WELCOME TO MY BLOG!

[ladysoupmuncher]

recent chapter broke my heart 💔 but at least readers free from her weird ass family 🥲 can’t imagine the crash out Valarr is going to have

Yesss!!…I feel bad my the reader because like at the end of the day she still knows that there’s going to be more problems in the future, especially when the other suitors find out about the engagement between the reader and Valarr. She really held everything in ever since she was a child and the recent chapter is her finally letting go.

Vaeloris’s death was the final straw for the reader, making her snap. And to be honest, imagine being locked in your room after you just saw your baby brother die right in front of you(especially when your father blames you) I would go insane…

[ladysoupmuncher]

Rise of the Dragon Dreamer - Yandere A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms Chapter 19

Disclaimer: Death, angst, gore, really sensitive themes, short chapter, changes of akotsk plot, NOT PROOFREAD. Read the introduction so you won't be confused. MASTERLIST

It was your fault.

At least, that was what the grief whispered to you as you sat on the cold floor, your back pressed against the locked door. Perhaps your father had been right. Perhaps you should have listened when he told you not to go out so often, perhaps you should have been more careful, more watchful, instead of believing that everything would be alright.

When you had burst into Vaeloris’s chambers and found him sleeping peacefully, you had thought your dreams were simply confusing you once again, showing you fragments without the full picture and leaving you to make sense of something that had not yet happened. You had seen Vaeloris safe in his bed, heard his sleepy voice call you Sister, and for a moment you had believed the terrible feeling in your stomach was nothing more than another meaningless warning you had misunderstood.

If only you had known.

If only you had carried him out of his chambers the moment you arrived.

Perhaps if you had not sat beside him and spoken with him, if you had not wasted those precious moments talking about things that suddenly seemed so meaningless, you could have gotten him out sooner.

Perhaps he would still be here.

The thoughts came relentlessly, each one finding another moment for you to blame yourself for.

You remembered his hand holding yours, the way he had smiled when you told him he was never too old to play, the little laugh that escaped him when you teased him about being short.

You had found him safe.

You had thought you still had time.

And now, all you could do was sit alone behind a locked door and wish you had understood your dreams sooner.

You were not permitted to leave your chambers. Your father had ordered the guards to keep the door locked, convinced that you had lost your senses after what had happened in the hall and after you had tried to strike him. Worse still, he blamed you for Vaeloris’s death, and a part of you feared that perhaps he was right.

If you had not gone out so often, perhaps those men would never have noticed you. Perhaps they would never have followed you, never returned seeking revenge, and perhaps Vaeloris would still be here.

The thought twisted painfully inside you.

You felt selfish. You had put your own wants before everything else, wanting the freedom to leave the castle, to see the world beyond its walls, to spend time with people you cared for without thinking of what it might cost.

You would give anything to undo it now.

You wished you had simply stayed inside the castle walls, obeyed every command, never wandered beyond them, never crossed paths with those men, never met Duncan.

Perhaps then Vaeloris would still be beside you, teasing you, holding your hand, calling you Sister as he always had.

Perhaps you would have given up every freedom you had ever wanted if it meant having your little brother back.

The maids came to your chambers only when ordered, bringing you food and helping you bathe, but there was little else between you. They did not ask questions, and you did not offer answers. Perhaps it was better that way.

You did not want to speak to anyone.

You did not want to hear words of comfort, nor did you want anyone looking at you with pity. You simply wanted to be left alone with your thoughts, even if those thoughts had become your own worst enemy.

The number of times your cousins and uncles came to your door became almost unbearable. They tried to speak with you, to see whether you were alright, but you wanted nothing from them—not their sympathy, not their reassurance, and certainly not their questions.

Aerion had tried more than once to force his way inside, kicking at the door and demanding that you let him in until the guards ordered him away. Baelor came often as well, standing outside your chambers and speaking through the door, patiently asking you to answer him even when you remained silent. Maekar made his attempts too, though he never seemed to know quite what to say, while Daeron would sit outside and talk about the most meaningless things, telling you stories about his day as though he could somehow make the world feel normal again.

Then there was Valarr, who seemed determined not to give up on you.

He would sit outside your chambers for hours, speaking softly through the door and assuring you that things would eventually be alright, that you would not be alone, that one day you would become his wife and everything would be better.

You never answered any of them.

Their voices became nothing more than sounds beyond the door, reminders of a world you no longer wished to face.

Even if you hated them, a part of you wished they had been at the castle that night. Perhaps one of them could have prevented it. Perhaps Aerion, Baelor, Maekar, or Daeron might have noticed the intruders, or perhaps Valarr would have heard the commotion before it was too late. Anyone would have been better than no one.

But they had not been there.

The guards who should have been watching the halls had been drinking and celebrating with your father, while the very men who might have protected you and Vaeloris were nowhere to be found.

They had all been with the maesters, recovering from the trial.

And while they were being tended to, your little brother had been left completely unprotected.

You could not understand why the Gods had chosen to make you a dreamer if you could not even save your own brother. What good were the visions, the fragments, the warnings that came to you in the night, if they only showed you pieces of the truth when it was already too late?

You had seen the goblet fall.

You had remembered the scream, the blood, the dagger.

The Gods had shown you something was coming, yet they had never shown you enough to stop it.

For the first time, you wondered if being a dreamer was not a gift at all, but a cruel burden—to see pieces of what was yet to come and still be powerless to change it.

And of all the things the Gods could have warned you about, why could they not have simply shown you how to save Vaeloris?

You grunted softly as you threaded the needle through the cloth once more, pulling the thread carefully through the intricate stitching. The tapestry was nearly complete now, its pattern slowly coming together beneath your hands, though you scarcely cared for the beauty of it anymore. Your fingers continued working out of habit, giving your restless mind something to cling to while the silence of your chambers pressed heavily around you.

You stared down at the unfinished section, guiding the thread through the fabric again and again, your thoughts drifting back to Vaeloris despite your best efforts.

Almost finished.

You wished everything else could be so easily repaired.

You wanted out.

Gods, you felt trapped, so utterly stuck within the walls of your chambers that even the familiar room had begun to feel like a prison. The same walls surrounded you, the same locked door stood between you and the rest of the castle, and every day seemed to blur into the next.

You wanted to walk through the gardens again, to hear the voices beyond your chambers, to feel the wind against your face without wondering whether someone was waiting outside the door to keep you locked inside.

You simply wanted to be free.

But you remained where you were, the needle resting between your fingers as you stared blankly at the tapestry, knowing that no matter how badly you wished to leave, your father had made certain that you could not.

Your arms were bruised from the countless times you had thrown yourself against the door, pounding your fists against the wood in desperate attempts to break free. The marks had begun to fade in some places, only to be replaced by new ones as the days passed, but you barely noticed them anymore.

You had tried everything.

You had shouted until your voice grew hoarse, begged the guards to let you out, and struck the door until your hands ached, yet the lock never moved.

Now you sat quietly with your arms resting in your lap, staring at the bruises scattered across them.

The sight made your chest tighten.

You could hear the maids whispering beyond your door, their voices muffled by the heavy wood but still clear enough for you to hear.

“She is mad.”

“She tried to kill her own father.”

The words settled heavily in the silence of your chambers.

There it was again.

The same thing you had heard ever since you were a child.

Mad.

You stared down at your hands, your fingers tightening around the thread. No matter how many years passed, no matter how hard you tried to prove otherwise, the word always seemed to find its way back to you.

Perhaps that was all they would ever see when they looked at you.

Not a princess.

Not a daughter.

Not a sister who had tried desperately to save her brother.

Only a girl they believed was crazy.

Sometimes, you wished you had never been born.

Perhaps, if you had never entered this world, you would never have had to become your father’s daughter, never had to live beneath the weight of his expectations or endure the whispers that followed you through the castle. You would never have met your uncles and cousins, never formed the bonds that now made losing them—or fearing them—hurt so deeply.

Perhaps you would never have been a dreamer either.

No visions. No strange fragments of the future. No waking with the certainty that something terrible was coming, only to understand what the Gods had shown you when it was already too late.

Perhaps you would have lived an ordinary life somewhere far away, untouched by crowns, trials, bloodshed, and the endless expectations placed upon your shoulders.

For just a moment, you allowed yourself to imagine such a life.

Then the thought faded, leaving only the quiet of your chambers behind.

You stood and crossed to the nearby table, pulling a fresh sheet of parchment toward you before dipping your quill into the ink. You began to write, slowly at first, then with increasing urgency as the words poured from you, filling the page with everything you had been unable to say aloud.

Your grip tightened around the quill until your fingers ached, yet you barely noticed. Tears slipped quietly down your cheeks, and every so often you paused to wipe them away with the back of your hand before continuing, your vision blurring as you tried to keep your composure.

You wrote a long letter, filling the parchment with everything you needed to say, every word carrying the weight of the days you had spent locked away and the grief you had been unable to escape.

When you finally reached the end, your hand was aching from how tightly you had held the quill. You set it down slowly, sniffling as you read over the letter through tear-filled eyes before carefully folding the parchment.

You sat alone on the edge of your bed, staring blankly at the floor as the silence of your chambers pressed heavily around you. For a while, you managed to keep yourself composed, but the tears soon returned, slipping quietly down your cheeks before your shoulders began to tremble.

You covered your face with your hands, trying to contain the sobs, but they only grew heavier.

Your mind returned to that night again and again, replaying every moment you wished you could change—the moment you left your chambers, the moment you found Vaeloris sleeping peacefully, the time you spent beside him believing everything was fine, and the moment you finally realized what your dream had been trying to tell you.

You blamed yourself for every part of it.

If you had been more careful, perhaps things would have been different. If you had understood the warning sooner, perhaps you could have protected him. If you had taken him with you the moment you entered his chambers, perhaps he would still be alive.

You knew there was no way to change the past, yet your mind refused to let it go, turning every memory into another reason to blame yourself.

Your tears fell freely now as you curled against yourself, wishing desperately that you could return to that night and make a different choice.

But the past remained untouched.

And Vaeloris was still gone.

You noticed the window, wide open, the only view you had been given since being confined to your chambers. At least you still had the fresh air.

You slowly rose from the bed and walked toward it, wiping the tears from your cheeks with the back of your hand as you approached. The evening sky stretched beyond the castle walls, painted in the fading light of sunset, and for a moment, you simply stood there watching the colors slowly disappear.

You rested your hands against the stone frame and looked out over the grounds.

Then your gaze drifted downward.

You were high above the ground, far higher than you had realized, and the sight made your stomach twist. You immediately stepped back from the window, putting several paces between yourself and the edge.

You turned your attention toward the sunset again, breathing slowly as the cool evening air brushed against your face.

For a moment, you simply stood there, watching the last light fade.

The pain in your chest felt unbearable, grief pressing so heavily upon you that even breathing seemed difficult. As a child, you had always believed that things would become better once you were grown, that the troubles of childhood would eventually pass and you would finally understand what it meant to be happy.

Instead, everything had only become more complicated.

You had a crown you never asked for, expectations you could never escape, a father who seemed to blame you for everything, and now a little brother who would never again run into your chambers or take your hand.

For a fleeting moment, you found yourself wishing for another life entirely.

Perhaps you could be born again somewhere far from castles and crowns, into an ordinary family where your father loved you without conditions, where your mother had time to sit beside you and laugh, and where you had a little brother who grew old beside you instead of leaving the world far too soon.

You did not want to be a princess.

You would have given up the silks, the jewels, the servants, the titles—all of it—without hesitation if it meant having a simple life filled with people who loved one another.

You would rather have been poor.

You would rather have lived in a small house with little to your name.

Anything would have been enough, so long as you could have called it home.

You climbed onto the broad stone windowsill, steadying yourself with one hand against the frame as the evening wind swept through your silver hair. For a moment, you simply stood there, looking out over the vast castle grounds as the last light of sunset faded beyond the horizon. 

You knew that once you were freed from your room, you would never be free; nothing would have changed. Your brother would still be dead, your father would still not love you; you would still have to deal with your family.

“You shall stand where the wind calls your name, high above all who would cage you. And in that moment, you will choose between the sky that tempts you… and the earth that still claims you.”

The words came back to you suddenly, spoken a few days ago by the fortune teller when you, Egg, and Duncan had stood together and listened to the strange prophecy.

You had never understood what the words meant. At the time, you had thought they were simply another cryptic warning meant to frighten you, another riddle from someone who claimed to see what the Gods had hidden from mortal eyes.

But now, standing before the open window with the evening wind brushing against your silver hair, you remembered every word.

And suddenly, they made sense.

Gods, they made far too much sense.

High above all who would cage you.

Your eyes drifted beyond the window as the prophecy repeated itself in your mind.

Now you finally know.

“My heart?”

Your mother knocked softly upon the door, waiting for an answer that never came.

“I have brought you some food. The maids were supposed to bring it, but I insisted that I would come myself.”

Silence.

Her expression fell as she rested her hand against the door.

“My heart… I know what happened to your brother has hurt you. It has hurt all of us. I have asked your father to let you out and said that it wasn't your fault but he would not listen."

Still, nothing.

Your mother exchanged a troubled glance with the guards before motioning toward the door.

“Unlock it.”

The guard obeyed, turning the key in the lock before pushing the heavy door open.

“My heart, I—”

She stopped.

The room was empty.

Her eyes immediately swept across the chamber, searching for you, but there was no sign of you anywhere.

“Guards,” she said sharply, turning toward them. “Did you let the princess out?”

“No, Your Grace,” one of them answered immediately. “No one has entered or left these chambers.”

Your mother slowly set the tray of food upon the table, her unease growing by the second.

“No…”

She hurried toward the bed, pulling back the sheets and looking beneath it before crossing to the adjoining chamber and throwing open the door.

Nothing.

She searched behind the curtains, inside the wardrobe, even beneath the furniture, her movements becoming increasingly frantic.

“My heart?”

Her voice echoed through the empty chamber.

She turned toward the guards, her face paling.

“Find her.”

Then, louder—

“Find my daughter!”

The guards immediately scattered, rushing into the corridors as your mother remained frozen in the middle of the room, staring at the open window.

Her eyes slowly widened.

“Gods…”

She walked slowly toward the window, each step heavier than the last, silently praying to the Gods that whatever dreadful thought had entered her mind was not true. Her hands trembled as she reached the stone frame, and she hesitated for a moment before looking down.

