Hi! I'm Tunis and i like to write and recommend fics <3
My fandoms are: Stranger Things, Animal Kingdom, The pitt, Southland, Game of thrones universe, MCU, DCU, Riordanverse, The walking dead, Invincible, The boys, Hunger games, Bridgerton, My hero academia, Dr. house, Avatar universe, Black clover, Frieren: beyond journey's end, ER, Jojo's bizarre adventures, Dandadan, Mob psycho 100, atypical, Supernatural, Dexter, Gilmore girls, Bojack horsemen + romantic comedies, comedy shows and more.
My favorite artists are: DJO, Sabrina Carpenter, Taylor Swift, Chappel Roan, Olivia Rodrigo, Charli XCX, The neighbourhood, Twenty one pilots, Lady Gaga, Ariana Grande, Paramore, Harry Styles, David Bowie, Metallica, Queen, The Cure, The Smiths, AC/DC, Lana del Rey, Hayley Williams, Lorde, Ed Sheeran, Hozier, Noah Kahan, Nirvana, Selena Gomez, Billie Eilish and more.
Follow me on:
AO3
Wattpad
Instagram
FIC MASTERLIST
⋆˚࿔ Series 𝜗𝜚˚
Epic Nerd Journey
OC insert in Stranger Things, Multiple OC'S and love stories simultaneously. Cross posted on Wattpad.
Despicable thoughts that flooded your mind when you saw him walk in to the church. Your eyes met his gaze before looking away.
A cherry red flush covering your face as you had to excuse yourself from your mentor.
It had barely been a week since you got integrated into the church and already you were having not so holy thoughts about someone who's name you didn't know.
But he knew yours. God, he knew yours—the way it rolled off his tongue as he continued to kiss down your neck, forcing the collar of your dress downwards as it bunched up around your collarbone.
It was wrong. So, so wrong. Maybe it was a test from God himself to see how well your strength was and you failed.
It didn't feel like sin. It felt good, felt natural.
Felt like his lips were made for yours.
Felt like something you wanted more and more of. A strange hunger washing over you as if you were going to die.
Prayer fell from your lips as they were interrupted by soft moans. You could be forgiven, right? Surely God would understand that you had worked so hard. Been so devoted.
Everyone needs a break once in a while. You promised right after this you'd go straight into a pew. Confessing your sin. But for now, all you could focus on was how his lips danced around your soft skin, a rough hand travelling up your thigh before meeting your underwear, lacey and soaked completely from your wetness.
Your chest filled with heat due to all the sensations you're feeling. You've never experienced anything like this before. You were a good girl. He made sure to tell you that.
He pulled your panties to the side, Drenching one finger in between your folds before adding a second, slowing inserting them inside you. You gasped and he just kissed you, softly. His other hand helping you stay up right as the pleasure threatened to make your knees give out.
'M-more" You pleaded, and he listened, pumping in and out of you faster, thumb finding your clit as he continued to whisper sweet praises into your ear.
A wave of pleasure finally crashed over you as you came with a loud gasp. Sure, the hallway was empty, but it echoed.
You felt like a common whore, and yet. You loved it.
His hand covered your mouth as he worked you through your orgasm. Finally, taking his hand back before licking up the mess you made.
He held you steady against the wall as you slowly regained control of your legs, fixing your collar as you slowly processed what truly happened.
For once, you weren't worrying about what God was thinking, If the man above was looking at you with disappointmeant.
You were wondering when he was gonna come back and show you everything else you are missing.
Wrote this in like 20 mins cus I was going thru my pinterest. This can be read as anyone so I jst tagged who I was thinking of when writing :3
Summary: Sent to Oldtown as Ormund’s ward, you expected nothing more than lessons, duty, and his protection. What you didn’t expect was the man beneath his pious reputation, or the way his feelings for you would blur every boundary between lord and ward.
Pairing: Guardian! Ormund x Ward! Rhaenyra’s Daughter! reader
WC: 11.3k
(this is a darker fic in some aspects, please read the warnings!)
Warnings: 18+, manipulation, non- canon and a few things are changed, heavy religious themes, dead dove do not eat: slight mentions of dub-con, possessive behavior, threats, arguments, council drama, mentions of previous deaths, mentions of physical punishment, reader rides vermithor, rough handling, stockholm syndrome, guilt, toxic guardian/ ward relationship, misogyny, mentions of violence, complex dynamics, age gap.
"You're late." Ormund spoke, his hands clasped behind his back and a displeased look on his face.
You curtsied, walking closer to him. The echo of your boots bouncing off the wall of the sept.
"I am sorry, my lord. I did not intend to—"
"It does not matter what you intended, darling. You were late and lateness is not tolerated."
Your eyes were fixed on the floor, your green gown shifting against your body.
"Yes.. yes, I apologize. Please forgive me."
He stepped forward, bringing his fingers to your face— lifiting your chin so that your eyes could meet his.
"I forgive you, It would be wrong for me not to."
You nodded, still holding your breath and waiting foe the other shoe to drop.
"Thank you." You mumbled.
He gave a half smile, moving his fingers away from your face.
"Do not do it again. It is unbecoming of you and me as your guardian. Punctuality is important to me and to the very gods that you've come to pray to this morning. Sloth behavior is a sin, a sin that I will not tolerate."
"I understand, my lord."
He nodded and usehered you to the altar.
Both of you knelt at the altar, the candles and candlelight overtaking it. You brought your palms together, glancing into the flames.
Ormund glanced at you, his eyes raking over your appearance, the thing that he had the most control over. He stared at you often, his face unreadable— but deep down you knew that it was disdain. You knew that your your silver hair, violet eyes, your formidable dragon, your vulgar tongue—all of it angered him. An anger that was boundless and grew by the day.
Just as you were about to begin you your prayer, Ormund leaned closer to you— his lips near your ear.
"You will be punished for your lateness."
You felt your stomach drop at his words, a chill running down your spine.
He wasted not a moment longer as he began his prayer. A prayer that you knew all too well and had practically memorized word for word. He asked for strength in the brewing war, for understanding, for patience while being your guardian, for forgiveness in his sins.
You however stared off into the distance again, a tear running down your cheek. You always prayed for different things, some things within your grasp and others not. That morning, you prayed for love— the one thing that you wanted so badly and could never reach.
You wanted a husband or even a betrothed like your siblings would have. You wanted to be like the other noblewomen around the realm, singing praises about their husband. You wanted it so badly and Ormund constantly denied you of it.
Ormund always finished his prayers before you did, leaving you in the sept with the two knights that were tasked with watching your every move, Ser Bronn and Ser Humfrey.
The cool air in the sept crept up your skin, the sadness flowing through your veins like an aged wine. You did nothing to deserve the fate of being forced to live in Oldtown, seperated away from your mother and siblings for most of your life.
It was truly an accident, you didn't mean to hurt Aemond on purpose. You only wanted to defend Jace, but your grandsire saw this as a necessary course of action.
It was an accident that you had been paying for ever since, an accident that would rob you of any joy that you could've had.
When you first came to Oldtown, all of it was unfamiliar to you. Your mother had never forced the faith onto you, it was at your discretion whether or not you'd follow them. She gave you a choice, the one thing that you would not have under Ormund.
After praying in the sept, you went back to your chambers— waiting to break your fast at the usual time. You sat at the at the seat near the window, looking out into the distance— thinking of home and what you had missed. Being under Ormund's thumb meant that you did not receive messages from them often, if you did, they were read by him beforehand to make sure that they were suitable for you to read.
He did not want you ingesting more of their heretic words or ideolgies, you were already too far in when you came to him and he had to fix you. He had to make you better, show you that what you knew was wrong and improper.
Living in Oldtown was like a beautiful, specially crafted cage that was wrapped in gold. The bars would have just enough of an opening that you could imagine being free, you could feel the freedom on your fingertips and the fresh air against your skin. You watched as everyone walked around your cage with a smile, their smiles often making you forget about the cage altogether. It was when the night would settle in and you'd want to spread your wings, when you'd realize that you were still in a cage. A rare bird that lived in a beautiful gold cage.
Fed, bathed, loved, but punished when you would chirp too loudly and grab the attention of the people around you. Always reminded that you were just merely a bird, his bird, his pet.
Despite your grievances, you did not hate him. You should've, you should've hated every fiber of his being— but some part of you found him to be the closest thing to your home. He protected you from yourself, from unruly men, unsuitable marriage proposals, from sin, from your incestous ways. He was your guardian and he had your best interest in mind, at least that's what you'd tell yourself.
You repeated those words over and over again, "He is protecting you."
"It's for your own good."
That was why he'd have your feet or hands whipped when you were caught misbehaving, when he'd make you sit in the tub and scrub your skin raw if he thought that you had sinned, make the maester check your sex to see if you'd betrayed him, hurl vile insults at you when you overstepped.
It was love and his protection, just as he'd said.
You were an uruly girl, made with tainted blood and in vile sin. You needed his guidance or you'd be doomed like the rest of your family.
Your food was brought to you on a tray, set on the table near the chair. You glanced over it, bowing your head before indulging.
"Mother above, I ask you for mercy in this war. Not for me, but my family. I ask that you keep them safe and whole in the pursuit for my mother's throne. I ask for mercy, because they might not and I know that they will need it. Warrior, I ask that you give my father and brothers strength in battle. I ask that you guide them to victory." You whispered to yourself.
"Your mother's throne?" A voice questioned.
Your head snapped the direction of the voice, your heart stilling in your chest.
"Forgive me.. my lord. I did not hear you come in." You stammered.
He stood across the room from you, his eyes fixed on you.
"The throne does not belong to your mother, which you know. The true king and rightful heir is your uncle, Aegon."
"Grandsire named my mother his heir, he defended it publicly and privately." You replied softly.
Ormund nodded, his head slightly tilted.
"Stand up."
You stood up, your palms sweaty and your heart racing in your chest like a rabbit.
He walked closer to you, his steps slow and calculated. He stood in front of you with his hands clasped, the pomander swinging at his hip.
"Your mother is a treasonous bitch, along with the rogue fraud that she is married to."
Your face twitched instinctively, his words wriggling under your skin like a worm in soil. He knew how much his disparaging remarks about your mother bothered you, yet he still made them. Perhaps, it was because they were true and you needed to hear them, or because he was cruel. Somedays it was hard to tell.
You kept your eyes on the wall instead of looking at him, because if they looked at him then he might see how your eyes had become glassy and that would be troubling. It would be troubling for your guardian to see you crying over the people who opposed the rightful heir, crying over the people that had you living in sin.
"You've been served a delicious meal by the servants here in the home of your guardian, yet you waste a prayer on those traitors. Why? Do you still not understand their actions and the gravity of this war?"
"I do understand, my lord." You replied.
"Look at me." He commanded.
Your eyes slowly shifted from the wall, glancing over his frame as he stood in front of you.
"Why would you pray for traitors to the realm?"
You hesitated, your mind racing for an answer.
"I prayed for them.. because in the eyes of the seven there is no person that cannot be prayed for. No one is perfect, which means that all of us sin and have sinned. In the eyes of the seven there is no such thing as treason or a rightful heir, just people who have strayed and should pray. No one is above being prayed for and this war is the will of men, not the gods."
Ormund smirked, stepping closer— bringing his hand to your face. You leaned into his touch, his hands holding your face as if it had always belonged there.
He began to grip your chin.
"Do you like disappointing me?"
Your eyes stared into his, "no, my lord."
"Do not let me hear you saying prayers for those bastards again. It is beneath me and you.. you are an extension of me."
"Yes.. my lord."
Ormund smiled, letting go of your chin and placing a kiss to your forehead.
"Good girl—"
"Now, eat your food before it gets cold. I would not want it going to waste."
Ormund walked to the door, leaving you standing there— the door shutting with a thud behind him.
A bird trapped in a beautiful cage.
Instead of eating, you sat back down in your seat. You tried so hard to fight back tears, but they came out anyway. It felt hard to breathe, your fingers gripping the fabric of your deep green gown. You wanted to tear it, feel it rip between your fingers. Higtower green, the colors of the people that betrayed your mother and stole her throne.
The gown felt tight against your skin, constricting your movements. The pins in your hair dug into your scalp, pinning up your silver locks up to make you fit the look of a proper noblewoman in Oldtown. The seven pointed star rested against your chest, the necklace rubbing against your skin. Every part of you was precisely picked and constructed by him. You were his and the worst part was that some part of you liked it.
You liked him and the control that he had over you, because control was all that you knew. It was a cage, but it was your cage and it could've been worse.
You wiped the tears that painted your cheeks and began to pick at the food on the tray, most of your appetite being lost after his visit.
While you sat in your chambers an emotional mess, Ormund was in his solar continuing a conversation with Gwayne.
"I'm glad that you have cleaned yourself up and began to settle in here." Ormund mentioned, blowing out the candle in front of him.
The smell of citrus and sandalwood drifted through the air.
Gwayne sat in the chair, his hands in his lap as he stared around the room. His eyes took notice of the tidiness in the room, how everything had a specific place, how everything was nothing less than perfect.
"Yes, it was nice to get a warm bath." Gwayne nodded in agreement.
"How is Daeron?"
Ormund leaned back in his chair, "he is fine. He's learning the fundamental importance of his new role as king."
"King?" Gwayne questioned, his brows furrowing.
"Yes, king. Aegon is dead and it seems as if Aemond is too, or he's willfully abdicated. Which means that it would be him that is next in line. He must be prepared."
"Rhaenyra sits the throne." Gwayne reminded him.
