#game of thrones fic

[cosmictheo]

𝐋𝐎𝐘𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐘 ── series masterlist

⋆ . ۰˚ ☽ ˚ ｡ “I wonder wich will kill you faster, child—your loyalty or your kindness?”

── 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: During the Ashford Meadow tournament, where she is expected to choose a noble husband and secure her place within the dynasty, Prince Baelor Targaryen's only daughter feels increasingly burdened by the weight of her lineage and her lack of self-belief and identity, finding a sense of companionship in her cousin Aerion, with whom she has long shared a secret and passionate romance, a bond as suffocating as it is unbreakable.

Amidst the chaos of the event and that of her family, she crosses paths with Ser Duncan the Tall, a humble hedge knight with a noble heart and gentle eyes. Despite the vast gulf between their worlds, an immediate and soul-stirring bond sparks between them, one that feels like a reunion with an old friend, dictated by fate itself. This encounter forces her to confront the true cost of loyalty, questioning whether love is a burden to be endured through duty, or a path to be chosen through courage.

To find her truth and claim what is hers, the Gentle Dragon must bleed; she shall surrender the skies and cast away her wings, for only in falling shall she learn how to love.

── 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Ser Duncan the Tall x Reader ─ Aerion Targaryen x Reader

── 𝐭𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: ~ 30k

── 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭/𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 (this will contain major spoilers!): this story is intended for mature audience (18+ only). for aerion ─ targcest, dark romance, psychological manipulation, obsessive/toxic behavior, power imbalance, implicit smut. for dunk ─ past life lovers/soulmates trope, slow burn, forbidden romance, hurt/comfort. in general ─ love triangle, nudity, use of medieval contraceptives, canon-typical violence, descriptions of gore and severe physical injuries, complicated family dynamics, angst, major character death, grief and loss, canon compliant.

── 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬:

‧ ˚ ⋅ ✦ ── one

‧ ˚ ⋅ ✧ ── two

‧ ˚ ⋅ ✦ ── three

‧ ˚ ⋅ ✧ ── four

‧ ˚ ⋅ ✦ ── five

‧ ˚ ⋅ ✧ ── six

‧ ˚ ⋅ ✦ ── seven

[sehaedazokla]

from fury, from fire

series guide valarr targaryen, aerion targaryen

pairing: valarr targaryen x baratheon!reader (main), aerion targaryen x baratheon!reader

premise: Lady Baratheon's plans to enjoy the Ashford Meadow tournament are ruined when she catches the attention of not one but two Targaryen princes.

tags: nsfw, semi-canon compliant (valarr is not married)

general warnings: themes of violence and period-typical misogyny, blood, grief, major character death, heavy angst, smut

rating: 18+ | status: complete | word count: 62.7k

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine

additional content:

read on ao3 | read on wattpad | pinterest board | playlist | character moodboards

© sehaedazokla 2026 — do not repost, edit, or translate on other sites

[vlarrtrgryn]

ℱanfic ℛecommendations .ᐟ

live your life: @breesfics

| summary: The moment the third arrow struck Prince Jacaerys Velaryon's throat, his life ended. And yet, a second later, the Prince awakens, confused, in his bedroom, as alive as he'd always been, with his only company being the ultimate love of his life: his wife, you. The issue? You died months ago.

burning rage: @lilyloveswriting

| summary: Jacaerys returns home from the battle, but he's not the same, and he wants the greens to burn.

How deep is your love? Is it like the ocean? What devotion are you?: @feral4youu

| summary: Your husband is adamant about the two of you flying to the Gullet, insisting the battle will be over before either of you has the chance to worry. You can't shake the feeling that something is wrong, but Jace promises everything will be fine.

His Dear Princess: @hauntedfictionland

| summary: Jacaerys did not want you, or the vow he was bound to for life. Yet when he makes a big mistake, and potentially loses you for good. He realises just how much you meant to him.

I will crawl home to you: @julez-5

| summary: Not even the Gods could tear Jace from your hands before they were ready for you as well.

Seething, blooming: @chloe-petrichors

| summary: your father has always been something of an opportunist, but trying to marry you off to the blacks while he courts the greens? this is taking playing the game to a whole new level.

Drunk and Seeing Stars: @fluttervoid

| summary: you've had a little too much to drink, and somehow that leads you to make yourself perfectly comfortable on jace's lap for the rest of the night.

Silly Thoughts: @jxerv

| summary: Your husband didn't greet you that morning, it made you really upset.

Go to sleep: @sacrificiallane

| summary: babbling to your husband when he's trying to sleep

Meddle About: @devourride

| summary: being friends with jacaerys meant that there will be endless talks about legitimacy, honor, and the who shall sit on the iron throne as a rightful heir. you were used to it, as you have seen witnessed jacaerys turn from a sweet summer child to someone uptight and tensed in all places- but what happens in a night when he's alone and had too much wine that he lost count?

Does it Hurt?: @rottenbites

| summary: vermax wasn't too kind to jace on his recent ride, leaving his betrothed to remedy the stoic prince

VII Minutes: @rose3heartzzz

| summary: after you die, your brain lives on for seven minutes, replaying its best memories. it is his greatest retribution and salvation to remember you.

Pretty Things: @jacefiles

| summary: He fell from the sky. She rose from the deep. When an unlikely savior pulls a prince back from death's door, neither of them can quite stay away from the shore that brought them together.

Shark Smile: @eldrith

| summary: “i was told sirens drag mean to their deaths.” “we do.”

The sea shall not have me, for I am already yours: @targlocket

| summary: He promised. To you, to himself, right before giving the order. "I will come back to you," Jacaerys whispered, pressing warm lips to wood, as if sealing his silent vow through the door.

The Lost Prince: @mariposium

| summary: while combing the beach for treasures, you stumble upon the unconscious, grievously injured body of a soldier. you decide to help him, but in doing so find love in a that may never be able to return it.

Romeo and Juliet: @finnsbarbie

| summary: jacaerys believes that the only way he can prove himself to his mother is by helping team black win the battle of the gullet. impulsively he makes the decision leaving the love of his life behind in the loving world. but you have other plans.

𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐈 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐒 .ᐟ — hi my loves! i haven’t done a fanfic recommendation in a long time, so i thought why not make one for our beloved jacaerys velaryon 🙈 i hope you find joy, comfort, or even some inspiration to write from reading these amazing fics! don’t forget to show these writers some love <33 also! keep a look out for a cregan stark fic rec 👀 heheh

[insolentprincessblog]

Synopsis: The same gods who cursed Daeron send him a sweet wife who loves him more than anything.

Warnings: Non-sexual nudity, alcohol, a little angst, and lots of cuteness.

For most women, marrying a prince known for being a drunkard would be a punishment. You thought so to when your engagement was announced; all you could do was cry and beg to marry someone else, but your parents had already made their decision.

When you met him, you were speechless at the handsome man standing before you. You knew the rumors about the Targaryens' stunning looks, but the rumors didn't do justice to your future husband. His stunning green eyes his blond hair seemed unreal. But you could feel the sadness emanating from that man; his face had such a sad expression that you wondered if marrying you was really so bad. I mean, marrying him wasn't the best thing in the world even though he was the most handsome man you had ever seen, but he could at least pretend to be happy.

Your parents, along with Daeron's father, suggested that you two take a walk before dinner to celebrate your engagement.

Even though your first impression of him wasn't the best, during this walk you would try to get to know better the man who, in a few days, would be your husband.

The walk began quietly, but you weren't going to let it stay that way for long. "So, what do you like to do in your free time, my prince?" Daeron seemed a little shocked by your words; he thought you would ignore him or at least pretend his presence was nonexistent. He was already prepared for rejection, not for you wanting to get to know him better.

"Nowadays I don't do much besides drink, but before I used to enjoy fishing with my brothers." your mouth curved into a smile when you realized he was willing to answer you. "Really? Someday you can teach me how to fish!"

Daeron didn't know what to say. Why the hell were you trying to get close to a drunk like him?

"Excuse me, but I need to go somewhere." You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion watching the prince leave. Your only thought was that you had said something wrong; perhaps he thought it inappropriate for his future wife to want to go fishing.

You decided to let it go, focusing on returning to your room and getting ready for dinner. You would have opportunities to apologize to him.

Your engagement dinner was a disaster; your fiancé showed up drunk, which caused a huge frown on his father's face, and on yours as well. This resulted in Daeron being sent away by Maekar. You were furious. How could he do this to you? Of course, the marriage was political, but he could have shown a little respect. Your fury made you follow Daeron wherever his drunken steps led him.

He was stumbling through the castle corridors, so it wasn't difficult to catch up with him. You grabbed his arm before he could go any further, but all the words you planned to say died in your mouth as soon as he turned around. His beautiful green eyes were filled with tears, painful sobs escaping his lips as he looked at you with an expression reminiscent of a wounded puppy.

You were shocked. "My prince? What happened?" Daeron continued sobbing before letting out a whisper so low that if you hadn't been close enough you wouldn't have heard it, "I can't marry her." Your heart sank. She? Who was she? "I told my father she deserves a normal husband, but he wouldn't listen to me."

You quickly realized what was happening. Daeron was so out of it from drinking that he hadn't noticed that the woman in front of him was his fiancée. He was talking about you; you were the woman he couldn't marry.

"If I may ask, why can't you marry her?" The expression on his face became even more pained, as if just thinking about the reason physically hurt him. "I have dreams, dreams that destroy me and that I know will destroy her too."

When Daeron realized your silence, he continued staggering toward his quarters. You were speechless at his revelations; you knew he was a drunkard, but you knew nothing about those dreams.

For most people, seeing their partner in such a vulnerable situation would be disappointing, but not for you. Seeing that man so fragile, caring about you even without really knowing you, made your heart race like never before.

You wanted to go after him, take care of him, tell him that everything was okay, that everything would be alright.

He didn't understand why a woman like you gave him such a sweet kiss on your wedding day, or why you always sought him out whenever he went missing. This made him feel terrible inside; he didn't want to ruin your life. He hadn't slept with you because he didn't believe he deserved someone as good as you. He didn't kiss you because he felt unworthy of your sweet lips.

And that was why he would constantly drink until he passed out at the table of some dirty tavern. He couldn't let himself be carried away by your affectionate touches, he couldn't allow himself to be loved. You were probably just trying to do your duty, but he knew that the sooner he showed that horrible side of himself, the sooner you would stop trying to take care of him.

On one of those days when Daeron had avoided his presence, he found himself drunk enough to collapse in some random alley. He was already planning to spend the night there until the alcohol no longer had any effect on his body. Perhaps he was drunk enough to hallucinate, but he swore he saw a carriage stopped in front of the alley he was in, and he thought he was going crazy when he saw you come out of it.

Your beautiful face held such a worried expression that made Daeron feeling so bad. When you saw him, you sighed with relief; he was alive.

"Daeron..." You were watching him in that deplorable state, and his only thought was that you would finally stop trying to take care of him. You said something to the guards accompanying you, but Daeron's drunken brain wasn't able to process what was said. Until they approached and placed him inside the carriage.

You walked in as soon as he was put inside without saying a word. He kept staring at his own feet, too afraid to look you in the face. He knew your disdain was what he needed, but that didn't mean he wanted to see it etched on your face.

The journey back to the castle was silent; Daeron didn't look at her face once. He was bracing himself for it.

When you arrived, he didn't have time to say anything; you hurriedly left the carriage, leaving him alone with his thoughts. That was it; he had destroyed everything with one of the only people who tried to save him from the mess he'd gotten himself into. The guards helped him from the carriage and led him to the bathroom in his quarters. The bathtub was full of hot water and candles scattered around the room; it looked like someone had prepared a bath for him.

As soon as he undressed, Daeron got into the bathtub, letting his thoughts consume him. He closed his eyes for a moment and was startled when the door suddenly opened. It was you. His expression became even more surprised when he saw you picking up a piece of cloth and crouching beside the bathtub.

"What are you doing?" Daeron asked immediately. "I'm helping you take a bath, husband." Daeron was speechless; he wanted to send you away, to be rude and make you afraid of him. But when he saw your face flush and your gaze turn away because he was naked, he realized he couldn't do that now.