A scream tore from her.

She stumbled backward, collapsing to her knees as her hands flew to her mouth, her face draining of color.

“No…”

The word came out barely above a whisper.

The guards rushed toward her, but she could only stare downward, tears already spilling from her eyes as the terrible realization settled over her.

Your mother could barely breathe, her chest heaving as tears streamed down her face. She stared downward, trembling so violently that she could hardly remain upright.

“My daughter…” she whispered, her voice breaking. “My only daughter…”

She covered her mouth, a sob escaping as the words she could barely bring herself to say left her lips.

“She’s gone…”

Her hands shook as she looked toward the guards, her expression filled with terror and disbelief.

Your mother forced herself to stand, though her legs barely seemed capable of carrying her. She could scarcely breathe as she hurried through the corridors, tears streaming down her face, the image she had just witnessed refusing to leave her mind.

She reached the court and threw the doors open.

Every head turned.

Your father looked up from his seat, clearly annoyed by the interruption, but whatever he was about to say died upon his lips when he saw her. Your mother crossed the hall without hesitation, her face pale and wet with tears, and struck him across the face before anyone could stop her.

The court erupted.

“Your Grace!”

The guards rushed forward, catching her by the arms as she struggled against them, but she barely seemed to notice. Her eyes remained fixed upon your father, filled with a grief so raw that even the surrounding knights fell silent.

“Let me go!” she cried, her voice breaking. “Let me go!”

“What is the meaning of this?” your father demanded, rising from his seat.

Your mother stared at him, struggling to catch her breath.

“Your daughter…”

The words barely left her mouth.

Lord Ashford, standing nearby, turned toward her, his expression immediately changing.

“What has happened, Your Grace?”

Your mother shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“I found her.”

Your father went still.

“Where is she?” he asked.

Your mother looked at him with disbelief, as though she could hardly understand how he could still ask.

“Below the tower.”

Silence fell over the court.

Your father's face slowly drained of color.

“She was alone,” your mother continued, her voice trembling. “Locked inside that room. You ordered the guards to keep her there, and you left her there alone.”

“Enough,” your father said quietly.

“No.”

Her voice cracked through the hall.

“No, it is not enough.”

She fought against the guards again, tears streaming down her face.

“You blamed her. You told her that Vaeloris's death was her fault, and then you locked her away when she was already grieving. She needed her mother. She needed her family. She needed someone to tell her that what happened was not her fault.”

Your father said nothing.

“You left her alone with all of it,” she continued, her voice shaking with anger. “And now she is gone.”

Lord Ashford lowered his head, unable to meet her eyes.

Your mother looked toward him, then back at your father.

“Two of my children are gone.”

Her voice broke completely.

“Two.”

She covered her mouth, trying desperately to hold herself together, but another sob escaped.

“First Vaeloris… and now my daughter.”

The words seemed to strike your father harder than her hand had.

Your mother stared at him through her tears.

“How many more must I lose before you realize what you have done?”

The court remained utterly silent.

Even your father had no answer.

Your mother sank slowly into the nearest chair, as though the strength had finally left her legs. She covered her face with both hands, her shoulders trembling as quiet sobs escaped her.

No one spoke.

Your father remained standing across the room, staring at her, while Lord Ashford stood silently nearby, his expression heavy with grief.

Your mother lowered her hands, tears still streaming down her face.

“My children…” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “My poor children…”

She looked toward the empty doorway, as though she half expected you to walk through it, just as you had done countless times before.

But you did not.

Her gaze fell to the floor.

She began to cry again, softer this time, the kind of crying that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than words could reach.

She had lost Vaeloris.

And now she had lost you.

For several moments, she simply sat there, alone in her grief, while the court remained silent around her.

Author's note: Hi guys...so I cried while writing this haha...ha. I'm sorry if this is not what you guys were expecting but this is what I had in my mind from the start so yah. I hope you liked this chapter even if it's...yah. Anyways, If you have anything to say please say it in the comments! Please like and reblog if you like it, thank you!

Taglist: @moontides19 @softycheol @readersassemble5 @noone1233nobody @shiraa32 @qardasngan @memeorydotcom@fairly-feral@shouto-raki (If I forgot to tag you, please tell me.)

[ladysoupmuncher]

Rise of the Dragon Dreamer - Yandere A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms Chapter 18

Disclaimer: Trial of Seven, cursing, brutal (kinda), death, attempted murder, angst, abuse, NOT PROOFREAD. Read the introduction so you won't be confused. MASTERLIST

The maids tighten the laces of your dress, pulling them until the fabric sits firmly around your waist, making each breath feel more difficult than the last. You sit still and try not to complain as they fuss over every fold and fastening, but the uneasiness in your chest refuses to disappear. Today was the Trial of Seven, and despite everything you had done to find men willing to stand beside Duncan, you could not shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

One of the maids moves behind you and begins brushing your hair, carefully working through each strand before dividing it into sections and weaving them into tight braids. With every pull, your scalp begins to ache, but you say nothing, keeping your eyes fixed on your reflection.

You hardly recognize the person staring back at you.

You had dreamt of blood during the night, though the memory comes to you in broken fragments. There had been shouting, the sound of screams filling your ears, and an overwhelming sense of fear that had followed you even after you woke. You had tried to convince yourself that the dream meant nothing, that it was simply your mind preparing itself for the trial that awaited you.

But something about it had felt different.

You close your eyes for a moment, hoping the feeling will pass, yet the uneasiness only grows stronger. Your fingers tighten around the fabric of your dress as you take a slow breath, trying to calm yourself.

The Trial of Seven was supposed to decide Duncan’s fate.

You had found him men.

You had done everything you could.

So why did it feel as though none of it would be enough?

The maid finishes the final braid and steps back, admiring her work, but you barely notice. Your eyes remain fixed upon your reflection, your thoughts consumed by the strange certainty that something was waiting for you beyond those doors.

Something you could not see.

Something you could not name.

Something was wrong.

And no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself otherwise, you could not shake the feeling that today's trial would change everything.

A knock suddenly sounds against the door, sharp enough to pull you from your thoughts. You lift your head and glance toward the maids before motioning for one of them to see who it is.

They hurry toward the door and step outside, leaving you alone for a few brief moments. When the maid returns, she approaches quietly, almost as though she is afraid of being overheard.

“It is Prince Valarr, Princess,” she whispers.

Your expression immediately tightens.

You already know why he has come.

You had hoped to avoid this conversation for as long as possible, but you knew that refusing him would accomplish little. If you did not allow him inside, he would likely find another way in, and you had no desire to cause a scene before the trial.

“Let him in,” you say quietly.

The maids exchange a brief glance before nodding. One of them reaches for the door, and the soft padding of their shoes echoes across the floor as they move aside.

The door opens.

Prince Valarr steps inside, dressed in armor prepared for the Trial of Seven. The metal catches the light as he enters, and his expression remains composed as he looks around the room.

“Leave us,” he orders.

The maids immediately lower their heads and begin filing out of the room. You watch them disappear one by one before the door closes behind them, leaving you alone with the prince.

You turn your attention back to Valarr.

Neither of you speaks for several moments.

You already know what he has come to discuss.

And judging by the way he looks at you, he has no intention of leaving until the matter is settled.

“You’re going to fight beside Aerion?” you ask, turning slightly toward him. “That is surprising.”

Valarr gives a quiet chuckle, the sound doing little to ease the uneasiness already sitting in your chest.

“Well, we do have the same mission,” he says casually. “To kill the hedge knight.”

The words leave a bitter taste in your mouth. You study him through the mirror, trying to understand why he had come to you before the trial.

“Why are you here?” you finally ask.

Valarr says nothing at first. Instead, he walks across the room and sits upon the edge of your bed as though it belongs to him, making himself comfortable while you continue watching him through the mirror.

“I spoke with your father about our marriage.”

Your stomach drops.

You turn your attention toward him, your expression tightening.

“He accepted,” Valarr continues, a faint smile appearing on his face. “It took some convincing, but I managed it. I always do.”

You force yourself to nod, though your hands have tightened in your lap.

Valarr rises and walks toward you, stopping beside your chair. He kneels beside you, bringing himself level with your face before reaching up and brushing a finger lightly against your cheek.

“You’re finally mine,” he murmurs.

You feel your jaw tighten.

For a fleeting moment, you want nothing more than to slap the smug expression from his face, but you force yourself to remain still. Not today. Not before the trial. You could not afford to give him the satisfaction of seeing you lose control.

Valarr leans forward and presses a brief kiss against your cheek before pulling away.

“I told your father not to announce it yet,” he says, rising to his feet. “I do not want any trouble right now.”

You know exactly what he means.

Your cousins. Your uncles. The whispers that would spread throughout the court the moment the announcement was made. The questions, the arguments, and perhaps even those who would oppose the match openly.

“You cannot avoid it forever,” you say quietly.

Valarr gives a small nod.

“No,” he admits. “But it is better this way.”

You look at him through the mirror, your expression unreadable as the uneasiness inside you grows stronger.

The trial was only hours away, and now your marriage had been decided as well.

Yet somehow, neither was what frightened you most.

It was the feeling you had woken with that morning, the lingering certainty that something terrible was approaching, something you could neither see nor prevent.

You do not say anything for the next few minutes. You remain seated before the mirror, your gaze fixed upon your own reflection as Valarr stands behind you, the silence between you growing increasingly uncomfortable. You can still feel the faint touch of his fingers against your cheek, and you force yourself to remain composed despite the uneasiness twisting in your stomach.

After some time, Valarr lets out a quiet sigh.

“It is time to go, I’m afraid,” he says, glancing toward the door. “But do not worry. We shall have plenty of time to spend with one another soon.”

His eyes linger over you for a moment before he adds, “You look beautiful today.”

You give him a small nod, saying nothing.

Valarr rises from where he stands and straightens his armor, the metal making a quiet sound as he adjusts the straps. He walks toward the door, but just before leaving, he stops.

For a moment, he looks back at you.

You meet his gaze through the mirror, neither of you saying a word.

Then, without another word, Valarr turns and leaves the room.

The door closes behind him, and you are left alone once more.

You stare at the closed door for several moments before slowly turning back toward the mirror. The uneasy feeling in your chest has only grown stronger, and despite everything you have done to prepare for this day, you cannot shake the feeling that something is waiting beyond those doors.

Something was coming.

And somehow, you feared it had already begun.

You stand beside Duncan as he makes his way through the men who have gathered to fight alongside him, thanking each of them personally for agreeing to stand with him during the Trial of Seven. You remain a little behind him, listening quietly as he speaks to the knights, though your thoughts keep drifting back to the conversation you had with Lyonel the day before.

When you glance across the gathering, you find Lyonel already looking at you.

For a moment, your eyes meet. You give him a soft smile and a small nod, silently acknowledging what he had done for you, before turning your attention away. His words from yesterday still linger in your mind, especially the way he had agreed to help despite knowing you could not give him what he wanted.

Duncan eventually approaches Lyonel, offering him a grateful smile.

“Ser Lyonel, thank you for fighting beside me. I know what I am asking of you and your men, and I will not forget it.”

Lyonel gives a small shrug, glancing briefly in your direction before looking back at Duncan.

“Do not thank me,” he says. “Thank the Princess. She is the one who called me here. If it were not for her, I would be sitting comfortably in my tent with a cup in my hand, and I assure you, I would not have bothered coming.”

Duncan looks toward you, his expression softening with gratitude.

You give him a small smile, though your attention briefly returns to Lyonel.

He had meant every word.

He had come because you asked him to, and now he was prepared to stand beside Duncan in a trial that could cost them everything.

“Excuse me,” you said to the men, giving them a small nod as you made your way toward Egg.

Your eyes briefly passed over Ser Duncan and Ser Lyonel before settling on the boy. He stood watching them, trying his best to appear composed, though you knew him too well to be deceived. You had grown up with Egg; you could read the uneasiness in the way he held himself, even when he tried to hide it.

“Are you nervous?” you asked.

Egg looked up at you. “No.”

You raised an eyebrow, and he quickly looked away.

“Alright,” he admitted after a moment. “Perhaps a bit.”

You smiled softly and knelt before him, bringing yourself to his level.

“Do not be afraid,” you said gently. “Ser Duncan will do well. I believe in him.”

Egg watched you for a moment, then nodded.

Without warning, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you. You returned the embrace, one hand resting gently against his back while the other came up to rub his head.

“You have nothing to fear,” you murmured, giving his hair a final gentle pat.

Egg remained quiet, but you could feel some of the tension leave him.

Behind him, Ser Duncan and Ser Lyonel stood ready, unaware of the small reassurance that had passed between you and the young prince.

“And Vaeloris?” you asked. “Where is he?”

Egg’s expression shifted slightly.

“Your father would not let him come,” he said. “Not with his wounds.”

You fell silent for a moment.

A quiet sigh escaped you as you nodded, your eyes lowering briefly. You could hardly blame your father for the decision. Vaeloris was still recovering, and whatever you might have wished, wounds were not so easily dismissed.

“I see,” you murmured.

Egg nodded.

You glanced once more toward where Ser Duncan and Ser Lyonel stood, though your thoughts remained with your younger brother, wishing he could have been there beside you.

Baelor came toward you through the gathering, and for a brief moment, you fought the urge to turn away. You remained where you were, schooling your expression into something calm as he approached.

“Good morrow,” he said.

“Good morrow,” you replied, your voice polite and measured.

His eyes lingered upon you for a moment, studying your face. “You look pale. Did you sleep well last night?”

You stared at him, caught slightly off guard by the question. How could he speak so casually, as though this were any other morning? As though nothing was about to happen, as though the tension of the trial did not hang over you all.

“I slept fine, Uncle,” you answered, hoping the shortness of your reply would make your intentions clear.

You meant for the conversation to end there, and turned your attention away, refusing to give him an opening to continue.

“I would like to apologize for your father,” Baelor said, his voice quieter than before. “I do not know why he became the man he is today.”

You sighed softly, your gaze falling to the ground. You had not spoken to your father yet, nor did you know if you were ready to. There were too many thoughts weighing upon you, too many things left unsaid between the two of you.

You offered Baelor no answer, letting the silence speak for you.

