Their Love Languages:

Vermithor smiling at Hugh after murdering a bunch of people☠️

I can't help but giggle every time a reality shifter says shit instead of shift

Vermithor: I value bravery and courage in the face of danger

Silverwing: This one’s so sad and pathetic. I’ve decided he’s my poor little meow meow

Hiiii hope ur well

would u mind doing a darkling x moon summoner fix like she’s disguised as the queens gorgeous lady in waiting but she’s really the kings personal gaurd/assassin.

and aleksander finds out about her when she saves alina from the attack on the way to the little palace.

and of course u have free rein whether u want to continue this or have a jealous trope with Alina and I won’t shy away from smut lol (I’d love a scene where the moon summoner catches the contucdor at the winter fete and helps control his mind to get answers)

thank youuuu

SWEET ANON! i want to preface this with an apology, because it took me so long to write... and it is... a very long piece of writing. i hope it meets the mark though. it might be one of my personal faves that i've written. i love u <33

AS ALWAYS, PLEASE SEND IN REQUESTS <333333

warnings: canon typical violence, some angst

word count: 10.5k

The Dark Side of The Moon (aleksander morozova x fem! moon summoner! reader)

READ PART TWO HERE

He needed you.

No, he didn’t need you, he reasoned with himself. He just… really wanted you. 

His hands were still in position, but The Cut he intended to use was long forgotten and faded. You stood behind him and he gaped at you from over his shoulder. You looked as lovely as ever, but even more so now that power was thrumming just underneath your skin, so freshly used. 

The Fjerdan that had been a part of the ambush on the road back to Os Alta, lay over Alina with a smoking, gaping hole blown through his chest. 

The girl pushed the body off of her in a panicked manner, and you dashed past the Black General and grabbed onto both of her hands to pull her to her feet gently. 

“Breathe, breathe, Sankta Alina. You are safe.” You assured her and she stared up at you with wide eyes. 

“Who are you?” She asked, almost belligerently. 

You opened your mouth to answer her question and General Kirigan let out a low hum from behind the two of you. 

“Yes, Lady y/n. Who are you, indeed?” He asked, walking towards you as if you were simply his prey. 

He couldn’t help the glee that settled in his stomach when he looked at you and Alina. His Sun Summoner had finally been found. He could have gotten by with just her. And then there you were. 

His Moon Summoner of legend. No one knew for certain if there was to be a Moon Summoner one day or if it was just tales of a desperate man, but The Black Heretic knew for certain that now he was indefinitely unstoppable. 

“Are you insane, General Kirigan?” You asked angrily and he came back to the present moment to see that you’d wrapped your arms around Alina’s shoulders and pulled her against your chest while she let out sighs of distress.

You weren’t taller than the girl, if anything you were a few inches shorter, and this was an amusing sight for him to watch. You snapped a few times in his direction and you shook your head. 

“You could’ve gotten her killed! Why didn’t you ride off alone with her?” You demanded and then you let go of the girl and rubbed your forehead, “Saints, Kirigan. She’s the Sun Summoner.”

You and him had always gotten along nicely, truth be told. You posed as the Queen’s Lady in Waiting, and whenever there were large events that the General would attend, you two often had friendly conversations. But you weren’t really just the Queen’s Lady in Waiting. And The General knew this. You served as the King’s personal assassin. 

You’d never had to do much more than keep an eye on the man, thankfully, because in instances like that, you’d have to use your power. The power you tried to keep hidden. 

When The King had heard word of the Sun Summoner being brought to the Capital, he’d sent you off to make sure that she and the General and his Grisha made it home safely. 

He was right for that evidently. 

The General didn’t seem to like your outburst and he approached the two of you and he reached up to twist a bit of your hair around his finger curiously. Silver strands glowed in the aftermath of your vicious outburst of power and he dropped the piece of your hair.  

“Were you ever going to tell anyone that you are the Moon Summoner?” He asked slowly and you felt Alina’s eyes on your face. 

You glanced up at the girl in front of you and then over your shoulder at Kirigan and you shook your head. 

“No. Because I didn’t want to just be a saint. I’m much more than that, as you can see.” You said quietly and he hummed. 

“Indeed you are, Lady y/n.” He said lowly and then he nodded to Alina, “She rides with me. Did you ride here on a horse?” He asked. 

You gave him a nod and pointed at a white horse in the distance, speckled with grey. 

“Excuse me? Can someone please explain what’s going on here?” Alina asked desperately and the two of you turned to her. 

He beat you to answer her and he held his hand out for Alina, waiting for her to tentatively grab onto it. 

“I have found my two lovely Saints now.  All is right in the world.” He said with a grin and you felt a sense of unease in your stomach upon seeing his toothy grin. 

-

The ride back to Os Alta was mostly silent. You had gone off ahead of the two on your horse, determined to get to the Capital as quickly as you could so that you could hurry yourself up to the Queen and spend the rest of the day in hiding. You knew what would happen if you ever revealed yourself. You’d be thrown to the wolves. Everyone would know your name, everyone would want to use you. From a young age, you’d learned to keep your powers a secret, and to only practice them alone. 

As soon as your horse rode up onto the gravel path in front of the Little Palace, you jumped from your still moving horse and you gathered your cloak up and quickly ran towards the Grand Palace. You stumbled inside and slammed the doors behind you, despite guards trying to filter out to get outside to meet the General and the Sun Summoner. You pushed your way through a few guards until you got to the grand staircase and bustled up the marble stairs. 

Once in the hallway, you smoothed down your riding clothes and walked quietly towards the King’s study. You tapped the door before you opened it and you stood in the doorway, peering in at the King and Prince Vasily who sat inside. You bowed your head respectfully and cleared your throat.

“Your Grace, I’ve delivered them safely. There were Fjerdans, just as you predicted, my Prince.” You reported and the two men nodded their heads. 

“Thank you, My Lady. Please. Clean yourself up and return yourself to my mother’s side at once.” Vasily ordered and you didn’t protest. 

Within the hour you’d gotten yourself thoroughly cleaned up and dressed with the help of a few servants, and you faithfully returned to your Queen’s side. 

You didn’t mind the Queen. Not at all, really. She was a bit of an airhead and as vain as can be, but you much preferred her company to her husband’s or even Vasily. You didn’t even mind Nikolai, though you hadn’t seen the boy in many, many years. 

You sat in silence next to the Queen for most of the afternoon as she had tea and read through her books, and you felt relieved to be away from the Grisha. Away from Alina Starkov. Away from General Kirigan. 

Just as the thought of all three had slipped your mind, The General begged for your attention once more and you and the Queen both turned your head to the doorway of the Library to see Kirigan standing there. He bowed his head respectfully to the queen and he bent his knee ever so slightly. 

“My Queen. May I steal your lovely Lady away for just a moment or two?” He asked, and the Queen raised an eyebrow.  

“Why? What business do you have with her?” She asked and you wanted to swear under your breath. He was going to tell her, surely. 

The reveal didn’t come, and instead, he gave a simple excuse. 

“I think Miss Starkov needs someone kind and.. well… perhaps non Grisha to speak to. This new life must be hard for her and it’s even harder when there’s only reminders trying to soothe you.” He explained calmly, but you could see the way his fingers fidgeted behind his back from how his forearms flexed underneath his kefta. 

“I suppose. Have her back by the time we finish dinner please.” She requested and the General nodded once and held his hand out for you. 

“After you, Lady y/n.” He said primly. 

You looked down at the Queen miserably and stood up. You held the skirts of your dress up off of the ground as you strode towards Kirigan, and you politely took his arm. 

He led you away from the library, and as soon as you were out of earshot of the Queen, he cleared his throat. 

“So. I believe a discussion is in order about your… abilities.” He said slowly and you shook your head. 

“No. I don’t want to talk about them. I want you to forget about them. Please. They’re mine and mine alone.” You said softly. 

Kirigan placed a hand at the small of your back and he very gently nudged you towards the doors that would take you outside to the Little Palace. 

“You are a gift to this world, y/n. Why hide it? You, Alina, and I could accomplish so much. We could tear down the fold, we could further expand it, we could bring the sun and the moon down to touch the earth. Yet you deny Ravka of these wonders. Why?” He asked and stepped outside with you. He carefully guided you down a small set of stairs and you shrugged. 

“I don’t know,” you said cautiously. Or perhaps it was fearfully. You weren’t sure. 

“Well, you’d be doing a great service to this great country by embracing who you are meant to be… what was it you called Alina? Ah yes. Sankta y/n.” He finished and you shuddered at the sound of it. 

There was power dripping from the title he gave you and you would be lying if you said it didn’t appeal to you somewhat. But you quickly shook the thought away from your head and instead decided to become fascinated with a fraying bit of lace on the bodice of your dress. 

“I don’t know, General.” You finally replied as the two of you walked into the Little Palace. 

“You’re destined for great things, my Moonbeam.” He said softly and then took one of your hands in his, stopping you in the middle of an empty hallway, “You don’t have to agree, but I would encourage you to accept your Grisha side and come here to train with Alina. We three are destined for something ethereal.” He said gently and reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.  

Little butterflies erupted in your stomach and your mouth was suddenly dry. 

“I’ll think about it.” You whispered, and he brushed a thumb over your cheek as he pulled his hand away from your hair 

“Good girl. I know you’ll make the right decision.

-

Whether it was the right decision or not, you did in fact choose to join Kirigan. When you told him, he was elated. In his own way. His dark eyes gleamed proudly and he had taken you by the hand and promised you greatness, and truthfully, you believed he’d deliver. 

But training was simply kicking your ass.

You knew how to handle your powers, that wasn’t hard. But to advance them and use them in ways you’d never even imagined? That was hard. 

Typically, you’d spend most of your time around Kirigan as he insisted that he was best to train you, but sometimes you were stuck going down to the training yard or to Baghra. 

Baghra was a woman full of disdain and had a certain distaste for you, it seemed. Sometimes it was as if she was trying to scare you away from your training entirely. 

Like right now, for instance. 

You sat with your legs crossed in a shabby little wooden chair while the old woman paced the room in silence. You wanted to ask her what she was pacing for, but you didn’t want to face her wrath. So you instead watched her go back and forth, like a slow, unsteady pendulum. 

Finally her eyes met yours and she stopped moving, her thin lips becoming even thinner as she pursed them together. 

“I’m no longer sure what to do with you, admittedly.” She said, her words slow and well thought upon. 

You arched an eyebrow curiously and she only shrugged and sat across from you, folding her bony hands properly across her lap. 

“You know what you’re doing. That’s more than Alina can say. But you aren’t great. You won’t hardly be successful or powerful. Do you know why?” 

You didn’t verbally ask her to tell you why. You only leaned forward a bit and held your hands out questioningly. 

She tutted at you and then she leaned back a bit in her chair.

“You’re doing this for all the wrong reasons, so when you’re faced with the reality of the situation, you are no longer motivated to use your power accordingly. I think that would have a lot to do with The General, wouldn’t you think so?” She asked, almost accusingly. 

“The finger pointing is a bit juvenile, isn’t it, Baghra?” You asked in a flat tone, “If you have an accusation to make, best be direct.”

It was her turn to cock an eyebrow now and she let out a little scoff. 

“Alright then, little girl, let me be frank. You are doing this because of your attraction to the General. Not because you want to tear down The Fold. Alina may not be good with her power yet, but make no mistake; she wants only to liberate this country. What do you want? A moment of approval from a man? A pat on the head like a kitten?” 

You slowly rose from the chair and you towered over the woman, shaking your head, your jaw setting tersely. 

“Preposterous. You cannot possibly fathom why I am doing this.”

“Correct, girl. I cannot fathom what motivates you. I never claimed to. All I claimed to know is what you’re doing it for. Tell me this: do you believe that this will bring you the affection you crave?” 

You stared her down incredulously before you shook your head.

“This is absurd. I am leaving.” You snapped and turned sharply. 

You stormed towards the door, your fingertips vibrating just slightly, and when you looked down, silvery light made your skin light up ever so slightly. You grit your teeth and pushed open her door and walked out, making sure to slam it behind you. 

You didn’t crave his affection. You didn’t want a pat on the head.

You walked off up to the courtyard, lost in angry thought. 

