew, looking at him very seriously. - He's always running.
Aemond nodded, knowing his daughter was right.
-Kepa had a very serious conversation with Rodd and his father, Byka sõvion. - Aemond said with a serious look as Rhaenys paid attention. - What Rodd did was very bad, and it won't go unpunished, okay? Rodd will apologize to you for what happened and will be grounded.
Rhaenys looked at her father, still a little confused, not quite understanding what all this meant, but she knew punishments were bad and that her father was really angry with Rodd for knocking her down. So the girl just smiled and hugged her father tightly, laying her head on his chest and just staying quiet for a while.
-Are you okay, my sweet love? - Y/n gently ran her hand over her daughter's back, looking at her slightly worried, and Rhaenys simply nodded.
-Did Kepa ground Rodd for being mean to me? - She asked after a few minutes of reflection.
-Yes, dear. - Y/n replied with a smile, leaving a soft kiss against her hair and still caressing her daughter's back. - No one has the right to hurt anyone and get away with it.
Y/n knew Rhaenys was still too young to understand certain things, and that her little daughter was too sweet for her own good, but seeing the sparkle in her eyes as she looked at Aemond and hugged him once more, while her husband smiled contentedly, was enough.
•●○●•
Night had already fallen throughout Kings Landing, and a very common habit between Aemond and Y/n was putting their daughter to bed together. Except when there was some kind of mishap, as there was that night when Y/n was called by Alicent for a cup of tea after dinner.
So, only Aemond was in his little daughter's room, sitting with her on the bed, telling her a story, some of the parts in high Valyrian while stroking Rhaenys's silver hair. She could feel her eyes growing heavy with sleep when he finally finished the story.
-I don't like it when you're sad, Kepa… - She murmured sleepily, staring at her father with her head slightly tilted to the side, unable to help but notice how sad her father had been throughout the day.
-Kepa isn't sad, Byka sõvion. - Aemond caressed his daughter's chubby cheeks, forcing a smile.
-I know you are, Kepa. - Rhaenys stared at him with those faintly violet-blue eyes that everyone said were identical to his, making him sigh. He didn't think so himself. Even though the color was identical, the sparkle of sweetness and innocence that burned in his daughter's eyes had long since faded from his.
-Is it because I fell? - She leaned closer to him as she asked, her eyes growing worried as she looked sadly at her father.
-No! - Aemond denied immediately, shaking his head negatively as he pulled his daughter into his arms. - It's not because of you at all.
-Then what is it? Muña always says that if I tell her what makes me sad, I can feel better later. - Rhaenys was looking at him expectantly now.
-I was just upset with myself for not being there when you got hurt. - The older man stroked the little girl's slightly curly silver hair.
-But that wasn't your fault, Kepa. - She placed her small hand on Aemond's face, gently caressing him as if he were one of the cats she played with around the keep, while looking at him confused. - It was Rodd.
-Boys are all silly. - The little girl snorted, still hugging her father. -Except you, Kepah. You're smart and kind and know how to tell the best stories!
Aemond just chuckled , leaving a kiss on his sweet little girl's forehead.
-The important thing is that you are okay now Byka sõvion. - He sighed, carefully laying her down on the bed and covering her with her favorite blanket that Y/n had embroidered with flowers, bees, colorful butterflies and her name in blue thread in the center. -Bona's ry bona gaomon.
-I don't know what those mean yet, Kepah… -She murmured confusedly, snuggling into her blanket, smiling and rubbing his sleepy eyes.
-It means you're all that matters. - Aemond whispered, leaving a soft kiss on her forehead in the process. - Issa byka prūmia. (My little heart.)
-Avy jorrāelan Kepah… - (I love you, Daddy) Rhaenys laughed and kissed her father on the cheek, warming his heart, as always, with her daughter's sweet words and gestures.
It wasn't long before she finally fell asleep, and the prince only left the room when she was snoring loudly in her sleep while being watched by one of Kepp's nannies.
Aemond couldn't help but smile as he left his daughter's quarters and turned into the corridor that led to his own shared quarters with his wife, since just like him, Y/n had just appeared at the opposite end of the corridor, but unlike him, her brow was furrowed in a thoughtful look.
-Did you order Lord Dargood's tooth pulled? - She questioned with an arched eyebrow as soon as the two met in front of the door to they chambers.
-Mmmh… - He shrugged with a dismissive pout as he reached for the doorknob, opening the door and politely ushering his wife inside. -Unlike his son, he's a grown man, he can very well deal with the consequences of his inability to raise a well-behaved child.
•●○●•
Not much later that night, Aemond had finally given in to the day's weariness and lay down next to his wife, wearing the more comfortable clothes she had chosen for him.
The yellowish candlelight was low, and the two were cuddled together in a comfortable silence that usually helped calm the prince's troubled mind, until he himself broke the silence with a velvety voice.
-After you gave us our daughter, I began to understand my father and his reasons better. -His brow furrowed as he spoke. - But on the other hand… I began to feel angrier toward him for it.
Listening to her husband's thoughtful ramblings, she looked at him curiously from beneath her lashes, her head still resting on his strong chest.
-If I lost you, I would never be able to love another woman. - He gently stroked his wife's soft hair, each word leaving her lips slowly. - I could never love a child if you didn't give it to me… If it wasn't a part of you too, if it didn't have your sweetness.
-And I hate him for knowing that he also had this certainty when his first wife died, but even so he married my mother and made her unhappy, having other children that he will never be able to love. - He muttered the last part with subtle bitterness in his voice, but Y/n didn't even notice. She had been holding her breath many words ago.
Love. She thought, nearly gasping for breath at her husband's verbal admission of his feelings for the first time in years of marriage.
She knew Aemond loved her. She knew her husband cherished her with all his heart and soul. But hearing those words come from his beautiful lips made her heart swell with the purest, most simple joy, and in that same instant, she hugged him tighter and whispered against his chest the words she had also learned by now, making Aemond sigh with contentment.
-Avy jorrāelan…
•●○●•
The following weeks passed as quickly as the winter winds, and in the meantime, all of Kepp whispered about the frightening fact that Prince Aemond had personally pulled Lord Dargood's tooth because of his eldest son's offense to the young princess.
Even more terrifying, about how the house of Sir Jorson, Princess Rhaenys's former guard, had burned to the ground with him inside shortly after his dismissal from service at Red Kepp. No one could prove anything, but everyone knew that the strange, uncontrollable fire in the man's secluded hut had been Aemond's doing.
In the midst of all this, Rhaenys just cared for her injured bird with all her dedication and love alongside her mother, completely oblivious to the gossip surrounding her name, completely innocent of the atrocities her father could commit in her name. She fed the bird from her own hands day and night, grooming its feathers with all the delicacy in the world, and both Aemond and Y/n had found themselves smiling as she told him one of her favorite stories one afternoon.
Rhaenys's favorite thing was that if she whistled near it, the little bird would repeat the melody almost instantly, no matter what it was. She talked about it to the whole family for days, even dragging Sir Criston from his duties to hear the bird sing.
Aemond, for his part, was very pleased, after all his little girl was happier than ever, even if she had no other topic of conversation other than her precious little bird. Besides, Rhaenys was so absorbed in caring for the bird that she didn't even have time to wander the gardens looking for other little flying creatures as she usually did. And that, well, that brought Aemond peace of mind, knowing that in they chambers, accompanied by her mother, his daughter was safe.
That was until the day the damned bird began flapping its wings again and flying around the room while singing, making Rhaenys scream and laugh, clutching the skirts of Y/n's dress.
-Look, Muña! Look! - She pointed smilingly at the little bird that flew happily around the room, getting higher and higher. - Now he can go back to the garden!
The moment he heard that, the prince's stomach sank and he could no longer continue reading the words on the pages of his philosophy book. He even tried to convince Rhaenys to keep the bird under his wife's incredulous gaze, but the girl was adamant about it.
Four days later, when Y/n and Rhaenys were sure the little bird had truly recovered, the three of them went together to Kepp Gardens to release it. And Aemond had to admit, over the course of those four days he'd seriously considered breaking the damn bird's wing again, but he hadn't, knowing neither his wife nor his daughter would forgive him if he did.
-Are you sure you won't keep him? - Aemond asked, frowning, as his smiling daughter prepared to release the little bird back into the sunny garden. - He might get hurt again if he's left loose out there.
-I can't, Kepa. - She sighed, stroking the bird's soft feathers, now holding him in her hands. -He's a little bird; he has to fly with his bird friends and find his muña again. He'll be sad if I leave him in my room. - She looked sadly from her father to the bird she had learned to love so much. - And if he gets hurt again, muña and I will take care of him again.
-Are you ready, dear? - Y/n smiled at her daughter, her eyes sparkling with pride, and Rhaenys nodded, carefully stroking the bird's soft feathers.
With a sweet, childlike, and still toothless smile, Rhaenys opened her little hands, letting the bird fly free through the flower gardens of Red Kepp. The little bird landed in a nearby tree, humming happily, but then flew off again and circled the girl's head, making her laugh and squeal with excitement as her parents watched.
-See, husband? - Y/n murmured with a smile to the prince, who held her close by the waist. -The bird will return.
-Mmmh… - Aemond watched Rhaenys skipping around the garden chasing the bird with a smile from ear to ear on her lips, and even though the missing tooth reminded him of the unfortunate accident with Rodd Dargood, seeing such a bright smile on his daughter was the greatest of his joys.
It was there, as he watched Rhaenys run happily toward him, tripping over the hem of her own dress and catching her balance to run again, that Aemond thought that perhaps he could give his little butterfly a little more room to flap her wings, even if it was just… a few inches at a time.
A/n²: I'm so happy to finally post this one-short. It's been ready for a few months, and now I finally have the courage to post it! I hope you enjoyed it. The title came from Eminem's song Mockingbird, especially the final part, which makes you want to know more, haha. Thanks for reading! 💖💖🥰🥰
PAIRING: gwayne hightower x fem!reader, gwayne hightower x targaryen!reader
WARNINGS: otto hightower, criston cole being a loser, implied rejection of said loser, angst, gwayne is such a lover boy, arguing, slight allusion to nsfw ig, TW: SUICIDE
WORD COUNT: 1.7k
🎶 : hymne à l’amour - édith piaf
AN: ♥️ - this is by far the most heart breaking thing i've ever written. sad sad ending - TW: suicide.