Baelor stood there for a moment longer, as though he wished to say something more. In the end, he merely sighed and turned away, making his way toward his brothers.

Gods, you hated him.

You were about to walk away when you noticed Aerion watching you, his eyes fixed upon you from across the yard.

“Excited?” he asked.

“And why would I be?” you replied.

“To see me kill that hedge knight.”

Your breath hitched, but you quickly gathered yourself.

“I’m excited for you to lose, for everyone to see the coward you are.”

Aerion’s smile fell at once, his expression hardening for a brief moment. Then, slowly, that smile returned, wider than before, as though your words had amused him rather than angered him.

“At least you are excited for something related to me. That’s new.”

You scoffed, lowering your gaze as your fingers began to fidget with the stitching along your sleeves.

Aerion stepped closer. He reached out, gently lifting your chin with his hand until your eyes met his.

“Once I defeat him…” he said, his voice low, “I will take you as my price.”

His fingers brushed your cheek before he released you and walked away, leaving you standing there as the noise of the gathering seemed to fade around you.

Raymun and Dunk stood a short distance away, speaking in low voices as they watched the men gathered for the trial. You paid them little mind at first, your attention elsewhere, until Raymun’s voice carried clearly enough for you to hear.

“Six,” he said, his brow furrowing as his eyes moved from one man to the next. “They are only six.”

Dunk glanced toward him. “Six?”

Raymun nodded, recounting the men once more, his gaze lingering on each of Aerion’s supporters as though he feared he had missed one.

“Is it possible Aerion has not found a seventh to take up his claim?”

At that, your ears perked.

You turned your attention toward the men standing behind Aerion, studying them carefully. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

You counted them again, slower this time, making certain you had not overlooked someone standing further behind the others.

Six.

Your eyes narrowed slightly.

It was true. Aerion had only six men standing with him.

A small spark of hope stirred within you before you could stop it. If Aerion could not find a seventh man willing to stand for him, then perhaps the trial would not proceed as he had so confidently promised.

For the first time that morning, you found yourself watching the gathering with something other than dread.

“Raymun!” Ser Steffon shouted, his voice carrying across the yard.

You turned toward him, the skirts of your dress swishing softly around your legs as you watched him approach. He stopped before Raymun and held out a hand.

“My helm, if you please.”

Raymun immediately reached for it and handed it to him, but your attention had already shifted beyond them, your eyes sweeping across the men gathered for the trial. You counted them again, searching the crowd for the knights Ser Steffon had promised to bring for Dunk, yet there were no unfamiliar faces among them, no additional men moving toward Dunk’s side.

Your brow furrowed.

Where were the men he had promised?

“Ser Steffon,” Dunk called, stepping forward, his expression tightening with concern. “What of your friends?”

“We only need one more to make our seven,” Said Duncan, confusion written on his face./

He sighed, and the sound immediately made your stomach tighten.

“I’m afraid you need two more.”

Your eyes narrowed, disbelief flashing across your face. “What?”

Ser Steffon turned, looking toward the opposite side of the yard where Prince Aerion and his men stood waiting, and when he finally spoke, his words struck with the force of a blow.

“I fight with Prince Aerion and the accusers.”

For a moment, you could do nothing but stare at him, struggling to comprehend what you had just heard. You had watched Ser Steffon give his word to Dunk, watched him promise that he would stand beside him, and now he spoke of abandoning that promise as though it were nothing more than a forgotten courtesy.

“You said you would be fighting with Duncan,” you said, stepping toward him, your voice rising with every word. “You gave him your word, Ser Steffon. You looked him in the eye and promised that you would stand beside him.”

Ser Steffon barely reacted, his attention remaining fixed upon his helm as he prepared himself for the trial.

“Well, the prince would not have made a lord otherwise, but for thwarting Ser Duncan.”

Your expression hardened as the meaning behind his words finally settled in your mind.

“You traded your honor for lordship?”

You stepped closer, your voice lowering into a furious hiss as you stared at him with open disgust. “What kind of knight are you? You swore an oath, gave your word, and then abandoned it the moment a prince offered you something greater. You do not deserve the title of Ser, much less the honor that comes with it.”

Ser Steffon only chuckled beneath his breath, entirely unmoved by your anger, before settling his helm into place.

“It was a bargain well struck.”

You stared after him, your hands curling at your sides as he turned away, the weight of his betrayal settling heavily in the silence between you and Dunk. For a knight to sell his word so cheaply was one thing, but to do so with such pride made your blood burn hotter still; there was no honor in a bargain made at the expense of a man who had trusted you.

“Fetch me my horse,” Ser Steffon ordered, holding out a hand toward Raymun as though the boy were still bound to obey him.

Raymun’s expression hardened. He stepped forward and shoved him back, the frustration that had been simmering beneath the surface finally breaking through.

“Get him yourself.”

Ser Steffon stared at him for a moment, clearly unaccustomed to being spoken to in such a manner, but Raymun did not yield. With a dismissive scoff, Ser Steffon turned away and went to fetch his horse himself, mounting with practiced ease before riding across the yard toward the opposite side, where Prince Aerion and the other accusers waited.

You watched him go, your stomach twisting as the last hope of an even trial seemed to disappear with him.

What was Duncan going to do now?

You turned toward him, searching his face for some sign of a plan, but there was none. The confidence he had carried earlier seemed to have been stripped away, leaving only the grim reality of the numbers before him.

“We are lost,” Duncan said quietly.

Before you could respond, Raymun stepped forward.

“Knight me,” he said, his voice steady despite the gravity of what he was asking. “I will take my cousin’s place.”

Duncan stared at him, hesitation written plainly across his face. You could see that something troubled him, something that made him unwilling to grant the boy what he asked.

Then Ser Lyonel stepped forward.

Without a word, he drew his sword, the steel catching the light as he turned toward Raymun.

“Go,” Lyonel said. “I shall give Squire Raymun his knighthood.”

Duncan looked at him for a moment before finally giving a reluctant nod.

You watched Lyonel carefully, your heart tightening at the sight of him stepping forward to take on yet another burden when so much already rested upon his shoulders.

His eyes found yours.

For a brief moment, neither of you spoke.

You gave him a small nod, a silent thank you for what he was about to do.

Then you turned away, leaving them to the ceremony as the trial drew ever closer.

“Ser Duncan, we cannot delay any further,” Lord Ashford said, his voice carrying across the yard as the murmurs of the watching crowd began to grow.

Aerion looked toward Duncan with a faint, confident smile. “It seems you have only five champions.”

“Six,” you corrected, stepping forward. “Ser Lyonel is knighting Raymun Fossoway.”

Aerion’s gaze shifted toward you, lingering there for a moment before his expression hardened. “Are you truly siding with him?”

You gave him no answer.

He scoffed, shaking his head. “This man has truly brainwashed you, hasn’t he?”

Your jaw tightened, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of a response.

Aerion turned his attention back to Duncan. “I’m afraid it is not permitted. The numbers must be equal.”

You felt your stomach sink.

“If you cannot find another knight to join you, Ser Duncan,” Lord Ashford said, “then you must be declared guilty of the crimes for which you stand accused.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, drawing a slow breath as the pressure of the situation settled heavily upon you. There had to be another way. There were knights all around you, men with swords at their hips and years of experience behind them, yet not one seemed willing to step forward.

“Lord Ashford, if I may…” you began, opening your eyes. “Give me a few minutes.”

Lord Ashford sighed wearily. “We have wasted enough time already.”

“If we have wasted enough time, then a little more should not hurt.”

He regarded you for a long moment, clearly displeased, before finally waving a hand.

“Go ahead.”

“Thank you.”

You turned away and walked toward the stands, your eyes sweeping across the gathered crowd. There were knights everywhere—men who had come to witness the trial, men who carried swords and wore the white cloak of sworn duty, men who could change the course of the trial with a single step forward.

And yet, not one had offered themselves.

You could hardly blame them. Aerion had power, influence, and the promise of rewards behind him. Why would any knight willingly place himself in danger for a hedge knight and a squire?

But if Aerion could tempt a knight with promises of wealth and advancement, then perhaps you could do the same.

You stepped toward the edge of the stands, raising your voice so that it carried across the yard.

“Any knight who joins Ser Duncan and gives him the seventh champion will be rewarded with wealth and security,” you announced, your gaze moving from one knight to the next. “You will have my word that your service will not be forgotten, and that you and your household will be provided for.”

The murmuring crowd slowly quieted.

You held your ground, refusing to look away.

“Who among you is willing to stand for Ser Duncan?”

For several heartbeats, no one moved.

The silence stretched across the yard as you searched the gathered knights, wondering if your offer had fallen upon deaf ears. Then, slowly, a hand rose from among the crowd.

You looked toward the man who had raised it, a knight standing near the back of the stands. He stepped forward, drawing a few curious glances from those around him.

A breath of relief escaped you, and you gave him a grateful nod before motioning for him to follow.

“Come,” you said, leading him toward Ser Duncan and the others.

When you reached them, you gestured toward the knight. “He will stand with Ser Duncan.”

You turned toward Lord Ashford, your voice steady despite the relief still settling in your chest.

“He has seven men now. The trial may begin.”

Your eyes shifted toward Aerion.

The fury on his face was unmistakable. His jaw was clenched, his eyes burning as he stared at the knight who had just joined Duncan’s side, and for a moment, it seemed as though he might protest. Instead, he sharply turned his horse around and rode away, his anger following him like a shadow.

You watched him leave, knowing full well that the trial had only just begun.

The champions began to take their places, lining up on opposite sides of the field as the last murmurs from the crowd slowly faded into silence. One by one, the knights settled upon their horses, steel and leather glinting beneath the morning light, until there was nothing left but the tense stillness that hung over the grounds.

You sat in your place within the royal box, your posture composed despite the unease twisting inside you. Your fingers tightened around the fabric of your skirt, gripping it until your knuckles nearly paled as your thumb traced the delicate stitching of the dragonflies embroidered along the hem of your dress.

You followed the intricate pattern without thinking, over and over again, as though the familiar shape might offer some small comfort.

Across the field, Ser Duncan sat upon his horse, his visor lowered as he waited.

The trial was about to begin.

Duncan looked toward you one last time before lowering his gaze to his helm. Even from across the field, you could see the small smile he gave you, a quiet reassurance before the trial began.

You smiled back, your fingers tightening around your skirt as you mouthed, “Good luck.”

The tension in the air was almost deafening, despite the absolute silence that had fallen over the grounds. Every eye was fixed upon the champions as they waited, horses shifting restlessly beneath them, hooves scraping against the earth.

Then the horn sounded.

The trial had begun.

The champions surged forward all at once, their horses charging across the field as the thunder of hooves broke through the silence. You watched Duncan closely, your heart pounding as he lowered his lance and guided his horse straight toward Aerion.

For one brief moment, everything seemed to move in slow motion.

Then Aerion’s lance struck.

Duncan was caught before he could properly defend himself, the impact forcing a sharp gasp from the crowd. A broken section of lance was driven into him, and the sight sent a wave of horror through the stands.

Your hand flew to your mouth.

The trial had only just begun, and already Aerion was fighting as though he had come not merely to win, but to draw blood.

Duncan grunted as he reached for the broken lance, wrenching it free before he could even recover. He barely had time to steady himself before Aerion charged again, striking him with enough force to send him crashing from his horse.

A collective gasp swept through the crowd.

You shot to your feet, your hands gripping the railing of the royal box as you stared down at Duncan lying upon the ground.

“Dunk…”

Duncan did not move.

“Dunk, get up!” you cried, your voice breaking through the stunned silence of the royal box.

For several agonizing seconds, he remained motionless before finally forcing himself back onto his feet. Relief barely had time to reach you before Aerion charged once more, striking Duncan and sending him stumbling backward.

You winced, your fingers tightening around the fabric of your skirt.

Then Maekar came thundering across the field, his horse surging forward as he brought his mace against Duncan. Before Duncan could properly recover, Baelor rushed in after him, driving his lance toward Dunk and knocking him from his feet once again.

Your fists curled tightly.

They were not merely fighting him.

They were surrounding him.

Targeting him.

One after another, they descended upon Duncan while the others struggled to reach him. Your heart hammered against your ribs as Aerion approached once more, swinging his flail and forcing Duncan to defend himself against blow after blow.

“Dunk!”

Duncan suddenly found an opening. With all the strength he had left, he grappled with Aerion and sent him crashing to the ground. Aerion retaliated with his shield, striking Duncan hard enough to stagger him.

Duncan fought back, forcing Aerion's face toward the earth before Aerion managed to strike him in the leg.

Duncan cried out, and you flinched at the sound.

Still, he refused to yield.

The two continued to struggle, both exhausted, their movements growing slower as the fight dragged on. Then Aerion's father charged into the fray and struck Duncan, sending him reeling.

Aerion seized the moment and struck again, forcing Duncan to tear away his helm so he could see properly.

At last, Dunk sank to the ground, breathing heavily, utterly exhausted. Across from him, Aerion was scarcely in better condition, his chest rising and falling as he struggled to catch his breath.

“Yield!” Aerion shouted.

Duncan remained seated upon the ground, staring at him through weary eyes.

“Get up, Duncan…” you whispered, though you knew he could never hear you.

“YIELD!” Aerion roared again.

Your hands gripped the railing as you watched helplessly.

Duncan tried to move, but his strength failed him, and he collapsed back onto the ground.

A gasp escaped you.

Aerion slowly turned toward the royal box.

“He’s dead!” he shouted, his voice carrying across the field. “It’s over!”

Your breath caught.

Then his eyes found yours.

“He won’t come between us!” he shouted again.

You could hear your own breathing, fast and uneven, as you stared down at him in stunned silence. The world around you seemed to blur—the crowd, the knights, even the voices of those around you—all fading beneath the terrible realization of what had just happened.

“Get up!” Egg cried from the edge of the field, his voice trembling with desperation. “Get up, Ser! Get up!”

You could hardly breathe as you stared at Duncan, still lying upon the ground.

“Get up, Duncan!” you shouted, your voice breaking as you gripped the railing. “Please!”

Your eyes burned as you watched him remain still.

“Please…” you whispered, barely able to get the word past your lips.

Lord Ashford looked toward the man holding the trumpet, his expression grim. The trial had gone on long enough, and with Duncan seemingly unable to rise, there was little reason to continue.