Come to think of it though, The Fold had hardly crossed your mind during the weeks of training you’d been subjected to. Kirigan never spoke of it when you two were together. Most of the time you’d spent with him was just… casual conversation between two friends. Sometimes he’d give you his hand and allow you to mess around with your power with the aid of his amplification. 

But otherwise, it wasn’t much else more. 

You slowed your steps until you were stopped entirely near the doors to the Little Palace and you blinked a few times. 

There was no way that Baghra was right. But she wasn’t really wrong, either. 

Why were you doing this? 

That was the question that kept you up that night. 

-

You laid in your bed across the hall from the Queen’s room and you tossed and turned for the whole two hours you were laying down. 

Your mind raced relentlessly, replaying what Baghra had earlier said, her words echoing like church bells in your head. 

You groaned frustratedly and you pushed yourself up out of bed and reached out in the dim light of the moon to grab onto your robe that hung from one of the posts on your bed. You tossed it around your shoulders and slid your arms into the thin sleeves and tied it up tightly. You moved your hair over one shoulder and slid on a pair of flat, slipper-like shoes, and you rushed out of your bedroom. 

You’d go wake Alina. That’s what you’d do. Talk to her about this entire thing, hear what she would have to say about it. You sighed quietly and walked down through the winding halls of the Grand Palace until you reached the double doors that led out to the Little Palace. You padded out over the grounds and you glanced around cautiously, chewing on your bottom lip. 

When you finally got inside of the Little Palace, you walked determinedly down the hallway towards Alina’s room before you stopped at a crossroads. There was hardly any light in the halls at this time of the night, yet down the hallway that held Kirigan’s room, there was a sliver of light under his door. You glanced back at the hallway that would take you to Alina and you thought for a moment before you turned and walked hurriedly through a hallway. 

You didn’t even think or have half the mind to knock before you pushed open the doors to General Kirigan’s room. 

If the much taller man was surprised to see you intruding in his room, he didn’t make any indication of such a feeling. Instead, he just eyed you from his position, bent over his war table. You took a step inside his room and closed the doors behind you, letting out a long sigh. 

“Do you do this often to The Royal Family? Or are unannounced intrusions reserved for me?” He asked and then looked back down at his table. 

When you didn’t answer, he flickered his dark eyes back up to you and looked you up and down a few times, and suddenly you felt very naked underneath his gaze, despite being clothed.  

“I just… I…” you trailed off and suddenly felt very foolish to barge into his personal chambers without so much as a knock and you looked down at the ground. 

“You just what?” He demanded, but his tone wasn’t harsh. Only curious. 

“I couldn’t sleep. I don’t know. I intended on rousing Alina but I don’t know what happened. I just… found myself here.” You answered, your cheeks heating up in embarrassment. 

He continued to stare at you for a while and then he shook his head once, reaching out to beckon you forward.

“Well. Are you going to stand by the doors for the remainder of the night? Come join me over here.” He suggested and you slowly made your way across the floor to him. 

You felt a pang of nervousness in your chest. A new feeling around him. Usually you felt much more at ease around The Darkling, but now you just felt so small. 

You finally rounded the table to stand at his side, and you met his eyes which had followed you from the door to his side. 

“Would you like me to make you some tea?” He asked and reached out to twist a piece of your hair around his finger, a habit that he had made within the last few weeks. 

“No, I don’t think that would help much. But thank you.”

He looked down at you and he let out a sigh, “I am not sure why you came to me, then. I cannot lull you to sleep, my sweet moonbeam.” 

His words sent you fumbling for your own and you blinked a few times. You only shrugged in lieu of speaking and looked down at his war table. 

You watched him lift his arm out of your periphery and nearly jumped when you felt his hand gently touch the side of your face. He carefully turned your face towards his and he cradled your face against his palm. His touch was gentle, and you wondered if he’d ever been this delicate with anything in his life before. 

“Would you like that? Is that why you came to me? Did you want me to lull you to sleep? Soothe all your worries away?” He asked slowly. 

Though his words could easily have been mocking, his tone was light and kind and full of something you placed between want and concern. 

“I don’t know.” You whispered and nuzzled your cheek into the palm of his hand. 

He clicked his tongue against the top of his mouth, “That isn’t really an answer.” He commented. 

You knew it wasn’t. And you knew he was far too sharp to think otherwise. You couldn’t fool him, and you knew that. He could read you like an open book, he always could, even when you two were simple acquaintances. But you couldn’t really call yourselves acquaintances now. Could you even say friends? 

He trained you often, and much of your time was spent with the General, much more than with the Queen these days. He knew so much about you. Some from being told by you, some from guessing and confirmation from you, but mostly what he knew about you went unspoken. He knew you were lonely, he didn’t need to ask you that. He’d deduced it quickly after your time spent with him. 

You only kept your eyes on his nose and his thumb idly brushed back and forth against the side of your cheekbone, the contact making your skin tingle underneath his touch. 

You finally closed your eyes and focused on the faint sweeping noises the pad of his thumb made across your skin and a little sigh escaped your lips pleasantly. 

“What keeps you awake?” He asked very quietly, and you let out an equally quiet hum. 

“Many things. Perhaps I just don’t belong here. I lack purpose. I’m better off how I was before.”

His fingers curled around the back of your head and he pulled you a little bit closer to him. 

“You lack no such thing.” He protested. 

“Then what is my purpose? To help you tear down The Fold with Alina? To become a living Saint? I don’t want that. I don’t want to become a bedtime story. I was meant for more. I was meant for the things they leave out of bedtime stories.” You whispered and you could’ve sworn you heard his breath hitch. 

“Your purpose does not align with the Sun Summoner’s. Indeed you are correct. You were meant for more. She walks in the light. She walks with the light. You wait in the dark, you strike from the darkness where no one watches. You and I are more alike than you could ever imagine.” He said just above a whisper, but the quietness of his voice did nothing to conceal the intensity of which he spoke with. 

“I don’t know what I am.” You breathed and opened your eyes only to find his just inches away from yours. 

“You are the silver flicker of light in the dark and then you are the darkness.” He answered earnestly. 

You closed your eyes again, and as soon as you did, you were swept forward into his arms. He pulled your head against the center of his chest and wrapped his other arm around your middle. There was something oddly protective about his embrace and he ran his fingers through the hair at the back of your head. 

“Let me lull you to sleep, little one. You need a reprieve from your mind.” He insisted. 

You gave him a permissive nod against his chest and he very slowly walked you away from the table and he sunk down into an armchair. He pulled you down onto his lap and he lifted your legs up over the side of the chair. You curled your head against his chest much like a cat and you wrapped your arms loosely around his neck, your legs dangling over the side of the chair. 

You took in his scent as you buried your face against his clothes and were comforted to find that he smelled of leather and something of embers, and then something sweet yet faint that you couldn’t place. 

You opened your eyes when he grabbed one of your arms away from his neck and laid it against your chest before he reached up with the same hand and traced his fingertips against your skin, and a warm feeling washed over you. Everywhere his fingers touched, a silvery blue trail of light followed underneath your skin. 

“Sleep, little one.” He cooed and you closed your eyes again, obeying him. 

The last thing you remembered before sleep overcame you was his voice above your head, muttering what you recognized as sweet nothings in his native Ravkan tongue. 

He had indeed lulled you right to sleep. 

-

In the days after you had fallen asleep on him, The General had been very insistent that you were with him for the majority of your day. He claimed your skill set was of use to him, and truthfully, he was right. Even before you were his Moon Summoner, you were the King’s assassin, and you didn’t need your power for the things you’d accomplished there. 

Around his entourage and Corporalki, you were treated as if you were his most esteemed soldier. But behind closed doors and away from prying eyes, his intense and hard demeanor was gone and he was softer with you, kinder. He always had been kind to you, but this was different. It was a different type of kindness. 

The morning after you had fallen asleep on him, you awoke in his bed, the black sheets tucked around you with care. He hadn’t been in the bed next to you, but you hadn’t expected that of him. He was an early riser. 

You wondered if he had slept next to you at any point during the night. You couldn’t remember. In fact, you didn’t even remember him moving you to his bed. You wanted to ask him if he had, but it seemed listless. Even if he had, it hadn’t mattered. Or did it? Sharing a bed was typically something you only did with someone you trusted, and Kirigan didn’t seem like someone who’d just open his bed up to anyone. 

It was the best sleep you’d had in quite a long time, that was for certain. 

It was just past noon when you finally emerged from The Grand Palace and made your way to The Little Palace. You had pulled your hair up into an intricate braid and you fiddled with the ends of it as you walked. Once inside, you spotted Alina walking down the hall and you hurried up to her and gently grabbed her arm and gave her a little smile. 

She didn’t return the smile, instead she looked anxious and unhappy. You pulled her off to the side and stopped walking, eyeing her with concern. 

“Has something happened?” You asked and she sighed, a long sigh that had sounded like it had been pent up for a long time. 

“I’ve been informed I’m to showcase my… powers in front of everyone during The Winter Fete.” She said anxiously. 

You raised an eyebrow and then shook your head a few times, “Who told you this?” You asked, feeling a bit of frustration. If Alina was to showcase her talents, then surely you’d be asked to as well, and that was specifically not something you wanted to do. 

“Kirigan. David, too. Genya. All of them. I don’t want to be presented like a show pony.” She stated and then you sympathetically patted her arm. 

“I understand. No one does.” You agreed and she let out a short laugh and pulled her arm away from your gentle grasp. 

“Well. Why don’t you work your magic and tell Aleksander to call it off.” She suggested. 

You blinked in confusion and then you tipped your head to the side. 

“Aleksander? I’m afraid I don’t know an Aleksander.” You replied, eyes searching her face. 

“Kirigan. It’s his name. Aleksander. Did he not tell you?” She asked you as if it was one of the most common things to have known. 

“No?” 

Ouch.

In all the time you’d spent with The General getting closer to him, he’d never once told you his first name. He didn’t talk much about himself, and when he did it was vague, ambiguous. Everything about himself was left up to interpretation. 

He liked it that way, you noticed. It left more room for mystery. It kept anyone from crossing the brooding man, because simply no one knew definitely just who he was or just how ruthless or constrained he could be. 

“Oh. Well then perhaps don’t mention you heard it from me. I’ve got to get down to Baghra. Please just… do what you are able to about this situation. I am not ready to be a spectacle in front of Ravka.” She pleaded and then walked off. 

You stood against the wall for a moment, listening to her footsteps echo until they were gone entirely. An eclectic range of frustrations began to make your fingertips tingle and you pushed away from the wall. You walked with intent to The General’s room, your brow knitting together in annoyance. 

His door was the only thing that made you come to a stop and before you could decide against it, you pushed it open and stepped inside of his room. 

He didn’t have to look up to know who it was. You were the only one that dared come unannounced, after all. 

He sat at his desk on the far end of the room with a thin parchment letter in his hand and he didn’t tear his dark gaze off of the paper as he held his hand out in your direction. He outstretched his pointer and middle fingers and curled them in the air at you in a ‘come here’ motion and you did. 

You stomped petulantly towards his desk and you laid your hand down firmly on the desktop with a quiet thump. 

Now, you had his full attention. He lifted his inky eyes towards you slowly and he took in your appearance before he slowly laid the letter down. 

“You are upset.” He observed and you simply scoffed and folded your arms across your chest.

“What gave it away?” 

“Perhaps the stomping like a child. Or maybe it’s the fact that you can’t hide your emotions on your face. Do you intend on telling me why you’re cross? Or did you have another reason for this visit?” He asked and leaned backwards in his chair casually. 

“I don’t know, Aleksander. Maybe I just wanted to come in here and pout.” You snapped. 

Now it was his turn to fold his arms across his chest and he looked up at you with amusement, the same kind of amusement a parent would watch a fractious child with. 

“Ah, you’ve been speaking with Miss Starkov, it seems.” 

You stared at him in disbelief. That was it? That was all he had to say? You nearly stomped your foot down on the hard floor but refrained, not wanting his amusement to grow. 

“Why wouldn’t you have told me your name as well?” You asked, and you hadn’t realized how stupid you sounded until just now, but you had no intention of backing down at this point. 

“Would that have pleased you, lapushka?” He asked with a little grin and you snorted, turning your head away from him. 

“I don’t care. It’s your name. You do what you want with it. I just figured perhaps we were closer than that.”

“Why do you figure that? Because you fell asleep in my arms like a little kitten? Or because you woke in my bed?”

