Goodbye ser Harwin. We hardly knew you (from the quote "Goodbye Lucy Grey, we hardly knew you")
Added Harwin to the Rhaenyra love. What if she married him instead kinda thing.
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You are of house Blackwood, having left your home to serve princess Rhaenyra on Dragonstone as her lady in wait.
You loved it, mostly because you got to be close to the future Queen Rhaenyra and if you were honest, her husband, Ser Harwin wasn't a terrible sight either. Gods you felt pathetic, blushing like a simple maiden when she'd smile at you. She was even more beautiful up close, you felt like some shameless wh*re how you followed her around, always at her beck and call because you damn near tripped over yourself trying to obey her as fast as possible. As you served under her, you noticed she started favoring you or perhaps that is all in your head. But you couldn't help but hope, even the tiniest bit that maybe you could earn her favor.
She started keeping you with her were ever she went it seemed. The one she had picking out her outfits and doing her hair. Which you loved, gods you did. She had lovely hair, soft and long. She let you have a little free reign as well, learning new styles to do her hair in. The amount of jewelry she had show how wealthy she was; hair accessories, rings, necklaces, and body jewelry. She started letting you borrow some of her smaller pieces of jewelry, some old dresses of hers even. You felt like a prized lap dog instead of a lady in wait but that was even better. You were someone special to her, something beloved.
She seemed loved getting you dresses that were similar to her own, jewelry to match. She adored putting it on you and helping you do your hair to be similar to her own.
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Over the years, you grew closer to Rhaenyra, her husband, and her children. The way they allowed you to dote on them almost like a second mother, it was more than you could have ever hoped for when you first came to Dragonstone. If you didn't have any chores from Rhaenyra and she was busy, you'd go find her youngest two Aegon and Viserys. Sit with them and play with them as if they were your own.
It wasn't too out of the question for Ser Harwin to join you in playing with the children. His love for them was obvious. He was everything a true knight should be, you found yourself fond of him and he seemed to like talking to you.
You still remembered the first time Rhaenyra caught you playing with her babies. You'd jumped up and blushed deeper that lannister red but she had only smiled and assured you saying "its quite alright sweet girl." And even sat with you, playing with the children. For that moment, it just felt like you were a family.
Then it became not uncommon to see you sitting with Rhaenyra and Harwin as they cared for their children. You'd watch the older ones train with Harwin.
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You still remembered the first time she kissed you. You had been brushing her hair for bed, how casual it all felt. You both in your night dresses while you brushed her hair. You had noticed her watching you, your face in the mirror. You had just opened your mouth to ask when she turned, her hands cupping your face so gently as her lips met yours. You froze before your mind caught up to what was happening and you kissed her back.
Something shifted between you after that, you were a lady from a good house. She simply started letting you sleep in her bed with her and Harwin, letting you have your clothes and everything in her- your room now. Nobody questioned it because it was Rhaenyra, if she wanted it then it happened. She pretended it was simply easier for you both, but you, him, and her both knew the truth.
It was lovely, sleeping between them being able to feel so warm, safe, and loved. Something only for you and nobody else.
As Rhaenyra's pregnancy started becoming more noticeable, she'd encourage you to touch her stomach, talk to it. Usually reserved for parents like her and Harwin but she said you might as well be the babe's second mother. Joking that perhaps you should have the 7th one.
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Bonus: Queen Rhaenyra
She by the mercy of the gods ascended the throne as Queen without opposition. It was a joyful celebration. Seeing her in that crown was an absolute beautiful sight.
You got even more beautiful and Luxurious dresses and jewelry now by Rhaenyra's gifting. You weren't a simple lady in wait by all accounts, you belong to Rhaenyra and that made you the happiest woman in the world.
About: Mismatched political status cannot tame the desire you and Harwin have for one another. He's your sworn personal guard, you're his Princess, and the court loves to make assumptions. While your family would never approve him for a marriage candidate, your fiery heart wants what it wants.
Includes: Forbidden romance with a mix of tension, angst, fluff, and smut. This fic has a little of it all! Featuring themes of religious worship, oral sex (f), vaginal fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, and multiple orgasms. While not a dom/sub fic, our dear reader takes the reins in this one-"you" are not passive in it!
Note: Hello lovely reader! It's been nearly a year since the last time I finished and posted a fic-wow! Reader is pretty Rhaenyra-coded, but I wrote this with the idea of reader being Aemma's fanon sister pre-Dance/pre-show events. Again, reader is a Targaryen with classic features like pale skin, silver hair, and Targaryen eyes. Other than that, reader is non-descript. As always, I hope you enjoy it!
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Summer heat hung heavily amidst the Red Keep’s training yard. It was the sort of morning that had sweat glistening on the trainee’s brows during warm ups, and those ended an hour ago. Now, among grunts, shouts, and the occasional ruckus laughter, their tunics clung to their sweaty bodies. Some of the young men discarded their shirts entirely.
It wasn’t the young men your eyes always fell back to. No, your attention, without fail, landed on one of the men in the middle. Taller than the rest–even amongst his fellow City Watch soldiers who trained and watched the boys spar–with a sort of immovable stance that came with many years of his own training. Harwin Strong stood in his sparring garb, dark hair pulled back to keep it off his neck, and his sleeves pushed up to his elbows.
You hadn’t a single clue how he made such a casual thing look borderline sinful.
Even from the distance in which you watched him–a balcony overlooking the training yard–you could tell his eyes were ever watchful. You’d been casually observing this morning’s session since it began. It was a much more pleasant way to spend your morning than partaking in court gossip with fellow ladies. A princess was not excluded from such things, even if said gossip was entirely unimportant.
A small smirk pulled on your lips each time Harwin barked an order at one of the boys, or when he corrected them with a firm hand to their shoulder. He was never like that with you. Not only would it be blasphemy for the son of a lord to treat you, a princess, like that, but he would never be like that with you. Your knight. Your personal guard. Your looming shadow and stalwart protector in King’s Landing. He’d follow you beyond the city if you asked; you had a feeling he’d follow you anywhere.
Each time his rich umber gaze flicked up to you, he dipped his head in respect. And, each time he did, your expression turned feline. When that happened you swore his gaze darkened, his stance stiffening, while a rush of blood that had nothing to do with the boys crept into his face.
Despite what the court whispered, nothing has happened between you two. At least not yet. How you yearn for him though; lingered gazes, brief touches that drip with scandal for a knight and a princess, shared secret smiles.
Such as now, in the middle of laughed curses and clangs of practice steel, his attention is turned up to you. It’s nearly reverent as he takes in your sun-drenched features, tailored daytime silks, and partially bound silver hair.
‘Gods save me’ you swore you could hear him say.
When he looks at you like that you know the world around him fades.
Because you experience the same.
You smile at him, sweet as the dream imps nan’s warn the little ones about, before pushing off the balcony railing to turn and walk back inside; hips and skirts swaying.
Tonight. Tonight you would let him find you. And tonight, Seven above and Seven below, you will break the tension even if you have to swing the blade first.
-
The rest of the day came and went. Now, alone in the Godswood beneath the final dying embers of sunset, you allowed your mind to relax and wander: if you hadn’t been born a princess you’d be able to freely explore the world outside of the Red Keep without fear of retaliation from your family.
But, then again… you are a princess. You are the blood of the dragon. You could be, and do, whatever you please. Even if you have to take it by force. Even if it is to be conquered by fire and blood.
At that, you smile.
Soft footfalls sound behind you. You’d know those steps anywhere.
“I shouldn’t be out here alone,” you said without turning to see your knight. “Someone could take advantage of a lone little dragon.”
There was no lightness in his voice when he answered, “you’re not alone. And no one would dare.”
Without getting up from the bench, you turned your head over your shoulder to look up at him with your glittering Targaryen eyes. “Is that a promise, Ser Harwin?”
“It’s a fact." He locked his gaze with yours, a spark of your fire reflecting in the deep brown of his own.
“What if I want someone to dare?” You questioned boldly, that spark growing with his closeness. You stood up and didn’t look away from him. Toe to toe, the difference of your height and width made your belly flip–as it always did.
Harwin almost stumbled back a step with your proximity. If he were a weaker man he would have. Your scent, a unique mix of florals and dragon smoke, seemed to unravel the last threads of his restraint. “Princess…”
“You needn’t worry about titles when it’s just us. How many times must I tell you?” You asked with a tilt of your head–daring, playful, ever the temptress. “You’ve more than earned the right to call me by my name.”
“I shouldn’t.”
“You should,” you purred.
With a heavy sigh he closed his eyes; seemingly grounding himself for the torrent he knew was coming. “You are a Targaryen. A dragon. What am I but the son of a Lord and heir to a half burnt haunted keep in comparison? My oath is to serve and protect. That is all I am. That is all I know how to do.”
“I’m no longer a girl who needs protecting. And I’m not a woman who likes to be protected from the things I want.”
Tense silence filled the Godswood. You wondered if he was holding his breath. It looked like it. Your eyes searched each other for a long moment. You weren’t sure what he saw behind yours, but behind his you finally saw a crumbling wall that had one last line of defense. “If your family knew–”
“--I don't care,” you cut him off.
“You should,” he said, stern.
You hadn’t realized your chest was rising and falling like you’d just ran up the stairs of a tower. “I care about you,” you said, soft and half breathless. Your heart thundered against your ribs. “And I’m tired of pretending I don’t.”
Harwin’s own chest was rising and falling. As if his heart were about to beat right out of his ribcage. “I cannot give you what you deserve.”
You reached out and placed a palm on the center of his chest, doe-eyes looking up at him. “You’re not one to tell me what I do or don’t deserve. Only I am the judge of that. Let’s risk this together. No one has to know.”
Surely this was Targaryen madness.
Harwin’s last defense fell against the might of this little dragon.
Leaning down, he caught your face between his calloused hands and held your alabaster skin like you were the most precious thing. His lips found yours in a searing kiss. There was nothing soft or gentle about your first kiss with Harwin Strong. It was treason, desperation, forbidden, and so, so human. It all tasted like honey.
Your other hand lifted to squeeze his tunic with a satisfied whimper. He was hard where you were soft, and in that moment you wanted nothing more than to experience the squish of your naked breasts against his bare chest.
Every moment you two hadn’t dared give life to burned against each other’s mouth. Every ‘almost’, every lingered touch, every unspoken want, obliterated. Reaching up, you pushed your fingers through the thick curls of his hair, deepening the affection.
It was his turn to let out a satisfied breath. One of his arms lowered and wrapped around your waist, pulling you firmly against him.
Lips, tongues, nipping bites, it was all shared beneath the silent sentinels of the Godswood.
When finally you two broke apart, your breaths danced along each other’s mouths. “That,” you whispered, kissing him slowly again, “was long overdue. Don’t ever make me beg for your mouth again, Ser Harwin.”
Then he proclaimed a new vow. "Never.”
-
Nearly a fortnight had passed since yours and Harwin’s secret kiss in the Godswood. It’s not that you two hadn’t seen each other, or had time together, but there was never any private time. Barely any quiet time. The realm rarely rests for the royal family; these last weeks were no different.
Finally, after what seemed half an eternity, you realized you would have an unoccupied evening. After supper, the night belonged to you.
And, in turn, Harwin.
At least by invitation.
Since Harwin was your personal guard, it meant he was the only person outside of your family to enter your bedchamber without permission. It was for safety reasons, of course, in the event you were gravely ill, or hurt, or unresponsive to knocking, your personal guard was allowed to come in and check on you.
Before leaving, you left a note for him. It read:
Find me in the abandoned tower
Short, sweet, and direct.
The summer heat still lingered after sunset. A cool salty breeze rolled in from Blackwater Bay, however, and made a refreshing change from the day’s sun.
This forgotten tower had a sort of beauty to it: tall narrow windows let plenty of moonlight in, patterns carved into their frames, and a hearth worthy of a roaring fire. The tower had been partially damaged and deemed “unsafe”, but since then no effort had been made to fix it up. You weren’t even sure who last kept it–the servants, septas, kingsguard? Someone else entirely? Whatever the case, it was old and tucked behind stone corridors rarely used. The once lovely wooden door was warped with age and difficult to open.
It was all to your advantage; no one would imagine looking for a Targaryen princess here. Especially after dark.