Ormund scoffed, "the bitch with dragons? that will not last long and it is being handled as we speak."
"She will not abdicate, you are setting him up for failure."
"She will, if her own people are starving and cannot trust her. There are still plenty that do not support her and that will be used to help us." Ormund protested.
"What of my sister? My nieces?"
Ormund's lip twitched at his questions. There were two things that Ormund could not stand, rotten smells and people who questioned his decisions. A lack of faith made his skin burn hot.
"You are full of questions it seems. Perhaps, it would've been wise for you to stay with Cole and finish out what you were tasked with."
Gwayne tilted his head, his face filled with confusion.
"Cole was on a suicide mission. He has no intention of coming back at all from battle, he intends to die in this war even when it is not necessary."
Ormund's brow raised, "do you suppose that you will get your nephew on the throne without bloodshed?—"
"It might be a bit too late for that sentiment."
Gwayne gritted his teeth, shaking his head in disbelief. It felt as if everyone around him had lost their senses, no one was interested in listening to his reason.
"What of the girl?"
Ormund sat up in his chair at the mention of you, his facial expression changing within an instant.
"What of her?"
"If this half-baked plan of scaring Rhaenyra from the throne does not work, what then? Her and Daemon will come for their child, Gods help us when they do." Gwayne noted.
"What makes you so sure that she will want to go with either of them? She has spent years here in Oldtown with me as her guardian, both her and Daeron growing up under my wing. They have been cared for and taught the proper things."
Gwayne hung his head in defeat, "that is her mother, Ormund! Do not be a fool and let your feelings for her cloud your judgement. She is not your wife and she's not required to stay at your side."
Ormund's brows furrowed, the lines on his forehead deepening as he leaned closer to his desk.
"What is that supposed to mean? She is my ward."
Gwayne chuckled, bringing his eyes to Ormund's.
"I have been here merely three days and I have heard the whispers. I will spare you the indignation of asking whether the two of you have been intimate, but she goes beyond being your ward—"
"I beg your fucking pardon?" Ormund interrupted.
"Whispers of you sharing a bed with her on some occasions, bathing her or with her, dressing her in some of your late wife's gowns. It is wrong."
"Those are vile insinuations." Ormund Argued.
Gwayne laughed bitterly, "insinuations are they?"
"You come here to Oldtown with your tail tucked after abandoning your men, yet you want to lecture me on my ability to be a guardian to my wards? This pursuit of the throne is for our blood and yet, you are too craven to see it through. It is a disgrace, you are a disgrace." Ormund spat, his patience thinning.
Gwayne nodded his head, listening to his words.
"As you say, cousin. I just hope that she is not truly aware of what has happened in this war thus far or you shall have an even bigger war to fight."
Ormund shrugged, "she is only aware of what I tell her and the same goes for Daeron."
"How do you suppose that he can be king, if you only tell him small tidbits of information?" Gwayne pried.
"He does not need to know everything at this moment, only what is necessary. I cannot guarantee that he will not share certain pieces of information with her as they are close. We need them on our side, that gives us two extra dragons."
"You truly believe that she'd get on dragonback and fight her own blood, kill them if need be?"
Ormund smirked, "you have far too little faith."
"Or maybe I have seen enough." Gwayne countered.
There was a silence that lingered between the two of them, not that they were at a loss for words— but there was truly nothing more to say. It was clear that Ormund had his mind made up and was not going to budge on the ideas that he's constructed in his mind.
"I must attend to something else, but I will talk to you more during supper." Gwayne spoke as he stood up from his chair.
"Very well." Ormund replied, watching Gwayne leave his solar.
Once Gwayne left the room, he could feel the anger brewing inside him. How dare he question him about you? about what he does for you? About his efforts in this war?
Ormund yelled, knocking everything off his desk and onto the floor in a bit of rage.
Once you had finished your food, you spent time with your septa as you tended to your studies.
That day, Septa Lyra had you working on needlework. Septa Lyra was nice, but you found needlework to be fatally dull. You would've rather spent your time reading or sneaking off to see your dragon, Vermithor.
Ormund had Vermithor chained as soon as you arrived, but not before he burned three dragon keepers. You pleaded for him to keep him free, because he would not like it— but you were scolded and chastised for your feelings regarding it.
Ormund hates dragons, he hates feeling inferior to them, and he hates knowing just how powerless he is because of them.
"Pay attention to what you are doing, you don't want to poke yourself." Septa Lyra spoke.
You adjusted how you held your needle and snapped back into the moment.
"Apologies." You mumbled.
She glanced at you, placing down her fabric in her lap.
"What has gotten into you today, child? You've barely spoken, not even a snide remark about your disdain for needlework."
You kept your focus on the fabric, guiding the needle through it—poking your finger to take your mind off of him.
"I was late to meet Lord Ormund in the sept for prayer this morning and then, he caught me praying for my mother and family in this war. He was not pleased."
The sound of the bells tolling clouded your mind for a small moment, reminding you that it would soon be time for you to pray again.
"Hmm.. Lord Ormund can be strict about people's commentary on this war. It has everyone worried, wondering what shall come the next day. I don't think that you should be too hard on yourself about a prayer."
You brought your eyes to hers, "he said that it was wrong of me to pray for them. I want them safe, but I don't want him harmed either. I just do not like being in the middle of this."
Septa Lyra's facial expression softened, reaching her hand for yours.
"Lord Ormund might be in charge here, but he cannot control what you pray for as that is yours and your relationship with the gods. He might find it to be in poor taste, but that is merely his own opinion."
"But, he was right. It is ungrateful of me, he has been too kind and good to me."
She sat back in her chair as she gave a half smile, one that didn't reach her eyes all the way.
A look of pity for Ormund's caged bird.
You began working the needle into the fabric again, your mind thinking of him. Thinking of things that weren't appropriate. He was your guardian, but why did he make you feel weak? Why did he make you want to be close to him, in his bed with his lips on yours?
Your skin felt warm, the memories flooding your mind.
For the rest of the time that you were in the prescence of Septa Lyra, you were quiet. You had hoped that being quiet would've changed the thoughts that consumed your mind, but it didn't. He consumed you, plagued your mind.
Once the time with Septa Lyra came to an end, you said your goodbyes and made your way to the sept for prayer. As Ormund wished, you visted the sept twice a day to pray and prove your devotion. In his mind, if he kept you busy with prayer then that meant less time for you to sin and cave into your innate herectic desires.
You walked to the sept, your stray hairs blowing in the wind with Ser Bronn and Ser Humfrey behind you. During your walk, you saw Gwayne— his eyes lingering on you for only a moment before he averted his gaze. He seemed like he was afraid to look at you, like he'd been ordered not to.
Your guards were merely one step behind you, almost on your heels— walking you to the doors of the sept as they stood outside of it. You weren't able to say anything to Gwayne, but even then you doubted that he would've held a conversation with you. You knew that Ormund would've forbid it.
At that hour, the sept was almost empty as most came to pray in the early hours of the morning or later in the afternoon before supper.
The sound of your boots clicking against the floor consumed the sound of the faint prayers that could be heard from the two nearby septa's.
You knelt at the altar, lighting a candle and pressing your palms together. With a bowed head and closed eyes, you began whispering your prayer in high valyrian— something that Ormund would never allow.
"Please, Mother above, I beg that you grant me peace. I cannot carry the burden of these feelings any longer, they fill my body and linger within me. Lord Ormund is my guardian, he is not mine to have and yet some part of me craves him. I think unsavory things, even after his punishments.."
"I am a rotten girl, a girl who does not deserve him and his leniency. Please, take away this feeling. I don't want to sin, I don't want to disappoint him. I want to be good, I want to be proud and I cannot be that with those thoughts." You begged silently, tears flowing down your cheeks.
Praying normally didn't bring you to tears, but that day it did. It brought out something in you that you had refused to admit for years.
After prayer, you went back to your chambers. You had hoped for a nap before supper as you had nothing else to fill your time.
You took your boots off and walked back over to the window to glance out, when you saw it or rather, them. Two large shadows flew over Oldtown, they looked to be Caraxes and Sunfyre. It was clearly a message being sent to Ormund, something meant to rattle him.
They hadn't forgotten about you, something that had brought you more hope than you had ever experinced. One day soon you could be leaving your cage. You could finally be free.
Even though you had thought about it plenty, you truly had no idea what it would mean to be away from him. Would you be happy? Would you miss him? Would you regret it? Would you mourn him, if he died?
You shook your head, stopping the questions as they entered your mind. You'd be lost without him, because who would teach you the proper things? Punish you when you were being a rotten girl?
The sound of panic and chaos could be heard from below with the dragons startling everyone, you even heard roaring from Vermithor and Tessarion. People rushed into their homes and knights cleared through the alleyway's.
You sat there, wondering if they'd fly over again.
The sun had dipped low in the sky as you sat in the window seat, blissfully unaware and deep into your accidental nap. It was the sound of a servant entering your chambers that startled you awake.
"I'm sorry to interrupt, my lady. I've come to prepare your chambers for the night." The woman spoke softly.
Your eyes fluttered open, a yawn escaping your lips.
"I can return in a few minutes, if necessary?"
You stood up, "no, that will not be necessary. I did not intend to fall asleep anyhow."
The woman came in and lit the fire in the fireplace.
You noticed that you still had his book on your desk, the book that you borrowed to advance your knowledge. It was supposed to have been returned, but it had slipped your mind. You grabbed the book, immediately rushing to bring it to his chambers, Ser Humfrey and Ser Bronn following in tow.
The shilouette of your dress moved along the wall as you passed the lit sconces. Servants gave half smiles and quick nods as they passed you.
It didn't take long before you reached his doors—the tall, heavy, oak doors with two knights standing outside of it.
"My lady, I do not think Lord Ormund wishes to be bothered at this moment." Jon Roxton spoke, standing on the left side of the doors.
"I came to bring something that belonged to him, that is all. It shall only take a moment." You mentioned.
All of them shared a look, both of them sliding out of your way. You rose your hand with a bit of dread, lightly knocking against the door.
"You may enter." Ormund called out.
You opened the door, shutting it behind you with a loud click.
His chambers smelled of a hint of vanilla with a deep wood smell, a smell that you knew all too well. The fireplace crackling with a small fire.
You turned to face him, holding the book in your hand— when you realized that he was in the middle of bathing.
"Oh.. I am sorry for the interruption, my lord." You stammered.
He gave a troublesome smile, the kind that made knots form in your belly.
"It is not interrupting if I told you to come in. To what do I owe the visit, sweetling? —"
"Supper will be happening here shortly."
Your eyes lingered on the tapestries in his room.
"Look at me, I will not tell you to do so again." He commanded harshly.
Your eyes darted to him, staring at him in the tub as the steam curled around him. He looked even better when he was relaxing and undone. He looked like a piece of art, the kind that takes years to paint, the paintings that you can't look at for too long without getting lost in them.
"I still had your book in my room and I had forgotten to bring it to you, my lord."
"Ah, you seem rather forgetful today. Forgetting when to arrive at the sept for prayer, forgetting who you should be praying for, and now my book."
Your palms began to sweat as you held the book, standing there in front of his judgement.
"I apologize.. forgive me. I don't know what has gotten into me. I will not make habit of such behaviors."
He motioned for you to set the book on the nearby table, which you did with a quickness. You didn't want to upset him more than you had nor did you want to remain in his chambers.
You curtsied and began to walk back towards the doors.
"I didn’t dismiss you, did I?"
Your fingers dug into your palm, your tongue poking your cheek. Just a few more steps and then you would've been out of his room, instead you found yourself scared for what could come next. Out of respect, you turned to face him.
"You did not, my lord."
He stood up in the tub, the water falling off of his body as he stepped out. Your heart stilled in your chest, your eyes immediately finding the floor as he stood bare in front of you.
"I see that on top of not remembering, we must also have issues with listening?" He questioned.
You immediately knew that he was referring to you keeping your eyes on him. You slowly brought your eyes over him and his body, every inch of it. It wasn't your first time seeing him bare, but it was wrong. He wasn't yours to admire.
He put his green robe on, tying the fabric in the front and keeping his eyes on you the entire time. Neither of you spoke as you were at a loss for words, trying to fight the image of his length in your mind.
His footsteps pattered against the rug as he walked over to his desk, opening one of his drawers.
"Come here."
You blinked hard and gulped even harder, a pit in your stomach.
"My lord?"
"Do not.. make me repeat myself, girl." He gritted.
You slowly walked over to his desk, standing in front of it— trying to see what he had in his hand.
"Hands on the desk, palms up." He instructed.
Your lips started to quiver, tears threatening to fall from your eyes.
"Please, Ormund. I am sorry."
He laughed, walking around the desk with a small, black whip in his hands. It was the same one that he had used for punishment before. The same one that he had Jon Roxton use on your feet when you were caught sneaking to the kitchens with Daeron late at night.
He hovered over you, his body just barely touching yours as he leaned in to whisper in your ear.
"Sorry is not good enough."
You closed your eyes, your cheeks already wet from tears as Ormund walked away from you.
The whip hit your left palm first, a cry escaping you.
"Make no mistake, I take no joy in punishing you and making you cry. You must learn to listen and be obedient as you've been taught—"
He struck your right palm.
"What kind of guardian would I be if I didn't punish disobedience? Would you rather live in sin and insolence?" He lectured.
The whip came down again. Your cries getting louder with each instance.
"You will learn, it doesn't matter if it takes until my last breath. You will do better, you will learn, you will be an exact reflection of me as your guardian." He reminded.
