quarterly reminder that if i reblog something ai-generated it is 110% and always an accident and for the love of god please tell me so i can delete it from my blog
"Should parents read their daughter's texts or monitor her online activity for bad language and inappropriate content?"
Earlier today, I served as the “young woman’s voice” in a panel of local experts at a Girl Scouts speaking event. One question for the panel was something to the effect of, “Should parents read their daughter’s texts or monitor her online activity for bad language and inappropriate content?”
I was surprised when the first panelist answered the question as if it were about cyberbullying. The adult audience nodded sagely as she spoke about the importance of protecting children online.
I reached for the microphone next. I said, “As far as reading your child’s texts or logging into their social media profiles, I would say 99.9% of the time, do not do that.”
Looks of total shock answered me. I actually saw heads jerk back in surprise. Even some of my fellow panelists blinked.
Everyone stared as I explained that going behind a child’s back in such a way severs the bond of trust with the parent. When I said, “This is the most effective way to ensure that your child never tells you anything,” it was like I’d delivered a revelation.
It’s easy to talk about the disconnect between the old and the young, but I don’t think I’d ever been so slapped in the face by the reality of it. It was clear that for most of the parents I spoke to, the idea of such actions as a violation had never occurred to them at all.
It alarms me how quickly adults forget that children are people.
Apparently people are rediscovering this post somehow and I think that’s pretty cool! Having experienced similar violations of trust in my youth, this is an important issue to me, so I want to add my personal story:
Around age 13, I tried to express to my mother that I thought I might have clinical depression, and she snapped at me “not to joke about things like that.” I stopped telling my mother when I felt depressed.
Around age 15, I caught my mother reading my diary. She confessed that any time she saw me write in my diary, she would sneak into my room and read it, because I only wrote when I was upset. I stopped keeping a diary.
Around age 18, I had an emotional breakdown while on vacation because I didn’t want to go to college. I ended up seeing a therapist for - surprise surprise - depression.
Around age 21, I spoke on this panel with my mother in the audience, and afterwards I mentioned the diary incident to her with respect to this particular Q&A. Her eyes welled up, and she said, “You know I read those because I was worried you were depressed and going to hurt yourself, right?”
TL;DR: When you invade your child’s privacy, you communicate three things:
You do not respect their rights as an individual.
You do not trust them to navigate problems or seek help on their own.
You probably haven’t been listening to them.
Information about almost every issue that you think you have to snoop for can probably be obtained by communicating with and listening to your child.
Part of me is really excited to see that the original post got 200 notes because holy crap 200 notes, and part of me is really saddened that something so negative has resonated with so many people.
Fun fact: I saw this post today right after a Tumblr ad for spyware-for-parents which should not be any more legal than spyware-for-partners or spyware-for-stalkers or such
Today is my 25th birthday, I started writing/reading fanfiction when I was 13/14 going through really difficult transitions in life. Writing brought me such joy and confidence. Though writers blocks has killed my ability to write anything I deem good enough to post; I will forever have such love for this platform and the others I’ve read/written on. As well as the people I’ve met on them.
Summary: Aerion marries your sister with the pure intention of tormenting you- his real desire.
You find comfort in Baelor, only to find madness runs through the family.
Word count: 23, 812
warnings: unco, dark!, possessive themes, Dark themes, mentions of death, she/her pronouns, SA, violence, All of the warnings, dead dove do not eat.
PART 1
PART 2
The tent was loud and crowded. People danced in any spare space that wasn’t taken up by drinking and feasting. Long stretches of table were only a few too drunk to stand, sat. Perfectly lit by darkening candles. It was heaven.
Stuck in the Targayan household for 2 years left you little room for freedom. Now it bore itself before you. Asking you to take a bite.
You did, drinking and dancing around the chair that your sister fret in. She too was a prisoner of the Targaryen house, having married Aerion under order of your father. You followed her to her new home and she followed you out of bounds.
Her fear was justified, If you were caught the punishment would be unjust. But it was the first night in a long time that was not watched by one of the Targaryen men. A night where you could shine.
The large man across the room from you did not get the message. He stood against the wall in the corner, hunched over despite his tall frame, trying to go unnoticed. He acted as if he wasn’t looking over. His eyes unconvincingly found something interesting when you dared to look over.
It wasn’t a lustful look he gave. There was something pitiful behind it. Something kind.
Your sister, Ledia, sat in the chair and refused to move, nursing the same glass of wine from the start of the evening. She begged you to go every half hour but the older Princes were occupied with Lord Asford, Egg and Daeron were missing, Aerion drank too much after weeks of travel and Valarr was too kind to cause you any trouble.
For tonight, your freedom was returned. You would remember joy. You would remember who you were before all of it.
Your ringed finger beckoned the tall man over out of curiosity. He was a lower man. His dress suggested a farmer but he carried a sword looped through rope.
He was startled by your call but slowly made his way across the crowded tent over to you. He was gentle in his approach. Dodging out of the path of others even though he towered over them. When other guests stopped in front of him as if he didn't exist he patiently waited for them to move if he could not get around.
You were intrigued. Almost yearning to know more about him, and his gentleness.
“What are you doing?” your sister hissed, watching him as he moved closer.
He was before you before you could answer.
”Excuse me, m’ lady, I don’t mean to stare” the tall man addressed. He shook his shoulders straight and his hand rested on sword in pride, not threat.
”I have the honor of being a hedge knight”, he continues.
”Good for you”, Ledia demeans,
He is not shaken by it. The big oaf must be abused daily. It was almost endearing.
”And as such, I am charged to defend the innocent. It would be my duty, my-my honor, my lady to see to the man who did that to your face”.
You feel your sister draw back curling her body into herself.
“Thank you ser?” You try to defuse.
“Dunk, just Dunk”, he answers you bashfully.
“You’re a knight with no title?” You quiz him.
“Ah, no”he answers before enlightening his next sentence, “No, I do, I do!”, he promises.
He straightens up again, puffing his chest in pride.
“Ser Dunken the tall”.
”Ser Dunken the tall” you repeat, “A fine name for a fine knight”.
His shoulder sloops and his ears turn red at your words. A gentle giant. Edgar to please from years of neglect.
“We thank you ser, but we are in no need of a knights help. Her face is justified by the law”, you submit.
“Did you do something wrong?” he asks.
“I was born a fool!” Ledia snaps, “I want to go back now”, she demands from you .
“One more hour”, you beg of her.
“I’d be happy to escort-” a hard slap on the man's back stopped his sentence. Lyonel Barathon is nearly hidden by the mans large frame but he peaks out drunkenly from behind him.
“You big cunt” Lyonel exclaimed using the man as a leaning post, “She’s not stopped dancing all night. You come along and she is as still as my first wife on our wedding night”.
“Ser Barathon, do not speak in such a manner to a guest. He does not know you are joking”, you scold the lord.
“Guest? Who’s guest? I don’t fucking know him”. Lyonel stands on his strength, glaring up at the tall figure who looked like a hunted deer. The giant fumbles under the attention, looking for word or action but both fail him.
“My guest”, you state, drawing the lord's attention back to you.
He grins sheepishly at you, leaning down closer so his soft voice would reach you. Your nose wrinkled under the stench of alcohol.
“You should not be here either” he accuses.
“Aren’t you glad I am”, you whisper.
Lyonel jumps up with a clap, kicking his feet out in a gleeful fashion.
“Fuck it. The more the merrier. Stand tall man!” he demands, striking the chest of Duncan, “The Gods above gave you tallness so be tall”.
“I am sorry” Ducan muttered, “where I am from you learn to go unnoticed, is all”.
Your sister scoffs in her chair, finally taking a sip of her drink.
“I am sorry too, my lady, if I offended you. I meant no ill intent, honest”, he pledges.
“Oh a man who means no ill intent is a man to be feared indeed” Lyonel howls. The lord grabs the knight by the shoulders turning the giant squarely towards him.
“Do you dance, cunt?” lyonel implored over the music.
“Ser Dunk” you interject.
Lyonel looks at you in a drunk haze before he turns back to his man, “Do you dance Ser Dunk?”.
The large man shrugs, “Doesn’t everybody?”.
“Not that one” Lyonel apprises, flicking his head in the direction of your sitting sister.
“Come on” Lyonel called trying to bring Ducan to the dance floor.
“Oh no, my lord. I thank you, but I am only here for supper” Ducan admits.
Lyonel's mood changes. He becomes taller, and his eyes blacker as he steps up to a man twice his size.
“You come into my tent, eat my food, drink my wine, and you refuse to dance?” Lyonel summarizes in the threatening tone.
You are now so used to defusing situations that you automatically react.
Latching on to the mans arm, you use your body weight to push him closer to the dance floor.
“One dance, ser Ducan” you ask, “and I shall personally see you to the banquet table after”.
‘Don’t!” Ledia calls, “Should anyone see you and report back”.
You look around the room, seeing only those too absorbed in their own night to care about yours.
“The room is so drunk, I doubt people would remember their own names than who danced with who”, you argue back.
“Come on!” Lyonel calls in a better mood, “grab your balls and meet me on the dance floor” .
Pushing the man into the centre, you take hold fiercely while he returns a gentle and cautious hold. Something you haven’t felt in many moons.
One dance turned into four and a half before Lyonel took your place in a sweeping motion, moving your dance partner across the floor in a forceful and fighting way.
He stomps on Duncan's foot, getting him to move while keeping him close in a traditional dancing hold.
The large man has enough by the time the song draws to an end. Stomping his own foot down on the lords boot. For a second you think Lyonel is hurt by the way he folds over but he rises with a delighted smirk and a friendly wink.
You rush to save your friend, pulling him away from Lyonel who continues to dance.
Your friend didn’t seem startled by the abuse. Laughing, and calling Lyonel a mad man. You sit him next to your sister before retrieving him more wine.
Your sister did not speak a word but her eyes warned you. Told you of her anxiety about all of this. You ignore her, taking a spare seat to the huffing man who took the cup with thanks.