You sat on one of the window sills and waited. Tonight, beneath a simple robe, you wore nothing. You meant to have all of Harwin tonight. If it meant presenting yourself to him like this, then the Gods would have it. Would he have you? Anticipation built in your belly and you smiled.
It didn’t take Harwin long to arrive. Seeing you free of a cloak prompted him to take his own off as well. “Princess,” he said, closing the distance between you in a few long strides.
With an arch of a brow you said, “you’re late.”
One of his hands came to rest delicately on your jaw, and he brushed the corner of your mouth with his thumb. “I sincerely apologize for making the lady wait,” he replied, voice low and edged with humor. The corners of his eyes crinkled, smirking.
“If you are truly sorry then don’t make me wait again,” you retorted, turning your head just enough to nip the pad of his thumb.
“Never again.”
Bravely, you opened your thighs and hooked one leg around him, pulling him into you. “Tell me Ser Harwin, have you been able to stop thinking about our stolen kiss? Because I haven’t. Your mouth, your hands, is all I think about as I drift off to sleep. As I pray on my knees in the Sept…,” your voice softened to a whisper, leg flexing to close the proximity of your bodies even more.
An unrestrained male sound vibrated in his throat at your admission. The way you were sitting, and the way your leg held him against you, made the hem of your robe slip higher upon your thighs. He didn’t know where to look. His throat bobbed before he answered, “it has lingered in my mind every second of the day.”
You knew he was as wild about you as you were him.
“You are dragonfire. I fear if I were to touch you how I really wish to touch you, that I would burn.” He spoke softly, yet it carried enough weight to fill the room.
The masculine rasp of his voice sent goosebumps tickling your skin. “Then burn,” you whispered against his mouth, simultaneously kissing him and shrugging out of your silken robe. You swallowed his gasp. Again, you curled your fingers into his tunic and pulled him down to you.
He was helpless to stop you–restraint, gone–he might be standing, but he was already on his knees for you. His kiss was pure surrender. “Wrap both legs around me,” he whispered, grazing his mouth along the elegant slope of your neck.
The scratch of his facial hair sent your back arching, breasts no longer pressed against his clean tunic. You heard another groan from him, this time from deeper in his chest, and you knew without looking that he was looking down the front of your body, to your tits on perfect display. Obeying, you wrapped both legs around his solid waist.
Fuck–the hard planes of his body felt so good.
A large hand grazed up your ribs and he paused short of fully palming your tit. Instead he held his hand there, feeling the weight of your soft mound against his touch. “Gods. Where do I even start with you?” Leaning down he kissed your chest, absolutely reveling in how your flesh softened the lower he went. He teased your perked nipple with his lips, savoring the sensation of the pebbled skin, before licking it and drawing it into his mouth. Your blissed sigh was a sacred vow. Both arms wrapped around you, then, and he braced himself to carry you across the room.
Carefully he lowered to a sheet-covered chair. You didn’t care if dust poofed off from the protective sheet. Desire, want, and need coursed through your bloodstream, mixing into a dangerous swirl of lust. He was still fully clothed and that was far too much. You helped pull his tunic free from his belt. Then, with it untucked you aided in pulling it up and over his head. His body was glorious. Tanned skin, a fit abdomen, dark hair peppered over him, and thick arms that ended in those wonderfully calloused hands. Your breathless smile and wild eyes was all the kindling he needed.
“You are a dream,” he said as he slowly drank you in. Your skin bathed in moonlight, silver hair partially mussed, the curves and contours of your body. “Have you ever been with a man before?” He asked as he unbuckled his belt and unlaced the front of his trousers. He made no move to remove them yet, and simply let them hang open low on his pelvis.
“I have,” you answered honestly.
Another low sound rumbled in his chest as his eyes darkened again. “Good. I don’t think I could be that gentle tonight.”
It was your turn to whimper. Those low muscles in your belly clenched, the delicate space between your thighs turning molten. “I don’t want you to be gentle.”
Harwin sunk to his knees before you and looked up at you like you were a Goddess of Old Valyria. Carefully, he spread your thighs. “You mentioned the Sept earlier… you won’t find me there on my own accord, Princess, but this altar?” He spread your legs further apart, cunt fully exposed to his hungry gaze. “I will happily pray.” He looped his arms under your thighs and pulled you down to the edge of the chair. The perfect place for him to simply lean forward and bury his face in you.
“You would worship me?” You asked through a shuddering breath; the sight of your big, strong, ever-protective knight on his knees making lightning crackle through you.
“I already am.” He leaned forward and placed open-mouthed kisses all along your most sensitive flesh. Down, then up, and over again, he kissed until one of your hands pushed through his hair and pulled his mouth firmly against you. Smirking to himself, he licked over your budded clit. Your taste flooded his senses. If he hadn’t already been starving for you, that single taste would have been all it took to send him into a frenzy. “Fuck you’re so wet. Is all this for me?”
Nodding, you answered, tone dripping with desperation, “yes! Don’t you dare stop now.”
And so Harwin didn’t. He licked, and lapped, and sucked with the perfect pressure to send your eyes rolling closed and head tipping back. Each gasp, and moan, and whimper set his devotion in stone. He looked up at you as he devoured you, his eyes adoring as they were fierce–‘I love doing this to you,’ they said, and ‘I’ll do this any time you want,’ they also said.
You were lost to the pleasure of his tongue. Speechless to the awe you saw in his upturned gaze. For a brief moment you wondered what you looked like to him in these moments. But, they were fleeting thoughts for there was little room for anything other than him in your mind. An orgasm began to build in your core; all the bodily signs were there, and Harwin read them perfectly.
He easily slipped a finger inside you. Even that, even the feel of your body wrapped around his single finger, was enough to drive him wild. He moaned deeply, appreciatively, before adding a second. The jolt of your body had his tongue working with renewed fervor on your clit. With a turn of his wrist he curled his fingers inside you, and the wet sounds his finger fucking created sent a scorching blush to bloom beneath your face.
Your hands squeezed into fists in his hair. “Yes, yes, yes,” you whispered breathily behind moans. “I’m gonna–!”
He moaned as he sucked your clit, fingers keeping the same angle and pace, urging you to peak.
Climax trembled through your body. You saw stars through the rush of sensation. Harwin eased deliciously slow. Rising, he kissed across your collarbone, your neck, your jaw, as you came down from that natural high. When you caught your breath and looked at him, you were light headed. “I want all of you.”
Harwin was already stepping out of his pants. His cock was iron-hard with want and balls heavy with need.
Attempting to stand on wobbly legs, you reached for him. “Let me taste you too.”
Immediately he grabbed your wrist and held it away. “Next time. I need to be inside you right now.”
If you were less dazed his reaction might have offended you. But, it turns out orgasms are a great way to subdue a Targaryen princess.
“Turn around and put one of your legs on the arm of the chair,” he said in a voice that reminded you of the way he talks to trainees.
Doing as he said, you kept one knee planted on the seat and one on the arm. He ran a palm down the natural arch of your back and you arched even deeper, holding onto the back of the chair as you presented yourself to him. Knowing you were fully bared to him had a blush in your face and recklessness in your heart. When you were like this, on display for Harwin “Breakbones” with his grip digging into the meat of your hip, you didn’t care what your family would say.
“You’re so beautiful. I can’t believe you’re letting me do this to you,” he praised from above and behind. Lining himself with your drenched center, he eased his cock into you. The hot, saturated wrap of your body sent his neck tipping forward in pure, utter surrender.
He’d give you all of himself. No matter what you asked. When you moaned in time with his own, he was absolutely helpless to you.
“Gods above–,” he growled, pushing deeper. The walls of your cunt yielded to his intrusion and the subtle resistance was fucking magical. Dragging his heavy cock out, it glistened with your slick in the moonlight–a sight he’d never forget.
“What? Afraid you’ll break me?” You asked over your shoulder, taunting.
He gripped onto your hips harder accepting the challenge.
Together you moved slow at first, bodies acclimating to each other. Soon, though, you were meeting his thrusts halfway and the sounds of your wet skin slapping together sent your lust roaring.
You pushed back against his cock for your own greedy pleasure. “Feels so good,” you whimpered through moans; wanton desire making you bold.
Harwin was past the point of words, now, low guttural murmurs the only thing he seemed capable of as he pounded in and out of you. Never in his life would he have thought you had this side to you. Although, he did have an inkling that you might be too much for any sane man. If that made him insane, then so be it.
The exquisite build up of your fucking had you falling out of pace with him. Soon it was all you could do to sink forward and keep your ass propped up, letting him ram you with whatever speed and rhythm he fell into. Weeks of wanting, months of yearning, and all those ‘almosts’ fueled this tryst between you two. If you had it your way–you had a feeling Harwin would indeed agree–this would be the first of many. Perhaps even the first of a truly forbidden relationship within the tree of your royal family.
“‘M close, princess,” he rasped, squeezing one of your bouncing tits. “Where can I–?”
“My back,” you answered, panting and breathless. “I’m close too.”
He couldn’t hold it back any longer. The tremble of your thighs, the sounds of your pleasure, the sight of your cunt swallowing him whole over and over, sent him over the edge. Pulling out just in time, he spilled his seed all over your asscheeks and glorious small of back.
You barely had time to register his climax as you mourned the emptiness of your cunny. Before dissatisfaction could settle in your clenching core, however, he plunged two fingers as deep as they could go.
You were so sensitive, so close to peak, that the sensation of those digits made you squeal in surprise. You squirmed, pushing back against his hand for any ounce of added pressure, and gave him your orgasm. Sloppy, wet, wholly satisfying.
When both of your breathing became normal again, you shared a look of mutual adoration. A laugh of bliss followed–something light-hearted after the thorough fuck he gave you.
Carefully, he gathered you in his arms and sat back on the chair with you across his lap. “You are perfect,” he said, kissing your brow.
You tried to memorize his face in these quiet post-climax moments. Tried to memorize the way his firm chest felt beneath your curious touch, how his chest hair gently rasped against your smooth fingertips. “Whoever they choose for me to marry… I won’t do it.” You finally admitted, whisper soft; intimate.
“That won’t stop them from trying. You were born to marry for status. To bring further power and wealth to the Targaryen line, to make an alliance, widen the reach of politics.”
“As if I am merely a pretty, valuable thing to be traded off to the richest coffer.”
The look you shared in the quiet moonlight was sad. And the kiss that followed, sad as well.
Harwin cradled your face, thumb grazing over your cheek. “They cannot steal your secrets, Princess, no matter how deep they run.”
You knew a Strong couldn’t sit next to a Targaryen in marriage. But here, with your sated bodies pressed together, you imagined it could happen. And that, if only for tonight, filled you with promise.
-
Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider a follow, and/or reblog, and/or comment, and/or letting me know another way! It ALL makes me vvvery happy! ♥
A/N: I am so hyped for the new season of HOTD especially after finding out Barry Sloane's going to be in it!!!
WC: 3500+
Potential CWs: Violence, men, unwanted sexual advances from men, the male gender, typical targcest (mentioned)
“What are we doing here?” You whispered, clinging onto your older sister’s arm for dear life- fingernails imprinting crescent moons into her skin. “Calm down, it’s fine.” She scolded, wrenching her arm from your clutch before skipping happily towards your uncle. You hastily followed after the two of them- not wanting to be left behind down the streets of Silk Alley, however when Daemon turned into one of the buildings you hastily slowed to a near stop. It was a brothel. “Rhae, are you sure this is safe?” You muttered, looking up at your sister with pleading eyes. “It’s all fine, stop whining already!” She hissed before following confidently after him. You did the same, wary eyes skimming over every person before hastily looking down as you registered the compromising situation the majority of them were in.
When you next looked up, you were met with the sight of your uncle undressing your sister as they kissed against a wall. It made you ill. A few minutes had passed and you remained frozen in place, staring horrified at the scene before you. That is… until Daemon pulled away, a seemingly disgusted look on his face as he glowered down at Rhaenyra. He stormed past you seconds later and excited the brothel he brought the two of you to.
“Rhae, are you okay?” You asked, moving forwards to your sister who was still lent against the wall. “This is your fault, if you hadn’t come.” She began, shoving past you to follow after your uncle leaving you abandoned in a brothel.