The whip came across your hands several more times, your knees wobbling with each hit as he forced you to stand still and take each one. If you cried too hard, interrupted him, or pulled your hands away— it was worse, always worse.
When he finished, he put his whip away and walked over to you with a smile. You took deep breaths as you fought through the pain, your hands still on his desk.
He wiped your tears with his thumb.
"Why must you make this so hard? Disappoint me so greatly?" He questioned.
You didn't answer, because you didn't have one and anything that you could've said would've gotten you another punishment. Your left hand had began to bleed, blood seeping into your palm.
"I shall have the Maester come attend to this wound, stay in here while I go fetch him. I want you to eat supper in here with me tonight—"
"I will inform Gwayne that I will be busy."
Of course you weren't perfect, but why did he punish you so harshly? You listened to him, followed him and that still did not spare you his ire. You submitted to him, you were his in your mind and heart, even when you didn't want to be. Why wasn't it enough?
A few moments later, the Maester came in and cleaned your wound, applying a bandage to it. He didn't ask questions as he knew what had happened and he knew better than to ask.
Ormund came back into the room, while you sat in one of the chairs. He came in with a good mood as if nothing had happened, but maybe nothing had happened in his mind. Punishment wasn't something to linger over, especially when he found it necessary.
"There has been great news these last few days about how this war is progressing."
You stared into the fire, thinking over the right words to say. You knew that his very statement was a trap, another lecture waiting for you. The best thing would be to acknowledge it and change the subject, but you couldn't.
"Was that mother on Sunfyre, flying over Oldtown with Caraxes?" You asked before you could stop yourself.
He pursed his lips and you could see the irritation all over his face within an instant.
"That bitch—"
His words were interrupted by the servants bringing supper into the room. They placed your trays on the table and left quickly, the door shutting behind them.
You glanced at the food and back at the fire in the fireplace while he prepared to dig in.
"Are you not going to eat?" He asked.
"I'm not hungry."
His fork tapped against his plate, a deep breath escaping his lungs.
"Do not be wasteful, eat."
"I am not hungry, my lord."
He did not bother to hide his irritation, " if you do not eat this food tonight, then you will not eat at all tomorrow. How does that sound?"
You caved as you didn't have much of a choice. You sat there silently, taking a few bites from the meat and vegetables on the plate.
"Back to talking about your bitch mother as you couldn't help but to bring her up, that was her on her dragon earlier. She was lucky that we did not have the scorpions ready to shoot the two of them down."
"You would dare kill a dragon?" You responded, your brows furrowed.
"Those filthy beasts are just that, something that you incestous aliens should've never trifled with." He griped, taking a sip of wine.
"Those beasts are loved by most of the small folk and made in the eyes of the gods. They would not be happy to witness such acts."
His eyes looked as if they could've popped from his skull, "made in the eyes of the gods? You know better than anyone to say such a thing, that is not true. It is odd that you could even suggest the mere notion."
Your fork scraped the plate, a blank look on your face.
"The gods would not will them to live if they were such abominations, yet they continue to live and thrive."
He dropped his fork onto his plate, his fists slamming against the table.
"You will cease this nonsense and heretic talk! I am in no mood for this, you rotten girl."
You scoffed in your mind, but you knew better than to do it outwardly.
"I am sorry, please forgive me. I have just had an overwhelming day, my lord."
Ormund nodded his head and resumed eating. His ability to regain control over his anger was something that you hadn't seen before. It was a perfected skill.
"All is well, just do not say those things again."
The rest of supper was quiet on your end, while Ormund complained about small things here and there. It wasn't anything that was of importance or that would matter to you, because the last thing he needed was for you to get to curious.
Once he finished eating, the servants came into his room— taking the leftover food and emptying the tub. The sun had gone down, the moon sitting in the sky.
You stood from your chair, "it is getting late and I should get to my chambers."
"Sleep in here tonight, it's been a while since you've last laid with me."
The last servant glanced at you, her face saying everything her mouth couldn't as she grabbed the empty pitcher and left the room.
"Okay." You agreed with a nod.
He brought over the silk nightgown that he kept of yours in his room. You took it from his hands with a small smile, watching as he walked to the window to look out while you changed.
You stripped out of your clothes and put on the nightgown, "you can turn around now."
He looked at you like it was the first time that he'd ever seen you, a look of possibly adoration. It was hard to understand, because you didn't know what it meant to be adored, not genuinely.
The servant had put out the fire in the fireplace, leaving the room to just the small slit of moonlight that came from the now closed shutters. You crawled into bed beside him, sleeping in the spot his late wife slept in, wearing a nightgown identical to the one that he had made for her years ago.
He pulled you close against him, his arms wrapping around your waist, his warm breath grazing against your ear. It felt as if you belonged in his arms, a home away from your true home. He kissed your head, a low hum in his throat.
"I've missed you sharing a bed with me, sweetling. It pains me to keep you away from it." He whispered.
He kissed your head again, taking in the scent of your hair. You could feel his cock hardening against you, a wetness forming in between your own legs.
His fingers would find your wet folds, gliding between them and rubbing your sensitive bud. His breaths ragged as he chased friction against your skin through his thin breeches. You were still unwed and his ward, it was wrong. It was a sin, something that would ruin you for any suitors.
Sometimes you'd pull away, but he pulled you closer and whispered sweet nothings in your ear.
When he fell asleep, you laid awake— staring at the ceiling. Even when you felt most at ease in his arms, that night you found yourself questioning it all. Was any of it real? Did he truly care about you or did he pretend that you were her? His do over, his chance to mold you into what was desirable. Had you lost your senses for feeling that way?
The next morning as the sun crept in, Ormund was already awake and had left his chambers. The maids came in at the time that they always did, bringing your gown for the day and preparing a bath. When they came in, they had hushed voices and low eyes, never allowing themselves to ask questions about the obvious.
You took your bath, sitting in the water for longer than you normally would. It was hard to place how you felt that morning, but you didn't feel happy.
After your bath and getting dressed, you had time before you were to meet Ormund at the sept for prayer.
The maids had left the room, leaving you to yourself. You opened the door to peak outside and you had no one standing guard. Your heart raced in your chest as your eyes scanned the hall and you walked out of his room, shutting the door behind you. You walked quickly through the hall, hoping not to be noticed by anyone.
Once you were outside, it was easier with everyone beginning to get up for the day. It created a distraction for you to effortlessly blend in. You finally reached it, the dark pit where the dragons were being held. It was dark, the sound of your breathing almost loud enough to echo, the dim firelight from the sconces guiding you.
There he was, sleeping peacefully— chained like an undeserving animal. It pained you to see him chained, he was the bronze fury, a formidable dragon, a good dragon and yet he was punished. When you walked closer to him, you stopped in your tracks as you noticed Daeron near Tessarion.
"I won't tell." He spoke in a hushed voice.
Neither of you were supposed to be in there with your dragons and you could only hope that you hadn't been spotted.
You walked to Vermithor, his eyes opening as he nudged against you. You rubbed his head, bringing yours close to his.
"I've missed you." You whispered, your eyes watering.
Being away from your dragon was a special kind of torture, feeling so connected to something and not being allowed to be close.
"Are you alright?" Daeron asked.
"I would be, If me and him could fly again."
He glanced down at your bandaged hand, "what happened?"
You looked down with confusion like you had forgotten what had happened, until you realized. Daeron saw the hesitation on your face and he immediately understood.
"It is easier, if you just listen." He murmured.
You scoffed.
"It is easier, because he treats you differently. You are not a child that was born by his enemy, he protects you."
Daeron shook his head in disagreement.
"It is not me that he protects so fiercely. In your years here, you've grown to take over the spot of his late wife and he's turned down every marriage offer for you."
You gave a blank stare, a lump in your throat.
"Can I ask you something?" You replied, your voice wavering.
"What is it?"
"Do you know if my family is okay during this war? Do you know what has taken place?"
He rubbed Tessarion's head, his eyes looking elsewhere instead of at you.
"You know that you shouldn't ask that." He gently reminded you.
"I know, but—" you started and then stopped.
Daeron walked over to you, looking to make sure the two of you were still alone.
"You should just drop it, while you're ahead. It is truly best if you do not know."
You grabbed his hand, your eyes widening into a look of desperation.
"Please, Daeron. I have lived here for years, completely in the dark. I can count on one hand the letters that I've been able to read from them. I just want to know."
Daeron was conflicted as he understood your position all too well, but he also didn't want to anger Ormund.
"Rhaenyra has taken King's Landing with Daemon, my uncle Gwayne said so once he returned."
Your brow raised, "she has taken King's Landing? Are you sure?"
He nodded.
You felt genuine hope again, she did what she had set out to do. She was the queen of the seven kingdoms.
"Is everyone okay as well?" You followed up.
He shrugged. "I do not know, he doesn't tell me everything as I've told you before. Perhaps, you can get a raven out to ask?"
You rolled your eyes, biting back a sarcastic laugh.
"That would never work, the risk is far too great."
Daeron hesitated again, going back and forth on what to tell you.
"There's a box in his solar, in the bottom drawer on the right side of his desk. It's filled with all the messages that are correspondence about the war with your mother.. you should find your answers in there."
"How.. would I do that when he's always nearby?"
"Go after dinner, I shall stall him for a short time. Read as much as you can and don't get caught. If you get caught, I will deny my hand in this."
You hugged him, something that was foreign to both of you. Despite your families being on opposing sides, the two of you did look after one another when you could. You were truly all each other had in Oldtown, both of you under his thumb.
"Thank you."
"I would want someone to do the same for me." He admitted.
He started to walk towards Tessarion, "I cannot stress this enough, no matter what you read, do not tell him. Do not react, please."
The bell rang, which meant you only had a few moments to get to the sept. Both of you shared a look before you gave Vermithor a head rub and left to get to the sept.
You rushed through the streets, hurrying to get there in time. When you entered, Ormund was finishing up a conversation with Gwayne as he awaited your arrival.
Gwayne gave a nod as he walked past you, leaving the sept.
"I see that you have arrived on time this morning." He smiled as he approached you.
He pulled you into a hug, his body flushed against yours— his chin resting on the top of your head. He sniffed you a few times, an unusual smell coming from you.
He pulled back to look at you, his brows furrowed.
"You reek of dragon back."
You feigned ignorance, "I have no idea what you mean, my lord. I haven't been able to see Vermithor for a while now."
He brought his hands to your face, causing you to flinch. He pulled your closer, pressing his lips against yours in a kiss.
Ormund did occasionally kiss you, normally in situations where he was happy. You had no idea why he would've been so happy in that moment.
He pulled back from you, his lips curling into disgust.
"Do not lie to me, my love. I would hate to punish you again."
"I'm not.. I promise." You reiterated, your stomach turning.
He brought his pommander to his nose, taking a sniff of the citrus oil inside of it.
"Very well, let's not waste more time than necessary. Let us pray."
The two of you walked over to the altar and knelt, both of you praying as you always did.
Instead of praying for love, you prayed to find the answers to your questions— even if the answers broke your heart in the process. You wanted to trust Ormund, be sure in the reasons that you cared for him so deeply— but you needed the truth.
The entire time that you were in the sept you felt unwell, your nerves had gotten the best of you. After prayer, the two of you stepped outside. While standing there, you threw up— catching Ormund off guard and getting vomit all over your gown.
"What is the matter with you?"
You shook your head, your hand pressed against the wall as you leaned over.
"I just have an upset stomach, my lord."
He had you escorted back to your chambers so that you could change and be cleaned up, but not before he almost threw up himself at the smell.
You took another bath and upon further inspection, the maids noticed that your other gowns had been taken to be cleaned. You were left with only the gowns that your mother had sent to you a year ago, beautiful gowns in your house colors.
As beautiful as the gowns were, Ormund had forbade you from wearing them. Hightower green was the color that you wore or he'd allow you to wear House Arryn's colors, since that was your grandmothers house.
You didn't want to disobey him, but you had no choice this time. Surely, he'd understand?
All throughout the day your nerves had been a jumbled mess, you could barely think straight— worried about what you'd find out. It was wrong of you to plan going through your guardian's belongings, but why couldn't he tell you what was going on? Did he intend to keep you in the shadows forever? If he cared about you to the lengths that he claimed, wouldn't the two of you share information and be one?
Luckily for you, Ormund was going to be busy for most of the day as he prepared for the small feast being held. Lord Borros had sent an envoy of Baratheon men to pledge his support for the greens during the war. You hoped that by the time the feast started at least one of your gowns would be cleaned and you could change gowns before he noticed.
You weren't going to see Septa Lyra that day as she had other duties to attend to. Instead of sitting in your chambers all day, you decided to go to the library. You didn't want to spend the day trapped in your mind with no escape until you got into his solar.
As you walked the halls, servants and maids gawked at the sight of you in your gown. A beautiful, silk gown with small dragons at the hem of it. House Targaryen colors, something they knew Ormund would never let you wear. They knew the punishment would be severe for even wearing such a thing.
It didn't stop them from whispering and commenting you on the gown.
You spent most of the day in the library, getting lost in the few books that they had on the histories of House Targaryen. It brought you comfort reading them and being left alone to your own thoughts, not having your thoughts controlled for you.
You loved reading about your family and Old Valyria, you wanted to embrace the side of you that made you proud. He could embrace embrace being a Hightower, a traitor to his queen— but you couldn't embrace being a Targaryen? It wasn't fair.
As the hours had passed on, you went to the sept and even returned back to the library. Ser Humfrey came in to ask if you were okay, if he needed to notify Ormund but you reassured him that you were fine.