An hour turned into more as you learnt about him. His troubles in finding a lord to vouch for him so he can enter into the lists. You tell him it may be a kindness, there was a sort of fury that went into jousting that you weren’t sure he had.
There was no other option, he told you. He told you of his own anxiety about the matter which surprised you as he was both a man and a knight. He was manley, there was no doubt. Big and strong with a sense of duty to protect and provide. But no ego of importance that many other men carried. He was open with his emotions. With his stories and past. He wanted you to know him; the whole of him. Not a front that was curated. He lay emotionally bare before you and you found yourself leaning towards him, growing hot under his vulnerability.
He spoke of his days as a squire speaking with more affection than was warranted about his old master.
Before you could stop yourself, your hand reached out and rested on his thigh as you spoke words of encouragement. He froze under your touch, the grip on his cup tightened.
“Enough” scolded your sister, speaking for the third time the entire night, “You said an hour near five hours away. I am leaving”.
Ledia jumped up, pushing her way through the dwindling party into the night. You rise too, disappointed that your night is now over.
“Let me see you and your sister home,” Ducan offered.
“No” you were firm. No one could see him. It would be hard enough to get back unnoticed let alone trying to drag a giant back.
“We are not far” you attempt to salvage his feelings, “besides Ser Lyonal has been waiting all night to have you to himself”.
Ducan turns to a Ser Lyonal who sat at his table, openly staring back without shame.
“He’s a bit mad”, Ducan says, turning back to you.
“He is harmless fun and a good friend to have in your corner” you advise him, “here you need all the friends you can get. Good Luck Ser Ducan. I am sure we will see each other before the tourney is over”.
He becomes bashful again, nodding his large head in agreement.
“I hope so, my Lady. Are you sure I cant see you safely back?”, he asks.
You laugh seeing Lyonal grow inpatient, getting up to collect his new toy.
“I fear it is you who needs protecting Ser”, you jest.
Lyonal jumps on the large mans back, screaming gleefully as he is swung around as Ducan attempts to shake him.
Without focus you follow your sister outside, unsurprised to her waiting for you.
“You play with fire” she scolds before storming the way back.
“I liked him”, you admit.
———————————
“Where were you last night?’ Areion’s voice rang into the kitchen before he entered abruptly.
You were sitting with your sister in the servants quarters hoping to find solitude together but eyes were everywhere.
His hand is on his sword as he stalks towards you, ignoring Leia as she sits trembling in her chair.
“I visited your chambers last night but you weren’t there”, he states, “Nor you wife” he spares her a quick glance before setting back on you.
You had thought he drunk his fill and would sleep through the night or else you never would have pressured your sister into following you.
With a hand on the table he is leant forward nearly peering down at you from his height. His hand is still on his sword in threat.
“We visited the Library and slept there”, you lie.
In a flash he grabs the back of your neck pushing it down to the table where he pinned your face against the wood.
“Lie to me again and I shall cut your sisters tongue out and force you to eat it. Where were you?” he spit.
You push against his thigh trying to push him back as you do the pressure on head intensifies.
“Dont!” you hear your sister cry out.
“Quiet whore, I am trying to have a conversation with your sister”, Areion demands.
“Leia, go!” you beg her.
“No, stay, and watch what happens when you do not do as you are told”.
You feel a sharp point against the soft flesh behind the back of your ear. His hand left his sword to grasp his dagger and you cry out as he slices the skin apart.
He is slow as he does it. Although only a small cut, he drags the knife so slowly it felt as if he was carving your ear.
“You will not disrespect house Targaryen by running off into the night”, he tells you, pulling back the dagger and letting you lift your head.
Your hand instantly cups your ear, blood pours onto your fingers.
“And you”, he points his knife at your sister, “You are to never leave where I put you, you will not disgrace me by going out and fucking half the towns men”.
Your sister shakes her head, “I would never disrespect you”.
He rests his hand with the knife on the table, cocking his hip out and glares at your sister.
“Are you calling me a liar whore?”.
She shakes her head viciously but it still does not appease him.
“Open your mouth” he demands.
In fear for your sister, you pick up your embroidery needle and jam it in the back of his hand. He howls as it digs into his bone, shaking the feeling away with quick flicks of his wrist. The needle wasn't enough to really hurt him, just enough to draw his attention away from your sister so she could escape.
“You little bitch”, he calls you.
You jump from your chair, angling yourself closer to the door thinking that maybe you could make it outside.
He begins to laugh watching you readying yourself for a fight, while your sister attempts to retreat unnoticed. After nearly a year you think the same trick will still work.
His sore hand clamps down on Leia's shoulder to prevent her from moving.
“No, I suppose you are quite right”, he mocks, “You are a free woman. I have no right to keep you anywhere you don’t wish to be. My wife, however, well I did make a vow to keep her close”.
“Let her go” you demand.
“Just like I have no right to command you to stay, you have no right to tell me what to do with my property”.
“We went to the Village" your sister admits, “I am sorry”.
“Oh” Aerion fakes, “You shouldn’t have gone there”.
His hands snake through her brown hair, tangling themselves at her roots.
“Come wife” Aerion drags her by her hair out of the kitchen, “we have some making up to do”.
You scream at him to stop, latching on to your sister's kicking feet to try and drag her back. But he was much stronger than you and you only caused her more pain.
“I am sorry”, you call to him, “I am sorry, it wont happen again”.
He continues to drag her through the halls, servants usher away at the sight.
“Areion, please, I will make it up to you only let her go”, you promise.
He does drop her by only for the time it takes to land his boot against her face.
“Stop! Stop it!” you scream at him.
“When I call upon you tonight, I expect you to be there, not off galaventing with the townspeople”, he warns, picking up your sister by her arms so he could move her quicker.
You hit his back, begging him to drop her. She could barely walk, her feet stumbling to catch ground.
Changing tactics, you run past him to the reading chambers where you knew you would find Prince Baelor.
He surely wouldn't let this happen in a house where he was a guest.
“Prince Baelor” you call to him from the hall, “Prince Maekar”.
You dash into the room, uninvited. Not only were they there but so was Ashford and his children.
“Gods, child, what is the fucks the matter with you?” Maekar requested.
Baelor rose from his chair instantly noticing the blood pooling from your ear.
“Aerion, he’s, you got to stop him, he’s- ba- he’s with her” you pant. You try to explain yourself given the urgency but all the words want to topple out at once.
Baelor turns your head with a hold on your chin, inspecting your ear which was not the main priority.
“Lords”, the stairs, he's dragging her”, you rush.
“Huh?’ Maekar exasperated.
“Think about the words you want to say, and take a breath”, his fingers gently graze the wound testing how deep it was, “We can summarize Aerion is behind this. Start with your sister”.
You hear Maekar grumble about his son but you talk over him despite your lower standing.
Baelor takes your bloody hand in his, leading you over to the pitcher of water. You attempt to pull back, wanting him to follow you but he is adamant to reach the pitcher.
“She’s hurt. He is hurting her. You need to stop him, please my lords” you implored.
“He did this too?” Baelor asks you. He wets a cloth left out for morning tea and presses it against your ear to stop the bleeding.
“Of course he did” Maekar calls, “She didn’t do it to herself. Little bastard".
Maekar gets up from his chair, storming in large strides to the hallway.
“I will take care of this”, he promises.
“What upset him this time?” Baelor asks you, removing the cloth to see if the bleeding had slowed before pressing it back down.
You couldn’t tell him the truth. Baelor was likely to take his side. He often denied day trips with your sister back at Kingslanding. If it could not be brought to you then he would make arrangements in the future to take you. If he knew you snuck out at night in a new town, you doubt his reaction would be good.
“I am still trying to figure out what upset him last time”, you disarm him.
A small smile graces his lips and he checks your wound again.
“He didn’t cut deep. Although, Lord Ashford, you may have a trail of blood in your hallways, I apologize.”
“Not at all, your grace” the lord contends “I will have it cleaned right away”.
“May I take further advantage of your kindness and ask that you allow us a moment in private”, Baelor asks.
The Lord gathers his children, ushering them out the door with bashful comments.
“Aerion is excitable in a new city. You’d be best to remain close to me during our stay here’’.
“My sister does not have the same luxury of hiding behind you, my prince. I will not leave her to face him alone”.
Baelor sighs, dropping the cloth from your ear, using it now to wipe the blood from the surrounding area and your neck.
“You do not have to suffer just because your sister does”, he tells you.
“Would you leave your brother on the battlefield?” you ask him.
He looks at you with a funny gaze, “No, of course not”.
“Marriage is a women's battlefield and I will not leave her outnumbered”.
Baelor nods in understanding, dropping the cloth to the table.
“If you ever want a break from war, feel welcomed to seek me out”, Baelor offers.
“Thank you, my lord”, you return.
“Go to the Maester and have him look at your wound. He should give you something to keep infection away”, he ordered.
You curtsy as is custom and leave the room only you go to your sister's room and sit by her door listening as through the wood as she cries on the bed while Areion and his father argue.
—-------------------------------------------
Two days pass yet you still think upon the hedge knight. It made it hard to focus on the book in front of you. Baelor notices like he does everything else.
“Is something wrong?” he asks you.
He sat reading his letters and decrees while you sat next to him as you usually did.
“No, my lord” you answer him, making an effort to bring the book closer to you and focus.
“You’ve been unusually quiet this whole trip” he comments, “Has Aerion done something?”.
“Nothing we aren’t all accustomed to, my prince”.
“You’re going to make me guess whats wrong?”, he muses.
With a sigh he puts his quill down and turns his body in his chair towards you.
“You will be guessing for a long time, my lord, for nothing is the matter”.
Baelor reaches for your hand, holding it gently in his firm grasp.
“Tell me”, he demands.
He lets you take your hand back, and watches you in an intent stare as you busy yourself with your book.
“I am tired, that is all. Please do not fret”.
“As you say” he submits, going back to his work.
A quiet comfortableness falls between you once more.
You dont read. You cant manage to focus on forming the words into a sentence by for show you turn the page when the quietness nears breaking.
