Canonically speaking, all of Viserys's eldest children were cursed regarding their marriages.Yes, Rhaenyra made a "mistake" with Daemon and jeopardized her virginity, but that doesn't change the fact that she was a 16 yearold girl completely vulnerable to her uncle. She made a mistake, and she was used by her own father to atone for the insults he had inflicted on House Velaryon by marrying her off to a man whose sexual circumstances were known and who probably wouldn't be able to conceive like a more "normal" couple (not in a homophobic sense, but because of the sexual act and how Laenor must have felt). Rhaenyra had children of dubious legitimacy not only because she wanted to or on a whim, but because there were already people who made it clear that if she didn't have Aegon as her husband and didn't give birth to a child of Hightower blood, then she wouldn't be supported. Did she choose poorly? Yes, Harwin Strong left her absolutely nothing. At least if the children had been fathered by a more powerful lord and one of them had married one of his cousins or half-sisters, his position would have been much better.Then there's Aegon and Helaena... Aegon is accused of impregnating his sister at a very young age, but he was literally only about 15 years old, an immature youth forced into marriage by his father. Sure, Aegon doesn't have a good track record with women, and I don't want to deny that, but it's never mentioned that he actually wanted children with Helaena, and the difference in their pregnancies is a clear indication of that to me. Furthermore, Helaena was 13, close to Aemma's age when she was bedded. Viserys knew that one of the reasons Aemma experienced trauma related to conception was probably because she was bedded young, but he literally condemned his daughter to the same fate out of mere whim and caprice.
AN: Yes. Aerion and Valarr united to keep a girl hostage. Whatever it takes to strenghten the familiar bond, right?
Okay, now yes, this is the last work for a while, this time for real. This is the last work I had on my drafts, so yeah - I'm done for now. I'll post again when I'm finally getting somewhere with my dissertation and God knows that's gonna take forever.
Comments and reblogs are very much appreciated, but a reblog with a comment is even better. Thanks 💗 Let me know if you like this. Enjoy!
--
Tears silently roll down your cheeks, falling like incessant rain.
Your vision is all but a blur, clouded with the salty wetness. Some tears land on your lap, others slip down your neck but you make no effort to clean them. There’s no point to it, you’re already a mess. You sniff, making a small whistling noise as you struggle to breathe with a nose that becomes more stuffed by the minute.
A sharp thump has you flinching, the wooden table rattling when a glass cup gets slammed down with unnecessary force.
“How pathetic.”
Seated to your right on the small circular table, Aerion scrutinizes you with irritation etched to his face. His nose twists when looking at you, as if the sight of your tears is physically repulsive to him. As if he isn’t half the reason why you’re crying.
“Planning on weeping like a puppy all night?” he cruelly asks. “Stupid question. Of course you are. That’s all you ever do.”
Aerion leans closer, lowering his voice like he’s about to let you in on some secret.
“Is this part of your plan?” he asks. You can only look at him, confused. “To shed all these pretty tears and then look at us with those big sad eyes. Do you think us stupid enough to be fooled by you?”
His words are purposely cruel and you look away, a new batch of tears being revived from the mockery. When you don’t answer him, his eyes narrow down. A telltale that his patience is slowly draining.
You can’t stop the pitiful whimper that escapes from your lips when he suddenly snatches your wrist. His fingers painfully dig into the bone, squeezing hard in a warning.
“That’s enough with the fucking tears.”
“Aerion.”
His cousin intervenes, calm and composed even though there is a warning edge in his voice as he directs at Aerion. He nods towards Aerion’s grip.
“Let go of her.” he calmly requests, even though his tone indicates that such is not for discussion. “You’re hurting her.”
Aerion glares at his dark-haired cousin and for a moment there, it almost feels as though his impulsive anger will get the best of him. Watching the two men fiercely argue is common, especially as the smallest of inconveniences seems to trigger their completely opposite personalities and make them clash against each other.
For a moment, it looks like one of their fierce arguments is about to break. But then the moment passes and so does Aerion’s irritation. It doesn’t entirely go away but it subsides just enough to give you space to breathe.
Aerion rolls his eyes, lifting finger by finger until your hand is entirely released. He slumps on the chair, tongue poking into the inside of his cheek as he stares at you.
“Do not pity her too much, cousin. She has a thing for dramatics. I barely touched her and that already got her panties in a twist.” he says, considering you with a dangerous glint in his violet eyes. “Makes me wonder how pathetic she’s gonna act when I finally fuck her.”
Your heart drops.
It’s gonna happen eventually, you know that. You’re not stupid or naive enough to believe that Aerion or Valarr would take a chastity vow for the rest of their lives just because you don’t want them. You not wanting them didn’t stop them from quite literally kidnapping you and keeping you hostage in their basement.
But still, just the thought is disheartening in more ways than one.
The rest of your life…
You don’t want to spend your entire life trapped by a couple of mad cousins who seem to believe that keeping a girl locked tight in their basement is the solution for their obsession. You don’t want to be anywhere near them or to look at their faces or to listen to their voices or to pretend to be a good girl.
You don’t want to spend the rest of life at their mercy… and yet the possibility of such happening is frighteningly real.
“Shut up. Do you always have to ruin dinner with your nonsense?” Valarr shakes his head with a sigh.
“She’s the one ruining it with her tears and snot, not me.”
Humiliation burns in your face as you hastily swipe your palms across your cheeks, wiping down your cheeks. Your nose embarrassingly whistles again as you try to breathe in.
Valarr gently calls out your name.
“Don’t listen to him. Aerion is an idiot who doesn’t own a shred of decency.”
Aerion grunts something that awfully sounds like a curse, but Valarr pays him no mind.
He glances at you, swiftly cutting down the chicken tender in his plate into smaller pieces before lifting them over to your plate. An attentive thought, given how the plastic cutlery you are given barely works.
Valarr eyes your plate. “Eat your food, sweetheart. It’s getting cold.”
Aerion snorts from his seat, rolling his eyes condescendingly.
“Yes, sweetheart, eat your food. And clean that damn nose. All that whistling and sniffling is making me lose appetite.”
To say that you’re mortified is an understatement, you want nothing more than to disappear from the face of the Earth at that comment. You blow your nose with a napkin as quietly as you can, not needing more of Aerion’s insults.
Valarr snorts. “I’d say your lost appetite has more to do with uncle Maekar calling than anything else. What did he want, anyways?”
“Same as usual, that old man says that…”
Their conversation gets lost on you as you focus on the food, a small sharp pain in your gut reminding you of the lunch you skipped.