The halls outside of the library clattered with noise from the bustling of servants and maids. The Hightower would be in perfect condition as guests were due to arrive.
You finished two books before you left the library. You peered down from the window and saw that guests were arriving. You knew that you needed to make an appearance shortly or you'd risk a conflict with him.
When you stepped out of the library, Ser Humfrey glanced at you again.
"Are you sure that you are alright, my lady?"
You nodded, twisting your fingers.
"I am fine, Ser Humfrey. However, I do appreciate your genuine concern."
Him and Ser Bronn shared a look, but both decided that it was best to let you be.
While walking the halls, you could hear the faint sound of music being played in the dining hall. Guests lingered in the hall, talking amongst one another. A few of them saw you, even tried to approach to ask questions but they were stopped. You gave a half smile and continued on as you'd been told to.
When you walked into the dining hall, it was decorated beautifully. The feast was not a grand event, but just one to show appreciation— but it felt more than that. The Baratheon men would have no qualms with bending the knee and being shown such hospitality. That level of hospitality would certainly be rewarded.
The table that you'd be seated at was at the front of the room. Everyone at the table was present, but you. Ormund was in the middle of a conversation, his focus elsewhere. As you walked up to the table, Gwayne's eyes followed your every move in shock, while Daeron found you to be bold.
You approached Ormund as he stood near the table, preparing to take your own seat. His words paused in the conversation, his eyes raking over you and that gown.
"Please, excuse me." Ormund smiled, waking away from the man.
He grabbed your arm, his fingers digging into you.
"How dare you?—"
"What do you have on?"
"My other gowns had been taken away for cleaning at your request, so when I threw up this morning I had nothing else to wear." You admitted.
The scowl on his face only deepened, his grip growing tighter. He leaned closer towards your face, "you mean to make a mockery of me on such an important day?"
You couldn't bare to look at him, you never could when he was angry. His anger made you feel small, made you feel worthless, it made you feel the exact opposite of what he'd whisper to you in bed.
"No, I didn't intend to do that, my lord. I could return back to my chambers, if you wish?"
"I do not fucking wish for you to go to your chambers, but this.. this will not go unanswered." He fumed.
You stared into his eyes, "what was I supposed to do? I would be punished for not attending, but now I am to be punished for what I had available."
"You could've put on one of Samantha's old gowns!—"
You pulled your arm back from his grip, your brows furrowed.
"Samantha? As in your late wife?—"
"You'd want me to wear one of her gowns? You kept them?"
He huffed, realizing that maybe he'd said to much.
"I did not mean to—"
Before Ormund could respond, Gwayne called his name and got his attention. He saw the way that he was with you and wanted to save him from everyone else seeing the same thing.
You took your seat in the chair beside his, a bitter taste in your mouth.
Samantha was his late wife, she'd been long dead by the time you were brought to Oldtown. You'd heard that she was a beauty, that she was kind, and gentle. Ormund always said that despite everything, their marriage was merely a political match.
It didn't matter much when you heard his words years ago, but now it struck a nerve— a nerve that you thought was neatly tucked away.
She was a ghost in the Hightower, someone seldom mentioned but fondly remembered. Ormund had only ever called you by her name one time, when he was yelling at you. An accident is what he claimed, but it didn't hurt you any less.
A place holder, a rotten girl, a mistake, tainted, someone that would never be Samantha.
A servant came around the table, filling your goblet with wine— which you happily accepted. Anything to make you feel even a fraction of less shame and the disappointment than you felt.
Ormund took his seat beside you as he finished his conversation with Gwayne.
"We will talk more later." He mumbled.
You raised your brows, bringing the goblet to your face once more— the sweet wine gliding down your throat.
People approached the table, speaking with Ormund on different matters that pertained to the war. You watched silently, waiting for the moment that you could leave. Underneath the table, Ormund had his hand on your thigh— giving you a subtle reminder to behave.
The plates were brought out to everyone, forks clinking and scraping their plates. The smiles on their faces were big, bellies full, everyone in support of the greens. They gave Ormund looks of pity for having you as his ward, raising Rhaenyra's rotten seed must've been the hardest thing that he'd ever done in their eyes.
You toyed with your food, only taking a few bites and instead filling your belly with more wine.
As people finished their food, they began to get up and mingle again— some even dancing. Ormund sat beside you with a pleased look on his face, proud of the support that he'd rallied.
Daeron left his seat at the further end of the table, approaching him for a conversation. You scooted your chair back, getting his attention.
"I do not feel well, I need to step out for a moment."
"My lord." Daeron spoke, standing to the side of Ormund.
Ormund glanced at him and back at you, "very well. Do not stay gone for long."
Darron mouthed words to you as you stood up.
"Go now."
You walked away from the table, your feet stumbling some as you had indulged in too much wine. When you got outside the dining hall, you realized that all the guards were in the room. The hall was practically empty as you walked down it, everyone was so busy with the feast.
When you got to Ormund's solar, you took a deep breath and entered the room— quietly shutting the door behind you.
The room was dimly lit with a small fire going in the fireplace.
"The bottom right drawer at his desk." You whispered to yourself.
You walked to his desk, kneeling behind it as you opened the drawer. There it was, a small brown box as daeron had described.
Your hands trembled as you held it, walking closer to the fire so that you could read. With a click the box opened, filled to the top with letters. You decided to start at the bottom and then work your way to the top.
At first, most of the letters were just small and meaningless things— but it didn't stay that way.
Your breath hitched in your chest, tears falling onto the papers as you read most of them. You stopped reading them, pulling your knees to your chest as you sobbed on the rug.
Luke was dead, Rhaenys was dead, Jace was dead, Rhaena was believed to be missing, and Ormund was actively having gold cloaks killed in the city to sow discord.
He always said that your mother initiated the war when she heard the news of your grandfather's passing, but that was far from the truth. Aemond used Vhagar to chase down and kill your little brother, sweet Luke.
Your family had been falling apart while you slept in the bed with a man that celebrated it. You were a fool.
In a bit of rage, you took the letters and dumped all of them into the fire— placing the box back into the drawer.
You took longer than you should have, but you walked out of his solar with wet eyes and your stomach felt like you could vomit at any moment.
How could he betray you that way? You knew that he wasn't perfect, that he opposed your mother— but never to the scale of the letters that he had written. The letters were so cruel, cold, and just evil— far too evil for a pious man.
Drinking the multiple goblets of wine had caught up to you, you stumbled through the hall— your hands holding onto the wall for stability.
Your heart was shattered into pieces, everything that you thought that you knew faded into the wind.
When you walked back into the dining hall, Daeron was standing up from your seat that he had been sitting in.
"There you are, I was about to go looking for you." He spoke as you stumbled past him.
He noticed your red eyes and he could smell the wine on you, but his thoughts were interrupted.
"My lord, the envoy from House Baratheon has arrived to treat with you." The man spoke.
Ormund stood up, an even bigger smile than he had on his face earlier.
"Let the stormlands lead the way, HighGarden will have no choice but to follow."
Gwayne stood from his chair and approached Ormund, the rests of the guests still talking amongst themselves.
"Let me do the talking."
You stood near Ormund, almost swaying in place— causing Gwayne to stare at you for a moment.
The men walked in towards the table and Ormund, the stench of them stronger than cow shit. It was the kind of smell that made your lips curl. It was truly insulting that they were sent to treat and we're beyond filthy, tracking in mud.
"Lord Ormund Hightower, beacon of the south, defender of the citadel, and voice of Oldtown." Jon Roxton spoke, grabbing the attention of a few guests.
Ormund's face had turned a hint of red, the unexpected smell beginning to overwhelm him.
"Well met, Lord Ormund. I come as an envoy of Lord Borros Baratheon. Lord paramount of the stormlands." The man greeted.
Ormund coughed clearing his throat, clearly overwhelmed— but he wasn't the only one. The smell was making it harder to keep down what had went into your stomach.
"You are quite welcome, Ser—"
"Ser Arrion Baratheon, cousin to Lord Borros."
The men stared at you like they knew you, yet you could not place any of their faces. It could've been the wine, but they seemed off.
Ormund took a step back, standing closer to you.
"I most regret presenting ourselves in this state. The road was long and filthy, but I thought it best to speak to you immediately." Arrion admitted.
Gwayne stood there, his eyes scanning the face of Arrion.
Ormund shook his head, "we are honored to receive you and what word from Lord Borros?"
"Well, House Baratheon bends the knee to his grace, Aemond Targaryen and offers it's many banners in alliance with House Hightower."
Arrion struggled to keep his eyes off of you, his hands making a small movement for his sword.
"That is good news. Your lord has made a wise choice." Ormund claps, a miserable smile on his face.
There was a beat of silence amongst the men.
"I hope you do not mind the question, but is that Rhaenyra Targaryen's daughter?" Arrion asked with his head slightly tilted.
Gwayne grabbed the blade from Ormund's belt, lunging and slitting the man's throat.
Ormund stood in front of you, "no! Stop him." He yelled.
The dining hall got quiet, people starting to panic at the havoc that seemed to have come out of nowhere.
Your hands shook as you stood behind Ormund, terrified of what could happen next— to you and him.
"These are assassin's sent for you and me, from the Queen." Gwayne yelled, chopping a man in two.
You watched as Jon Roxton disemboweled a man with his valyrian steel sword, cutting through him like warm butter.
"Ser Arrion Baratheon has hair of light chestnut.. and he is far more comely."
Ormund leaned against the table, his face redder than before and his breathing ragged. He turned his gaze to you, "what did you do?" He gritted.
"I will cleave the bitch.. from crown to cunt—"
"She will die wishing she never dared.. dared."
Ormund started throwing up on the table, causing a few people to gasp around you.
Your day had just worsened as it continued… You stumbled from the table and down the steps towards the other tables. Servants rushed in to clean up the mess and keep the scene from being too much of a spectacle, but it was far too late.
Gwayne chased after you, helping you down the stairs as you almost fell. His hand held you up, his hand pressed against your backside but lower than it should've been.
Ormund saw, a rage taking over him.
While everyone else was too busy trying to understand what happened and preparing to leave, Ormund pulled you from Gwayne's hold— grabbing a fistful of your hair.
"Ow!" You cried out, your hands reaching for his as he dragged you into the hall with no shame.
"You filthy whore." He fumed.
"Ormund, you're hurting me." You cried out.
His grip on your hair was tight, it felt as if he could pull it from your scalp.
Due to the fact that you had drank so much wine, you couldn't keep up with him— your feet tripping over eachother.
You fell onto the ground, but that still didn't stop him. He walked you like a dog down the hall, a tight grip on your hair and unwavering level of anger. The few servants that saw it, closed their eyes and shut their mouths. If he'd do that to you, then he'd do far worse to them.
He opened the door to his chambers, slamming it shut behind him.
You struggled to stand up, tears falling from your eyes.
"Let go of me." You whined.
He brought his face closer to yours, pulling your hair and neck back— making you look at him.
"You dare flirt with Gwayne in front of me, allow him to put his hands on your body?"
"I almost fell and he helped me, it was not like that. I swear." You breathed.
His face twisted into something that you'd never seen before.
"You swear? You are the daughter of a whore, nothing more than the biggest mistake of her life. You probably would've sucked his cock in his chambers tonight, had he continued being nice."
You pushed against him, his grip loosening.
"You lied! You fucking lied to me—"
"Praying to the gods and condemning my blood, yet you'd commit grievous atrocities and sins for yours?"
He pulled his shoulders back.
"What are you talking about?"
You laughed bitterly, tears rolling down your neck and chest.
"I saw all of the letters, all of them." You gasped, beginning to sob.
"They murdered Luke, Rhaenys, and Jace.. they murdered them and you praised them for their efforts."
"You went through my things? you ungrateful, sniveling bitch." He roared, his eyes dark with nothing behind them.
"I would've crossed oceans and mountains for you.. because I loved you. I believed—"
"I believed that you loved me too, but you Ormund Hightower are no better than a Dothraki savage."
He grabbed your arm, pinching it.
"I could never love someone so rotten and so utterly foul. If your mother loved you then she would've killed me to get to you, so I must not be the only one with that sentiment."
You stared at him, unable to recognize the man that you'd known for most of your life.
You spat in his face, his hands leaving you as he took a step back in disbelief. He wiped the spit from his face, his breathing deep and heavy.
Ormund reached forward, wrapping his hands around your throat.
Both of you stumbled back, your hands tapping at his as you couldn't catch your breath—your foot hitting the tub that was near the wall.
"Ormund.. I can't—" you gasped.
It felt like the room was closing in around you. Your chest felt like a fire consumed it, your eyes bulging as you tried pulling his hands off.
It felt like an eternity, but Ormund let go of you with a push—causing you to stumble back and fall.
There was a heavy thud as you hit the floor, your head hit the edge of the tub.
You laid on the rug, blood streaming down your face from the small wound. You blinked and blinked, feeling as if you'd been in the same place forever. For a moment you'd sworn that you might've died, that those might've been your last moments in the world.
After a moment, you picked yourself up. Ormund watched you and slowly regained his senses. You touched the wound, bright red blood coating your fingers and dripping down onto your face.
He approached you, grabbing your face into his hands— his touch softer than a mere moment ago. A feeling of disgust overtaking you.
"It was an accident, I shouldn't have—"
"I'm sorry. I am so sorry, please forgive me."
"I'm going to leave you alone here one day and I'll never look back." You muttered, staring into his eyes.
His facial expression softened, maybe because he believed you more than he ever had before.
He let go of your face, grabbing your hand instead.
"I love you, I love you more than I can put into words."