You suddenly became very aware of the other people in the building and ran outside, only to bump into someone. “Hey there gorgeous.” A man's voice slurred in your ear as his hands wrapped around your waist. “What’re you doing out here… all alone?” He continued, his hands travelling lower. “Please let me go.” You whispered, your voice coming out all shaky and hesitant. “Aww man, even your voice is fucking sexy.” He groaned, pressing his bulky body against your own as his hands found placement on your ass. “Let me go!” You cried, tears beginning to fall down your cheeks. “Nah, you’re mine for tonight.” You could feel every breath the man took against your neck. You began to cry even harder as he pressed a kiss to the exposed skin, his hand covering your mouth so you couldn’t scream. “I do believe she said to let her go.” You heard another voice demand from beyond your attacker. “Who the fuck are-” The fat man said, stepping briefly away from you so he could address the man before him. Immediately, you dashed past him and towards the newcomer. Only after you did so did you notice the familiarity of his voice. “Oi wench!” The man hissed, making a move to grab you too late as you hid behind your saviour. “Miss are you-” The knight began before you looked up and he froze. “Get back here!” The previous man screeched, foolishly moving to pass around the man to get to you. With one move your front was painted in red splatters and the howling reached your ears as a hand fell to the floor- removed from the arm it was once attached to. “Princess.” You heard the voice say before a hand touched your arm.
You drew your gaze away from the now handless man and soon enough you met Ser Harwin’s eyes. “Can we go?” You asked, voice still shaky as you stepped slightly closer to him. “Of course, my lady.” He replied, taking your arm as he gently guided you back towards the palace.
Since that day, you and Harwin were nearly inseparable, him being made your personal guard soon after the incident. “Good morning.” You grinned, upon exiting your chambers and seeing Harwin. “Good morning princess.” He returned, keeping his formal language no matter how hard you begged him not to. “Would you care to accompany me on a walk my lord?” You asked, taking Harwin’s arm on your own. “I’d love to princess.” Harwin replied, the ghost of a smile gracing his lips as your face lit up at his response. “Perfect, I shall tell the cooks.” You stated, moving towards the kitchens.
“‘Ello m’ lady.” The cook announced as you walked through the archway. “Hello Gilda, how’s Robert?” You asked with genuine concern. “He’s doin’ much better now, all thanks t’ you.” She replied with a smile. “That’s wonderful to hear, I was ever so worried about him, do tell him so.” You returned before continuing with your original intention, “Ser Harwin and I are going for a walk, don’t mind lunch for us.” She nodded in reply, shot you a wink and then returned back to her stove, leaving you to return.
“Hello again princess.” Harwin said as you took his arm and began your walk. After you reached your destination, you sat down on the grass, patting the area beside you as an indication for Harwin to join you. “I very much enjoy your company ser.” You smiled, leaning your head on Ser Harwin’s shoulder as he sat beside you. “And I yours my lady.” He returned, inhaling deeply before turning to face you. “Princess, this may seem sudden but believe me it is anything but, I have been enamoured with you from the moment I first had the pleasure of looking upon you. My heart is yours, and despite your answer, will always be yours. You have captured me body and soul and I know I cannot offer you much but I can offer you everything I have. I am yours for all eternity.” He began, his gaze dropping to where he held your hands in his, meaning he could not see the tears falling steadily down your cheeks. “Please, would you give me the utmost honour and allow me to request your hand in marriage. With your permission, and only after, will I ask my father for us to marry.” He finished, finally bringing his gaze to meet yours. Not trusting your words, you nodded quickly, lips pursed together to stop the happy sobs leaving your mouth. A smile erupted over Harwin’s face as tears also came to his eyes, only they did not fall down his cheeks as he smiled. “You have no idea how happy you have made me princess.” He murmured, bringing his hands up to wipe the tears from your cheeks. “Apologies my lord, I am not the prettiest cryer.” You breathed, looking down slightly. “Nonsense, everything you do is beyond beautiful princess.” He whispered, his hands moving to cup your cheeks as he brought your eyes back to face his own. “I love you too, Ser Harwin.” You whispered, a silent promise going unspoken between the two of you as you sat silently in each other's presence.
“Absolutely not.” Viserys replied when you brought up marrying Ser Harwin. “But father, why?” You replied, grasping his hands. “He is a knight, you are a princess. It would be scandalous.” He replied, sending you a glare. “So Rhaenyra sleeping around is fine but me marrying the man I love is scandalous.” You replied without thinking until a harsh sting came to your cheek. “You will not talk about your sister that way, you have no proof.” Your father spat, glowering down at you. “Everyone knows it father, you are just too blind to see what is right before you.” You shouted, tears streaming down your cheeks as your father grew red in the face. “You insolent girl!” He bellowed, grabbing your wrist and dragging you out of the room and into the corridor. “You will stay in there and not come out until you are ready to marry a man I choose.” He muttered before slamming your bedroom door shut and locking it. “No-one is to be allowed in, do you understand me?” Viserys told the guards at your door who briefly nodded before the king left.
Three days had passed since you’d been allowed out, and eaten. You’d drink water from necessity but the food you’d rejected every time. “My lady, you must eat something.” Your handmaid spoke quietly as she brushed your silver hair. “I cannot Maria.” You replied hoarsely, tears still falling down your cheeks. “I will take a letter.” She said after a few moments of silence. “What?” You replied quickly, turning to face her. “I will take a letter to Lord Strong for you.” She clarified, causing you to immediately run to your desk and begin.
“Thank you Maria, you are a true friend.” You smiled, wrapping your arms around the older woman. “Of course My Lady.” She replied, leaving you alone once more.
That night you did not sleep but instead packed any of your cherished belongings and a few dresses into your bag and awaited a knock at the door. There was a short period of time, when the guards rotated to go on break where your room was left unguarded- that was when you would make your escape. Then you heard it and immediately you grabbed your bag and opened the door to see the face of Harwin Strong. “Come.” You muttered quickly, closing your door behind you before taking Harwin’s hand in your own and running towards the dragon pit. Once you were safely in the sanctuary of the dragon pit did you stop running. “Princess?” Harwin queeried, his hand not leaving yours. “My father is a fool Ser Harwin, I could never marry another when you breathe. Let us marry, somewhere far away where he cannot stop us.” You pleaded, your free hand cupping his cheek, “I love you more than my titles and my life.” You continued. “We can return to Harrenhal after the wedding princess, my father will give us sanctuary.” Harwin replied, his lips meeting yours in a rushed kiss as the warning bells ran throughout the keep. “Drōgon māzigon (Drogon come)” You shouted as your dragon roared in response. “Do you trust me?” You asked, turning back to face your knight. “With my life.” Came the reply. You quickly climbed on top of Drogon and offered Harwin your hand. He climbed on behind you just as your father burst through the doors of the Dragon pit. You did not spare the old man a glance before Drogon began to fly away.
“We do not have to attend, my love.” Harwin murmured, pressing kisses across your face. “I know but I did love my cousin and I miss my aunt very much.” You replied with a smile as your son ran into the room. “Mother, father, when do we leave?” He asked, brown curls bouncing as he walked. “Soon.” You replied, lifting your son into your arms. “It is your fifth name day soon.” Your husband smiled, his fingers running through the boy’s hair. “Do you think my egg will come this year?” He asked excitedly as you awkwardly looked away. “Of course darling.” You replied, forcing a smile onto your face. “Be a good boy and make sure you’re packed.” Harwin muttered, pressing a kiss to Vae’s forehead. “It will be rough.” He murmured, hands coming to rest on your waist. “I have you by my side though, so it will be fine.” You replied, your arms wrapping around his neck as you pressed your lips to his. “I’m not going anywhere, and in a few months we’ll have a new addition.” He grinned in reply, his hands coming to rest on your not even showing yet baby bump. “Soon, my love.” You smiled in response.
“Aunty!” You called after climbing off the ship. “Robyn.” Rhaenys smiled, walking towards you with her arms outstretched. “You look wonderful my dear.” She smiled, embracing you. “As do you princess, how are you doing? I am sorry for the loss of my dear cousin.” You replied, taking her arm as Harwin descended the steps with your son in his arms. “We will manage, the sea must continue flowing despite the rocks in its way.” She replied with a squeeze to your arm. “Of course.” You agreed, waiting for your family to catch up. “So this is the child I’ve heard so much about.” She smiled, bringing her hand up to your son’s hair. “He looks like you.” She spoke, turning to address Harwin. “That he does.” He chuckled, shifting Vae in his arms. “His name is Vaelon, or Vae.” You told Rhaenys as she took him from Harwin. “He is perfect.” She replied as both you and Harwin smiled.
“Sister.” Rhaenyra said coldly as your eyes met for the first time in 5 years. “Princess.” You replied awkwardly, Vae now in your arms as your aunt went to mourn with your uncle. “That is your bastard then?” She asked, indicating at Vaelon. “He is no bastard.” You returned. “You are unmarried, he is a bastard.” She replied just as harshly as before. “I am married your grace.” You muttered as Harwin came to stand protectively behind you. “Not under the seven.” The princess exclaimed, clearly furious that you were content with your life whilst she was the opposite. “No, under the old gods of Valyria.” You shot back before continuing, “Just because your children are bastards does not give you the right to falsely accuse me of the same, I love my husband. I feel pity that you do not love yours but I will not excuse your tongue sister.” You hissed before turning and walking towards the funeral casket where Laenor stood solemnly. “I am deeply sorry cousin, I loved her very much but I cannot begin to understand the pain you feel.” You said quietly as your hand came to rest on Laenor’s shoulder. “I appreciate you being here, cousin, I have missed your company.” He admitted, pulling you into a hug before noticing the child at your hip. “You must be Vaelon.” He smiled down at the, now very much awake, child. “Yes sir.” Vae replied, causing Laenor to chuckle slightly. “I am no stranger to you Vaelon, I am your mother’s cousin.” He spoke softly. “You can call me uncle.” He finished, bringing his hand up to ruffle Vaelon’s hair. “Have you met your cousins yet?” He asked, making Vaelon stare up at you with pleading eyes. “Go Vae, be safe, I am sure Laena and Baela are in need of company. See if Aemond is around as well.” You smiled, nudging your boy as he enthusiastically ran inside the keep.
“Where’s Vaelon running off to?” You heard Harwin ask as he brought you a glass of wine. “He’s trying to find his cousins, to offer his condolences.” You replied, taking the glass in your hands before turning to Laenor, “My husband, Ser Harwin Strong.” You introduced. “A pleasure to meet the man who has made my cousin so clearly happy.” Laenor smiled, offering his hand which Harwin took. “My wife has told me many stories of you, she remembers your time together fondly.” Harwin replied with his usual smile on his lips.
“The King Viserys and Queen Alicent.” You heard someone shout as you reluctantly turned around to greet your father. You noticed his eyes scouring the crowd before they settled on you. “Here he comes.” You whispered, taking your husband’s hand in yours. “Daughter, you seem well.” Viserys spoke, walking towards the two of you with Alicent following behind. “Being outside of a locked room does wonders for you.” You replied bitterly. “That was six years ago, child, you do know how to carry a grudge.” He groaned, glowering at you and Harwin. “My king, it is good to see you in such health.” Harwin spoke, bowing his head slightly to break the silence. “You kidnap my daughter and then have the audacity to address me?” Viserys spat, his face contorting into disgust, “Where is your bastard child I wish to see him.” He continued, his face growing more repulsed as he did. “Our son is with his cousins, and he is no bastard. Ser Harwin and I were married under the old gods of Valyria coming up to six years ago.” You replied bluntly, resentment bubbling in your eyes. Your father simply scoffed at your words before storming past his wife in the opposite direction. “It may not mean much, but I am truly happy for you both.” Alicent muttered before following after her husband. “His majesty is as pleasant as I remember.” You heard Harwin sigh beside you, his hand finding yours and bringing it to his lips. “He appears to be well.” You murmured, blinking away the tears from your eyes. “You deserve better than this.” Your husband whispered, pulling you into his arms. “I know it is stupid, but just once I want him to approve of my life. Rhaenyra does worse and receives so much of his love in return, am I just not worth it?” You muttered, tears sliding down your cheeks as Harwin’s arms tightened around you.