The plate placed in front of you has long gone cold, but it still looks good. The chicken Valarr cut for you is neatly organized to the side, near the small stack of oven-cooked potatoes, greens and vegetables. Healthy. Fresh.
Picking up the plastic fork, you shove some food into your mouth. It tastes good, like it always does. Seasoned but not overly so. Cooked just perfectly. The type of food that is served in upscale restaurants.
Your mind drifts towards the rectangular service elevator located in the wall of the kitchenette, where the food arrives everyday without fail. Spacious enough to fit a maximum of a couple of food trays, but small enough to prevent a human body from crawling inside.
Aerion once complained about their private chef’s attitude in the mornings and so it’s not hard to put the pieces together into the puzzle and figure out that there’s a person working on a daily basis upstairs. More than one, most likely.
The Targaryen family is wealthy enough to cause envy to most billionaires in the world and surely their sons have a full, large team of staff and employees to take care of their shared house. Private chefs, housekeepers, maids, managers, security.
You’ve lost count of the days, but your captivity time couldn’t be over two weeks.
Two weeks of sending food to the basement.
Two weeks of the boys visiting the basement.
And while their visits are irregular and at odd hours, there’s not a single day they haven’t showed up. You always have dinner together, but they also show up throughout the day to visit you. Sometimes together. Sometimes taking turns.
Aerion and his arrogant attitude, always ready to taunt you about how miserable he can make your life if you don’t start acting right with them. Valarr and his gentle voice, always whispering soft comforting words that hide away his true intentions.
Do their staff not notice their prolonged visits to the downstairs floor or are they paid enough to keep their minds and their eyes strictly to their work? Perhaps they simply don’t care. No one cares. And that means that you’ll rot in this stupidly comfortable basement for the rest of your life.
A lone tear escapes from your eye and you quickly swipe at it, not wanting the barely contained dam to break loose.
Again.
–
Sunday morning you wake up to find Aerion in the living room.
You’re still half dazed from a night of poor sleep and ruthless insomnia, rubbing the exhaustion from your eyes when you realize with a startle that silver-haired boy is on the couch. You stop by the doorway, legs locking up the moment you catch sight of him.
It’s not the first time Aerion has randomly made himself comfortable in the basement apartment, showing unnanounced. Valarr often does the same. It’s almost as if they take turns in checking up on you in person, despite their state-of-the-art vigilance system.
Or maybe their visits are just a strategic step in their plan, a way to force you to become accustomed to their presence around you. If that’s the purpose, you refuse to let it happen.
Much to your dismay though, Aerion only ever drops in the most random occasions. Forcing you to quietly endure his presence while he drops to the mattress and scrolls down on his phone while laying in your bed as if you’re not even there. Sometimes he shows up for something as random as using the en-suite bathroom, only to leave right after.
And sometimes, he comes with the sole purpose of terrorizing you.
The memory is still fresh of when he forced you to accept a shoulder massage, some lousy excuse on how tightly wound up you were and that you needed to relax. Only for the said massage to involve his hands wandering far too low and his fingers painfully digging into your muscles.
And when he caught sight of the tears silently tracking down your face, he snapped. Pushed you away from him with a force that sent you to the floor. Yelled at you for being an ungrateful bitch, that he was only being nice. As if he was the victim, which couldn’t be further from the truth.
While Valarr is always somewhat predictable, Aerion is the complete opposite. He’s fire. Dangerous and uncontrollable, always burning himself and others. He’s volatile. There’s never knowing of his moods, never knowing if ignoring him is gonna make him furiously snap at you or if he’ll just roll his eyes and leave you be.
He’s unpredictable and that’s perhaps what frightens you the most about him. One wrong word can either earn you a sharp slap to the cheek or a just a roll of the eyes - and there’s never telling which one will happen.
So that’s why your heart skips a beat at the sight of Aerion slumped on the couch, feet propped up on the small coffee table.
You try not to stare too hard because of his clothes. Or the lack of them, given how he’s only sporting grey sweatpants. His toned torso is on full display, the black ink of a three-headed dragon on his forearm making a formidable contrast against his pale skin. A monster Aerion seems to be particularly fascinated about, some obsessive connection to the roots of his family history.
Aerion doesn’t look at you. His violet eyes are fixed on the television, though the sound is completely off. A great way to watch television indeed.
He doesn’t acknowledge you, although it’s impossible not to have heard you coming and so you stand at the doorway for a few moments, resisting the temptation to just go back to your room and slip back under the covers until he goes away to do whatever he does on the weekends. But the smell of the delicious waft of fresh donuts coming from the kitchenette has your stomach aching.
In the end your hunger wins and you make an effort to push back the discomfort that gathers in your bones, an instinctive reaction to Aerion’s presence in your vicinity, as you walk across the living room till you reach the corner where the kitchenette is located.
You set the coffee machine working and eye the tray on the counter.
Every morning the kitchen sends down a variety of breakfast pastries. Freshly baked, soft dough and still warm from the oven. Smelling so heavenly that your mouth waters just by looking at the elegant display of donuts, croissants and pancakes.
And it tastes even better than its enticing appearance, you have to hold back from moaning as your teeth sink into a fluffy donut, the sugar glaze melting in your tongue.
You’re halfway through a sugar-sprinkled croissant when Aerion speaks.
“Come here.”
You glance at him and find his violet eyes already settled upon you. He takes his feet off the table and sits straighter on the couch. When you remain posted by the counter a moment too long, his eyebrows rise.
“Come here or I’ll get you here myself.”
His words are said with a plain tone and yet they are enough to get you moving. You make your way to the couch without wasting time. Once you are within his reach, Aerion snatches your hand and rudely tugs you towards him.
You land in his lap with a motion that is as painful as it is graceless and Aerion grunts. Tension surges through your body when his arm snakes around your waist like a reinforced chain, keeping you grounded to him.
With his other hand, he brings your hand to his mouth and takes a bite of your half-eaten croissant.
He stares lecherously with provocation in his eyes as his tongue slithers to his lower lip, licking away the sugar powder. It takes nearly every ounce of self-control not to make your repulsion too obvious and even so the corners of your lips twist downwards.
“Tastes sweet.” he comments, the tip of his tongue still languidly darting at his lips. “Do you like sweet things?”
You writhe before looking away, setting your eyes on the big screen.
Aerion chuckles lightly but lets you ignore him, thankfully. He seems to be in a good mood, those days quite rare.
You were already half-imagining him angrily pushing you to the floor but instead he drags you closer with his arm, settling your back against his bare chest, tucking his chin over your shoulder.
You remain like that for a while, the silence settling between you.