Criston Cole would be the utter demise of the noble Gwayne Hightower.
That knight (if once could even call him that) had a way of turning Gwayne’s goodnatured air into a poisonous one. For the past several weeks, the Dornishman had been on a conquest, one with the sole purpose of spreading his hate and resentment to those under his command.
And just when Gwayne thought Cole’s hatred was dwindling down, your dragon flew overhead a small dispute.
That seemed to reignite something inside him. Cole spent hours spewing horrible, slanderous things about you and the Princess Rhaenyra.
Gwayne had had a different reaction to the mere reminder of you. Reduced to his ten and five year old self, he spent his time in a daze, daydreaming and the like.
You’d been a haunting figure in Gwayne’s life for years.
The men sat around the fire, eating their horribly disgusting rations, exchanging tall tales. Cole had taken over the light-hearted nature, and forced it to become a slanderous and honestly obsessive speech about the princesses. He’d moved on from Rhaenyra, now focusing on you. Sweet, beautiful, and kind you.
“She was always a rough one.” His lip quirked, like he was trying to hint at something unbecoming of a true honorable knight. Of course, Gwayne reminded himself, Cole was not a true knight. A true knight knew when to hold his tongue. “Harsh, like that of a terrible storm. She tore through the Red Keep, leaving chaos in her wake.”
No one dared to correct him. Many that sat around the fire had visited court, had seen the notoriously kind and gentle princess move with the poise of a true noblewoman. Some had even grown up with the Princess. They all knew that she was not at all like the Dornishman said, and yet, none of them stood to defend her.
Cowards, the lot of them.
Gwayne’s jaw twitched as he waited for the man to redeem himself. He’d snapped at the Hand only a fortnight ago, and thought it would perhaps be wise to choose patience over impulse.
“Women like that are rare, truly.” Cole, unfortunately, continued. “She was, in no uncertain terms, a cun-”
In an instance, Gwayne rose to his feet, drew his sword, and held it at the Hand’s neck. “Watch your tongue, Sir Criston.”
The air stilled, the once jovial men tense with uncertainty. “It would be wise to lower your sword, my lord.”
“The mere concept of wisdom is something completely foreign to you.”
“It seems-” Criston swallowed. “That your allegiance has shifted.”
“How dare you.” Gwayne hissed. “My allegiance is not to be questioned.”
“It is-” Criston dared to speak again. “When you threaten me after my comment about the princess.”
“I am a man of honor.” Gwayne stepped back, allowing his sword to fall from the man’s neck. “And as a man of honor, I cannot stand idly by as you insult a lady. If you dare speak another ill word of her, I will strike you where you sit, the Gods as my witness.”
Criston smirked. “I shall not speak of the Realm’s Horror any longer then.” That comment earns laughs from the men.
Gwayne fought the urge to slash his throat in one swell blow. Instead, he turned on his heel, stalking towards his tent. He flung his sword on the floor beside his cot before flinging himself onto the cushion in a most undignified manner.
As he fell asleep, his mind drifted to memories of you. Well, to only one. His fondest.
Some Years Ago…
He hadn't seen you in ages, the longing in his heart nearly ready to burst. He knew that Rhaenyra and Alicent had gone off to the library thanks to his spies within the household, and he knew that that meant you were left to your own devices.
And so there he waited, watching as you walked through the castle garden, soaked to the bone thanks to the aggressive downpour. You'd abandoned your cloak some time ago, realizing there was no stopping your gown from becoming a wet rag.
His hand, gentle yet firm, had gripped your wrist, pulling you into the groundskeeper's shed. You knew who it was instantly; his touch was as familiar to you as Rhaenyra's whines (mostly regarding her father's wishes for her to marry). Still, a gasp left your lips.
Gwayne's terribly charming grin looked down at you, his face illuminated thanks to the adjacent window. “Gwayne Hightower, you cannot pull a lady-”
“I have missed you.” His head hung low, lips closer than they should be. “You have been busy.”
“Such is the life of the heir of the realm’s lady in waiting.” You reached up, brushing a stray hair behind his ear. “I have missed you as well.”
“Your gown-” He looked down, shaking his head in faux disappointment. “It is ruined.”
“Is it now?” You frowned. “What a shame.”
“A shame?” He lowered his lips to the crook of your neck, trailing kisses across your chest. Chills ran down your spine, biting your lips to suppress the urge to moan. “My darling girl, you have never looked as stunning as you have this very moment.” You glared, shoving his shoulder playfully.
“Do not tease, Gwayne.”
“I never tease-” He stopped, correcting his statement before he became a liar. “I only tease when I mean to immediately remedy the situation.”
“Ah.” Your arms found their way around his neck, fingers delicately playing with his hair. “Might I ask how you will be remedying this situation?”
“Of course, my lady.” He'd been slowly backing you toward the wall, finding satisfaction in your flustered appearance when your back collided against the partition. “I plan to ravish you-”
“Ravish?” You gawked, jaw slack. “Gwayne, what if my uncle- the guard-”
“If you do not wish for me to continue…” He whispered, hands squeezing your hips. “I will obey your commands.”
“No.” You shook your head, nudging your nose against his. “I never said I did not want to.”
“Ah.” His hands pulled at the fabric of your skirt, your stomach twisting at the action and what it alluded to. What it implied was something you’d been wanting for quite some time.
“You know-” You tried your best to seem entirely unbothered. “You have not kissed me yet.” “Haven’t I?” His eyes fluttered to your chest, your heart skipping at his actions. “I believe-”
“I would like a proper kiss.” You grumbled. “I am not a piece of meat, my lord, so you may stop eyeing me like one.”
“I do not eye.” He sounded highly offended. “I am simply taking in the vision that is before me. You are a goddess, the Realm’s Beauty indeed.”
“Gwayne-” You tugged on his doublet. “Please.”
“As you wish, my lady.” He leaned closer, his left hand left your hip to cup your cheek.
You nodded quickly. “It is.” He then pressed you further into the wall, if that was even possible. His lips never left your skin once, worshipping you like a man possessed. Your eyes closed, head tilting up toward the sky. “Gwayne-”
“I could hear my name leave your lips for a lifetime.”
“A lifetime?” Your breath caught at the implication. “What do you-”
“You know.” He murmured against your skin, causing chills to run down your spine. “You must know.”
“This-” You sounded utterly wrecked. “This is not a joking matter, Gwayne.”
“I am not joking.” He pulled your skirts up, tugging at your stockings. “You think me an unserious rake, I am convinced.”
“You must forgive me.” You gasped as his hand pawed at your upper thigh, thoughts failing to form coherently. “But your current actions are proving my point.”
“Are they?” His hand then slid up further, toying with the base of your chemise. “Would you like me to stop?”
“No!” You slapped a hand over your mouth, eyes wide with fear. “No.”
“My lovely girl-” He pulled your hand away, kissing the back gently. The act was so chivalrous that it almost made you forget he was actively taking part in the social ruin of a young noble lady. “I am asking for your hand this afternoon.”
“You are only saying that.”
“I am not. I have had this planned since a fortnight ago.”
Your legs tightened around his waist. “Have you really?”
He leaned forward, his nose nudging yours. “I love you, Your Highness. Most ardently, and if you will have me, I will make you the happiest woman in the whole of the Seven Kingdoms.”
“I-” You dove down, kissing him soundly. “I will marry you. I will be your wife.”
Of course, because the gods were cruel, his fondest memory was followed by his worst. He’d left you to go meet with the King and his father, to ask for your hand, hopeful, happy even.
He’d walked in calm, held his head high, but humble.
He’d even sworn that Viserys was on the verge of saying yes when his own father cut in, destroying his future in one fell swoop. “My King, I apologize. My son, he has insulted you gravely.”
“Otto-”
“Your niece is of a higher rank. He is only a second son.” Otto glared at his child. “Leave us.”
“Father-” Gwayne puffed his chest, trying his hardest not to look utterly crushed. “I love her, truly and honestly. I would- I would provide her a loving marriage, one of happiness and peace.”
“But not one that she deserves. Not one fitting of a Princess, am I right?” Otto raised a brow. Gwayne was speechless.
“Leave us. I won’t repeat myself.”
Gwayne hadn’t seen you after that day. His father had forbidden it, going so far as to post guards at his door and at the base of the Princess’s balcony. He’d sent him back to Oldtown, and sent you into a depressive state.
A mere fortnight later, Gwayne had been walking through the streets of his home when a villager whispered about the Targaryen princess who flung herself off the tallest point of the castle.
And two days later, his own father’s raven had confirmed it. You had died from heartbreak, all thanks to Otto Hightower and his scheming.
Gwayne knew that you were gone, and yet, when he saw your dragon, he let himself believe that you were still alive. He dared to have hope. And hope would kill him, just as it did his spirit all those years ago.
Summary: You’ve just moved to the North to marry Cregan and still aren’t used to the cold.
Warnings: Suggestive jokes, Reader is shorter than Cregan, Illusions to abuse (Not Cregan and Reader), Inconsistencies in the tense it’s written in (my bad)
Notes: Happy first day of Starkmas!! Just like Flufftober, I’ve decided to start out with Cregan, enjoy!
Word Count: 1.2k
STARKMAS 2025 , MASTER POST , ASOIAF MASTERLIST
———————
Ever since you were a child, you were always told you would have to be wed. But you didn’t expect that you’d be forced to move to the North to marry Lord Cregan Stark. Growing up in the South you were used to the warmth, flowing dresses, and southern customs but now you’d have to get used to the cold, heavy furs, and a whole new set of customs.
You had heard many stories of Cregan Stark, some said that he was cruel, others said he could shift into a wolf at night, and one person even said that he drinks animal blood.