You were fast asleep, finally relaxed as you slept beside your husband, until a loud knocking on your door stirred you awake. Reluctantly, Harwin removed himself from your bed and moved to open the door. “My lord, there has been a situation involving the children.” The guard murmured, glancing nervously between Harwin and the floor. Immediately, you were out of your bed, your blood running cold as you and your husband ran down the halls towards the ‘throne’ room. “Vaelon?!” You called, throwing open the doors and hurrying inside, eyes frantic. Instantly, your eyes fell on your son standing alone in the centre of the room, his back to the door until he heard your voice and he turned to look at you. “Mother?” He called back, his voice shaking with a mixture of terror and from the tears that were streaming from one of his eyes. Tears sprang to your eyes as Vaelon looked up at you, a jagged cut running from just above his eyebrow down to his jawline, the blood mixing with his tears across his face from where he had clearly tried to wipe the liquid away, not being old enough to fully understand what had happened to him. His palms were also scuffed and scraped, with similar smaller cuts being evident on his now visible knees as his trousers were torn. “My darling boy!” You murmured, sprinting over to where he remained standing, growing more panicked as he couldn’t see you through the lack of both his eyes. “Mama!” He cried, his small arms clinging to you as you reached him in the centre of the room. “It’s going to be alright, I’m here.” You whispered, carefully picking your son up and cradling him in your arms. “Harwin…” You muttered, turning to face your very pale husband. “You know more about this, is it as it looks?” You asked, careful around the language you used. Silently he nodded before taking Vae in his arms, noticing you begin to shake slightly as the tears began to fall more rapidly.
“What happened?” You asked, voice quiet yet filled with a rage you couldn’t quite control. “Aemond stole Rhaella’s dragon!” Jace spoke up from behind your sister’s skirts. “Who did this?” You reiterated, motioning to your shaking son. An awkward silence filled the room as Jace glanced down at his shoes, a guilty expression spreading across his face. “Now let's not point fingers.” You heard your father speak from where he sat on the throne above you all. It was then that you noticed a similar injury on Alicent’s youngest son, his own face having been cut in a similar fashion. “Do you think that my son was injured in such a manner by simply tripping? This was an attack!” You replied, turning to face your father as you spoke. “Your own son is also injured, both their eyes may be permanently unusable!” You continued, your voice raising in volume as you spoke. “And so what, you accuse my own children?!” You heard Rhaenyra quip back. “Are your own injured in such a way?” You hissed, shooting her a glare as you spoke. She opened her voice to respond but you did not let her, “My son has been brutally attacked, he is only 4 he has done nothing to provoke such an attack. Then he was abandoned to cry alone whilst we were fetched several minutes after everyone else! And you have the audacity to play the victim Rhaenyra, grow the fuck up and recognise that your children have done this!” You whispered, stalking towards your sister as you spoke, stopping mere inches away from her. “My sons are injured as well-” She attempted before you cut her off once again, “If you dare to compare my son’s disfigurement with your sons’ temporary injuries I swear to all the gods I will disfigure you myself, see you compare the two then.” You spat, turning on your heels and walking back to Harwin and Vae before the three of you moved to leave. “Do not leave! We must fix this as a family.” Viserys attempted once again. “You have made it abundantly clear you do not respect my family nor care for my son’s injuries. The sentiment is shared with yours.” You responded, not bothering to turn around as you made a swift exit.
I Can Hear My Heart Beat Like a Sword on a Shield | Harwin Strong | House of the Dragon
Warnings/ Tags: SMUT[NSFW], frustrated, rough, needy, words, smut, minors DNI, very rough, he knows how to please a woman, taunting, climax, hes a big man, I want to bite him, consensual!
Summary: You're the daughter of Viserys I Targaryen. You convince your father to allow you to train with a sword. The Knight who is responsible for your lessons seems entirely resistant to your charms. You take this as a challenge and see just how much it takes to break down the resolve of a man who is more accustomed to breaking bones.
POV: Reader / You, no personal descriptions
Word Count: 9,466
A/N: This has taken me weeks and I'm still not happy with the pacing but I've spent too much time on it to just delete it.
Not my gif, if its yours and you would like me to remove it just ask <3
You paced slowly in a wide circle around the hidden courtyard, boots scuffing over ancient flagstones, faded by time and the memory of countless footsteps. You had tried to pick the quietest place in the castle, well away from prying eyes. Turning, you studied the area, it was old and neglected, but you had found the courtyard as a child and had fallen in love with it. Ivy crawled up the cracked walls, their leaves glossy and tenacious, clinging to every fissure carved by seasons past. Moss softened the edges of the ancient stones, and a cool breeze carried the scent of damp earth and old stone, tinged with hints of wildflowers blooming in forgotten corners. There was an old statue of a dragon near the archway into the courtyard, small and stunted, covered in moss, but you loved it. Having named it and talked to it as a child while you waited for your dragon to hatch and grow into a size you would be able to ride. Here and there, shafts of sunlight slipped through a latticework of overgrown branches arching overhead, dappling the courtyard floor in shifting patterns of gold and green.
At last, your father had agreed to let you learn how to swing a sword, though his reluctance was palpable. It had taken weeks of arguments, your voice calm but insistent, reminding him that if you were old enough to take to the sky on dragon-back, you were old enough to defend yourself on the ground. Still, you suspected his approval was reluctant, offered only because he could not imagine you ever truly in danger on the ground. But, he couldn’t fault your argument, ancient rules specified in Westeros that women were forbidden to wield a sword, but your ancestors few shoulder to should with the women of their family and claimed the land as their own. So, here you were, heart drumming with impatience, waiting for the swordsman who would teach you to wield sharped steel.
You stopped mid-step as a broad shadow fell across the courtyard entrance. Harwin Strong appeared, towering in worn leather armour, his presence impossible to ignore. His dark eyes swept over you with an assessing calm, a far cry from the steely look he reserved for battlefields, and the distant clang of the training yard faded to the hush of your anticipation.
"What are you doing here, Harwin?" you said, folding your arms and narrowing your eyes in what you hoped was a regal stare. "I am waiting for my tutor. I have no need for a knight."
A faint, knowing smile played at the corners of his mouth. "I am to be your tutor, Princess," Harwin replied, his voice deep and steady as the stones underfoot.
You stared, momentarily caught off guard. "I am to fight you?" The words left your lips half in disbelief, half in awe. You glanced at his substantial frame, rumours of his strength echoing in your mind. "If nothing else, my father has a sense of humour," you muttered, eyeing the broad sword at his hip. "To pair me with Harwin 'Break-bones' Strong."
A chuckle rumbled in Harwin’s chest, brief but genuine. “It’s not a fight, Princess. It’s a lesson, if you’ll let it be.” He stepped further into the courtyard, the leather of his boots rasping over the stones, every inch the imposing figure you’d heard about in stories whispered by squires. Yet, his movements, broad-shouldered but controlled, held no threat. He drew his sword from his belt, the metal gleaming as shadows slipped along the blade’s edge.
“Show me how you’d hold it,” he said, and held the sword out to you, hilt first. The weight of his attention was as heavy as the weapon itself. You hesitated only a heartbeat before closing the distance and wrapping your fingers around the cool, leather-bound grip. It was heavier than you’d imagined. The balance wobbled as you lifted it, your arms tense beneath the strain. Harwin’s hands stayed at his sides; he didn’t move to correct you, not yet. Instead, he tilted his head, one eyebrow arching as he studied your posture. “You may ride dragons,” he said, “but swords don’t soar. They demand your patience, and your strength. Show me what you know already.” Your pulse thudded in your ears. You squared your feet, straightened your back, determined not to let Harwin see you falter as you raised the blade, ready for his judgment.
The sword shook ever so slightly in your grasp, betraying nerves you tried hard to conceal. You recalled fragments of lessons snatched from stray glimpses at the training yard: the way a squire held his wrists, the stance knights favoured sparring with Sir Christian. Mimicking them, you raised the blade into what you hoped was a passable guard, shoulders taut and jaw set.
Harwin watched in silence, his expression unreadable but not unkind. He circled, steps measured. “You grip it too tightly,” he observed, voice low. “Let the sword become part of your arm, find its balance, Don't fight against its weight."
You swallowed and loosened your fingers slightly. The hilt settled more naturally into your palm, heavy but manageable. Harwin reached out, slow and deliberate, tapping your elbow to encourage a subtle adjustment. You tried to ignore the lightening that flicked up to your shoulder at his touch, disregarding it as nerves, you were being taught by one of the most dangerous swordsmen in Westeros.
“Better. But if I struck here…” His hand hovered by your exposed shoulder, “…you’d be open to attack, defenceless.” Heat prickled at your cheeks, but you refused to look away as he corrected your posture. “Swordplay isn't just about brute force. Breathe, Princess. You should wield the sword in the same way you would swing a fist. In a fight, you are not sword and man, but one thing fused together.”
His voice carried the assurance of someone who had taught many, but never with the gentle care he offered now. You met his gaze, holding the blade steady, stubborn pride flickering in your chest.
“Show me how to do it right,” you said.
His mouth quirked just so, almost a smile. “With pleasure.”
Harwin’s hand lingered at your elbow, strong and reassuring, before gliding down to adjust your grip. His touch was careful but unavoidably intimate, his fingers calloused but gentle as they coaxed your hand into a proper hold. He stepped in behind you, close enough that you caught the faint warmth of his breath and the scent of leather and soap.
“Like this,” he murmured, his voice lowering just for your ears, his guiding hand covering yours around the hilt. The proximity made your pulse flutter in strange, unfamiliar ways. You could almost feel him smiling when you exhaled slowly, trying to breathe out some tension coiling within you.
He didn’t move away, he was just teaching you, you tried to convince yourself. Nothing more.
“Trust the sword, Princess,” Harwin said, letting his words, and the way his arm briefly brushed your side, hang between you. You risked a glance up, only to find his dark eyes fixed on you, the corners crinkling with a challenge and something softer.
Harwin cleared his throat, stepping back just enough to restore a respectful distance, his expression settling into measured focus.
“Now,” he said, the word clipped but not unkind, “show me a basic strike, slowly, as you recall it.” Yet even as his tone shifted into that of a tutor, a charged silence lingered in the small space between you, as if neither of you had quite left that moment of closeness behind.
He watched you with keen attention. “Bring gloves to your next lesson, I don’t believe callouses and cuts should adorn the hands of a princess.” he held out his hand, revealing the calloused toughened skin as if to punctuate his statement.
***
Weeks passed, and with each one, your movements grew surer. The ache in your shoulders faded, replaced by a quiet thrill when your muscles carried the sword more easily than the day before. The thick leather gloves shielded your hands from blisters, but the weight of the blade and the steady rhythm of practice left their memory in your muscles. Each lesson taught you how to move more fluidly: the right pivot of your hips, the spring in your step, the subtle flex of wrists encased in soft, sweat-dampened leather.
You found yourself looking forward to your time in the courtyard, not just for the challenge, but for Harwin’s company. He was unlike the other knights, who treated your ambition as a curiosity, as something to be tamed or ignored. Or even occasionally, they attempt to pursue you. Harwin’s attention was steady, his encouragement just enough to coax your confidence forward without ever patronising. When you landed a well-timed parry or remembered a complex manoeuvre, his eyes would glint, not with surprise, but with satisfaction, as though he’d expected nothing less from you.
He seemed to take a quiet pride in your stubbornness, even as you pressed him with questions or tried, with deliberate mischief, to get a rise out of that solid, stoic calm. If you made a mistake, he corrected you gently; if you succeeded, his low praise felt like sunlight after rain. You began to enjoy the way you could tease the edges of his composure, sometimes finding laughter in the places where sternness was expected.
You looked forward to each morning, where you could be wholly yourself: fierce, determined, clever, and unafraid. With Harwin, that part of you was not just allowed, but welcomed. He was unlike any man you had ever met. He was not intimidated by your station or saw it as nothing more than a way to improve his own. Not only that, but he knew you out ranked him, and he seemed to have no problem standing in his station not stretching out to seize yours. This was something that started to make your heart flutter a little every time your title fell from his lips.
***
Again you were back in the courtyard away from prying eyes. You adjusted your stance, deliberately exaggerating the tilt of your sword. “Like this?” you asked, raising an eyebrow with a mischievous edge, words dancing somewhere between jest and challenge. “Or will you have to show me again?”
Harwin’s lips twitched, almost betraying a smile before he forced his expression back into that careful neutrality. “If you keep holding it that way, Princess, I’ll be forced to correct you every time. Though I’m starting to suspect you don’t mind.”