It’s far from comfortable, with you trying not to move on his lap while pretending to watch the screen when in reality you couldn’t be any less interested in seeing a blood-filled scene of what appears to be a criminal investigation show.
You are as though a statue, mentally struggling and shallow breathing, while Aerion is seemingly more than comfortable. The minutes drag by with the pace of a snail, excruciatingly slow.
One episode of the show ends and another begins and yet Aerion seems perfectly content in keeping you captive in his suffocating embrace.
At one point, Aerion begins to caress your arm.
Long fingers moving up and down the length of your arm in smooth movements, fingertips drawing light patterns on the exposed skin. Goosebumps erupt in your skin. His touch feels too intimate, body against body, skin against skin. You don’t even know if he’s doing this on purpose or if it’s genuinely an unconscious gesture.
Either way it messes with your head, a bad feeling in your stomach as you dread the moment he gets bored of innocent touches and his hands graduate into wandering to more intimate regions.
Valarr shows up halfway through the third episode.
By then, your legs have gone stiff from the awkwardness of sitting in someone else’s lap, your mind coming up with all sorts of excuses only to reject them out of fear of triggering Aerion back into his cruel persona.
Aerion’s arm tightens around your waist at the sound of the door opening but remains quiet otherwise. Valarr repeats your steps, freezing by the doorway.
Only the rise of his eyebrows indicates some sort of surprise at finding you and Aerion in such a close position. Heat floods your cheeks, the awkwardness of the situation making you squirm.
“Good morning.”
You greet him back while Aerion only grunts. That has Valarr's attention shifting towards his cousin.
“As much as I hate to interrupt, there’s an emergency.” he declares, “It’s about your brother.”
“Which one?”
“Daeron.”
Aerion sneers. “Shocking.”
“Apparently he pulled Aegon out of boarding school with an excuse and now they’re both missing. Uncle Maekar wants us to help the security team in finding them.”
That doesn’t seem to please Aerion, opposite to you.
“Daeron has pulled this shit before. He’ll return in a few days when his money and booze run out. That’s what he always does anyway.” he spits, “I’m not wasting my time over a drunk brother who doesn’t wanna be found.”
Valarr looks at him, dark brows pinching.
“You have to tag along, Aerion.” he affirms. His eyes dart towards you for a second. “Or do you want your dad to show up here by surprise?”
Sharp pain blooms in your arm, where Aerion’s gentle touch has now turned into cruelty with his blunt nails digging into your skin. His irritation feels palpable as he exhales sharply, upset.
“Daeron, that fucking idiot.”
A yelp escapes you when Aerion abruptly pushes your body to the side with the roughness that is so typical to him. You wince when your arm gets trapped between the couch and your body as you fall down, part of you minimally grateful that at least he didn’t throw you onto the floor.
Aerion curses his pathetic brothers, shoulder colliding against Valarr as he angrily storms off without so much as giving you a last word. You prefer it that way, anyways.
When you finally manage to pull yourself back together, giving into the relief of at last having back your personal space and relishing into the comfort of the solid couch underneath you instead of Aerion’s lap, it’s when you realize that Valarr hasn’t moved away.
He’s staring at you with an expression on his face that you can’t decipher. Brows pushed together, eyes firmly set in you. As if he's trying to figure out something.
“... it might take a while for us to get back. Don’t wait up.”
Valarr speaks at last, giving you a last strange look before leaving.
–
Not a day goes by without you making a round on the apartment. It’s a habit that grew out of boredom as much as of necessity. You can’t stay in the basement forever. You simply… cannot.
It becomes part of your routine, a habit that engraved itself into your nearly empty schedule. You examine the entire apartment at least once a day. Twice if you’re feeling desperate enough.
There’s not a specific time to it though.
Sometimes it’s the first thing you do in the morning, sometimes you have to delay it because of Aerion or Valarr. But your mind quickly becomes restless when the hours go by and you haven’t yet searched for every nook and creek in the apartment in hopes of finding a miraculous way out.
By now the apartment’s floor plan must’ve been etched into your mind, not a single corner that yet remains unknown. Sometimes you consider writing all your findings into a notebook, note down all the details no matter how important or how insignificant they are.
You’ve always been fond of writing things down on paper, finding the physical support much more useful for when needing to clear your head and find a solution. Maybe you could even use the notes to conjure up a few plans, a path to finding back your freedom. But then you’re reminded of Aerion’s awful tendency to go through the few personal belongings you have and how his intruding hands would inevitably find your diary and you instantly give up on that idea.
You don't need to make things worse for you.
The apartment is spacious, with overhead lights that brightly illuminate the divisions during the day in a poor mimick of sunlight and then dim into a weak, gentle lightening as the hours pass till nighttime. It’s all white and beige. Clean and simple, minimalistic and yet not completely desolated.
The main door is an impossible challenge.
Not only does it have a 10 digit passcode that changes everyday but also has a retinal and fingerprint scanner as well as a voice confirmation step. All those security steps severely limit down your chances but it did cross your mind that you could simply wait for the boys to open the door, push them aside and then make a run for it. But the same thought must’ve crossed their minds as well as they never unlock the door if you’re around.
The spacious, larg living room is divided in two areas, wide enough to have a long beige couch and a home theater television hanged to the wall as well as to host the kitchenette in a corner, a small round table next to it where you eat your meals.
The reasoning behind having a kitchenette is beyond your comprehension as there is no oven, no stove, no microwave. Only the service elevator that acts as food delivery and a bunch of locked drawers where the metal knives and glass plates are kept.
Other than that, there’s only a small fridge with cold water and ice and then a small pantry stacked full with snacks and drinks to keep you satisfied until meal time.
And then there’s your room, the king sized bed occupying the biggest part of it. There’s a very minimalistic touch to the whole division, with only the bare essentials - a small wooden wardrobe, a simple vanity, a clock on the wall. The en-suite bathroom is a small sanctuary within this nightmare, the only door with a functional lock. While there are cameras hanging on the top corner of each room - even the bedroom, the bathroom escapes from that fate. Most likely they didn’t want the gross vision of you using the toilet although you’re very certain Aerion would enjoy watch you take a shower.
As of lately the tall door that controls your freedom persists in your mind.
Your thoughts are inevitably drawn to it, like a moth attracted to flame. Your heart skips a beat whenever that metallic beep travels through the air, the sound of the door being pushed open or even closed.
You pay closer attention to when the door is opened from the inside.
The boys’ back covers the majority of the process and they’re awfully quiet when doing whatever is it that they do. But you’ve come to catch a few stray details about it. It’s not always the code that opens the door, nor is it the retinal scanner, or the fingerprint option or even the audio mechanism.