The knight plays on your mind. You wonder what he is doing. If he was worried about entering the tourney. You tried to devise a plan to get away, to even just get another glimpse at him. Baelor would never allow you to attend a joust, not even to watch Aerion.
Could you climb out the window, you muse. It was too high. Bribe a maid to allow you out and keep the princes distracted. Could you just simply bear the consequences?
As if you dreamt it, you see the familiar coloring of his worn green cloak peaking out of the stone.You shut your eyes, trying to get your sense back. But when you open them again, the image only becomes clearer.
You get up from your chair in haste to confirm whether you were crazy or not.
“Y/n where are you going?” Baelor calls but you ignore him.
He seemed equally surprised to see your face jumping out from behind the door.
“Ser Ducan?” you called in amazement.
“Lady Y/n? What- what are you doing here?”, Ducan quizzes.
You hear Baleors chair scrape back and pull your body back into the chambers, leaving Ducan lingering in the hall.
“Y/N” Baelor calls, “Step back”.
He motions for you to come over to him so you obey command quickly.
“Come forward ser”, Barlor commands, “do not hide in the shadows”
He waits a moment too long before Duncan moves his large frame to the doorway.
“My lady, my grace, I apologise for the intrusion” Duncan begins, already flustered. His frame is hunched once again, and his eyes are downcast, “I am ser Ducan the tall”.
“No intrusion, Ser” Baelor returns in politeness, “what is your purpose for lingering in the halls?”
“I have asked Ser Manfred Dondarriton to vouch for me so that I may enter the lists, but he has refused to do so. Others too”.
Your heart sank at his words. He must be distraught. While you didnt want him to enter the lists. You also didnt want him to display this downtrodden look.
“You see, they say they know not of Ser Alarn of Pennytree. But he served them. I swear it. I have his sword and shield. Do you remember him, my lord?”
“Ser Alarn of Pennytree” Baelor muses, “never won a tourney that I know of but he never shamed himself, either”.
“Yes, Ser” Ducan sighs in relief, “I mean, no, no he didn’t”.
“He overthrew Lord Stokeworth in the melee at King’s landing. And years before he unhorsed the Gray Lion himself”.
“He told me of that many a time”, Ducan reminisce, stepping closer.
“Not too close, ser” Balor warns, “You are still a stranger in this house. Sword and shield prove little”.
Baelor steps closer to you, shielding you from Duncan's eyesight with his body.
“Of course, my lord”, Ducan retracts with a bowed head, “I am sorry”.
“You will recall the Gray Lions true name. I have no doubt”, Baelor tests.
Ducan looks to pause. His thought process runs across his face as he tries to drudge up the old name. You try and mouth it to him over Baelors shoulder.
The first name is enough to spark Duncan's memory.
“Ser Damon Lannister” Ducan confirms, “the grey lion, he’s lord of Casterly rock now”.
“So he is”, Baelor disclosed, “and enters the list upon the morrow’.
“I can’t believe you remember him, my lord” Duncan beamed, “I came only in hope”.
“Is that the only reason?” Baelor asserted, “You weren’t hoping to see someone else?”.
“No, my lord”, Ducan submits but takes an uneasy look at you.
“How could you possibly remember an old henge knight?” you asked, desperate to avoid this line of questioning.
Baelor turns his head but not his body to answer you.
“I jousted with Ser Alarn many years past, at storm’s end. Lord Baratheon held a hastilude to celebrate the birth of a grandson. The lots made him my opponent in the first tilt. We broke four lances before I finally unhorsed him”.
“It was seven” Ducan declares, earning the rooms attention, “I believe” he further comments upon your telling stare.
Baelor turned back with a thin smile.
“Tales grow in the telling, I know. Do not think ill of master but it was four lances only, I fear”.
“As you say, your grace”, Ducan declares, dropping to one knee, “it was four. I do apologize. The old man, Ser Arlan used to say I was as thick as castle walls and slow as an aurochs.”
“No harm was done, ser. Rise” Baelor offers.
“You gave him back his horse and armor and took no ransom. Ser Alan often told me that you were the soul of chivalry and that one day the seven kingdoms would be safe in your hands”.
“Not for many years yet, I pray”.
“No! No, I did not mean that the king should-” Duncan blubbers.
“Ser would you like a glass of wine” you interrupt him, “Maybe we could sit and discuss this matter”.
“No, my lady. I don't believe I should add alcohol to this but I thank you”.
“Y/n, this is men's business” Baelor dismisses, “Take your book elsewhere so that I may speak to Ser Ducan”.
“As you wish, my lord” you submit. With no other option you pick up your book, and begin to make your way to the door. In passing you give a wink to Ser Ducan whose face turns red and he shrinks back into himself.
“My lady if I may be so bold” Ducan stops you, “I plan to fight bravely. It would be an honour if I had your favour”.
Baelor clears his throat uncomfortably, but you blush at the offer.
He may be the last honorable man in the entire land.
“Then you shall have it Ser Duncan”, you tell him, “Be careful, and come back to me in one piece”.
“I will, my lady” Ducan swears with an awkward nod.
You feel Baelor burning a hole in your back so with a kind smile you continue your walk.
“Good Luck, Ser Ducan”.
He thanks you again before you take his place in the shadows.
“So you wish to enter the lists, is that it?” Baelor quizzes, taking his seat once more.
“Yes” Duncan breaths.
Baelor takes a piece of parchment and puts his pen to it as he speaks,
“The decision rests with the master of the games, but I see no reason to deny you”, he holds the paper out to Duncan, “a letter to the same effect”.
“My lord” Dunk gushes moving to grab the letter, “I don’t know how to thank you”.
”Thank me not ser”, Baelor dismisses, “you haven’t fought yet”.
”No, of course not, your grace”. With a clumsy bow, Duncan makes effort to leave the room and take up no more of the princes time.
“Oh, and Ser Duncan” Baelor calls from his seat. The large man turns instantly as he is called, turning back to his price, “Lady Y/n is a particular favorite of mine, I ask any future interaction remain”, Baelor pauses momentarily thinking of the correct phrase, “Within bounds”, he finishes.
Duncan feels his face turn hot, his eyes divert from the speaker to the ground, his large frame follows his sight to the floor.
“Of course, your grace. I would never-” Duncan doesnt finish going on to his next sentence, “Had I known-”
Baelor raises his hand in acknowledgement, halting the stumbling of the knight.
“You could not have” Baelor reasons, “I deny it myself most days”.
“Your grace” Ducan says awkwardly, his shifts painfully in his spot. He was never any good at talking. Now he was talking to the future king about a delicate matter. Ser Arlan never prepared him for this, and he made the stupid comment about 7 lances in front of her.
“Y/n is young. It’s only natural she seek out suitors of her own age. I do not begrudge either of you”
Duncan scoffs, his frame about falling off him, “I am not worthy of a woman of her standard”.
“That we can agree on”, Baelor agrees, “However, she is young and headstrong. You’ll do your best to dissuade her, i am sure on that, but she is not easily fought. Should you fail, you will have made enemies of two princes of the realm”.
“Your grace” Ducan stutters, “I would sooner pluck out both my eyes, cut my tongue out with my own sword then go against the crown”.
Baelor raises his hand again, this time to silence.
“I warn you only as I would hate to see a Knight as honorable as you, caught between something you don’t understand”.
Duncan's frame rose again under the compliment. His hand goes to his sword and he puffs out his chest.
“Thank you ser”, Ducan boasted.
“Off with you now” Barlor dismisses, rising from his chair, “I have matters to attend to. Good luck with the tournament”.
“Thank you, my grace” Ducan says again with an awkward bow.
You wait for him in the hallway, hiding in the shadows.
“Ducan” you call for him as he storms down the passage, Baelor appears at the door as you do.
He watches as Duncan repeals himself from your close proximity as you follow him
“So will you fight?”, you ask him.
“Yes, my lady” he confirms, “my thanks to you”.
He tries to continue on, but you pull on his arm to stop him.
“You must be careful”, you tell him, “Do you have adequate armor?”.
“I did not mean wait in the hallway” Baelor criticizes as he makes his way towards you.
Baelor takes your arm in a gentle hold, slowing you down to his pace as he speaks, “Ser Ducan has a match to prepare for, and we have dinner. Come now, let us leave him”.
Baelor turns you in the other direction but your eyes refuse to leave him.
Ducan bows politely before his feet take him further down the hall as quickly as they can.
With his dismissal, you willingly go with Baelor. He links your arms together as he leads you back to your room, his opposite hand goes on top of yours pinning it in his hold.
“You said something to him,” you state.
“Nothing that didn’t need to be said”, he returns.
“Do you think I might be able to attend the tourney on the morrow?” you ask despite knowing better.
‘I think you know the answer to that is no”, Balor confirms, “They are too violent. You would be bored”.
“I used to go as a girl’, you tell him.
“I believe I remember your father telling me he could never get you to sit still. That you and your sister would disappear as soon as the horn blew. We represent House Taryaryen in these new lands. Aerion cannot be descended into madness’.
“I would sit. You wouldn’t know I was there”, you fight.
“The answer is no. I will take you and your sister shopping in the markets two days from now. I hear Ashford has splendid markets”.
“Ashford markets” you comment solemnly.
You reach the door of your chambers. Baelor releases you and reaches for the door. Aerion is waiting inside.
“Uncle” Aerion greets, “Have you been keeping her all to yourself again?”.
“Merely the afternoon” Baelor states.
You step closer to Aerion. His eyes glare down at you as you speak.
“They told me my sister was unable to be seen. Orders given by you”.
“That’s right. My father has reminded me that I have husbandly duties to attend to”.
“Are you done with her? Can I see her?” you ask in a desperate voice.
Aerion smiles at your panic, watching you with his sharp and threatening eyes.
“At dinner” Baelor promises, “which we should all be getting ready for”
A further grin spreads across Aerions lips, his face ducks closer to you.
“My wife will not be joining us tonight. She has suddenly fallen ill”, he torments.
You shove him harshly enough for him to brace himself on his back foot and straighten up.
“What have you done?” you accuse. Your next strike is caught by him and with a hold on your arms, he throws you to the floor.