You couldn’t quite stifle the quiet laugh that escaped. “Perhaps you’re a better teacher than I expected,” you said lightly.
His gaze lingered on you a heartbeat longer than necessary, professional demeanour intact, but a warmth in his eyes as he nodded for you to continue. “Then let’s see how well you’ve learned,” he murmured, but the air still shimmered with hints of the moment you’d just shared.
He drew his sword, the motion effortless, almost lazy, as though the blade weighed nothing whatsoever in his grip. For one heartbeat, you studied his stance. Then, with a grin tugging at the corner of your mouth, you raised your own.
“Ready, Princess?” His voice hinted at mischief, speaking your title almost like a taunt.
You squared your shoulders, determined. “Don’t go easy on me, Sir Harwin. Or is that what you always do for your pupils?”
He only smirked. “Not for ones who make a sport of challenging me.”
You lunged, blade glancing toward his side. In one smooth movement, he parried, the jolt running up your arm even through the thick leather of your glove almost making you drop the sword. He turned your blade aside and flicked his wrist, sending you stumbling, though not enough to fall. You narrowed your eyes, lips curving into an answering smirk.
“Too slow,” he chided, circling you with deliberate calm. “Again.”
This time you feinted left, then slashed right, he knocked your blade away as if absentminded, the flat of his sword swatting your attempt aside. You caught the glint of challenge in his eyes and, emboldened, pressed forward with a series of swift strikes. Each met by his patient defence, until you grew almost reckless with frustration.
“Is that truly your best, Princess?” he taunted, stepping in close, the words brushing your ear as he turned your sword with a deft, practiced twist. "Have you learned nothing in the last weeks?"
“Are you always this insufferable?” you shot back, breathless and laughing despite yourself.
His answering grin was devastating, all teeth and warmth. In a final, dizzying exchange, you overextended just as he had planned. In a heartbeat, he caught your wrist, disarmed you in a flourish, and spun you around, your back pressed to his chest, both your hands caught in his much larger one, your sword clattering to the flagstones.
He held you there for a single, electric moment. “Careful,” he murmured, voice low and only for your ears. “Your guard slips when you’re distracted.”
You could feel his laughter in the way his chest moved behind you, in the steadiness of his grip, firm, but gentle, and entirely inescapable. For half a heartbeat, neither of you moved, the air between you shimmering with all the things you did not say.
Your cheeks still tingled from the press of his body and the thrill in his voice, but you straightened, gathering your dignity like a cloak around your shoulders. Every inch of you was transformed, chin lifted, shoulders squared, gaze sharpened to a dagger's point. You fixed Harwin with a look as cold and unyielding as palace stone, the sort of gaze that had once quieted boisterous lords twice your age, that left softer courtiers faltering mid-sentence.
“I could command you to let me win, Sir Harwin,” you said, voice slicing through the hush with effortless authority.
“But where would be the challenge in that?” He countered.
You stepped forward, closing the gap almost brazenly, reclaiming your sword from the flagstones without breaking his gaze.
“Or…" he started. "Perhaps you prefer to keep your advantage because you fear what might happen when I’m your equal.”
"I could have you thrown in the dungeon for speaking to me like that." You quipped.
For a moment, he just stared, the mask of the stoic knight slipping. Something hungry and admiring flickered in his eyes. He offered no apology, didn’t even try to mask his smile. Instead, his voice dropped, reverent and admiring all at once: “If that’s meant to frighten me, Princess, you’ll have to try harder. But I must be honest with you, I’ve never before enjoyed being put in my place quite so much.”
The cool command in your eyes sharpened as his words, brazen and openly, delighted at your authority. Something in his unrepentant grin kindled irritation beneath your skin, hot and electric. Unexpectedly, you lunged, blade flashing toward his midsection with far more force than before.
Steel met steel—the sharp ring echoing between the old stones as Harwin caught your blow. For a heartbeat, your faces were only inches apart, his arm locked against yours, every muscle in his body coiled and thrumming with restraint.
“Careful,” he warned softly, laughter threading through his words, the warmth of it brushing your cheek. “Or are you planning to call a dragon the moment you start losing ground?"
You pressed, relentless, trying to break past his guard, but he matched you, step for step, breath for breath. Halting each strike with deliberate precision. Sweat beaded at your temple; beneath your tunic, your heart hammered, not from exertion but from the dizzying closeness, the danger woven into every touch of his blade to yours.
Frustrated, you tried a bold feint, twisting hard and pivoting around his back, but Harwin was too quick. He followed your movement, crowding in, chests nearly brushing, his sword trapping yours in a tight lock.
“Is that anger I see?” he murmured, his breath stirring the hair near your ear. “Or something else, Princess?” His lips curved into a half-smile that was both challenge and invitation, the line between opponent and something more flickering dangerously beneath the surface.
You met his gaze, chest heaving with effort and defiance. “It's murderous rage” you whispered, the words slipping out rough and unguarded, sword forgotten for a heartbeat as the world shrank to just his eyes and the arch of his mouth.
“Oh,” he breathed, voice gone ragged, “Is it really?”
A slow smile curled your lips as you caught his gaze, letting the words hang between you. “Yes” you replied, voice honeyed with challenge. “Then perhaps it’s lucky for you, we’re on solid ground, Sir Harwin. I think you’d find your confidence a little harder to hold if you had to face me in the sky.”
His eyes widened a fraction, his grin edged with admiration and a hint of defiance. “Is that a challenge, Princess, or a promise?”
You tilted your chin, feigning regal dismissal. “Only an observation. Not everyone is so brave when dragons are involved.”
He leaned in just enough that his words danced over your skin. “I suppose it’s a good thing my lessons are limited to the sword, then. For now.”
***
That night, you lay sprawled amidst a tangled mess of linen, the old stone ceiling above painted silver by moonlight leaking through your open window. Your muscles thrummed with the ache of hours spent in the courtyard, shoulders stretched, wrists still tingling with the remembered jolt of steel clashing against steel. But amid the soreness, there was something sharper: the memory of Harwin’s hands, warm and steady over yours, the press of his chest, the grin that had lingered even after you’d tried to humble him.
You rolled onto your side, heartbeat stuttering at the thought of his voice, teasing you, daring you, matching you challenge for challenge. Had he really meant it? That sly promise, that admission he never minded being put in his place by you?
A smile ghosted over your lips. You pressed your cheek to your pillow, the scent of sun-baked linen and distant wildflowers almost enough to drown out the heat curling in your belly. Almost.
Tomorrow would bring another lesson. Another chance to test the boundaries between you, to see how far you could push before he pushed back, and maybe, just perhaps, to see where the careful dance of steel and with might lead. But then the little voice that lived in the back of your mind raised its voice. Your father would have chosen the night to train you carefully. He would have ensured it to be a man who upheld your honour, regardless of what you said or did.
You ground your teeth, wondering if teasing you would be the only boundary that Harwin would cross, or if you could coax him a little further over the line so carefully marked in the sand.
You closed your eyes, still feeling the phantom weight of a sword in your palm, the phantom warmth of his breath at your ear. Sleep came slow and sweet, anticipation for morning threading through every dream.
***
By sunrise, your anticipation felt sharper than any blade. You met Harwin’s gaze in the empty courtyard, already mustering your best innocent expression as you hefted your sword, just a little off-balance, just enough to invite correction. Invite his hands to your body. The mossy stones still glistened with dawn dew, the hush broken only by the soft rasp of your boots as you circled each other.
Harwin’s brow quirked, suspicion warring with amusement as he noted the defiant tilt of your shoulders. “You seem eager this morning, Princess,” he remarked, voice mild.
“Perhaps I’m just eager to see how many times I can catch you off guard, Sir Harwin,” you replied, flashing a wicked smile.
“Well, I believe the running total thus far is zero, Princess.” he smirked, your title again falling from your lips as a taunt.
You darted in with a feint that left your guard deliberately exposed. Harwin’s hand shot out to steady you, his arm strong and encompassing around your waist as he corrected your stance. For a heartbeat, you leaned into the contact, eyes alight with mischief.
'That’s once,’ you thought low, barely louder than the breeze.
It took him half a second longer to let go this time. “If this is your new tactic, Princess, to make me believe you're worse at fighting than the day before. ” His hand lingered a fraction too long, his thumb brushing the curve of your hip before retreating. "It will not work."
Undeterred, you lunged again, weaving careless errors into your motions just enough to summon his hands to your arms, your shoulders, the small of your back. Each time, the touch was both correction and invitation, the air around you humming thick with unspoken delight.
You lost track of the lesson’s intent, counting only the points of contact, the glint of challenge in his eyes, and the slow, knowing smile that grew with every pass and every ‘accident’ that drew you into his orbit.
By the time your breaths came ragged you knew that: in this dance, winning mattered less than seeing just how close you could get—how many times he’d catch you, and how many more you’d let him.
By the tenth “mistake,” Harwin had grown a little suspicious but said nothing, his hands almost hovering now, as if expecting you to tumble into him with the next step. The next time your foot slipped deliberately, you caught his gaze deliberately and lingered in his hold a lingering moment longer, your fingers brushing over his as if accidentally.
“Careful, Princess,” he murmured. “One of these days I might not be so quick to let go.” the last words seemed to tumble from his lips without his permission, slipping past his carefully controlled demeanour.
“Maybe I don’t want you to,” you shot back, your voice steady and low, heat simmering in the spaces between your words.
He stilled, surprise flickering through his eyes before giving way to something softer, something that matched the coaxing warmth beneath your ribcage. But you didn’t break eye contact; instead, you twisted your sword loose from his grasp, letting it clatter harmlessly to the cobbles where it had spent most of the morning, having been cast from your hand by him time and time again.
For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to the hush of the courtyard and the shallow rise and fall of your breathing. The morning air shimmered between you, fraught with tension; your sword rested in the cobbles at your feet. Harwin looked down at you, the lines of duty and desire etched plainly across his face. Tradition demanded space, decorum, a knight should never presume, especially not with a princess. Yet, his hands hovered uncertain on your arms, at the same time apologising for their proximity and greedy for more.
“You know I shouldn’t,” he said, voice low and careful, as though names and titles still stood between you. But his words betrayed him, trembling on the cusp of want. You stepped closer, chin high with royal defiance, but your voice softened to a thrum meant for him alone.
“I grow weary of should and shouldn’t, Sir Harwin. What do you want?”
For a moment he did not speak, the answer not fit for courts or courtiers. But they were not here, it was just you and him in a quiet, forgotten courtyard. In his pause, everything unspoken grew bolder, the brush of his finger at your wrist, the throb of your pulse beneath his thumb. “I want…” He faltered, then caught your gaze, armour falling away. “I want you.” The admission hung between you, heavier than any sword, sparking electricity that flicked between you.
You tipped your head, a smile flickering over your lips. “Then take what you want, Sir Harwin.”
He swallowed, eyes searching your face as if memorising it. "Princess…" His voice was rough, apology tangled in its cadence. "You are a princess of the realm, meant for thrones and crowns. I am only Harwin Strong—son to a lesser lord, sworn to serve, to kneel, never to reach above my station. There are lines that men like me do not cross.” The words were earnest, heavy, as though he hated them and couldn't be free of them.
Duty carved a chasm between you, deeper than old stones or ancient vows, but for once, you saw it for what it was: fear and desire warring in the shadows of his dark gaze. You stepped closer still, the tension between you both softened only by the way your fingers lingered at the fastenings of his sleeve. “Then come as only Harwin, not a Knight of Westeros.”
Harwin drew in a deep, steadying breath, the weight of oath and history haunting every line of his face. Without a word, he stepped back, drawing his sword not in challenge, but in surrender. He went to one knee before you, broad shoulders bowed, both hands resting atop the upright pommel. The gesture was stark, ceremonial, a knight’s fealty laid bare. His head bowed, dark hair falling over his brow, he looked every inch the lesser son of a lesser house, his name only known by the ferocity he fought battles, made humbler still beneath your gaze. “Princess,” he murmured, voice hoarse with feeling, “In all that I am, I am yours to command.”