Even with trembling hands, you began to help him, dipping the piece of cloth in the water and wiping Dareon's back and face as if you were tending to a flower. Without realizing it, he relaxed at your touch, letting you help him. When you finished with his body, you helped him wash his hair without saying a word during the whole process, but you hummed softly; he could hear you.

When the bath was over, you turned to get him a towel, handing it to him and turning your back so he could cover himself. He did so, and when you realized this, you left the bathroom. Back in his room, Daeron didn't see you. Deep down, he wished you would be waiting for him there, but it was better this way. He knew that if you spoke to him now, he would cry or tell you what was troubling him. After dressing with great difficulty, he lay down on the bed and remained that way for a few minutes until the door opened again.

"I got food for you." The smile you kept on your face was enigmatic to him; he wouldn't stop wondering why you were wasting your precious time with him.

You placed the tray with some pieces of food next to his bed and sat down beside him.

"Don't run away from me, please..." You whispered as you looked into Daeron's eyes. You were willing to take care of him, it was all you wanted, but he needed to allow you to do it. He couldn't krep running off to drink in taverns as soon as you approached him.

"I know it's difficult, but we can try, I really want to help you. I want you to tell me everything, help me understand you." Slowly you brought your hands closer to his; you were afraid he would run away again.

"I know about your dreams, you told me when you were drunk." Daeron was startled by this statement; he didn't remember that. What else could he have told you? "I wasn't angry with you, much less scared. I just want to be close to you, I want you to let me love you."

Daeron shuddered, rising so quickly that you were amazed he hadn't fallen.

"Are you crazy?" A vein throbbed in his neck as he continued, "What could you possibly want to love about me? You know about these dreams, they'll drive me crazy, and when they do, I'll drive you crazy too." He paced back and forth in the room while continuing to ask, "My father forced you to do this, right? You know you don't have to."

Daeron felt his eyes burning with tears; he couldn't cry again. No, he refused to do it in front of you again.

When you stood up, he expected you to back away, to give up on this stupid idea of loving him. But no, you slowly approached him, reaching out to touch his face. You were looking at him in a way that made him feel like he'd never been seen before, and without realizing it, tears began to roll down his face.

"It's okay, you don't need to cry, darling" you murmured as you wiped away the tears that were falling from his beautiful eyes. Your two hands rose to reach the nape of his neck, standing on tiptoe as you pulled him into a hug.

He was hurting, all those years of suffering because of his dreams, losing his mother, and the contempt in his father's eyes they left behind such great pain that his heart couldn't bear it. He tightened his embrace even more, pulling you by the waist until his face was against your shoulder and tears soaked your dress.

While he cried, your hands went up to stroke his hair, whispering that everything would be alright and that you were there with him.

You pulled him towards the bed, letting him settle against your chest as he cried. His crying was painful, and it made you want to cry too, but you wouldn't do that now; now it was he who needed comfort.

Daeron murmured something, but the fact that his face was pressed against your chest made the sound muffled. You gently pulled his face up. "What did you say, darling?"

"I'm not going to run away, so don't go away, don't leave me alone again, even if I try to leave." He seemed so fragile like that.

"I'm not going anywhere, even if things get difficult" you said, slowly tilting your face to give him a gentle kiss on the lips.

Daeron continued crying for what seemed like hours, and you didn't go anywhere. When he started having trouble breathing, you were there, stroking his back while telling him how to breathe properly again.

Daeron managed to sleep peacefully, his hands caressing your hair until you fell asleep too. He wasn't sure if the dreams would stop or even if he would still try to distance himself from you, but if there was one thing he was sure of, it was that you weren't going anywhere. Even when things got difficult, he could count on you; he would try to let himself be loved by you.

And deep down he knew he had loved you since the first time you tried to talk to him.

Author's notes: I wrote what I would like to do with him. I know that's not Daeron in the picture, but I really wanted to do a blue theme for this fanfic, sorry guys. 😔

My requests are open, ask me for a fanfic and I'll be happy to write it!

[wholoveseggs]

Stay

18+ ---- {Masterlist}

{Jacaerys Velaryon x f!Reader} Jace is determined to fly into war, and no amount of pleading will change his mind. But you'll do anything to keep him from leaving...

♡ will forever miss the prince of pouts ♡

1.6k words - Warnings: smuttt, wall sex, desperate sex, semi-clothed sex, arguing, mentions of character death and lots of angst,..

The corridor was empty save for the two of you, the torchlight casting long shadows across the stone. Jacaerys was already dressed in his riding leathers, dark and fitted, the Targaryen sigil stitched across his chest. He moved with purpose, shoulders squared, jaw set. Every step he took toward the Dragonmont was another step away from you.

"You cannot be serious." Your voice was quiet, but it cut through the stillness. He didn't stop. You watched his back for one heartbeat. Two. "Jace."

He paused, then turned, the torchlight catching the sharp line of his jaw. His face, usually so full of warmth for you, was now unreadable. "I must."

"No," you said, shaking your head, stepping into his path. "You don't. Send someone else. Send Ulf. Send Addam. Send anyone-"

"You want me to sit back and send others to fight my war? To risk their lives while I remain safe in my keep?" His tone was low, incredulous. "That is not the behavior of a king."

"You are not a king yet," you shot back, your voice trembling with an anger that was just fear in disguise. "Your mother is queen. This is her war. This is her madness."

"I am a dragonrider. I have faced worse than-"

"Worse?" You laughed, but there was no humor in it. Just a sharp, desperate edge. "Your brother Lucerys is dead, Jace. Dead. And you would have me believe that flying into the very maw of war is safe?"

The name of his fallen brother struck like a physical blow. Jacaerys flinched, his composure cracking for just a moment before rage rebuilt the walls around him.

"Do not speak of Luke," he warned, his voice dropping to something low and dangerous. "Do not use him as a weapon against me."

"I use him as a reminder!" You stepped closer, your own anger rising to meet his. "A reminder of how quickly the world can steal those we love." Your chest ached, a tight, painful knot. "I cannot. I will not. Watch you go to your death."

He tried to gently pry your hands from his chest, but you held fast. "It is not that simple."