Cregan was none of those things. When you had first arrived in your carriage it was clear that you were scared out of your mind and also freezing. But the Lord of Winterfell had expected those things and had a fur cloak made just for you. He gave you time to adjust to the new environment and it was clear that your favorite place was by the fire in either your personal chambers or the library. He was also sure to give you space, he didn’t want to crowd you. You enjoyed the new found freedom that you were experiencing. In the North, it didn’t feel as though you were being watched by a hawk at all times… you were watched by a wolf at times though.
Today you had decided to explore the gardens, making sure that you didn’t sit down. You feared if you did, a chill would enter your bones and you’d freeze solid. Cregan had finished business with some of his bannermen earlier than expected and sought you out. He asked to go for a walk with you which you accepted.
“I’ve never been on a walk without a chaperone before,” you comment absentmindedly as you look at the winter flowers on your way out of the garden with Cregan beside you.
He raises a brow, “Never?”
“Never.”
“Would you like me to get one? It’s not my intention to make you uncomfortable.”
You stop walking, making Cregan stop as well. A genuine smile appears on your face, “No…I…” it’s then that you decide to hold onto his arm and begin to walk again, “It’s just different, but a nice different.”
He grins, “We are to be wed love, in the North, a chaperone is not necessary for those who are to be wed.”
You hum, feeling the firmness of his arm under your touch, “In the South, you always need one.”
“Even if you’re to be wed?”
“Especially then,” you say, looking up at him, “I had a friend, Abi, when she was betrothed, she and her now husband were not allowed to be alone.”
“Interesting,” he comments, as you approach the Godswood, “Do you still write to her?”
“No, sadly, her husband is…well he does not like me much.”
“I find it hard to believe anyone could dislike you.”
“Well I…” you stop yourself.
Cregan looks down at you, “Now you must tell me.”
“Oh you’ll think I’m terrible…”
“Impossible.”
“It’s…” you sigh, “He isn’t a very kind man, even when he was courting Abi…he made her cry more often than not and while Abi and I were alone, while I was dabbing her tears away I couldn’t take it…”
You look up to make sure he was still listening, which he was very intently. You hesitate for a minute before continuing your story, “I called him a toad.”
“A toad?” Cregan’s head falls back as he begins to cackle.
“It was a great insult!” you take your hand off his arm so you could cross your arms across your chest.
“Aye, it was.”
“You mock me.”
“No, no,” he laughs more before placing his hands on your shoulders, stopping you both in place, “I only think it funny you thought I would spurn you for calling a man a toad.”
“In the South you would.”
“Fuck the South, this is the North, and it is in the North that you’ll be my wife. I would never be angry with you for insulting an out of line man or woman.” Cregan says.
“Even if that out of line man is you?”
“Even if that out of line man is me,” he echoes.
“But how did he find out you called him a toad?” Cregan asks after a few seconds.
“Because Abi told him, or rather, she called him one as well and then told him.”
“I see.”
“Marriage, at least in the South, is not usually good…it is rare for a woman to get a good husband. In fact, a good husband in the South is a husband that ignores his wife. I’m afraid that Abi was not so lucky, she got a cruel one.”
“I will not be cruel to you,” Cregan says softly, taking your soft hands in his rough ones.
You smile softly before a more playful look appears on your face, “Well that is one rumor disproven.”
“Rumor? You have been listening to gossip about me?” he raises a brow, “Tell me, what do the Southern Lords and Ladies say of me? Other than that I’m cruel.”
You had worried for a moment you had angered him, but when you realized he had the same playful look you laughed.
“Well, I was told that at night you switch between a man and a wolf…that…” you trail off.
“That?” he asks, and with the teasing glint in his eye, it was obvious he knew what you were going to say.
“That… as a wolf man you’d be rough in the marriage bed…”
“And you believed that one?”
“No…yes…I don’t know! I didn’t know what to expect, I suppose I still don’t know what to expect from the marriage bed,” you laugh.
“Well there is a second rumor disproven, I will never be rough with you outside of the marriage bed… and I will not be rough in it either, unless you ask for it to be.”
Your face flushes, making him chuckle, “Other rumors?” he asks.
“Well…one man in particular told me that you drink the blood of animals…”
“Oh that one’s true,” Cregan deadpans.
You freeze, “What?”
“How else do you think I maintain these rugged good looks?”
There’s silence before he begins to laugh again making you scowl.
“Oh come on! Now that’s just mean!” you push at his chest softly but he doesn’t move a bit.
“I only jest,” he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close to his chest, you let out a sigh when you feel the warmth that admits from him, “by the God's woman, you’re freezing.”
He pulls away only to unclasp his cloak so he could drape it over you even though you already wore your own. His was much larger, it touched the ground and practically swallowed you whole. You sighed contently, not only was the cloak warm from his body heat but it smelt of him as well. Pine mostly but also a touch of smoke.
Cregan admires you for a moment before scooping you up in his arms making you squeal, “Back home now, I can not have you freezing…I will show you the weirwoods another day, your hands are already so cold and I would hate for you to get cold feet.”
You laugh at the double meaning of his words as you snuggle further into his chest. It was then you decided that the North and even marriage wouldn’t be so bad, as long as it was with Cregan.
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Hi! I’ve got a request please for Aegon after he’s injured at Rook’s Rest where wife!reader won’t leave his bedside just watching him rest and helping care for him and soothing him when he’s able to wake up 🥺
Aegon Targaryen x Wife!Reader
જ⁀➴ The days following Rooks Rest were spent by Aegon’s side and no where else ᝰ.ᐟ
It was a day just like the last, the morning sun was blocked behind the thick tapestry that hangs over the huge windows. It casts a hazy light through the chambers, the smoke from the candles dances through the soft rays of sun that peak between the gaps.
The chair beside Aegon’s sick bed was your new home, you slept and ate there- well what little you could stomach. The Maesters had advised you to get proper rest, urging you out of the room whenever they had to tend to him. However, all their complaints went in one ear and out the other.
You were adamant and so they all soon gave in, the desperation in your eyes must’ve spoken to something deep in Grand Maester Orwyle.
The sound of Aegon’s shallow breaths is the only sound that breaks through the silence, along with the faint crackle of candle flames that were starting to die out. You were almost on the cusp of sleep, your head tipping to the side as you try to fight off the heavy weight of exhaustion.
Although your attempts are futile, there was a restlessness that had coiled itself around your body holding you from finding peace ever since they had brought your husband back to the Red Keep in that wooden box, the memory still stirs your stomach unpleasantly.
Shaking the thought off you lean forward slightly, reaching over to brush his hair away from his face, your knuckles grazing over his unburned cheek. His skin is warm to the touch, hot with the leftover remnants of a fever he had not long broken.
You stare at him, watching him sleep so soundly that he almost looks at peace. If it weren’t for his pained expression and the way he weakly fists at the bedsheets then perhaps you might’ve tricked yourself into believing he was fine… just resting as the Maesters put it.
You dip a cotton cloth into the basin, wringing the water out before gently dabbing it against the untouched areas of his skin, the last parts of him that weren’t scorched. His body tenses up, and then a broken sigh passes through his chapped lips, the coolness brought him some relief if only for a few fleeting moments.
He sinks back into the comfort of the pillows as you bring the cloth over his chest, avoiding the marred skin. “… you’re still here?” He whispers, disbelief twinging through his broken tone, watching you through his bleary eye. He knows it’s you, despite the daze he is in. He can tell by the way you tend to him with a certain care that the Maesters didn’t have.
His voice sends a pang of hurt through your chest, hitting your heart. “Of course… I’m not going anywhere.” You whisper, going back over to the basin to fold the cloth back in its place before walking over to him once more.
He had been in out of consciousness since this morning when you had witnessed him speak vaguely to Orwyle, his words then were slurred almost incoherent.
“You don’t have to.” He rasps, his actions betraying his words as his fingers twitch weakly in a desperate attempt to hold your hand. You meet him halfway, clasping your fingers around his palm.
“No, I want to. I’m not leaving you Aegon.” You tell him, more of a reassurance than anything. To soothe him whilst he remains in this almost delirious state. He nods feebly, a smile ghosting over his features, the feeling of your thumb caressing the inside of his wrist brings him peace of mind.
Your gaze casts along his body slowly, the dragon fire had caused a web of marred flesh over his chest and arm, across his face. An unsettling sight of pinks and reds, darker in some places and lighter in others as they blended into a violent purple in some areas, it was all extremely sensitive that even the bedsheets seemed to cause him a great deal of agony.
He watches the way your eyes study him, taking in the horrid sight that has become of him. He hates it more than anything, the look of grief in your eyes for a life that he was no longer able to live, long lost within the very same flames that had nearly claimed him. He hates it, such a solemn emotion doesn’t suit you.
Aegon looks up at you as if it was his first time really seeing you since he was first brought home. He seemed much more aware than he did yesterday. His purple eye brimming with tears that he has no control over, not right now in this condition.
“You look exhausted.” He states the obvious, looking at the deep bags underneath your eyes, although you are well aware of the fact. It was his shallow breaths that kept you from sleeping, far too scared that he might pass whilst you were unconscious.
You hum in acknowledgement, not trusting your voice to carry your words without breaking into a sob. His fingers squeeze your own, a wordless understanding, so softly that you barely even notice it.
You collect yourself, clearing your throat. “I’m okay, shall I get the Maesters?” Your words immediately make him shake his head, a desperate noise of protest slipping past his lips.
“No, stay. I need you.” He tells you, leaning into your palm with a shaky sigh.
His hand reaches for the soft velvet of your dress, trying to urge you closer to him, keeping you there with a small pained whimper. You wrap your fingers around his hands softly, looking down at him, trying to stop him with worry in your eyes as he tries to sit up.
“Stop it Aegon, you’re going to hurt yourself. I’m not leaving just lay back.” You promise, urging him to rest back down against the pillows. He mumbles something that sounds more like a jumble of pained blusters, letting you guide him back to the comfort of the pillows.
“Sit down with me,” he whispers in a strained tone, noting the hesitation in your eyes as you look across his burned skin.
You do ask he asks, perching yourself down on the edge of his bed. Your eyes search his expression for any signs of discomfort, but you are met with only a weak smile as his hand rests against your lap.