It alternates.
The door-opening mechanisms change everyday in an irregular pattern, too confusing for you to even try and figure it out. Not just that, but the codes are updated every day as well. The punching of the keypad sounds different each time you try to listen, the words they whisper into the microphone resonating inconsistently on each occasion.
It’s too confusing, too complex and your memory doesn’t cooperate when you need it to. It’s a complete disgrace. It frustrates you so much that your eyes can’t stop being constantly drawn to it.
Much like right.
You realize with a startle that Valarr has stopped talking, his eyes following your fixed gaze before returning to your face. He stares at you, not exactly surprised but perhaps a bit... amused?
“... it was my idea.”
That grabs your attention. “Hm?”
“It was my idea.” he nods towards the door, “The door. Had it custom made, very specific design. State of the art technology gadgets. It cost us a fortune."
He smiles.
"Aerion doesn’t like it any better than you do, thinks it’s too much trouble.”
Your lips twist.
“He’s not wrong.” you whisper.
“He’s not wrong.” Valarr repeats slowly, nodding his head. “That’s true. It’s a lot of trouble. More for us than you, really. But I thought you’d prefer it this way.”
You look at him, not sure whether to be confused or angry.
“Why would I?”
Valarr gives you a pointed look, tilting his head.
“Well, maybe because instead of the door, Aerion suggested we keep you chained to the bed.”
A cold feeling spreads in your body, twisting your guts. You look at Valarr, horrified. What?
He only shrugs his shoulders.
“He wondered why should we go through the effort of tiptoeing around the door all the time when we could have it the easy way. A chain on your feet or your neck and problem solved. You’d be bed bound the entire time, unable to leave or to roam around. Easy fix, right?”
His hand lands on top of yours, warm and comforting, as your brain attempts to process the harsh scenario of what could’ve been. An image pops up in your mind, uncalled for.
Of you laying on the bed, writhing and twisting but never getting far away, held down by a steel chain that digs into your skin, Aerion’s hands travelling up and down your body, touching it without pudor or fear, taking what he wants…
“I rejected that option." he assures you, softly. "Because you deserve better. Because you don’t deserve to be that miserable, like a bird whose wings were stripped away.”
Valarr steps closer. His palm cups your cheek, thumb slowly rubbing the skin. He gently steers your face up, making you meet his eyes. Demanding for your attention, despite the bucket of cold, freezing water he just threw at you.
“... it’s not always gonna be like this.”
When you only blink at him, he continues.
“I know you don’t exactly enjoy being locked up here. I understand that. I’m sorry about that too. But this is just a temporary arrangement. Only until you give me and Aerion enough reasons to trust you.”
Your stomach flips.
“I’ll… be able to go upstairs?”
Valarr nods, a small smile gracing his pretty lips.
“Eventually.” he confirms. “We have a pretty big garden, I think you’re gonna love it. The gardener is working on planting flowers, your favorites. Maybe one day you can tend to them yourself.”
“Then there’s the infinity pool, heated of course cause you hate cold water. Ah, and Aerion wants to show you the game room, he can’t wait to beat you in a bowling match but between you and me, my money is on you.”
Valarr chuckles and for a moment, you let your imagination run wild. Just for a moment. Just for a very small, short moment.
Not with them, never them. But the outside world.
There’s a flicker of hope reigniting inside you, at the possibility of feeling the sun’s warmth kiss your skin or to be able to fill your lungs with fresh, pure air. You don't even remember what fresh air feels like anymore.
“The perimeter of the property is well-guarded, we made sure of it. No one gets past our security team. You’d be safe to wander around the entire grounds and no one would stop you.”
Valarr speaks as though that's a compromise. As though it's your safety they'd be concerned about when the truth is clear for all who can see.
And then reality dawns on you. You’d be able to go outside - a promise that has no grounds to be trusted in the first place - but at what cost?
By playing along in their delusional game and losing your sanity and self-respect in the process. By losing yourself in the middle of achieving whatever illusion of freedom they want to trick you with. By being their willing puppet.
Valarr seems to catch onto your distress and his tone loses some of the enthusiasm. He pulls his hand away from you and crosses his arms.
“Like I said, the security team is pretty solid. No one gets inside without our permission.”
He looks at you, brown eyes fleeting to your lips before returning to back to your eyes.
“And no one gets out either.”
-
Yes. I am planning a part 2.
No. I don't know when it's getting posted. One day.
AN: Yes. Aerion and Valarr united to keep a girl hostage. Whatever it takes to strenghten the familiar bond, right?
Okay, now yes, this is the last work for a while, this time for real. This is the last work I had on my drafts, so yeah - I'm done for now. I'll post again when I'm finally getting somewhere with my dissertation and God knows that's gonna take forever.
Comments and reblogs are very much appreciated, but a reblog with a comment is even better. Thanks 💗 Let me know if you like this. Enjoy!
--
Tears silently roll down your cheeks, falling like incessant rain.
Your vision is all but a blur, clouded with the salty wetness. Some tears land on your lap, others slip down your neck but you make no effort to clean them. There’s no point to it, you’re already a mess. You sniff, making a small whistling noise as you struggle to breathe with a nose that becomes more stuffed by the minute.
A sharp thump has you flinching, the wooden table rattling when a glass cup gets slammed down with unnecessary force.
“How pathetic.”
Seated to your right on the small circular table, Aerion scrutinizes you with irritation etched to his face. His nose twists when looking at you, as if the sight of your tears is physically repulsive to him. As if he isn’t half the reason why you’re crying.
“Planning on weeping like a puppy all night?” he cruelly asks. “Stupid question. Of course you are. That’s all you ever do.”
Aerion leans closer, lowering his voice like he’s about to let you in on some secret.
“Is this part of your plan?” he asks. You can only look at him, confused. “To shed all these pretty tears and then look at us with those big sad eyes. Do you think us stupid enough to be fooled by you?”
His words are purposely cruel and you look away, a new batch of tears being revived from the mockery. When you don’t answer him, his eyes narrow down. A telltale that his patience is slowly draining.
You can’t stop the pitiful whimper that escapes from your lips when he suddenly snatches your wrist. His fingers painfully dig into the bone, squeezing hard in a warning.
“That’s enough with the fucking tears.”
“Aerion.”
His cousin intervenes, calm and composed even though there is a warning edge in his voice as he directs at Aerion. He nods towards Aerion’s grip.
“Let go of her.” he calmly requests, even though his tone indicates that such is not for discussion. “You’re hurting her.”