It was the first time that he'd truly said it and it sounded like that, like he meant it— but he wasn't ready to say it. He loved you, but only when you were good and not rotten.
He pressed a kiss to your lips, your blood smearing onto his skin. He kissed you like he'd never get the chance to again and even after everything, you didn't deny him. You should've killed him on the spot, but instead your heart fluttered like it always did. He had a grip on you, one that you would never truly outrun and that grip was mutual.
"I am going to leave you." You reiterated, your lips against his.
"I will make you mine, I will not lose you. I cannot. I would go to war for you, sin for you. You are mine as you always have been."He mumbled against your lips.
You pulled back, a singular tear sliding from your eye.
"Bend the knee to my mother then and I will forgive you for your actions tonight."
He shook his head, his lips pursed as if your statement was painful to hear.
"I would never."
You scoffed, pulling away from him.
"Then, none of this—" you spoke, pointing around the room.
"Is good enough."
He sighed as if were out of options, "do not force my hand on this. I am begging you, because you will not like the outcome."
Summary: You were always Ormund’s prize, forever a step behind him. But what happens when you’re finally one step ahead and beat him at cyvasse?
Pairing: Husband! Ormund x Wife! reader
WC: 1.5k
Warning: 18+, toxic marriage, manipulation, reader and daeron have a good relationship, threats, angry outbursts, reader rides vermithor
The days had dragged on, the kind of days where things had blended together. You were heavily pregnant, pregnant with a babe that you didn't want.
Your wants and desires had long stopped mattering once you married Ormund. The man that had swept you off your feet, made you believe in something that wasn't real, made you think that the Hightower's weren't that bad.
So much had happened and you could barely remember when you met him, how he charmed you and made you consider a marriage proposal.
Ormund's facade dropped right after the wedding. He was no longer the man that you had even stood in front of earlier, he was exactly as your mother had warned you.
You were no longer able to wear your house colors in any capacity, he had Vermithor chained, he didn't allow you to keep contact with your mother. You had lost everything in a matter of a night and by then, it was too late.
You enjoyed the days where you were alone, the days where your Lord husband was busy with things that actually mattered— not criticizing you and your every move.
That morning, you joined him in his chambers as he'd requested— he wanted to indulge in a game of cyvasse.
"How are you and the babe faring today?" He questioned, examining the board.
"I am fine, getting less and less sleep these days. I suppose the babe is doing alright as well, becoming more active." You spoke, your hand resting on your bump.
Ormund loved cyvasse, but you hated it— you hated it, because you could never beat him. It was bad enough that you were the wife of a man who challenged your mother, pregnant, and your dragon was chained up.
You felt hopeless.
No amount of watching brought you closer to beating him, he was always one step ahead.
You watched as Ormund moved his piece, your eyes roaming the board.
"Your mother is.. smart. It was smart to give the bastards dragons and to add what she'd lost. She still lacks the courage and foresight though ." He mentioned.
"How does she lack foresight?" You questioned, moving your piece and keeping your eyes on the board.
Ormund paused, a faint chuckle in his throat.
"Time will tell, sweetling."
He loved to taunt you like that, bring up your mother and draw in your curiosity— only to deny you a true answer.
"Hmmph."
"I missed you this morning, husband."
His brow raised, picking up another piece and placing it on the board.
"Is that right?"
Your conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door, Daeron entering the room. Ormund didn't even have to lift his eyes to know that it was Daeron. He knew based off the sound of his boots.
"To what do we owe the visit?" He questioned.
Daeron was quiet, a mirroring of his mother. A boy who'd been unfortunate in growing up around Ormund.
"I come bearing news for Lady Hightower." He spoke softly, walking over to you.
"What news?" Ormund questioned once more, his tone growing stricter.
Despite your families being on opposing sides, you and Daeron had a bond. You weren't his mother or anything remotely close, but both of you understood what it was like being under Ormund's thumb— being his prize.
You smiled, offering out your hand to Daeron as he approached you. He leaned down and whispered into your ear, telling you news about your dragon.
Ormund watched from across the table, a displeased look on his face.
You listened to Daeron's words carefully, making sure that you did not allow your face to give away what he was telling you.
"Thank you, Daeron. I will see you later at supper." You smiled.
Daeron glanced at Ormund and back down at his feet, walking out of the room— shutting the door behind him.
"What was that?" He asked.
Your brow raised as you feigned ignorance, "what was what, husband?"
He pursed his lips, "move your pawn."
"Do not play the fool with me, my love."
You brought your eyes back down to the board, picking up your next piece.
"It was nothing, just some information about how Vermithor was doing. He has been restless as well."
You placed your piece, giving him an innocent smile.
"I have told the two of you about your feelings towards those beasts.. they're abominations." He griped.
"It is easy to feel that way when you were not born into a house with the privilege of having them."
Ormunds eyes slowly flickered over your pregnant frame, his eyes finding your face.
"It is not a privilege to be born with tainted blood, to be part of a house that has caused everyone else's suffering."
His words struck you like an iron, your eyes starting to sting. You lowered them, fidgeting with your fingers in your lap.
You hated hearing him talk about you and your family that way. You were so “tainted”, but it didn’t stop him from crawling into your bed?
"What of him or her? They are part of me, of my blood, my mothers blood, her fathers blood." You reminded him.
He scoffed, moving his next piece.
"They will be different, not like them. You are different, you are a Hightower now. A name that you can wear with honor."
You batted your eyelashes, fighting back the tears that pricked the corner of your eyes.
"You're right, husband. Please, forgive me."
He reached over, holding his hand out. You placed yours in his, a fake smile on your face.
"Our family will be different. Our children will have you and me to guide them, to show them the truth of things."
You nodded your head in agreement.
"They will—"
"I love you.”
He rubbed your hand.
"I love you more, sweetling."
You pulled your hand away and looked back down at the board, a pit in your stomach. An unexplainable feeling of rot curling into your mouth at his words.
You didn't want a future with him or in Oldtown, you wanted to go home.
"Within a few days, I shall be leaving here for a few matters that need to be handled." He told you, pushing his hair from in front of his face.
You moved your piece, his eyes glancing up at the board.
He stared in disbelief, his eyes blinking several times.
You had outsmarted him in the game that he loved so much.
"That can't be right." He mumbled, a huff of air leaving his mouth.
He moved another one of his pieces.
You stood up, fixing your gown around your belly.
"I think that I will return to my chambers for a nap, I am quite tired."
He scoffed, "you need to move your next piece."
"I will see you at supper, husband."
"Move your pawn, wife."
You ignored him, pushing your chair up to the table.
"Finish the game!" He yelled, smacking all of the pieces off the board.
The sound of the pieces clattering across the stone made the impossible feel possible. You could win against him, you had a chance after all.
"This fucking nonsense!" Ormund yelled behind you, knocking the board onto the ground.
Ormunds footsteps inched closer behind you as you reached the door, his hand grabbing yours.
"Do you think of me a fool?"
You stared blankly.
"Ormund, what could you mean? I am just tired."
"You are a cheater." He fumed.
You yanked your hand away from him, "I did no such thing!"
He took a deep breath.
"You never win those games."
You pulled your shoulders back in offense.
"I am just as capable of winning as you are , you allowed yourself to get too comfortable and I won."
He stepped closer to you, his body pressed against yours. He grabbed your face, his fingers digging into your cheeks.
"My sweet wife.. I have been nothing but good to you and yet you still lie to me?"
You winced, "I didn't lie."
"What.. did Daeron come to tell you earlier?"
You shook your head, trying to pull from his grip.
"You're hurting me, Ormund."
"Tell me the truth." He gritted.
Tears welled in your eyes.
"He told me about Vermithor. I had him go check on him, because I knew that he wouldn't handle being chained well."
Ormund scanned your eyes for lies, but he was only met back with someone he made feel small and scared, his own wife.
He gently let go of your face, wiping one of your tears.
"Forgive me, my love. That was unkind of me—"
"I just do not appreciate secrets. We are husband and wife, they are not appropriate."
You shook your head.
"It was not meant to be a secret, but I knew how you felt and I didn’t want to upset you.”
He pulled you into a hug, trying to comfort you and reassure you that he wasn't mad.
"I believe you, sweet girl. There's no need to lie to me, because I'm your husband and you understand what will happen, if you do."
You bit your tongue and decided not to say all the things that crossed your mind. You re-played the plan that you and Daeron had talked about over and over again.
Daeron found the spare keys to the collars that they had on your dragons, which is why he rushed to come tell you earlier. It was the only thing that kept you from breaking down in Ormund’s arms.
Your chance to escape was closer than it had ever been.
summary: your boyfriend always waits to feed until he truly needs it
warnings: SMUT, blood, grinding, dry humping, making out, fluff, crying, reader like. Kisses Holden and tastes their own blood??, bite wounds, cuddling
word count: 1921
authors note: oooo dis took FOREVER ok hai UHHMM I tried to do more dialogue with this and did NOT watch the movie before hand so hopefully its not shit😆😆 ok yay I’m kinda proud of this doe…
your walkman laid between you two, sharing earbuds as you both took in the music.
pinkies intertwined, turned on one another’s side, looking at eachother, a comfortable silence filling the room.
rain pattered heavily upon the windows, trees bending and bowing to the heavy wind the thunderstorm harnessed.
Holdens hair was still damp from getting caught in the rain while walking to your humble apartment.
it might as well be you and Holdens apartment at this point, he came over everyday after work, practically stayed all day, leaving as late as he could.
it was his safe place, you were his space place.
sometimes he wished he could crawl into you, live inside you, truly be safe, never have to feel anything but you.
you gazed out into space, clouded by thoughts, the music a launch pad to the depths of your mind, humming lowly, oblivious to Holdens current state.
he had this anxious hum to his being, his eyes fixated on on you like you were some mythical creature.
His fingers tapping anxiously on his chest, lips parted slightly as he studied you, feeling his dick twitch just from looking at you.
the smell of your blood wasn’t helping either.
feeling his burning stare, you slowly turned your head back to him, brow quirked in curiosity.
“you alright?” You hummed out, slightly amused.
he let out an awkward huff of a laugh, eyes wide at being caught staring, before adverting his gaze down elsewhere.
“yeah—“ he spat out anxiously. “yeah…” he mumbled, his fingers fidgeting with the sheets.
you watched with interest, before realizing.
he needed blood.
he always did this, always pushed himself to the very edge, to where his body nearly crumpled in on itself, waiting until he absolutely needed blood
he seemed to always have this gulit whenever he fed, always sobbing into your neck before moaning and humping you with reckless abandon.
it was like he got some kind of thrill, of waiting until he truly needed your blood, pushing his limits, which weren’t very boundless.
it was almost pathetic, In a way, watching him turn into some whimpering, sopping mess just for you.
breaking out of your thoughts, you focused on him.
he gulped shallowly, his eyes glassy with tears just from fighting every urge to pounce on you.
sitting up, you watched him keenly, a cocky grin on your face.
he avoided your eyes, looking down at his clammy palms, like a kid who knows they’ve done something wrong.
taking out your earbud, you pulled the Walkman away, setting it gently upon your desk before putting your attention back on him.
you watched him with interest, like he was some caged animal.
“Holden,,”you spoke softly. Watching him intently, his eyes on everything else but you.
you smelled so good, the comfortable rhythm of your pulse the only thing he could hear, could focus on.
he let out a shaky exhale, trying to regain some closure.
you quickly put an end to that, your hand reaching out, gently cupping his face, tilting his gaze up to meet your own.
“Holden.” you repeated firmly, his eyes finally meeting yours. Which he regretted by the grin that grew on your face.
“hmm…?” He hummed out. he seemed mesmerized for a second, eyes all cloudy, looking at you like you hung up the stars in the sky, his breathing hitching at you being closer, the scent of your blood very prominent.
he was brought back due to your fingers squeezing his chin slightly tighter.
he blinked once, twice, pupils dilated as much as they could be, those big puppy eyes locked on you.
letting out a amused laugh before you spoke. “you’re doing it again.”
“doing what?” he mumbled, quirking his brows at you, squirming slightly as you sat closer.
you leaned down, faces closer, now you were all he could focus on.
“you know.” you continued, watching him try and keep himself together, trying to figure you out.
“you need to feed huh?” your grin seemed malicious, your other hand fiddling with his jeans, very aware of his hard on.
“need blood?” you lowered your voice, saying it with such infliction it made him shiver, you could’ve laughed at how he looked.
He gulped hard. “Can’t help it- I-“ he gasped, caught. “You smell so good- feel so good..” he mumbled, hands pawing at you helplessly.
“yeah…?” you cooed, tilting your head, thumb gently swiping on his bottom lip, a very appeased smile on your lips.
He nodded quickly, hands gripping your shirt tight, trying to pull you closer, desperate to kiss you, to feel you.
his lips were on yours quick, fast and hungry, all teeth, a laugh bubbled out of you at his desperation
he pulled back, laughing softly as he watched you, it scared you when he looked at you like that. like he worshipped you.
you cupped his face again, which nearly made him crack, your pulse so close, he couldn’t help but lean and nuzzle into your wrist immediately.
it was hard for you to keep a dominant persona, especially when he was like this.
“can…-can I?” he looked to you for confirmation, like he’s done a million times before, so good for you.
“always.” you said with a smile, to which holden immediately clambered ontop of you, his hands everywhere.
your lips met again, sloppily and reckless. Holden breathed hard, you were everywhere, all he could hear and breathe, everything he could take in, god. you made him insane.
he gripped your shirt until his knuckles turned white, starting to rub his very noticeable erection into your groin, a spew of whimpers leaving his lips.