“Wait!”

Egg’s cry rang across the field.

Every head turned.

Your eyes widened as Duncan moved.

Slowly, painfully, he pushed himself upright, forcing his trembling body to stand once more.

“Thank the Gods,” you breathed, your hands falling against the railing as relief washed over you.

Aerion stared at him, panting heavily beneath his helm. He looked exhausted now, stripped of the confidence he had carried earlier, and for the first time, he seemed to understand what it meant to be pushed beyond his limits.

He lowered his visor.

Then he charged.

Duncan met him head-on.

The two collided, struggling against one another as the remaining strength in their bodies was spent in the final moments of the trial. Duncan struck Aerion with his shield, forcing him backward, while Aerion fought desperately to regain his footing.

Neither man seemed willing to give way.

The crowd watched in complete silence.

At last, Aerion staggered backward, his breathing ragged. He could barely remain upright, and Duncan was scarcely in better condition.

“I yield…”

Aerion's voice was faint beneath the weight of his exhaustion.

Duncan did not move.

“I yield,” Aerion repeated, louder this time.

Only then did Duncan stop.

He seized Aerion and hauled him upright, dragging him forward until they stood facing the royal box.

“Tell them,” Duncan demanded.

Aerion said nothing.

Duncan turned him toward you.

“Tell her!”

Aerion's chest heaved as he stared at you, the fury and pride that had consumed him earlier now replaced by exhaustion and defeat.

“I…” He swallowed. “I withdraw my accusations.”

You remained frozen for a moment, scarcely believing the words you had just heard.

Duncan shoved him away.

Lord Ashford gave a single nod toward the man holding the trumpet.

The horn sounded across the field.

The trial was over.

You finally allowed yourself to breathe, the tension that had held your entire body rigid beginning to loosen.

Duncan had won.

And, for the first time that day, you knew he was safe.

You waited beyond the gate with Egg, your eyes fixed upon the road where the champions would soon emerge. The trial was over, yet the unease that had settled in your chest refused to leave. You had watched Duncan fall more times than you cared to count, and even knowing he had risen in the end did little to quiet the fear that still lingered.

Then you saw him.

Duncan emerged through the gate, battered and exhausted, his clothes stained with mud and blood, his steps slower than usual as he leaned slightly with every movement.

You did not think.

You ran.

You crossed the distance between you in moments and threw your arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace without a care for the blood and mud that stained his clothing or the mess it left upon your dress.

“Are you alright?” you asked, your voice trembling as you pulled back just enough to look at him.

You immediately gestured toward the maester, urging him forward to tend to Duncan's injuries.

Duncan gave you a weary nod, reassuring you that he was still standing, before returning your embrace. His arms settled around you as he lowered his head, resting it against your hair and drawing a slow breath, as though the familiar comfort of your presence was enough to convince him that the ordeal was truly over.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

After everything that had happened, simply having him standing there, alive and breathing, was enough.

Duncan lowered himself onto one knee before you, though the movement clearly cost him, his breathing still uneven from the trial. He looked up at you, exhaustion written across his battered face.

“I’m your man,” he said quietly.

His voice faltered, and he swallowed before repeating himself, as though the words mattered enough to be said properly.

“Please… your man.”

You nodded, your expression softening as you reached down and helped him back to his feet, immediately motioning for the maester to come closer and examine him.

“You were so brave today,” you said, your voice quiet with disbelief. “Gods, the number of times you were struck… I am surprised you are even able to stand.”

A faint, weary smile touched Duncan’s face, though he had little strength left to answer.

You lowered yourself to the ground beside him, and after a moment, Duncan carefully rested his head upon your lap. You remained still, one hand resting gently against his shoulder while the maester examined his injuries, checking him over with a practiced eye.

You looked down at Duncan, your worry still evident in your expression.

“You frightened me,” you murmured, almost too softly for anyone else to hear.

Duncan closed his eyes, finally allowing himself to rest now that the trial was behind him.

You gently stroked Duncan’s hair, your fingers moving slowly through the tangled strands as the maester continued examining his wounds. For the first time since the trial had begun, you allowed yourself to sit in the quiet without anticipating another blow, another cry, another moment in which you might lose him.

You could hardly believe it was over.

The fear that had gripped you throughout the trial was finally beginning to loosen, leaving behind nothing but exhaustion and an overwhelming sense of relief. Duncan was alive. He was here, resting against you, and that was all that mattered.

You looked down at him, your fingers still moving gently through his hair.

After everything that had happened, you were simply grateful that he had made it back to you.

Duncan had been taken away several hours ago so the maesters could tend to his wounds, leaving you alone with your thoughts. Now, after your bath, you sat before the mirror while the maids helped you into your nightclothes, their quiet movements filling the chamber with the soft rustle of fabric.

Yet even with the trial behind you, something remained unsettled within your stomach.

You could not shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Your dreams had never made sense to you, but tonight they seemed different. They had not felt like warnings of the trial alone, nor had they seemed to speak only of what had already come to pass. There had been something more within them, something you could not yet understand, as though your mind had been shown only fragments of a greater truth.

You stared at your reflection, lost in thought, while one of the maids gently worked a brush through your silver hair, carefully untangling the knots that had formed throughout the day.

The steady strokes should have been soothing, but they did little to quiet the unease that lingered deep within you.

The quiet of the chamber shattered when the goblet slipped from the maid’s hand.

It struck the floor with a sharp, ringing clatter, the sound echoing through the room far louder than it should have.

“I apologize, Princess,” the maid said quickly, lowering her head.

“It is alright,” you murmured, barely paying attention as you turned back toward the mirror.

Then you stopped.

Your reflection stared back at you.

Slowly, you turned your head toward the goblet lying upon the floor.

Your breath caught.

That sound.

You knew it.

You had heard it before.

Not here.

In your dream.

The same metallic clatter. The same sudden silence that had followed it. You remembered standing somewhere you could not recognize, listening to something fall while an awful sense of dread settled over you.

You had thought it meaningless.

Until now.

“Princess?” the maid asked softly. “Are you alright?”

You didn't answer.

You rose from your chair so quickly that the maids stepped back in surprise. Your eyes swept across the chamber, searching every corner, every shadow, every familiar object that suddenly seemed strange beneath the flickering candlelight.

Nothing had changed.

And somehow, that frightened you more.

The candles burned quietly. The curtains hung motionless. The maids stood exactly where they had been moments before.

Yet you could feel it.

Something was wrong.

Your heart began to pound as the memory of your dream returned in fragments—sounds without faces, shadows without names, moments that had seemed senseless until they began happening around you.

The goblet.

The sound.

Your stomach twisted.

It was not a dream predicting the trial.

It was a warning.

And whatever it had been warning you about...

It had already begun.

“Something is wrong,” you whispered, your voice barely steady. You turned toward the maids, forcing yourself to remain composed despite the unease tightening in your chest. “Leave me.”

The maids exchanged uncertain glances, but they obeyed, gathering their things before quietly filing out of the chamber. The door closed behind them, leaving you alone with the silence.

You stood perfectly still.

Your eyes moved slowly around the room.

Was there something here?

You searched the chamber carefully, looking behind the curtains, beneath the table, across the dressing table and every shadow cast by the candlelight. Nothing was out of place. Nothing seemed different.

And yet, the feeling remained.

Something was wrong.

You closed your eyes, desperately trying to drag the fragments of your dream back into focus.

A scream.

Your breath caught.

Blood.

Your stomach twisted.

A dagger.

You opened your eyes at once.

It made no sense. There had been no dagger in your room, and nothing else seemed to match what you remembered. Perhaps it had been nothing more than the nonsense of a restless dream.

But the feeling in your chest told you otherwise.

Then you remembered Vaeloris.

Your younger brother.

The thought struck you so suddenly that your stomach churned.

You did not stop to question it.

You rushed from your chambers, moving swiftly through the castle corridors as your bare feet struck against the cold stone beneath you. The candles lining the walls blurred as you hurried past them, your mind filled with only one thought.

Vaeloris.

You had to find him.

Your feet padded softly against the cold stone as you hurried through the quiet corridors, the sound of your footsteps following you through the sleeping castle. You did not know what was happening, nor could you explain why every instinct within you was urging you toward Vaeloris.

It made no sense.

There was no reason for the sudden dread twisting in your stomach, no proof that anything was wrong with your younger brother. And yet, the thought of him would not leave you.

You slowed for a moment, pressing a hand against the wall as you tried to steady your breathing.

Perhaps you were being foolish. Perhaps the dream had frightened you more than you realized, turning meaningless images into something your mind insisted was a warning.

But something in you refused to turn back.

Whatever the reason, checking on Vaeloris felt like the right thing to do.

So you continued down the corridor, your heart beating harder with every step as the distant torches cast long, shifting shadows across the stone walls.

You only hoped you were not already too late.

You burst into Vaeloris’s chambers, the door swinging open behind you as you hurried inside, only to find him still asleep and undisturbed, leaving you standing there for a moment, panting heavily as you tried to catch your breath before quietly closing the door behind you. The movement stirred him, and his eyes slowly opened as he blinked sleepily at you.

“Sister…?” he murmured.

“Yes, I’m here,” you replied softly, sitting beside him and gently ruffling his hair.

“Why didn’t you visit me?”

“Father didn’t allow me to. He said I was a bad influence.”

Vaeloris huffed, his expression turning sour. “Father is stupid.”

A small laugh escaped you. “Don’t say that.”

He studied you for a moment before asking, “Did you run here?”

“Yes,” you admitted, your smile fading slightly. “I thought something was wrong.”

“Why?”

You hesitated, unsure how to explain the strange feeling that had sent you rushing through the castle. “It was my dreams. You know how they make me feel sometimes… like I’m crazy.”

Vaeloris listened quietly, taking your hand in his as though he wanted to reassure you. “I don’t think you’re crazy. I think you’re special.”

You smiled at him, touched by his words, and leaned forward to kiss his forehead before noticing something missing from the bed.

“Where’s your toy?” you asked.

Vaeloris frowned. “Father took it away. He said I’m too old to play with toys and that I need to focus on my training.”

You sighed, shaking your head. Of course it was your father.

“That’s not true. You’re never too old to play, and besides…” You looked him over with a teasing smile. “You’re still so small, so very short.”

Vaeloris giggled, and the sound brought a smile to your face.

“Do you want me to find it?”

He nodded eagerly.

You smiled and stood, brushing the wrinkles from your nightclothes before walking toward the door, but before your hand could reach the latch, the door suddenly opened from the other side, revealing two men standing in the doorway.

You froze.

It took you only a heartbeat to recognize them.

They were the same men who had cornered you several nights ago, the very men Duncan had driven away before they could harm you. The memory returned all at once, and the blood seemed to drain from your face.

“There she is. Get her!” one of them barked.

Before you could react, one man seized you and dragged you backward, the door being slammed shut behind him. He held you firmly against him, a blade pressed threateningly near your throat, while across the chamber Vaeloris cried out and struggled to reach you, only for the second man to seize him as well.

“W-what are you doing?” you stammered, your voice trembling. “Please, stop… please.”

The men laughed.

“You really thought you could get away with it? Just like that?” one of them sneered. “Your little hedge knight saving you like some great hero. We are here for revenge.”

You froze.

The man holding you glanced toward his companion before nodding toward Vaeloris.

“Kill him.”

“No!”

The cry tore from you as you struggled against his grasp, desperately reaching toward your brother, but the man's hold only tightened.

“Please!” you begged, tears gathering in your eyes. “I'll give you whatever you want. Money, jewels, anything. Just let him go. Please!”

Vaeloris began to cry harder, his frightened eyes fixed upon you.

“It's alright, Vaeloris,” you said, forcing your voice to remain gentle despite the terror gripping you. “It's fine. You will be alright. I promise.”

“Shut up!” the man snapped.

You flinched, but your eyes never left your brother.

“Please…” you whispered again. “Take everything I have. Take my life if you must. I don't care. Just leave him alone. He's only a child. He has nothing to do with this.”

Your pleas were met only with cruel laughter.

You felt utterly helpless, trapped between the men and unable to reach the one person you cared about most, while Vaeloris sobbed your name through his tears.

And suddenly, the meaning of your dream became terrifyingly clear.

The scream.

The blood.

The dagger.

It had never been about the trial.

The man holding Vaeloris suddenly moved, slicing his throat.

“No!”

Your scream tore through the chamber, but you were held firmly in place, unable to reach your brother. Vaeloris cried out, and then, in the space of a heartbeat, the room fell horribly quiet.

You stared at him.

“Vaeloris…?”

He did not answer.

Your mind refused to understand what you were seeing. You struggled against the man's grip, your voice breaking as you called your brother's name again and again, desperately hoping he would look at you, hoping this was somehow another fragment of the nightmare that had haunted your sleep.

“Vaeloris!”

The man holding you laughed, but you barely heard him. Everything around you seemed distant, muffled beneath the pounding of your own heart.

Your brother was gone.

The realization struck you with such force that your strength seemed to disappear all at once.

The scream from your dream.

The blood.

The dagger.

You had understood the warning too late.

Your eyes remained fixed upon Vaeloris as tears slipped down your face, your voice reduced to a broken whisper.

“No… no, no, no…”

The men continued speaking, but their words no longer reached you.

All you could see was your little brother, the boy who had held your hand only moments ago and told you that you were special.

You had come to save him.

And you had arrived too late.

The men laughed, their voices filling the chamber as the one holding the blade stepped toward you.

You knew what was coming.

He raised the weapon, and for one terrible moment, you were certain you would not escape.

Then he laughed again.

His grip loosened.

You reacted without thinking.

You twisted free, and the blade slipped from his hand, clattering onto the stone floor. You snatched it up and struck at the men's legs just enough to force them back, buying yourself the precious few seconds you needed.

You ran.

You dropped the weapon and rushed toward Vaeloris, gathering his small body into your arms before turning for the door.

“Vaeloris…”

You carried him into the corridor, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you ran through the castle. Behind you, the men shouted and stumbled after you, but you refused to look back.

You ran faster.

Faster than you thought you could.

“Please,” you whispered, holding Vaeloris tightly against you. “Please, stay with me.”

You wanted to believe there was still something you could do, that perhaps a maester could save him, that perhaps the dream had been wrong about its final meaning.