"It is that simple! Stay!" The word was ripped from your throat, raw and pleading. You shook him, a futile, desperate gesture. "Stay with me."

His hands finally managed to close over yours, stilling your frantic movements. His grip was firm as he pried your fingers away, one by one. He held your hands in his, trapped between your bodies. "I cannot."

The finality in those two words was a cold blade to your heart. You pushed him hard, both hands flat against his chest. He stumbled back a step, surprise flashing in his eyes. The fury in you burned away all pretense of decorum, all quiet restraint.

"I will not mourn you," you spat, the words tasting like ash and betrayal. "I will not stand on that cliff and watch Vermax fly away knowing I may never see you again. I will not be the dutiful wife who waits by the window for a husband who never returns."

"Don't then." His own anger was a storm now, rising to match yours. "Go, then. Leave. When I return, do not expect me to share your bed. Or- or share anything else with you. Go back to your father's for all I care."

You both knew it was an empty threat, a cruel barb thrown in the heat of the moment. But it still found its mark. Tears burned hot behind your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. You lunged for him again, your intentions a muddled mess of wanting to hit him, to hurt him as he was hurting you, and wanting to wrap yourself around him and never let go.

He caught your wrists in a bruising grip, holding you off. You struggled, a frantic, wild thing, and the effort only made him tighten his hold until you were well and truly trapped, your chests nearly touching, breath coming in ragged, angry pants.

"Look at me," he growled, and you did. His eyes were dark, almost black in the flickering torchlight. They were burning with a fire you knew well, a fire you had kindled a hundred times, but this was different. It was fierce and possessive and fueled by war. "Why are you making this harder?" 

"I will not lose you," you whispered, the fight draining out of you, replaced by a profound, bone-deep terror. Your body went slack in his hold. "If you go I go."

The admission hung in the air between you, naked and raw. The anger in his eyes didn't vanish, but it shifted. The hard line of his mouth softened. He let go of your wrists, but only to frame your face with his hands, his thumbs stroking the line of your jaw.

"I will come back to you," he said, his voice broke slightly, and the vulnerability in it was more terrifying than any anger. "I swear it."

"No," you sobbed, the tears finally breaking free. "Don't swear it. Don't you dare swear it to me. Not when you can't promise. Not when you know as well as I do that you might-"

He cut you off with a kiss. His mouth crashed down on yours, all teeth and desperation, a kiss that was meant to wipe out the conversation, the argument, the reality of the coming dawn. He kissed you like he was trying to brand himself onto your soul.

You tugged at the leather laces of his tunic, your clumsy, desperate fingers fumbling to get to the warmth of his skin underneath. He pulled your hands away again, pinning them to the cold stone wall beside your head, his body pressing flush against yours.

"Jace, please," you whimpered against his mouth, trying to arch into him, to get closer, to feel anything but this crushing fear.

He groaned, a deep, guttural sound that vibrated through your chest. He released your hands to grab the back of your thighs, hoisting you up. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, your bodies locking together, the hard stone at your back.

"I cannot lose you either," he repeated, his voice low and rough against the shell of your ear. "I cannot. So I will fight twice as hard. I will slay every single Hightower to keep you safe."

You kissed him again and the pain of being apart was too much, too terrible, too heavy a burden. You fumbled with the laces of his trousers, and he hiked your skirts up, pushing your smallclothes aside.

The moment he pushed inside, the moment your bodies came together, it felt like you could breathe again. The weight that had been suffocating you, threatening to crush your lungs, finally eased.

"Jace." You moaned his name as his hips started to move, his cock pressing deep.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, the drag of his stubble against your sensitive skin making everything feel sharper. Your fingers tangled in his hair, holding him there, clinging to him.

"Don't leave me," you gasped with every thrust. He held you so tight, the leather of his tunics creaking as he pressed you against the stone.

"I'm here," he grunted, his pace growing more frantic, more desperate. "I'm here. I'm here." With each word, his hips rolled into yours. "Right here."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and wild. His lips were swollen from your kisses, and there was a flush high on his cheeks. He looked so young in that moment, so terrified beneath all he had to bear.

You cupped his cheek with a trembling hand. "My love."

The words, soft and tender, shattered the tension. Something snapped, a dam giving way. His lips found yours again, softer now, a slow and sensual glide. His thrusts became slower, deeper, his body grinding into yours.

"I need you." He rested his forehead against yours, his breathing harsh and ragged.

You felt it build low in your stomach, that tight, hot coil. It grew with every movement, every touch, until you were trembling with the strain of it, clinging to him, your nails digging into his shoulder.

"I need you," he said again, his hand sliding down between you, his fingers finding the spot that made you gasp and clench around him.

It hit you like a wave, pulling you under, leaving you breathless and gasping. You clung to his shoulders, burying your face in his neck, biting down on the leather as you muffled a cry. He held you through it, his arms tightening, his breath hot and ragged against your ear.

He followed right after, his hips jerking as he spent himself inside of you. You held him tight as his body shuddered, his forehead pressed against your shoulder.

After a long moment, he lowered you carefully, steadying you with an arm around your waist. You leaned against the wall, still breathless and aching, but the crushing weight was gone. For now.

He leaned in, kissing you again, gentle and lingering. His hands skimmed down your arms to lace his fingers through yours.

"I love you," he whispered, his lips brushing against yours. "I do not wish to fight with you."

"I don't want to lose you," you murmured back, clinging to his hands. "Stay. Please."

He hesitated, a frown tugging at his lips. Then he kissed you again, soft and sweet.

"Just a little longer," he said, pulling you against him, his arm tight around your waist.

Just a little longer.

[eviesaurusrex]

ᴏꜰ ʀᴏꜱᴇꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴏʟᴠᴇꜱ | ʀ. ꜱᴛᴀʀᴋ

Robb Stark x Tyrell!Reader

summary: After agreeing upon a marriage proposal, both Stark and Tyrell agree upon a meeting so Robb and his future wife can be properly introduced to one another.

word count: 2.4k

warnings: fluff, a bit angsty, first meeting, kind of attraction-at-first-sight/love-at-first-sight, reader is called the Golden Rose of Highgarden for her beauty and character, reader is Olenna’s favorite grandchild, reader is described as having long hair, not entirely proofread

author’s note: This is the somewhat prequel to this fanfiction I wrote a long time ago. I just wanted to revisit these two again. You don't have to read the other one, but I'd be really happy if you do xD Perhaps there will be even more coming with these two, so if you have suggestions, please let me know! Dividers are by @enchanthings-a

The warmth of the southern parts of Westeros was pleasant, but Robb longed for the colder temperatures back home when he stood under the burning sun, green grass softly swaying in a warm breeze, his fur and cloak long since abandoned on a chair under one of the set-up canopies. His mother and father sat there, conversing in soft voices, each holding a goblet filled with wine, heads bent to one another.