“Fuck-… feel so good—…” he mumbled incoherently into your mouth.
your tongues slid around together in a messy battle. you barely put up a fight, humming contently as he whimpered continuously, grinding frantically against you.
your fingers trailed up and scratched his scalp juuuusssstt right, the sound he made sounded punched out of him, tears slowly forming due to his his growing orgasm.
you bucked up with his messy movements, lining up your hips perfectly with one another, the both of you gasping and whining.
Holden couldn’t hold on much longer, not with everything, you were driving him to the edge, he heard your heartbeat all around him, the smell of your blood intoxicating.
“Please I need you, need to taste you—- mmnngh.. ohgod-“ he moaned out pathetically, pulling away from your hungry mouth and shoving his face into your neck.
“please.” He practically sobbed into your neck, his tears hot on your skin.
you tilted your head back. “It’s okay.” You whispered. “I’m here.”
He shivered at your voice, before taking a deep breath, gently trailing his tongue all over your neck, humming as he felt your racing heartbeat beneath his tongue.
Holdens grinding went to a slow pace, all concentration on trying not to hurt you, which was practically impossible for him.
he peppered soft kisses all over you neck, preparing you for what’s to come, to what you waited in anticipation for, fingers tightening just slightly in his hair.
his fangs extended, glimmering in the low light of the room, before leaning down.
the only pain you felt every single time was the piercing, a sting. but it never lasted long, not until he began to suck, all pain dissipated from your body.
You let out a gasp as the euphoria began to flood into your body, arms wrapping tight around him, still grinding slowly against him.
you tried hard to stay still, your neck extended far back as it could be, your heart thrumming against your chest.
holden had a careful hand on the back of your neck, pressing your close to him as he fed, moaning into your neck as he did.
“Holden—god..” you groaned, gripping his shirt tightly, pulling him impossibly closer.
“thank you, thank you thank you..” He repeated like a mantra.
The taste of your blood seemed to spur him on, his hips beginning their fast pace again, the two of you bucking into eachother, your orgasms starting to fizzle back.
you started to get lightheaded from the amount of blood he had already taken from you, your body feeling like jelly.
moans and whimpers filled the room as you two rutted against eachother, your hands weakly slithering between you both, feebly pushing his face away from you with a pop.
blood trickled down his chin onto his throat, panting heavily as he watched you intently, worry painted on his face.
he wiped his mouth messily on his sleeve before gently cupping your face.
“are you okay?.. I didn’t take too much right?” He said, anxiety laced in his tone, eyes fixated on you carefully before you let out an airy giggle.
“you did a good job.” you grinned lopsidedly ear to ear. “my good boy.. yeah?” your own hand shakily resting upon his face, pulling him, foreheads touching.
“yeah.” he smiled shyly, nose bumping yours.
all the blood loss making your brain hazy, but Holden was a clear beacon to you, your blood smeared all around his mouth, his bangs sticking to his forehead, disheveled and beautiful just for you.
you tugged him closer, lips meeting, you tasted your blood, maybe you should’ve been disgusted, but it only spurred you on more, the bitter taste flooding your mouth.
the two of you started to grind on each other again, a particular rough grind having Holden hiss, holding you close to him as you both humped one another, the texture of each others jeans adding a desirable friction.
A small wet patch was visible in Holdens jeans as he rubbed his erection into you. He pulled away from your mouth, but no farther than that, mumbling praise into your mouth as he kept his eyes squeezed shut in concentration, both of your orgasms just out of reach.
you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, grinding into eachother, that hot feeling slowly creeping into your lower abdomens.
Holdens hands slipped under your shirt, needing to feel your skin, tickling slightly as he rubbed them up and down your sides.
Holdens rhythm started to get desperate, his dick impossibly hard against you as his hips started to sputter, yours as well.
A couple more rough grinds that hit that spot, and you both moaned loudly in sync, Holden slurring out ‘I love you’ before seizing up as ecstasy went off like fireworks through out both your bodies.
Holden collapsed ontop of you, you two breathing heavily, enjoying the afterglow of your shared orgasm.
the room was quiet, besides a fan rattling noisily on the nightstand, cooling you both off, both sweaty and gross, but content.
Holdens arms gently wrapped around your waist, face burrowed into the crook of your shoulder, gently lapping at the bite marks he left.
you laid back, looking at him, dried blood around his mouth, the same with you.
Gently playin with his hair, smiling peacefully together, you reached over to the bedside table, hastily pulling out some wet wipes and wiping your faces, too tired to shower right now.
once you were both (somewhat) clean, you melted back into the bed, playing with his hair, Holden watching you like you were a god.
you laughed softly, pecking him gently before you reached over and turned off the lamplight, Holden resting his head upon your heart, curled all around you like a cat, falling into a deep sleep with you.
Summary: Years ago, Maekar chose another woman and you both went your separate ways, your brief love story ending before it ever really had the chance to begin. You hadn’t seen him in years and hadn’t thought much about him since, but when he sees you again, he starts to wonder if he made the right choice after all.
Pairing: Regretful! Maekar x Unavailable! Stark! reader
WC: 7.5k
18+, non-canon, dragons are still alive (maekar rides vermithor and baelor rides meleys), reader has a direwolf and so do her siblings, council drama, smut, maekar is questionable, dyanna is still alive and so is jena, arguments, mentions of violence, talks of depression, hurt, angsty, unresolved feelings, fade to black at the end, descriptions of grief, timeksips, slightly proofread.
Part 6/6| part one part two part three part four part five
Wildlings were in Winterfell, an unexpected and brutal attack. They were the reason for the meetings, the whispers, and worry— but no one had expected an attack so soon.
In the chaos— steel clashed, dragons roared, and people were hurt, People were killed.
You laid in the snow just a few inches away from Lyonel, both of you unconscious and severely injured. A moment that had been lovely a few seconds prior had turned into a nightmare.
Your blood seeped into the snow around you, your pulse seeming to slow more as the moments passed.
Maekar fought and killed as many wildlings as he could, rushing to get to you.
He could not lose you too, it would kill him.
Wintefell was left in disarray after that ambush, bodies laid amongst the snow, things still burning from Caraxes fire, the small children scared to leave their chambers.
You and Lyonel were both carried into your chambers, Maekar rushing to get the aide of a Maester.
"Please, do not leave me here alone. Do not leave our daughter." Maekar pleaded, holding your hand.
Your breathing was shallow, three arrows sticking out from you. If no one had known any better they would've assumed that you were a target.
After the arrows were removed, they were examined— trying to figure the best course of treatment for such wounds.
"My prince, it is difficult to say whether or not she could overcome these." The Maester stammered.
"You will fucking save her, that is all there is to it." Maekar roared.
Baelor placed his hand on Maekar's shoulder, trying to remind him of his manners.
"What of Ser Lyonel?" Baelor questioned.
The Maester held the bowl of warm water in his hands, setting it down on the closet table to him.
"His wounds are similar, yes— but one of the arrows we believe struck his liver."
Baelor and Maekar shared a look.
"A poisonous arrow to the liver is seldom survivable." The Maester added.
Maekar took another step, scaring the man.
"You will save both of them. I will not lose her and she cannot lose him.. she has been through enough."
"They will do all that they can to heal both of them, but all we can do is wait." Baelor reminded him.
You laid in your bed, the shutters closed, the room chilled from the cold outside — hoping to break your fever.
Maekar sat in the chair beside your bed, his eyes stuck on you. He hadn't ever seen you get sick before, not truly. You always joked with him, telling him that northerners didn't get sick— you were immune to it. It was a jape that you kept going, but this time you were injured and sick. Each hour being a gift from the Gods.
If you were to succumb to your injuries, how would he go on? What would he do? How could he explain the magnitude of that loss to his daughter?
He felt completely helpless, watching you lay there suffering at the hands of some pathetic wildling. After what they did to you, your home, the people who were visiting— he cut off the head of every dead wildling and fed them to the dragons.
He watched as their jaws clamped onto their heads, bursting them like pumpkins.
The hours flowed into one another, the light from the outside fading into darkness. A darkness that was accompanied by firelight.
Maekar had very little time to reconcile with your words from the last conversation, the words where you admitted that you chose Lyonel. His years of hope and of regret turned into ash in his mouth. He was not angry that you chose Lyonel, he was angry with himself.
He wanted you to be happy and that meant swallowing his pride and letting you go—it meant praying to gods that he didn't believe in for Lyonel's recovery, it meant watching you live your days out in Storms End.
Your father came into the room, a wound on his shoulder from the blade of a Wildling. He limped to your bedside, his eyes flickering over a bruised and grief stricken Maekar.
"She would appreciate you being here by her side." Your father spoke, taking a seat on the other side of the bed.
"She doesn't deserve to be here..”
"laying here in this bed, like this." Maekar trailed off.
Your father rubbed your hand, the warmth of your skin a bit of a shock to him.
"We should only be glad that the royal family was here, with your dragons. If this had of happened while you were gone, they would've ripped through Winterfell."
Maekar scoffed.
The door to your chambers being opened once more as Greywind was let in— laying at the foot of the bed.
"Where is Rhaenyra?" Maekar questioned.
"She is with Lady Jena, along with Aegon and Rhae. The rest of the family are where they were after the chaos."
There was a silence afterwards, a silence that said all the words that either of them could say.
While you laid there, it was as if a fire had consumed you from the inside— your body trying so hard to fight off the poison.
It had been days with no end in sight for you or Lyonel, no signs of either of you getting better— only staying the same.
They allowed Rhaenyra to come see you as she had asked for you on numerous occasions, crying for you. Maekar held her in his lap, while he sat in the chair by your bed and told her stories about you.
He wouldn't leave your side for anything. He tasked Baelor with informing him of any new information being told at the meetings— now that their father would be in attendance.
Another day had gone by, another day where everyone around you moved to clean up your home. No one knew what would come next and your fathers heart hadn't beat in his chest properly, since you were hurt.
Before the attack, you had so many regrets that you could've listed off— things that you should've done, words you shouldn't have said, hesitations that changed your life, but now they didn't matter. They were merely vapors in the air, now that you fought to wake up again.
Maekar sat in the chair holding your hand, the heat radiating from your skin.
He found himself praying, something he had never done— but for you, he'd make any promises that he could in return for your health. He'd beg, even.
Lyonel was in his own chambers, recovering at the same rate as you.
Maekar had him brought back to your chambers.
The Maesters recommended that being beside one another could heal the two you, your love prevailing over the poison. It was a ludicrous suggestion, completely nonsensical— but what if they were right?
Their words rolled in his stomach as if he too had been poisoned, but he agreed.
While laying side by side in the bed, Lyonel's hand found yours— your heartbeats in sync.
"We are hopeful, my prince." The Maester spoke, standing in the hall.
"Lord Baratheon's fever has gone down, we're hoping Lady Stark's will follow."
Maekar huffed, scratching his brow.
"It has been nine days, three with them laying side by side in the bed together and all you are is "hopeful"?"
The Maester's confidence fell at his words.
"Yes.. yes, my prince. We are hopeful, hopeful that this posion will have no lasting effect and that it is almost out of their systems."
Maekar walked away, muttering curse words about the incompetency of him.
Three days later…
The brightness of the morning had crept in slowly, the cold breeze coming along with it.
People were moving around Winterfell, most of them anxious about what the day would bring— trying to resume back to their normal lives.
A funeral had been held for the people who died during the attack, the smell of burnt flesh still lingering in the air.
A maid had come into your room that morning as they always did, cleaning up around you and Lyonel as the two of you recovered. They wanted the room to be tidy and fresh smelling once you woke up.
"Goodmorning, Lady Stark, Lord Baratheon." The maid muttered. She still spoke even when she was unsure that the two of you could hear her.
She grabbed the dirty linen from beside the bed after she opened the shutters, a gasp escaped her lips as she took a glimpse at the bed— stepping closer.
The door to your chambers shut with a faint click, the maid rushing down the hall with the linen. Heat flooded her cheeks as she looked for Maekar, tears pricking her eyes.
Maekar had been forced to attend a council meeting that morning, a meeting that King Daeron deemed necessary. He could hardly focus during the meeting, because he wasn't by your side as he had been.
The maid knocked nervously against the council room door.
"Come in!" King Daeron shouted.
She wiped her tears, slowly opening the door.
The door opened to a full council meeting, all eyes were on her.
It was as if her words in that moment had escaped her, her chest rising and falling fast— everyone confused.
Maekar rose from his seat, his brows furrowed—"what is the matter, girl?"
She spoke, her sentences broken by the sobs that left her.
People hurriedly moved around your room, handling tasks that you were unaware of. Maekar held your hand through it all, hoping that you'd come back to him.
ꕀ
The hour of the wolf was there, that next day— another day where Maekar slept in the chair beside your bed.
The room was warm, the crackle of the fire slowly coming into your hearing.
Greywind slept at the foot of the bed, barely willing to let anyone approach you that day. He'd been guarding you more than he ever had for some reason.
Your eyes slowly opened, feeling heavy as if they had been sewn shut. It was hard to process where you were, because the last thing that you remembered was walking alongside Lyonel.
Your mouth was dry, your throat sore like it had been clawed from the inside.
Your eyes flickered over your room, your eyes meeting a sleeping Maekar in the chair beside you.
"Ma..Maekar." You spoke, your voice hoarse.
He continued sleep.
You adjusted in the bed, trying to prop yourself up with what little strength you had. A wince left your mouth, your hand flying to bandages on your body.
"Maekar." You mumbled.