Aerion glares at his dark-haired cousin and for a moment there, it almost feels as though his impulsive anger will get the best of him. Watching the two men fiercely argue is common, especially as the smallest of inconveniences seems to trigger their completely opposite personalities and make them clash against each other.
For a moment, it looks like one of their fierce arguments is about to break. But then the moment passes and so does Aerion’s irritation. It doesn’t entirely go away but it subsides just enough to give you space to breathe.
Aerion rolls his eyes, lifting finger by finger until your hand is entirely released. He slumps on the chair, tongue poking into the inside of his cheek as he stares at you.
“Do not pity her too much, cousin. She has a thing for dramatics. I barely touched her and that already got her panties in a twist.” he says, considering you with a dangerous glint in his violet eyes. “Makes me wonder how pathetic she’s gonna act when I finally fuck her.”
Your heart drops.
It’s gonna happen eventually, you know that. You’re not stupid or naive enough to believe that Aerion or Valarr would take a chastity vow for the rest of their lives just because you don’t want them. You not wanting them didn’t stop them from quite literally kidnapping you and keeping you hostage in their basement.
But still, just the thought is disheartening in more ways than one.
The rest of your life…
You don’t want to spend your entire life trapped by a couple of mad cousins who seem to believe that keeping a girl locked tight in their basement is the solution for their obsession. You don’t want to be anywhere near them or to look at their faces or to listen to their voices or to pretend to be a good girl.
You don’t want to spend the rest of life at their mercy… and yet the possibility of such happening is frighteningly real.
“Shut up. Do you always have to ruin dinner with your nonsense?” Valarr shakes his head with a sigh.
“She’s the one ruining it with her tears and snot, not me.”
Humiliation burns in your face as you hastily swipe your palms across your cheeks, wiping down your cheeks. Your nose embarrassingly whistles again as you try to breathe in.
Valarr gently calls out your name.
“Don’t listen to him. Aerion is an idiot who doesn’t own a shred of decency.”
Aerion grunts something that awfully sounds like a curse, but Valarr pays him no mind.
He glances at you, swiftly cutting down the chicken tender in his plate into smaller pieces before lifting them over to your plate. An attentive thought, given how the plastic cutlery you are given barely works.
Valarr eyes your plate. “Eat your food, sweetheart. It’s getting cold.”
Aerion snorts from his seat, rolling his eyes condescendingly.
“Yes, sweetheart, eat your food. And clean that damn nose. All that whistling and sniffling is making me lose appetite.”
To say that you’re mortified is an understatement, you want nothing more than to disappear from the face of the Earth at that comment. You blow your nose with a napkin as quietly as you can, not needing more of Aerion’s insults.
Valarr snorts. “I’d say your lost appetite has more to do with uncle Maekar calling than anything else. What did he want, anyways?”
“Same as usual, that old man says that…”
Their conversation gets lost on you as you focus on the food, a small sharp pain in your gut reminding you of the lunch you skipped.
The plate placed in front of you has long gone cold, but it still looks good. The chicken Valarr cut for you is neatly organized to the side, near the small stack of oven-cooked potatoes, greens and vegetables. Healthy. Fresh.
Picking up the plastic fork, you shove some food into your mouth. It tastes good, like it always does. Seasoned but not overly so. Cooked just perfectly. The type of food that is served in upscale restaurants.
Your mind drifts towards the rectangular service elevator located in the wall of the kitchenette, where the food arrives everyday without fail. Spacious enough to fit a maximum of a couple of food trays, but small enough to prevent a human body from crawling inside.
Aerion once complained about their private chef’s attitude in the mornings and so it’s not hard to put the pieces together into the puzzle and figure out that there’s a person working on a daily basis upstairs. More than one, most likely.
The Targaryen family is wealthy enough to cause envy to most billionaires in the world and surely their sons have a full, large team of staff and employees to take care of their shared house. Private chefs, housekeepers, maids, managers, security.
You’ve lost count of the days, but your captivity time couldn’t be over two weeks.
Two weeks of sending food to the basement.
Two weeks of the boys visiting the basement.
And while their visits are irregular and at odd hours, there’s not a single day they haven’t showed up. You always have dinner together, but they also show up throughout the day to visit you. Sometimes together. Sometimes taking turns.
Aerion and his arrogant attitude, always ready to taunt you about how miserable he can make your life if you don’t start acting right with them. Valarr and his gentle voice, always whispering soft comforting words that hide away his true intentions.
Do their staff not notice their prolonged visits to the downstairs floor or are they paid enough to keep their minds and their eyes strictly to their work? Perhaps they simply don’t care. No one cares. And that means that you’ll rot in this stupidly comfortable basement for the rest of your life.
A lone tear escapes from your eye and you quickly swipe at it, not wanting the barely contained dam to break loose.
Again.
–
Sunday morning you wake up to find Aerion in the living room.
You’re still half dazed from a night of poor sleep and ruthless insomnia, rubbing the exhaustion from your eyes when you realize with a startle that silver-haired boy is on the couch. You stop by the doorway, legs locking up the moment you catch sight of him.
It’s not the first time Aerion has randomly made himself comfortable in the basement apartment, showing unnanounced. Valarr often does the same. It’s almost as if they take turns in checking up on you in person, despite their state-of-the-art vigilance system.
Or maybe their visits are just a strategic step in their plan, a way to force you to become accustomed to their presence around you. If that’s the purpose, you refuse to let it happen.
Much to your dismay though, Aerion only ever drops in the most random occasions. Forcing you to quietly endure his presence while he drops to the mattress and scrolls down on his phone while laying in your bed as if you’re not even there. Sometimes he shows up for something as random as using the en-suite bathroom, only to leave right after.
And sometimes, he comes with the sole purpose of terrorizing you.
The memory is still fresh of when he forced you to accept a shoulder massage, some lousy excuse on how tightly wound up you were and that you needed to relax. Only for the said massage to involve his hands wandering far too low and his fingers painfully digging into your muscles.
And when he caught sight of the tears silently tracking down your face, he snapped. Pushed you away from him with a force that sent you to the floor. Yelled at you for being an ungrateful bitch, that he was only being nice. As if he was the victim, which couldn’t be further from the truth.
While Valarr is always somewhat predictable, Aerion is the complete opposite. He’s fire. Dangerous and uncontrollable, always burning himself and others. He’s volatile. There’s never knowing of his moods, never knowing if ignoring him is gonna make him furiously snap at you or if he’ll just roll his eyes and leave you be.
He’s unpredictable and that’s perhaps what frightens you the most about him. One wrong word can either earn you a sharp slap to the cheek or a just a roll of the eyes - and there’s never telling which one will happen.
