#bloodhonored

[knightcrowned]

🤷— for aemon bc ayldri will go to him for absolutely everything

The worst person to ask, perhaps

Aemon's face was startlingly red.

"I've never, well, I've not... I took a vow to be chaste when I was barely a man grown." He answered, "But I believe a child is made when a man... embraces a woman, and leaves the proof of his love within her."

That didn't sound quite right. His father had not loved his mother, yet he was born.

"... perhaps a maester would explain it better than I."

[vahaemion]

anakin is on edge : "i'd ask what your plan is, but i have a feeling i'd regret knowing." (for your hotd verse!)

The  halls  were  unusually  silent.  If  he  listened  hard  enough,  he  could  hear  a  pin  drop  from  the  other  side.  Since  the  tensions  rose  between  the  Greens  and  the  Blacks,  the  air  was  thick  with  distrust.  Anakin's  own  stomach  turned  to  a  knot  when  forced  to  speak  to  Alicent  Hightower.  The  Bitch  Queen,  as  some  of  the  other  knights  called  her  and  this  included  Anakin.  His  loyalties  laid  with  the  heir,  Rhaenyra  Targaryen.  And  because  of  that  simple  fact,  his  house  was  divided  also.  Which  made  his  mere  existence  miserable.  Nothing  could  soothe  his  frayed  nerves.  No  beer  or  wine  could  help  put  him  to  sleep.  He  was  forever  on  edge  and  aware.  One  false  move  and  his  head  would  end  on  a  pike.  "Probably  better  for  not  knowing."

@bloodhonored

[fallesto]

WHAT DID THEY WANT FROM HIM.

What was he meant to do? With this mess that has just gotten WORSE. He had thought that all of them growing up TOGETHER, training with one another and SPENDING as much time as possible with each other would have been a good thing, but it appears to have done the OPPOSITE of what he wanted. His SONS where fighting with his GRANDSONS. Both sides picking FIGHTS and throwing INSULTS at one another. For a long time, he merely played it off as nothing more than the joys of youth. He was the same with his younger brother. Getting into FIGHTS with him, getting into TROUBLE, being dragged time and time again before their family and PUNISHED for their antic’s

BOYS WILL BE BOYS.

At least it was that at the start and now it had pushed ahead to this. A COMPLETE and utter DISASTER. His son was WOUNDED, an eye stolen from him, his grandson being the one who had committed the crime. And yet. SLANDER and ACCUSATIONS had been uttered. RUMOURS and nothing more than that had been spoken as if they held any single droplet of truth to them. To say such things, was a serious crime and then, to ASSAULT a prince was, just as DANGEROUS as it was STUPID, but what did people expect from him? Remove the eye from his grandson as punishment? BANISH him for what he had done. PUNISH them both for starting a fight that had done more damage than both of them could possibly know.

The family was now CUT in half, and it seemed that nothing he could do, could pull it back TOGETHER.

“What would you have me do? Send you both to the wall, so you can fight at the top of the world, over foolish things.”

As the KING would look down at him for a moment and shake his head. It was a dangerous mess they were all within. So many where TURNING to him, looking to him, demanding that BLOOD pays for BLOOD, but the matter had been dealt with. There would be NO punishments, for there was NO crime. the boys where FIGHTING, it got out of hand and that was the END of the matter. The LESSON had been LEARNED for them all, at how DANGEROUS insults where, to people like them, to those who held real POWER within these kingdoms.

“You are young, you will learn. You have dragons’ blood within you, and a temper that matches that of a dragon, just like so many at your age, but you will become wiser with the passing years, and in time, this will be nothing more than a painful memory that will remain dead and buried.”

@bloodhonored

[misvos]

continued from here with @bloodhonored

Maesters had worked hard on healing the prince but the trial had left him aching and in more pain than he’d ever felt before that their herbs and medicinal drinks did not have any effect on it or, if they did, it was so miniscule that he hadn’t felt it. Even if he wanted to protest at Ayldri’s attempt to braid his hair, it wouldn’t have worked and he did think that it might be enough of a distraction to make him forget about it all.