His eyes fluttered open, figuring that he was just hearing things. His eyes widened when he saw you trying to sit up in the bed.
He jumped from his chair, coming to your side.
"I'm so glad that you are awake—"
"What happened? Why am I bandaged up?" You questioned, interrupting him.
He sat on the edge of the bed, grabbing your hand and holding it in his.
"There was an attack on Winterfell by the Wildlings, they had somehow managed to make it over the wall." He admitted.
Your eyes widened, your heartbeat quickening as panic raced through your veins.
"Father?—"
"Rhaenyra? Where's our daughter?"
He held your hand, "they are okay. We suffered some loses, but mostly everyone was unharmed."
You took a deep breath, feeling some relief— but also realizing that you were hurt during the midst of the attack.
Your brows raised, "where's Lyonel? I wish to see him."
Maekar's smile disappeared, a look of guilt overtaking his face instead.
He hesitated, something that was unlike him.
You pulled your hand from his, "what is the matter?"
He still hesitated, unable to find the right words— his heart feeling like it was being squeezed in his chest.
"Lyonel was shot by arrows the same as you, the arrows were coated in poison. It was the reason that the two of you had been unconscious for so long.."
"I must go see him then." You spoke, moving the sheets from you and preparing to leave the bed.
Maekar's hand grabbed yours again with a firm grip, your eyes flickering to his.
"Lyonel.. died three days ago—"
"The maid realized that he was dead in the bed beside you, when she came to tidy the room."
You angrily yanked your hand from his, a scowl on your face.
"That's not fucking funny, Maekar."
Your chest rose and fell fast, Maekar's eyes struggling to meet yours.
Tears fell from your eyes, your hand flying to cover your mouth.
You pushed yourself up from the bed, exerting all of your energy.
"You shouldn't leave the —"
Your feet felt foreign agasint the cold stone, a feeling that your body struggled to register. You stumbled to the door, opening it and stumbling down the hall towards Lyonel's chambers.
Tears stained your cheeks, because Maekar was wrong—maybe he was trying to be cruel because you didn't choose him.
Maekar followed you, feeling guilty as sin while he watched you limp to Lyonel's room. This time he had nothing to feel guilty for, but in his mind he begged the gods to give him all the grief that you would experience.
You made it to his room, pressing your body against the door for support as you pulled on the handle. You shut the door behind you before Maekar could enter.
Lyonel's room was cold, only the moonlight from the window shining in.
You could see him, laying still in his bed— looking sound asleep.
"Lyonel?" You called out, your voice shaky.
You slowly approached the bed in measured steps and when you reached his side, it was as if a knife had sliced through your heart.
Your lip trembled when you saw him, your tears flowing down your face and neck.
Your hand found his and it was shockingly cold. You slowly pulled yourself into bed with him, laying your head on his chest one last time.
"You weren't supposed to leave me here.. you promised us." You cried.
Your tears wet his face as you pressed yours against his, "I love you, I love you, I love you so much.. please come back."
Maekar jumped outside the door as the wail that tore from your lungs startled him. It was the most earth shattering cry that he'd ever heard, a scream that came deep from within.
Baelor, Jena, and your father rushed from their chambers at the sound of the loud scream— wondering what had happened. They saw Maekar standing outside of Lyonel's chambers and their hearts dropped.
Your father approached the door, a deep hesitation filling his bones. He never wanted to see you cry, let alone grieve the man that you had just begged him to allow you to marry.
He slowly opened the door, seeing you hover over Lyonel's body as you sobbed. He walked in and shut the door behind him.
"Are you alright, brother?" Baelor asked.
Maekar shrugged, "how can I possibly be fine and her world just crumbled into pieces? She is the love of my life and I only want her to be happy, yet that was snatched away by the the stranger."
"This is not your fault." Jena chimed in.
Maekar scoffed, "that matters very little."
Baelor and Jena left, but Maekar and your father stayed. They stayed by your side, refusing to leave you alone in your grief.
You laid beside Lyonel for hours after you cried yourself to sleep, refusing to leave his side beforehand. Once you were sound asleep, your father had Maekar carry you back to your chambers— locking the door to Lyonel's room behind him.
Your room felt empty when you woke back up, but so did you.
Lyonel was dead and you didn't even get to finish the conversation with him.
You cried when you woke up, the tears running along the bridge of your nose.
Lyonel was good to you, he was kind, he was gentle, and he loved Rhaenyra like she was his own. He was everything that you had prayed for and you waited, you waited too fucking long and now he was gone.
You dragged your feet on the one person who never dragged theirs when it came to you and your daughter.
It was your fault.
The light from the shutters peaked through some of the slits, the light shining onto the sheets on your bed.
You laid there and minutes, hours, possibly even days had passed. It didn't matter, it all felt the same.
A never ending nightmare.
There was a knock on the door.
The door opened slowly, Maekar standing in the doorway holding Rhaenyra.
You glanced at him and then brought your eyes back towards the sheets on your bed.
He shut the door behind him, walking over to the seat.
"She's been inconsolable today, the Maester assumes that maybe she just doesn't feel well."
"Hmm." You groaned, turning in the bed— facing the window.
"I figured that you might like to see her, now that you're awake."
You just laid there, listening to Rhaenyra babble and closed your eyes.
"I do not wish to see her."
Rhaenyra grabbed at Maeakar's beard, a frown on his face.
"You've finally awoken after days, days of her not being able to spend time with you."
"No." You mumbled.
"Mama, mama." Rhaenyra whined.
Maekar stood up from the chair, "are you sure?"
You ignored him, answering his question. After a moment the door opened and then gently shut behind the two of them.
The pain that you felt was a pain that had consumed you, every fiber of your being consumed by the thought of him. His scent still lingered in your bed, his laugh still felt like it echoed off the walls, his cloak was still in the chair across the room.
He was your moon and you were his sun, two things that were never meant to live without eachother.
He would be the biggest loss of your life.
You stayed in your chambers, the food outside of your door left untouched, the maids sent away, your daughter also sent away. You kept yourself in complete solitude and darkness.
Two days later..
You sat in the tub, your knees pulled to your chest in the hot water.
The gold doe necklace that Lyonel had made pressed against your skin.
"My lady, would you like help?" Elaena asked, holding the rag.
"No, I can do it just fine." You replied, taking it from her hands.
"Very well." She spoke with a smile, standing up and leaving the room.
Your hands trembled as you dragged the rag across your skin, the soap lathering— the scent of cherry and vanilla moving throughout the air.
With the way that you felt, you wanted to hold your breath and let the water in the tub take you away. You wanted to drift off to a place where didn't experience any of this, where you didn't hesitate.
Your fingers gripped into the rag, scrubbing your skin— scrubbing raw and hoping to feel more than what you did in that moment.
You took your time while in the bath, longer than you normally did. Instead of climbing back into the bed like you wanted to, you dried yourself off and got dressed.
Putting on your gown took effort, deep breaths, and tears but you managed. After what took longer than it should've, you were dressed and you braided your hair.
You turned the handle to your door, opening it slowly.
As you walked down the halls, servants stared, gave fake smiles, and whispered under their breath.
ꕀ
In the council room— Baelor, Maekar, your father, and King Daeron sat around the table.
"She cannot be allowed to wallow in her grief." Baelor spoke, twisting the green ball in front of him.
"She's hardly wallowing, it's only been a few days." Maekar pointed out.
Daeron sat there, his fingers clasped in front of him.
"Lady Stark needs time, but we do not have it. After such things have occurred here, we should be departing soon."
Your father glanced at King Daeron.
"We are hardly whole and you speak of leaving?"
"You can leave, if you wish father. I will be staying." Maekar protested.
"The royal family has more than one obligation, Lord Stark. We will discuss the matters that are prevalent and help with any small tasks that you might need, but we must return home."
"Maekar, you cannot stay. You have six children that you need to attend to." Baelor reminded him.
"Seven.. I have seven children." Maekar corrected.
Daeron sat up in his chair.
"Yes, you have seven children— which is why you will not stay. You won't have to stay, because Lady Stark will be coming with us."
Everyone's eyes met Daeron's.
"Father—"
"I have had far more than I can take. Lord Baratheon is now.. unfortunately dead. Which means that there is nothing stopping the union between her and Maekar." He declared.
"This is fucking nonsense, we don't have to—"
"Yes, you do, Maekar! It would be foolish of me and everyone else here to act like the two of you weren't still in love. She was going to marry Lord Baratheon, yet the two of you still frolicked around like teenagers." Daeron roared.
"I am not sure my daughter will be up to a wedding so soon, especially after such heartbreak." Your father cautioned.
"It does not have to be immediately, but it will happen." Daeron replied.
You knocked at the council room door.
"You may enter." Baelor called out.
You opened the door, all of them admittedly surprised to see you standing in front of them— dressed and not crying.
You stepped in, shutting the door.
"Daughter, I didn't expect you to be out of your room today." Your father confessed.
Your fingers pressed against the necklace as you stood in front of them.
"Well, I couldn't spend forever in my room. I have a child to take care of.”
"To what do we owe the visit, Lady Stark?" Baelor questioned.
You brought your hands back down to your side, biting your tongue.
"I wanted to talk about Lyonel's funeral—"
"I would like it to be just me and Rhaenyra present, something small."
"You don't want anyone else attending?" Your father pried, a confused look on his face.
"No one here knew Lyonel as deeply as I did, none of you in this room probably even liked him.. I just don't want our last moments to be surrounded by people who do not care."
"We do care." Daeron chimed in.
You scoffed, feigning a smile and trying to keep from becoming overwhelmed.
"You care to the extent that I do. You care, because I cry and because I'm sad. You do not care because you cared about Lyonel or loved him. "
The room fell silent, only the sounds of the fire crackling and the wind howling filling the gap.
"What do you want done with his remains?" Maekar interrupted.
"I'd like to keep them."
Daeron and your father nodded in agreement. You left the room afterwards, shutting the door behind you.
Three days later..
The gods had granted Winterfell with even more snow as if there wasn't enough already. Despite the snow, the sun was out with flurries falling to the ground.
Maekar stood behind you, dressed in his funeral attire— holding Rhaenyra in his arms.
Vermithor stood near the pyre as you walked closer.
Your pressed your hands against the wood, leaning close to Lyonel's body.
"One day, when I leave here— I will find you. I will find you every chance that I get." You whispered.
Your fingers instinctively grabbed your necklace, touching Lyonel's ring that was now attached to it.
Tears fell from your eyes as you glanced back at Maekar, giving him the go ahead.
"Dracarys." Maekar grumbled.
Vermithor stepped closer, opening his mouth—the pit in your stomach twisting into something unimaginable.
The fire consumed him and all you could do was watch.
Watch as your sweet late night conversations disappeared in the wind, watch as the promises you once made faded away, watch as your once possible future slipped through your fingers.
You watched the man that you loved so deeply burn, while the one that you never stopped loving stood behind you— holding your daughter.
Your life was complex, but despite everyone's comments— Lyonel was willing to accept it and make you his wife.
The cold had become too much for Rhaenyra, so Maekar took her inside— but you stayed. You stayed and watched until the flames went out, until there was nothing but smoke swirling in the air.
It felt as if a dream, a dream where Lyonel would come laugh at you for being worried about such a thing. It was not a dream, even when you dug your nails into your palms wanting to wake up— you didn't.
ꕀ
Despite wanting to be the only one who attended his funeral, that did not stop them from holding feast in the dining hall.
"To the laughing storm!" Lord Commander Robin cheered, the ale spilling from his cup onto the table.
The dining hall erupted full of cheers and loud banging on the tables.
You sat in your chambers in the chair, staring into the fireplace with your goblet filled with wine. You didn't want to be part of that "feast". A feast for a man that most of them didn't bother truly getting to know.
Everyone attended, but you.
You drank your sorrows away, wishing to be left alone.
There was a knock at your door, a knock that you ignored.
Another knock followed.
"Go away!" You yelled.
The door opened, a thud following after as it shut.
Maekar walked towards your chair, coming into your view.
"Why are you not present at the feast?" He asked.
His eyes glanced at the half empty goblet of wine, a sudden realization washing over him.
"I am not needed there." You replied.
"You think sitting here, drinking yourself into a stupor is what you should be doing?"
You brought the cup to your lips again, taking another sip.
"Fuck off, Maekar. I don't need you to barge in here and control what I do."
He scoffed.
"I am worried about you, everyone here is.. you're barely eating, still haven't spent much time with our daughter, you're isolating yourself."
"I will be fine, I just want to be alone." You mumbled.
"You are not fine!—"
"Lyonel has died, he's dead and he'll never come back. That doesn't mean that you need follow him." Maekar snapped.
Your eyes felt as if they were going to pop from your skull at his words.
"How dare you?—"
You stood up, stepping closer to him.
"You cannot fathom it, can you? Fathom that I chose him over you, that I am distraught that he's dead, that I cared about him more than you could've ever cared about your own wife!" You spat.
His shoulders pulled back, his brows furrowed.
"I beg your pardon?—"
"I did fucking care about Dyanna, you know how complicated things were! Don't be cruel."
You laughed bitterly.
"I never stopped loving you and it has cost me.. everything."
His expression softened, staring at you blinking away your tears.
"Losing Lyonel is not everything—"
"It's not just about Lyonel, Maekar! It's about how my life is a doll tragedy. I am a mother to a bastard—"
"Don't." He sternly corrected.
"I lost the man that I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with, yet I still stand in front of you and still feel things for you!—"
"What is wrong with me?" You stammered, bringing your hand to your mouth.