So that’s why your heart skips a beat at the sight of Aerion slumped on the couch, feet propped up on the small coffee table.
You try not to stare too hard because of his clothes. Or the lack of them, given how he’s only sporting grey sweatpants. His toned torso is on full display, the black ink of a three-headed dragon on his forearm making a formidable contrast against his pale skin. A monster Aerion seems to be particularly fascinated about, some obsessive connection to the roots of his family history.
Aerion doesn’t look at you. His violet eyes are fixed on the television, though the sound is completely off. A great way to watch television indeed.
He doesn’t acknowledge you, although it’s impossible not to have heard you coming and so you stand at the doorway for a few moments, resisting the temptation to just go back to your room and slip back under the covers until he goes away to do whatever he does on the weekends. But the smell of the delicious waft of fresh donuts coming from the kitchenette has your stomach aching.
In the end your hunger wins and you make an effort to push back the discomfort that gathers in your bones, an instinctive reaction to Aerion’s presence in your vicinity, as you walk across the living room till you reach the corner where the kitchenette is located.
You set the coffee machine working and eye the tray on the counter.
Every morning the kitchen sends down a variety of breakfast pastries. Freshly baked, soft dough and still warm from the oven. Smelling so heavenly that your mouth waters just by looking at the elegant display of donuts, croissants and pancakes.
And it tastes even better than its enticing appearance, you have to hold back from moaning as your teeth sink into a fluffy donut, the sugar glaze melting in your tongue.
You’re halfway through a sugar-sprinkled croissant when Aerion speaks.
“Come here.”
You glance at him and find his violet eyes already settled upon you. He takes his feet off the table and sits straighter on the couch. When you remain posted by the counter a moment too long, his eyebrows rise.
“Come here or I’ll get you here myself.”
His words are said with a plain tone and yet they are enough to get you moving. You make your way to the couch without wasting time. Once you are within his reach, Aerion snatches your hand and rudely tugs you towards him.
You land in his lap with a motion that is as painful as it is graceless and Aerion grunts. Tension surges through your body when his arm snakes around your waist like a reinforced chain, keeping you grounded to him.
With his other hand, he brings your hand to his mouth and takes a bite of your half-eaten croissant.
He stares lecherously with provocation in his eyes as his tongue slithers to his lower lip, licking away the sugar powder. It takes nearly every ounce of self-control not to make your repulsion too obvious and even so the corners of your lips twist downwards.
“Tastes sweet.” he comments, the tip of his tongue still languidly darting at his lips. “Do you like sweet things?”
You writhe before looking away, setting your eyes on the big screen.
Aerion chuckles lightly but lets you ignore him, thankfully. He seems to be in a good mood, those days quite rare.
You were already half-imagining him angrily pushing you to the floor but instead he drags you closer with his arm, settling your back against his bare chest, tucking his chin over your shoulder.
You remain like that for a while, the silence settling between you.
It’s far from comfortable, with you trying not to move on his lap while pretending to watch the screen when in reality you couldn’t be any less interested in seeing a blood-filled scene of what appears to be a criminal investigation show.
You are as though a statue, mentally struggling and shallow breathing, while Aerion is seemingly more than comfortable. The minutes drag by with the pace of a snail, excruciatingly slow.
One episode of the show ends and another begins and yet Aerion seems perfectly content in keeping you captive in his suffocating embrace.
At one point, Aerion begins to caress your arm.
Long fingers moving up and down the length of your arm in smooth movements, fingertips drawing light patterns on the exposed skin. Goosebumps erupt in your skin. His touch feels too intimate, body against body, skin against skin. You don’t even know if he’s doing this on purpose or if it’s genuinely an unconscious gesture.
Either way it messes with your head, a bad feeling in your stomach as you dread the moment he gets bored of innocent touches and his hands graduate into wandering to more intimate regions.
Valarr shows up halfway through the third episode.
By then, your legs have gone stiff from the awkwardness of sitting in someone else’s lap, your mind coming up with all sorts of excuses only to reject them out of fear of triggering Aerion back into his cruel persona.
Aerion’s arm tightens around your waist at the sound of the door opening but remains quiet otherwise. Valarr repeats your steps, freezing by the doorway.
Only the rise of his eyebrows indicates some sort of surprise at finding you and Aerion in such a close position. Heat floods your cheeks, the awkwardness of the situation making you squirm.
“Good morning.”
You greet him back while Aerion only grunts. That has Valarr's attention shifting towards his cousin.
“As much as I hate to interrupt, there’s an emergency.” he declares, “It’s about your brother.”
“Which one?”
“Daeron.”
Aerion sneers. “Shocking.”
“Apparently he pulled Aegon out of boarding school with an excuse and now they’re both missing. Uncle Maekar wants us to help the security team in finding them.”
That doesn’t seem to please Aerion, opposite to you.
“Daeron has pulled this shit before. He’ll return in a few days when his money and booze run out. That’s what he always does anyway.” he spits, “I’m not wasting my time over a drunk brother who doesn’t wanna be found.”
Valarr looks at him, dark brows pinching.
“You have to tag along, Aerion.” he affirms. His eyes dart towards you for a second. “Or do you want your dad to show up here by surprise?”
Sharp pain blooms in your arm, where Aerion’s gentle touch has now turned into cruelty with his blunt nails digging into your skin. His irritation feels palpable as he exhales sharply, upset.
“Daeron, that fucking idiot.”
A yelp escapes you when Aerion abruptly pushes your body to the side with the roughness that is so typical to him. You wince when your arm gets trapped between the couch and your body as you fall down, part of you minimally grateful that at least he didn’t throw you onto the floor.
Aerion curses his pathetic brothers, shoulder colliding against Valarr as he angrily storms off without so much as giving you a last word. You prefer it that way, anyways.
When you finally manage to pull yourself back together, giving into the relief of at last having back your personal space and relishing into the comfort of the solid couch underneath you instead of Aerion’s lap, it’s when you realize that Valarr hasn’t moved away.
He’s staring at you with an expression on his face that you can’t decipher. Brows pushed together, eyes firmly set in you. As if he's trying to figure out something.
“... it might take a while for us to get back. Don’t wait up.”
Valarr speaks at last, giving you a last strange look before leaving.
–
Not a day goes by without you making a round on the apartment. It’s a habit that grew out of boredom as much as of necessity. You can’t stay in the basement forever. You simply… cannot.
It becomes part of your routine, a habit that engraved itself into your nearly empty schedule. You examine the entire apartment at least once a day. Twice if you’re feeling desperate enough.
There’s not a specific time to it though.
