i saw hadestown at the movie theater today and the screening room next to ours was playing the odyssey at the highest fucking volume so we could hear it đ but the juxtaposition of one greek myth vs another was really making me laugh because one room there was a war being fought and the other has a dance numbers.
pairing- alicent's daughter!reader x ormund hightower
warnings- brief violence, brief description of injury, emotional incest, inappropriate guardian/ward relationship (non-sexual or romantic, at least not in this part) this was written with an oc of mine in mind but no physical descriptions used; reader is implied to have targaryen features
The first time you took flight on your dragon was also the first time you realized that people did not look at you and see a child. They saw you, and ahead of you they saw mass graves and the blackened bones of their families. As if those two notions were inseparable.
A dragonâs flame is a calamity of its own, but the true power that one wielded with one was fear. Fear is a manâs greatest ally. Your brother Aemond told you and Daeron that as you stood ready to depart for Oldtown. Huddled together against the cold wind clawing at your cloaks, seven years old and trying to look brave.Â
Tessarion and Visydor waited ahead, huffing at the Dragonkeepers. You still looked at your dragon and saw a fairytale creature come to life. A dream you had yet to wake from. You did not cry as you bid farewell to your father, your cousins, your brothers, or even when Helaena managed to reach the courtyard with her swollen belly to hug you and Daeron both. You teared up when you faced your mother. Daeron did too, though he tried to hide it from her.Â
For a precious moment, she looked like your mother, not the queen. Her brows lifted, and her lips softened. The smell of incense and jasmine clung to her, and you let it wrap around you like a blanket. With one hand on your shoulder and another on Daeronâs, she pulled you both close to her body.Â
Daeronâs shoulder trembled with barely stifled cries. Alicent knelt and touched his wet cheek. âYou must be brave, my son. Weep not; keep your head high. It will be your duty to look after your sister. You will have your uncles to guide you.â She kissed his forehead. Daeron obeyed her, furiously wiping tears from his cheeks.Â
When your mother turned to you, she tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear. âOldtown was once my home, and in time it shall be yours. Keep close to your brother, heed Lord Ormund, and all will be well. Youâre a good girl. You will make me proud. Both of you will.â She kissed your cheek then, and rose back up.Â
You wanted to cry out for her and plead not to go. The time for that had passed; your efforts had been unsuccessful the previous night.Â
You donât recall when Oldtown became what you meant when you spoke of home. Perhaps it was your last visit to Kingâs Landing when you realized that the space youâd once occupied there no longer existed, like a papercut that healed in the night. You spent the first five years in Oldtown begging to visit your family in the capital. Ormund finally agreed when you were eleven. By the third day of the trip, youâd been yearning for Oldtown, where the bedlinens didnât smell like a forgotten dream.Â
On your return, Ormund was waiting with open arms to give you the tenderness Kingâs Landing had fallen short of. He held you when you stumbled over your words describing the hostility between your mother and step-sister, the cruel creatures who had once been your older brothers, and the distance in Helaenaâs eyes.Â
âCradle a shard of glass as sweetly as you wish; it will cut all the same.â She repeated this when you tried to spend a day with her and your niece and nephew.Â
Her words frightened you. They stayed with you until you confided in Ormund. He told you not to pay any mind to it. Women say many strange things after childbirth, he reassured. Helaena had borne twins, and therefore her mind would not be all it once was. That frightened you too, so Ormund took you to the Starry Sept to pray at the altar of the Mother. That made you feel better.Â
Daeron pressed you for details of Kingâs Landing, in secret, of course. You hesitated to report all youâd seen. You didnât want to destroy whatever wishful idea of the family portrait he believed waited in the Red Keep. Dishonesty was a sin, though. You told him the truth and watched disappointment flood his face like spilled ink over parchment.Â
Ormund doted on you and your brother equally until you bled for the first time. In Oldtown, some worshippers used cushions to minimize the pain of prayer. Old bones could not withstand it long. The most devout endured the pain without complaint. Welts on the knees showed that one would spend hours in agony to commune with the Gods. You knew some noble ladies who used rouge to mimic the appearance of sores.