He looks over to the chair beside his bed, the blankets and pillows that were placed over the cushions, the small tray of food on the table nearby that had been untouched… you really hadn’t left his side? The thought chokes him up.
“You’ve been sleeping in that old chair this entire time? Don’t be silly…” He says, working his fingers between your own, his thumb stroking across your wedding ring. “You should be in bed… sleeping.”
“What use am I to you if I’m in bed?” You ask him, looking down at his hand as he caresses the small gemstones on your ring.
It had become some sort of habit of his, over time as he let you into his heart little by little. It brought him comfort to know that you chose to stay with him, for all his faults you still found yourself caring for reasons that Aegon can’t seem to comprehend even now.
Aegon furrowed his eyebrows slightly, a weak scoff escaping his chapped lips. Your selflessness would forever puzzle him. “You are my wife, I won’t have you wasting away.” He spoke with a sternness, he was worried about you. How much sleep have you had- or food for that matter- if any at all.
You sigh, opening your mouth to argue with him but he quickly cuts you off. “You’d be no use to me at all by torturing yourself like this, you silly girl…” The words carry some truth, but you were stubborn.
“You worrying about me whilst you lay here…like this… that is silly Aegon.” You tell him, looking down at your lap to your joined hands as his thumb continues to idly rub over the wedding band.
He grunts, looking up at you with a small frown but he can’t be mad. He missed you far too much to spend these moments arguing. “You are frustratingly stubborn… I missed you.” He whispers, bringing your hand to his lips to press a kiss to your ring.
A smile tugs at the corners of your lips, letting him guide your hand to rest against his cheek. He leans into the warmth of your palm as your thumb caresses him once again.
“I’ve missed you… so much.” You breathe, words coming out hushed as you try to keep the tears from falling down your exhausted eyes.
He watches you with slight confusion as you suddenly scramble over to the tables beside your chair, grabbing something before joining him at his side once more. Before he can ask what you were doing you take his uninjured hand, gently pushing his own wedding ring onto his finger.
His heart stops for a moment, leaping into his stomach at the feeling. The affection, the gentleness, makes his throat close up and he can’t do much, rendered speechless as he stares up at you with disbelief.
“I thought you wouldn’t wake up… that you were-” dead… you can’t speak the word, you didn’t dear to, just in case in some sick turn of events it might come to fruition.
The tears fall freely, looking down at your wedding rings. A symbol that meant much more than just duty, you were entwined by the soul and heart, tethered to each other.
He reaches up to brush your tears away, his expression softening. “I’m here… I’m not going anywhere.” He rasps, hating the fact he can do more to soothe you. He’s never felt so useless before then he does right now.
“As am I… I’m not going anywhere.” your teary response makes him chuckle weakly.
“Come here…” he grunts, trying to play off the pain that was still searing through his body in hot flashes.
“No- I don’t want to hurt you.” You whisper, suddenly panicked as he tries to tug you down to him by his good arm.
He beckons you closer, his fingers curling around the back of your head. “You won’t… just please.” He begs meekly.
You steady yourself, pressing the palms of your hands against the mattress- being super vigilant of the burns that tarnish his body- as he lowers you down to kiss him. Your lips meeting his own gently before you pull away.
“No more. Rest before you overexert yourself.” You tell him sternly, getting up from the bed as he grumbles in a mixture of objection and pain, watching you walk back over to the wash basin. His complaints soon die down at the feeling of the cool damp rag pressing against his chest.
“Thank you.” He whispers, moulding back into the pillows. The chill it brings against his flushed skin was very welcomed.
“Shh, just relax.” You coo softly and it isn’t long before he’s drifting back off to sleep. His hand entwined with your own, your rings glistening underneath the soft candlelight, not willing to let go even in his unconscious state.
A/n: reader race is not mentioned but it implied they are Targaryen/Velaryon
You shivered and struggled through the thick winter snow. The other Stark men were a few feet ahead of you, but Cregan stayed only inches away, intentionally walking slowly, yet not quite at your pace. The grey stone walls of Winterfell grew smaller and smaller in the distance as you all trudged the long, wide path to the hunting grounds. Your fingers felt as though they might break off at any second, your dress stiff and frozen. It felt like boulders were shackled to your feet with how hard it was to move through the snow and the sack over you shoulder didn’t help at all. You dared not complain, however for it had been you who begged, over and over, to be allowed on the trip.
Cregan had hesitated to let you come, not because you were a woman, of course. It was common enough for women to join the hunt. No, it was because you were a Southerner. Unused to long stretches of cold, he hadn’t believed you could endure it. He was right, of course hells, the very first day you’d arrived in Winterfell, you hadn’t believed you’d survive the night with how cold it was. You were still indoors, right in front of a roaring fire, when you’d said it, but still you wanted this.
It had only been a few weeks since you became Lady of Winterfell, but you quickly noticed how the North was vastly different from the South in many ways, but one difference stood out was the drama. Back home, there was always some issue, daily squabbles and quarrels among highborns, a mixture of petty or grand. The North, while not free from politics, didn’t seem consumed by them, rather their focus on much larger matters.
Since marrying Cregan, your days had gone from endless council meetings to far more peaceful, tranquil ones. Although you adored your new home and appreciated the quiet... gods, you couldn’t stand another full day with your ladies-in-waiting holding up tapestries and then asking which should be used for the next guest.
As you continued trudging through the snow, your knees finally gave out. You landed face-first with a soft oof. Cregan stopped immediately, the men ahead paused as well, but he waved them off and came over, offering you a hand.
“You ought to be more careful, or I’ll be inclined to carry you the whole way.”
You frowned at his comment.
“You need not treat me like a basket case, I am fine,” you declared, declining his hand and getting up on your own.
Reckless and ambitious… what a dangerous combination, he thought. It was hard to take your defiance seriously with your front and hair completely covered in snow.
“Well, at least you're becoming better acquainted with the snow” he said, reaching out to brush it off you, his touch tender and careful. “There.” His calloused hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing away the last of the flakes clinging to your skin.
Though it had been some time since you became man and wife, moments like this still had your face heating like a blushing girl.
“Oi!” One of his men Davos calls from the distance, bringing you back to reality.
You feel a major weight lifted off of your shoulders when Cregan takes you sack, swinging it over his shoulder alongside his own.
“Walk in front of me” he says, his tone not commanding but at the same time leaving no room for debate. “I would appreciate still having a wife when we return home.”
Camp had now been set up for the night. The Stark men could have easily gone for a few more hours, but Cregan called for a stop for the sake of you. Though you wouldn’t admit it, he knew how badly you wished to rest.
Everyone gathered around the campfire as food was passed out. When your share reached you, you blinked down at the plate. Two pieces of dried meat and half a loaf of coarse bread. You lifted the meat, eyeing it curiously, you’d never seen anything like it before. It was thin, thinner than your fingers, and smelled like, well nothing at all.
“Doesn’t it need to be cooked?” you asked, innocently.
The men paused and stared at you for a beat before they burst into laughter. A few muttered “Southerners” under their breath. Even Cregan chuckled, shaking his head with a smirk.
“No, love. We’re in the middle of the forest, cooking is a luxury. This is quick and efficient.”
You nodded choosing to eat the bread first since it was more familiar. You soon brought the meat to your mouth. You thought you might pull a tooth out with how tough it was. It tasted like wood and was hard swallow. Your face twisted in discomfort and their laughter grew louder. You looked down, cheeks burning with embarrassment. Cregan noticed, his gaze swept over the men like a blade and they went quiet under it.
“Ignore them,” he said in his low, gruff tone. “They’d eat a rotten carcass if there was good ale to go with it.”
You laughed softly, and the sound warmed his chest. Finally, he thought a smile. Your laughter was a welcome softness in the harsh winter.
“Here,” he said, handing you his piece of bread.
“Oh, no—I couldn’t,” you said, shaking your head.
“You will.” He places the bread into your hands. “I’m not that hungry tonight anyway.”
It was a lie he could feel hunger gnawing at his gut, but the thought of you going without pained him more.
You took the bread, eyeing it with regret, cursing yourself for not finishing your porridge that morning. You took one bite, then another, then another… before you realized the whole thing was gone. When you looked up, Cregan wore an amused grin.
“You know, here in the North, it’s customary to chew your food,” he teases.
You’re about to fire back when a sudden burp escapes your lips. You gasp, instantly covering your mouth.
He smiles at that, a soft unguarded smile. His eyes hold something tender, full of quiet love and care, a gentleness he showed only to you.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” he murmurs. “There’s no need for manners out here.”
He watches you for a moment and notices the weariness in your eyes.
“Come now,” he says gently. “It’s getting late, we’ve got an early start the morrow.”
Everyone begins settling in around the fire. Some of the men are already fast asleep, while others shift into more comfortable positions. Now that the sun has set, the cold bites sharper, and the frost in the air promises to deepen as the night wears on.
Cregan glances over at you, curled up on your makeshift bed. You look exhausted, knees pulled to your chest, blowing hot air into your hands. He knows you’ve been trying not to show weakness this entire trip. It’s admirable… but he won’t have it.
You suddenly feel something heavy drape over your shoulders and look up to see it’s his cloak. Thick and fur-lined, it swallows you whole. You open your mouth to protest, but he lifts a finger, silencing you.
“I’m a man of the North. I’ll manage.” He crouches down to tie it securely around you. “Besides, how am I supposed to explain to your family that their dear Y/n turned into a princessicle during the night?”
You mumble out a quiet thank you, praying he won’t change his mind—gods, it was warm. You lay down, cocooned in his cloak, and the combination of his scent and the lingering warmth lulls you into sleep.
Cregan is woken by the sound of rustling. He turns to his side and feels his heart drop when he sees your spot empty. Instantly alert, he scans the area until he catches sight of you….walking alone into the dark forest.
Gods, this woman.
Without hesitation, he rises and follows. You don’t even realize he’s there until a branch snaps behind you. You whirl around, about to scream but Cregan is already there, grabbing you from behind, one strong hand clamping gently over your mouth.
“Gods be damned, woman,” he growls. “Are you trying to wake the whole forest?”
