eleanor

i write sometimes

[meetmeonthethoroughfare]

scrap

Aerion yearned; he had never yearned before. You had left after he said something stupid; he didn’t even remember what he said. You had disappeared before he could speak again. The sharp-tongued prince, who usually growled at anyone who looked at him, was silent. Aerion missed his wife; his family commented on his unusual silence, and he had just sat there, no anger in his eyes, just sadness. The day after the argument, Maekar was worried about his son for the first time in his life, “Talk to me, Aerion”, he’d mumbled. His son just looked at him, purple eyes glistening with tears threatening to spill, “Do you think she still loves me?” Aerion had whispered; his father was speechless, for so many years, he had believed his son was incapable of anything but anger, he believed him cruel and untamable, until this moment. His ruthless son was crying in front of him, simply a man who longed for his wife’s return. “I fear she’s gone forever, because of something I don’t even remember saying.” Aerion continued. “She will return”, Maekar had tried to reassure his son.

[meetmeonthethoroughfare]

my love, my life

Aemond stood in the doorway, soaked and broken. His beautiful wife stared back at him before a smile crept over her face, before quickly faltering, noticing the look in his eye. He stumbled into the room, fire cracking and spitting, rain beating down on the thin windows. His wife leapt forward, catching him before he hit the ground, setting him down onto a chair. She was saying something, but he couldn’t make out what, “ñuha jorrāelagon,” (my love) he whispered, his hands shook, he searched the fire for any way to correct his mistakes. The boy and his dragon were dead, an accident he swore it, begging the Gods to relieve him from this nightmare. A hand touched his cheek as he flinched, catching the eyes of his attacker. His wife’s eyes softened as he caught them in the low light, “I’m sorry”, he breathed out, barely audible. “ñuha gevie ābrazȳrys, I’m sorry.” (my beautiful wife)

“Aemond”, she repeated, bringing him back to the moment, resting a soft hand on his cheek, tracing the bottom of his scar. “Aemond, what have you done?” she questioned, voice stern but softening as a tear dripped onto her fingers. Aemond sighed, shaky and delicate. “Nyke ossēntan zirȳla se zȳhon zaldrīzes,” (I killed him and his dragon), he couldn’t bring himself to switch language, fearing that someone might be listening, he feared the waves might even be listening, crashing into the cliffs below, begging to hear a confession. The Princess drew her hand away, shock filled her eyes as she turned towards the fire. Aemond stared at the back of her braided silver hair, falling like waves over her shoulders before resting at the small of her back. Aemond reached his hand out, softly touching the silver waves, before retracting his hand back and staring into his lap. “Please”, he whispered, so soft his words dying in the fire before they could reach her ears, “Please", he repeated. “Nyke gōntan daor nūmāzma naejot,” (I did not mean to) the words choked in his throat. She finally turned back, grabbing his hands, kneeling to reach his gaze. 

Aemond blinked, his eye blurred from his tears. He searched her eyes; he wanted to find hatred. He pleaded with the Gods for her to hate him. But all he found was forgiveness: “You should hate me”, he attempted to snap, but it came out weak and small. “I’ll never hate you, Aemond”, her voice steadied, filled with love “It was an accident, I know it was an accident you’d never do something like that.” 

“You are wrong.” Aemond cut in, “Because I did it,” he barked. Rising to his feet, he felt as if he didn't push her away, she would be the next to die. His life stumbled backwards, watching as he stormed out the chamber door, spitting curses in High Valyrian, footsteps ringing through the empty stone corridors. 

.𖥔 ݁ ˖  ✦  ‧₊˚ ⋅

A moon passed before Aemond felt ready to confess that he was the man who killed his Nephew. He wished that his wife were by his side; she could solve every problem, calm every nerve. Aemond knew she was in the throne room; he could sense her presence, the calm, kind presence that overpowered every other emotion in the great hall. He searched for her eyes, a search that turned into panic, a panic that only his princess would notice, and she did, the moment their eyes caught in the crowd of hundreds, her entire body softened “kesā sagon sȳz”, (you will be fine) she whispered in High Valyrian the language they used often to confess hidden feelings and reassurances. She saw him for who he truly was, not who the court or his mother and family wanted to see; she saw the soft and kind man he was, not the angry machine who wanted war and revenge every time he had been wronged. He wondered if he had truly killed Lucerys Velaryon in revenge or if it was an accident. The cheers in the great hall dragged him back from her eyes; no soul in the room cared if the murder was an accident or not. They all wanted to see the blacks fall and their rightful king remain upon the iron throne. 