His mother wanted the same for him—Robb knew it. He knew she only held his best interests at heart, and still, he felt agitated, nervous, anxious. Marriage was certainly not something he had considered all that much, especially not this soon, but he also understood his duties as the firstborn son of Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. He knew it would one day fall into his hands, onto his shoulders—and he was in need of a wife sharing this particular burden, securing the line of the Starks with children of his own.

A strong hand clapped on his shoulder, and the man shared a glance with his brother, watching Jon smile before turning his head back, blue eyes lingering on the distant road that would soon lead his future wife to them. “You do not need to be nervous, brother,” Jon spoke then, making Robb heave out a sigh. “I guess I don’t. And still, I am.” His younger brother chuckled, clapping his shoulder once more. “Are you scared she’s not pretty? I think she is named the Golden Rose of Highgarden for a reason, Robb.”

The older brother huffed, shaking his head, eyes remained trained on the King’s Road. “I do not think this is what I need to be fearful of—I am scared she does not particularly like me. Or the life I could offer her, for that matter.” There was a contrast between the warmth of Highgarden and the coldness of Winterfell; a coldness few people born in the south were particularly fond of when first setting foot across the border of snow and ice.

How could he expect her to be content with it?

He probably would send her home immediately at the first sight of slight discomfort.

Jon laughed softly under his breath. “What, the life as Lady of Winterfell isn’t something a young lady would choose willingly? I think they are trained to aspire to a standing like this.” Robb finally turned then, shrugging almost helplessly, his fingers tightly wrapped around the handle of the sword strapped around his hips, the leather nearly groaning under the pressure of his grip. “Would you choose snow and icy coldness if you had been raised in the pleasant warmth of the Reach? I think I wouldn’t if I were her.” Not if she was like all the other highborn ladies he had met during his lifetime so far.

The bastard son of the Starks shrugged a shoulder and followed Robb when he started to pace along the edge of the hill where they had set up camp for the meeting, keeping him company. Jon did not envy his older brother in the slightest.

“I don’t think she has a choice in that matter,” Jon noted with slight hesitation in his voice, eyes watching Robb turning in a flurry, spine straight as a rod. “You think I would force her to marry me if she does not want to?” Disbelief was evident on his face, and Robb felt sick at the prospect of it. How could he call himself a gentleman if he forced a woman to do as he pleased? What would make that of him? “I don’t intend to force anyone to anything, brother,” he continued. “It wouldn’t be a marriage built on trust and happiness, now would it?”

And that’s precisely what Robb Stark tried to strive for—his parents as a glowing paragon.

No, he wanted to be devoted to his future wife—he would be loyal to a fault, protecting her with everything that he was and everything that he had. It was what he would promise in front of the gods on their wedding night.

And he desperately wished it would come to it at all when his eyes fell onto the horses, carriages, and wagons slowly cresting the first hill on the King’s Road toward their agreed-on meeting point, the banner of House Tyrell blowing in the wind.

He had to hold back a growing smile when his eyes fell on a lady sitting proudly atop her mount, hair laced into intricate braids falling down her back, warm, but wary eyes watching his every expression, his every move. Robb’s amusement grew as he watched her dismiss a knight who only wanted to be of assistance in helping her dismount the black horse, managing it herself with practiced grace. The moment her boots hit the plush grassy ground, the lady turned, watching him anew, while her hand gently patted the horse’s strong neck, humming softly to him.

Robb couldn’t take his eyes off her, so much was evident to everyone in attendance. Not even the announcement of one Lady Olenna Tyrell could force the Stark heir to move his gaze, and he was granted the sight of her tilting lips, showing him almost something resembling a first small smile.

But then, her grandmother exited the coach, and the young lady pulled her pretty eyes off of him, leaving Robb already longing for just one more glance granted his way. It was a strange emotion strangling his chest right then and there, his heart beating rapidly inside, making the man swallow drily.

He certainly had not seen it coming.

“My lady,” his father greeted Lady Olenna with a bowed head while his mother did the same toward the older woman, a small smile gracing her face. “Lord and Lady Stark,” Lady Olenna greeted in return, nodding, capturing his very person in her calculated gaze, showing yet another nod. “May I present you my dearest granddaughter, Lady YN Tyrell?”

The young lady curtsied flawlessly in front of his parents, reminding him of the ladies at the king’s court, and again, Robb had to ask himself if she wouldn't be happier as a wife of a courtier, some lord who called King’s Landing his primary residence, being able to entertain his wife with the many accommodations the capitol had to offer, trying to let her rise in the ranks of the Queen’s court. Perhaps she would beg exactly this of him—to be freed from this arrangement just to live out the rest of her life in the warmth of King’s Landing, attending each and every ball the court certainly held more than just once a week.

“Robb.”

His father’s voice pulled him out of his tangled thoughts, making the brunet blink into the sunlight, facing the lady with whom he was supposed to grow familiar over the next couple of hours.

Up close, her beauty struck the man even more—her eyes a mesmerizing shade he had not come across in the north, her complexion sun-kissed, a face so perfectly shaped, Robb was sure painters have been begging on their knees for s chance to capture her liking, and hair appearing so soft, he was sure it would feel like spun silk between his fingers. But it was her eyes that held him captive. Her body was beautiful, to be sure, at least what he could gather beneath the dark breaches and long overcoat that was laced in the front rather than in the back, a light blue shift peaking from beneath the dark green, embroidered fabric, but Robb knew he could drown in those eyes if he were not careful enough.