Under Ormundâs care, you did not need to falsify your devotion. The day of your first bleeding, your knees were incarnadine for the Gods. When it was over, he had explained that it was an old Hightower tradition for a girl to thank the Gods for readying her for the gift of children.Â
From that day on, the only thing he readily gave you was stricture. He spread praise liberally to Daeron. The court of the Hightower followed his lead. It was easier for them to look at him and forget what he was. These withdrawals changed you.Â
You became determined that the only demerit that could be applied to you was perfection. You dressed to every court standard, polished your piety, studied like a maester, divided your time between common and noble. You danced like a swan, sang and played endlessly on the lyre, the harp, the flute, the harpsichord. You embroidered and sewed; you learned to charm your way into any position. You read the histories, wrote poetry, and spoke High Valyrian.Â
You were hopeful that this strategy would win you favor. You were good. Anyone who could not see that was simply choosing not to look.
You were bringing freshly mended undershirts to Ormundâs chambers one afternoon, when you realized it wasn't enough. You took it upon yourself to do the mending for your brother and cousins. You paused outside the huge oaken door that led to Ormundâs chambers.Â
â-better off sending her North, cold as she is.â Said one manâs voice.Â
âEven the Starks have blood in their veins; your ward is an automaton. A gelid Targaryen, the gods certainly make their japes.â Another laughed.Â
âEnough.â Ormundâs voice interrupted. You stayed to hear no more.Â
You mounted Visydor and did not return until well after dark. You brushed Daeron aside when he questioned you. He had been half-geared to search for you with Tessarion. You went to Ormund instead with a stiff lip.Â
âWhat will it be then?âÂ
âWhat ever do you mean, princess?â He steepled his hands.Â
âWhere do you mean for me to go?â You watched his face, awed and terrified at his capacity to play the fool.Â
âI mean for you to go and rid yourself of those riding clothes, as they reek of dragon.â He raised an eyebrow when you did not move an inch. âSpeak plainly then, my girl. You have clearly been misled, and I would get to the root of it.â
âI am to be wed.âÂ
âSomeday, perhaps. Surely that is not what has produced this⌠upheaval.âÂ
âTo a Stark, I presume?â You have remained eerily calm until this moment. He begins to light another scented candle. That nearly breaks your resolve. You clench a leatherbound fist.Â
âIt would not be my recommendation. Alas, I value your happiness.âÂ
âThen you do not plan to send me away to marry a stranger?â Your voice is accusatory.Â
âNo,â He smiles, âNot to a Stark, at least. You think me cruel enough to deprive you of a husband who keeps the true faith?â He must see the apprehension on your face, for he stands. He looms over you without meaning to, you decide. âI have no intention of sending you away.â He says it with such gentleness that you believe him.Â
The walls you have surrounded yourself in are taken apart by him with just a few words. He takes your hand in his. âWorry not for the future. The Gods give you nothing that you cannot handle.â
He kept his promise, and your relationship was renewed from then on. He regularly showed his favor to both you and Daeron in his fatherly manner. The court accepted you with hesitance at first, and though you knew they would forever struggle to see you behind the Targaryen name and look, Ormundâs influence went a long way.Â
You accepted that he was the sun, and you were the moon. You only glowed when he dared to shine his light on you. It was enough for you.Â
It remained that way until several years later. You were eighteen, and you had grown reckless under the sunâs leisure.Â
You met a knight at your nameday celebration. A two-week-long tourney in honor of you and your brother. He was an Oakheart with honey-brown curls and kind hazel eyes. He asked for your favor. You gave it, and blushed like it was a fairytale. Then you giggled with your ladies when he rode away. You danced with him more than anyone else at feasts, and sent him fine cuts of meat from the high table. He gave you a bouquet of lilies and baby's breath more beautiful than even the blood-red roses that a Tyrell boy had gifted you.Â
He nearly won the final day, but ultimately fell against your cousin Gwayne, who named you Queen of Love and Beauty. You sought him out and told him he had fought gallantly. His face turned pink up to his ears. You laced your fingers through his and kissed his cheek, still in your laurel crown.Â
You snuck out of your room the night before the end of the celebration to meet him in the gardens. You kissed until sunrise. You exchanged âI love yousâ to a choir of birdsong. He asked to marry you. You said yes, because you were a lovesick girl.Â
You fluttered to Ormundâs study to gush, thinking of his words to you so long ago. He valued your happiness.