“Do you mean to call my hair a transgression?” the prince scoffs, bewildered but in a way that childhood friends could be with each other that meant there wasn’t any offence to it. “At least you say to my face instead of whispering it behind me,” he shrugs then winces from the movement, forgetting how fragile his body is at the moment.

Being outside instead of cooped up in the dreadful halls of Lord Ashford’s home was helping but he longed to be back in Dragonstone or the Red Keep, just not Summerhall. Even in the shade he could feel the heat of the day and closed his eyes as the sun broke through a passing cloud and he could feel its warmth on his skin, reminding him of days spent in Dorne.

“Do you think I can?” he asks but shakes his head. “No. I can. You’ll have to teach me and tell me the best way to do it.”

[dutyled]

He  chose  to  go  m.i.a  a  while  ago.  None  of  it  was  appealing  to  him.  Drinking  to  the  point  of  being  utterly  stupid  left  a  bad  taste  in  his  mouth.  Other  nights,  he  probably  would  entertain  doing  it.  Not  tonight.  Maybe  it  was  all  too  much  at  the  moment.  Could  it  be  another  overstimulated  moment  of  his?  The  room  felt  too  small  and  too  crowded.  Perhaps.  But  it  better  fucking  stop.  He  hated  feeling  like  he  was  going  to  slither  out  of  his  skin.  So  sitting  there,  he  sulked  on  whomever's  bed  as  Nikolas  took  to  his  usual  doom-scrolling  to  take  the  edge  off.  Because  nothing  was  better  than  seeing  groomers  get  screamed  at  by  unfortunate  overweight  felines. Earbuds  firmly  in  place,  he  hardly  noticed  the  door  opening  and  then  closing  quickly.  As  long  as  they  didn't  bother  him,  he  didn't  care.  Well,  until  he  glanced  over  and  saw  the  look  on  her  face.  It  was  all  too  familiar.  The  panic  laced  in  her  eyes  with  her  back  firmly  against  the  door  as  if  to  hold  off  a  dragon  from  barging  in.  As  if  it  would  help.  No,  Nick  understood  quietly.  Partly  why  he  chose  to  speak  up  and  pause  his  video  of  screaming  cats.  "Looks  like  we're  stuck  together." It  wasn't  the  best  way  to  point  out  his  existence  to  someone  who  looked  just  as  anxious  as  he  felt.  But  it  was  all  he  could  think  of.  "Probably  the  same  reason  you  are,"  Nikolas  said  honestly.  "No,  but  I  am  the  type  to  break  vases  when  my  skin  feels  too  tight...  don't  worry.  There's  no  vases  in  here.  I  already  checked."

@bloodhonored

[knightcrowned]

@bloodhonored from [X]

AT FIRST, THE PRINCESS HAD BEEN CONVINCED SHE HAD DONE SOMETHING WRONG. She stood there for a moment, her eyes riddled with the sort of pain a puppy would get for being scolded for doing something they shouldn’t have. Ayldri didn’t say anything. Usually, she would’ve argued, said something in rebuttal to the words but the longer she stared and studied his face the more she realized that his frustrations were not directed towards her or their recent schemes but something else entirely. There was an immediate sense of understanding that cleared the strenuous doubt in her mind, no longer was she worried about upsetting him or wondering if she had been the reasoning behind his mood but instead it seemed to be him coming to her about his internal turmoil,  “What is it?” She didn’t bother waiting for an invitation, the torchlight casting shadows against the walls of the very bedchamber she allowed herself into—always in his personal space, like some sort of cat trying to make itself at home after claiming its person.  It was always her seeking Aemon out, wishing for an opinion that mattered more than the pointless overlapping voices of others who didn’t seem to understand her unlike he did; never the sworn sword hoping for the honesty of a princess. “Did something happen as of late?” 

“I...”

Aemon’s anger faltered like a lantern in the rain, spluttering and fading. He had not meant to speak so sharply to her - it was not his nature to raise his voice at ladies, least of all the one whom he served, and his Order taught the virtues of patience and temperance. Embarrassment at his outburst coloured his pale cheeks pink.

