Everything and More
Witch!reader x J. Velaryon
Summary: After the Battle of the Gullet, when your lovers body is returned to Dragonstone, you resort to old rituals that you had previously rejected for most of your life. “Everything has a price” you were always told. But hell, he’s worth everything and more.
Contains: regular ASOIAF family relationship bs, dead body, angst, death magic, blood/gore, harsh language
Words: 2K ish
A/N: Not proof read! Last week when I was trying to cope with Jace's death in the first episode, my brain immediately went to magic, and it made me think of Rapunzel saving Flynn Rider. And then I was looking into the actual magic of the ASOIAF universe. So this is going to be something, somewhere between that. Reader is Daemon’s only bastard child, but they are the child of a witch so…. Anyways, I just got around to writing it and this IS some main character y/n bullshit but hopefully in a good way… ENJOY!!
“Everything has a price, child,” your Mother told you as she laid down a dead mouse next to a dog she had found on the street. A mutt that had succumbed to its injuries not many hours before. It was your eighth name day, and as her gift to you, she thought it good to show you the power that runs through your veins, gifted by the Lord of Light. “Whether you pay it now or later matters not, but a debt will be owed. So pay the price you choose to set; otherwise it may come back for more,” she warned before she placed her hands over the mouse and began recounting words in a language that you did not know at the time. Suddenly, the mouse burst into flames, and she just watched. "Death by fire is the purest death."
This ritual was one you would never forget. As each day passed and your life changed, you never forgot what she told you, and you never forgot your vow to never use such power.
Until today.
All the air in your lungs dissipated as you looked down at the lifeless boy before you. Holding in the sobs of your own, fighting back their desire to spill as the Queen cried and screamed over her boy. Preferring to hold back in order to not overshadow the grief of a Mother with your own, no matter how painful. When her Queens Guard offers to give up his life, you pay no mind to it, your eyes never leaving the greyish tint of a soul leaving someone. It is not until the words she speaks next spark an old memory in your mind that you finally turn to her once more.
“And what good would that do?.. Will it change the truth of his folly and yours? And yours!” She screams, pointing at everyone in the room. “All of you who knew what Jacaerys had done and stood by. Are your lives too, not forfeit? Have you not betrayed your Queen?!”
Silence overtakes the room for a few moments before her sobs continue. It is not until she holds her boy once more that you pull your feet from their frozen place on the ground and step forward. If you are to save him, you need to try it now, before you run out of time. As you walk around to the place on the opposite side of him, everyone looks on in horror at your bravery.
“Your Grace,” you begin, your voice breaking with emotion as you sit on your knees. Her eyes shoot into you for a moment before she realizes who you are and grows sad again. A shaking exhale turns into a sob as you place your hands on your lap.
“I could… try something, Your Grace,” you say, speaking as clearly as you can. She looks at you, confused for a moment, before her eyes flare slightly in remembrance. “I cannot p-promise that what I might do should work, and if it does not… Then I will take whatever punishment you see fit for the illegitimacy. But I ask you for permission to at least.. Try-” your voice breaks for a moment as you glance at his face up close, the blood and discoloration evident. “T-try saving… ”
You feel her eyes on you as you look down, trying to pull yourself together. She looks back at her boy, moving some hair out of the way of his face. Moments of silence go by as she looks at him, her eyes glassy, as she looks him over.
“Try it…” she says quietly, her words cutting through the room and pulling you right back to attention. It takes you a moment to realize what she said before nodding hastily and rising, your feet wobbly, but you manage. “Everyone else out,” her voice booms, causing everyone else to bow and do as she says without a second thought.
A few moments later, you find yourself sitting beside him, tools at the ready. The Queen has taken a spot behind you, not wishing to leave Jace’s side but granting you space to work. Candles are lit all around, and a large fire burning in a cauldron sets light all around you. You exhale, slowly taking his coat and undergarments off where his injuries are. The arrows were fatal in two spots, one near his neck and the other by his heart, and another puncture was found on his back. Seeing his marked skin caused your stomach to turn, tears burning your eyes as you softly dabbed away the blood and pus on his skin.
For most of your life, you had left the memories and practices of your Mother behind, just as she had done to you. You never wanted to feel tainted by power or in debt to some all-seeing being that you were not sure was really there. At least that is what you have always told yourself. But here you are, realizing now that maybe that was not true. The calling was always there. In the hours spent learning Old Valyrian songs, rhymes, and histories. Hours spent watching the maesters work on injuries and illnesses from the shadows. Nights spent feeling the presence of a mother you do not know, a presence that felt so apparent that you could reach out and touch her. You were something that you could not quite name, something that others might call a “witch.” But now, in this moment, as you clean the fatal wounds that litter the body of your greatest love, you care not what titles might be bestowed upon you; only that he will be breathing tomorrow.
Once you finish cleaning them, you patch them all up, whispering words of prayer in High Valyrian for each one. Not necessary for the ritual, but it aids in your heart feeling like maybe, just maybe, this all will work. You then move to the next part. The offering.
You cut a few locks of his hair, grooming him as well as you can. You toss them into the fire beside you, speaking more prayers throughout. As you turn back to him, you pause, contemplating a further offering, one you know holds more weight and is less likely to be denied. “The more meaning it holds, the more likely it is to take,” you remember your Mother saying. You look towards Rhaenyra, her eyes already on you. The grief and exhaustion are present in how her eyes are forlorn, red, and weepy.