But somewhere deep inside, you already knew.

He was gone.

Still, you kept running.

Because stopping meant accepting it.

And you were not ready to accept that your little brother was never going to open his eyes again.

Where were the guards?

Weren’t they supposed to be here, protecting the royal chambers, protecting Vaeloris, protecting you? The questions raced through your mind as you hurried through the corridors, your arms trembling beneath the weight you carried.

You ran faster, though every breath came harder than the last, your lungs burning as exhaustion began to catch up with you. Blood had stained your nightclothes, spreading across the fabric, but you barely noticed it anymore; nothing mattered except getting Vaeloris somewhere safe, somewhere the men could not reach him.

You tightened your hold around him and forced yourself onward.

Every few moments, you glanced over your shoulder, searching the corridor behind you. The men were still there, their footsteps echoing through the castle as they pursued you.

You turned forward again and ran harder.

Your breath came in ragged gasps, your legs beginning to ache, yet you refused to slow. Somewhere beneath the terror, a desperate part of you still clung to the smallest possibility that you could find a maester, that someone might be able to help him, that perhaps you had not lost your brother after all.

You knew, deep down, that hope was slipping away.

But you kept running anyway.

You could not stop.

Not while they were still behind you.

Not while you were still carrying Vaeloris in your arms.

Tears blurred your vision as you ran, each breath catching painfully in your throat until you were nearly choking on it. You tightened your arms around Vaeloris, holding him closer as though you could somehow keep him safe simply by refusing to let him go.

You looked over your shoulder once more.

Nothing.

The corridors behind you were empty.

You had lost them.

For the first time since you had fled Vaeloris’s chambers, you slowed, desperately searching for somewhere—anywhere—you could go. Your mind raced through the castle until one thought came to you.

The main hall.

There would be guards there. Knights. Men who could protect you.

You hurried toward it, your footsteps echoing against the stone as you pushed through the doors.

And then you stopped.

Your father was there.

Around him sat the knights, drinking and speaking amongst themselves, the atmosphere almost painfully ordinary compared to the terror you had just escaped. Cups were raised, laughter drifted through the hall, and no one seemed to have noticed what had happened.

You stood in the doorway, soaked in blood and tears, Vaeloris held tightly against your chest.

For a moment, you could not speak.

You simply stared at them, struggling to catch your breath.

“Father…”

“Father…”

You said it again, louder this time, your voice breaking beneath the weight of your exhaustion and grief.

He did not seem to hear you.

Was he truly so drunk that he could not hear his own daughter standing before him?

Your eyes moved across the hall, and the answer became painfully clear. The knights were all there. Every one of them. The very men who were meant to stand watch throughout the castle had gathered around your father instead, drinking, laughing, and celebrating as though the night held no danger at all.

That was why the halls had been empty.

That was why no one had come when you screamed.

That was why Vaeloris had been left alone.

Something inside you broke.

You carefully lowered Vaeloris to the floor before surging toward your father, tears streaming down your face as anger overwhelmed whatever restraint you had left. Your hand reached for a dagger resting upon the table, but you barely had time to raise it before several knights seized you, pulling you back and wrenching the weapon from your grasp.

“Let me go!” you screamed, fighting against them. “Let me go!”

Your father finally looked at you properly, his expression changing from confusion to shock.

“What is the matter with you?” he demanded. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Vaeloris is dead because of you!”

The words tore from you, raw and furious, as you struggled against the knights holding you.

“You were supposed to protect us! You made them drink with you, you made them stay here and celebrate while our halls stood empty! They were supposed to be guarding us!”

Your voice cracked, and the anger that had been keeping you upright finally gave way to grief.

“You let this happen.”

Your knees gave out.

The knights released you as you fell to the floor, your hands catching against the cold stone while sobs shook your entire body.

Your father stared at you, stunned into silence.

Then his gaze shifted.

Slowly, he looked toward the other side of the hall.

His face changed.

Vaeloris lay where you had left him.

For the first time, your father seemed to understand the full weight of what you had been saying.

“No…”

The word left him quietly as he took a hesitant step forward.

Then another.

He approached your little brother as though moving too quickly might somehow make the truth real.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

You struggled to breathe through your tears.

“Two men,” you managed, wiping desperately at your face. “They came into his chambers. They attacked us.”

Your father stopped.

“Two men?”

You nodded, your voice trembling. “They were the same men who attacked me before. Duncan saved me from them.”

His expression hardened, but beneath the anger was something you had rarely seen upon your father's face.

Horror.

“They came for revenge,” you whispered. “They found us.”

The doors to the hall suddenly opened, and your mother rushed inside.

She stopped the moment she saw Vaeloris.

A terrible cry escaped her.

“Vaeloris!”

She hurried across the room and dropped beside him, gathering him close as tears immediately began streaming down her face. The sight of your mother holding your little brother finally broke whatever remained of your composure, and another sob escaped you.

“Find them!” your mother cried, turning toward the guards. “What are you standing there for? Find whoever did this!”

The guards immediately rushed from the hall.

Your father remained beside Vaeloris, staring down at his son as though he could not understand how the boy who had been alive only hours before was now gone.

And you sat upon the cold stone, your bloodstained nightclothes clinging to you, staring at your father through tear-filled eyes.

For once, he had nothing to say.

Because there was nothing he could say that would bring Vaeloris back.

And you knew that neither of you would ever be the same again.

Your father remained beside Vaeloris for a moment, staring down at him as though he still could not comprehend what had happened, before turning toward you with a strained expression.

“What did they mean by revenge?” he asked, his voice low. “Why would they come after you?”

You swallowed hard, trying to steady yourself enough to speak.

“They were the men who attacked me a few nights ago,” you said, your voice trembling. “They cornered me when I was out. Duncan found me and drove them away before they could do anything worse.”

Your father’s expression darkened.

“They said they came back for revenge,” you continued, wiping at your tears. “They blamed Duncan for what happened, and because I was with him when they found me, they came after me again.”

Your father stared at you, his jaw tightening.

“I told you not to go out so often,” he said, his voice suddenly sharp. “I warned you to be careful.”

You looked at him in disbelief.

“Father…”

“You were always wandering beyond where you should have been, spending your time with that hedge knight,” he continued, his anger growing. “And now those men followed you here and murdered my son.”

Your face crumpled.

“I didn't know they would come back!”

“But they did!” he snapped.

The words echoed through the hall.

You flinched, tears spilling freely down your cheeks.

“I didn't know,” you repeated, your voice breaking. “I never thought they would hurt him. I went to Vaeloris because I thought something was wrong. I was trying to protect him.”

Your father looked toward Vaeloris again, and whatever anger remained in his face faltered as the reality of his son's death settled over him.

You lowered your head, trembling.

“I should have been able to save him.”

Your mother continued holding Vaeloris close, her sobs filling the hall.

Your father said nothing for a long moment, staring at the son he had lost.

Then his expression hardened again.

Your father’s grief seemed to turn into something darker as he faced you, and before you could say another word, his hand struck you across the face.

You stumbled from the force of it, stunned, only for him to seize you by the hair and pull you down onto the cold stone floor.

“What are you doing?” your mother cried, rushing forward. “You have just lost a son, and now you are hurting your firstborn!”

Your father did not answer her. Instead, his anger remained fixed upon you as he continued to place the blame at your feet, his words becoming increasingly bitter as though accusing you could somehow undo what had happened to Vaeloris.

Something inside you snapped.

You reached for the dagger once more, acting before you had time to think, and managed to strike your father in the arm.

He recoiled with a cry of pain, immediately clutching the injured arm.

“Guards!”

The command rang through the hall.

Several knights rushed toward you, seizing your arms before you could move again.

“No!” you screamed, fighting against their hold as tears streamed down your face. “Let me go!”

Your mother called your name, but the guards dragged you toward the doors.

“Take her to her chambers,” your father ordered through clenched teeth. “Lock her inside.”

You struggled violently against them, kicking and twisting as they carried you away, your sobs echoing through the corridors.

“Let me go!” you cried again, your voice breaking. “I want my brother! Please!”

But the guards did not stop.

The doors of the hall closed behind you, separating you from your mother, your father, and Vaeloris, leaving you alone with the unbearable weight of everything that had happened that night.

The guards threw you into your chambers, and you stumbled forward before catching yourself against the edge of your bed. Behind you, the heavy door slammed shut, followed almost immediately by the unmistakable sound of the lock turning.

“No!”

You rushed toward it, gripping the handle and pulling desperately, but it would not move.

“Open the door!” you demanded, pounding your fists against the wood. “Let me out!”

There was no answer.

You struck the door again, harder this time, your voice cracking beneath the weight of your grief and fury.

“Please! Let me out!”

Silence.

You pressed your forehead against the cold wood, your breathing uneven as tears streamed down your face. You hit the door once more, but the guards remained outside, refusing to answer you.

Your strength finally gave way.

You sank slowly to the floor, curling against the door as sobs shook your body. Only hours ago, Vaeloris had been holding your hand, laughing as you teased him about being too short.

Now he was gone.

And you were locked away from him.

Author's note: Hey guys...so um yeah. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and it's totally okay if not, because yk...I just want to say that if you are confused on why your uncles and cousins didnt yhear you scream is because they are being taken care of by the measters and were not currently in the castle but in the measter's office thingy, if you know what I mean. so yah...2 more chapters and it's going to be the end. Oh and sorry if the writing sucks.

Taglist: @moontides19 @softycheol @readersassemble5 @noone1233nobody @shiraa32 @qardasngan @memeorydotcom@fairly-feral@shouto-raki (If I forgot to tag you, please tell me.)

[ladysoupmuncher]

Rise of the Dragon Dreamer - Yandere A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms Chapter 17

Disclaimer: Changing of AKOTSK plot(just a bit), bit of angst, mentions of past sex, bad experiences mentioned, spiders(for the people who are scared of spiders), etc. NOT PROOFREAD. Read the introduction so you won't be confused. MASTERLIST

You pant as you run through the meadow, your footsteps hurried as you search desperately among the tall grass and scattered trees. “Duncan!” you call, your voice carrying across the open field as you look around, searching for the tall man you cherish. There is no answer, only the rustling of leaves and the distant sound of the wind. “Duncan!” you call once more, your voice growing more anxious as you scan the meadow. Where was he? Where could he have gone?

With a quiet sigh, you press onward toward the deeper part of the meadow, pushing through the trees and bushes as you search for any sign of him. Then, through the greenery, you catch sight of Dalaxrys. “Needtys Dunkanēsot rhaenas,” you say in High Valyrian, your voice firm despite your hurried breath. We need to find Duncan.

Dalaxrys gives a low rumble, stretching his great wings before lowering himself toward the ground. He crouches, waiting patiently for you to climb upon his back. Once you are safely settled, you adjust yourself and glance around, making certain there are no trees or other obstacles in your path. You take a breath before giving the command. “Sōvēs!”

Dalaxrys grunts in response and launches himself into the air, his powerful wings beating against the wind as he rises above the meadow. From atop his back, you search the land below, your eyes moving from one corner of the meadow to another. The trees stretch endlessly beneath you, but there is still no sign of Duncan. You tighten your grip, refusing to give up. Wherever he had gone, you would find him.

At last, you spot him.

There, beyond the line of trees, stands Duncan, his tall figure unmistakable against the meadow. Relief washes over you, and without hesitation, you guide Dalaxrys toward the ground. “Kirimvose,” you murmur, and the great dragon begins his descent, his wings beating steadily as he lowers you toward the grass.

The moment Dalaxrys touches the earth, you climb down, barely giving yourself time to steady your feet before rushing forward. “Duncan!” you call, your voice carrying across the meadow as you run toward him. The grass brushes against your legs, and your breath comes unevenly as you close the distance between you.

Duncan turns at the sound of your voice, his expression shifting when he sees you approaching. You slow only when you are nearly upon him, still catching your breath from the frantic search. You look him over, making certain he is unharmed, before finally letting out the breath you had been holding.

“I’m sorry,” you say, your voice barely carrying over the steady patter of rain. Droplets cling to your hair and run down your face as you lower your gaze, unable to meet Duncan’s eyes. “I’m so sorry...” you whisper, the words heavy with regret.

Duncan lets out a quiet sigh, his expression softening as he looks at you. “It’s fine. It’s not your fault.”

“I didn’t think Aerion would ask such a thing...” you cut in, your voice trembling as you shake your head. “Oh, gods, what have I done?”

“Stop,” Duncan says gently, but you shake your head.

“I’m so sorry...” you whisper again, your voice breaking beneath the weight of your guilt.

Duncan sighs once more, then steps forward and pulls you into a warm embrace. You fall quiet against him, the sound of the rain surrounding you as he holds you close, offering comfort without another word.

You sniffle softly in his embrace, unable to quiet the guilt weighing heavily upon you. No matter how gently Duncan holds you, you cannot help but blame yourself, your mind returning again and again to what had happened. You lower your head against him, trying to steady your breathing as the rain continues to fall around you.

He rubs your back gently, his hand moving in slow, reassuring strokes as he tries to calm you. “Shh... it’s all right,” he murmurs, his voice quiet beneath the sound of the rain. You continue to cry softly against him, unable to hold back the tears any longer, while Duncan simply keeps you close, patiently offering what comfort he can.

You nod slowly, finally letting go of Duncan’s embrace. Your hands fall to your sides, though your fingers remain curled tightly together as you try to steady yourself. For a moment, neither of you speaks. The rain continues to fall around you, pattering softly against the leaves and soaking through your clothes, while the silence between you feels far heavier than the storm.

Duncan hesitates before asking, “What did he say to you?”

You lift your eyes toward him, confused by the question. “What...?” you ask quietly.

“The prince,” Duncan says, his voice more cautious now. “What did he say to you?”

“Oh.”

Your heart sinks.

You wanted to lie. Gods, you truly did. You wanted to tell him that everything was fine, that the prince had said nothing of importance, and that there was nothing for Duncan to worry about. But after everything that had happened, you could not bear the thought of lying to him again.

You lower your gaze, watching the rainwater drip from your fingertips.

“He told me...” You swallow hard. “He told me to marry him.”

Duncan’s breath hitches.

“What?”

You force yourself to look at him. “I don’t want to marry him,” you say quietly. “But I have to.”