You freeze, back still pressed against his chest, his arm firm around your middle and his other hand gently silencing you. You can only shake your head helplessly, he slowly spins you around to face him, his hand settling around your forearm not harshly, but with the kind of grip that betrays just how scared he’d been.
His eyes meet yours, those storm-grey eyes filled with both anger and fear. You shrink a little under the intensity of his gaze.
“What in the seven hells are you doing out here?” His voice is rough, but there’s a crack in it, not from anger but worry.
You falter, voice barely a whisper. “I… I had to relieve myself.”
He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stares. His jaw tightens.
“So you thought it wise to go off alone?” His grip on you still firm “You could’ve gotten lost. Taken. Frozen. Killed-“ he stops himself, thinking of the hundreds of ways you could have killed yourself which didn’t help ease with his anger. He exhales sharply, then realizes his grip is still firm on you. He lets go, dragging a hand down his face then pinching the bridge of his nose like he’s trying to calm a storm in his chest.
...
“Cregan?”
He doesn’t answer right away.
“What?” he replies harsher than he intended to.
“I… I still have to go.”
He groans something under his breath, inaudible, before walking with you deeper into the forest, a bit farther from camp. Once you reach a far enough spot, though he clearly doesn’t want you out of his sight again, he turns his back to give you privacy.
When you return to his side, he wordlessly starts walking again. The quiet between you is heavy, the only sound is the snow crunching under your boots. You steal a glance at him, he doesn’t look at you, his gaze fixed straight ahead, jaw set. You wish to say something but nothing passes your lips, of course you’ve seen him angry but it was never directed towards you so you have no idea how to react.
A sudden distant howl slices through the silence. You freeze. Your eyes dart toward the trees, heart racing. You’re not accustom to the sound, not even at Winterfell. For they won’t dare wonder that close to civilization, but you were in their home now. You look over at Cregan and his eyes are still set forward, you begin to nervously wring your hands together trying to ease your nerves.
He notices. “Don’t worry,” he says, voice still gruff but with a hint of softness now. “Just a lonesome wolf calling for its pack, sounds far off.”
He keeps walking. You don’t.
He stops when he realizes, turning back to you with a slight frown.
“I’m sorry…”
His eyebrows crease, confused. “For what?”
“For being such a burden,” you say quietly, your voice breaking. “I’m sorry I begged to come… sorry you are now stuck watching over me.”
He just looks at you for a moment guilt and regret stirs within him, mayhaps he should not have snapped at you like that.
“You are not a burden,” he says gently. “Annoying, yes but never a burden.”
You give a weak laugh, but the words don't quite reach your heart.
He steps closer and cradles your face in both hands, making you look at him.
“Listen to me,” he says softly, his thumbs brushing your cheeks. “You are my wife. It’s my duty to protect you, to care for you…” He pauses, eyes searching yours. “And it is something I want to do. Gladly. Every day. Until my last breath.”
You blink up at him. In the silver glow of the moonlight, his pale skin lit softly, his dark hair tousled by the wind, his features relaxed once more and softness in his eyes only reserved for you return.
“Understood?”
You nod. “Understood.”
He bends down to press a long, warm kiss to your forehead. The chill in the air turns to heat in your chest. When he pulls away, he takes your hand, his large calloused one enveloping your smaller one and together, the two of you walk slowly back toward the firelight.
Summary: War breeds loss and grief. Yet, even knowing this does not make it any easier to be apart from your love. Every night spent crying as you hoped for his safe return... perhaps then you could leave, just the two of you, forever.
Warnings: angst; mentions of death and blood; war; hurt and comfort; smut; breeding kink; very soft and loving explicit scene
Words: 8k
Notes: No description of the reader and no use of (y/n). English is not my first language. This is also perhaps the softest and most loving language I have written in a smut, so we'll see how this goes.
Do not read if you do not feel comfortable with the warnings. I'm not responsible for the media you consume.
𐔌 . ⋮ aera .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱
You had a dream—perhaps it was more of a nightmare—one that clawed at your heart. Jacaerys's not returning to you after the battle was a dark and heavy thought that haunted you. It seemed all too possible, a shadow lurking at the edge of your mind. In that restless unconscious state, you clung to him tighter, as if your grip could keep him safe. This could very well be your last night together.
There he stood, clad in shining armour, but it did little to mask the scene's horror. His eyes—wide and glistening—held a mixture of fear and tenderness. Blood stained his face and armour, a stark reminder of the violence surrounding him. It was his blood, and it terrified you. "I'll find you," he whispered, his voice breaking as he fell into your embrace. In those fleeting moments, his gaze held yours. As if you were the sun and the moon, all the stars in the sky. Passing away with a soft smile on his lips.
You jolted awake, your body slick with cold sweat, your cheeks damp with tears that had spilt in the night. The bed felt empty without him, and a deep ache settled in your chest. Outside, Vermax's roar echoed through the air, a fierce cry that sent shivers down your spine as you watched them soar above the towers, dark wings stretching against the dawn sky. You raised your hand in a silent goodbye, hoping against hope that he could somehow feel your love calling him in the vastness. But he was gone now, and the weight of that truth pressed heavily on your heart.
The sky was war.
Not just the kind waged with steel and fire, but the type that opened the world—winds howling like the old gods had turned on each other, clouds splitting with roars and flame. Above the chaos, Jacaerys clung to Vermax’s saddle, fingersblistered from heat and strain, his jaw set with resolve.
He had trained for this. He had studied the skies, learned how to dive, and how to read the air like scripture. But nothing—nothing—could prepare him for what war truly looked like from the back of a dragon.
The air smelled of scorched flesh and burning banners. Below, ships were reduced to drifting skeletons, fire blooming across their decks like deadly flowers. Vermax roared beneath him, not in challenge—but in pain.
There had been a blow. Arrows had come from the clouds, their sharp points digging into Vermax’s side before they’deven seen it coming. The scream Vermax let out then was like nothing Jace had ever heard. And still, he fought. Still, they wheeled and burned through the sky, young and furious and too brave for their own good.
Jace’s ears rang with the sound of wings. His shoulder throbbed—he'd taken a crossbow bolt in the scramble, the pain white-hot and searing. But none of that mattered, not really.
What mattered was the thought that pierced through all the chaos.
“If I fall, I’ll never see her again.”
Not his crown. Not his cause. You.
He pulled Vermax around sharply, feeling the dragon falter beneath him. One wing lagged. Blood streamed in long red ribbons behind them. Still, Jace reached forward and pressed his hand against the hot scales at the base of Vermax’s neck.
“Come on, boy. Just a little further. We can do this.”
Vermax gave one last push, flames licking at the edge of his mouth. But then came the second hit.
Arrows like spears. A shriek of agony. Jace barely had time to shout before they were spinning—air, blood and water rushing all at once. Vermax’s wings wrapped around him in instinctive defence, curling in. And Jace’s last thought before the world turned black was not of glory or thrones or dragons.
It was of your hand, slipping from his.
And the whisper he had sworn: I’ll find you.
You waited and waited, the silence thick like fog in the air. Pacing in his chambers, each step felt heavier than the last as you clung to the hope that he would burst through the door at any moment. Your heart raced at the thought, imagining how he would run into your arms, ready to whisk you away from all of this. But the hours turned into days, and now it had been two long days since he had left.
Rhaenyra, his mother, was already deep in mourning, her grief hanging like a dark cloud over the castle. You could see it etched on her face, a mix of sorrow and determination, her plans growing darker as she desired to avenge her eldest son.
But in your heart, you could not accept the loss. He had promised he would return to you—that he would find you again. How could he break such a vow?
Desperation fueled your spirit, leading you to climb onto your dragon and soar into the skies. You flew to the cliff where you had spent countless joyful days as children, laughing and sharing secrets as the sun dipped below the horizon. The memories flooded back—those innocent promises of forever, spoken in whispers filled with dreams, so naive and full of excitement.
Now, standing on that cliff, the wind whipped around you, carrying the scent of salt and the echoes of laughter from a time before this heavy sorrow. How you wished you could go back to that moment, to feel his warmth beside you once more, to see his smile just one last time.
He woke to the scent of crushed herbs and seawater, salt crusting his lashes, his throat raw from breathing in brine and smoke. The pain came in waves, each breath tugging at the torn skin along his ribs. His shoulder was bandaged, and his leg was splinted. The room was dim, with stone walls and driftwood beams above, and the window opened to the crash of the tide.
And at the foot of the bed: a man with grey in his beard and sorrow in his eyes.
“You’re lucky,” the man said softly, “that the gods let you wash up here instead of dragging you down with that poor beast of yours.”
Jace tried to rise. Pain answered.
“Stay still. You’ll tear the stitches.”
The man moved closer, laying a cool hand on Jace’s forehead. The touch was practised. Familiar. Maester’s hands.
“I know who you are,” he said gently. “No use pretending. There are not many Targaryens left who ride dragons, and fewer still who fall from the sky into the sea like dying stars. And that sigil on your breastplate—what’s left—well.” A small, dry smile. “Let’s just say it doesn’t take a Citadel archmaester to piece it together.”
Jace’s lips cracked when he tried to speak. “My dragon—”
“Gone,” the man said. “I’m sorry.”
Over the following days, the maester—Marcyl was his name—cared for Jace like a father might a wounded son. He crushed willow bark and poultices, set bones, and read aloud when Jace drifted in and out of sleep. He said little of his past, but his hands gave him away: ink-stained fingertips, the worn chain still tucked beneath his robes, dulled from sea air and years of silence.
He spoke often to Jace about not going back.
“You're young. Strong. The gods spared you. Take that gift. There are ships from Lys that stop by the bay below. Slip aboard. Go east. Grow a beard. Learn a trade. Live.”
But Jace's eyes always turned to the sea, haunted and stubborn. “I made her a promise.”
Marcyl sighed, sitting back in his chair. “And if you return now? You’ll be captured and or used. Or killed. The boy you were may be dead, but the prince you are is a currency of war, and you are in debt.”
“You said you served the crown once.”
“I did,” Marcyl said. “And then I saw what crowns do.”