You felt your heart drop to your stomach and you turned towards him, a frown covering your lips. You didn’t answer him, you simply stared disdainfully into his caliginous eyes. His words had hit you like a slap across the face, so real that you almost wanted to hold your cheek. 

“Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t say you were unjust in feeling that way. I just asked if that was your reasoning to figure we were close.” He replied once he realized you weren’t going to speak. He clicked his tongue and rose up from his chair and stalked towards you, reaching out with a hand to grab your chin. 

“My ambiguity is one of my greatest layers of armor.” He started. 

But you cut him off. 

“Right. But you’ll tell the first pretty girl that catches your eye your name and give up that ambiguity. Very selective of you.” 

He unfurled his finger from his grip on your chin and he tapped your lips to silence you. 

“Sometimes, to soften someone to your liking, you must strip away a piece of your armor. Miss Starkov is apprehensive at best regarding her situation. You require no such softening.” He explained and you took notice of the fact that he hadn’t bothered to move his finger away from your lips. 

“You trust me, and for that I am lucky and I am grateful. I needn’t reveal bits of myself to you just to make you trust in me. You simply just do. Little Moon Saint, I don’t need to take off my armors around you. You take them off for me whenever we are alone, whether you realize it or not.”

You shook your head just slightly and gazed up at him, warmth gathering under his touch on your face. 

“I know hardly anything about you.” You whispered, “How can I be removing your armor when I know nothing about you still?”

He shushed you and he leaned closer to your face, to where you could feel the air coming softly from his nose and you closed your eyes for a brief second before opening them again. 

“Most things about me go unspoken. I like it that way. You don’t need to know my history to know me. You don’t need me to beg you to trust me. You don’t question the deaths caused by my hands, and you know very well I don’t question the lives taken by yours. I told you. We are more alike than you could ever imagine.” He explained, his voice lowering, almost in reverence now, “Everything inside of me wants for you.” 

This, you weren’t expecting. 

And if that was a surprise to hear, it was even more of a surprise to feel his lips crash down against your own. 

-

The day of The Winter Fete came quickly. Thankfully, Aleksander had shared your sentiments in not wanting to have you display your power for the party. In fact, he was quite adamant on you being a secret kept from the rest of the world away from the palaces. You were thankful for that. 

You’d practically been inseparable from him in the weeks since he’d kissed you. He’d kissed you a handful of times in the time since then, too. Somewhere in the realm of the things that went unspoken but were simply known between the two of you, it had become evident that there were strong feelings between both of you. 

You hardly shied away from those feelings. If anything you were diving headfirst into them, which it seemed he was doing the same, because he’d insisted a handful of times in the last few weeks that you stay and sleep with him in his room. 

You liked to think that you cured his loneliness in the same way he had cured yours but you hadn’t had any confirmation on your daydream. 

So, there you sat, perched upon his desk while he nimbly unboxed a long, black gown for you. He held it up for you to see and you hummed approvingly. It was black with threads of dark blue and silver embroidered onto it in swirls and star like patterns. You smiled up at him and raised an eyebrow at him. 

“What? No kefta for me? Do you think me to be delicate?” You teased and Aleksander let out a slow laugh before he laid the dress down on his bed and walked to you. He gently pulled you off of the desk and turned you around. He undid the buttons on the back of the current dress you wore and he tapped the back of your neck. 

“You are anything but delicate. Trust me. As much as I’d like to see you in a kefta, this isn’t the time for you to be revealed. You must keep up appearances, Lady y/n.” He explained and moved back only a step once your dress was undone. 

You blushed a bit and held the loose dress up to your chest, hesitating to take off your dress in front of him. 

Aleksander sensed this and he placed his hands gently on your elbows, “Would you like me to give you the room so that you can change in privacy?” He asked kindly, brushing his thumbs against your elbows. 

You shook your head. It’s not like you really minded, but you still had a set of nerves at the thought of undressing in front of the man you adored. 

You let out a very quiet, shaky breath and you let the dress fall away from your shoulders and you slowly stepped out of it, leaving you in only your underwear before him. You didn’t dare turn around, for if you did, Aleksander would’ve seen the horrific blush that covered your cheeks now. 

His hands found yours as they lay at your sides and he gently interlocked your fingers before he leaned forward and pressed a gossamer light kiss against the nape of your neck. You shivered under his lips and you could feel them curl into a smug smile against your skin. 

“I didn’t take you for the shy type, little one.” He murmured and very slowly lifted his lips away from your neck. 

You didn’t respond to him, you simply gave his hands a light squeeze, but much to your dismay, he pulled away and you heard him walk away from you. There was a swish of fabric behind you and then he was back, gently placing a hand on your waist to move you towards him a bit. He didn’t turn you around, and you were thankful for that.

Instead, he reached around you and held your dress in front of you for you to step into it. You were used to being dressed, it was common practice for you and had been for years because of your place at court. But this felt different, and though he was dressing you, you couldn’t help but feel as if Aleksander was at the core of it all, stripping you completely naked. There was a different kind of vulnerability to letting him dress you. 

You stepped into the dress and he slowly pulled it up over your hips and you slipped your arms into the sleeves and he lifted the bodice of the dress up over your shoulders completely and pulled it taut before he began to button up the long row of buttons at your back. After the last button was done up, he tied the ribbon at your waist tightly and then he encircled you in his arms from behind, tugging you backwards until you were pulled flush against his chest. 

“I wish desperately that I could parade you on my arm all night. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a color look so lovely on anyone.” He whispered, resting his chin down against your shoulder. 

You leaned the side of your head against his and you placed your hands down on top of his wrists. 

“And I wish that you could kiss me breathless in a room, far away from the party, but alas, it seems we have duties to attend to.”

“Such a shame, isn’t it?” He asked playfully and with a hint of reluctance, pulled away from you. 

You finally willed yourself to turn around and face him. 

A look of reverence crossed his face and he reached out to cup the side of your face in one hand. The look in his lightless eyes was unreadable, but you got the sense his stare was altogether pleasant. 

“Tell me something.” He murmured and reached out to brush the pad of his thumb across your bottom lip. 

“Hmm?”

“Do you trust me?” He asked, though you felt like he was asking something entirely different. The look in his eye told you that he didn’t want to know if you found him to be trustworthy. His words unspoken were louder than the ones he’d verbalized. 

No, he meant to ask ‘do you trust me with your heart?’

You searched his face for a long moment before you finally nodded once and you watched as a flicker of relief splashed across his face, and for a second, you swore his eyes sparkled with tears that had been long since blinked away. 

He leaned in to kiss your forehead once and he dropped his hand away from your face and walked to the wardrobe next to his bed. He pulled on the rest of his clothing, save for his kefta, and you sunk down on a little sofa next to his bed, pulling your legs up underneath you as you watched him. 

He adjusted the collar of his shirt and as he did, the sound of footsteps distracted you from watching the man get ready. 

“Ivan. My kefta.” He called out, but once you looked past him, you could see that Ivan was not in the room. Only Alina. 

She took his heavy kefta off of his war table and approached him with hesitancy, not saying a word. 

When he turned around, his face changed in surprise and he shook his head once. 

“You’re not Ivan.” He remarked. 

Alina looked down at the kefta in her arms and shifted a bit. 

“Sorry to disappoint.” 

“Do I sense a little disdain for my Heartrender?” Aleksander asked, clearly amused now. 

You lifted your hand up to rest against the side of the sofa and moved close to the edge, perching yourself to stand. 

“You know, once you get to know him, he’s actually quite funny.” He added and you very slowly rose to your feet, your dress swishing. 

It didn’t rouse either of their attentions. 

“I bet you find volcra hilarious.” Alina quipped, eyes transfixed intently on Aleksander. 

He gave her a smile and she nodded to the kefta in her arms. 

“May I?” She asked, unfolding the thick garment. 

“Thank you.” He replied and turned around, allowing the Sun Summoner to slide the kefta around his shoulders. 

You eyed them warily and stayed silent, your teeth searching for a bit of your cheek you could bite down on. 

“I hear you were able to focus and split light without the gloves.” He spoke, eyeing you as he got his kefta on with her help. 

“I appreciate the gesture, though.” She responded, and you pressed your lips together. 

You stepped in front of Aleksander and pulled the lapels of his kefta forward to adjust the coat, your brow furrowing only slightly. You didn’t miss the amused smile that made the corners of his lips curl upwards before he turned back towards Alina.

“Well, they were only a safeguard, really. In case of nerves.” He informed her, and you watched as the girl leaned slightly closer to Aleksander. 

Half of you had made peace with the fact that you and Aleksander didn’t make it incredibly public knowledge that you… were together? Was that even the right way to describe your situation? You didn’t know how to answer that. Yet, the other half of you, despite clarification on where you stood with him, wanted to pull him backwards and stand between the two of them. You almost gagged in spite of yourself. Or maybe it was in spite of them.

“I imagine there are few gatherings in Keramzin that involve such… spectacle.” He commented down at her and you wanted to speak up. Make them aware that you were still in the room. 

No. Don’t. You told yourself. 

“None, in fact.” Alina answered. 

She peered over his shoulder and caught your eyes. You weren’t sure of what your face looked like, but she widened her eyes and quickly moved away from him.

“But I’m actually not that nervous! I may have considered throwing myself down the stairs to get out of it once or twice.”  She left his bed chambers and much to your antipathy, he followed her. 

You stood back for a moment as they continued to chat before you gathered the skirts of your dress and walked through the doorway of his bed chambers and brushed past the two of them, squaring your shoulders as you passed by. You slipped out of the room with a sigh of annoyance and you walked down the hallway. You listened to the taps of your boots against the marble floors and you puffed out your cheeks. 

Jealousy wasn’t something that came naturally or easily to you. You’d always been sure of yourself, aware that you were likely the prettiest face in the room, confident in your abilities and powers. You were almost sick to admit that perhaps you were jealous of Alina. 

She got to be by his side tonight. She got to wear a kefta just like him. She got to be shown off to the rest of the world as Ravka’s saving grace. 

You didn’t want that for yourself. Not really. But you didn’t want it for her, either, selfishly. 

Did you even have a right to feel jealous? It’s not like Aleksander had explicitly said that you were his and he was yours. You felt fair in assuming such, but then again, you’d always been a little too sure of yourself. 

You simply shook the thought away and headed off to report to the Queen. 

-

“Oh, it’s nothing, moya tsaritsa. Only a little headache. I’ll be off to find a healer and back to the party before you know it.” 

Lie. 

You felt bad lying to the Queen as you rose from your seat next to her and scurried out of the room. You’d made yourself scarce all day, with the exception of being with the Queen, and you planned on keeping the pattern. 

You just didn’t want to watch Aleksander and Alina. 

You walked out to the courtyard and weaved around horses and guests until you were on the outskirts of the palace grounds. You were thankful that you could finally breathe without sharing the breath with someone else in your proximity. The cool evening’s air swirled around what skin of yours was exposed and it chilled your cheeks, tinting them pink. You flexed your fingers a bit and tapped imaginary points in the air at your sides, little fissures of silvery light appearing underneath your fingertips. 

You tried your best to be apathetic about everything that you’d felt during the day, and you kept walking, approaching a thick bramble of trees.

A loud scream escaped your lips when you felt a cold hand clasp around your wrist and you yanked your wrist back, stumbling backwards on the uneven path. You fell back and caught yourself on your elbows, preparing your hands to summon the moon. Your eyes settled upon a head of white hair and you furiously widened your eyes.

“Baghra!” You yelled and looked down at your dress. It was dusty from the dirt and you could feel a little tear in your sleeve, just above your elbow, “What is the meaning of this?” You asked angrily. 

You climbed to your feet and stared down at the old woman, your lips tugging downwards in a heavy frown. 

“Don’t look at me like that, girl. You need to get away from here as quickly as you can.” She stated venomously and you gaped at her. You shook your head with a dry laugh and you went to speak but she cut you off instantly. 

“You are being used, you stupid girl. Aleksander. He is using you. Just the same way he is using the sun girl. I am warning you, y/n, please. You must go. I will tell her the same thing but hear me now-“

“What are you going on about?” You asked snappily, your eyes narrowing on her. 

“You and Alina Starkov are but pawns in Aleksander’s game. He does not mean to liberate Ravka from The Fold. He does not mean to create heroes out of the three of you. Has he promised you otherwise?” 