Duncan shakes his head, disbelief settling across his features. “I... I don’t understand. Don’t you get some choice in this? You’re a princess.”

A bitter little laugh escapes you, though there is no humor in it.

“I don’t have a say in this.” Your voice trembles. “My father does not care about what I want. He barely gives it a thought. To him, I am a daughter of the crown before I am his daughter.”

Duncan watches you carefully.

“And if I don’t marry Valarr...” You trail off, your voice becoming smaller. “He would...”

You cannot finish.

Duncan steps closer. His expression immediately changes.

“What?” he asks. “What will he do?”

You remain silent.

“Did he hurt you?”

Your heart aches at the question.

You look away, unable to face him. You were afraid of what you might see in his eyes once he knew. Would he look at you differently? Would he think you had betrayed him? Would he think you were disgusting?

“I...” Your voice catches. “If I don’t marry him, I...”

Nothing comes out.

Duncan waits patiently.

“It’s all right,” he says softly. “You can tell me.”

You take a deep, shaky breath, gathering whatever courage you have left.

“He would tell my family,” you whisper. “Especially my father.”

Duncan’s brow furrows.

“Tell them what?”

Your eyes fill with tears.

“That I slept with him.”

Duncan freezes.

For several moments, he says nothing.

“What?”

The single word is barely audible.

You turn your face away as tears finally spill down your cheeks. “It was not supposed to happen,” you whisper. “I swear it was not supposed to happen.”

Duncan remains silent, listening.

“He knew about you and me,” you continue, your voice trembling. “He knew there was something between us. I thought if I distracted him, I could keep him away from you. I thought I could protect you.”

You wipe desperately at your cheeks, but more tears follow.

“I thought I could handle it.”

Your voice breaks.

“But I couldn’t.”

You take another shaky breath, struggling to get the words out.

“Things went too far, and the next thing I knew, I was in his chambers and...” You close your eyes, unable to continue for a moment. “I slept with him.”

The confession leaves you completely drained.

You stand there beneath the rain, your shoulders trembling as you wait for Duncan to say something.

Anything.

But the silence makes your heart sink further.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

Your voice cracks as you look down.

“I did not want it. I never wanted any of this. I only wanted to keep you safe.”

Duncan finally moves.

“It’s all right.”

You look up at him, tears clinging to your lashes.

“What?”

He steps closer, his expression filled with sorrow rather than anger.

“You thought you were protecting me.”

You shake your head. “But I lied to you.”

“You were frightened.”

“I should have told you.”

“You were frightened,” he repeats gently.

You press your lips together, trying desperately not to cry again, but your composure crumbles.

“I thought you would hate me,” you whisper.

Duncan’s expression softens.

“I could never hate you .” You stare at him through your tears, almost as though you cannot believe him.

“I have done so many things wrong.”

“No,” Duncan says quietly. “You were put in a situation where you believed you had no choice.”

Your eyes close as another tear slips down your cheek.

“I just wanted to keep you safe.”

Duncan reaches for your hand, holding it gently.

“And I wish you had never felt that you had to sacrifice yourself to protect me.”

You stare at each other for a few quiet moments, neither of you quite knowing what to say. The rain continues to fall around you, soft and steady, while Duncan’s hand remains gently around yours. You draw a breath, finally preparing to speak, but before you can get a single word out, a familiar voice calls from somewhere beyond the trees.

“Dunk! Is that you?”

Both of you turn your heads toward the sound.

A figure emerges through the rain, his expression quickly changing from surprise to relief. It is Raymun Fossoway.

“You’re alive!” he exclaims, hurrying toward Duncan before pulling him into a firm embrace.

Duncan lets out a small breath of surprise before returning the embrace, a faint smile appearing despite everything that has happened.

You remain a short distance away, quietly watching the two of them. You keep your hands folded before you, allowing them their moment. After a few seconds, Raymun notices you standing nearby.

His expression shifts slightly, though he says nothing. Instead, he gives you a small nod before offering a polite bow of his head.

You return the gesture with a small, courteous smile.

Raymun turns his attention back to Duncan. “Are you two hungry?”

Duncan glances toward you before answering. “No, not really.” He pauses, then looks at you. “Are you hungry?”

You shake your head gently. “No.”

Raymun looks between the two of you for a moment before shrugging. “Come on."

He turns and begins making his way through the rain toward his tent.

Duncan follows, and after a brief hesitation, you fall into step behind them, keeping a little distance as the three of you make your way through the wet meadow toward the warmth and shelter of Raymun’s tent.

As Duncan and Raymun walk ahead toward the tent, you slow your steps and glance over your shoulder, searching the darkening meadow for Dalaxrys. At first, you see nothing but the silhouettes of the trees and the faint movement of branches beneath the rain.

Then you spot him.

Dalaxrys sits quietly near the trees, his massive form almost concealed by the darkness. His dark scales blend so well with the shadows that, despite his size, he is remarkably difficult to see. Only the faint outline of his wings and the occasional glimmer of his eyes give away where he rests.

You stop for a moment, watching him.

“I’ll be back soon,” you call softly.

Dalaxrys lifts his head toward you and gives a low, rumbling grumble, almost as though he understands your words.

You offer him a small smile before turning back toward the others, hurrying to catch up with Duncan and Raymun as the rain continues to fall around you.

You sit beside Duncan, your hands resting quietly in your lap as you stare off into the distance, your thoughts wandering far beyond the walls of the tent. The warmth of the fire does little to ease the chill that has settled over you, and you remain unusually quiet.

Across from you, Raymun, Duncan, and Raymun’s cousin speak amongst themselves, their voices low as they discuss the trial. You hear fragments of their conversation, words concerning the accusations, the witnesses, and what might happen when the matter is finally brought before the court.

You listen, though only faintly.

Your mind keeps drifting elsewhere, returning to everything that has happened that day. The prince’s words, your father, the marriage he demanded, and the secret you had finally confessed to Duncan all weigh upon you. You stare into the fire without really seeing it, watching the flames dance and disappear.

Duncan occasionally glances toward you while the others speak, as though checking to make certain you are all right. You notice each time, but you say nothing.

For now, you simply sit beside him in silence, letting the others discuss the trial while you try to gather your thoughts.

“Dragon house.”

The words pull you sharply from your thoughts. You blink, realizing that the conversation has shifted toward you. You lift your gaze and find Ser Steffon watching you with a questioning expression.

“Where are their dragons, Ser Duncan?” he asks, his attention briefly turning toward Duncan.

You straighten slightly, listening as Duncan begins to answer. “We do have dragons. Some dragon eggs as well, though they have not yet hatched.”

Your eyes flicker toward him before you speak.

“I have a dragon.”

The tent falls quiet for a moment.

Ser Steffon turns his attention toward you, his brows lifting in surprise. You hold his gaze calmly, though you can feel the weight of everyone’s attention settling upon you.

“So the rumors are true, then?” Ser Steffon asks, a faint, mocking smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “The men said they saw a blue dragon when you arrived here. A pity I did not see it myself. I was confined to my tent.”

You meet his gaze, your expression remaining composed despite his teasing.

“I can show him to you,” you reply calmly. “Face to face.”

Ser Steffon’s smile fades, his brow furrowing as he studies you. Before he can respond, Duncan shifts beside you and rises to his feet.

“She said she can show you her dragon,” Duncan says firmly, placing himself slightly between you and Ser Steffon. “There is no need to make sport of her.”

Ser Steffon looks toward Duncan, clearly surprised by his sudden defensiveness.

“I meant no offense, Ser Duncan.”

“Perhaps not,” Duncan replies, his voice still firm, “but she need not prove anything to you.”

You glance up at Duncan, a little surprised by the way he has so quickly come to your defense. For a moment, neither man speaks, and the atmosphere inside the tent grows noticeably heavier.

You look away, slowly rising to your feet as you take in the tent around you. Your eyes wander over the wooden poles, the scattered furnishings, and the flickering fire, though your attention remains elsewhere.

Something about Ser Steffon unsettles you.

You cannot quite explain it, but there is something in the way he looks at you, something in the way he speaks, that leaves an uneasy feeling in your chest. You fold your arms quietly, trying to dismiss the thought, yet the feeling refuses to leave.

A few minutes later, Ser Steffon finally takes his leave, stepping out of the tent and disappearing into the rain.

The moment he is gone, the atmosphere seems to loosen.

Raymun turns toward Duncan, and the two begin speaking in lower voices, returning to the matter of the trial. You remain standing for a moment, still watching the entrance of the tent where Ser Steffon had disappeared.

Something was wrong.

You just did not yet know what.

You turn away from the others, letting their conversation fade into the background as you glance around the tent. Your eyes wander over the wooden furnishings and flickering lanterns until something small catches your attention.

A spider.

It rests quietly near the edge of the tent, its delicate legs moving slowly as it makes its way along the fabric. Your curiosity immediately takes over. You step closer and crouch down, studying it for a moment before carefully holding out your finger.

The spider hesitates before slowly crawling onto your hand.

You lift your finger closer to your face, watching it carefully as it moves across your skin. Its thin legs move delicately with every step, almost weightless against your finger. You tilt your hand slightly, fascinated by the tiny creature as it explores.

For a brief moment, the troubles weighing on your mind seem to disappear. The trial, the prince, and everything else outside the tent feel distant as you quietly study the little spider in your hand.

“Ser.”

You turn your head at the sound of the familiar voice and find Egg standing nearby.

“Egg?” you ask, surprised.

Duncan turns as well, his brows lifting. “Egg? What are you doing here?”

Egg steps closer, looking rather determined despite his young age. “I’m your squire, Ser. You’ll need someone to arm you.”

You glance down at the little spider still resting upon your finger. With a faint smile, you lower your hand and let it crawl back onto the ground before it disappears beneath the edge of the tent.

Duncan looks back toward Egg, his expression becoming more serious. “Does your father know you’ve left the castle?”

“I hope not.”

The voice comes from behind you.

You turn toward the entrance of the tent, and a man steps inside, removing his cloak as he enters.

You recognize him immediately.

Daeron.

You nearly roll your eyes.

He notices you and gives you a familiar look, one you have seen countless times before. It is the same expression he used whenever he had done something foolish as a boy and came begging for your forgiveness afterward.

“Nice to see you again, cousin,” Daeron says.

You offer him little more than a restrained look before turning your attention away.

Duncan, however, remembers.

His eyes narrow as the memory of the inn returns to him, the moment Daeron had looked him directly in the eye and warned him, Stay away from her.

Duncan had never truly understood what Daeron meant by it.

Had he meant you?

Daeron looks away, seemingly trying to ignore the tension in the tent. “I don’t think I can bear another foot whipping tonight,” he mutters.

Duncan immediately steps toward him.

“You.”

Before anyone can react, Duncan draws his knife and holds it threateningly near Daeron’s neck.

Daeron’s eyes widen.

“Are you mad, coming here?” Duncan demands, his voice low and furious. “I should drive this through your neck!”

“Dunk!” Raymun says sharply, rising from where he sits.

Daeron remains still, watching Duncan carefully.

You stare between them, your heart beginning to pound as the tension in the tent suddenly becomes unbearable. You had seen Duncan angry before, but rarely had you seen him this close to losing his temper.

Daeron lets out a dry, humorless chuckle, seemingly far too calm despite the blade held near his neck.

“I’d sooner have you pour me a cup of wine.”

“Fuck your wine,” Duncan snaps, his grip tightening around the knife.

“You lied about me,” Duncan says, his voice filled with anger. “You made me out to be a fool.”

Daeron rolls his eyes, clearly unimpressed by Duncan’s fury. “Well, I had to say something when my father demanded to know where Egg had gotten to.”

Duncan’s expression hardens.

Egg looks between them, visibly frightened by how quickly the situation has escalated.

“Please,” Egg says quietly, stepping forward. “Don’t hurt him.”

You glance toward Egg, your expression softening. The young squire looks terrified, but he still tries to stand between the two men, hoping to prevent the situation from becoming worse.

Duncan keeps his knife raised for another moment, his eyes fixed on Daeron.

“Give me one good reason,” he mutters, “why I shouldn’t.”

“He’s going to help you,” you say, making everyone in the tent turn toward you.

Duncan lowers the knife slightly, his attention shifting to you. Egg looks at you with surprise, while Daeron simply stares.

“That’s why you’re here, aren’t you?” you ask, looking directly at Daeron.

It is the first time you have spoken to him in a long while.

For a brief moment, Daeron seems almost stunned by the sound of your voice. His expression softens, and there is something almost wistful in his eyes, as though hearing you speak to him again has brought back memories he had tried to bury. He quickly masks it with a faint, crooked smile.

“I should have known my beloved cousin would have dreamt about it,” Daeron says lightly, attempting to hide the emotion behind his teasing words.

You sigh and look away.

“Don’t humor me.”

The faint smile on Daeron’s face falters.

Duncan watches the exchange carefully, his eyes moving between the two of you. There is something unspoken in the way Daeron looks at you, something Duncan cannot quite place.

Daeron clears his throat and glances toward the knife still in Duncan’s hand.

“Now,” he says dryly, “perhaps you might consider putting that away before you frighten Egg into abandoning his duties altogether.”

Duncan gives him a hard look but slowly lowers the blade.

You remain silent, your gaze fixed on Daeron, wondering what exactly had brought him here and whether there was more to his sudden appearance than he was willing to admit.

Duncan and Daeron begin speaking again, their voices low as they discuss the matter at hand, but you make no effort to listen. Anything concerning Daeron is the last thing you wish to hear. You turn your attention elsewhere, deliberately putting the conversation behind you.

Your gaze settles on Egg, who stands nearby, still looking rather pleased with himself despite the trouble he has caused.

“It was not safe coming here,” you tell him quietly.

Egg looks up at you, seemingly unbothered. “You came.”

You raise a brow at him.

“Well, I’m older than you,” Egg adds with a small huff, as though that settles the matter. “I’m a squire.”

A soft chuckle escapes you, and for the first time in what feels like hours, some of the heaviness in your chest lifts.

“A squire, are you?” you tease gently.

Egg straightens proudly. “A proper one.”

You smile at his confidence, shaking your head slightly. “Then perhaps a proper squire should know better than to wander into danger.”

Egg merely shrugs, looking far too pleased with himself.

You cannot help but chuckle again.

You decide to change the subject, unwilling to let your thoughts linger on Daeron any longer.