Maekar stepped closer, his chest pressed against you. He brought his hand to your face, wiping the tears that fell.
"You are human, my love. You are not perfect nor is anyone here. Do not beat yourself up over a moral standard that you've created for yourself. Lyonel loved you, I love you, and your family loves you. That’s all that should matter.”
You pressed your head against his doublet, your tears staining the fabric.
"I know that they want me to marry you." You spoke, voice barely above a whisper.
Maekar looked down at you and your eyes met his as you glanced up through your tears.
"Where did you hear that?"
"I heard the conversation before I knocked on the door.. I'll do it, I won't protest it." You conceded.
Maekar stepped back, "you do not have to. I can talk to father and get him to understand."
You wiped your tears and shook your head.
"He is the king and in his eyes, he's been more than understanding. I am unwed with a child bore to the prince and the prince is a widower—"
"I cannot stay here anymore, it doesn't feel like my home."
"I will not force to you marry me." Maekar argued.
"I am not being forced.. because I still love you and I don't know how to process it, how to accept it. I feel as if I've lost one great love, while still tethered to another.. I just cannot lose you too."
He pulled you into a tight hug, his hand rubbing the back of your head.
Neither of you knew what the rest of your life would like, but it wasn't something that needed to be decided at that moment.
The two of you spent the rest of the night in your chambers, Maekar holding you as you cried throughout the night.
In the weeks that followed, you and Maekar slowly began to find a rhythm. It wasn't perfect, but it worked for the both of you.
You put a cloth around Rhaenyra's neck as she ate the bowl of oats in front of her.
"Why must the fucking ceremony be held this afternoon when the sun is about to go down?" Maekar grumbled.
You ate the pomegranate that sat in front of you.
"I suppose your father finds it to be a more reasonable hour."
He rolled his eyes.
"Ah, yes— spend the entire night fucking celebrating when we have to leave in the morning."
"Well, they can spend the entire night celebrating— but I will be in my chambers after eating." You smirked.
Rhaenyra pushed the bowl of oats from in front of her, shaking her head.
"Kepa." She spoke, pointing at the biscuit on his plate.
"She's getting better at using High Valyrian, pretty soon she'll be better than most of your family." You teased with a smile.
Maekar put jam onto the biscuit and pushed the plate to Rhaenyra, "do you want me to cut it?"
She shook her head, her small fingers reaching for the biscuit.
"You shouldn't only talk to her in High Valyrian. I don't always use that language." Maekar pointed out.
You wiped your mouth with the cloth in front of you.
"I want her to learn, she will never learn if she doesn't hear her family speak it regularly. If I can speak it, then there should be no reason that she cannot."
"Fine, have it your way.” He caved.
The feeling of knowing that within a few hours you'd be married to Maekar was odd, it was something unexplainable. You would've never figured that he would've been back in your life and that the two of you would have a daughter together. You could only hope that the life she'd have would make all of this worth it.
"Once we finish breakfast, you should come with me to feed the dragons. They will need heavy meals tonight." Maekar mentioned.
"I will come, but I fed Silverwing and Caraxes earlier. I had to wait for the rest of the meat to get here for Vermithor and Meleys." You added.
"Do you have preparations for Greywind?"
You grabbed the other pomegranate on the table.
"As much preparation as there is available. He is meant for the cold, so I'm not sure how well this will work. However, if he declines in any capacity he will be brought back immediately.."
"I just don't want to leave him, he'll he lost without me."
Maekar rubbed your hand.
"He will adjust to Summerhall. I do not anticipate that it will be too harsh on him."
ꕀ
The wedding ceremony between you and Maekar was far from traditional. It was a ceremony that no one had prepared for on that trip. It wasn't luxurious and full of parades, events, and people traveling from all over like how they normally did. It was a smaller scale, it was with your family, his family, and a handful of guests.
The daylight had begun to fade as everyone waited near the weirwood tree for you and Maekar to make your entrance.
You stood in your chambers, dressed in your gown staring at yourself in the mirror. You looked like a younger version of your mother.
The thought of being married should've made you happy, you should've been over the moon— but you felt sick to your stomach.
You felt guilty and scared, not happy.
The room felt like it was closing in on you, your gown was too tight, and everything felt wrong.
Maekar knocked on the door as he realized that you were taking longer than expected.
"Are you alright?"
You felt like you couldn't breathe, your fingers rushing to undo the laces on your gown.
Maekar opened the door, rushing in as he saw you in a panicked state.
"What's wrong? Has something happened?" He fretted.
Tears flowed down your cheeks as you grabbed onto him.
"We shouldn't.. we shouldn't do this."
He looked at you with a confused look on his face, "what are you talking about?"
"I can't chance something happening to you." You cried.
It was then that realization hit him. You were terrified of what could happen, because of what happened to you and Lyonel.
He held you, giving you a kiss on the forehead.
"I am not going anywhere, that I promise."
You couldn't explain what came over you or why you felt that way. It was truly something that you uad never experienced before. The feeling made you feel like you were back in that moment with Lyonel, trapped in a moment that you couldn't change.
You took a bit longer than expected to collect yourself, but Maekar didn't mind. He stayed by your side and reassured you as he helped you lace up your gown again.
"I'm right here, my love." He whispered.
The two of you eventually walked outside together, holding hands as you approached the Weirwood tree.
King Daeron and Queen Myriah stood in the front row, watching with joy at the union of two great houses— something they'd hoped would have happened years ago.
Baelor and Jena stood alongside them, Baelor holding Rhaenyra— helping her see the two of you. Egg waved at you as you walked closer, a wide smile on Valarr’s face, Aerion rolled his eyes with boredom.
Since, you followed the Old Gods and Maekar technically followed the new— you just followed the way of the Old Gods. You didn't need a septon present, just witnesses.
You and him had decided to say your vows in High Valyrian, the one thing that brought the two of you closer years ago. He taught you, making sure that you were fluent and could talk to him without everyone always understanding.
Your vows were sealed with a kiss, cheers and clapping erupting as you sealed your new life. You were now part of the royal family and you had decided to take the Targaryen last name as well. It was uncommon in practice, but not unheard of.
After the ceremony—the dining hall was filled with music, laughter, wine, and conversation. You and Maekar sat at the center of the front table, people making their way forward to say congratulations.
"Congratulations, my prince and my lady. I wish the two of you a long and happy union." Lord Arryn spoke.
You smiled.
"Thank you, Lord Arryn. I am glad that you were here to witness our wedding."
Maekar glanced at you, an annoyed look on his face.
"How many people are going to come up here and say the same fucking thing?" He grumbled.
You glanced up at him, "be nice."
Although you weren't a fan of being the center of attention nor with pretending to be happy with so many people now approaching you, your husband hated it more than you. He complained during most of the dinner.
You and Maekar left everyone to continue enjoying the food and drinking— both of you put Rhaenyra to bed and then retreated to your chambers.
When you shut the door to your room, a sigh escaped your lips— "finally." You mumbled to yourself.
Maekar began pulling his boots off.
"We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow." He griped.
"Aye, we do."
The fire crackled, an intense warmth against your skin as you began to take off your gown.
"You are my husband now." You pointed out, allowing your gown to fall from your shoulders and to your feet.
"That I am." He responded as he turned to you.
You stood in front of him in just your shift, your hair covering part of your face.
He stared at you, not just because of arousal— but because you looked like the most beautiful thing in the world to him.
Instead of both of you going to bed as you should've been, neither of you couldn't keep your hands off of each other. You spent hours underneath him, on top of him, facing away from him— reaching your peak multiple times and crying out his name.
You slept good that night, but it was nowhere near enough.
ꕀ
That following morning, you dragged yourself from the bed and prepared to leave.
Maekar had already gotten up and left your room.
Your room felt different compared to how it had before, looking for the missing things that were packed in your trunk.
That had been your room since you were born and a room that you figured that you would've grown old in, but there you stood— preparing to say goodbye to Winterfell.
You didn't worry about breaking your fast, you got dressed and made your way to your fathers chambers.
The servants and staff said their goodbyes to you as you walked passed them, each of them wishing you well.
Your father stood in the hall, talking to Baelor as you approached.
"Ah, well maybe next time then. Once again, thank you for having us, Lord Stark." Baelor spoke with a smile, shaking your fathers hand.
He walked towards you, "we will be leaving shortly. Rhaenyra is with the other children and we're letting Greywind roam a bit before crating him."
You nodded, continuing to walk towards your father.
Your father had a smile on his face, the same one that he always did when he'd see you.
"I was just on my way to come find you." He mentioned.
You grabbed his hand, a small smile on your face.
"I hate that I am leaving you, I wish that you could come with me."
Your father laughed, bringing his hand to your face.
"You will be just fine without me. I can manage here without you, if it means that you get to go have a life."
Your eyes welled with tears, no amount of blinking stopping them from flowing.
"I will write to you as much as I can.. I will come visit again soon."
He gripped your hand.
"Daughter, listen to me. You do not have to rush back to visit me nor write me all the time, it is your time to live. You have another chance, so do it—"
"Live for you, for Rhaenyra!"
You hugged him, squeezing him tight as if it would be the last time that you'd see him again— because maybe it would be.
"I love you, father."
He rubbed your head, his smile never leaving his face.
"I love you too and I am proud of you, so very proud."
You were scared to let go of him, because letting go meant accepting that Winterfell wouldn't be your home anymore— that he'd be far away from you.
The two of you held the hug for a moment longer until you pulled away, wiping your tears.
"I guess that I should get going."
"Yes, you don't want to miss your ride from here." He teased.
You walked away from him, hopeful for your future— but grieving the new change.
Outside, everyone stood around— doing last minute checks as you prepared to leave.
You made your way over to Maekar as he fussed at Vermithor for one thing or another.
Maekar noticed your wet face, "everything alright?"
You nodded, putting your gloves on.
The staff and servants stood outside of Winterfell watching as the horses began taking off. Aerion and Valarr's dragons ascended in the air as they also took off.
"Are you ready? Do you have everything?" Maekar questioned one last time.
"Yes, I'm ready."
You climbed onto Vermithor, a familiar feeling from many years ago. Maekar climbed in front of you, sitting down and instructing you to wrap your hands around him.
Vermithor groaned, giving a big shake as he took off— bringing both of you into the air.
It had been a long time since you were last on dragon back, but the feeling was still surreal— being off the ground and in the clouds.
You glanced down below, watching as your home and family faded into the distance.
Several moons later…
Living in Summerhall was an adjustment for not just you, but Rhaenyra as well. It was odd waking up beside Maekar every morning in a different place from where you once lived.
Things were good, great even. You had finally accepted your past, but also accepted that you couldn’t change it— all you could do was move on.
You were going into your marriage and this new area of life with a happy outlook.
Everything was fine, until you got sick.
You didn't think much of it, thought that it might have been a bug of some sort. It wasn't until you were sick every morning that it dawned on you.
You hadn't had your moon blood since before you left Winterfell.
The Maester confirmed what you had prayed wasn't true, you were with child. It should've been lovely news for a newly wed woman, but not for you. You couldn't pinpoint when you conceived, so it could've been Lyonel's or Maekar's.
As if suffering his loss wasn't cruel enough, he might've left you with a parting gift.
When you told Maekar, you were terrified, a sobbing mess— but he wasn't angered. He hugged you and held you as you cried, because he knew that it wasn't intentional. He also understood that you could've never predicted that this would happen.
"No matter who the child looks like, it's ours. It will be raised as ours and loved just like the rest." He assured you.
That was the only thing that kept you going during the pregnancy. His promise and the hope that it was his child instead.
ꕀ
Your skin was covered in sweat, your hair pressed against your forehead.
"I can't do this, Maekar." You cried out.
He pushed your hair from your face, "yes, you can."
"You've brought me one healthy babe before, I know that you can do it again."
Your doe necklace glistened in the light from your sweat.
Your labor this time had been slow, unbearably slow.
The Maester checked you one last time, adjusting your shift.
"It's time, we're going to prepare for you to start pushing."
You looked at Maekar, a scared look on your face.
"I'm not ready.. I'm not—"
"What if it's not yours?" You panicked.
He rubbed your forehead and grabbed your hand, "that doesn't matter. The child will be loved all the same, I promise. You're so close, my love."
"Princess, we're going to count to ten and we need you to push until we reach ten."
Maekar kissed your forehead, "I'm right here. You can do this."
"1."
"2."
"3."
"4."
"5."
"6."
"I can see the head! Keep pushing."
"7."
"8."
"My Prince, would you like to grab the babe as it comes out?"
You looked at him and nodded.
Maekar left your side and pulled his doublet off. He stood at the foot of the bed, watching you push.
"9."
"10."
"Keep pushing! Do not stop, the babe is almost out."
"11."
"12."
“13.”
You felt immediate relief as the babe came out, finally feeling like you could breathe.
Maekar held the screaming babe, his eyes filled with tears.
"It's a girl."
You were happy that your baby was healthy and that the delivery went without complications, you just had a more pressing question on your mind.
They wrapped the baby up and Maekar brought her to you, allowing you to see her.
Tears flowed from your eyes, bringing you to an unexpected sob.
She was beautiful, a head full of curly black hair. She looked just like Lyonel.
"I'm so sorry." You cried.
He smiled, "there's nothing to be sorry for. You just gave me another wonderful and healthy daughter."
You named her Laenora Targaryen.
She was an unexpected gift, but a gift that you were grateful to have nonetheless. A gift that your husband accepted with open arms, despite everything else.
He truly loved you more than he could ever put into words and you were lucky to have him.