“No. He hardly speaks of The Fold to me.” You replied defensively. Your hand formed fists at your side and you could feel your fingers begin to thrum with the electric feeling of the moon pooling within them. 

“No? Perhaps he’s just too busy distracting you with sweet words and little touches? Keeping you from your lessons, insisting you don’t need them, only to drown you with his attention. Making you feel special and perhaps even loved?”

You didn’t respond, and your silence became her indication to keep speaking. 

“Trust me, stupid girl. He’s making Alina feel the same exact way.” She finished and then she shook her head, “Do what you will, Lady y/n. You’ve always known this to be your home. I understand it must be hard to fathom leaving, but if you want to live free of chains, you’ll go. I’ve arranged safe passage out of Os Alta tonight. If you wish to join Alina, then you’ll meet her and I down the hill behind The Grand Palace. Half past midnight.” 

You stared at her in disbelief and you wanted to argue, but she had already turned and retreated back into the trees, and you swore that you watched shadows engulf her.   

-

You were only human at your very core. 

That’s what you kept telling yourself as you cried into your hands on your balcony. Only human at your very core… right?

Who knew if Baghra was right? At least about Aleksander’s intentions. This isn’t what bothered you. 

“He’s making Alina feel the same exact way.” Her words echoed in your head and only made you cry harder, and you let out a frustrated groan and you hit the side of your head with the heel of your hand, as if the impact would knock the thought right out of your mind. 

It would explain her behavior earlier that day. It would easily explain how she, too, knew his name- and before you. It explained the way she gazed up at him; dreamily, as if she’d fallen head over heels already. 

You weren’t going to leave Os Alta, that was for certain. You couldn’t. You adored your Queen and you hadn’t known a life outside of the Ravkan Capital. You’d just learn to avoid Aleksander. Perhaps that was a good thing. It would cease your distractions from the Queen and King. 

“I’ve never seen you cry before. I don’t like it.” 

You jumped at the sound of Aleksander’s voice behind you and you wrapped your arms around yourself and you shook your head. 

“Go away please.” You whispered. 

You didn’t really want him to go away. Not deep down, at least. He probably knew that, too. He knew you better than anyone.

Hands gently grabbed your arms and coaxed you away from the iron railing of your balcony and you were being turned around before you could protest it. You didn’t meet his eyes when you were moved to face him. 

“I have been made aware that Baghra sought you out. I don’t know what was said, but I’m sure I can only assume it had something to do with planting doubt in your mind based on the way she was sure you’d have run far away from here by now. But you aren’t a runner. I know that.”

His words made more tears spill over your cheeks and you still refused to look at him until he tapped underneath your chin and tilted your head backwards slightly. 

“I care not about your intentions with The Fold, Aleksander. I said I trusted you and I meant it. Perhaps that’s where I went wrong though. Because I do care that you were stringing me along at the same time as Alina. If you needed something of me, it would’ve been best to lay it out on the table. Not bury me in your sweet kisses and words until I was nothing but a mindless slave with no questions for you.” 

“Is that what you believe you are to be to me? A mindless slave?” He asked and you simply shrugged. 

You expected an angry outburst, you expected him to chastise you loudly, but it never came. Instead, he took your face in his hands and he swiped his thumbs underneath your wet eyes to rid you of the tears on your cheeks. 

“You are strong and you are intelligent. No one could make a mindless slave out of you. Not even I. My kisses and gentle words are reserved for you and you alone. Not Alina. Never Alina. You, however. Oh, how do I begin? Ever since I watched you kill that Fjerdan, I knew that I had to have you by my side. One way or another. Though, as a lover was preferable.

You are disarming in the most wonderful way, and though you may not know all of my secrets yet, you have already released them from their chambers. I’m tempted to call you a thief with the way you’ve stolen my heart away, but if I’m to be honest with you, y/n, I’d be lying if I said I didn't hand it to you willingly.” He murmured earnestly. His eyes shone with his own tears, and though they never fell, the message was still there. 

You fell forward over his chest and laid your head on the center of it and his arms weaved around you protectively. Defensively. Adoringly. 

He showered kisses atop your head and you two stood in silence for a very long time like that. 

Perhaps you’d be burned for trusting him this way. In every way. Perhaps you wouldn’t. Only time would tell. But in that moment, all that mattered was that he was there. Questions about Baghra’s words could wait. They weren’t meant to be spoken now. No words were meant to be spoken now. 

Until he did finally speak. 

“My love, I do hate to ruin such tender moments,  but I’m in desperate need of your help. There will be plenty of time for me to make up for every single tear spilled from your pretty eyes this evening, and that I promise you. However, your skill set is needed.” He said softly, his tone apologetic. 

You stayed against his chest for a while longer and then finally nodded, “Of course. Whatever you need, Aleksander.”

-

You walked hand in hand with The Darkling down the candlelit hallway, deep within the Palace, and you two were accompanied by one of his Squallers, Zoya. 

Aleksander had filled you in quickly. Alina had been kidnapped and there had been an attempt on her life. You couldn’t help but feel relieved that you hadn’t been the one on his arm all night now. They now held a man associated with the crime deep underneath the Palace, and they needed him to talk. 

That’s where you came in. 

“Has he talked?” He asked, his hand tightening around yours in a manner you could only imagine was protective.  

“A lot of lies,” Zoya answered, “Ivan’s with him.” 

You entered the room with him and Zoya and your eyes fell upon Ivan’s intimidating figure standing tall behind a small, pudgy man who was bound to a chair. 

“I’ve been swindled,” The man said simply, desperation twinging his words, “hoodwinked.”

Aleksander didn’t seem to care and he squeezed your hand once more. 

“My guards tell me that they caught you fleeing the scene of the crime.” He spoke. 

You rolled your shoulders back and stood tall, carefully releasing your hand. If you were to get answers out of this man, he had to fear you. You didn’t much command fear while clutching your General’s hand. 

“Yes. I followed them.” The man insisted. 

“Followed whom?” Aleksander prompted, lifting his head curiously. 

“They come from the other side of The Fold. From the start, they seemed, just, a bit off to me, so when they left our stage, at the fete, I followed them. To see what they were up to, and at the time that I walked into that room, they were gone and… Saints, it was… unspeakable. So I ran… I…” 

You snorted and then you stepped forward, “No, that’s not the truth.” You interjected and then looked to Ivan with a raised eyebrow. 

“He did cross The Fold with the others,” Ivan began, “The rest were lies.” 

You gave a satisfied nod and you looked up at Aleksander who swept his hand out for you, inviting you to step closer to the man. 

The man began to insist that he wasn’t lying, but you and everyone else in that room knew, you couldn’t lie to a Heartrender. 

You stepped behind the man and you laid your hands on his temples, “Do you want to tell the truth to The General?” You asked lowly. He didn’t respond. 

“Do you know we keep records of everyone who crosses The Fold?” Aleksander began, and then rattled off the known passages for the evening. 

“You didn’t cross with them. Did you?” You asked, leaning down close to his ear. 

He shuddered but he didn’t answer. You looked up at Aleksander who nodded and you closed your eyes. Your fingertips began to glow and they grew so cold that they burned, you pressed them tightly against the man’s skin and he clenched his teeth. You eased off a bit and then cleared your throat. 

“You have another way across The Fold. What is it?” You asked slowly. 

“I don’t know what you mean.” He protested, but Ivan cut him off. 

“He does.” 

You sighed and brought forth your power again, this time a bit more and he winced sharply as the bitter cold from your fingers cut into his skin and left it frostbitten. 

“I’m an entertainer!” He exclaimed, “Oskar, Oskar Krepkov!” He shouted as you pushed more of your light forth, watching his veins turn white and stony underneath your touch, just as they’d been filled with moonstone. 

You eased off when Aleksander came towards the two of you and lifted up the man’s sleeve. 

“Well that is certainly entertaining. You are The Conductor,” he said darkly, revealing scars of tallies up his inner forearm, “Arken Visser, are you not?“ he pulled away from the man and gave you a nod again as he walked away.

“You smuggle Grisha out of my palace! You help them abandon the war effort.”

“No, I deal in-“ he was cut off by a sudden sharp pain in his head, caused by you pressing the heels of your hands to the hardened veins over his temples. You closed your eyes tightly and worked to spread the unforgiving cold of your light through his head, feeling it spread through his veins while Aleksander questioned the man about a woman named Nina. 

You zoned back in as Aleksander finished, and you opened your eyes to look up at him. 

“…might that have something to do with you, Mr. Visser?” He asked, in reference to Nina’s disappearance. 

“No.” He answered shakily, his teeth now beginning to chatter. You were lowering his body temperature by now surely, and his lips began to glaze over, tinted with blue. 

“I don’t!” He protested again, his voice shaky. Ivan confirmed this and the man let out a shaking sigh, “See?”

“May I interject?” You asked and looked up at Aleksander who nodded once. 

“By all means, Darling. Speak your mind.” He said with a little grin licking at the corners of his lips. 

“You might want to begin talking, Mr. Visser. Your heart is slowing and you are freezing from the inside out. The light of the moon is a cold one.” You whispered and you felt him stiffen under your hands. 

Aleksander had a proud smirk on his face and he glanced back down at Arken. 

“My guess, you struck a deal with these three thieves to kidnap Alina Starkov. But you have a stronger relationship with a certain West Ravkan general, who has notions of ruling his own country. So long as The Fold separates him from us- darling, I think you’re being too gentle with him,” he added for you, and then walked around the chair, brushing past you gently, “So you made another deal. You put on a disguise. And you played at being assassin.”

You took a deep breath and summoned more of your power, the beams of light from your hands beginning to sear into the skin of his temples.

“That’s right!” He cried, in obvious pain, “The prize to bring her back to Ketterdam was a million! Split four ways. But Zlatan offered me the same number… to kill her, so,” he let out another scream as you tightened your grip on his head and Aleksander’s eyes widened, “you give me half that, I’ll get revenge for you. I can get close to Zlatan!” He tried to bargain, but he didn’t have much left to bargain with. 

Aleksander looked at Ivan and Zoya pointedly and they began to walk away. 

“No.” Aleksander answered and then looked up at you, “I think I’ll handle that myself. And I think… I’ll let my lovely Moon Summoner handle you.” 

He gave you a short nod and stood with his hands behind his back and you nodded back at him. 

Arken began to scream and protest between the chattering of his teeth and you rolled your shoulders back, and just like the Fjerdan that attacked Alina, you shot a bright beam of silver light through his temples and let go, watching as his head fell back limply on his neck. 

Aleksander stepped towards you just as you stepped away from the now dead man, and he grasped your freezing wrists, pulling you to his chest.

“Promise me,” he began, leaning down close to your face, “Promise me that you’ll stand by my side forever. We will be revered, formidable. I will give you a crown, I will give you my love, I will give you whatever you ask for, if you promise me forever.” He pleaded and stared down into your eyes desperately. 

There was nothing that you wanted more in that moment and you studied his black eyes for a long time, searching for any sense of trickery within them, but all you found was the same want that you wore within your own eyes. 

Perhaps you’d be burned for trusting him this way. In every way. Perhaps you wouldn’t. Only time would tell. All you could do was accept his offer now, and give him your payment in the form of three words.  

“I promise. Forever.”

Nepenthe

꩜.ᐟ Qimir x Padawan! Reader

Why would your master want a padawan like you when he has his acolyte?

Notes: I've seen fics abt padawan reader and none can quench my thirst eugh😫pls note i have nooo idea what goes on in the star wars universe please don't come for me😣

"Hand me that one, fast" He gestured to the purple fruit just beside you, not daring to glance at you. "Yes, sir"

You curiously peeked over your master as you handed the fruit, what was so important it had him rushing like this?

"It's for Mae," he says, the squelching fruit making you frown, you forget he reads minds as easily as breathing. Your frown deepens as you remember. Mae. His acolyte, he took you in a few months before Mae came, that first few months felt like heaven, it was just you and him, in this unknown planet, training, practicing.

Yet, after Mae came, it almost felt like you were some kind of servant for the both of them, he trained with her day and night, leaving you to fend for yourself, he told you it's because you've already been trained by him, that you don't need to anymore, you didn't mind, you got along with Mae... on your perspective that is.

