Title: What Pride Has Brought

Paring: Arthur Morgan X Reader (Established Friendship turned Romance); Past Arthur Morgan X Mary Linton (Mentioned)

Author: TwilighCreed

Word Count: 6.4k+

Warning: Violence themed, gore, character death, angst, animal death, strong language... Defiantly not something children should read... 

Summary: In the wake of the Valentine massacre, the Gang faces a short supply of much needed food after their hasty retreat to their new hideout at Clements Point. With their leaders gone in search for a way out, Y/N takes in upon herself to ensure the well being of her family in the Ambarino mountains. 

Authors Note: Hello everyone! It’s been a long while since I’ve last posted anything on my account, and I deeply apologies for that. With me starting my career in the military, enlisting has taken me across the country and the world. This story has been collecting dust in my archives since December of 2018 and I thought it’s about time I get back into my passion for writing. Not sure if I’ll make a part two, but it’s defiantly a thought. Thank you all so much for your patience! 

Enjoy! 

    The tension of the rawhide bowstring was taut between your fingertips, the skin raw from continuous use for the past several days and you could feel the ache in your muscles. You were used to the soreness—it was always yours and Charles responsibility to go hunting for provision within the camp. The others were always too clumsy when it came to the primitive art of hunting, bringing back small game and buckshot meat and ravaged pelts, neither of which were any help when it came to carving what little meat you could salvage from the appalling carcass of a whitetail buck. It became too common that you took it upon yourself to become the food provider; easing the weight off Charles and making Pearson a little happier when you started to bring quality kills in from a hunt.

Furthermore, when you weren’t at camping helping the woman with their chores, making meals other than stew for the men, and helping Kieran with the horses or aiding Dutch with new plans of another heist, you often find yourself surrounded by thick forest with nothing but your wits and skills to keep you alive while you hunt for the next big thing: elk.       

The bland taste of local game started to become recurring and the meals weren’t as happily anticipated anymore; causing the gang to start complaining about the food quality and making a bitter Person. You looked over at him with empathy while slowly chewing on your stew, and by the following morning you packed your warmest attire and drove your horse up north to the Ambarino mountains, heading to Grizzlies East where you heard fellow hunters and trappers had caught prized kills. It was worth a shot and a good excuse to leave camp for a few days. Arthur always had you stuck in camp.

It was what lead up to your current situation, with an improved arrow notched in your bowstring and your dominant arm brawn back with the large form of an elk in between your crosshairs. He was several meters away—amidst dead vegetation and low hanging branches— from your hidden position behind a pine tree, your body leaning up against the bark to help keep you steady and benefit you in getting a perfect shot. All you needed to do was aim a little lower to the left…

“Your posture is off.”

Title: The Farrier

Paring: Arthur Morgan X Reader

Author: TwilighCreed

Word Count: 1.7k+

Warning: None specifically, however, does embarrassment count? Fluff ensured.

Summary: When you miss breakfast and lunch, Arthur takes it upon himself—with encouragement from Hosea—to make sure you eat. Starting off yours and Arthur’s relationship with an embarrassing introduction.

Authors Note: I’m thinking of doing a series of the reader and Arthurs relationship; with readers, various skill sets that come in handy for the gang in certain situations thought the storyline of RDR2. The series is called “A True Dream” but each story will have a different title. Enjoy!

You were absorbed with your work, your hands working with remarkable grace as you dug the hook knife into the sole of the horse’s hoof, trimming it down and cleaning the inside from debris. You had been working tirelessly since the late hours of the morning tending to the horses; checking for visible abnormalities that could affect the horse’s health, performing oral examinations, monitor the horse’s respiratory system, as well as the basic annual check up on the horse’s feet and shoeing. It was a demanding job being the personal veterinarian and farrier for the Van Der Linde gang, but you found it to be well rewarding.

You exhaled; using the inside of your arm, you whipped the sweat from your forehead using your shirt before resuming to the task at hand. You moved in short and precise movements, trimming the excess flaky length of the sole with circular motions, following the shape of the hoof. When you were satisfied, you placed down your hook knife in trade for another hook knife, it’s blade much narrower. Placing the blade against the frog of the hoof, you slide the blade up away from the front of the hoof (toe) cutting a thin piece of the frog.

Charles had brought you more horses to take care when he went on a wild horse spree looking for more mounts for the camp. They needed immediate attention when you laid eyes on them a few days back, noticing several issues that needed your skill set. It was harder working with wild horses, none of them used to the touch of humans, let alone the intimate treatment you had to perform with each animal. You were grateful it was just two horses and not more, still, two was more than enough.