You paused only long enough to let silence draw out between you. Then, quietly, you spoke: "Come to my room tonight." Harwin's head snapped up, eyes searching your face, the battle between duty and desire sparking up again behind his eyes. He looked as if he might protest. But you didn’t give him the chance to answer. With regal composure, you bent to retrieve your sword from the stones, the motion deliberate, giving him a moment to look at you without you looking back. Without another word or backward glance, you strode from the courtyard, the echo of your footsteps and the ache of anticipation left in your wake. The invitation hung in the air, shattering the last remnants of distance between what was expected and what you truly wanted.
***
That night, your chambers felt too large, every shadow grander and more insistent in the candlelight. You paced, restless, trailing your fingers along the intricate carvings of your bedposts, the velvet hangings, the row of flame-lit mirrors catching the anxious flicker in your eyes. Your skin still hummed with the echo of the day's sparring, each correction, each glance, while outside your window, King's Landing slumbered beneath a swath of low clouds. You dismissed your guard with a single, steel-voiced command, locking the heavy door after his footsteps faded. Still, Harwin did not come. The great clock in the corridor ticked away the hush of midnight, second thoughts gathering with every passing moment, was this doubt, or decorum, or the weight of a knight’s conscience anchoring him elsewhere? Your impatience sharpened. With a sweep of silk, you wrapped yourself in your pale robe.
Through winding corridors shrouded in the hush of midnight, you slipped barefoot, your bare feet cold and silent against ancient stones. The hush of old oaths and forbidden longing clung to every step. You paused outside Harwin’s door, your pulse thrumming in your throat, cool stone at your back, candlelight from a nearby sconce gilding the grain of the heavy oak. There, before you could raise a hand to knock, the world held its breath a line not yet crossed, wanting, waiting, the threshold between longing and the unknown.
You hesitated, breath shallow, before letting your knuckles rap softly against the wood. For a moment, there was only silence, a hush so heavy it felt as though it could suffocate you. No answer. You pressed gently on the handle. To your surprise, the door yielded, swinging inward on silent hinges. Inside, the chamber was dim, candles burning low in the sconces, hemmed with quiet shadow. And there, at the end of his ornate bed, stood Harwin. Still clad in armour, leather and dark metal catching the flickering glow, he looked every inch the knight, save for the uncertainty coiled in his stance. His hands hung tense at his sides; he was not surprised to see you, but the room pulsed with restrained energy. For a heartbeat, neither of you spoke, each waiting, perhaps, for the other to break the silence first, for duty or desire to win out.
The silence stretched, thick and electric, until it nearly hurt to hold it. Harwin’s eyes locked on yours, dark and unreadable but roiling beneath the surface, every inch of him braced against the force of your arrival. He didn’t move. It was only his hands, curling and flexing at his sides, leather creaking faintly in the quiet, that betrayed him. You crossed the room, slow and deliberate, letting the door close behind you with a click that seemed to echo through the stone.
“Princess,” he murmured, the word faltering between warning and prayer. “It isn’t right. You know it.” Yet, he didn’t step back, didn’t look away. His jaw worked, as if he might swallow the urge to close the distance entirely. You lingered in the glow from the candlelight, heart drumming in your chest, letting the tension between you spin out, taut, fierce, and strangely sweet.
“If it isn’t right, why haven’t you sent me away?” you asked, voice pitched soft and low, daring him to answer. He swallowed, gaze darting to your mouth and back.
“Because I cannot command you,” he said at last, voice gone hoarse, “not when you’re standing there.” He finally looked away, but only to fix his eyes on the window, as if seeking strength from the city beyond. “You risk everything just to be here,” he continued, struggling and every word sounding heavier than the last. “And I—if I take one step toward you, I won’t know how to stop.”
You stepped forward, closing the gap until only a hand’s breadth remained between you and him, until his breath, warm and uncertain, mingled with yours. The gauzy shift of candlelight caught in the dark planes of his armour and the quiet, pained longing in his eyes.
“I command you tell me to stop, if that is what you wish for me to do.” You whisper, your fingers brushing the rough buckles and battered edges of his armour, tracing the hollows where metal met leather, letting your touch linger just a moment longer. His jaw clenched, the muscle flexing beneath sun-browned skin; you could see him wrestling with words that never came. He swallowed, Adam’s apple shifting in his throat, but his lips didn’t part to offer a protest. The distance between you fizzled to nothing, tension winding tighter with every slow heartbeat. His breath shivered out, ragged, as if he might break—or give in—at any moment.
You drew back the smallest fraction, just enough to make him chase your nearness if he chose. Your lips curved, the edge of a secret hiding in your smile.
“Is this how a knight guards his honour?” you teased, voice a breath against his cheek. “Standing sentinel over temptation instead of sending it away?”
His eyes flickered, caught between chastened and desperate, and his hands clenching tighter at his sides, as though fighting with everything he had not to reach out and touch you. For a heartbeat, no one breathed.
“You look as though you’re about to leap into a duel,” you murmured, feathering your touch from his collarbone down along the leather strap across his chest, deliberate, shameless in your want.
He let out a laugh that was barely more than a growl, his restraint slipping. “I’d sooner face a dozen blades than you, Princess.”
You moved your hand and took his fist, deliberately, eyes never leaving his face. With a quiet confidence, you guided his hand, flattening his palm and pressing it firmly to your waist, just where you wanted him. His jaw clenched tighter, a muscle ticking in his cheek as he went rigid beneath your touch, torn between wanting to pull back and being utterly powerless to do so. It was your decision, your pace, his strength held fast by your invitation rather than his intent. The air pulsed with the certainty that, for all his size and training, in this moment every boundary belonged to you. You held him there, daring him to say no, meeting his wide, hungry gaze with a slow, smile. His resolve might have been legendary, but right now, it bent without protest beneath the weight of your will.
With a low, desperate sound, Harwin broke, his resolve shattering as he caught your mouth with his own. The kiss was hard and fast, edged with the weeks of want and denial, his lips claiming yours with a rough, needy hunger that matched the pounding of your heart. He tasted of leather and steel, his jaw scratchy with stubble as he deepened the kiss without finesse or apology, every stroke of his tongue against yours a ragged, artless plea. His hands, strong and demanding, fisted in your silk robe, dragging you closer until there wasn’t a breath of space left between you, the planes of his armour biting through the thin fabric of your dress. You kissed him back just as fiercely, your fingers twisting in his hair, as if you could drag him any closer, under your skin, into the hammering pulse beneath your ribs.
Suddenly, his grip shifted, he swept you off your feet and tossed you effortlessly onto the bed, your body bouncing lightly atop the rumpled covers. You landed sprawled, dress askew, hair tumbling over your shoulder, eyes wide as you looked up at him. Harwin remained standing, chest heaving, silhouetted in the flickering candlelight. His gaze pinned you where you lay, something raw and possessive glittering in his dark eyes. Keeping his focus on you, he began to strip away his armour with deliberate slowness: buckles unfastened, leather and steel falling piece by piece to the floor. The candlelight gilded every line of him, shadow tracing the breadth of his shoulders as he unfastened his breastplate and let it drop. You watched, spellbound, while his hands moved to the next piece, every movement deliberate, methodical, as if undressing before you was an act of worship, of offering, a promise unfolding.
At last, he pulled his shirt over his head, leaving only his trousers in place. For a moment, Harwin stood utterly still, the flickering candlelight catching on the hard lines of his chest and shoulders, each muscle gilded in gold, his skin mapped by old scars and sun. He looked almost carved from stone, breathing hard, the rise and fall of his chest quick and uncertain as he watched you watch him.
"Must I command you, Sir Harwin?" you asked, your voice a thrum in the quiet as you shifted, deliberately pushing your legs apart. The silk of your robe rustled softly, riding up your thighs until it barely grazed the curve of your hip.
The air in the room seemed to tighten, the candle flames flickering as if caught in a draft, dancing shadows over the planes of Harwin's chest. Your eyes held his, a silent, simmering challenge, the weight of the moment drawing out between you like a spell, taut, tenuous, thrumming with every quickened heartbeat.
His breath shuddered out, gaze darkening as it swept over you, the hunger in it so intense you could almost feel it as teeth on your skin. Every line of him seemed to vibrate with restraint.
Harwin’s gaze flashed from want to resolution in an instant. With a purposeful step, he moved to the end of the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. Then, as if his own desire finally broke the last thread of his reserve, he dropped to his knees.
His hands found you first, fingertips blazing trails up the silk of your robe, skimming your legs with a hunger that matched your own. When his palms reached the juncture of your thighs, he paused, hands pressing gently inward, thumbs brushing the curve of your hip, asking, not demanding, desire thrumming beneath the surface.
Raising his eyes to yours, he hooked his elbows under your knees and, in one smooth motion, dragged you to the edge of the bed.
With a low, ragged breath, Harwin bent his head and pressed his mouth to the inside of your thigh, his lips gentle, grazing the sensitive skin. You felt his breath first, warm and quick, and then his tongue, tracing a slow, deliberate path upward.
He paused just for an instant, his hands tightening on your hips as if asking permission. Before he settled between your legs, his broad shoulders spreading you wider, his breath hot against the core of you.
At the first touch of his tongue, you couldn’t contain the low moan that escaped your lips. Harwin’s grip tightened, his fingers digging into your thighs as he held you open, his mouth working with a single-minded intensity that left you breathless.
He took his time, his tongue stroking, teasing, drawing out the pleasure until you were trembling beneath him. Each dip and swirl seemed to echo through your body, a symphony of sensation that built until you were arching off the bed, your hands fisted in his hair as you sought more.
The rumours were true, he made love with the same ferocity that he waged war.
When he finally focused his attention on the bundle of nerves at your centre, you nearly came undone. He circled it with the tip of his tongue, flicking and sucking with a rhythm that had your hips bucking shamelessly against his mouth. Each stroke was a masterpiece of sensation, his tongue flat and broad one moment, pointed and precise the next.
He alternated between gentle laps and fierce, fluttering suction, never letting you acclimate or catch your breath. The stubble on his jaw rasped against your inner thighs, a rough counterpoint to the slick heat of his mouth. You could feel the vibration of his growls and hums of pleasure against your most sensitive skin, each one sending shockwaves coursing through your body.
It was too much and not enough, each stroke winding you tighter until you were teetering on the edge of release. Your fingers tugged at his hair, urging him closer, deeper, your body strung taut with need. Every muscle was tensed, reaching for the climax that hovered just out of reach, your breath coming in ragged pants as you revelled in the exquisite torture of his tongue.
Without warning, Harwin slid a finger inside you, then another, filling you in a way that made your breath catch and your back arch. His fingers curled, stroking that sensitive spot inside you in perfect counterpoint to the relentless rhythm of his tongue.
The added sensation was all it took to send you flying over the edge. Your climax hit like a wave, crashing over you with an intensity that left you gasping, your body clenching around his fingers as you came undone. Harwin held you through it, his tongue and fingers never ceasing, dragging out your pleasure until you were left trembling and boneless beneath him.
When the last tremors of your climax subsided, Harwin withdrew his fingers gently and sat back on his heels, his breath coming in ragged pants. He looked almost dazed, as though shocked by his own actions, by the fact that he'd allowed himself to lose control and touch you in such an intimate way.
His eyes met yours for an instant, dark and wide, before he dropped his gaze to his hands, still glistening with your arousal. A muscle ticked in his jaw, his throat working as he seemed to grapple with the weight of what had just transpired between you.
There was a vulnerability in his posture, a kind of wonder and disbelief, as though he couldn't quite reconcile the knight he'd always been, with the man who'd just knelt before a princess and worshipped her with such desperate hunger.
You leaned forward, catching his face in your hands, and kissed him. It was a kiss that spoke of gratitude and desire in equal measure, your lips moving softly, reverently against his. You could taste yourself on his mouth.
Harwin responded with a low groan, his lips parting to allow you to deepen the kiss. His hands came up to frame your face, fingers threading into your hair as he anchored you in place. The kiss grew heated, your tongues tangling in a sensual dance that left you both breathless.
There was something almost unbearably tender about the way he kissed you, as though he was pouring all the words he couldn't say into this one gesture. You felt it in the way his hands trembled against your skin, in the reverent brush of his lips, the soft, shuddering exhale as he pulled away.
"Princess, I can't," Harwin whispered, his voice ragged with emotion. His eyes were dark with a mixture of desire and desperation, his hands trembling as they cupped your face.