Mae was a fast learner, you were proud of her, now you have someone to share your training with, converse like a normal person, but later you realized that him and her were two sides of the same coin, quiet, mute, they don't like conversations, although you made an effort to be friends with Mae, than you ever did with your master since she was the lesser evil, you're quite proud of yourself when your conversations with her turned from smalls nods and no's to simple phrases.

You didn't care that your master had two Padawans under his belt, that is until he taught her some things he never even told you about, every now and then he would drop hints about what he would teach you next, to prepare you, but this one was unknown to you, you thought, maybe, maybe he forgot to tell you since he was so engrossed in trying to make Mae catch up to you, but Mae didn't just catch up to you, she had already passed way above you, while your stuck on the pedestal she was weeks ago.

"Something on your mind, little bee?" That nickname, he never once gave an explanation on why he calls you that. "No, uh, nothing.. master"

You focus on his muscles grinding the stone bowl.

"I don't think that's nothing"

"I'm fine, really." You bite the inside of your cheeks. "Hm"

You blink, fiddling with the hem of your robes, you let a few seconds pass before speaking up.

"Why.. why does Mae need it?" He halted his movements, and right then and there you almost regretted asking, almost. "She's having nightmares"

He resumed his cooking, although his brief answer didn't provide you with anything, so what? You were having nightmares once too, and he told you to suck it up.

And as if he read your mind, which he did. "I don't want it to hinder her performance, we don't want any distractions during this time of her training."

What about my training? You wanted to yell at him, what about me? Why can't you make me one of your anti-nightmare potions too?

You could only clench your fists, making sure he doesn't hear some of your thoughts, which is hard considering he didn't teach you to, only Mae, along with healing your body by using the force, all her, and your left in the dust.

Your master said using negative emotions is the best fuel for people like them. Them. He told you, him and Mae obvi, you're nowhere near the equation, like an addition symbol in a multiplication question, makes no sense right? Because you make no sense being there when he clearly prioritizes Mae.

"—are you still listening?"

"I, huh," your eyes flutter up to him, frowning when he says nothing but look at you. A few seconds pass with only the both of you staring each other down, I mean, him staring you down with his creepy mask, he suddenly lets go of the pestle, the tool colliding with the mortar loudly.

He was now towering over you, and you realize then how big he was compared to you, it's like a dwarf next to a willow tree. (Guys no matter how big you think you are, Qimir is always bigger✋)

"I can't hear you, but I feel you" oh fuck, you forgot about that. "What is this plaguing your mind?"

Before you could answer, Mae comes running.

"You're back" He focuses on her, you let out a deep breath, for once your relieved Mae came in just a nick of time. "The ship's ready, master"

"Good, let's go" he grabs his robe from behind you. "Finish the potion before we come back"

"Whe, where are you guys going?"

"Nothing of importance, now go." He gestures to the stone bowl, his menacing helmet buzzing in your ears. "Yes, master.."

"Good girl." you couldn't hear his last few mumbles, only registering everything when they left the cave, leaving you alone.

-

You decided that you're gonna make an anti-nightmare potion for yourself too, because why does only Mae get it when you can make one in case you get nightmares?

And the best place to buy ingredients was with the best apothecary in town.

"Qimir?" You knock on the door. "I need to buy things for him, are you there?"

No answer.

"Hellooo?"

You pouted and turned around, now everyone's busy when you're not, you wanted to wait for a few more seconds but people might think you're crazy for trying to buy from an abandoned pharmacy, your master told you Qimir was there anytime you needed something to use for missions, but now that you don't go to missions, you love to annoy the clumsy pharmacy owner.

"Hey, wait!"

You tried to stop the smile creeping to your face when you hear the door bust open.

"I'm here!" He yelled, you turned around and waved, a big smile covering your face. "What took you so long?"

"What do you mean?" He playfully shrugged. "Been here since forever"

You felt more comfortable with him, you don't have to have to tiptoe around him unlike with the other, you liked to tease him about not taking a bath and for looking like a ragged hobo.

"What are you doing here though?" His eyebrows furrowed as you skip to him, you gave him a warm smile once again before making your way inside. "I need some things for him."

He frowned.

"Things? He didn't tell me he needed anything when they passed here."

"Well he told me, so go fetch it for me, servant" you chuckle and hit him on the bicep, he fakes a cry before hesitating to open the shelves.

"Here's the list of his majesty needs"

"His majesty?" He laughs, you just love making him laugh, maybe it's just you, or maybe you're just alone, but if there's anyone in the world you're going to survive an apocalypse with, it's Qimir.

"Uh huh, he keeps barking orders, finish this, finish that before we get home nyeh nyeh nyeh"

He chuckles once again. "Are you sure about telling me that? I might just snitch and get a promotion."

You feign an insulted look. "You don't dare"

"Oh but I do"

You both sat there laughing, forgetting about what you were here for. You clutch your tummy and struggle to inhale air.

"I can't— stop—" you burst out laughing once again, your face heating up, the tears in your eyes now brimming full.

"No no don't die on me" He jokes, you can see him staring, you wanted to look at him like that, shameless, but you can't stand looking at him for more than 3 seconds without blushing.

"Really?" He mumbles, but you heard him, clear as day. "What?"

"I, I mean, really h-huh? You can't stop laughing?" He waved both his hands in the air.

"You weirdo"

"Oh so now I'm the weirdo?"

"Uh huh"

"Since when?!"

"Since we met"

"Says the person who keeps barging in my shop"

"You like it though right?" You look up at him expectantly. "Like w-what?"

You gesture with your hands. "This?"

"This what?"

"You're always alone here, you must be grateful that I always visit."

"Yeah, always"

"What does that mean!" You put your hands on your waist. "It means you're always here, so you're like an everyday occurance by now"

You roll your eyes as he finishes up the list.

"Here's the last one—" you frown as he pauses. "What?"

"Isn't this," he picks up the list again. "It's for.."

You gulp, your fingers fumble with the wooden seat.

"N-no, no, it's not" you avert your eyes from him, the floor looking a little more interesting today.

"It's for nightmares isn't it?"

"I don't know, he only gave the list, nothing else."

"It is for nightmares, why do you need these?"

"I don't know, it's not for me." You clench your fists. "If it was for him he'd tell me himself"

Your eyes try to find something, anything, to tell him.

"I think it's for Mae okay? Maybe, maybe she's having nightmares and, and maybe he doesn't want it to distract her.."

"But I al—" he pauses, his jaw flexing. "I already gave him these."

His eyes narrow on you, like a deer in the headlights you could only look away.

"Tell me?" His soft voice lures you to him. "Are you having them?"

"No.." you sigh, do you tell him you're making the potion out of spite for your master? For making one for Mae and not for you, ugh it all sounds childish now, before you left you had a plan, and now you look like a child caught.

"Just—" you let out a deep breath. "Give it, and I'll be on my way"

He stares at you for a moment, before placing everything in a small pouch. You thanked him and left the credits on the table before hurriedly leaving, you could still feel his stare at the back of your head.

World's most moral army's most noble soldiers...

Catching the Golden Trio staring at you

Pairing: Poly golden trio x reader

You’re in the great hall eating dinner when you feel like somebody is staring at you.

You turn around and your eyes instantly fall onto the golden trio, who are all looking at you.

Harry spits out his drink and quickly looks done at his food pretending like he hadn’t just been staring at you.

Hermione quickly gives you a quick smile then pulls Ron closer to her to get him to stop looking at you like a deer caught in headlights.

You turn around, suddenly feeling self conscience.

Oath of Devotion

Kingsguard Gwayne Hightower x Queen Reader

Tags: angst, mention of SA, romantic tension, pining, forbidden relationship, hint of religious guilt, oral sex (female receiving), p. in v. sex, hopeful ending, third person narrative

Wordcount: 9,440 (I blame Freddie Fox for this madness)

As King Aegon is slowly dying from his injuries, his pregnant wife finds solace in Ser Gwayne's company. One night as the birth approaches, she confesses a terrible secret to the knight…

Author's Note: thank you so much to the lovely Lana who made a beautiful moodboard for this oneshot, here ♡

The Seven Kingdoms never had a Lannister Queen before the golden-haired lady had been sent to King's Landing to marry young Prince Aegon. The match had been decided quite hurriedly, as it had always been thought the eldest son of Viserys would marry his sister, but when the time came, a simple suggestion of alliance with the Westerlands by the Hand had been enough to sway the king's mind.

Strong allies were crucial for the stability of the realm, perhaps even more so than the purity of the bloodline, Otto Hightower argued, and Viserys agreed. Marriages could happen further down the line of succession to bring back dragon blood.

The dragon bloodline was safe, Viserys judged, but the realm was still weak and divided from his decision to name Rhaenyra as his heir. The Lannisters made their contempt and disagreement known many times, although never crossing the line of insolence or treason, and a match between their house and the royal house would no doubt appease them and secure their loyalty once and for all.

Therefore, on a sweltering summer day that would remain in people's minds for years to come, a carriage and a large party of armored soldiers crossed the gates of the Red Keep, bringing with them hope for peace, prosperity, as the young lady's dowry came in the shape of economic and trade treaties with the capital.

Gwayne had served his sister the dowager queen and her son after her, and when tragedy struck and a war for the succession erupted, it was ordered that he would now be sworn to the queen.

She was a bright and sweet girl, her mother-in-law often said, strong and resilient but kind and obedient, despite the occasional arrogance. The prospect of war had soothed her edges and calmed her fires, and she took the responsibilities that befell her more seriously than the young king did. She made a good queen, one that protected her people, and as the war tore the realm apart, she brought them comfort and strength.

Day after day and night after night, Gwayne shadowed the young queen as any threats against her were taken with the utmost seriousness and concern. On the other side of the Keep, brought back from the battlefield injured and without a dragon, King Aegon spent both his waking hours and resting ones in pain, a sweat taking over his body as the burns suffered at the hands of Rhaenys and her dragon spread across his skin in rashes that would never heal.

His younger brother Aemond was now regent, and as he took over with the guidance of Otto Hightower, Ser Gwayne was left to guard the queen away from matters of the realm. Even though he admitted to having felt cast away at first, hurt in his honor to be protecting a woman instead of defending his king on the battlefield, he soon came to understand that his mission was of the utmost importance.

As the queen's belly started to swell, Gwayne accepted that it was not simply a woman that he was protecting, but the future of the realm, as a male heir would secure Aegon's position further and lift the troops' morale as they fought across the lands.

It was a noble charge, a delicate one, and in Gwayne's mind, a holy one. He would keep the queen safe, insuring she would carry her child in as much safety, peace, and quiet as he could offer her, and in the end the realm might be rewarded with a new king to lead it, one with a golden crown of hair, with the soul of both a lion and a dragon.

As the queen's belly grew and the quickening was felt, the child keeping her awake at night and uncomfortable during the day, her mood soured. It was not a happy pregnancy, nor was it an easy one, and Gwayne felt for the young woman. He could see the shadows growing under her eyes, their shine becoming more dull—he didn't voice his concerns, as it was not his place.

He knew the bearing of a child could weigh heavily on a woman's mind and health. Such was a woman's curse, and a man could only pray that the gods would lift her burden.

Gwayne spent his nights in prayers, his eyes trained on the queen's door but his mind deep in pleas to the gods, reciting the texts he had learned. He prayed for an ease to come to the young woman, for relief of her pains, whether they were physical or of the mind, and for the strength to bear what was still to come. He feared she would not survive if she did not regain some sort of strength, spiritual if not any other.

Which is why his heartbeat quickened one night as the queen's first lady-in-waiting came out of the royal chambers with an unusual request.

The rooms were still lit with many candles despite the late hour, and the hearth was blazing hot and bright. She could not bear to sleep, not even to lie down, and even after two baths over the course of the evening, both with scalding water despite the Maester's recommendations, she still could not settle.

She was not one to beg nor reduce herself to ask service from her guards, and she kept to the schedule that was decided for her, but on this night, the burden was too much for her to bear silently.

"The queen wishes to visit the Sept," she heard her lady instruct the knight, but his answer wasn't the one she expected. Instead of agreeing as he usually did to everything she asked of him and leaving to attend to what he had been given, he stepped into the room and after a customary nod, spoke in a measured tone.

"The hour is too late, my queen," Gwayne tried politely, worried etched over his noble features. "Traveling through the city to the Sept is not safe."