You found that he had been waiting for you.Â
âDid you enjoy yourself?â He asked before you could speak. You knew not from his tone, but from the stillness of him that he already knew. You knew what followed. Daeron bore it more often than you, but you learned early when to recognize it. The rage of your guardian.Â
âI-â You began to speak, but he silenced you with a raised hand, looking beyond you.Â
You turned.Â
Your knight, your Oakheart was in the doorway on his knees between two of Ormundâs men. Daeron stood gravely beside them too. âYour Lord asked you a question,â Ormund repeated.Â
Your knight made a guttural sputtering sound. Several of his teeth were missing. One of his beautiful eyes was swollen shut. His curls were plastered with sweat and blood to his neck and forehead.Â
âThis man has sinned,â Ormund said to you this time. Your knight heaved your name. You sobbed into your hand.Â
âHe stands accused of lusting after a princess of the blood. How does he plead?â You realized for the first time that Vigilance lay over his knees, unsheathed, gleaming in the firelight.Â
Your Knight said your name again. He looked to Ormund. âNot-Not guilty, my lord- please-â One of the guards shoved him, and he fell silent.Â
âPrincess. What is your testimony?â Ormund asked. You swore he was smiling.Â
You went to your knees. âMy Lord, please, I beg you to have mercy! There has been a misunderstanding! I swear it! This man is innocent- please, I beg you to release him. The fault is mine! I- we were to be wed...âÂ
Perhaps your knight was realizing what he had gotten himself into, watching as you got on your knees so easily to plead before your guardian.Â
âIs this true, Ser?â Ormund asked calmly.Â
âYes, my Lord. I asked for the princessâ hand, and she consented.âÂ
âI see.â He mulled over this for a moment. âSer Oakheart, I apologize, for you have been misled by my ward. She is a princess of the blood. Her hand is not her own to give. It was not her consent you needed.â Ormund sighed and stood, taking Vigilance in his hands and holding it before him like the statue of the Warrior in the Starry Sept. âTrust that the princess shall be punished as befits her station. Whether you acted as she says cannot be proven, however. Someone must answer.âÂ
âWithout the firm hand of the shepherd, the sheep run to ruin.â He sighed deeply. âSer Oakheart, I charge you with the crime of lusting after a Princess of the blood, and treason against the realm. The Gods charge us to be merciful, and rather than putting you to death, I declare that only your tongue shall be removed, as it was with which your lusts were spoken aloud. The Night's Watch is always in need of men. It is with them you shall serve the rest of your days.âÂ
You do not recall what you said after that. Surely you pleaded for your beloved knight, but it does not truly matter. It did not save him from his fate. All you remember is Ormund ordering Daeron to take your loverâs tongue. Daeron protested, you know, but again to no avail. Your knight was Lord Oakheartâs fourth son. He was expendable, Ormund said.Â
The worst was not having to watch, as it happened. Not even the sound of it. It was when you met your Knightâs eyes, as they dragged him away. They werenât filled with anguish. There was only hatred.Â
Ormund brought you close and comforted you until you exhausted yourself. When you woke, you sat at his knees, draped against his side before a warm fire. He was stroking your hair and reading a book.Â
âDo you know why the Targaryens are so beautiful?â He asked. You did not answer, but he continued. âTo confuse men. They are abominations, you see. Weak men will ignore that at their own peril.â He rubbed a lock of your hair between his fingertips appraisingly, the way one might feel the quality of fabric. âBeauty in most is a blessing from the Seven. In a Targaryen, it is merely the means with which a man can measure the treachery the monster is capable of."Â
He sighed deeply and grabbed a fistful of your hair to lead your eyes to his. âDo you understand why I had to be cruel today?âÂ
Tears filled your eyes at the reminder.
âBeauty invites temptation. Temptation leads to sin. I must protect my subjects from sin. I must protect you from sin." This was nothing you had not heard from him before. You listened diligently all the same, hanging onto his every word.
"The taint of your blood is not your fault, but that of your cursed ancestors. I am determined to purify you. You want to preserve your soul, donât you?âÂ
âYes, sire.â You choked out.Â
He wiped your tears away. âThatâs my brave girl.â
i'm only on day three of housesitting and im already bored. ive written in my journal, read my book, written some other bs, went on a walk, and done the dishes. like what else is there to do bro.