You slowly turn towards him once more, taking his hand in yours and pressing a kiss on his knuckles before you move a small bowl closer. Then, taking a long blade into your hand, you move it towards your skin. You hear Rhaenyra say your name from behind you, but you continue on, applying pressure to your palm. The hot red trickles down into the bowl as tears fall down your face; you bite back a sob.
“Zaldrīzesse ānogar… ānogar hen lö'værhën.”
The blood of the dragon… the blood of a lover.
You push out, squeezing your hand as you collect a decent amount into a bowl, some of your tears falling in as well. You grab a rag and wrap it around your palm, tightly tying it in place before turning and pouring the mixture into the fire as more prayers leave your lips. You then place your hands on his chest and continue the prayer. Tears fall as you beg the Lord of Light to bring his soul back. You plead for what feels like centuries, repeating prayer after prayer. At some point, you feel Rhaenyra come up behind you and place a hand on your shoulder, but you refuse to give up.
“Māzigon nyke! Māzigon nyke rȳ ālion hen zirȳla!”
Take me. Take me in place of him!
“Nyke sagon aōha dohaeragon, nyke shpr’réádrys aōha udir. Kessa!”
I will be your servant. I will spread your word. Please!
Rhaenyra pulls you away, crying as she scolds you, “Do not make such promises!” You lean into her and begin to cry. Really cry. The pain of your heart needing his, the pain of feeling his coldness, and of the power you once saw as a child leaving you out in the cold when you needed it most. The two of you hold each other for some time before you crawl back over to him, taking his hand in yours as you lay your head on his stomach, Rhaenyra finding a spot near his head, running her fingers through his newly cut hair. Tears from your eyes run down his side, and you slide your thumb back and forth against his palm, having forgotten about the sting of your own by now.
Your mind wanders to old memories. The day you met him, when Laena died, how he cared for your sisters so sweetly. How he would laugh with Joffrey as they ran around, the small boy holding tightly to his older brother's shoulders as he made dragon noises, which sounded more like a pig. You also remember his face when he found out you would be betrothed to another, and how different it was from the look of pure joy that occurred when Daemon finally agreed to your betrothal to each other instead. The young prince claimed that it was just the “right thing to do,” and he “could not have you marrying some old Tully fart”; you would tease him about this for a long time.
However, the memory that takes up the majority of your thoughts is of a night not so long ago. It was a few days after Luke died, and after dinner, you found him sitting on the beach, thinking. The wind was blowing in his hair, eyes red and glossy. You were unsure if it was from the sand blowing or emotion until he deliberately said, “I miss Luke.” His voice was scratchy and broken. The two of you sat in silence, listening to the ocean, only speaking when he initiated it. He asked if you could sing for him, as you did for the younger kids sometimes, and after a moment of hesitation, you obliged, singing a quiet Old Valyrian song. The two of you would end up falling asleep on the beach and getting into a lot of trouble the next day. But not even a scolding from the Queen could ruin the mutual feeling of care that became oh so clear that night.
So as you lie here, you begin to hum quietly. Unable to form the words, you stick to the soft vibrations of the same song from that night. After a while, Rhaenyra gets up and excuses herself, seemingly needing time alone, but also granting you the same. Slowly, your breath begins to even out, the trance-like state that you have forced yourself into beginning to take over and transfer into slumber. Maybe you would dream a beautiful dream. A dream with no war, only your family united, and your beautiful Jace close to you. And maybe, just maybe, you could wake from that dream and find that none of this was real, and it was all a cursed nightmare. One you would wake from and find your Prince alive and breathing. “Maybes” filled your thoughts for a few more moments before you finally fell asleep, entering the blissful mountains of rest.
Warmth.
Warmth on your face and fingertips, the feeling of dried tears on skin accompanying them, as you begin to find yourself somewhere between the conscious and unconscious.
Stirring.
Stirring and breathing that confuse you as it is not your own.
It is not until you hear a soft groan that you feel yourself pulled completely awake, jolting up as you look at the young man before you. Color having returned to his face and skin, as well as the fast rise and fall of someone returning to life.
“Jace?” You mumble, your voice hoarse from all of the crying and pleading. He stirs, his eyelids fluttering. You sit up on your knees, moving closer to his face. “Jacaerys-”
You are interrupted by a gasp, followed by his eyes darting all around in fear before landing on yours. You lean forward, tears already beginning to fall as you take his face in your hands.
“Oh Jacaerys! Oh my- Oh my gods!” You cry, holding him closely while trying to be careful as well. He tries to speak but winces, the injury on his neck making it painful.
“It is alright, it’s alright, save your speech.” You say quickly, looking him over. You then turn away and yell towards the door. “Elinda! Mysaria, get the Queen! S-someone get the Queen!”
You turn back to Jace, and tears are filling his eyes. He slowly reaches up and places a hand on one of your own that is holding his face. You smile a shaking smile before leaning down to kiss his face, planting a few kisses all over before placing one on his lips. Some would say it is inappropriate as you are not married yet. But you would tell them they can fuck off. You just lost him, and now you have him again. Whatever price you will have to pay can wait.
________________________________________________________________
A/N: And then Y/N gets on her dragon and kills all of the Greens except Helaena and Gwayne, and the realm is in peace and prosperity under Rhaenyra, and they all live happily ever after!! Or something like that. Anyways, some jokes aside, my ass LIVES for drama and angst, so sorry you guys were subjected to that lol. Hope you enjoyed!