Gwayne carried himself with pride and nobility, a quality that she had admired from the beginning, even more so when the knight had been assigned to shadow her day and night. He made the perfect sworn protector, with a non-threatening demeanor that allowed the young queen to feel at ease in his presence, as well as a galant and reverent disposition that brought warmth in her chest.

He was deferent and respectful to a fault, which is why it made her take a step back as he entered the room without being prompted or invited, and for a moment she feared he was acting on the king's orders, as the young man was his beloved nephew.

"The hour doesn't matter," she insisted, hoping her orders would be the only ones he was following. "Wake as many guards or servants as it will require."

Gwayne shifted where he stood, curling his shoulders inward and narrowing his stance, and for a second she thought he looked much younger than she knew him to be, before fright took over any affection she had for the man. "Surely whatever ails you can wait until the morning, your Grace," the man tried to placate, but a sudden burst of anger rose in her chest until she thought she might suffocate with it. 

"No it cannot!" she roared, so sharply that her delicate voice broke in her throat and her maidservant flinched. Never had she seen her mistress speak as such, and it was with a trembling hand that she brought a warm cloth to the queen's cheek, delicately wiping her tears away.

"It cannot wait," she wailed, then covered her mouth in panic when her chest heaved and her stomach rose.

Her maid was quick to respond as the young queen turned and fell to her knees, surely grateful for the bucket the servant provided. She wept as she coughed and heaved, holding her stomach with one hand and gripping her maid's arm with the other.

"My queen, is it the babe? Shall I call for the Maester?" Gwayne asked worriedly, ready to bolt out of the room in search for help. 

"Call for the Septon, I beg of you," she whined as the maid stroked her hair and back soothingly.

Gwayne swallowed his worried protests and nodded again, retreating from the room quietly as the queen cried and begged in whispers, a despair so sharp that it brought tears to his eyes.

From this night on, Gwayne watched his sworn charge with rapt attention, following the young queen dutifully as she visited the Sept each day, morning and evening, and prayed on her knees with a fervency rarely seen outside of the order of the Sisters. His worries he kept for himself, although they must have shown on his face, and his prayers were silent on his lips as well.

As he watched over the young woman, he prayed without words, asking the gods for wisdom and guidance so that he could protect his queen to the extent that she needed.

She was in danger, at war with a despair so profound it could only come from inside, but no matter how many hours Gwayne spent on the issue, he could not figure out what threatened the queen so much. Her marriage with King Aegon had been young and loveless as the war started, and now that the pregnancy made her position more secure, she was neither saddened by her husband's condition nor joyful at the prospect of an heir.

Something terrible was afoot, Gwayne could sense, but his imagination failed him and he could not decipher it.

Whenever the hour or the weather did not permit traveling across the city to the Sept, she instead spent time under the Weirwood, which she found comforting. Back home in Casterly Rock, the cave where the ancient tree dwelled was a place of peace and harmony for her.

One evening, as her maid and her sword protector waited on the edge of the courtyard, she wondered with sadness if she would ever see it again. She remembered the way her whispered prayers would echo in the deep chamber, as though the rock was murmuring them back to her, repeating them as a parish would repeat a Septon's sermon.

"Ser Gwayne," she suddenly called, smiling as she heard the clinging sound of his armor.

"Yes, my queen," the man answered, and his melodic voice brought a warmth to her chest.

The man was often silent, but never cold, and she enjoyed his presence more than she had initially thought. He was pious and gentle, and he had the utmost trust of the dowager queen—a trust she found herself giving him as well, as each act of loyalty brought her comfort.

Kneeling under the large tree, a book of prayer on her lap even though her thoughts had strayed, she looked up at the man and found his piercing green gaze trained on her eagerly. There sometimes was an earnestness on his features, one that endeared him to her.

"There is a Weirwood tree where you grew up, isn't there, Ser Gwayne?" she asked, and he seemed taken aback by the question.

"Yes, there is, my queen."

"Did you visit often?"

"Not often enough. I wasn't so devout in my youth, I admit." 

She smiled as the ghost of a laugh passed her lips. Gwayne allowed the corner of his lips to stretch to the side, comforted by the fact that this detail of his childhood seemed to amuse the queen, and he wished he had more peaceful or cheerful memories to share with her. He had been sworn in to the Kingsguard not long after his mother's passing, and most of his childhood memories were now tainted with her loss.

"How strange for a man who was raised in the cradle of the Faith of the Seven," the queen pressed as a gust of wind blew across the courtyard.

She picked her shawl from her lap and wrapped it around her shoulders, covering her back with the bright red fabric where a golden lion was embroidered. 

"Without a doubt, your grace," he replied, and it seemed she found his answer lacking.

"Do you miss it?"

"No, I don't," he answered honestly, and as her bright green eyes lifted to him once more, he continued. "I am exactly where I'm supposed to be, your grace. My life is here, serving the royal family."

"Which is also your family. You are a loyal man, Ser Gwayne. A man of honor," she praised, and she could swear she saw him blush in the dimmed light of the evening, pink erupting under the starlight spatter of his freckles.

For a moment she feared her secret would tumble out of her lips and her chest swelled with the raw emotion of it. She took a deep breath under his attentive gaze, wondering whether he would accept her confessions and bear her burden as she was forced to.

As she took in his noble features, the breeze making his copper strands dance, shame suddenly rose in her stomach and the words died on her lips before she could even give them shape. How could she even begin to voice the terrible secret that she bore, how could she ask such a devout and honorable man to keep her confidence, one that was rooted in utter disgrace and the most unholiest of acts.

Her hesitation must have shown, as the knight took a step forward and offered his arm to help her rise from the cold ground, but as he spoke she was reassured that he had not the faintest idea of the shame and self-loathing she carried.

"The hour is growing late and the air has quite a chill. Perhaps my queen would like to go back," Gwayne offered as he saw her shiver again, and she took his arm with a whispered thank you.

She rose in silence, wrapping her shawl around herself tighter as they walked back to the castle, still tormented by the moment she had just lived. She had been tempted to take the plunge into complete honesty and bare her shame to her sworn shield. 

She desperately wanted to be seen, just as she viciously wished to protect her secret and her shame. The duality of such a burden weighed heavily on her, and she was afraid she would die, crushed under this unsurmountable trial. 

"Shall I call for a bath to be drawn?" Gwayne asked from where he walked, always a step behind her on her right side.

"This is above your function, ser," the queen remarked casually, almost glad for the distraction. Still, her tone was almost breathless and the knight stopped for a second and dipped his head in silent apology.

"My apologies, I have overstepped," he replied in a demure voice and this time it was the queen's turn to stop. Standing under the archway leading back into the Keep, she turned to face her sword protector, an open expression of gratefulness overshadowed by her sadness.

"You have not, Ser Gwayne. I merely meant that it is unusual for a knight to concern himself with such mundane tasks."

"I concern myself with your comfort, not only your safety," Gwayne explained, keeping his eyes low in what could be interpreted as reverence, but in truth he was unsure if he could bear to look her in the eye at that moment. "You are carrying the future of the realm, after all."

"Of course," she replied, but this time her tone was clipped and cold, and by the time Gwayne raised his eyes to her, she had stepped away again. One of the layers of her shawl was floating behind her as she rushed inside and up the stairs, as though she was eager to take her leave of him. 

Shame curled in his stomach as he realized he had crossed the young queen somehow, and for a moment he wondered whether she had been expecting something of him, something he had failed to deliver. He thought of her words, of her emotions that played so openly in her eyes; if one knew how to look past the regal air she gave herself as armor, and he found himself caught on a delicate edge.

He was unsure where the line between insolence and amicable conversation was, whether or not he was meant to speak of his own volition or wait for her prompting. There were times where he felt she waited for his words, as though they bore some profound meaning that soothed her.

"Did I overstep this time, my queen?" he quickly asked, their footsteps echoing in the empty stairwell.

This part of the castle was deserted at that hour, since most of the lords and ladies had retreated in their quarters for dinner, but Westerners dined at later hours, he had found out.

"No, you didn't," she assured, glancing at him over her shoulder. Curls had come loose from the breeze, bringing layers to her updo.

It wasn't until they were back in the antechambers of her quarters that Gwayne realized there were tears in her eyes, and as she turned toward him to dismiss him, her gaze looked like a forest in the rain, a storm drowning acres of pines.

"I have upset you," he stated with mild panic. "Please forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive, my good ser. I have upset myself," she replied with a smile that further concerned him. She took a breath that seemed to rattle her chest or heave her stomach, and her hand drifted to her abdomen. 

Gwayne suddenly remembered the night his worries had arisen, and the question that he had kept contained for fear of being insolent suddenly pushed past his lips. "Is there something wrong with the babe?"

The young queen took a step back as though he had struck her, and heaved once more. "Now you are overstepping," she accused, tears rising in her eyes, but Gwayne knew he had found an element, if not the source, of her enduring despair.

Part of him defended that it was his duty as a sworn knight of the realm to protect the future of the crown, but he knew deep inside that his concern for the queen overtook his concern for the realm.  

"I am your sworn shield, my queen, your protector. How can I protect you if I do not know what ails you?" he pushed and her hands curled into fists, holding the brightly-colored shawl in front of her like it was giving her composure. 

For a suspended moment Gwayne thought she would strike him across the face or order for him to be disciplined, but she did neither. Instead, her face smoothed over and all emotions left her, like a steel vault closing. She took measured steps backward into her chambers and beckoned him inside with a quiet word.

"Leave us," she ordered to the girl who was currently preparing her bed, propping pillows and smoothing the covers. "I need a private word with Ser Gwayne."

The girl left without a word, barely a quick curtsy, leaving him alone with the queen. She looked strangely calm, all of her emotions swimming in her eyes behind her blank expression. She walked to the fire, observing it for a moment as though it held the words she was looking for. The orange light illuminated her features and she spoke without looking up at Gwayne.

"Would you keep a secret for me," she whispered, as though the mere question was a treason, something reprehensible. 

"I would never betray your confidence," the knight replied, his heart galloping in his chest as a wild horse. He knew they were on the edge of a confession, that there would be no coming back from it—he would likely never forget her words, and she would likely see them on his face every time she looked at him.

"Swear to me," she said, barely turning her head, and her gaze was fierce and burning.

“I swear to you, my queen, upon my sacred vows, that I would never reveal your secret," he swore, shivering under the intensity of her eyes.

"You once asked if the king hurts me, do you remember what I replied?" she asked bluntly, turning to him and crossing her wrists at the top of her round belly.

"The king doesn't touch me," Gwayne recited coldly. 

The queen took a deep, steadying breath, facing her burden and the gaze of her sworn shield with a courage that inspired him.

"The full truth is, the king doesn't need to touch me in order to hurt me,” she said regretfully. "He makes me... perform acts, for his viewing pleasure," she whispered with the look of a frightened deer, gauging his reaction.

He held onto his composure, relief loosening his shoulders slightly. He could easily imagine how a noble woman could feel debased by this, but what she had just confessed didn't touch the more horrible images his mind had conveyed over the last few weeks when he had wondered about her sorrows.

"There is nothing shameful about an act that was performed under duress. The shame is his," Gwayne replied fervently—he knew well enough of his nephew’s proclivities, and regretted that his temper was so ill-matched with that of his queen.

"You do not understand, Ser Gwayne. It is worse than what you are imagining,” she whispered tearily, rushing to him in desperate steps and for a mad second he thought she would reach out, place her hands on his arms.

He lifted his hands from the pommel of his sword, and her gaze quickly flitted to them as though she was considering his touch, but refrained. They remained in heavy silence for a moment, her eyes peering into his with such an intensity, he despaired words could not be shared in this way. Her lower lip trembled and she looked at him with visible heartbreak, as though she was about to bid him a definitive farewell.

"The baby isn't his,” she whispered, quiet and pleading, as though uttering those words would have the gods strike her down before she could finish her breath. "When he came back from battle, before the sweat took over his body, he already could not perform anymore," she explained, a great flush of shame upon her graceful features.

"Then, who..." Gwayne swallowed, unsure how to reconcile this terrible truth with her earlier admission. "Is it Prince Aemond?"

"Gods, I wish it was," she replied with a mirthless smile, twin tears making their way down her cheeks. "But the prince is too honorable and would have slain his brother at the mere suggestion. He would never betray Princess Helaena."