The soft snap of your actions invaded your ears as you slowly clipped the hoof wall with your nippers. When you made it all around, you threw the hoof trimming on the ground and switched out for your raspers to file down the roughness and markings you created. The ache in your back and the pain in your thighs made it harder not to try and rush through, but you were adamant on taking your time, making sure you did a perfect job to ensure no pain for the horse.

Stopping, you tipped the foot down and check how level and flat the hoof was. You didn’t want it to be uneven, that would make it harder for the hose to walk as well as painful. Flipping the file over to the smooth side, you run it over the hoofs wall, following the shape with circular motions as well, making small adjustments. Using the file, you then angled it against the hoof wall, smoothing out the sharp edge. Going back to the wide hook knife, you trimmed down the sole again, making sure the sole wasn’t level with the hoof wall.

When it was done and you were content with your work, you allowed the hoof to drop from between your thighs and place the tool in your toolbox before stepping away and allowing your back to straighten and stretch before you would go back and start shoeing.

That was another hard work entirely.

      Arthur slowly sipped on his afternoon coffee while he watched you with a peculiar look on his face. A foot propped up on the fur-covered log by the campfire with a hand on his knee, the other holding the hot beverage.

It was a rare day that he had decided to stay in camp and rest before getting knee deep into work again, and he had noticed that you weren’t at breakfast that morning. He usually waited for the woman to get the first plates before he allowed himself to get his own; it’s when he noticed that you were absent. He had glanced over to where you were by the horses, a brush in hand while you stroked their sides, your eyes trained at the task at hand. He didn’t want to disturb you so he left you alone that morning.

It was when he came back from fishing that he also observed that it was well past noon and you hadn’t moved away from the horse’s side. Mrs. Grimshaw was kind enough to take time and prepare freshly made sandwiches with the venison leftover for the group members who were in camp, yet, you were still nowhere to be found.

This caused him to worry. You were new to the group, only just joining their ranks a few weeks back. No one really has had the opportunity to speak with you besides the small talk and when you needed to address something. Even if someone did want to sit down and have a conversation with you, you always shied away, preferring the stick to yourself.

Arthur wouldn’t have cared, and frankly, he didn’t trust you. He was fine with not speaking to you, in fact, he liked it like that. But when Hosea had pulled him aside late last night, expressing his concern for you, asking Arthur to look out for you, he begrudgingly agreed. He didn’t know why Hosea had asked him and not one of the women. It raised suspicion but he didn’t question it too much.

Arthur downed the last of his coffee before setting the mug down. Walking over to Person’s wagon, he grabbed the plate he had put on the side for you. Removing the cloth he used to cover it, he grabbed his canteen and started to make his way over to where you were, hunched over a table, your eyes looking hard at the open journal in front of you, your wooden pencil behind your ear with your hair pulled back in a messy bun. Thick tendrils falling loose and dangling by your eyes. You had dressed in simple clothing, a red flannel button down and work pants, your farrier apron wrapped tightly around your waist and flaring out around your thighs; your boots dusty from long ware.

You looked strangely beautiful.

He hadn’t noticed he was staring at you until you had looked up from your work, your face lightly dusted with dirt and grime but he could see the underline of slight pink on your cheeks and the crease of your brows as you watched him with confusion. You had caught him staring.

“Sorry,” he blurted, his tongue suddenly becoming heavy, feigning ignorance. “I brought you some food.”. He took a step and placed the plate on your work table as well as the canine of water. “Thought you might be hungry.”

Your eyes followed it, a realization of how hungry you actually were hitting you like a freight train. Your brows had returned to their neutral position and your eyes softened.

“Oh,” you said, standing to your full height. From where you stood and him across from you, you could tell he was much taller, forcing you to slightly tilt your chin up to look at him. “Thank you… Mr-” you found yourself suddenly at a lost for words and heat rose to your checks in embarrassment.

You forgot his name.

A lighthearted smile pulling at his lips while he watched you rack your brain, trying to remember his name. He would have waited patiently if he didn’t notice how incredibly embarrassed and flustered you were getting. It was amusing watching you.

“Arthur, Arthur Morgan.” he finally said, putting a halt to your thoughts.

“Right,” you breathed. Your eyes silently thanking him from saving you from even more embarrassment. “Y/N. I’m sorry Mr. Morgan. It’s been a rough two weeks…”

“S’Okay. I understand.” he chuckled softly and your eyes flickering up to meet his.

If you hadn’t already made even more a fool of yourself, you would be now, because when you had finally met his eyes, you were completely transfixed. His eyes were breathtaking and you had to stop yourself from sucking in a breath too quickly. They were forest green with lights shades decorating the outer edge of his iris before slowly fading into a soft golden hazel near the middle. You had never seen such eyes before, and all your time in camp you’ve never spoken to Arthur, let alone close enough to see his eyes.