"Please," you replied, shocking yourself with how much the word sounded like you were begging. Your voice was barely more than a whisper, but it seemed to echo in the space between you, heavy with longing.
Harwin's breath caught, his thumbs stroking over your cheekbones as if he could soothe away the need in your voice.
You took his hand, your fingers intertwining with his, and gently pushed yourself back on the bed. With a soft, guiding pressure, you drew him with you, your eyes locked on his as you wordlessly invited him to follow.
Harwin's breath caught, his gaze darkening with a mix of desire and disbelief as he realised what you were asking. For a moment, he hesitated, his body trembling with the effort of once again holding himself back.
But then, as if the last of his resolve had finally crumbled, he moved over you, his large frame settling between your thighs as you guided him into place. The muscles in his arms flexed as he held himself above you, his eyes never leaving yours.
There was something almost reverent about the way he looked at you, as though he couldn't quite believe that this was happening. His hands skimmed down your sides, tracing the curves of your body with a gentleness that made your breath catch.
As he settled against you, you could feel the heat of his skin through the thin fabric of your robe, the weight of him pressing you into the mattress. Your heart raced, your body trembling with anticipation, as you arched up into his touch, silently urging him to close the last bit of distance between you.
With a tenderness that belied the tension thrumming through him, Harwin's hands found the tie of your robe, his fingers working the knot with deliberate care. The silk fell away slowly, the edges parting like a curtain to reveal the soft curves beneath.
For a moment, he simply looked at you, his gaze reverent as it traced the lines of your body. His hands followed suit, fingertips grazing your skin with a gentleness that made your breath hitch. He touched you as though you were something precious, something to be cherished and worshipped.
You lay beneath him, bared to his gaze, your skin flushed with warmth and want. Harwin's touch was everywhere, skimming your ribs, tracing the curve of your hip, brushing the swell of your breast. Each touch was featherlight, teasing, a promise of more to come.
He bent his head, pressing a kiss to your collarbone, your neck, the hollow of your throat. Each kiss was a question, a whispered plea for permission. And you answered with your body, arching into his touch, your hands tangling in his hair as you urged him on.
As the heat between you built, Harwin's touches grew bolder, his hands mapping the curves of your body with increasing confidence. His lips trailed lower, tracing the swell of your breast before his mouth closed over one sensitive peak.
You gasped, your back arching off the bed as he sucked gently, his tongue swirling around your nipple. He lavished attention on first one breast, then the other, until you were writhing beneath him, your fingers clutching at his hair.
Slowly, teasingly, his hand skimmed down your stomach, his fingertips grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You parted your legs willingly, eagerly, your body aching for his touch.
When his fingers found your centre, you were already wet again and wanting, your body responding to his touch like a flame to tinder. He circled your entrance with a gentle, teasing pressure, then brought his fingers to his mouth, carefully placing them in this mouth and drawing them out, his eyes fixed on yours. Then he returned them to between your thighs.
You moaned, your hips bucking upwards, seeking more of his touch. He obliged, his fingers slipping inside you, filling you with a delicious friction that had you seeing stars.
His thumb found the sensitive bud at your centre, circling it with a gentle, teasing pressure that matched the rhythm of his fingers inside you. The dual sensations were nearly overwhelming, your body trembling on the edge of release.
As he brought you closer and closer to the brink, his lips found yours once more, swallowing your moans and gasps. His tongue tangled with yours, mimicking the movement of his fingers, the rhythm of his thrusts.
Each stroke of his fingers was a masterpiece of sensation, winding you tighter and tighter until you were teetering on the edge of release. Your body was alight with pleasure, every nerve ending singing with the intensity of it.
You could feel the tension building, coiling deep within you, each touch and stroke stoking the flames higher. Your hips moved of their own accord, bucking and writhing, seeking more of the delicious friction.
Harwin responded with a low groan, his fingers moving faster, harder, his thumb circling your clit with increasing pressure. The sensations were almost too much to bear, your body trembling and shaking as you reached for the peak.
And then, with a final curl of his fingers, you were tumbling over the edge. The climax hit you like a tidal wave, crashing over you with a force that left you gasping and shaking, your body clenching around his fingers as you came undone.
As the wave of pleasure subsided, Harwin placed a gentle kiss on your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment before he pulled away. "Please," you whispered again, your voice soft and breathless in the quiet of the room.
He tilted his head to look down your body at your hand, one finger slipping just below the waistline of his trousers. His breath hitched at the sight, his body tensing as he realised what you were asking.
Your fingers toyed with the fabric, tracing the hard planes of his stomach, the coarse trail of dark hair that disappeared beneath his waistband. You could feel the heat of his skin, the tension coiled in his muscles as he held himself perfectly still above you.
Slowly, teasingly, you slipped your hand beneath the fabric, your fingers brushing against the hard length of him. He was hot and heavy against your palm, his body responding to your touch with a shudder.
You circled him with your fingers, exploring the texture and shape of him with a gentle, teasing pressure. He pulsed in your hand, his breath coming in ragged pants as he fought for control.
With a soft, encouraging squeeze, you guided him closer, your eyes locked on his as you wordlessly invited him to take what he needed. He hesitated for a moment, his body trembling with the effort of holding back.
But then, with a low, shuddering groan, he gave in. His fingers fumbled with the buttons of his trousers, his hands shaking with anticipation as he worked to free himself from the confining fabric.
As the last button came undone, he pushed the trousers down over his hips, his hard length springing free. He was fully exposed to you now, his body laid bare before your gaze.
You took him in your hand, your fingers wrapping around his girth with a gentle, teasing pressure. He was hot and heavy in your palm, his skin like velvet over steel, pulsing with the beat of his heart.
Your touch was electric, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through his body. He bucked into your hand, his hips moving of their own accord as he sought more of the delicious friction.
His eyes were locked on yours, dark and intense, filled with a desperate hunger that matched your own. You could see the need in his gaze, the desire that had been building between you for so long, finally given free rein.
With a soft, encouraging squeeze, you guided him closer, your eyes locked on his as you wordlessly invited him to take what he wanted. He hesitated for a moment, his body trembling with the effort of holding back.
But then, with a low, shuddering groan, he gave in, his hips bucking forward as he pushed into your hand. His eyes fluttered closed, his head falling back as he lost himself in the sensation of your touch.
You watched him, mesmerised by the play of emotions across his face, the pleasure, the relief, the desperate hunger. It was intoxicating, the power you held over him in that moment, the trust he placed in you as he let himself go.
With a final, decisive movement, Harwin kicked his trousers off, leaving him fully naked before you. There was no more hesitation, no more holding back. The consequences of his actions no longer mattered in the face of his overwhelming desire for you.
He moved towards you with a newfound purpose, his eyes dark with intent. You could see the determination in his gaze, the raw, primal need that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long.
He repositioned himself on the bed, his large frame looming over you as he settled between your thighs. You could feel the heat of his skin against yours, the weight of him pressing you into the mattress.
His hands skimmed up your sides, tracing the curves of your body with a possessive touch. He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "I need you, more than I've ever needed anything in my life, Princess.”
His words sent a shiver down your spine, a thrill of anticipation coursing through your veins. You arched up into his touch, your body responding to his words with a fierce, aching need.
He took your mouth in a rough kiss, his tongue tangling with yours as he poured all of his desire, all of his longing, into the embrace. You could feel the urgency in his touch, the desperation that had finally been unleashed.
As he broke the kiss, his eyes locked on yours, asking a silent question. In response, you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, urging him to take you.
With a low groan, he surrendered to his desire, his hips bucking forward as he buried himself deep inside you. You gasped at the sensation, the feeling of being filled, completed by him, both overwhelming and intoxicating.
As he began to move, his thrusts were slow and deep, each one seeming to strike a chord within you. You could feel the tension building again, coiling tighter and tighter with each movement of his hips.
His hands roamed your body, tracing the curves of your hips, the swell of your breasts. He touched you as if he were trying to memorise every inch of your skin, as if he couldn't get enough of the feel of you.
You met his thrusts with your own, your hips rising to meet his, your bodies moving in perfect sync. The only sounds in the room were the mingled symphony of your moans and the creak of the bed beneath you.
As the tension built, his thrusts became faster, harder, each one seeming to push you closer and closer to the edge. You could feel the urgency in his movements, the desperation as he sought his own release.
But Harwin had the stamina of a seasoned warrior, and he was determined to bring you to the peak of pleasure again and again, his own form to torture for your past teasing. And torture you, he did.
His hips snapped against yours, his body moving with a relentless, driving rhythm. Each thrust was deeper, harder, more intense than the last, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body.
You could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter, your body wound as taut as a bowstring. Your moans turned to cries, your fingers digging into his skin as you urged him on.
Still, he didn't stop, his body moving with a tireless, unrelenting energy. He drove into you again and again, each thrust pushing you closer to the brink.
You could feel the pleasure building, the tension rising and tighter until it finally snapped, sending you tumbling over the edge into pure, blissful release.
Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you, each one more intense than the last. Your body clenched around him, your climax drawn out by his relentless thrusts until you were left trembling and boneless beneath him.
But even as you felt him coming closer to the edge, his own release tantalisingly within reach, he displayed an incredible show of willpower. With a low groan, he pulled out, sitting back on his knees between your legs.
His chest heaved with the effort, his skin glistening with sweat. He fisted his length in his hand, his fingers wrapping around the base as he began to stroke himself.
You watched him, enamoured by the sight. His hand moved with the same relentless, driving rhythm that had brought you to the peak of pleasure so many times.
His eyes were locked on yours, dark and intense, filled with a desperate hunger that matched your own. You could see the effort it took for him to hold back, to maintain that razor-thin edge of control.
As he continued to stroke himself, his breath came in ragged pants, his muscles tensing as he fought for control. You could see the tension building, coiling tighter and tighter until it finally snapped, his release spilling over his fist and onto your stomach.
In the aftermath, he sat back on his heels, his chest heaving with the effort. His eyes were still locked on yours, a silent communication passing between you.
"Next time," you whispered breathlessly, your finger trailing up the mess he had left on your stomach. "This stays inside."
He collapsed onto the bed next to you, pulling you close. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, his eyes sparkling with amusement and affection.
He met your gaze, his eyes still twinkling with that same mix of amusement and affection. His lips curved into a full-blown smile, both tender and teasing at the same time. He kissed your neck.
"Is that a command, Princess?" he asked, his voice low and playful. "Because I think I could be persuaded to obey." He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "Next time, I'll make sure it stays inside. Every last drop."
His words sent a shiver down your spine, a thrill of anticipation coursing through your veins. You knew that he meant every word, and the promise of what was to come was almost enough to make you lose your breath all over again.
"I should make you a bath," he whispered into your hair, his voice warm and tender.
You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, a blush staining your skin at his words. But you met his gaze unflinchingly, a playful smile on your own lips.
"I think I'd like that," you replied, your voice soft and teasing.
He chuckled, the sound low and rich in the quiet of the room. He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before untangling himself from your embrace.
As he slipped from the bed, you couldn't help but admire the play of muscles across his back, the strength, and power evident in every line of his body. He moved with
The love between a father and his daughter could often be a complicated one, but to Ser Harwin Strong it was anything but. The love he felt for his daughter was constant, a roaring ferocity that could rival the temper of Aegon the Conqueror’s very own dragon, Balerion. Since the moment she had been placed in his arms, the moment his brown eyes clashed with her lilac eyes, everything had made sense. He wasn’t born to be his father’s heir, to become a lord of a boring old castle… no.
Ser Harwin Strong was born to be a father.
He could never be ashamed of this. He desired to be a father more than he ever wished to rule over a castle that was haunted by the memories of previous generations that had committed heinous acts. When he was surround by his children; three sons and one precious daughter… what more could a man possibly wish for?
Y/n Velaryon had been the image of her mother in personality. From their stubbornness, their rebellious nature and their sharp tongue that could tear into the skin of their enemies, many believed that Rhaenyra had given birth to another version of herself in all but looks, but Harwin had been able to see parts of himself in his daughter.
Her brown hair was the same shade as his own head of curls, her mischievous smile that she wore when up to no good resembled his own cheeky grin, her protective nature over her family was just like his protectiveness over his brothers, and even the way she played with stray strands of fabric that hung from her clothes when nervous, that was all Harwin.
Y/n Velaryon was her mother’s daughter without a doubt, but to Harwin she would always be his precious little girl.