Baelor sighs, reaching down to pick you up but Aerion stops him.
“No uncle, it is important she knows her place on the floor. You fail to train a dog out of their bad habits and you have a mutt for life”.
“Enough of this nonsense”, Baelor criticizes. He knocks the arm that blocks him away, continuing to reach for you on the floor. You deny his help, standing up by yourself.
“I want to see my sister. Take me to her now”, you demand.
Your body shook imagining what he has done to her.
“And why should I?” Aerion bites, “Who are you to demand such a request from me? You are only here by my mercy”
“Your mercy?’ you scoff. You openly laugh in his face, his eyes squint back at you in warning.
“Your mercy?” you repeat with no more humor.
“Enough of this” Baelor interrupts, “Might I remind you two that we are guests in this house. We will not air this madness for all to see”, " your arm is taken into his hold again and you are tugged closer to his body, “Aerion is right. Leia is his wife, and he owes you no explanation”.
“She is my sister!”
“Who married Aerion under her own free will”. You go to protest his words, your face contending with anger.
“Enough, do not speak”, he commands you, “They are married by law. By right, she is his property. If he says she is too ill to attend dinner then you have no right to challenge him.”
“You are free to leave at any time” Aerion provokes, “I have humored you for the sake of my darling wife, and received nothing but scorn in return. I’ve not received a penance from your father for housing you or feeding you all this time. And this is the thanks I get from you”.
“You are a monster, and if you think I will entertain you tonight after my sister then you are mistaken”.
“Jealous?” he provokes.
“Only of the knight who will unhorse you”, you picture your knight charging at Aerion, although you know they would never be in the same rank.
He is predictable as he raises his hand to slap you again. Baelor catches the younger mans wrists, casting it back down.
“Come, let us prepare for dinner, and cool our tempers” Baelor speaks to you, tugging you by your arm out the door.
Aerion runs his tongue across his top teeth in anger but the kings hand spoke and he had not the power to challenge.
He leads you back to his chambers, shoving you into an empty chair as he enters.
“Do not cry like a scolded child”, he criticizes, unbuttoning his shirt. It was an improper thing to do in front of a lady but he felt a strong enough claim over you to do so.
“You know he was lying”, you state in your chair.
“You know as well as I do there was nothing to be done”, he refutes.
“You are Baelor Targaryen, prince of the realm, the kings right hand”
“And you will respect me as so”, he demands of you.
You shut your mouth immediately, he was right the way you spoke was not right for a man of his station. You had become too familiar with him that you had forgotten you were so beneath him.
“Forgive me, your grace”, you mutter, “You are correct. There was nothing to be done”, you grit.
He sits on the end of his perfectly made bed with a heavy sigh.
“Come help me undress”.
You rise without looking at him, kneeling down to unlace his boots and pull them from his feet.You reach up for his pin next, attempting to unhook it from his breast.
His large hand reaches for your face, hooking his fingers behind your ear.
“I will send a mastor to your sister during dinner. You must behave or else Aerion will return to his chamber early”.
“It’s my fault” you admit, “I provoked him this morning. If I just kept my mouth shut, he wouldn’t have hurt her”.
Baelor wipes a fresh tear away, watching as you attempt to hold back more.
“Sweet girl, you play a game you cannot win. Maybe it would be best if you returned home”.
It was an empty offer. He would never allow such a thing to really occur. Baleor throws all the letters you receive in the fire. But it was important to think the decision was yours so you would monitor your own behaviour.
“And leave her with him? With no one to protect her?”.
“Without the promise of tormenting you, maybe he would leave Leia alone”,
It was perhaps a truth. But Aerion was unruly and unpredictable. There was a chance he would grow bored but there was an equal threat he would kill her.
You pull back out of his hold with his pin in your hand and stand to your feet to place it in its box.
“There’s a greater chance it rains blood tomorrow”, you comment, ‘He enjoys inflicting pain”.
“Then we must not give him reason to. You’ll watch your tongue, mind your manners. He’ll find any excuse to strike”.
“Yes, my grace” you answer him.
“Come back here” he waives you over and you follow command, kneeling back down between his legs.
“Yes, my grace”, you call to him.
He reaches back to your face, his thumb pressing into your cheekbone.
“That knight, you called him by name. Where do you know him from?”
Your lips seal together, trying to think of a good lie.
“You’ve been sneaking out at night haven’t you?”, he answers for you, “You mustn’t do that. Your door will be locked after dinner from now on”.
Aerion would still get in, the locked door only took your freedom away, not offered you any safety.
“Am I a prisoner, your grace?” you mock.
His hold shifts to your jaw, holding it up to his eye sight.
“You are a foolish, young girl. Take a bath before dinner”, he releases you in form and eyesight.
—-----------------------------
You sat next to Aerion at the dinner table to avoid his tantrum. You even rose when he entered the room, much to his delight.
“My prince”, you greeted him, through gritted teeth.
“Well look who found their manners”, he pushes, taking his seat, “A mighty improvement from an hour ago. You must tell me uncle, how you manage to quill her fire so quickly”.
“Shut up, boy” Maekar commands from the seat next to his brother.
“Y/n sit” Baelor commands. Only then do you realise you are still standing.
“Good dog” Aerion whispers.
You take a breath to stow your anger, focusing on the cup bears who had begun to poor wine.
“What a lovely dress”, Aerion says loudly for the group, running a finger down the red fabric of your arm, “where did it come from?”
“Prince Baelor chose the dress”, you answer him, reaching for your cup.
“Did you?” he asked his uncle.
“Lord Asfords daughter was kind enough to lend the dress for the night, seeing as Y/n’s chambers were occupied”, Baelor answers.
“I must say you have exquisite taste, uncle”, his hand reaches under the table and grips the fabric at your thigh, “Y/n, we must remove every other colour from your wardrobe and replace it with this red”.
“Whatever would please you, you grace”, you return.
Aerion laughs loudly. Lord Ashford sits uncomfortably in his chair at the head of the table. An offer was made to baelor but politely refused. The head of the table belonged to the head of the household. Baelor regrets that decision now as he sat across from you. You had taken his words as please Aerion and not know your place beneath him.
The laughter stops, leaving the room with nothing more than an uncomfortable silence.
You go to take another sip of your cup but Aerion catches the base with two fingers and pushes it back to the table.
“Only water for lady Y/n tonight” Aerion addresses the staff in the room, “Water is free correct?”, he switches to Lord Ashford, “With this new wardrobe that pleases me, we must be mindful of the kingdom's budget”.
Maekar groans at his sons words, throwing his own cup down.
“Y/n is a guest in our household” Baelor declares, “Let her drink her fill”.
Aerion shakes his head in faked thought before a shrug of his shoulders had his words come tumbling out.
“As sister of my beloved wife, y/n is my responsibility, and as such my burden to bear”.
“I will accept the burden” Baelor submits, “Drink your share”, he spoke to you.
You didnt touch the cup again, your hands found themselves twisted on your lap.
“If its money you are concerned about, i will write to my father. Just let me know the financial costs that I burden you with during my stay”.
“Hm” Aerion hums, leaning forward on the table as he gazes at you, “If i remember correctly it was money that led your father to throw your sister at me for”.
“Shut your mouth, you insolent fool”, his father commands.
“You will do well to remember that without our wheat, Westros would have starved during winter”, you argue.
“So I should thank you?” Aerion bickers.
“You should shut your mouth before I hurl you out that window” Maekar threatens.
“Dinner, dinner, please” Lord Ashford calls to his servants who rush to fill his command. Baelor closes his eyes at the embarrassment of the scene.
“Will the other princes, and lady Leia, not be joining us tonight?” Asford asks.
“No, my wife has had a terrible fall” Aerion declares. You shoot up from your seat as he finishes his sentence slowly, “Gods know where Valarr is, and my brothers have been missing since Montcastle- is there something wrong, Lady Y/n?”
You imagine your sister laid up in bed, bruising covering her entire body making it hard for her to breathe or move. Her left eye swollen shut and puffy. You picture her as you remembered her the morning after her wedding. You swore you would protect. It was the whole purpose of following her in her new marriage.
You remember Baelors words. Dont give him a reason. Could your sister survive another beating?
“I- I” you try to think of anything else apart from your rage, “i don’t feel well. I ask you that you excuse me”.
“Denied. Sit down”, Aerion dismisses.
“If she doesnt feel well”, Baelor begins but is interrupted.
“No. no” Aerion waves his dinner knife around, “She shan't disrespect our host like that. It’s shameful enough with the other four”.
You look to Baelor hoping he would back you up. But he nods his head and take the command to sit.
The servant goes to place the plate in front of you but Aerion waves it off.
“No point in giving her food if she will only throw it up in the halls”.
Baelor thinks to object but a quiet and purposeful breakfast in his chamber tomorrow changes his mind.
“Ironic” Aerion comments, “is this the same wheat that saved Westros?”
You turn your head from him as he shows you his fork.
“Eat Aerion” Meaker orders, “No more useless talking”.
He takes your hand laying on your lap, moving it to his inner thigh where it is dropped and left laid over his leg.
“Lord Ashford, will your daughters be attending the tournament on the morrow?”, Baelor ask politely.
Aerion shifts your hand higher to his crouch, leaving it in a position where his appendix would brush against your hand should he innocently shift.
“Yes, your Grace, they are of age now”, Ashford confirms, “They are eager to see your son ride”.
“They will be very disappointed in deed when he is knocked off in the first lance”, Aerion states between bites.
The table ignores him, continuing soft conversation to ease the tension.
Aerion rocks his hips against your hand. His own hand cementing on top of yours to keep it where he wanted it. He was careful in his action, ensuring to draw no unnecessary attention.
You think of your sister and the harm he can do to her so remain placid in your chair.
You feel Baelor's eyes upon you and wonder if he knows what is going on. If he does he plays it calmly and doesn’t call out Aerion for his immoral behaviour.
“Lady y/n” he calls. Aerion stops his grinding as Baelor calls you.
“You look ill, shall I escort you back to your chamber?” He offers.