Sometimes it’s the first thing you do in the morning, sometimes you have to delay it because of Aerion or Valarr. But your mind quickly becomes restless when the hours go by and you haven’t yet searched for every nook and creek in the apartment in hopes of finding a miraculous way out.
By now the apartment’s floor plan must’ve been etched into your mind, not a single corner that yet remains unknown. Sometimes you consider writing all your findings into a notebook, note down all the details no matter how important or how insignificant they are.
You’ve always been fond of writing things down on paper, finding the physical support much more useful for when needing to clear your head and find a solution. Maybe you could even use the notes to conjure up a few plans, a path to finding back your freedom. But then you’re reminded of Aerion’s awful tendency to go through the few personal belongings you have and how his intruding hands would inevitably find your diary and you instantly give up on that idea.
You don't need to make things worse for you.
The apartment is spacious, with overhead lights that brightly illuminate the divisions during the day in a poor mimick of sunlight and then dim into a weak, gentle lightening as the hours pass till nighttime. It’s all white and beige. Clean and simple, minimalistic and yet not completely desolated.
The main door is an impossible challenge.
Not only does it have a 10 digit passcode that changes everyday but also has a retinal and fingerprint scanner as well as a voice confirmation step. All those security steps severely limit down your chances but it did cross your mind that you could simply wait for the boys to open the door, push them aside and then make a run for it. But the same thought must’ve crossed their minds as well as they never unlock the door if you’re around.
The spacious, larg living room is divided in two areas, wide enough to have a long beige couch and a home theater television hanged to the wall as well as to host the kitchenette in a corner, a small round table next to it where you eat your meals.
The reasoning behind having a kitchenette is beyond your comprehension as there is no oven, no stove, no microwave. Only the service elevator that acts as food delivery and a bunch of locked drawers where the metal knives and glass plates are kept.
Other than that, there’s only a small fridge with cold water and ice and then a small pantry stacked full with snacks and drinks to keep you satisfied until meal time.
And then there’s your room, the king sized bed occupying the biggest part of it. There’s a very minimalistic touch to the whole division, with only the bare essentials - a small wooden wardrobe, a simple vanity, a clock on the wall. The en-suite bathroom is a small sanctuary within this nightmare, the only door with a functional lock. While there are cameras hanging on the top corner of each room - even the bedroom, the bathroom escapes from that fate. Most likely they didn’t want the gross vision of you using the toilet although you’re very certain Aerion would enjoy watch you take a shower.
As of lately the tall door that controls your freedom persists in your mind.
Your thoughts are inevitably drawn to it, like a moth attracted to flame. Your heart skips a beat whenever that metallic beep travels through the air, the sound of the door being pushed open or even closed.
You pay closer attention to when the door is opened from the inside.
The boys’ back covers the majority of the process and they’re awfully quiet when doing whatever is it that they do. But you’ve come to catch a few stray details about it. It’s not always the code that opens the door, nor is it the retinal scanner, or the fingerprint option or even the audio mechanism.
It alternates.
The door-opening mechanisms change everyday in an irregular pattern, too confusing for you to even try and figure it out. Not just that, but the codes are updated every day as well. The punching of the keypad sounds different each time you try to listen, the words they whisper into the microphone resonating inconsistently on each occasion.
It’s too confusing, too complex and your memory doesn’t cooperate when you need it to. It’s a complete disgrace. It frustrates you so much that your eyes can’t stop being constantly drawn to it.
Much like right.
You realize with a startle that Valarr has stopped talking, his eyes following your fixed gaze before returning to your face. He stares at you, not exactly surprised but perhaps a bit... amused?
“... it was my idea.”
That grabs your attention. “Hm?”
“It was my idea.” he nods towards the door, “The door. Had it custom made, very specific design. State of the art technology gadgets. It cost us a fortune."
He smiles.
"Aerion doesn’t like it any better than you do, thinks it’s too much trouble.”
Your lips twist.
“He’s not wrong.” you whisper.
“He’s not wrong.” Valarr repeats slowly, nodding his head. “That’s true. It’s a lot of trouble. More for us than you, really. But I thought you’d prefer it this way.”
You look at him, not sure whether to be confused or angry.
“Why would I?”
Valarr gives you a pointed look, tilting his head.
“Well, maybe because instead of the door, Aerion suggested we keep you chained to the bed.”
A cold feeling spreads in your body, twisting your guts. You look at Valarr, horrified. What?
He only shrugs his shoulders.
“He wondered why should we go through the effort of tiptoeing around the door all the time when we could have it the easy way. A chain on your feet or your neck and problem solved. You’d be bed bound the entire time, unable to leave or to roam around. Easy fix, right?”
His hand lands on top of yours, warm and comforting, as your brain attempts to process the harsh scenario of what could’ve been. An image pops up in your mind, uncalled for.
Of you laying on the bed, writhing and twisting but never getting far away, held down by a steel chain that digs into your skin, Aerion’s hands travelling up and down your body, touching it without pudor or fear, taking what he wants…
“I rejected that option." he assures you, softly. "Because you deserve better. Because you don’t deserve to be that miserable, like a bird whose wings were stripped away.”
Valarr steps closer. His palm cups your cheek, thumb slowly rubbing the skin. He gently steers your face up, making you meet his eyes. Demanding for your attention, despite the bucket of cold, freezing water he just threw at you.
“... it’s not always gonna be like this.”
When you only blink at him, he continues.
“I know you don’t exactly enjoy being locked up here. I understand that. I’m sorry about that too. But this is just a temporary arrangement. Only until you give me and Aerion enough reasons to trust you.”
Your stomach flips.
“I’ll… be able to go upstairs?”
Valarr nods, a small smile gracing his pretty lips.
“Eventually.” he confirms. “We have a pretty big garden, I think you’re gonna love it. The gardener is working on planting flowers, your favorites. Maybe one day you can tend to them yourself.”
“Then there’s the infinity pool, heated of course cause you hate cold water. Ah, and Aerion wants to show you the game room, he can’t wait to beat you in a bowling match but between you and me, my money is on you.”
Valarr chuckles and for a moment, you let your imagination run wild. Just for a moment. Just for a very small, short moment.
Not with them, never them. But the outside world.
There’s a flicker of hope reigniting inside you, at the possibility of feeling the sun’s warmth kiss your skin or to be able to fill your lungs with fresh, pure air. You don't even remember what fresh air feels like anymore.
“The perimeter of the property is well-guarded, we made sure of it. No one gets past our security team. You’d be safe to wander around the entire grounds and no one would stop you.”
Valarr speaks as though that's a compromise. As though it's your safety they'd be concerned about when the truth is clear for all who can see.