“They will come for revenge”, Alicent  told him that night, 

“They’ll come for me”, Aemond corrected. His mother only sighed and reached for her cup of wine, “We will protect you, Aemond”, she reassured. 

“I don’t need protection”, he said, voice firm and certain, “she does,” he whispered. Alicent only nodded; she knew who he meant. “I will protect her, you have my word, Aemond.” She comforted his worries before Aemond could speak again, his chamber doors opened, and a guard stepped in. “What?” Aemond shouted voice cold. 

“Your wife wishes to speak to you, my Prince”, the guard muttered, taken aback by Aemond’s shouting. He bowed and let the Princess pass. Allicent stood, kissed her son’s cheek and walked towards his wife, smiling before taking her leave. 

“My love, my life”, he whispered, as she settled in front of him, taking his hand. Aemond felt guilt rising in his chest; he felt as if he should pull his hand away and leave the room, but he didn’t; he remained seated in his chair, in his warm chambers, with his beautiful wife looking up at him with all the love in her heart. He let out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding. Aemond hadn’t spoken to her in a month; he could not let her die for his mistake, so he pushed her away. Every day in court, she tried to speak, attempted to reach for his arm or his hand before he pushed her away and turned to leave.

“Forgive me, I beg of you,” he caught himself whispering, leaving a kiss on her knuckles. He searched her eyes for anger and disgust, but once again found nothing. It was as if nothing in the world could make her hate him, even murdering a child, his own nephew. “I will regret ignoring you until the day I die.” Aemond continued, “I understand if you never look at me the same, I will understand if you want to leave this place and never return.” He silently begged that she would never leave; he could stop her if she did, but he wouldn’t. 

“Oh, Aemond, I’d never leave you”, she swore, “there is nothing you can do to make me leave your side.” She shifted, just enough to kiss him, and a sweet, warm feeling spread over his heart. The only time in his life when he felt loved was when he was with his wife. He could have the entire world, but he’d only ever want her, in every lifetime. “Avy jorrāelan”, (I love you) he breathed out, as they parted the kiss. His Princess smiled, a bright, warm smile that would bring light to any darkened life. “Avy jorrāelan”, she echoed back. 

That night, Aemond couldn’t sleep. He sighed, a shaky breath escaping his chest, before standing up to walk towards the balcony, the waves beating against the cliffs, the salty air curling the ends of his hair. He looked back towards the bed to see his sleeping wife, reaching for his side of the bed for warmth. Aemond turned back towards the sea, searching the horizon for answers. He could hear the dragons growling, snapping at each other. Before he was brought back by a hand between his shoulders, spreading down onto his back. “Come back to bed, valzȳrys”, (husband) she whispered, and he followed. To the end of the sea, until they dropped off the world, he would follow her.

[hammersanvil]

Baelor and Maekar Targaryen by CrazyTom

[jakecockley]

“my brother’s mace, most like. he’s strong.”

[prettydeeryess]

free my man, he did all those things and doesn't regret even half of them but look at his puppy eyes

[meetmeonthethoroughfare]

harrenhal

You woke suddenly to someone screaming in one of the connecting towers, a heavy, guttural sound that was horrifying to anyone who might pass by. A knock shot you from your thoughts, sounding almost silent compared to the sounds that still echoed in the tower. “My lady, I hope I haven’t awoken you”, a voice said. You didn’t know anyone knew you were here in this room, never mind Harrenhal. Roose Bolton’s prisoner, they had named you, although he denied such words. Being married to a Lannister seems to have given you the unwanted experience of being a prisoner recently. “Who is it?” you called back. The rain and the screaming started heavier again, lashing at the windows, making the distant towers almost invisible against the dark of the morning. “Qyburn requested your presence, my lady.” Standing and reaching for the door, you opened it carefully and peered out. “My lady,” the woman repeated, smiling, “follow me.” 