“Forgive my words, my lady.” he answered, his eyes darting around the room as though the right words would appear on the tapestry or the doorframe. “I am not myself.”

The last few days his mood had turned low, as it did sometimes, but it seemed work and prayer did not aid him this time. 

“I have not been myself for some time. It is... very hard to be away from home - but please,” he added quickly, “do not think it is not my pleasure and honour to guard you. It is only... I am not used to being so far from those I would ask for guidance.”

[fallesto]

IF SHE REVEALED THIS TO ANYONE ELSE. HE WOULD PERISH.

Maybe he was deserving of such a fate. Considering what had transpired. Perhaps that was the fate for someone like him. The very individual who was supposed to safeguard her had seized something that could only be given once. To her rightful husband, not to someone as insignificant and worthless as he. A nameless, title-less wretch had stolen the virtue and innocence of the noble lady before she pledged herself to another. It was a transgression he could not escape, a sin with countless repercussions that would leave him battered, shattered, and reduced to a mere shadow of his former self.

"Don’t lie for me."

As he uttered those words, he couldn't bear to lift his eyes to meet hers, instead focusing on the ground. He struggled to form thoughts in his mind, words that might provide her solace amidst the shared guilt. It was a daunting task, but he knew that if she uttered a single word to her father or anyone else, he would face the consequences. He accepted that fate without fear, believing he deserved every bit of it. Yet, she would bear the mark of this shame, and everything she aspired to, her crown, her throne, her chance to be the first woman to rule, would be stripped away, leaving her cast aside.

"I will face the wall as my punishment. I will distance myself from this place as much as I can."

As he shut his eyes for a brief moment, he realised this was not an act of fleeing; it was a way to atone for his sins, without being torn apart, shattered countless times, and left to decay in the dark dungeons. He still had the chance to do some good on the wall, to contribute something meaningful and valuable there. If he could just hold on a little longer, he could still help others. But for her sake, what had transpired, her safety and future depended on it, had to stay between them, buried and forgotten. That was the only way to ensure that no terrible fate would befall her, for he lacked the strength to refuse her in that moment.

@bloodhonored

[fallesto]

"You don't have to be what they tell you to be, you know? You're not stuck. You can change."

He envisioned flames.

They danced at the fringes of his awareness, vast, roaring waves of gold and red that transformed men into wailing silhouettes. He found himself in the midst of it, unharmed, the warmth caressing his skin like a lover's kiss. In the vision, he extended a hand, and the fire wrapped around his fingers, as obedient as a well-trained dog. "Dracarys." He whispered, and the flames surged forth, engulfing a faceless throng that pleaded for mercy he would never provide. Their cries merged with the crackling of charred flesh. A smile crept across his face.

Then the bed shifted beneath him. Incorrect. His mattress in the Red Keep didn’t sag like this. The dream began to unravel. The fire faded to glowing embers. He groaned, attempting to roll onto his side. His body didn’t respond as he anticipated. His limbs felt... stretched. Weighty. Something quivered at the base of his spine. He kicked out in annoyance, and his hoof struck the bedpost with a resounding thud.

Hoof.

His eyes shot open. Darkness enveloped him. Silk sheets twisted around legs that were no longer legs. He instinctively reared up, only to have his head collide with the canopy above his bed. Pain erupted behind his eyes. He fell back onto the mattress, gasping. The movement caused his tail, his tail, to whip violently against the pillows. His breath came in harsh snorts through nostrils that flared too wide, too moist.

"Wha, " The sound came out as a deep whinny.

He froze. Silence enveloped him. Somewhere outside the bedchamber, a servant shuffled by. He inhaled sharply through his new muzzle. The scents overwhelmed him: stale wine, sweat-drenched linen, the metallic bite of fear. His fear. His nostrils quivered. Beneath it all, smoke. Distant. Recognizable. Dragonfire. The realization coiled in his stomach like a living creature. He was still Targaryen. Still of the dragon's blood. Even in this form.

“What the hell have you done to me!”