Aerion releases your hand expecting only one answer.
“Yes, my lord” you answer, “thank you”.
You rise as he does, walking quickly to the dining room hall.
Baelor puts his hand on your lower back as he escorts you to your chamber.
“You did well. Better than could be expected given the circumstances” Baelor praised.
“Do you think he will go back to the room?” You ask in a fearful voice.
“Not until the mastor is done. I will ensure it”, he consoles.
“Thank you, your grace”.
You reach for the handle of your door as Baelor lingers behind. You eye the key in his hand, gathered during your bath.
“It will keep him out as much as you in” Baelor offers.
“Nothing will keep him out. You should save the skin of a servant and just give him the key” you speak too forward to a prince.
To top matter off you slam the door in his face before he excuses you.
You hear the lock and the foot steps down the hall so you knew you were safe from reproach.
—————————-
You lie in bed thinking upon the days of your girl hood where you would sneak out to your town to visit your friends and be among your people.
The days where you did what you wished and didn’t have to cater to a prince's mood. The worst day of your life was when your sister married that monster.
You had begged your father to call it off but no one breaks their promise to house Targaryen.
As soon as Aerion stepped foot over your threshold you clashed with him. He would follow you on nights out until you were forced to stop going for fear his temper would end up killing one of your towns people.
He didn’t like you were so common. Peasants being friendly with you threw him into a rage. He followed you like a plague.
You couldn’t beat him a fight, nor did you out rank him but you weren’t afraid to call out his behaviour and taunt him as he did others.
He hit back but it didn’t bother you. Only when he turned his attention to your sister did you begin to quite. This he noticed and announced he would accept Leila’s hand and join the two households.
You begged your father to call it off. Your face carried evidence that he would not be a good husband to your sister. Your father was putting her in danger. She would surely die under him.
The wedding occurred anyway.
The whole Targanyan clan was there. Baelor attempted kind conversation but you only answered “yes my lord” to everything.
You stuck by your sisters side the entire night. Never more than centimetres apart. Aerion would sometimes rip your sister from your side and carry her across the room, enjoying watching you chase after them like it was a game, until Baelor commanded it to stop.
When the celebration was finally over and your sister was taking to the shared chamber unwilling, you took to yours crying into your pillow.
A soft knock at the door interrupted you and you ran to it, sure it was her. With puffy red eyes you yanked the door open to discover Aerion still in his wedding attire.
He held a dagger up to your throat, using it to push you back into the room and on the bed.
“Funny when I held this same knife against your sisters throat I got a different reaction” he comments, straddling you on the bed.
“Is she-?” You panic.
“Left crying in bed. Not much of a wedding night” he said. His hand loosened the front of your nightgown. You let out a breath of relief knowing at least you could spare your sister this.
“You’ll come back to redkeep with us tomorrow” he told you.
“Yes” you agree. The blade pressed harsher against your skin as he tore the clothes from your body and his lips met every inch of your body.
He stayed in your bed the night. You left him there the next day, racing to your sister to let her know that you would not leave her to fend for herself that you would protect her in her new home. The words are replaced with a scream when you saw her state. The state you were sure she was in again now.
This time he doesn’t knock. He got the key, as you knew he would and let himself right in.
You don’t move from the bed as he draws near, sliding under the blanket and drawing close to your back.
His arm around your waist closes the gap between your bodies before it goes up to your breast where he squeezes harshly.
A kiss is placed on your shoulder, and then again going up to your neck to your ear where he bites down.
“You’ve been conspiring with my uncle again” he said with the lobe of your ear in his mouth. You try to pull it away, changing to a weak head butt when that proves too painful.
He releases it of his own accord so he could talk clearly into it.
“I debated for weeks whether I should force your father to give me your hand or marry your sister to spite you”, he rolls you flat on your back, “I see now I have made the right decision. So placid and pleasing when it’s your sisters skin on the line”.
He drags his finger down from your chin between his breasts where he circles your nipple over your nightdress.
“I think my hand would have fallen off with the amount of times I would have been forced to use it to correct you. You need a strong hand, don’t you?” He pinches at your nipple before it goes to your chin, yanking it up to an uncomfortable position while he pulls off your dress.
“Is that way you respond to Baelor? Letting him dress you like a doll?”
You try to deny it in an effort to stop his jealousy that he was sure to take out on you.
“No, no, he only pity’s me”, you squeak.
“Oh fuck off” Aerion snaps, “he’s moved the whole family to kinglanding so he can feast his prying little eyes on you and you know he has”.
The dress rips in his hand as he yanks to get it off.
“I don’t mind”, he reaches down to his own cock pulling it from his pants and lining it up with your entrance. He shoves himself in and fucks you at a harsh pace.
“He’s probably fucking his royal fist right now while I am in the cunt he is dreaming of” he chuckles a low satisfied laugh, bracing his hand on the side of your pillow to sustain his body weight.
The family had a tradition of spending three months of the year together. Aerion brought your sister which meant you followed along. It was during these three months that you grew to know Baelor as more than the heir to the iron throne. He protected you and your sister when he could from Aerion outbursts. You had come to know you could depend on him for protection and for the first time in months you had someone who you could talk to outside of your sister. The company was needed and you found him to be an intelligent and insightful man. Aerion was jealous but could make no open move against his uncle. You used this against him, perhaps showing him more interest and affection then would be permitted.
Baelor in turn grew accustomed to you. He called upon you every day at some point. You used it to separate your sister from Aerion and would make efforts to sit quietly with your sister while Baelor competed his duties. If he enjoyed the company and you made efforts not to disturb him then you saw no reason why the haven couldn’t continue. You made yourself as useful as you could to him. If he dropped his pen you would race to pick it up, if he needed water you would bring the cup yourself without needing to be asked.
Aerion punished you for this loop hole by killing your horse and raping your sister nightly but for a few hours a day you could exist without feeling on edge.
It was all perfect until one day Baelor requested that only you come when he calls, to avoid disrupting the newly weds as they got to know each other.
To deny a request from a prince would be a crime worth hanging so you submitted to his daily summons, now with heightened anxiety. Aerion punished you for baelors interest but taking his frustrations out on your sister. When you joined her at night, she would detail how Aerion made her suffer that day.
Baelor grew too familiar. You began to notice similarities between him and Aerion that an untrained eye might miss.
The proximity was one. Aerion like to hold you kindly or not, when you were near even if he didn’t look or speak to you. Baelor needed you in constant eye sight. He moved your chair next to his which made the kingdom council awkward while lords spoke of important matters. When you got up to retrieve a drink of water his head would follow you until you had sat back down.
Control was another one. Baelor hid it better, but he exercised his reach over your life. Aerion was right, Baelor did move the families together under one roof under the guise of strengthening the bond between the families of his favourite brother. It was there you noticed that while everyone got to choose from the buffet in front of them, you were handed a preloaded plate without explanation. You didn’t rock the boat, Aerion was already on edge having to move. But soon his temper settled and you decided to ignore the plate reaching for your own food. Aerion would slap your hand away, placing the food in your hand rather then allowing you to touch it. It didn’t bother you as it should have at least it was your choice what you ate.
The same day Baelor called for you around lunch but refused to let you join the others to eat. He had too much work to do. He needed you to assist him so you did without complaint but with a grumbling belly. In the afternoon a servant arrived with a plate of food, placing it directly in front of Baelor who ate from it beside you. He continued with his work not once looking at you or offering you anything. You slump in your chair realising maybe he wasn’t as honorable as you liked to imagine. Dinner was a pre-portioned plate. Too small to fill you from your day of hunger but you didn’t dare reach for the food in the middle. Even when Aerion placed a chicken leg on your plate, you left it under Baelor's watchful stare.
If Aerion didn’t like what you were wearing he would tell you straight to your face. If he was in a worse mood, he might rip the bodice so you would change. Baelor would eye it all day, until he had the moment to spill a glass of wine or step upon its hem to rib the fabric. He would be apologetic, acting as if it was an accident. Aerion would not like the color or shape. Baelor would not like tightness or teasing nature. Between them your wardrobe was limited.
You think about running with your sister often but you rather wouldn’t allow Elina through the doors as a married women and no where else would harbor the wife of Aerion Targaryen, not even for all the gold in the world.
So you were stuck with your sister in this hell until Aerion was finally killed and you could escape with her into the night.
He grunts as he comes, you wonder if Baelor did too.
Aerion reaches for the headboard, gripping the wood as he fucks you through his own orgasm.
His head rests on your collarbone as he regains his breath.
He rolls off you with a satisfied groan, nestling into your bed to sleep.
“My sister” you begin, earning an annoyed groan from him.
“Ask me about her again and I will undo all of the mastors work from this afternoon”.
“When can I see her?” You push.
Aerion sighs, drawing you to his chest as he thinks.
“If you behave tomorrow at breakfast, you can see her after”
His breathing evens and hold loosens in sleep. You make sure he is asleep before you dare to get up and clean yourself.
The next morning you are woken by a servant early. You draw the sheet closer to you in surprise. The servant puts their finger to their lips, their eyes pointing to the sleeping Aerion beside you. They had a dress over their right hand which they motioned for you to dress in.
You follow their silent command and quickly put it on without making a sound.The draw creeks ad you open but Areion remains peaceful in sleep. You down your elixir to destroy his seed inside of you, cringing at its bitter taste. You follow the servant to Baelors room where food covers his study desk.
“Good morning” he greets. He was dressed in his clothes already and seemingly awake while you felt your eyes burn. Did he normally get up this early?
“My lord” you returned, “you summoned me?”
He gestures to the food in offering, “I thought you might be hungry”.
Although your tummy did ache, with Aerion plans this morning you decide it is better to remain hungry until he feeds you.
“That’s very kind of you, your grace, but I will wait for the others”.
He was sure to punish you for this at some point during the day. You saw the disappointment look in his face before he could replace it with indifference. But the only thing that mattered was getting to your sister today. He would never keep you from that.
“At least have some tea with me while we wait for the others to wake” he gestures again to the chair which you take under his request.