Gwayne shifted his weight, considering his next words carefully in the face of her frailty, but she spoke again before he could find them.

"Aegon had Ser Arryk scout the streets of King's Landing, rounding up the illegitimate children of Prince Daemon or King Viserys. As you surely know there are many working the docks or the brothels," she explained. "He had them brought back to the Keep for a specific purpose, and brought to his chambers one by one."

"I understand," Gwayne assured, but it seemed that now that her terrible secret was out, all the words she had kept to herself and the gods were pouring out of her sweet lips.

"Every night until my moons stopped coming," she recounted, her gaze staring into a void he could not see, her frame trembling as though the pain was cursing through her body once more. "I thought that now that I was with child, he would stop, and for a while he did. However the Maester confirmed that the child is alive and strong, and that there is no reason for me not to perform my wifely duties."

"The night you begged me to bring you to the Sept in the middle of the night..." Gwayne closed his eyes in shame, dropping his chin. Bitterness coated the roof of his mouth as he recalled the two scalding tubs of water she had had delivered to her rooms, her urgency, the way she wailed in despair when he refused to escort her to the Sept.

"I pray to the gods every night... I do not know what to pray for. I pray that it is not a son and that the future of the realm is not compromised, that a second war is not about to erupt," she sobbed, her hands coming to shield her face from his gaze. "And I pray that it is not a girl, because he will not stop until I have given him a son."

Gwayne's face contorted with her agony, and he wished he could lift the burden from her shoulders, and give it to its perpetrator. He loved his nephew—he had loved him as a prince and had often indulged his proclivities, and he loved him as king, but such depravity was beyond what he was prepared to forgive.

"Now my shame is plain for you to see, good ser," she said, looking somehow more rested than she had in weeks, her shoulders dropping in relief. 

"The shame is not yours. It is his, and mine. His for betraying your honor, and decency itself, and mine for not having seen it," Gwayne replied fervently. 

He took a careful step forward, too close to what was deemed appropriate, and yet she allowed him with wide eyes and parted lips, caught in the pull of his devotion. She took a deep inhale when he picked her hand up, slowly brought it to his lips, and pressed a kiss to the back of her knuckles. "I will not fail you again," he vowed, and she sighed, her small fingers curving into his hold.

He swallowed, suddenly feeling the closeness of her skin like the sun at the highest point of summer, scorching his cheeks, and he could not help himself. He pressed a second kiss to the back of her hand, feeling himself falter—his head spun as he pictured himself kissing along the delicate bones of her wrist, up her arm until he reached the soft skin at the crook of her neck.

He let go of her hand suddenly, taking a sharp step back, and at that she looked bereft; but he was sworn to protect her, and he would not tempt her into sin, no matter his desires and his conviction that he could please her as she deserved.

He saw the moment her emotions burrowed under the surface again, and her features closed over them, her face smooth as marble once more. "Would you call my maid back in?" she said, her voice firm and flat, and somehow Gwayne felt more wretched from that simple question than his own shame.

The next few weeks passed in much a similar fashion than they had before her confession, except that this time Gwayne was much more attentive to her outward signs of distress. He had hoped that the queen's confession would relieve her of much of her burden, as shame was the most wretched companion, but it seemed to have had the opposite effect, and any warmth she had once shared with him was gone.

His mind seemed to clear from the fog of yearning he had found himself caught in before her revelation, and he clung to the mission he had assigned himself as a lifeline. He stood proud and unyielding as a servant came to fetch the queen night after night, refusing for her to be summoned, even when the young man was replaced by Ser Arryk. 

His devotion to the queen came in the form of his steadfastness, fueled by the ache in his chest now that he knew of her burden. It came in the form of his silent presence at the door when the time of labors came, and midwives rushed in and out of the rooms to fetch linens and water. 

The girl that was born to her was pale as the moon, and yet made her mother smile as bright as the sun. Gwayne looked down at the babe with delight and fondness as he was introduced to her, his second charge, and he instantly took it on with pride.

"She looks like you, your grace," he said quietly, and the slow nod the queen gave him in return was charged. They both knew this time was only a reprieve and that her nightmare would soon start again.

"How marvelous it is, that such a pure and perfect being shall be born of such darkness," she murmured, only for him to hear, pressing her bundle closer to him. 

Gwayne dipped his head until the line of propriety was crossed and he could smell the milk on both his charges. "As long as I am sworn to you, I vow that her purity will not be touched by this corrupted world."

The smile she bestowed on him at those words was as soft as a kiss, and he felt it on his face as though she had pressed it into his skin. 

With the beauty of that new life shining a light on the queen, came the shadow of what would follow. As she took to her chambers to rest and bond with her baby daughter, and he guarded the door more often than he effectively guarded her. Gwayne felt a tension mount in him, scalding and bitter. It colored his tongue in a way he usually controlled, but this time he could hardly contain himself. 

Words came bolting out like a wild horse one morning and he lost his grip on them and on his impulses, until he found himself waiting in the antechambers of the queen, his sheath in hand but his armor nowhere to be found. He felt unworthy of wearing it, his head down like a scolded child after the heated words the hand had spoken to him.

The heavy doors opened and he was summoned, stepping inside with his gaze tilted downward in the foolish hope of concealing his bruised cheekbone and split lip.

The rooms were bathed in the soft morning light and in the smoke from the night's candles. In the middle of those ribbons of white, the young woman sat. Upon seeing her, all shame vanished from Gwayne's chest and instead came a great conquering feeling, and he knew he would not be able to summon an honest apology for his actions.

"It was reported to me that you disrespected your lord commander," the queen said slowly, and Gwayne could only nod. There would be no use denying the truth of his deeds and his words, and he found he had no wish to conceal them from her.

"I confronted him. I asked him how he could allow the king to treat you in this way and never intervene," Gwayne said solemnly, a hint of defiance in his voice, and to his delight the queen huffed a sad laugh.

"You needn't defend my honor, ser," she said, lowering her eyes.

"Yes I do," he replied, widening his stance and looking up at her with the impertinence she knew he sometimes had. 

It was the righteous insolence of nobility, of not being a simple knight of the kingsguard, come from squiring for a noble lord, but the son of the Hand to three kings. She found beauty in the way he dared step over the line, and in the impudent way he was looking at her in that instant, showing pride in what he had done.

"You have hardly been able to look at me these last few days," she murmured, licking her lips.

"You misunderstood, I am ashamed, yes, but of myself!" he cried out, taking a step towards her once more, and heat bloomed in her stomach as she remembered the last time he had allowed himself to get close to her. "I was sworn to protect you and I failed to do so."

"Ser Gwayne, you forget yourself!" she admonished, but in truth she wished to reprimand herself for the way her thoughts strayed. 

Her hands came to rest on her belly and she closed her eyes, looking for composure. "I did not mean to offend you, or bring you shame," he said, quieter, his temper settling. He knew aches and pains came to her more often now that her term was near, and for all his pride at having struck his commander, he did not wish to distress her.

"You did not. My disdain for Cole is known, if anything I am grateful you spoke your truth to him," she conceded, then licked her lips over a smile that threatened to appear on her face. "I heard you bruised his face."

"I did," he replied, lifting his chin and unfurling his shoulders.

"A shame that he bruised yours," she said, rising from where she was sitting. She fumbled for a moment, troubled, but found steadiness as she dipped a handkerchief into the small basin of fresh water her maid had left on a table. 

Without another thought, she came to him in quick steps and reached up, pressing the wet cotton to the split side of his lip. "Your father and nephew won't have you dismissed. We need good soldiers at this delicate time," she soothed although it was unnecessary.

She watched as Gwayne's lashes fluttered, casting shadows on his freckled face, and her chest swelled in yearning. He looked so young in that instant, without the bulky armor that kept his lean frame hidden, and she flushed as she realized she had never seen him so uncovered. Her treacherous gaze flitted downward, along the planes of his chest and stomach under the simple cotton shirt he wore, to the cream-colored trousers where a tantalizing line of buttons rested over a slight bulge.

She averted her eyes but the silent sin had been committed, and when she met Gwayne's face again, he was watching her raptly. He reached up to hold her hand against his face, leaning into her until his nose and lips were nestled in the crook of it.

"Gwayne," she murmured, forgoing his title and all propriety along with it. 

His piercing eyes remained on her as his lips followed the line of her veins from her palm to the inside of her wrist and arm, uncovered from her large sleeve pooling at her elbow. They both sighed as she gently threaded her fingers through his copper mane, and a lick of heat went through her as his parted lips revealed his tongue.

She retracted her hand as though his fiery hair had burned her, tears coming to her eyes. “I was soiled, ser. Do not debase yourself," she murmured regretfully as his hand caught her elbow, keeping her close.

"You were not. You are made holier and purer to me because of the suffering you have been put through," he pressed, fervent as ever, and she desperately wanted to believe him, to cling to the reverent way with which he looked at her and hold on to whatever scraps of honor she still had.

"Please," she said, taking a few steps back and he let her go, her arm slipping out of his grasp until her fingers were falling from his, their fingertips grazing. 

The cut on his lip was stinging more fiercely now, and he nodded a few times as he pressed his tongue against it subtly—he bent down and picked up the kerchief she had dropped, white tainted with a few spots of his blood, and slipped it into his pocket.

He watched feebly as she closed her eyes against hot tears, taking deep, steadying breaths until he saw her surrender spread across her face. 

"The maester has informed me that my afterbirth confinement is to end, and that I may return to the King's bed," she said before she opened her eyes again, and Gwayne swallowed heavily under the implication.

“It may be over soon, my nephew won’t live to be an old king", the words fell from his lips before he could think them through.

“Hush, you must never be caught uttering those words!" she cried out, rushing to him again and pressing her hand to his mouth. "Mind your tongue, even here with me.”

Fear coursed through him and it must have shown on his face—for a second he wondered if he had willfully ignored affection she bore to the king despite his transgressions. However she shook her head, the pressure of her hand lessening until her fingertips were barely grazing his lips.

“I simply meant…" she softened. "You are safe with me and I shall keep your confidence, but I could not stand you being disgraced, or worse, if you were heard.”

The pads of her fingers lingered on his lips, and he could not help but lean into them, seeking her warmth. She gasped as the tip of his tongue came to taste the salt of her skin but did not retract her hand.

They were both breathing heavily, caught in that suspended moment, and he wondered if she would suddenly push him away as she had in the past.

"I will endeavor to remain by your side, always, my queen," he said reverently, dipping his face until his mouth was hovering over hers; such sweet lips deserved to be kissed, to be worshiped. Her fingers dropped from his face but his mouth grazed her cheek as she turned.

"Ser Gwayne, you forget your vows," she whispered.

"What are the meaning of those vows if I cannot protect you and serve you as you deserve? I am sworn to you," he pressed, his breath hot on her face, his eyes full of adoration. "I am yours. In every way you might require."

He tilted his head, seeking her mouth again, and this time she allowed him. Her fingers curled in his shirt as his mouth pressed to her gently, firm but chaste, his lips molding perfectly against hers. He waited with batted breath as she pressed back, letting her guide him, sighing quietly as she pulled back only to push herself up on her toes and kiss him again.

Ever mindful of how delicate she was, he wrapped an arm around her waist softly, enjoying the delighted sigh that came from her parted lips, and the way she melted against him as his tongue prodded hers. Her hand was back in his hair, carding through the thin strands and making the back of his neck prickle, while she tasted his passion and explored his lips with hers.

He was gentle and slow, yielding to her instead of taking, but she could feel the tremble of his body as he restrained his desires.

The healing touch of her sworn protector turned firmer as her hands pressed into the muscle of his chest, and she felt him quiver as she followed the plane of his flat stomach until she reached his waist. His belt was somewhere else with the rest of his armor and she delighted in the softness of his clothes, the ease with which she could reach his skin. 

He pressed his moan into her mouth, his tongue curling against hers as her fingers fell to the buttons of his breeches. He buried his face in her neck as she boldly curled her hand over him; he encouraged her, his own hand coming to rest at her bottom.

She rubbed him through the linen, feeling the weight of his stones and the length of his shaft; she relished in how it hardened in her palm. For once she had a choice, and in her arms was leaning a man that desired her, adored her beyond the shadow of a doubt. In his arms, she felt free, cherished—she soared as he moaned aloud when the heel of her hand pressed harder against his tip.