And then reality dawns on you. You’d be able to go outside - a promise that has no grounds to be trusted in the first place - but at what cost?
By playing along in their delusional game and losing your sanity and self-respect in the process. By losing yourself in the middle of achieving whatever illusion of freedom they want to trick you with. By being their willing puppet.
Valarr seems to catch onto your distress and his tone loses some of the enthusiasm. He pulls his hand away from you and crosses his arms.
“Like I said, the security team is pretty solid. No one gets inside without our permission.”
He looks at you, brown eyes fleeting to your lips before returning to back to your eyes.
“And no one gets out either.”
-
Yes. I am planning a part 2.
No. I don't know when it's getting posted. One day.
Something I want to point out is how the fandom reacts to Alicent and Maekar's parenting.Alicent is a horrible mother who doesn't deserve her children, a detestable female character, and much more.Meanwhile, many users label Maekar as "an excellent father who had the misfortune of having the children he did," "the best single dad," etc.
And it's ironic, both have a dreamy child whom they don't know how to handle and subject to a life that isn't right for him. They also have a horribly cruel son and a young son whom they send away from home at a young age.I don't support their ship as a couple, but I do see them in a similar situation. Both made mistakes; Baelor literally confirms that he would do the same as Duncan, while Maekar doesn't even reprimand him for his complete lack of courtesy towards Lord Ashford.It's not that I dislike Maekar; I like him a lot, more than Alicent herself, but it's so unfair to see how the fandom divides them. And I don't want to see any responses claiming that Maekar was a widower, a prince...a fourth son. Alicent was the queen consort, who was present at the council and had a useless husband like Viserys.
(Speaking of Alicent S1 obviously, I refuse to acknowledge the crap that is S2)
One brilliant detail that I love is that Percy's fatal flaw is loyalty, and that this is complemented by his "Achilles' heel" in his lower back, meaning they'll have to stab him in the back to finish him off.
I'm also going to mention Luke's enormous talent as a swordsman, but technically, that's his Achilles' heel, which is how you have to beat him at that.
Night lay thick over the Red Keep, the kind of night that pressed close and turned every corridor into a maze of shadows and echoes. Torches burned low in their brackets, their flames guttering softly as if they, too, were tired.
Valarr woke, at the hour of the wolf, to a sound that did not belong.
It slipped beneath his door, thin and broken, crying.
He sat up at once, heart thudding, his hair mussed and eyes still half-clouded with sleep. For a moment he wondered if he had dreamed it. Then it came again, a small, hiccupping sob, wandering rather than fixed.
Valarr rose and pulled open his door.
Rhaella was there. Alone. He looked for the guards, but he found none.
She was very small in the vast hall, barefoot on the cold stone, her nightgown wrinkled and her pale hair loose down her back. She clutched a stuffed dragon to her chest, its felt wings darkened where her tears had soaked in. As she walked, her free hand slid along the brick wall, as if the castle itself were the only thing keeping her upright.
She did not see him at first.
“Rhaella?” Valarr whispered, careful not to startle her.
She stopped, turning slowly. Her eyes were red and shining, far too big for her face. When she saw him, her breath hitched.
“I had a bad dream,” she said, the words tumbling over one another. “There was fire everywhere, and I couldn’t wake anyone. I can’t find my mother or my father or Daeron. I think I went the wrong way.”
The Red Keep was a maze even in daylight. At night, it could swallowed children whole.
Valarr stepped into the hall, shutting his door softly behind him. “It’s all right,” he said, because it felt like the right thing to say. “You don’t have to cry. You’re just lost.”
She nodded, though more tears spilled over.
Without quite knowing why, Valarr went back into his room and returned with his blanket, thick and warm, smelling faintly of smoke and clean wool. He wrapped it around her shoulders, careful and solemn.
“You can’t come into my room,” he added quickly, brows knitting with the seriousness of someone who knew rules even if he did not yet understand them. Even at his young age, he knew it wasn’t proper. He did not know why, but he knew it. “But you don’t have to be alone.”
He sat down in the open hall, his back against his door, and patted the stone beside him.
“The dreams will not come back, my father said it is a Prince’s duty to protect the innocent. I will protect you,” Valarr promises.
Rhaella curled up close, the blanket pooled around her like a nest. After a moment’s hesitation, she leaned forward and rested her head in his lap, the stuffed dragon tucked under her chin. She was still hiccuping, but she felt better.
Valarr froze.
Then, very slowly, he laid a hand over the blanket at her shoulder.
Her breathing evened. The tightness in her small body loosened. Within moments, she was asleep, tears drying on her lashes.
Valarr stayed awake as long as he could, staring down the hall, listening to the quiet pulse of the castle. Eventually his own eyes grew heavy. His head tipped back against the door, his hand still resting where it was, and sleep took him too.
Morning found them there.
His father and grandfather, already dressed for the day, rounded the corner on his way to their duties as Hand and King. They stopped short at the sight of the children.
Valarr sat slumped against the door, fast asleep, blanket wrapped around a small silver-haired girl in his lap. Rhaella breathed softly, her stuffed dragon clutched tight, utterly untroubled.
For a long moment, the two men only watched.
Then, quietly, they smiled.
King Daeron picked up his first granddaughter, rubbing her back gently as Baelor picked his own son up. He can’t remember the last time he did, Valarr was growing so quickly.
Baelor took his son back to bed while King Daeron returned his grandchild to her rooms. On his way, he ran into his daughter by law.
“My King, you shouldn’t have troubled yourself,” Dyanna says quietly as he insists on bringing Rhaella back to bed himself.
“It is no trouble, my dear. It is a welcome name day gift, to hold my granddaughter again.”
Sometimes I have the URGE to read a fic where the reader is a sadistic manipulator, instead of being the manipulated, and their husband is a little bitch who is manipulated by them.
Many talk about how Annabeth must have felt when Luke betrayed the camp, but few talk about how Chiron must have felt.I bet at some point he wondered, "Where did I go wrong?" after having been under his care for years. And what about how he must have felt when Luke's betrayal and rebellion led some campers to betray the camp and massacre/hurt those who remained loyal?Imagine raising children who are practically your own and then watching them destroy each other.
Everyone's talking about how Percy didn't hesitate to give up the Golden Fleece for Annabeth, but does anyone want to realize that Grover didn't hesitate for a second either?He supported Percy, then tried to talk Clarisse out of it by bringing up the sacrificed men, and finally defended Percy when Clarisse confronted him.There weren't any scenes between them before this second season, but it's really nice that their first "interaction" this season is like this.