He follows with a spare chair, placing it close so your knees are almost touching.
He dislikes tea. You never see him drink it but he reaches for the pot on the table.
“Your Grace, allow me” you offer reaching for the pot.
“Please” he breathes a laugh under his breath, “I offered it to you. I will pour”.
You are surprised when he mixes it to your taste. He always had an eye for small details.
The second pot on the table only contained hot water which he poured into his own cup.
“Thank you, my lord” you reach for your cup only after he reaches for his.
You sit quietly for a moment. The sun shines brightly into the open window surrounding you with light.
You feel him looking at you. His piercing gaze directed at nothing but you as you drank tea.
You refused to look at him. Instead focusing on the empty plate in front of you.
Baelor places his cup down and reaches out to your ear. He is gentle in touch, barely grazing the wound left behind.
“I admire your dedication to your sister.” The hand that you strain from, lowers to your lap. His fingers grip your knee, his thumb rubs back and forth across your rob.
“I hope my children would do the same,” he comments.
“You would never sell your child off to save your own skin”, you seeth.
“No”, Baelor admits, “I wouldn’t”
“He doesn’t even write” you state.
Baelor clenches his fists as if he had one of your fathers letters in his palm.
“Or maybe he does”. Baelor's eyes strike you but his face remains neutral, not admitting to anything.
“Areion perhaps eats them”, you mock.
Baelor’s eyes shut and he quickly nods his head, “Perhaps”, he agrees.
“I should go”, you acknowledge, “Before he wakes”.
You place your tea cup down and rise. Baelor remains sat, your first indication he is not pleased.
“I will speak to him about sleeping in his wife's bed rather than yours”, Baelor promised.
“Please don’t” you beg.
His eyes leave his cup, looking at you in a confused almost mad stare.
“Whatever pain I can take from my sister, I will”, you declare.
“She needs to produce an heir”, Baelor tells you in a soft voice, “That is her duty, not yours”.
The thought made you sick, but it was sobering to realise the full extent of the situation.
You nod solemnly.
“May I be excused?” you ask in a soft voice.
He nods, extending his hand to the door.
You leave quietly, moving to your sisters door to find it locked. You call for her, letting her know that you will see her after breakfast but receive no response.
You go back to your room, disheartened. Aerion was still asleep, a blessing.
Some days when you looked at him you really did see a dragon. Eyes so dark there were almost black, shoulders so broad they could have been wings. Other times like now he looked like a young man. A soft prince who needed to be pampered and cared for or else he would crumble. The Targaryens were not usual royal blood. A darkness ran through their blood. The blood of the dragon.
You pay him no more mind. He would not torment you while he slept. You would not allow that.
You sit at the dresser and begin to apply your makeup. Enjoying the peace of the early sun and quiet of the house.
It didn’t last long before Aerion began to stir. Reaching out beside him only to find you not there. His brows furrow but as he lifts his head from his pillow, he sees you and they relaxes his demeanour.
He falls back into the soft pillows, watching you as you fixed your face.
“There you are” Aerion states in a sleepy voice, “thought you’d run off again”.
“They will call breakfast soon. You should get up and get dressed. Your father will be cross otherwise”, you reply.
“Father will be cross regardless. Why should I dance to his tune?”.
“Becuase he is prince of the realm” you answer, “Fourth in line to the throne, and terrifying”
“Terrifying?” Aerion puzzles. He rises from the bed, you watch him from the mirror, not bothering to dress himself as he bends down behind you to talk gently into your ear.
“More terrifying than me?” he asks. His hand gently swipes across your shoulders, collecting your hair and throwing it over your right shoulder.
“Who said you were terrifying?” you deflect.
His lips tighten in a smug manner before puckering into a kiss on your bare shoulder.
“More terrifying than Baelor?” he asks further.
Your eyes lower from his in the mirror as you focus on your makeup.
“Baelor has never done anything to me. You and your father have hit me” you remind him, “He has given me no reason to fear him”.
Another kiss is placed on your shoulder than a smaller one on the bottom of your neck.
“I know” Aerion submits, “I do wonder through what he would do to you if his honor didn’t prohibit him”.
His large hands go to your jaw, stilling you as he drags his lips across your skin.
“He hides behind his duty but he is no better than me. No less possessive, or mad. If he had his way with you, I wonder what would be left?”
Aerions eyes meet yours once more in the mirror, “I guess we’ll never know”.
He stands tall once more, using your shoulders as an aid to stand.
“Leave your hair down. I like it down. And don’t paint your face with ridiculous colours like your sister”.
“She paints her face to hide the bruises you give her”, you snap at him.
“Oh” he mocks like he didn’t already know. He picks up his pants from the floor and throws the rest of his clothes on as he speaks to you, “I should go your sister will be wondering where I am. I hate to worry her”.
He comes back over to place a kiss on your forehead before he leaves.
You do leave your hair down, but reach for the red lipstick.
When you enter the dining room you see Baelor talking to a servant who seemed too eager to please. His eyes seem cold as they land on you. You had upset him this morning, you could tell by the way he ignored you.
He greeted Ashford and his children, engaging in pleasant small talk while he actively avoided looking at you.
Aerion stood with his father in the corner. Another lecture so early in the morning. Aerions eyes still as you enter, focusing on the red lipstick. His lips twitch and you worry that you have pleased him rather than irritated.
Vallar was already at the table. Speaking to no one but noticing everything. His eyes flicked around the room, calculating something in his head.
A servant rang the bell indicating the food was ready so the nobles could take their seats.
Aerion pulls out the seat to his left as he sits which you gather is meant for you. You take it having nowhere else to sit that would be appropriate.
As you do, servants begin to plate the food in the middle of the table. Laying out rows of options. You look at it with wandering eyes. After last night you were very hungry.
Aerion dips his napkin into his cup of water, turning his attention to you, he holds the back of your head while he rubs the damp cloth against your lips. The turn of your head is met with a harsh tug of your hair. He throws the red stained napkin to the middle of the table where it is grabbed by a servant in exchange for food.
Aerion doesn’t wait until all of the food is served, picking food off plates before they are set down.
To your misfortune, you chose to show so decorum, no matter how hungry you were, and waited until the head of the house announced breakfast was served.
You almost jumped when a servant placed a dish in front of you. Fruit. 2 slices of watermelon, a bunch of grapes. Some blueberries. 1 hard boiled egg with toast. A few slices of seasoned pork.
Your eyes flick to Baelor. You catch him in a brief stare before he pretends to be engaged in what Ashford has to say.
Aerion grins smugly at you, picking a grape from your plate and chewing it with a boyish smile.
He found the attention flattering. Revealed in the fact that the great kings hand wanted what he had. You found it all too much, and wished for nothing more than to put your sister on your back and take off.
Aerion me hand found your leg under the table, gripping your thigh as he made his plate. You think about disregarding yours and making another but Baelor scared you more than you could justify.
“Shall we go out tonight?” Aerion asked you as you cracked open your egg.
Baelor ears perked up, you saw him lean closer to hear better.
“I have no interest” you state, dropping your toast into your egg.
Aerion scoffs, withdrawing his hand from you.
“You had interest plenty the other night. Perhaps you find common folk better company. Your small brain can comprehend their small topics” Aerion pressed, “do you know what comprehend means?”
“No, my lord” you mock.
As if she could sense your failings, Leia bursts through the doors. Her eye was swollen shut and red. Big dark bruises litter her body. Her hair was unkept and she was only in her chamber robe.
“Ledia!” You call.
You shoot up from your chair but Aerion is faster. Walking over to her in long quick strides.
“My darling wife!” He addresses, pulling her into his arms and planting a deep kiss on her lips.
“Take her back up” Mekar demands.
“It’s family breakfast. My wife is more family than Y/n is”.
“We have no need for such displays” Baelor demands with authority.
“I’ll take her back up” you challenge.
“You’re hurting her” Vallar spits, uneasing in his seat as if he could do something.
“Oh am I?” He coons to your sister, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear.
“Let me take her up”, you ask.
“Nonsense, she came for breakfast so let’s eat” Aerion demanded. With a hold on her hand, he forced her forward back to his seat.
“You” she states in a broken voice, “I was looking for you”
“I am here” you promise her. Lowering yourself back to your seat as Aerion pulls her into his lap.
“You are toeing a thin line boy” maekar warns.
“You told me to be kinder to my poor wife”.
“I am not sure this would constitute as kind” Baelor addressed.
“What do you think?” Aerion turns to you. You see how your sister shivers as his hand runs up her arm.
“You are very kind, my prince. My sister and I are grateful for the kindness bestowed upon us by house Targaryen”.
He grins at you once more before flicking to your sister.
“Wife?” He asks.
“Yes” she shakes, “very kind”.
“There” Aerion exclaims, “no more talk of this nonsense”. He plucks some cheese off the display and pops it in his mouth as he speaks.
“I’ll show you fucking nonsense” Maker threatens.
He goes to get up but his brother stops him.
“Let us not make a scene at a table that is not our own” he demands.
“But father” valarr pipes up.
“We are guests in this house for a short period of time. Let us not disgrace ourselves any further. Lord Ashford, you must think us Neanderthals”.
“No, your grace” the lord refutes uncomfortably, “it is an honour for you to sit at our table. We wouldn’t have it any other way”.
“See?” Aerion pestered.
He picks up another cube of cheese bringing it up to your sisters lips.
“I don’t want it” she says in a soft, low voice.
“Eat it” he demands harshly. Her lips part slightly so he can slide it through.
Your hand goes to your knife, ready to wield it at any given second.
“We were just discussing exploring the town tonight” Aerion says to your sister, the corner of his eye nips at you, “Your sister is not interested. What about you? Would you like to come out with your husband”.
“She cannot possibly”, you speak for her, “she is too ill”.
“I was speaking to my wife”, Aerion snaps.
“No, no” your sister re-enforces in a soft voice.
“No? Am I a beast? Do I bore you?” Aerion gasps.
“You have your joust today” Meaker speaks up, “focus on that”.