Jacaerys sits in silence, lost in thought, as days drag on. He knows that if he flees, he might save himself. But the idea of leaving you behind breaks his heart. He thinks of your smile, so bright and warm, and the way your eyes hold a world of understanding. He misses the softness of your hands, the comfort they bring. Without you, life would feel empty, and he can’t bear the thought.
Finally, after struggling for days, he finds the strength to rise and walk. He approaches the maester, determination in his voice. “I’m going back... back to her,” he says firmly. “Maybe we can escape to Essos together someday. Who knows what awaits us?” In his heart, he clings to the hope of a new life with you, filled with love and endless possibilities.
The old Maester doesn’t try to stop him. He simply nods, eyes shadowed, like he’s known all along that the boy would choose you over hiding.
“You’ll need this,” Marcyl says, pressing a thick wool cloak into Jace’s hands. Inside its folds: dried meat, a waterskin, a small vial of milk of the poppy. And a coin—old, Valyrian. “For luck. Or leverage.”
They part in silence, the wind cold and damp with salt as Jace steps into the boat at dawn. He rows until the tide takes him, and sails once the wind favours him. Every muscle burns, and his shoulder still aches, but he pushes through it. What’s pain to a man who’s already lost everything but one person?
Nights are the hardest. Alone, wrapped in damp sails, he dreams of you—sometimes as you were, laughing by firelight, other times as you might be now, broken with grief. He whispers your name into the dark, hoping some old god still listens.
And then, finally—land.
Back at Dragonstone—the war continues. Your heart is brittle, barely holding together. Your eyes are red and sunken from crying and lack of sleep.
You lie in his bed, the sheets still faintly carrying his scent, a bittersweet reminder of the warmth you once shared. His pillow, soft and familiar, is often stained with your salty tears, each drop a testament to your heart's aching sorrow.
The only thing keeping you from spiralling completely into madness is the milk of the poppy that the Maester has been offering you. Its numbing effects provide a fleeting escape from the relentless pain.
The sight of Baela and Rhaena watching you, their eyes filled with worry, barely registers in your foggy mind. Their fears no longer matter. Not when the love of your life lies beneath the waves, entombed with his great beast, leaving you lost in a world that feels dark and hollow without him.
Still every morning and night, you go out to the sea. Hoping to even see a ghost of him. Some sign that he is still out there, watching you, looking for you. He will find you.
The fog is thick that morning. It rolls in heavy from the sea, turning the world into shades of silver and ash. You stand at the cliff’s edge like you always do, the hem of your cloak dancing in the wind, eyes scanning the horizon for something you’ve never truly believed you'd see.
A shape breaks through the mist.
At first, you think it's your mind playing tricks again—like the other times you’d sworn you’d seen wings, or heard his voice in the crash of waves. But this time, it moves closer. Steadier. Realer.
You don’t breathe.
The figure staggers as it climbs the rocky path, shoulders hunched, limping. A dark cloak clings to him, soaked through, hood drawn up. Your heart races violently, painfully. You take a step back, clutching your chest.
Then he lifts his head.
Your knees give out.
For a moment, all you can do is stare. The sea behind him howls, and the wind rushes past your ears, but none of it matters. The world narrows to the face before you—gaunt, bruised, beautiful.
“Jace?” It comes out like a breath. Fragile. Disbelieving.
He sways on his feet. “I told you I’d find you.”
You run.
There’s no hesitation. No room left for doubt. Your hands reach for him and his arms catch you, shaky but desperate, pulling you to him like he might vanish if he lets go. You bury your face in his neck, against the soaked fabric, and sob.
“You’re alive—gods, you’re alive—” you choke through tears, pressing trembling hands to his face to be sure, to feel the heat of him.
“I’m here. I’m sorry.” His voice is hoarse. “I couldn’t—Vermax—” his throat closes on the name. You feel it, the pain. The grief. The guilt.
You just shake your head. “No more apologies. No more goodbyes.”
The two of you cling to each other as if the storm might come again as if fate might reach in and try to steal him a second time. But it won’t. Not this time.
He came back.
You bring him inside, your arms around his waist, guiding him through the familiar halls like a ghost returned to the land of the living. No one sees you. No one needs to. Right now, there is only him—cold and trembling, half-starved and so fragile beneath your fingertips, and yet, miraculously alive.
You feed him and draw him a bath, your hands steady even as your heart shakes. He watches you with wide, tired eyes as if he still isn’t sure this is real. The steam rises, curling between you, and when you help him undress carefully, reverently, he lets you. Not out of weakness, but trust. Bone-deep, wordless trust.
Scars now map his chest and arms, angry and healing. You touch them gently, and he flinches—not from pain, but emotion. You don’t ask about what happened. Not yet. You just dip a cloth into the warm water and begin to clean him, slow and quiet, your fingers trembling only once when you run them across his cheek.
You finish washing him, your hands lingering on his cooling skin before you help him from the tub and wrap a soft blanket around his shoulders. He leans against you, his weight settling like he means to rest his burdens on your frame, and your heart swells with fierce protectiveness. This man—your prince, your love, your everything—is here. He kept his vow.
"I thought I'd lost you," you whisper, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. "Gods, I thought you were gone, like the rest of them..."
A shudder runs through his frame at the unspoken grief between the words. The loss of his brother, of his cousins, of innocence and hope. Of a future that once seemed so bright and full of promise.
"I'm here," he murmurs, his arms tightening around your waist. "I'm here, and I'm not letting you go again." His voice is fervent and desperate, and you feel the weight of his stare on your face. "I found you, just like I swore I would."
He leans in to capture your lips, his own cool and searching, and you open for him without hesitation. A soft groan escapes him as he kisses you deeply, a kiss that feels like a homecoming, like a promise sealed.
You cradle Jace's face in your palms, your thumbs brushing away the remnants of tears and water from his chilled skin. Your tears fall freely, tracing paths down your cheeks to dampen your kiss with a brittle, bittersweet essence.
"Jace," you murmur against his mouth, his name a prayer of relief and gratitude. "My love, my heart... you're here. Truly here." You nip lightly at his lower lip, a physical affirmation.
Your fingers sink into the damp curls at his nape, savouring their softness and the reality of him, whole and real in your arms. You tug him closer, moulding his lean frame to the curves of your body, chasing the warmth that had begun to feel like a distant memory.
Jacaerys shudders as your fingers sink into his hair, his own hands sliding down to the small of your back to press you flush against him. He can feel every curve, every soft swell, and it ignites a hunger in him that has nothing to do with the meagre rations he's had on his journey. No, this is a deeper ache. A yearning. Something that only your body can satisfy.
He breathes your name, his voice rough with emotion and desire. "My heart, my soul... I thought I'd lost you. Thought I'dnever hold you again, never feel your touch, your kiss..." He claims your mouth once more, more urgently this time, his tongue delving deep to taste you, to consume you. To remind himself that you're real, that this is happening.
His hands roam your back, your sides, your hips, mapping the dips and curves he knew so well. They slip beneath the hem of your tunic, seeking the bare skin underneath, calloused palms skimming up your ribs to cup the soft weight of your breasts. He thumbs your nipples through the thin linen of your small clothes, feeling them pebble and tighten at his touch.
"I need you," he rasps against your lips, rocking his hips into yours with a soft groan. "I ache to feel you, every part of you."
He walks you backwards towards the bed, his mouth never leaving yours, his hands not stopping their sensual exploration. When your knees hit the mattress, he lowers you down onto it, covering your body with his own.
His touch was gentle yet urgent like a man starved for affection. A soft whimper escaped your lips, your eyes flutteringclosed as you leaned into his caress.
"Jacaerys..." you breathed, your voice trembling with barely contained emotion.
Your hands drifted over his chest, his shoulders, admiring the pale muscle and warm skin beneath your fingertips. You drank in every detail, committing it to memory, in case this was all a fleeting dream.
Leaning up, you tenderly brushed his damp curls back from his brow, tucking them behind his ears. Your breath caught at the sight of him, at the raw beauty and vulnerability in his eyes. Your pretty prince, back in your arms where he belonged.
"Let me take care of you," you murmured, your voice low and soothing. "Let me love you, cherish you, the way I always have. The way I always will."
You cupped his face in your palms. Your heart ached to see him so weary, so worn, yet it swelled with fierce love and protectiveness.
Slowly, you guided him up the bed, your body melting against his as you sank into the soft furs. You rolled him over, straddling his hips, wanting to be the one to comfort, to nurture, to worship him.
Jacaerys' breath catches as you roll him onto his back, his eyes darkening with desire as you straddle his hips. He looks up at you, his princess, your hair falling around you like a curtain as you lean over him. In this moment, the war, the grief, the fear—it all falls away. There is only you, only this, only the love that burns between you.
"Let you love me?" he whispers, a small, tired smile tugging at his lips. "I thought you already did, with every breath, every beat of your beautiful heart." His hands find your waist, thumbs rubbing slow circles on the small of your back as he pulls you down, urging you to settle against him.
"I need your touch," he murmurs, his voice rough with desire and something softer, something that feels a lot like devotion. "Need to feel your skin, your heartbeat, your breath. Need to be inside you, surrounded by you, until I can't tell where I end and you begin."
"I love you," he breathes, his eyes never leaving yours. "I love you more than anything in this world or the next. And I'mgoing to spend the rest of my life showing you just how much."
With that, he surges up to capture your mouth in a searing kiss, pouring all of his love, his relief, and his desperation into it. His tongue delves deep, tangling with yours, tasting you, consuming you. One hand tangles in your hair, and the other slides down to grip your hip, pulling you harder against him.
He rolls his hips up into yours, letting you feel the hard, hot length of him through the fabric of the towel. A low groan rumbles in his chest as he grinds against you, seeking friction, seeking more.
You sigh breathily as Jacaerys guides your hips to grind against his, your body melting into his touch. "Oh, my prince..." you gasp, your voice trembling with honest emotion. You smile down at him. "I missed you... so very much. My heart felt so empty, so lost without you by my side."
Your eyes shimmer with unshed tears as you gaze at him, drinking in every beloved detail of his face. "My life had no colour, no warmth without you in it, Jacaerys. I was merely existing, not truly living, not until this moment." You lean down to brush a tender kiss against his lips, pouring all your longing and love into the soft press of your mouth against his. "Please... do not ever leave my side again."