“How’s Vaeloris?” you ask, your voice softening at the mention of your younger brother.

Egg’s expression becomes more thoughtful. “He’s all right. He did get a cut from Aerion’s dagger, but thankfully it wasn’t too bad.”

You nod slowly, though the answer does little to ease the worry in your chest.

“I’m glad,” you murmur.

Vaeloris was still your little brother, and despite everything happening around you, you could not stop yourself from worrying about him. Your mind immediately goes to the times you had tried to visit him while he was with the maesters, only to be turned away.

Your father had forbidden you from seeing him.

He had said you were a bad influence on Vaeloris, as though caring for your own brother could somehow bring him harm. The memory still stings, and you lower your gaze, trying not to let the hurt show on your face.

“I wish I could have seen him,” you admit quietly.

Egg looks at you for a moment, his expression softening.

You give him a small smile, though the worry remains in your eyes.

“At least he is all right,” you say, more to reassure yourself than anyone else.

You turn toward Duncan, watching him for a moment before speaking.

“I’ll find more men to fight with you.”

Duncan immediately looks at you. “It’s not safe to go out right now.”

“It’s fine. I can handle it,” you reply, already moving toward the entrance of the tent.

Duncan looks as though he is about to argue, but you are already stepping outside, pulling your cloak around yourself as the rain greets you once more.

Besides, you think, perhaps it is better this way.

You could find more men for Duncan, and you could avoid Daeron at the same time. Anything was better than remaining in that tent with him and pretending that everything between you was fine.

You make your way through the rain, leaving the warmth of the tent behind as you head toward the trees where you had left Dalaxrys. The meadow has grown darker now, the clouds hanging low overhead, and the rain makes it difficult to see very far ahead.

“Dalaxrys,” you call softly.

A low rumble answers from somewhere among the trees.

You follow the sound and soon catch sight of his enormous silhouette. His dark scales blend almost perfectly with the shadows, though his eyes gleam faintly as he lifts his head at your approach.

“There you are,” you murmur.

Dalaxrys lowers himself, folding his wings close to his body as he crouches to allow you to climb onto his back. You place a hand against his scales before pulling yourself up, settling between the base of his wings. Once you are secure, you adjust your cloak and look toward the distant horizon.

You had no time to waste.

“Ser Lyonel,” you say quietly, thinking of the knight you needed to find. “We need to find Ser Lyonel.”

Dalaxrys gives a deep rumble beneath you. With a powerful beat of his wings, Dalaxrys rises from the ground. The trees fall away beneath you as he climbs higher, carrying you above the dark meadow. Rain strikes your face as you guide him toward the distant lands beyond the camp.

You scan the ground below, searching for any sign of Lyonel or the men who might be willing to join Duncan's cause.

“Come on,” you murmur, leaning forward slightly. “We have men to find.”

Dalaxrys lets out a low roar before flying onward through the storm.

You land Dalaxrys a short distance from Lyonel’s tent, far enough away that the great dragon will not disturb the gathering. Once you climb down, Dalaxrys settles near the edge of the camp, folding his wings against his sides as you give him a brief glance.

“I’ll be back soon,” you tell him before making your way toward the tent.

A few minutes later, you enter, only to be greeted by the familiar sound of laughter, music, and the clinking of cups.

You sigh.

Does this man ever stop partying?

You make your way through the crowded tent, carefully stepping between people as they laugh and drink, until you finally find yourself face to face with Lyonel.

The moment he sees you, his expression brightens considerably.

“Ah!” he exclaims, a wide grin spreading across his face. “You came to see me, Princess! I have missed your presence.”

You raise a brow at him, taking in the chaotic scene around you.

“Clearly,” you reply dryly, glancing at the cups scattered across the tables. “You have been terribly busy.”

Lyonel chuckles, seemingly amused by your remark.

“And yet you still came all this way to find me.”

“I did,” you admit, your expression becoming more serious. “And I need to speak with you.”

Lyonel raises a brow at the sudden seriousness in your voice, his playful expression fading slightly as he studies you.

“Something tells me you did not come all this way merely to enjoy my company,” he says, reaching for the cup beside him.

“I need your help.”

Lyonel pauses, cup still in his hand. He looks at you for a moment before setting it down.

“My help?” he repeats. “Now that is a dangerous request.”

You sigh. “Duncan needs men.”

At the mention of Duncan’s name, Lyonel’s expression becomes more thoughtful. He leans back in his chair, folding his arms as he considers your words.

“For the trial?”

You nod. “He cannot face them alone. He needs men who are willing to stand beside him.”

Lyonel glances around his tent at the knights and soldiers gathered around him. Some continue their conversations, paying little attention to the two of you, while others cast curious glances in your direction.

“You came here yourself to ask me?”

“I did.”

“And you flew here on that magnificent beast of yours?”

You give him a look.

“Lyonel.”

He laughs softly. “Very well, very well. No need to look at me as though you mean to have me thrown from a tower.”

You fold your arms. “Will you help him?”

Lyonel studies you for a long moment, the cup in his hand slowly turning between his fingers as the laughter and music continue around you, though neither of you seems particularly interested in the celebration anymore. His usual playful expression has faded, replaced by something much more serious as he considers your request.

“You ask quite a lot of me, Princess,” he says eventually, leaning back in his seat. “You want me to gather men for Duncan, men who may have to risk their lives when the trial comes, and yet you have offered me nothing in return.”

You raise a brow, folding your arms as you look at him. “Then what is it you want?”

Lyonel does not answer immediately, and the silence makes you increasingly curious. He sets his cup down upon the table and looks directly at you, his expression unusually solemn.

“I want your hand in marriage.”

You stare at him, completely caught off guard by the answer. For a moment, you cannot seem to find the words, and when you finally manage to speak, your voice is quieter than before.

“Lyonel, I cannot.”

His expression changes almost imperceptibly, though you can see the disappointment settle in his eyes. “Why not?”

You hesitate, knowing there was no easy way to explain it.

“Because I am already promised to someone.”

Lyonel's gaze remains fixed upon you. “To whom?”

You lower your eyes before answering. “Prince Valarr.”

The words leave a silence between you that feels heavier than the noise surrounding you. Lyonel looks away, his jaw tightening as he absorbs the answer, and for several moments he says nothing.

“Then I suppose there is nothing more to discuss,” he says quietly.

“Lyonel, please.”

He looks back at you, and there is a sadness in his expression that you had not expected to see.

“You cannot give me what I asked for,” he says. “I understand that, but you must understand why I cannot simply pretend that it means nothing to me.”

“I know,” you reply softly. “But I never wanted to marry Valarr.”

That catches his attention.

You take a small breath before continuing, your fingers tightening together as you struggle to explain yourself.

“The marriage was decided for me. And I was never allowed to refuse it. If I had been allowed to choose for myself, I would not have chosen him.”

Lyonel watches you carefully, saying nothing as you continue.

“I know I cannot promise you marriage, and I know that is what you wanted in return for helping Duncan, but I am still asking you to help him. He needs men who are willing to stand beside him, and I came to you because I knew you were someone I could trust.”

Lyonel lets out a quiet breath, looking down at his hands before glancing back toward you.

“You know I would have done anything for you.”

Your expression softens.

“I know.”

“That is precisely why this is difficult,” he says, his voice quieter now. “I cannot have you, and yet you still come to me asking for something that could put my men in danger.”

You look at him sadly. “I would not ask if I had anyone else.”

For a long moment, Lyonel simply looks at you, and the conflict in his expression is clear. He knows he should refuse, especially after learning that you are promised to another man, yet the fact that you came to him yourself seems to be enough to weaken whatever resolve he had left.

Eventually, he sighs and leans back in his chair.

“Very well,” he says. “I will help him.”

You look at him with surprise. “You will?”

“I will gather the men, and I will fight beside Duncan myself if it comes to that,” Lyonel says, his gaze never leaving yours. “Not because I owe Duncan anything, and not because I expect some reward from your family. I am doing it because you came to me and asked me to.”

Your expression softens as you realize just how much his decision has cost him.

“Thank you."

He shakes his head gently, giving you a faint, almost weary smile.

“Do not thank me. If helping Duncan is what you need from me, then I will do it.”

You nod, unable to find the right words to answer him, while Lyonel reaches for his cup once more and settles back into his seat, his decision made despite everything he had hoped for.

You hold his gaze for a moment before giving him another small nod, then glance toward the entrance of the tent where the rain continues to fall beyond the canvas.

“I should return to Duncan,” you say, finally stepping back.

Lyonel nods. “Then go. I will gather the men before the trial.”

You offer him one last smile before turning toward the entrance, pulling your cloak around yourself as you prepare to step back into the rain.

As you leave the tent, the sounds of the celebration slowly fade behind you. Outside, Dalaxrys waits patiently near the edge of the camp, his enormous silhouette barely visible through the mist and rain.

You pause for a moment beside him, resting your hand against his dark scales.

“Let us go home,” you murmur.

Dalaxrys gives a low rumble in response, and you glance once more toward the distant tents, your thoughts returning to Duncan and the trial that awaited him.

There was still much to be done, but at least now, Duncan would not face it alone.

I hope this chapter is ok, I'm so sleep lmao. Sorry for not updating this series in a long time, I just lost the mood but now i have it back so yay. Anyways, I hope you enjot.

Taglist: @moontides19 @softycheol @readersassemble5 @noone1233nobody @shiraa32 @qardasngan @memeorydotcom@fairly-feral@shouto-raki (If I forgot to tag you, please tell me.)

[ladysoupmuncher]

Rise of the Dragon Dreamer( Dalaxrys HCS)

Some hcs for my baby Dalaxrys bc I miss him!!! I will continue the series soon so stay tuned! Sorry for my bad grammar I’m half asleep a but I want to write this.

-When you were younger you used to train him on how to survive on his own, you won’t always be there for him and he needs to be independent. You use to make him chase you as he flies around and pretend that you are “prey” for him to hunt when he is grown. When he catches you he just curls around and snuggle into you making you giggle. Sadly you can’t do it anymore because he’s big now:(

-Whenever Aerion goes near you, Dalaxrys can sense your discomfort and gets protective. Even for his small size, he was able to give a few burns to Aerion.

-Dalaxrys who brings you gifts all the time. One time he brought you a bird only for you to release it because you felt bad for it.

-Dalaxrys who loves to sleep beside you and gets cranky when you told him he can’t sleep on the same bad as you anymore because he’s getting big.

-Dalaxrys(currently) who loves to get pampered by you. He doesn’t let anyone take care of him but you.

-Dalaxrys who tolerates(just a tiny bit) Duncan because you seem close to him.

-Dalaxrys gets a bit annoyed by Egg, just a little. Egg can get a bit…fascinated by Dalaxrys and is always around him. Yes, he likes Egg but he can get irritating since he tries to ride him.

-Dalaxrys doesn’t like any of your family members except Egg. For your mother, he doesn’t really care about her, she’s just…there.

-Since he grows pretty fast, he is bigger than you which means he has to be careful while he tries to get affection from you. When he was a baby dragon he could just run and tackle you to the ground but since his big and could literally crush you to death, he has to be careful.

-Dalaxrys is a beautiful dragon. He has shiny horns with dark blue scales. His mother could be Dreamfrye. Even though he is beautiful, he looks scary at the same time.

-Dalaxrys mostly eats sheep and cattle.

[ladysoupmuncher]

Some thoughts I had about Yandere Tony Stark part 2

Warning: Toxic behavior, kinda stalking, boundaries doesn’t exist for him, some spoilers from iron man 1

I had more thoughts so you have to listen to the, ok? Ok.

When Tony got captured and was forced to build a weapon for the Ten Rings, he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

Ever since you saved him that day, he couldn’t get you out of his mind. He was always wondering what you were doing, whether you were okay, whether you were still alive, or if something had happened to you. Sometimes, he couldn’t even sleep because his mind kept drifting back to you.

Now, he was stuck in a cave with another man named Yinsen.

“Do you have family?” Tony asked.

“Yes. I have a wife and a son,” Yinsen replied.

Tony nodded slowly. “How about you?” Tony paused.

“Well…” He looked down, his expression becoming more serious. “I mean, there’s someone. But I haven’t seen them in a long time. I tried to find them, but I couldn’t.”

He swallowed, glancing away. “I can’t find them now because I’m here, and I’m…” He hesitated. “I’m scared I’ll never see them again.” Yinsen nodded quietly. “Who are they?” he asked.

Tony let out a small, almost embarrassed chuckle.“I don’t even know their name.” Yinsen looked at him. “I only met them once,” Tony continued. “They saved me.”

Yinsen nodded again, looking away as he let out a quiet sigh.

Time had passed since Tony escaped.

After everything that had happened, he was finally on his way home.

He sat quietly in the back of the car, staring out the window as familiar streets passed by. Everything looked almost exactly the same as he remembered, yet somehow, he felt different.

He was free.

But his mind was somewhere else.

Tony leaned his head against the window and let out a quiet sigh. He should have been thinking about getting home, resting, or trying to make sense of everything that had happened.

Instead, he was thinking about you.

He still remembered that day.

The way you had saved him. The way you had risked yourself for someone you barely knew.

And the strangest part?

He still didn’t know your name.

Tony had tried to find you before he was captured. He had searched for anything that could lead him to you, but nothing came up. Now that he was finally home, he had access to everything he needed.

He pulled out his phone and stared at the screen for a moment.

“Okay,” he muttered to himself. “Let’s find you.”

After hours of searching, Tony finally had to admit defeat.

Nothing.

Every file he opened led to another dead end, every possible clue disappeared before it could bring him any closer to finding you. For someone who was used to having every answer at his fingertips, not being able to find one person bothered him more than he wanted to admit.

He eventually left his desk and walked toward his room, hoping that maybe sleep would quiet his thoughts.

But the moment he laid down, his mind went right back to you.

He remembered the day you saved him, the way you looked at him, and the fact that you had no idea how much that one moment had stayed with him.

Tony stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep.

“You’re really impossible to find, aren’t you?” he whispered, almost amused despite his frustration.

He turned onto his side, letting out a quiet sigh.

For once, Tony Stark had no invention to build, no problem he could solve with a machine, and no easy answer waiting for him.

All he could do was hope that somehow, somewhere, he would find you again.