He bowed deeply, her hand finding its way between his fingers, her skin as soft as it appeared to be. He pressed a whisper of a kiss to the knuckles of her fingers, blue eyes looking up at her. “It is an honor, my lady,” he spoke softly, watching her attentively, lips forming into a smile at the sight of her very own. The honor is all mine, my lord.”

Despite the long journey and the long hours in which she would have had the time to grow to terms with it, YN still felt anxious unrest and nerves fluttering in her body. She did not dare to look him in the eye too long, while also being unable to rip her gaze off him for longer than a few fleeting moments. She had received a miniature portrait in advance of this meeting, barely bigger than the palm of her hand, knowing that Robb Stark, the future Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, was a handsome young man—but the portrait could not do him justice.

He was a man grown, broad shoulders filling his garments, strong, exceptionally long legs carrying his height with ease, adjusting to her shorter steps without seemingly having to think about it. His arms were just as spectacular—corded with muscles which bunched and released under her hand, which rested on his lower arm while they walked across the grass under the sun. The bright spot at the zenith of the sky kissed his dark curls tenderly, making them appear like a lake’s ground, touched by shadows and light; the warm breeze tussling them ever so slightly, and it itched in her fingers to run them through his hair.

It was as much an unladylike thought as the rest of them swirling around in her mind as YN observed the man she was supposed to wed.

“I gather you enjoy riding,” his warm voice pulled her back into the faltering conversation, both clearly occupied with their own anxious thoughts. YN did not even try to hide her growing smile. “I very much enjoy it, yes. It is one of the few pleasures a lady can have besides needlework and flower arrangements.” The Tyrell couldn't recall how often she had envied her brothers. Both Willas and Loras led fulfilling lives, each in their own way. At the same time, she herself and her sister were sequestered into a room or another inside the castle, herded into a corner of the gardens, surrounded by ladies and handmaidens, every passing day just the same as the day before.

It was tiring.

So YN had searched for something, an escape, and she had found it on the back of a horse. Her father hadn't been too thrilled about it, but her grandmother quickly put her foot down and allowed her to do as she pleased.

Robb hummed in acknowledgment. “I suppose the life of a lady is truly not fulfilling.” His words made her laugh, seemingly shocking him that he had achieved such a feat, but quickly, the man chuckled alongside her. “There are worse lives to live, I know, but…” A soft sigh left her, and YN could only shake her head in order to quell the words trying to escape, when the lord next to her covered her hand with his, squeezing it gently. He made her look at him after they stopped far enough away from the party of their families, all watching the pair with eagle eyes.

“My lady, I know an arranged marriage is rarely the desire of a woman,” he began, making YN watch him closely, a brow slightly cocked in question. “I also gather that few women who have been raised in the pleasant climate of warmer regions of the country are inclined to live out their lives in the north, where ice and snow are our constant companions. So… If you do not desire this union, this match, I will not be offended by your rejection, nor will I think differently of you. If you desire a match with a lord in the capital or the Reach, I won’t find myself offended. Say the word, Lady YN, and I will do everything in my power to grant you this wish.”

She was rarely speechless—her grandmother had been certain to teach her differently, to raise her into a lady who knew her worth and her way in the art of conversation. She knew a million different meanings, knew how to stab subtly, how to elevate one’s opponent, or how to crush it with a single sentence. And yet, YN stood in front of her future husband and lord, lacking every single word she once knew because she had not anticipated his… honesty. His loyalty. His care. Yes, she should have known better because Robb Stark was the firstborn son of none other than Eddard Stark—one of the most honorable men in the Seven Kingdoms.

Swallowing, YN blinked at him in surprise, forcing herself to remember how to use her mind despite her heart beating so loudly in her chest that she barely could hear the birds chirping happily around them.

“The king once asked my grandmother for my hand in marriage with his eldest son, Joffrey. She declined numerous times, knowing I would not be happy and content in King’s Landing.” And she wouldn't have been happy with this prince. A small smile settled onto her face. “Once, many years ago, we experienced snow in Highgarden. It was a rare occurrence, indeed, so rare even the maesters were not certain how it had been possible. But I still remember how happy it made me—the white, the cold.” It was her most cherished childhood memory.

Robb watched her, blue eyes warming with every word she spoke. “You want to say…?” A soft laugh escaped YN at his almost whispered request. She took a tentative step closer to him. “I want to say… I believe I would not mind being sequestered into the cold north to wed a handsome, kind, and thoughtful lord and live a very content and happy life with him,” she whispered herself, feeling his hands wrapping around both her wrists to press her palms against his leather-covered chest. “You will come to the north as soon as they decide upon a respectable date?”

YN was unsure why, but she felt a warm giddiness swell within her at the sight of his handsome face breaking into a smile she could swear she would never get tired of. It was certainly not love—it was far too soon for such an emotion—but it was a budding closeness she felt toward the Stark, a familiarity she craved to explore further.

It would be easy to fall in love with her future husband.

Just as the Stark thought the same about the Golden Rose of Highgarden.

Thank you so much for reading! I'd be incredibly grateful for a reblog, a like, and a comment (because that is the way of Tumblr)

[daystarpoet]

together at last ✶ robb stark

I do not consent to my work being reuploaded, translated or fed into AI. Click here to be added to my tag list.

Pairings: Robb Stark x pregnant!wife!reader

Tags: no war!au, everyone lives Reader and Sansa become best friends. Fluff. 1.1k words. No proofreading, we die like men.

Synopsis: Robb Stark had been away from home for entirely too long. He had expected his dear lady wife to miss him terribly, but as it turns out, she was all too occupied with gossiping with his sister to notice his return.

Robb Stark had been away from Winterfell for two whole weeks—entirely too long if you were to ask him. Duty called, and he knew that was something he could never escape. Not even if he so desperately wanted to hide himself in his wife's loving embrace.

The snow traced his path home. The thicker it became and the more the cold wind hit his face, the closer to Winterfell he wandered. The coat on his shoulders sat heavy with all the tiredness he had accumulated during his travels.

Snow was starting to build up around his auburn locks, a few spots already being wet and frozen. Robb didn't mind the cold and never had done so. He was a northerner, as true as one could find.

As much as it could pain him to have to strip himself of you, he was a Stark first and foremost. The name carried the responsibility for the entire North. You had never complained about it, and Robb often wondered how much you were not telling him.