Jacaerys' heart clenches at the raw emotion in your voice, at the shimmer of tears in your eyes. He feels a surge of love so fierce it steals his breath, a protectiveness that makes him want to gather you up and never let you go. He knows exactlywhat you mean—the time spent without you had been a bleak, empty hell, a hollow imitation of life.
"Never," he vows, his voice low and intense. "I swear it, my love. I'll never leave you again." His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing away the dampness beneath your eye. "My life has no meaning without you in it. No purpose, no joy, no light."
He sits up, bringing you with him, his forehead pressed against yours. "You're my heart, my home, my everything," he murmurs, his breath mingling with yours. "I'll spend every day showing you how much you mean to me, how deeply I love you."
His hands slide down your back, over the curve of your rear, before gripping the hem of your tunic. Slowly, he starts to lift it, his calloused fingers skimming over the bare skin of your thighs, your hips, your waist. He tugs it up and over your head, tossing it aside to leave you bare before him, save for your small clothes.
"Beautiful," he breathes, his dark eyes roaming over every inch of exposed skin, drinking in the sight of you. "My goddess, my queen, my everything..." He leans in to press open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, his tongue darting out to taste your skin, making you sigh in pleasure. His hands map the curves of your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples through the thin linen until they pebble and strain against the fabric.
He leans in to capture your breast in his mouth, his tongue swirling around the hardened peak, suckling and teasing as he wets the fabric. He wants to show you with every touch, every kiss, every thrust, just how much he loves you. Just how much he needs you. Just how much you mean to him.
"Ohhh, Jacaerys..." you breathe out, your voice hitching as pleasure courses through you. Your fingers thread through his damp curls, gripping them lightly as you hold his head to your breast. "That feels...mmm...don't stop."
You rock your hips harder against the growing bulge underneath the flimsy towel, seeking some relief from the throbbing ache he's ignited between your thighs. The rough fabric rubs deliciously against your most sensitive places, making you gasp and clench around nothing.
"Please, my love," you whimper, your back arching to push your breast more fully into Jacaerys' eager mouth. "I need...I need..." you can't even finish the thought, too lost in sensation, too desperate for his touch.
Your head tips back, exposing the long column of your throat as soft mewls of pleasure spill from your lips. The wet heat of his mouth, the scrape of his teeth, the swirl of his tongue—it's almost too much, yet not enough. You're drowning in sensation, consumed by the love and desire that burns between you, hotter and brighter than any dragonfire.
Jacaerys groans around your breast, the sound vibrating against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. He can feel your need, your desperation, and it fuels his own. He wants to consume you, to devour you, to make you feel pleasure so intense it borders on pain. He wants to hear you scream his name, to feel you clench around him as you find your release.
He releases your breast with a wet pop, his lips trailing kisses up the column of your throat until he reaches your mouth. He captures it in a searing kiss, his tongue delving deep, tasting your gasps and whimpers. His hands slide down to grip your rear, kneading the soft flesh as he pulls you harder against him, grinding his covered erection against your core.
He's aching to be inside you, to feel your tight heat surrounding him, but he forces himself to take his time. He wants to worship you, to make you feel pleasure so intense it borders on pain.
"Ah, Jacaerys," you gasp, your voice ragged with need as you rock wantonly against the hard length of him, the rough fabric of his towel rubbing deliciously against your aching core. "I want to bear your children, my love. I long to feel your seed quickening inside me, to grow round with your heir."
Your hand slides down his back, nails raking lightly over his skin as you pull him harder against you, desperate to feel every inch of him. "I want to be your queen in truth, your partner, your lover, the mother of your children. I need to have a part of you with me always, growing inside me, a testament to our love."
You capture his lips in a fierce, passionate kiss, pouring all your longing and desire into it. "Fill me, Jacaerys," you breathe against his mouth, your voice low and urgent. "Give me your heirs, bind me to you in every way possible. I'myours, now and forever."
Jacaerys shudders at your words, a low growl rumbling in his chest. The thought of you round with his child, your belly swollen with new life, your breasts heavy and full—it ignites a primal hunger in him. He wants to claim you, to mark you, to make you his in every way possible.
"Gods, yes," he rasps, his voice rough with desire. "I want to fill you, to claim you, to make you mine in every way possible." His hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise as he grinds his clothed erection against your dripping core.
He captures your mouth in a brutal kiss, all teeth and tongue and desperation, pouring every ounce of his love and lust into it. He wants to devour you, to consume you, to make you a part of him forever.
"Mine," he growls against your lips, his hips snapping forward, the hard length of him pressing insistently against your entrance. "You're mine, now and always. I'll fill you again and again until my seed takes root until your belly swells with my child."
Frantic with need, you yank off your small clothes, baring your dripping sex to Jacaerys' hungry gaze. With trembling fingers, you undo the towel wrapped around his waist, freeing his pretty cock. It springs forth, hard and heavy and perfect, making your mouth water with anticipation.
"Please, my love," you whimper, spreading your thighs wider on top of him. "I need you inside me. I need to feel all of you, every thick inch of your cock splitting me open, claiming me, filling me. I'm aching to have you so deep inside me that I can feel it for days."
Your voice is ragged, your chest heaving with each desperate breath. You reach for him, your hands gripping his firm ass, urging him closer, needing him closer. "Fill me with your seed. I'm yours, now and forever. Let me take care of you, my prince."
Jacaerys' breath catches as you bare yourself to him, his eyes darkening with lust at the sight of your glistening sex. He groans lowly as you free his aching cock, his length throbbing and heavy with need. The feeling of your small, soft hands gripping his ass, urging him closer, is almost too much to bear.
He lines himself up with your entrance. He teases your folds with the swollen head of his cock, coating himself in your arousal, making you both slick and ready.
"Ride me," he commands, his voice low and rough. "Take what you need, what you want."
You gaze at him through hooded eyes, your plump lips curling into a coy smile as you bite down on the soft flesh, leaving a crescent imprint. Your fingers wrap around his throbbing, leaking cock, helping him guide his leaking cock to your entrance. You let out a breathy whine as you feel him start to push inside, your inner walls stretching and yielding to his thick size.
"Jace," you keen, voice high and breathy, thighs trembling and quaking around his hips as you adjust to the intrusion. The initial penetration is a mix of sweet pain and intense pleasure, your body having tightened slightly during your time apart. The feeling of being so utterly filled, claimed, and possessed by him is overwhelming. "You're...so big," you pant, your nails digging into his abdomen as you try to relax your hips, to take him deeper. "I've missed this, missed you, so much... love how you fill me up."
Jacaerys lies back, his chest heaving as he gazes up at you with hooded, adoring eyes. His hands skim over your curves, caressing every dip and swell, as if committing your body to memory. "You're exquisite," he murmurs, his voice rough with desire and emotion.
He swallows hard, his throat bobbing with the effort, as he watches you take him deeper. "Gods, you feel incredible," he grits out, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips hard enough to leave marks.
He reaches up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that occasionally slip down your cheeks. "My princess," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "My everything. I love you so much... I'm here now, and I'm never letting you go again."
As he speaks, he rolls his hips up to meet yours, driving himself deeper inside you. His hands slide down to grip your rear, urging you to take more of him with each downward thrust. He sets a steady, deep rhythm, his thick length stretching and filling you so completely that you can feel every ridge and vein as he moves within you.
"Ahhh," he whimpers, his head tipping back against the pillow as he loses himself in the exquisite sensation of your body surrounding him. "You feel like heaven, my love."
"Ohhh, Gods!" you moan loudly, your voice echoing off the stone walls as you feel him fill you up completely with every deep, powerful thrust. Tears of joy and overwhelming pleasure stream down your face as you gaze down at Jacaerys in awe as if the Gods had answered your prayers and returned him to you.
Your hands find his chest, fingers splaying over the firm muscle as you balance yourself and start to move faster, riding him with increasing eagerness. The sensation of his thick, hard length stretching you open, claiming you, filling you so utterly and completely—it's almost too much. But you don't want it to ever end. You want to drown in it, to lose yourself in the feeling of being one with him.
"Jacaerys," you gasp, your hips rolling and grinding against his, taking him as deep as you can. "I need you." Your voice is ragged, desperate, consumed by the love and lust that burns between you.
Your eyes are locked onto Jacaerys, drinking in the sight of him, committing every moment to memory. You want to sear this moment into your mind, to hold onto it forever—the moment when he claimed you, body and soul, and made you his for all eternity. Giving you his seed, a part of him.
Jacaerys' breath comes in harsh pants as he watches you, his eyes dark and intense, filled with a love so deep it steals his breath. He can feel your need, your desperation, and it fuels his own. He wants to give you everything, to fill you up until you're drowning in him, in them.
"Take it," he pants. "Take all of me."
He snaps his hips up to meet yours, driving himself impossibly deep, his thick length pulsing and throbbing inside you. He can feel your walls fluttering around him, gripping him, and it takes every ounce of his control not to spill himself inside you right then and there.
"Ahhh, fuck," he grits out, his head tipping back against the pillow as he loses himself in the feeling of your body surrounding him. "You feel so fucking good, my heart. So perfect, so right."
He reaches up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that slip down your cheeks. "I love you," he whispers, his voice breathless and low.
With that, he surges up, flipping your positions so that he's hovering over you, his hips nestled between your thighs. He starts to move, his thrusts deep and powerful, his length stretching and filling you so completely that you can feel every ridge and vein as he drives into you again and again.
"Ohhh gods, Ja-Jacaerys!" you cry out, your voice breaking on a moan as he flips you over and drives into you with renewed hunger. Your eyes roll back in your head, nails raking down his muscular forearms as you cling to him desperately.
"Mine," he growls, his voice low and possessive. "You're mine, now and forever. And I'm going to fill you up. Going to give you my seed, my heirs."
"F-fuck, you feel...ungh...incredible," you pant out, your hips bucking up to meet his thrusts. You can feel every thick, pulsing inch of him dragging along your sensitive walls, the fire building low in your belly.