Aerion groans like a child, “another silly knight I have to unhorse. Honestly” he states, taking another cube of cheese and placing it in his mouth, “I dont know what the point is any more”
“Maybe he will unhorse you” Valarr provoked. His father called his name in a low warning which had Valarr sinking back into his seat.
Being challenged upset Aerion whos face became stone as he glared across the table.
“Any time you wish to joust against me, cousin I would be more than willing to oblige”.
“Aerion” Maekar growls.
“Oh, the boys are just excited about the tourney” Asford foolishly begins to talk, “A little friendly fire”
Maekar scoffs openly at the lord. Baelor remains reserved behind a tight smile.
You see an opportunity to free yourself and your sister for the afternoon. While Aerion was jousting, and the princes front and center of the tourney, no one would be around to tell you what to do. You could escape back into town and enjoy the festivities. It would surely put your sister in a brighter mood.
“Any news on your boys, Prince Maekar?”, Lord Ashford asks.
“Hmp” Maekar returns, “I have half the king's guard searching for them now. Useless fucking bunch”.
“They will turn up” Baelor promises.
Your sister suddenly squeals, jumping up from Aerion's lap. You mirror her, jumping to your feet with your knife in your hand.
‘Leave her”, you demand as Aerion rises to chase her.
He looked unbothered at your threat, almost bored.His tongue pokes against his lips and he makes no attempt to disarm you.
Maekar seemed more impacted from the scene, slamming his chair back to the ground as he pushed himself out of his chair.
“You dare point a knife at my son?” Maekar demands.
Aerion looks at you in a disbelieving manner, as if it was a child with a wooden sword playing pretend.
“Do you know how to use that?” Aerion scoffs. He goes to take a step forward, ignoring you.
“Aerion, I am serious don’t”, you threaten.
“You’re as harmless as a flower” Aerion mocks.
You do not realise that Baelor was behind you until you swung your arm back to take a lunge. Your wrist is caught and the knife is swiped from your hand, thrown back to the table. You struggle in his hold still trying to get to your sister as Aerion stalks towards her.
As he catches her between his arms, Baelor catches you.
“You are so pretty” Aerion coons, kissing your struggling sister in his arms.
“Get off her”, you demand.
You think Maekar will tear the two apart but he crosses past them over to you in Baelors hold.
His hit is much stronger than that of his sons. The sting of his signet ring indenting your face.
“Maekar”, his older brother scolds.
“You point a weapon at my son again little girl and you will lose the offending hand” Marker threatens you.
“She meant no harm,” Baelor defends.
“Yes, I did”, you spit.
“Y/n, do not speak” Baelor demands.
“Yes she did!” Aerion agrees, holding your sister up by her arms, “She beats me all the time”.
“Quiet, Boy” Maekar orders.
Another squeal from Leia broke out into the room. You saw now the blood that soaked the back of her robe. He had dug his knife into her skin to elicit a response that would break your heart.
You scream at Aerion once more, bucking in Baelors hold.
“Enough, enough” Baelor whispers in your ear.
Already weakened, Ledia began to sob in loud, painful cries.
Vlarr rises at the sound, looking to his father to give the command to interfere. It is not given, rather an order to re-take his seat.
“Hush now, beloved” Aerion consoled your sister, “I cannot possibly continue breakfast, I must attend to my wife”.
“Areion dont”, you beg, “Please, I am sorry. Please-please-it wont happen again”.
In bucking against Baelor, you brush against his hips slightly before he can pull away. He was hard at your begging. Like Aerion he enjoyed it too.
Areion shakes his head, “No, I must fulfill my duty”.
“Go boy” Maekar shouts at him, “take her up the stairs. Out of my sight”.
“Let me go with her. Please she needs me”, you beg all three.
Your sister calls your name as if it didnt occur to her that you weren’t coming.
“No” Aerion insists, “this matter is between a husband and wife. Which you are neither”.
He shoves her towards the door, still eyeing you in Baelors hold. He was sure to punish your sister for this.
“No,no, please let me go- Aerion!” you scream.
“Your behaviour this trip has been unsatisfactory” Maekar digs “Reflecting poorly on our house”.
“I am sorry, my prince. It will improve. Only please stop him”.
“You shall not see your sister for the remainder of the trip. I will not have your bad habits rub off on my wife” Aerion calls as he pushes leia through the doors.
“If I cannot see my sister I will leave!” you shout after him.
Maekar's next hit was more unexpected, knocking you from Baelors loosening hold and onto the floor.
“Never speak of leaving again” Maekar tells you. Baelor makes no effort to help you in solidarity with his brother.
“I am a free woman,my lord,” you remind him.
“You are a servant to the crown” he spits, “while you have use to this household, you will stay in this household until otherwise directed. If I can keep one of my sons in line, you will not meddle with that”.
“I will tell my father”, you announce.
“Tell him what you fucking like but do not aggravate me further” Meaker bristled.
“Ser Pearson” Baelor called with a flick of his hand, "accompany Lady Y/n off the floor to her chambers. I fear we have pushed Lord Ashfords hospitality to its limits”.
“Lord Baelor” you cry from the floor as the knight moves to collect you.
“Do not look to me to defend you” Baelor told you, “You were completely out of line.Wielding a knife against a prince?”
“Against my son” Maekar corrects.
You are picked up from the floor by the large knight and led out of the room. You hear Valarr attempt to defend you but the Princes would hear no more.
No more food was brought to you the rest of the day. You were starving and so thirsty. You weren't sure which was worse.
You worried for your sister. It was worse not knowing what was happening to her. If it was up to you, you would sew your dresses together, and never part. But Prince Aerion used her as a weapon against you. Letting your mind wander to scary places.
With nothing to distract you, you laid in bed the whole day thinking about how he would hurt her for your disobedience.
When the door opened you expected Aerion or Baelor, not Maekar to enter.
It almost shocked you when his cool blue eyes settled on you, not leaving you as you rose from the bed to greet him. He lingered in front of the door with a plate of food in his hand as if he was waiting for an invite.
“My lord”, you address him in question.
He raises the plate of food in his hand, placing it on your vanity to his right.
“You should know it wasn’t me who requested nothing be brought to you”, Maekar states.
Aerion , you think, no doubt.
“I didn’t think so, my lord”, you offered.
Maekar looked awkward in your chambers, glancing everywhere but at you.
“I know what my son is. What he is capable of”, he begins in a low voice, “I understand that he has not been partially kind to you or your sister. But you need to understand I have seen him a lot worse. You calm him”.
Your hands rub along the bruises littered upon your arms from his touch.
“It doesn’t feel as if I calm him”, you admit.
“You wielded a knife against him. Do you think this is just punishment?” Maekar accuses.
“He made my sister bleed. Tortures her for his own amusement”, you shoot back.
The older man nods. His eyes again found their way around the room, before landing squarely on you.
“I don’t agree with his treatment of his wife, but you are much to blame for her torture”.
Your heart shatters as he says it. Your darling sister in pain because of you? You couldn’t hear it.
Seeing your inner thought run across your face, he clarifies his accusation.
“Last spring when you fell ill back at Summerhall, how many times do you think he struck her?”, Marker asks you.
“I don’t know I was in bed and he wouldn’t let me see her”, you defend.
“Not once”, he answered, “You were as meek as a lamb- he had no reason to”.
“I was ill”, you reiterated.
“You were behaved”.
You think back. You were too Ill to fight him on anything. Too sick to say anything but please and thank you. But no, it wasn’t enough. Aerion liked the fight. It is why he chose you over your sister. He wanted to break your spirit.
Your head shakes of its own accord.
“Yes” Maekar fought, “You think he cut his own wife at the breakfast table for show? I saw you arguing with him”.
“So I should just submit then? Let him do whatever he pleases?”.
“He is a prince”.
“And I am human. My sister is a human, not a toy he can bash and abuse to get back at me”.
“Aerion is blood of the dragon. You and your sister are from a house that will blow away with the fucking dust. You are nothing. For your sisters sake fucking act like it”, Maekar threatens.
You picture Aerion as Maekar storms away, slamming the door behind him. The same madness ran through all of them. You couldn’t trust any one of them to save you.
Maekar locks the door again, leaving you with thoughts of your sister and the guilt that her misfortune is all your fault.
You don't eat. Even as the day turns pitch black. You have no stomach for anything but your own misery.
When the door opens again late into night fall, you don’t know who to expect. You were almost glad when you saw Aerions signature red. At least you knew what to expect from him. With the older princes you never knew if they were your friends or your enemies. Aerions at least was always foe.
As he stepped into the light of the room, you saw his large gash on his lip and murder in his eyes.
“What happened”, you asked him, rising from the bed to get a better look.
“Some fucking hedge knight”, Aerion spits.
No. It couldn’t be. There were other hedge knights. You were sure. It couldn’t be him. The odds were too small. It was only your sick fantasy.
“What hedge knight?”, you inquire.
He ignores you for a moment, going to sit at your vanity to assess the damage to his face. He looks at you angrily in the mirror's reflection before answering.
“What does it fucking matter?” he asks you, “He’ll be dead by morning”.
To curry favour, you kneel down beside him, pressing your face against his arm as he wipes the blood from his lip away.
“Was this man big? Tall? He would have to be in order to top you?”
“He didn’t top me” Aerion protests.
“No, I mean. He had to get through your knights and do that to your face. He must have been a large man”.
You wondered what could have spurred your gentle knight to this. What was Aerion doing? Something terrible no doubt and now Duncan was to die for it.
“He was a fucking giant” Aerion answers.
With your fear confirmed, you knew your giant was in grave danger and you had to save him. No court would rule against a prince. Even Baelor couldn’t stop Aerion getting justice for his face. Your giant while large was no match for Aerions training and skill. Would someone else fight for him? Take his place against Aerion? Could you?
“What do you plan to do to him?” you gauge.
“I am going to knock out all of his teeth, and then flay him for all to see”.
“The court will allow that?”.
“The court will allow what I tell them too”, Aerion snapped, throwing his handkerchief down.