You were with child, and quite a few moons had passed since you had found out. His worries had only heightened since. He wrote every other afternoon, enquiring about your health and your mood, whether you were in pain and whether you had eaten properly. Winterfell's maesters were more than capable in their crafts; he knew that quite well. But what could a man who was away do if not worry incessantly?

Nearly every conversation with the other Lords turned into thoughts of you. Some he verbalised, some—the ones he cherished the most—he kept to himself.

The morning he returned was a particularly cold one. The sun had risen three hours before, meaning that Robb had expected you to still be in your bedchambers. He had advised you to rest, but the sight he caught upon entering through the gates told him you had not listened once.

You were standing right there, with Sansa on your arm. Both of you are whispering and laughing. Sansa pointed at one of the guards, and you gasped. Amused, Robb dismounted from his horse and cautiously made his way towards the pair of you.

Only when he had decided that he was close enough, he cleared his throat. Whatever sentence you were about to speak died before you could utter a single word. Your eyes shot in his direction, as though triggered by a natural instinct.

The cheeky, teasing smile you had shared with Sansa turned into a beautifully amazed one. "You are back."

"I am," he confirmed as he closed the gap between you. His gloved hands landed on your arms, pulling you into an embrace. You hugged him back, breathing him in like you had not done in a long time.

"I see you didn't miss me at all." Robb teased once you pulled away, nodding his head towards his sister.

"Nonsense. I missed you quite a lot. Sansa just kept me company."

He laughed. "I shall thank her for that." He moved one of his hands and rested it on the curve of your stomach. "Our child grows."

"It will be a very healthy baby, I'm certain." Robb's eyes glistened at your conviction. You had a trust in him and in your family that never ceased to amaze you. He was one lucky man; of that he was certain.

"Don't take her away now that you've returned," Sansa protested. "We were having a conversation."

"Oh, I apologise, my ladies," Robb waved his hand in a pretended reverence. "What matters must you discuss?"

"You mustn't know, because you would not understand. They are womanly matters, my love." You took Sansa's arm again, pulling her close. Over the time you had known Robb, she had slowly turned into a younger sister for you. And you were the role model of the woman she had always desired to be.

Over Robb's time away, you would meet over lemon cake and tea. Hours would go by with conversation and gossip about which lord had been making eyes at which lady. You taught her how to do her hair in the way that you did, and you gifted her two of your old dresses.

"I see how it is." Robb crossed his arms. "I come back, and my wife and sister want to see nothing of me. It will be just Grey Wind and I."

"You know we do not mean that. At least I certainly do not." You coaxed his arms away from their position, taking his hands into yours. He did just as you had asked.

"Now, if you will excuse us, Sansa dearest, I think your brother could do with some sleep."

The girl nodded and smiled as Robb and you walked away. The path to your bedchambers had lasted longer than you had expected. You could hardly walk four steps without being approached by someone, greeting both of you and asking your husband about his travels. He replied politely and kept your hand laced through his arm as he so often did—grounding himself in the one person he trusted more than anything else.

When you reached the chambers, you lay down on the large bed. He followed, resting his head on your upper chest while being careful to avoid your stomach. Robb closed his eyes and felt warmth engulf him as you placed the bed covers on top of your tangled bodies.

"You kept me waiting for a long time." You murmured, brushing his hair away from his forehead.

"You don't mean that. Did you truly wait for my return out in the cold? You shouldn't have done that." There was worry in his weary voice.

"Oh, I am much stronger than a gust of cold air."

"I never said you weren't. But you can't risk getting ill right now..."

Robb meant it all. The worry came from a place of love, and for that, you would never be angry. "I know, but I feel just fine. And besides, I would have waited for as long as I had to if it meant seeing you when you returned."

At the sound of those words, Robb opened his eyes. Without any warning, he raised his head and brought his lips to yours. Your hands, which still were in his hair, only tightened their grip, pulling him closer. He pulled away, only to quickly kiss you again. The hand that he wasn't using to support his weight came to rest on your waist.

That precisely was how you spent the rest of your day. Together, at last, in your bedchambers. With nothing else but your love and the thrilling thought of the baby that would soon arrive.

----

A/N: Hi hi. I had this idea come to me while missing him dearly. I'm still getting started as an ASOIAF writer. I hope you were able to enjoy this still, 'cause I'm not entirely content with the result. KIsses.

[roarofthefire]

holdin’ out for a hero

pairing: ser duncan the tall x fem! targ! reader

word count: 1.7k words

warnings: yearning, fluff, slight angst (?), violence, arranged marriage, blood, animal death, naïve princess angel, shame, guilt, etc. classism, targcest, lmk if i missed any!

summary: in which… ser duncan the tall falls for the dreamy eyed princess of the crown

kenn’s notes: not proof read! i <3 dunk

𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝 @𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⟡ ݁₊ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅　　

even before egg was his squire, dunk had always heard mumblings about the crown princess. the rumor amongst small folk was that prince maekar’s eldest daughter wasn’t all there. loopy, dotty. things of that sort. he’d imagined her before, silver haired and small— the typical targaryen princess.

he first lay eyes on you in ashford. the black and red sigil of the crown family waved high above the rest of the small folk. dunk was standing idle in the courtyard as the princes baelor and maekar were led inside by the fat old lord ashford.