You gaze up at him with hooded, lust-darkened eyes, your heart stuttering in your chest at the breathtaking sight of him lost in pleasure above you. "You're...you're so p-pretty," you manage to gasp out, your voice thick with desire. "Want to be...ahh!...filled with your seed. Want to feel you...coming inside me."
Your thighs tremble and clench around his waist, urging him deeper, needing him closer. You're so close to the edge, teetering on the brink of ecstasy. You just need a little more, a little harder, a little deeper...
Jacaerys' eyes blaze into yours, filled with love and lust so all-consuming it steals your breath. He can feel your body tensing, your walls fluttering around his length, and he knows you're close. He wants to feel you come undone beneath him, wants to watch as the pleasure overwhelming you play out across your beautiful face.
"Fuck, I love you," he growls, his voice low and rough with desire. "I love you so fucking much."
He doubles his efforts, his hips slamming against yours with enough force to rock the bed beneath you. He's determined to bring you to the peak of pleasure, to make you scream his name until it's the only word you remember.
The room fills with the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin, with your moans and cries and the low, guttural groans spilling from his throat.
"Come for me," he commands, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing tight circles over the sensitive nub. "I want to feel you come apart around my cock, want to feel your sweet cunt milking my seed from me."
He leans down to capture your mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue delving deep, swallowing your moans and cries of pleasure. He's so close, so desperately close, but he's holding back, waiting for you, wanting to feel your release before he lets go.
"Now, my love," he demands against your lips, his hips never faltering in their relentless rhythm. "Come now, and scream my name. Let the whole castle know who you belong to, who fucks you like this, who loves you like this."
You can barely get a word out as you moan loudly, cries of pleasure falling from your lips like a prayer. "I'm... I-I... oohh Gods!" you scream, your voice echoing off the stone walls as the most intense orgasm of your life crashes over you. Your vision goes white, your back arching sharply as ecstasy consumes you utterly.
Tears stream down your face, you're overwhelmed, drowning in sensation, your body shaking and trembling with the force of your release. You can feel Jacaerys' fingers digging into your hips, holding you in place as he chases his own pleasure, as he fucks you through your climax.
You're making noises you have never made before, sounds of pure, unadulterated bliss that fill the room and make the air crackle with energy. You're lost in a haze of pleasure so intense it teeters on the edge of discomfort, your mind blanking out everything except the feeling of Jacaerys moving inside you.
Jacaerys feels your velvet walls clamp down around him like a vice as you come undone, your scream of ecstasy echoing off the stone walls. The sensation is too much, too perfect, and with a roar of your name, he surges forward one last time before burying himself to the hilt inside you.
"Fuck, yes! Take it, take my seed, my love!" he bellows, his length pulsing and throbbing as he spills himself deep inside your spasming core. Jet after jet of his hot, thick cum paints your insides, filling you up just as you begged him to do.
He collapses on top of you, his hips still twitching and jerking as the last waves of his release course through him. He peppers your face with kisses, tasting your tears, your sweat, your pleasure. "I love you, I love you, I love you," he chants, his voice raw and wrecked.
Finally, he stills, his softening length still nestled deep inside you. He knows his seed is taking root, and knows that in a few short months, your belly will swell with new life. The thought makes him groan with satisfaction.
"Mine," he murmurs, his hand sliding down to splay across your lower belly. "All mine. You, me, and our child. A family, a legacy." He smiles softly, his eyes filled with love and adoration as he gazes down at you. "My queen, my heart, my everything."
You gaze up at him, your chest heaving as you struggle to catch your breath. A soft, sated smile plays at your lips as you drink in the sight of your beloved Jacaerys above you. You reach up with a trembling hand, your fingers lightly caressing his cheek, needing to feel the warmth of his skin, to assure yourself that this moment is real.
"My king," you whisper, your voice hoarse from screaming his name. You search his brown eyes, seeing your love and devotion reflected at you. "You found me... as you promised"
Jacaerys leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he savours the feeling of your fingers against his skin. When he opens them again, his gaze is intense and filled with emotion. "I did," he murmurs, turning his head to press a kiss to your palm. "I'll always find you. No matter where you are, no matter what stands in our way, I'll always come back to you."
He rolls to the side, gathering you into his arms and holding you close. He strokes your hair, your back, your arm, his touch gentle and soothing. "You're my home," he whispers, his breath stirring the hair at your temple. "You're where I belong. And I'm never letting you go again."
He tilts your chin up, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. "I love you," he says softly, his voice filled with wonder and awe. "More than anything in this world or the next. You're my heart, my soul, my everything."
He leans in, his forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with your own. "My queen," he breathes, a smile playing on his lips. "My love. My future. I'm yours, now and forever."
The war didn’t end with thunder but with silence.
With both of your parents gone and perished, the realm was at Jacaerys' feet.
The lords of the Black Council looked to him. The armies whispered his name. There was talk of vengeance still to be taken. Of fire yet to fall.
But Jacaerys felt hollow.
He stood on the shores of Dragonstone, holding your hand tightly, staring at the horizon as the waves rolled in, and said the only words that had made sense to him in days:
“I’ve seen enough death. Let it end with me.”
You nodded, squeezing his hand in response.
He had no more heart for the Iron Throne. No more hunger for the game that had devoured his mother and shattered his bloodline. The boy who once trained with blades and studied treaties, who had flown into battle thinking himself a hero—was gone.
And in his place stood a man, bruised and wiser, holding the hand of the only person who made him feel human again.
“The war is over. Aegon the Younger is the rightful king. I will kneel to him.”
There were protests. Rage. But no one dared to challenge him outright. His wounds were still fresh.
And so Aegon III ascended the throne—crowned quietly in the ashes of the past. A boy-king with haunted eyes, grieving his mother, his brothers, his innocence.
Jacaerys gave up his claim. Not as a coward. But as a prince who chose to break the cycle.
He left behind the Red Keep. The black banners. Even the ruined corpse of Vermax, buried in the cliffs beyond Driftmark. No dragon would ever bear him again.
Instead, he took you.
Just you.
One ship. A handful of loyal guards. A sack of coins gifted by Maester Gerardys, who simply clasped Jace’s shoulder with a heavy heart and said, “Your mother would have wanted this—her line to live, not just survive. Take the coin, and the histories too. Someday, your daughter may wish to know the truth.”
Giving him scrolls, books and maps to pass down to your children.
And so you set your sights on Lys. The sunny island with palm and fruit trees and the surrounding blue-green waters filled with fish.
It was a place of warmth and colour, of lightness that neither of you had known for so long.
Some knew who you were.
Whispers floated like sea foam on the docks, passed between wine merchants and old sailors with sharp eyes. The silver in your hair. The curve of his jaw, unmistakably Velaryon. The way he moved, the ghost of a prince still in his spine.
But no one said anything. No one came knocking. And soon, the rumours faded like stories told too long under the sun.
You made your home in a white-stoned villa nestled against the curve of the sea. Vines crept up its sun-warmed walls, and flowering trees spilt their perfume into the breeze. From the terrace, you could see the blue stretch of the water, the same sea that had once tried to take everything from you—now glimmering with peace.
There was salt in the air always, but also the scent of honey wine, fresh herbs hung to dry, and the spices that simmered in your kitchen. Laughter lived here now. Laughter, and the thudding of small feet.
Your daughter—curious and bright-eyed, with his gentle mouth and your intense eyes—ran barefoot through the kitchen, chased by her younger brother. He was all cheeks and mischief, his curls bouncing as he shrieked with joy, clutching a stolen fig in his tiny hand.
“Careful!” you called, though your voice was light with laughter. Jace looked up from his seat by the open window, his book forgotten on his lap, a quiet smile playing on his lips.
He had not worn a crown in years.
But in this moment, he looked every bit a king.
He rose, scooping the boy up in his arms with ease and planting a kiss on his head before the child could protest. You watched them together, sunlight caught in his dark hair, the way he held your son like something sacred.
“I caught a thief,” he said, grinning as the boy giggled against his shoulder.
“He’s your son,” you teased, reaching to stir the pot on the stove. “What did you expect?”
Jace crossed the room to kiss your temple, one hand resting briefly on the curve of your hip, grounding. Familiar. You leaned into him, just for a moment, breathing in the salt and spice and the warmth of his skin.
There were still days when you and he woke in a cold sweat, memories of fire and falling and the ache of absence.
But they were fewer now.
And the sound of your children laughing chased them away, piece by piece.
Night had fallen soft and slow over Lys, and the windows of the villa breathed in the breeze from the sea. The curtains swayed gently, catching the gold flicker of candlelight that bathed the bedroom in warmth. Outside, waves murmured against the shore, a lullaby.
You stood near the open doors that led to the balcony, the scent of the sea curling in, salt and jasmine and wine. Jace came up behind you quietly, arms slipping around your waist, pulling you back into the safety of him.
The children were asleep. The wine was gone. The world, for once, was still.
He swayed with you—slow, steady, like the tide. One hand at your waist, the other pressing lightly over your heart. The candlelight danced on the walls, catching on the soft curve of your collarbone, the shadows on his jaw, the lazy curl of his smile.
“I could live a thousand lives,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear, “and never feel as full as I do with you in my arms.”
You turned your head slightly, enough to feel the scratch of his stubble against your cheek, the warmth of his breath against your skin.
“You do say the sweetest things after a bottle of Lyseni red,” you teased softly, voice a murmur, thick with affection.
He chuckled low, burying his face in your neck. “Only when they’re true,” he replied. “And maybe the wine helps me say them out loud.”
You leaned your head back against his shoulder, eyes half-closed as you listened to the sea. His fingers drew slow, lazy patterns along your waist, grounding you. Loving you.
“I still see you,” he said after a pause, quieter now, like a confession. “Even after everything. I see you the way I did that night in Dragonstone when I came back to you.”
You turned to face him fully, hands resting over his heart. “And I see you, Jace. Not the prince, not the heir. Just... you. My lover.”
He kissed you then—soft, unhurried like the world had given him all the time it had ever owed.
The waves sang to the sand just below the cliffs, and the night stretched out before you, tender and wide and full of dreams that no longer felt so far away.