“What about a trial of seven?”. You remembered it from one of Baelors books. A way out surely. Ducan could find good men to fight alongside him. He was good. People would rise up.
“A trial of what?”, he spat.
“Of seven”, you repeat, “seven knights against seven knights. A way to honor the Gods. It was thought that the Gods being so honored would ensure the right party won”, your hand reaches up to the back of his neck, playing with the ends of his hair, “You could show everybody that the Gods are on your side”.
His eyebrows raised in rejection but you could see on his face that the idea intrigued him.
“Aerion Brightflame, winner of the first trial of seven in nearly a thousand years. Now that would be a name day event”.
“You hate violence" he reminds you.
“I do” you agree, “But this isn’t violence. It’s justice”.
Your spare hand goes to his lip, gently running your finger across the cut. He looks at you as if you were mad, grabbing your offending wrist in a painful hold.
“Go lie on the bed”, he commands you.
You rise from your knees quickly to follow order, and he rises to follow you.
"this fic uses em dashes, so it must be ai-generated" real humans use em dashes.
"this fic has long paragraphs with overly described details and scenes, so it must be ai-generated" real humans can write like this.
"this fic has inconsistencies, so it must be ai-generated" real humans make errors and mistakes. that's why we have this thing called plot holes. sometimes writers are tired and they don't remember what they wrote in the last sentences or paragraphs, let alone chapters.
"this fic sounds robotic and unnatural, so it must be ai-generated" not every writer writes in their native language. sometimes they can sound 'robotic and unnatural' if they wrote in their second or third or fourth language (and kudos to them).
"this fic has a prompt left in it that the author forgot to delete, so it must be ai-generated" the 'prompt' the author accidentally left in their fic could actually be a part of an outline that was meant only for them, so they could keep track of what they would write.
"this author posts too often, no human writes this fast, so they must use ai" 1.) you don't know how fast someone can or can't write, how much time a person has in a day or how motivated/skilled they are. 2.) the frequent updates you see could be something that has already been finished and sitting in the author's drafts for god knows how long. just because it's recently posted doesn't always mean it's recently written.
my point? no, you can never know if a fanfic is 'ai-generated'. unless the author says they use ai, you're just assuming, suspecting and witch hunting. chances are that you're not going to 'stop ai fics from being created', you're just going to wrongly accuse genuine writers of using ai and ruin their day at best, make them want to quit writing or sharing their works at worst.
Found some writing inspiration and began working on the last part of my Bridgerton fic, The Mouthy One. It’s pretty long everything I have planned for it but I have started it which is progress if anyone’s waiting on that 😋Even if not it feels good to write again.
I just read all of the Hunger Games Books for the first time, having already watched all the movies. Here’s my thoughts?…
1. SOTR is the most depressing, I’m unpacking it in therapy.
2. TBOSAS. The movie is not glamorizing Snow we’re viewing him the same way people around him do. Whereas the books we have his inner monologue and know exactly who he is.
3. Beetee. I might cry every time I think about his son.
LMAO sometimes I forget that tone is hard to read over text and that my humor is not always so easily read. I fear I upset someone in the comment section under a fic😂😂😂 oops
♕ A/N: I wrote this a while ago and have just been tinkering with it. Thought I’d post it since it’s just sitting with the rest of my many unposted drafts of ideas. Still stuck in this writers rut.
♕ SUMMARY: When salt and sea met fire and blood, it gave history the likes of Laenor and Laena Velaryon. While history often glazes over them, never over her.
♕ WORD COUNT: 1.2K
♕ WARNING: None
previous — Masterlist — next
Your giggles are drowned out by Jacaerys' consistent calls of your name. Moving quickly you easily scaled the Red Keep walls, hardly paying attention to your footing.
“We have been instructed to desist in climbing about the keep. It is dangerous we shall fall,” Jacaerys stared up at you with pleading eyes as many of the passing nobles watched the two of them.
“It is dangerous. We shall fall,” Your voice squeaked as you took a seat on the edge letting your legs dangle off the edge. Your hair wildly blows back as you grin down at the Prince. “Will you forever swear obeisance to rules?”
“Lady Velayron, your father would likely be unhappy to know his daughter persists in participating in dangerous activities,” Ser Harwin called up to you with a growing smirk.
“If Lord Corlys cared so urgently as you claim then perhaps he’d be here to correct his daughters behavior,” You smirked down at the knight, cocking your head to the side.
“Get down, now,” Ser Laenor huffed, crossing his arms as you rolled your eyes. The three watched as you climbed down with ease, one wrong step and your life permanently altered or forfeit. “How many times have I told you to stop climbing about the keep.”
“We ride dragons and yet your concern is my climbing?” You asked, crossing your arms looking up at Laenor. Laenor ignored you, opting to remind your nephew it was almost time for training.
“And Rhaenyra is expecting you in the commons,” Laenor said, groaning, your shoulders slouch as Harwin said he was already headed in that direction.
“Of course you are,” You rolled your eyes as Harwin urged you through the keep. As you passed the training yard, you paused at the sight of the boys.
“I see Ser Cole is at it again,” You grumbled, crossing your arms. You could never make sense of the Dornish Knight. Not for the lack of trying, your blunt line of questioning earning the Knights cold vacant stares always typically reserved for your dark haired nephews. “Do you think he ever tires of being a grouch?”
Harwin chuckled lazily, you looked up at him narrowing your eyes. He certainly did not hear you, the way his eyes remained on the training yard. His lack of awareness leaves you time to climb quickly up the neighboring wall peering down at the private training.
You scoffed down at them, sticking your tongue out as Moody Aemond caught your gaze. The boy rolled his eyes, the minor reaction earning a snicker. As the boys practice their forward jabs with the blunted wooden swords, your eyes sparkle with wonder. You jab your own arm forward mimicking the movement. The Dornish Knights instruction cements in your brain as you practice as though you wield your own sword.
“Lady Velayron, get down here and on we go,” Ser Harwins baritone shatters your fantasy in seconds. You huffed your arms flailing with a dramatic drop of your shoulders.
“Why must I join the princess. We’ll just drink tea and maybe sew. It’s mind numbingly dull,” You complained, a snicker from below transitioning your dramatic whining into a fiery glare.
“We all must partake in the things that befit us my lady,” Aegon taunts.
“So shouldn’t you be scrubbing chamber pots?” You countered, collective chuckles from her nephews and Aemond fueling the fire.
“You little—!” Aegon angrily pointed up to be met with a sly smirk. Your eyebrow raised as you grin. Aegon’s tantrum swiftly cut by the Dornish Knight's stern tone.
“Lady Velaryon, how many times must you be told there is no place for you here in this session?” Ser Cole looked up at you, his gaze not as cold as it could be but not what you wanted.
“I’d make a better student than that bonehead,” You counter, earning another angry huff from Aegon.
“Since you believe yourself to be so knowledgeable, please regale us on the prince's shortcomings,” His patronizing tone was far more harsh than necessary.
“Lady Velaryon let’s go,” Ser Harwin called out.
“His posture is flat, grip on the handle too loose, and jab extension too far. One parry and shoulder jab forward he could be knocked off his feet by any stronger or faster opponent,” You cross your arms, your matter of fact, silencing the training yard. At that you continue, “he's a one note warrior swinging wildly leaving himself vulnerable to smaller attacks.”
Ser Cole's eyes narrowed, his gaze unreadable as a girl not even half his age challenged his word. A students performance reflects not only of their own talents or lack thereof but the talent of their teacher. One truth could not be denied, in his teachings you had been listening.
“This is a closed training session for the princes of the realm. Any further interruptions from you will result in discussions of disciplinary action. Are we clear, my lady?” You scoff. Rolling your eyes you climbed down silently, falling into step with Ser Harwin.
“My lady, you must focus,” Septa Marlow urged as you groan.
“Blah blah. The Conqueror came, took over. Failed to take Dorne. His son failed at being king, his scary son failed at diplomacy. Several Targaryens later. Now we are here,” You concluded your bored gaze locked with your Septa’s stern one.
Rhaenyra chuckled, entering the room with a grin, “my little lady perhaps you should write the history texts.”
“It’d be far more interesting than this,” You rest your chin in the palm of your hand. Your elbow atop the table as your fingers drum against your cheek. “I want to train with the sword but Ser Cole is rude and stupid. Any advice?”
Rhaenyra takes a seat dismissing Marlow, her hand atop her pregnant belly, “now what advice do you think I could have for such a thing?”
“Well girls usually aren’t heirs yet you are set to sit the throne,” Rhaenyra smiles warmly.
“Well for starters calling my brother a bone head who should be scrubbing chamber pots will not aid you in your conquest,” Rhaenyra reasons with amusement dancing in her eyes with a raised eyebrow.
“I only spoke the truth, what’s the harm in that!” You exclaim, earning another laugh. Your gaze falling absent, kicking your dangling feet beneath the table. Visibly not listening to a single word leaving Rhaenyra.
“When you become queen can you declare I have to be allowed into training sessions?” You ask, the princess chuckling.
“My best advice to you, if you wish to insert yourself into places you’re unwanted. You must know when to speak and when to hold your tongue.” Rhaenyra said ruffling your hair with a gentle smile.
You giggle softly, your gaze shifting to her pregnant belly, “I hope the babe is a girl.”
“Me as well, my girl. But if it’s a boy I’ll be just as happy,” Rhaenyra rubs her belly a tender glint in her eyes as you lean down to her belly. Your eyes narrow, speaking to her pregnant belly as though you can will the gender. “You better be a girl.”
“And if it’s a boy?” Rhaenyra chuckles softly. Your eyes narrow on her stomach as you grumble. “Mhm. Traitor.”
I got my (now 18-year-old) daughter into Ao3 back in 2021. I taught her she should always comment - even if the fic looks old or abandoned or whatever. She did.
Well - she got this email this morning:
The fic was written in 2014 and essentially abandoned.
Bethy read and reviewed in 2021 (and was actually the only person who had commented at all).
Today in 2025 - the final chapter was posted by the author and this was her reply to Bethy’s comment.
———
Never question whether a fic is too old to comment on.