“could you see to my horse?” a soft voice called out beside him. dunk startles, turning to search for the voice. still sat on the tawny horse— the princess. you were almost exactly how he imagined. pretty, silver hair, soft skin and voice.

he glances up at you, before quickly lowering his gaze to the ground. he could feel his cheeks flush at your simple mistake. “m’lady— i, i am no stable boy. i have the honor to be a knight.” in pairing with the words, he lifts his chin proudly.

your violet eyes widen as big as saucers. he watches you tilt your head thoughtfully. “oh, my apologies, ser!” you unhook your feet from the saddle, and struggle to land both boots on the ground. you lift a hand to your face, teeth closing over the rough riding gloves as you tuck them into your pockets.

stupidly, dunk grabs the reins of the pretty horse and brings it into the stable house. you follow beside him, silver head bobbing around his shoulder as you walk with a certain amount of energy in each step.

his rough hands work to tie up your horse. the mare is young, light brown with a cream mane. her brush is braided intricately, small flowers amongst the pattern. he can only assume the young princess before him is the one who has done it. he peers over at you, eyes not quite meeting yours yet. “and the mares name, m’lady?” he brushes a firm hand over the horses back.

you smile up at him, fingers curling in your pretty silver hair. “her name is buttercup, ser!” buttercup. that wasn’t the kind of name he’d imagined for a targaryen horse. dunk had expected something that struck fear into the hearts of small folk. a name fit for a creature that two hundred years ago breathed fire. he can tell the young princess had an affinity for horses.

he realizes now what those old whispers meant. the princess was a dreamy girl. who moved day by day with your pretty head up in the clouds, dreaming of prancing horses and beautiful flowers. you look up at him, tilting your head slightly. to dunk, you look curious: “where are you from, ser? what lord do you serve?”

dunk sighs, turning to finally look into your eyes. your silver eyelashes are long, and your pupils widened dramatically as you await an answer. he crosses his arms over his chest, suddenly feeling quite small for such a large man.

“i am from kings landing, princess. i am a hedge knight.” he isn’t proud of the title— but he was a defender of small folk, hedge knights like him were crucial, especially for the nobles like her. it dawns on him, however, this princess doesn’t seem like the type of noble to disregard him for being a hedge knight.

your eyes widen impossibly larger, and you clasp your hands together happily. “i’m from kings landing as well, ser!” you beam, pretty lips curved up into a smile— a genuine smile. the princess was harmless. and dunk is overwashed with the need to look out for you.

duncan shakes his head, smiling politely at you. “no, m’lady— i am from flea bottom.” he mutters the words quietly. ashamed of coming from the depths of small folk hell. he’d grown up on the smell of rotting fish on boiling days and the smell of feces in the street. you grew up far above that, looking down at people like him.

you nod thoughtfully, continuing to brush the horse's back. you had dismissed it as if you held no nasty opinions on his home. or maybe you were one to mind your manners and kept your internal dialogue to yourself.

you opens your lips to speak again, but you’re interrupted by someone clearing their throat. at the entrance of the stables stands your brother, aerion. egg had told him about this prince— how he was a nasty, mean boy. his shrill voice cuts through the peace.

“sister! father has been looking for you- and you’ve been here, soiling yourself with the small folk?” he gives duncan a snarl, before turning to glare at you. who shrinks back, meekly.

you mumble out a soft reply. “aeri— i was just seeing to buttercup-” it doesn’t take a genius to see that you were terrified of your elder brother. it hurts dunk to see you shrink back, as if aerion were dimming the light you shone so bright.

the prince barks out a scoff, reaching forward and clasping his hand tight around your forearm. “the beast is fine here with the peasant, you stupid girl.” he scolds, before continuing, “now come before i send the animal to the butchers— father and uncle are expecting you.” his nails dig into your skin and you frown, nodding.

aerion wrenches you forward so quickly you nearly lose your footing. you turn to give duncan a sorry glance before focusing ahead on aerion. you hadn't even been able to ask for his name.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⟡ ݁₊ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅　　

that night, over hard salt beef and a shared emu egg, duncan asks egg if he knew anything about you. the boy had grown up in kings landing, mayhaps he knew more of the girl plaguing dunk’s thoughts.

egg tilted his head, confused. “why do you want to know about the princess?” the boy’s tone was suspicious. he lifted an eyebrow, looking up at dunk.

dunk shrugs. “what’s it to you, boy?” he huffs, crossing his arms. “now— do you know anything?”

from what egg tells him, you were the kind of girl who, when not accompanied, would be scammed of a golden dragon by shady vendors at the market. you only saw the

best in people, and no matter how many times you would get burned by your naïveté— you never lost faith in those around you.

it made him soften— you were a smart, capable girl, often taken advantage of by anyone looking to get a quick coin. he felt the need to protect you, especially after seeing how you were treated by your own brother that morning.

then, egg breaks to him that you were to marry that rotten brother of yours, aerion. it makes dunk’s fists clench, the idea of such a soft, sweet little thing confined to a marriage with someone so coarse and cruel.

the next day, egg accompanies him to watch the crown prince aerion joust— sons of noble houses often got first dibs to the pot of fellow nights. as the silver haired prince pranced atop his war horse, dunk’s eyes are focused on you, sat in the box with your uncle prince baelor.

dunk watches as the silver haired pest pranced around the jousting grounds, before stopping at the prince valarr’s pavilion. he gives some mocking words before yelling out for ser humfrey hardyng— the small man tumbles out of the tent.

when aerion’s lance rides up and struck deep within the horses strong body, the princess flinches— your hands come up to cover your face in horror. she loved animals, she had told dunk that. aerion’s smug expression makes his blood boil; especially when he lifts his chin to smirk at his sister. he’d done it to upset you.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⟡ ݁₊ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅　　

at the puppet show that evening, dunk has egg on his shoulders— so the young boy can see over the vast crowd of onlookers. you sat on a plush pillow on the floor, right in the center of the room, watching in a trance.

duncan can only see the back of your silver head, but you’re sat so politely; legs crossed and fingers interlocked. beside you, a mother in tattered clothes sits with her chubby toddler in her lap. the other side is an old knight, his disfigured hand resting in his lap. you appear completely unthreatened by the small folk.

duncan’s mesmerized daze ends soon after when the prince storms into the tent, searching in a panic. when his eyes land on you, say quietly in the front row, he marches up angrily. dunk is forced to watch as aerion wrenches you off the ground and pulls you angrily off the ground and out into the night.

dunk is quick on his feet, following after the nobles without even pulling egg off his shoulders. aerion is screaming at you, hot breath and spit flying in your face; it was clear the prince had spent the night in his cups. you look meek, ashamed. duncan steps closer just as aerion’s firm palm smacks you across the cheek.

he leaps into action, slamming the prince into the mud and giving him a firm punch or two the the mouth. beside him, egg shouts in his shrill little voice: kill him, kill him! on the other side, the princess cries out. dunk gives pause at that, turning to look at her. your lip is split, and your hands are covering your eyes.