He widened his stance and heat washed over her as he did so.

"Your grace," he murmured in her neck, his voice edging on a whine, pleading and reverent.

"Not here," she whispered in his ear, breathing in the scent of his hair, sweat and soap. "I'm not your queen here. Please."

"You're always my queen..." he replied, his mouth pressing hot, wet kisses along the column of her throat, down into the collar of the gown she was wearing. "My lady of light."

His eyes were clear and piercing as he looked up, his fingers following the path of the tight laces until they found the knot at the base of her neck and pulled. She held his head to her chest, then to her abdomen as he removed the laces expertly, taking her dress and shift down as he went. She shivered as his hair grazed her breasts, his mouth following an invisible line from her collarbones to her navel.

Finally, as his knees hit the floorboards and two rings of fabric laid at her feet, did he look up again. His eyes were dark, blown wide, his cheeks flushed a dark pink and his lips parted on a sigh that could have been her name.

"Gwayne," she called, and he went swiftly, rising gracefully and picking her up, her legs around his waist. Her silk slippers fell to the floor as he brought her to the bed, his breath in her mouth and her core flush with his abdomen.

He laid her down on the edge of the bed with a care that brought tears to her eyes and kneeled in front of her once more. He picked up her feet one by one, and after removing her stockings, kissed one of her ankles, his lashes fluttering.

"Look at me," he said, his gentle tone bordering on commanding and it made her shiver. 

She was so used to having him at her call, obeying her every whim, and it felt good to lay back and allow him to take the reins. This control she was giving him didn't make her feel afraid, in fact she relished in it, and in the trust she had in him.

He kissed her ankle, then her knee, pushing her leg up until it came to rest over his shoulder, and finally, he reached the place she so desperately wanted him to kiss. 

She braced despite herself, but gasped when the press of his lips was merely a graze, the gentlest of kisses. It made her shudder, a blazing path running from her core up her spine, and she found herself rocking up against him, seeking more friction.

"Oh gods, Gwayne," she sighed as he kissed her pearl firmly, the very place she touched when the night was thick and she was alone, closing her eyes to visions of piercing green eyes and fiery hair.

She watched him as he savored her, his tongue coming to lick a careful strip up her folds, then prodded past the soft flesh to find her most sensitive spots. Soon she couldn't hold herself upright and fell to the sheets, her hands tangling in his luscious hair as her legs curled over his shoulders.

The cut on his lip stung but he ignored it, if anything the low burn incensed him, as though it was a mark of his devotion. She arched her back as he flattened his tongue on her core, and he felt her legs shake over his shoulders, her heels digging into his upper back.

"Gwayne," she whined, her grip tightening on his hair.

"Let go," he pleaded, desperate to feel her peak under his mouth. 

Curling his hands around her thighs, caged between her knees, he savored the ache in his jaw as she rocked back against him, gently then more pressing. He felt a tension mount in him as she grew stiffer under his grip, frantic, her body tight like the rope of a bow until it snapped.

She cried out as Gwayne's tongue pulled shudder after shudder of pure ecstasy from her pearl, irradiating her entire body. Heat spread in her core, her most intimate place pulsing with molten waves, curling her toes and arching her back. 

As she regained her breath, Gwayne was kissing the inside of her thigh, one of his hands stroking her soothingly while his other was busy between his legs, no doubt working the buttons of his breeches.

"Allow me," she panted, and he obeyed without hesitation; he climbed after her on the bed, his hips on either side of her and she reached up. Her trembling fingers fumbled with the tight buttons for a moment, and by the sight of her knight holding himself over her, his head hanging between his shaking shoulders.

He climbed off the bed as soon as the buttons were undone, pulling his shirt over his head and messing his copper strands even more. She found herself mesmerized by them, wanting to card her fingers through them again as he took his pleasure this time. She traced the curves and planes of his upper body with her eyes—from his defined shoulders to the swell of his pectoral and the carved lines of his abdomen.

Time slowed as they both looked at one another, her gaze caught by the open lapels of his breeches, showing the tented line of his small clothes, while his own gaze was running appreciatively over her curves. Pleasure had left a sheen over her skin, her breasts were peaked, and the long lines of her legs led him to the apex of her thighs where he now dreamed to bury more than his mouth.

Gwayne hesitated—serving and pleasuring her on his knees was one thing, but laying atop her, breaching her and seeking his own peak was another. "Are you certain?" he asked, and he saw hesitation spread over her face in turn, her cheeks flushing in shame.

He licked his lips. "I've broken my vows before, I am not proud of it, but..."

"I've thought of you," she confessed. "To make my nightmares endurable, to make my solitude bearable..." she trailed, then lowered herself to her elbows once more, bringing her knees up to part them. 

Without a second thought he pulled his boots off, and soon a pile of rough cloth and linen was joining it, and he stood fully bare in front of his queen.

"Wait," she said timidly as he stepped forward, ready to join her again, and he shivered as he realized she meant to look upon him a moment more.

He flattened one of his hands on his stomach, hoping to soothe the throbbing of his cock. It stood hard and leaking, pink at the tip, his stones heavy under the shaft. He bit his lip as she watched, her eyes blown wide in obvious pleasure as he succumbed to temptation and gave himself a slow pull, but instead of soothing the ache, it made his skin stretch tighter over his hardness.

"Do you ever think of me?" she asked, more brazen than she was a second ago, and her newfound confidence excited him.

He shook his head. "I faltered a few times but I never allowed myself. Not fully," he confessed.

"Would you do it now?" she asked, and he knew there was more to it than simply a woman asking to watch a man—it was a wounded girl taking back her power, taking her place as the one in charge for once, and he felt more honored than when he had taken his vows that she felt safe enough to ask it of him.

"You can refuse," she added, and her care broke his heart. He shook his head again. 

"I wouldn't refuse you that," he said, starting a slow rhythm, his skin prickling with excitement as she watched him take pleasure by his own hand. He felt his face and chest flush and he widened his stance slightly, only for the satisfaction of seeing her press her knees together at the gesture.

"Gwayne," she called again, and he knew he would never tire of her saying his name in this way, breathless and adoring.

"One time in the Sept, you caught me watching you, praying on your knees," he reminded her.

"You blushed, I had never seen you so flustered," she chuckled, then bit her lip as his hand sped up.

"I thought of it that night, and I could hardly help myself," he recounted. "I asked a brother to take his place at the watch, else I'd have sinned against you."

"It's not a sin to desire me," she said, then pushed herself further back onto the bed, and he followed her silent call. 

He crawled after her, coming to kneel on the sheets, his hand still lazily stroking his length. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he bent forward, and he captured her mouth in a passionate kiss. 

She let him press her into the sheets, and they shared a moan when her knees came up to his hips, her thighs resting against his. He let go of his cock to steady himself, his arms caging her in. Soon her hands were roaming his back, his flanks, mapping the shape of his buttocks, pressing him forward until he was flush against her core.

He gasped then, rocking down against her, quivering in her grasp when one of her hands slid between their bodies and guided him to her entrance. His face tucked against hers, breathing into each other's cheek, savoring the first slow press of his cock into her.

He let her guide him, first as the tip breached past the dip that led into her body, then as the stretch made her gasp. He bit his lip as her walls molded perfectly around his length and she clenched, taking him in slowly. He audibly gasped as he bottomed out and she kissed it from his lips with a smile.

They both looked down between their bodies as they rocked cautiously together, but soon her gaze was caught on his face, alive with pleasure. His eyes were closed, his brow smoothed over in delight, his pink lips parted over sweet sighs that he could barely restrain.

Soon she couldn't keep her own eyes open, so taken with his warmth as she was—she fell against the sheets, arching her back against the delicious weight of him. The gentle way with which he was thrusting into her was easing her into it, a slow build of heat at her core.

He dipped his head into her neck, and his lovely moans in her ear only spurred her on. He pressed soft kisses into her skin, seeking the soft spot behind her jaw that made her mewl and grip his back harder.

"My love," the confession slipped from his lips and she gasped, tightening her hold on him, her legs coming to wrap around his waist.

Incensed by her reaction, he murmured it again in her ear and one of her hands slithered back into his hair, pulling him in for another wet kiss that left him breathless. They swallowed each other's names, their tongues curling in time with the rocking of their hips, and their rhythm gradually sped up.

Gwayne could feel a tension building at the base of his spine and he bit his lip, trying to keep it at bay until she was herself in the throes of it, or perhaps even on the edge. He reached down to one of her thighs, propping her leg up until it was almost curled at his shoulder, the back of her knee kept in the crook of his elbow.

The new angle made her nub catch against his abdomen, and he held steady as she ground up against him, chasing the dual sensation. Between the stretch of his cock inside of her, sending sparks up her spine, and the pressure at her pearl, setting her whole core ablaze, she could only surrender and allow the current to take her.

"Gwayne," she whined as she felt herself fall, the edge ever so close.

"I love you," he replied, his own peak approaching and loosening his tongue. 

She sobbed and he licked it from her mouth, the grinding of her hips turning frantic as she grew wetter around him. He wanted to laugh, victorious that she would accept his love and have such a deep, carnal reaction to it. Her mouth fell open on a silent cry, her back arching as she threw her head back onto the sheets, her core pulsing around his cock.

He held on, groaning through gritted teeth as his peak threatened to crash over him but he held on until the frantic rocking of her hips slowed to a stop and she grew loose and pliant. He pulled away and she clenched around the sudden loss, whining as the last waves of her pleasure still made her shudder.

She watched as he spent across her belly with a few moans and whimpers, his hair falling into his eyes as his hips stuttered into his own hand. 

She mewled as he fell forward, pressing grateful kisses into her chest as her own hands mapped his shoulders, eager to share a few more moments of bliss. She pulled him in by the back of the neck and he kissed her again, sweet and slow. 

"Allow me," he said as he pulled away again, this time climbing off the bed in search of a cloth and water to clean her skin.

She sat up, taking stock of the cooling seed on her stomach, and risking a glance to his lean back and buttocks as he turned. He was littered with freckles as stars on the night sky, and she wanted to tell him, but suddenly her words were caught in her throat.

"Are you sore?" he asked almost timidly as he returned with a wet cloth and wiped her skin clean, then folded it and gave her a gentle pat between her legs.

"No," she replied, looking up at him with something akin to adoration.

She sighed pleasantly as he pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead, his thumb coming to stroke the side of her face, the edge of her smile—she reached up to do the same, grazing the cut that had brought him to her in the first place.

"Do not ever let anyone touch you in this way," she murmured, and he huffed an endeared laugh.

"I swore to ward you and give my blood for you," he replied.

"Cole doesn't deserve to breathe the same air as you," she pressed, her brow furrowing in earnestness.

Gwayne grew serious again, but didn't pull away until he had kissed her temple and murmured his love once more. She watched as he dressed again, their silence rather contemplative, until a knock at the door interrupted it.

He turned to her, a slight panic to his gaze and she slid from the bed quickly, picking up a robe from the back of a chair. "Hold!" she shouted. "Merely a moment!"

Yet the knock started again, more frantic this time, and she threw a look to Gwayne, gesturing from him to remain behind the screen that shielded her bed from the entrance of her chambers.

"Who is it?" she called. "I am in no condition to receive visitors."

At that the door opened and a sliver of a pale face and dark head of hair appeared—the young queen ushered the maid in quickly, and from his hiding spot behind the screen, Gwayne could only hear hushed voices. 

A heavy silence settled before the door opened again and quiet footsteps hurried out. The wood creaked loudly as it was closed, the silence broken by a wavering sigh from the queen.

Gwayne took a few tentative steps further into the room, squaring his shoulders and bracing for a terrible announcement, but when she turned to him, her face was one of utter relief.

She breathed a wet laugh, holding her hands to her chest as her eyes brimmed with tears. Gwayne felt breathless, hope and joy bursting in his chest as she spoke.

"You shall need your armor again, Ser Gwayne. The Prince Regent is calling an assembly in the Throne Room," she announced, and he couldn't have been less surprised. "It is all but a coup, my good ser."

"Long live King Aemond," he murmured as she picked up his sheathed sword and handed it to him, their fingers tangling over the engraved pommel.

Dividers by @/saradika

Beta read by the wonderful @arcielee, thank you so much ♡♡

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Whoever lied about HBO making a Tom Riddle series better sleep with one eye open...