The hallway was dark and cold. You followed the woman. The screaming was getting louder and louder until you could make out some words in between. “Where’s my wife?” the man whimpered, “Please”, he managed to make out before a scream strangled the word in his throat. The woman stopped dead in her tracks, sighing before she opened the door and pushed you in. As your eyes adjusted to the change in light, you saw him.

“Jaime?” you breathed out, careful not to awaken from this dream you believed you were in. The man whom you presumed was Qyburn had stopped his work to look at you. Jaime’s eyes were glassy and distant; he just sat and stared at you. Questioning if you were real. A shaky breath, rain hitting the windows so loud you could barely hear it. 

 “You are real”, Jaime said. He sounded desperate. As you reached for his hand, you took in his appearance, ruined and exhausted. Covered in dirt, blood, his hair matted and clothes torn.

You pulled him closer, as Qyburn continued to pull away what looked like rotten flesh from a stump where Jaime’s hand used to be. His right hand.

“Tell me something, please”, a strangled breath “please”, he begged through wails and whimpers. He was trying not to cry, you could tell. The rain thrashing against the weak windows, “please”, Jaime whispered, searching your eyes. You told him about the first time you watched him at a Tourney, “You were the most beautiful man I’d ever seen”, you whispered back to your husband. He attempted to grin, grimacing at the pain instead. You continued to tell him how he unhorsed everyone, with your crimson favor tied around his arm. 

He screamed again, louder than you’d ever heard a man scream.  

As you kept talking to him, the tears flowed steadily before breathless sobs took over. You reached up to cup his face, as he stared at you like a scared deer caught in a passing arrow. Clinging onto the other hand as if you were going to leave him in this dark room. “Don’t stop talking, I beg,” he managed to get out. “When you finally won”, you continued with your story, “I turned to my father and begged him to let me marry you.” Jaime smiled, a true smile that reached his teary eyes. “I remember that day”, he managed to get out. “I saw you in the crowd, and I knew you were the only girl I wanted,” he whispered, like he didn’t want anyone to hear his confession. Not even you. 

“I’m done”, Qyburn said, wrapping a bandage around Jaime’s stump. His head hit your shoulder, still crying, body tense but relaxing slowly. The rain was lighter now, no longer pounding at the side of the tower. The distant towers were visible as the dawn crept in. “Thank you”, you said to Qyburn. Jaime still clung tight to your clothes. “Come on, Jaime”, you said, wrapping an arm around his waist to pull him up. A painful breath, as he followed you to your bedchamber. 

.𖥔 ݁ ˖  ✦  ‧₊˚ ⋅

The sunlight echoed through the room, bouncing off every surface. You awoke, the light in your eyes and a comforting warmth at your back. Jaime. It was real, he was real. As you moved, he sighed. A shaky, broken sigh. He hadn’t slept, the bags under his eyes as dark as yesterday's sky. Jaime smiled as he moved a strand of hair out of your face; the pain of his phantom hand was written all over his face.

“Are you ok?” you whispered. He grimaced and nodded slowly. “What happened?” you asked, slight pleading in your voice for an answer. He looked away, at his missing hand. “Catelyn Stark”, he started, “the Starks captured me at Whispering Wood, threw me before Robb Stark, I requested we duel, and he threw me in a cell.” “Robb Stark cut off your hand?” you questioned, perhaps a bit too loudly. Jaime winced at your words and shook his head. “Locke”, he whispered, “Locke cut my hand off.” You looked at him, really looked at him; his eyes were distant and sad, face thin and sunken. You didn't push for more.

A few seconds passed, “Oh my dear Jaime, it’ll be ok,” you said, attempting to comfort him. He just looked at you, searching your eyes as if he were searching for a way out of this hell. “It will be ok,” you echoed. Your attempt at reassuring him. “I can’t fight anymore” Jaime breathed out so quietly you nearly missed it. “I can’t” choked in his throat. He was trying not to cry. 

The sunlight caught in the green of his eyes, highlighting the horrors going on in his head. You couldn’t think of what to say to help pull him from his thoughts. “I liked your story of when you first saw me” he stated suddenly, smiling, a real, genuine smile. You smiled back and kissed him lightly. You could feel his grin before he kissed you back. “I missed you” you confessed as you both parted, “I missed you” he echoed back.

“I would’ve come to find you if I had known the Starks had you.” 

“I know you would’ve” he said, “I know.” And then he kissed you again.