[ladysoupmuncher]

Guys idk but for some reason Tumblr decided to restart my account or whatever? Good thing all of my works are still there but the requests I got before are all gone…I CANT REMEMBER ALL OF THEM🥹 so if I didn’t write yours it means I probably didn’t see it before Tumblr decided to delete it all.

[ladysoupmuncher]

Hii! I really loved ypud yandere wonder woman divorce headconons and was wondering if you could maybe do a part 2 pretty please?

-ty 4 reading my request!

Yandere Wonder Woman x reader (part 2)

She knew that once you woke up, she’d have to endure your protests all over again.

With a weary sigh, Diana brushed a loose strand of hair from your face before turning away. She sank into a nearby chair, burying her face in her hands.

She couldn’t let this happen.

She loved you far too much to let you walk away.

So why had you asked for a divorce?

The question echoed endlessly in her mind. What had she done wrong? She had protected you, saved your life more than once, made sure you were cared for, bought you everything you could ever want, and built what she believed was a happy life together.

Wasn’t all of that enough?

Everything she had ever done was to keep you safe.

And yet… despite all of it, you still wanted to leave her.

She had faced gods, monsters, and enemies far more powerful than most could imagine. She had stood against horrors that would make anyone else tremble.

Yet none of them frightened her as much as this.

She glanced back at you, sleeping peacefully on the bed.

You were hers.

Why couldn’t you understand that?

The only reason she refused to let you leave the house was to keep you safe. What if you were far away and something happened? What if she wasn’t there to protect you? She would never forgive herself.

Her jaw tightened.

Your friends.

They were the reason for all of this. They had filled your head with lies, convincing you that she was the villain—that she was controlling, that she was hurting you.

They had turned you against her.

She should have dealt with them the moment they started interfering. Instead, she had chosen to give them a chance, believing they would eventually understand that everything she did was out of love.

Now she realized that had been her greatest mistake.

She should visit them.

You wake up with a pounding headache, groaning as you hold your head. The soft sheets beneath you make you pause.

Were you in bed?

The memories slowly come back. You were talking to Diana, and then…

Did she knock you out?

You look around the room before glancing out the window. Darkness had already fallen.

How long had you been unconscious?

The smell of your favorite food drifts in from the kitchen, accompanied by the sound of someone quietly humming.

You slowly push yourself out of bed, your legs wobbling as dizziness washes over you. Using the wall for support, you make your way into the kitchen, where Diana is calmly cooking as if nothing had happened.

“What happened?”

Diana turns to you with a gentle smile. She walks over, brushes a strand of hair from your face, and kisses your forehead.

“Looks like you’ve finally woken up, my dearest. I’m making your favorite.” You step back. “Diana… did you knock me out?”

She ignores the question and continues stirring the food.

“Diana, answer me.”

“Can you taste this for me?” she asks, holding out the spoon. “Does it need more seasoning?”

“Diana, stop. Just… stop!” She pauses before slowly turning to face you.

“Don’t speak to me that way.”

“Diana, can we just…” You run a hand through your hair. “Can we please get this over with? Knocking me out is insane. I already told you I want this divorce, and nothing is going to change that.”

Diana furrows her brows.

“This is all your friends’ fault. They turned you against me. Good thing they’re gone.”

You freeze.

“What?”

“I paid them a visit.”

Your heart begins to race.

“What did you do?”

She lets out a quiet sigh.

“Something I should have done a long time ago.”

“Diana… what the fuck?”

She suddenly slams her fist onto the counter, making you flinch.

“Sit down.”

You swallow hard.

“Dinner is almost ready.”

Fear settles in your chest as you slowly walk to the table and sit down. A few minutes later, Diana places a plate in front of you before taking the seat across from you.

“I hope it’s good,” she says with a smile. “I made it just the way you like it.”

You stare at the plate without touching it.

“My love,” Diana says softly, “you should eat before it gets cold.”

With trembling hands, you pick up your fork and force yourself to take a small bite.

“There,” she says with a satisfied smile. “Much better.”

She takes a bite of her own meal before looking back at you.

“I was thinking that tomorrow we could spend the whole day together. We could watch that movie you’ve been wanting to see, or maybe stay home and relax.”

You remain silent.

“I also cleaned the bedroom while you were asleep and reorganized your closet. I finally fixed that drawer you kept complaining about.”

You slowly lower your fork.

“Diana…”

“Hm?”

“What did you do to my friends?”

She calmly takes another bite before answering.

“I told you already. Let’s not ruin dinner with that conversation.”

“What did you do?”

She smiles at you. “They won’t be coming between us anymore.” A knot forms in your stomach.

“What does that mean?”

“It means we can finally have some peace together.”

[ladysoupmuncher]

Send me some marvel or DC requests guys I’m so bored rn lmao.

It can have smut if yall want I don’t mind

[ladysoupmuncher]

Yandere Frank Castle( The Punisher) Smut HCS

Warning: filthy smut, squirting, pussy eating, fingering, pussy spanking, spanking, NON-CON, DUB-CON, etc.

-Yandere Frank who chains your legs to the bed post after you tried to escape.

-Yandere Frank spanking your pussy so hard for being a bad girl again.

-Yandere Frank saying that you need to be punished for being a bad girl:(

-Yandere Frank fingering your poor pussy as you squirm and cry, begging him to stop only for him to shush you and say “You deserve this,baby.”

-Yandere Frank who loves to rub your puffy clit.

-Yandere Frank who eats your pussy like he was starved for days and was having his first meal in a long time.

-Yandere Frank who is usually sweet to you and gentle is now manhandling you. (what did you expect? You tried to escape.)

-Yandere Frank who slurps up all of your juices as you squirt on his face.

-Yandere Frank who doesn’t stop eating you out even if you are so overstimulated. (Poor you)

-Yandere Frank who ignores your pleas for his cock because you don’t deserve it right now.

-Yandere Frank who spanks you and makes you count it. If you don’t count or miss a number you will have to start from the beginning.

-Yandere Frank who coos at you after your ass is so red and bruised.

-Yandere Frank who gives the best after care and explains to you why you shouldn’t escape ever again and that he loves you so much.

-Yandere Frank rubs your back as you sniffle and sleep on his chest.

———-—————————————————————

Idk what happened…

[ladysoupmuncher]

Some thoughts I had about Yandere/Dark Tony stark

I was rewatching the Iron Man movies, and I had some thoughts about Yandere Tony with a reader who is an agent so listen to me rant.

I had a thought where you and he met when he was still in his Playboy era. Women by his side as they giggled at his jokes. You were there wearing a dress and sipping your drink as you analyzed the room. It was filled to the brim with people, but half of the people at that party were beside Tony.

You knew about his reputation; that's why you want to stay as far away from him as possible. You were just there for your mission. It was simple: find your target and kill them.

Well, you thought it was easy until there was an explosion. Men fill the room, shooting at people.

You tightened your grip on your gun. Your target was somewhere inside, and right now, getting everyone else out alive came first.

"GET OUT!" you shouted.

Panic erupted through the club. People screamed as they rushed for the exits, shoving past one another in a desperate attempt to escape. You moved through the chaos, taking down armed men one by one. A gunshot echoed. You ducked, fired back, then drove your fist into another attacker's jaw before disarming him with a sharp kick.

Then you saw him.

Your target.

He had Tony Stark pinned in front of him, one arm locked around his neck while a gun was pressed against his temple.

"One more step and I'll shoot!" the man snarled.

Tony struggled against his grip, but it was obvious he was already injured. Blood stained the sleeve of his suit, and every movement looked painful.

You didn't lower your weapon.

Instead, you waited.

The instant the man's attention shifted for even a second, you lunged forward.

The gun went off, the bullet missing by inches.

You slammed your elbow into his ribs, ripped Tony free, and drove the attacker backward. He swung at you, but you blocked the punch and hit him twice in quick succession before sending him crashing to the floor. He reached for his gun.

You fired first.

The room fell silent.

Tony sat on the floor, breathing hard as he stared up at you.

You offered him your hand.

"Are you alright?" you asked, helping him to his feet.

"Yeah..." he said, catching his breath. "Yeah, I am."

"Good."

You glanced toward the entrance as distant sirens grew louder.

"The police and the ambulances should be here any minute. Go get yourself checked out."

Tony nodded.

"...Thank you."

You gave him a small nod before turning away.

A few minutes later, paramedics were treating Tony inside the ambulance.

As they wrapped the bandage around his arm, his thoughts kept drifting back to you.

You had saved his life.

If you hadn't arrived when you did, he knew exactly how that night would have ended.

He looked out the ambulance window, searching the crowd, hoping to catch one last glimpse of you.

But you were gone.

He let out a quiet sigh.

He hadn't even gotten the chance to thank you.

The ambulance doors closed, and the vehicle pulled away toward the hospital. Tony leaned back against the seat, rubbing his temples, but no matter how hard he tried to focus on anything else, his mind always wandered back to you.

There was something about you he couldn't explain.

A pull. An attraction that had appeared out of nowhere yet felt impossible to ignore.

He didn't know your name.

He didn't know where you had gone.

All he knew was that he had to find you again.

And next time, instead of you risking your life to protect him...

He would be the one protecting you.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I was bored, bye. Sorry if it sucks, haha.

[ladysoupmuncher]

Me again, and it’s okay, honey. Don’t rush or force yourself to finish anything if you don’t feel like doing that. Just please focus on what makes you happy! <3

Thank you so much! I have gotten my motivation back, so I might write my series again and other works.

[ladysoupmuncher]

Hi! Idk if I can submit another request, but here I am(feel free to ignore this if I can only submit one request). May I pretty please request some yandere Wonder Woman x reader who is trying to divorce her due to her posessiveness??

-ty 4 reading my request!

Yandere Wonder Woman x reader

If you were married to Diana(Wonder Woman), it would already be decided that you won't be leaving her.

When you asked her for a divorce, she just stared at you. "You're joking, right?" You didn't reply. "Why?" It was rare to see this kind of emotion on her face; she was usually composed.

You held your breath. You knew where this was going. "It's just...Look, I can't handle this anymore, alright? You are too possessive! You always treat me like some child, even though I am an adult! You control every single thing I do!"

She stays silent, sitting down on the couch as she rubs her temples. "You do know I only act like that because I love you-"

You grunted, "No! You don't get to say that! I tried to normalise this relationship; I really tried! It's too much for me, and I just can't handle this anymore..."

"Did your friends say something to you?" Diana stares at you, her face emotionless. "They did! That was until you told me to stop talking to them! I have always been on your side and I really tried to defend your actions but-"

You exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of your nose. Every nerve in your body was frayed; you were exhausted, frustrated, and desperate for this to end.

"I just want the divorce, okay?" you said quietly. "Please."

Diana's expression didn't waver. She simply looked at you for a long moment before shaking her head.

"No."

She rose from her chair and closed the distance between you. Before you could step back, her arms slipped around your waist, pulling you into a firm embrace.

"You're just stressed, baby," she murmured, gently stroking your back.

"What? No, I'm not!" You struggled against her grip, pushing at her shoulders with all your strength, but she barely moved. "Diana, let me go!"

"Shh..." She rested her chin against the top of your head and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. "Please think this through. You're overwhelmed. You don't mean any of this."

"I do! Now let me g—"

Pain exploded across the back of your head.

Your vision blurred instantly. The room spun as your knees gave out beneath you, consciousness slipping away before you could even process what had happened.

Diana caught you effortlessly before you hit the floor.

"There you go," she whispered, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. Her voice was warm, almost tender. "Just take a little nap, baby. You must be so tired."

Cradling your unconscious body in her arms, she carried you down the hallway and into the bedroom you once shared, laying you gently on the bed as though nothing had happened.

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It's totally okay for you to request again! I don't get that many requests so I'm pretty happy. Thank you and I hope you enjoyed.

[ladysoupmuncher]

Hi! May I pretty please request some headconons for yandere wonder woman with a darling on hunger strike?(bacically refuses to eat unless freed)

-ty 4 reading my request!

Yandere Wonder Woman x reader HCS

-if you were on hunger strike, she would be worried but she won’t give in.

-Diana(Wonder Woman) will find a way, one way or another to get you to eat, even if she has to force you.

-She tries to make you stop, making her voice way more softer to try to persuade you. “Come on my dear, please just eat.”

-She would say things like “Even if you do that, it won’t work. I won’t let you go. I’m sorry.” To try to make you lose hope and hopefully finally eat.

-She has patience, she will try her hardest to not try to hurt you or do anything, but you just really had to make her do it, didn’t you?

-She would tie you up with her lasso, forcing you to eat. You would be on her lap, your back to her chest as she holds a spoonful of food to your mouth. “Just a few bites.”

-She would make you eat no matter what, it’s not healthy for you not to be eating! Even if it does get messy, food everywhere as you thrash around trying to avoid the food, it’s all because she loves you.

-After finally eating the food she would gently scold you, she won’t scold you too hard she doesn’t want to hurt you or make you too sad

-“Don’t do that next time, alright? It’s not good for you. And for the last time, I won’t let you go. You will be here with me. I will take care of you and you don’t need to do anything. The outside world is full of bad people that can hurt you, it’s not safe.

-She would hold you in her arms as you cried, realization sinking in that you would never escape from her no matter what. “It’s okay, baby. Don’t cry…I’m here for you”

Author’s note: I hope this is okay, I tried my best🥹

[ladysoupmuncher]

Marvel and DC requests are now open!!!

Hi guys, I am back...Kinda. Anyways, I kinda wanted to start writing for Marvel and DC for a very long time, but just did not have the motivation to do so. Since I now do have it, I'm going to use it.

For my AKOTSK series, I might go back to it but i'm not sure so yah.

So yah, I'll be writing for Marvel and DC now, yay.

Send the requests before I leave once again(Kidding, maybe.)

[ladysoupmuncher]

I love your work and writing, and just to say it, I hope you’re doing well 💕

Hiii, thank you sooo much for this!

Recently I’ve been really tired to write and to be honest I’m not sure if I’ll be able to continue my series or any of my writings…

I hope I can get the motivation I need and to start writing again.

Again, thank you so much💗💗💗

[ladysoupmuncher]

Can people write more Yandere content for marvel…(especially for Steve, Tony, and Bucky bc ahhhhhhhhAHHHHH I need them)