-
The day that Harwin had attacked Cole, after Cole had insulted his children and their mother, the day that he had been forced the step down from his role as Lord Commander of the City Watch was an incredibly painful day for Harwin. This was not because he had lost an honourable position within the Seven Kingdoms, but because his father had made the decision to send him back to Harrenhal in order to mould him into a suitable heir that would inherit Harrenhal one day.
Harwin would be forced to leave all of his children behind. He would scarcely be able to send ravens in fear of them being intercepted which would cause harm to his children and Rhaenyra. And most of all… he would never get to see his children grow up into honourable men and a beautiful, strong young woman.
The news of Ser Harwin’s leaving had left many upset, but none had been more upset than Princess Y/n Velaryon.
“Stay,” her quiet voice was full of hurt but Harwin was able to hear the commanding tone which caused him to stop and look down at her. “I-I am a Princess, the future Heir to the throne. Grandsire will listen to my wishes. H-He never denies me—.”
Harwin’s face relaxed as a soft smile appeared on his lips. He crouched down beside Y/n, speaking low but loud enough for Y/n to hear him clearly.
“I appreciate your kind words, Princess, but the choice I made to defend yourself, to defend your brothers and to defend your mother came with consequences, consequences I would gladly suffer in the name of protecting you.”
Y/n’s lilac eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she bit her bottom lip, a sign that she was close to breaking her composure.
“Then I shall send Cole away, too. H-He started all of this! He’s the reason that you are leaving! He’s the reason that you are leaving me!” Y/n lunged forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, her tears soaking his tunic. “Please don’t leave me…”
The last word made Harwin’s world stop.
“Father.”
Harwin pulled away as if he had been burnt. The one word that he had wished for any of his children to call him, no matter how selfish it would make him, had finally been said.
He looked down at Y/n with shock, and she returned his gaze with a tearful smile.
“Ser Laenor is my Papa, but you are my father.”
Tears of joy and love flowed from his eyes as Harwin pulled Y/n back into his arms. He would never forget this moment, the moment that he was finally recognised as what he had always wished to be.
He would never forget.
Not when saying his final goodbyes.
Not when returning to Harrenhal.
And not even as he took his final breath within the fiery depths of Harrenhal.
In his short lifespan, Harwin had gained the one thing he had wanted most of all; a family of his own. And his sweet little girl, his precious Y/n, made that very clear to him. He only wished that all of his family would live long, happy and fruitful lives before they would reunite with him.
Yet, the Gods were ever so cruel.
-
Harwin had fbeen reunited with Lucerys first. His small figure was soaking wet and shivering, his skin pale and sunken, and his right arm completely missing. Harwin had seen many disturbing sights in his lifetime, but none compared to the sight of his son.
“Lucerys.”
The boy turned around, his scared eyes relaxing slightly at the sight of Harwin. Within seconds, Lucerys’ appearance changed into a healthy looking young boy. His skin was full of colour, his missing arm returned, but he was still terrified.
“Aemond. Vhagar,” Lucerys whispered. “I left her. She will never forgive me.”
Harwin approached him and gently placed his hand on Lucerys’ shoulder, the young boy flinching. Harwin’s heart broke as he moved his hand away.
“Who will never forgive you?”
Lucerys looked up at him. “Y/n. When you died, she never forgave you. You left us, abandoned her when she begged you to stay… And now I’ve done the same.”
Sobbing rang throughout his ears, the heart wrenching sounds belonging to his mother and his sister.
“Your sister will never hate you,” Harwin told him. “Y/n will avenge your death. I know she will, because she is my blood,” Harwin looked Lucerys in the eyes. “You are my blood. That much I know for sure.”
-
The second to greet him was Jacaerys. His firstborn son, his little boy. His son resembled Lucerys when he first arrived, wet to the bone, skin pale and sunken, but his body was covered in crimson blood, puncture wounds covering his arms, his neck, even his face, making it clear how he had been killed. His brown hair was matted against his forehead and his face was filled with anguish.
“No! I promised them! I swore I would return safely!” Jacaerys yelled into the sky. “Return me to them! Baela is awaiting me! Y/n is calling me! Mother needs me! Send. Me. Back!”
Yet, Jacaerys’ appearance changed into a handsome young man that Harwin swore resembled himself in his teenage years.
“The Gods are cruel, my son,” Harwin told him, approaching him full of caution. “They take and they take, no matter who it hurts the most.”
Jacaerys finally looked to Harwin, his own brown eyes meeting very familiar brown eyes. However, Jacaerys had changed from the sweet boy that Harwin knew.
“And yet the Gods choose to make Mother suffer! To make Baela lose her love! To make Y/n lose another brother! What kind of Gods allow this to happen?!”
Harwin stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Jacaerys, who stiffened in his arms. And just like his sister many years before, Jacaerys broke down into sobs.
“You will reunite with them soon enough, my son,” Harwin whispered. “This, I swear to you.”
-
Next came Joffrey, his body bent and broken, missing many limbs. Scratches littered his soft skin, sections of his brown curls had been pulled off of his scalp. His body was covered in crimson liquid, and Harwin wasn’t sure where Joffrey wasn’t bleeding from. Compared to Lucerys and Jacaerys, Joffrey had died a slow, painful death at the hands of the Small People.
“My sweet son,” Harwin whispered in horror. “What have they done to you?”
Joffrey looked to Harwin, no recognition in his eyes, only fear. His body tensed up, his broken bones causing him to yelp in pain.
“Don’t hurt me! Please, I have nothing left!” He sobbed, believing that he was still alive and that Harwin wished to cause him harm. “You have taken everything, I-I have nothing.”
Joffrey’s voice was full of defeat, his body shaking with sobs as he clutched his head, rocking back and forth as he repeated his words.
The last time Harwin had seen Joffrey was when he was just born, and now he was a young boy, too young to suffer the causes of war, and too young to die the way he did. With his eyes filled with pain, Harwin crouched down beside Joffrey.
“I would never hurt you,” his voice was soft, but completely serious, which made Joffrey look at him. “We have met once before… after your birth. You won’t remember me, but your elder siblings have told you stories of me, especially Y/n.”
At the mention of his siblings, Joffrey’s began to sob once again.
“Jace! Luke! Y/n/n is all alone now!”
Joffrey allowed Harwin to hold him as he cried for his siblings, mourning Jace and Luke, and crying for the fate of Y/n.
“Your sister is strong, little one,” Harwin spoke softly. “She won’t be alone. She has young Aegon and Viserys, and she has your Mother.”
Joffrey sniffled as he looked up at Harwin. “Ser Harwin. Y/n told me stories of you.”
Harwin’s eyes filled with tears at the mention that Y/n actually had told stories of him to Joffrey. Yet, Harwin bit back his sobs and smiled down at Joffrey. “Come, let us reunite with your brothers.”
With that, Joffrey’s appearance changed into a boy that resembled Lucerys. His pudgy cheeks were soft once again, his skin unblemished, his head of curls intact. He had accepted his death, and now he could only move on with his family.
-
Harwin didn’t expect to meet the lilac eyes of his daughter so soon. He cautiously stood at a distance, his eyes taking in her appearance. Her clothes were burnt to a crisp, her hair completely gone, her once smooth skin scared by the fire of a dragon. Her hands were clenched by her sides, her lilac eyes the only thing that made her recognisable.
“Y/n…”
Y/n wasn’t able to cry, the pain too intense. She could barely move her lips, but she managed even though her voice was broken, barely audible.
“F-Father?”
Harwin broke into sobs at the sight of his girl. “My precious daughter, what have they done to you?”
Y/n’s eyes watered, but no tears were able to fall.
“Sunfyre. Had to protect Mother and Aegon…” her lips formed a smile. “Mother can rule now.”
With that, Y/n’s appearance changed into the form of her previous self. The previous image of herself before she had flown to Dragonstone, before she had jumped off of her dragon and before she had sacrificed herself in her Mother’s place. The last sight she saw was her Mother’s horrified look as Y/n’s dragon bit the head off of Sunfyre and burnt everything around him, mourning his rider’s death.
“My precious, brave girl,” Harwin smiled tearfully, hugging her tightly. “Why did you have to return so soon?”
Y/n pulled back and looked at him. “Why did you have to leave me so soon?”
Harwin rested his hand on her cheek, rubbing his thumb across her cheek. “I shall never leave you again.”
You unraveled under Harwin’s large frame, losing yourself in the fantasy that you were loved and cherished by a man who found his pleasure in giving you your own.
Series Masterlist ❖ Main Masterlist ❖ House Of The Dragon Masterlist
Rating: 18+
Word Count: ~700
Summary: Rhaenyra comes up with a "brilliant" idea, but you're not the biggest fan of it.
Warnings: Angst, language, fluff (so much fluff!)
A/N: The song GUY.exe by Superfruit was my inspiration.
Next Chapter ⟹
You were done with men. Absolutely done. It was the fourth date you’d been on that week, and it was an utter failure. Apparently, men didn’t like when a woman was smarter than them.
“Ughhhhhh,” you groaned, lightly banging your head against your desk.
“If you keep doing that, you’re going to lose some brain cells,” came a voice from the doorway. You looked up and glared at your best friend.
“Fuck off, Rhae,” you shot back. You and Rhaenyra had been best friends since university, bonding over your mutual love for cake – particularly lemon cake. You’d both fought over the last piece in the cafeteria, with you being victorious, but you decided to share with her, and the rest was history.
“Things not work out with, what was his name this time?”
“Tyland,” you answered.
“Ah, that’s right. Doesn’t he work in banking or something?”
“Yeah, but I guess he didn’t like the fact that I could do math faster than him.” Rhaenyra scoffed and rolled her eyes.
“Of course not. Men like him are all high and mighty until they’re not.” You let out a sigh and sat up.
“Whatever, I’m over it,” you replied. “I don’t have the time or patience to do this anymore. Not when I have so much going on with work.”
“Oh yeah? How’s that going?”
“It’s going. It could always be better, but we’re making progress.”
“What are you working on now?”
“Just working on fine-tuning the AI and ironing out a few bits of code.” Rhaenyra sat down on the couch in your office and stretched her arms.
“Sounds soooooo fun,” she said, sarcasm dripping from her voice. “Robots are going to take over the world one day, and it’ll all be your fault.”
“Ha ha, so funny,” you said, throwing a crumpled piece of paper at her head.
“Seriously, the robots you guys make are so lifelike that you wouldn’t even know they weren’t human until they opened their mouths.”
“Yeah, well, it’s called innovation. Besides, the AI we’re designing is meant to learn,” you retorted. “It’s called programming.”
“Yeah yeah yeah. I’m just saying,” she said with a shrug. “Anyway, I didn’t come over for a science lecture. Want to drown your sorrows in some cake and ice cream? This new place opened downtown and the food there looks delicious.”
You laughed at the expression on your best friend’s face.
“With how much you talk about cake, you might as well live in a bakery.”
Rhaenyra scowled at you and got up. “Whatever, like you’re one to talk.”
You laughed as you started putting on your shoes.
“Cake hasn’t let me down so far,” you chuckled. “There’s no risk of heartbreak and will always be there for me.”
“True,” she said , standing up. As you went to grab your keys, you heard her snap her fingers. “Seven hells, I just had the most brilliant idea!”
“What?”
“You should just make yourself a boyfriend!”
“What?”
“Yeah! You have means to do it. Well, almost..”
“That’s a stupid idea,” you said, rolling your eyes are her mediocre suggestion.
“No, it’s not! You could totally do it,” she encouraged. “You’re a fucking genius. Come on, don’t tell me that the thought hasn’t crossed your mind before.”
“It hasn’t, actually,” you said, waving her off.
“You know it’s a great idea. Admit it.”
“Rhae, I am not going to waste my research and work on synthesizing myself a boyfriend. There are better things I could do with my time and effort.”
“Pfft, whatever. Just think – you wouldn’t have to deal with egotistical men or go on dates that are bound to fail. You would have the perfect guy.”
“I guess… It’s still a stupid idea though.”
“Pssh, it’s totally not. I’m just as much of a genius as you.”
“Uh huh,” you said with a shake of your head. “You keep telling yourself that.”
As the two of you made your way to your car, you couldn’t help but think about Rhaenyra’s idea a little more.