Arthur cleared his throat when he noticed you staring. It broke your thoughts and you started to blink rapidly, your head quickly dropping down in even more embarrassment and you had to will yourself not to run away and hide at that moment.

“I… Thank you for the meal, Mr. Morgan. It was very considerate of you. I-I need to get back to the horses.”

You had almost said it too fast that your words were all jumbled together. It took Arthur a second to break down what you said before he found himself unsure what to say.

“Oh-okay. I’ll, uh, leave you to it then,” he said, taking a step back. “You can leave my canine by my tent when you’re done.” he turned to leave but stopped before he could get too far; he turned towards you. “If you need anything, just let me know. You’re safe here. Ain’t nobody gonna hurt you.”

You had forgotten about your foolish humiliation to look up at him, surprise written across your face. You were kicking yourself for being so rude when he was being nothing but nice to you. It brought shame to you but you quickly pushed it down.

“Thank you, Mr. Morgan. I… I really appreciate that.” you smiled softly.

He mirrors your actions and returned a smile back before he tipped his hat in farewell.

“Please, call me Arthur.”

He turned away and started to make his way back into camp and you watched him for a little longer than you would like to admit before your eyes fell to your journal.

“Arthur…” you tested his name and it’s never felt so good leaving your lips.

You got back to work with a newfound skip in your step, a full stomach, and a new warmth in your heart.

Being the personal farrier to the Dutch Van der Linde Gang was more than just rewarding, you thought.

Title: Challenge

Paring: Arthur Morgan X Reader

Author: TwilighCreed

Word Count: 469

Warning: None. 

Summary: Since your initiation into the group, Arthur and a few others notice how you always carry a rifle with you. Curious, Arthur asked you a question.

“Have you ever shot that thing before?”

The tip of the knife came to a halt against the wood stock of your rifle, your fingers tightening around the hilt of the blade before your eyes flickered towards the voice that broke the silence around you. When your eyes finally left the etching design of an elk to look up, you were startled to see it was none other than Arthur Morgan himself, looking down at you from his standing position with a curious glint in his eyes.

“Of course,” you answered after a long pause, sitting up you placed the knife down onto the table you were working on. “Why do you ask?”

“I’ve never seen you shot it before, yet, you walk around with that thing,” he said, gesturing to the rifle that laid on its side before you.

“I haven’t had the chance to use it,” you said simply. 

Arthur cocked a brow, humming in response, doubting you. His tongue dragged slowly over his bottom lip causing your eyes to flicker down to follow the pink muscle, but you quickly looked up to meet his eyes. He noticed.

“You doubt me?” It was more of a statement than a question, but you didn’t want to seem rude

Arthur seemed to contemplate his options on how to respond to you. You could imagine that he would flat out say yes, that he did doubt you, for all he’s seen of you was doing the chores around camp, helping Pearson cook a hot meal and tend to the horses as your specialty. No one has seen you pull the trigger. So, of course, he and the others would watch you with interest as you hauled around your rifle while doing your daily work. It was the new whispers around camp

“I tell you what. Beat me at a shootin’ contest and we’ll go down to Valentine and get you a sidearm, anything you want.”

This piqued your interest. You only had your father’s Winchester lever-action repeater as your weapon and you could use another sidearm, especially since you were running with outlaws.

“And if I lose, Mr. Morgan?” 

He smirked. “Now wouldn’t you like to know?”

A grin slowly appearing on your face and you found yourself chuckling. This seemed to have an effect on Arthur because a smile started to pull on his lips.

From what you’ve learned and observed about the man was that he wasn’t cruel and unfair. So if his counter offer was left to be decided, you were comfortable enough to take the deal. 

“Alright,” you said, grabbing your knife and sliding it into its leather sheath at your side and picking up the rifle by the stock. “I’ll take you up on that offer, Mr. Morgan.”

He smiled. 

“Please, call me Arthur.”

Note: I have recently got Red Dead Redemption 2 and by God… I have fallen in love with Arthur Morgan.

◀🄼🄰🅂🅃🄴🅁🄻🄸🅂🅃▶

Here is the full, complete list of all my multi-fandoms work. This includes imagines, one-shots, series, erotica (smut), and more. If any of the links are broken or there is an issue accessing one of my works, please, do not hesitate to let me know.

Thank you and enjoy!

-TwilighCreed ♥

LAST UPDATE: 6/29/2018

● 𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 ●

➤   “Imagine… Callum Lynch finding out you have the blood of a Legendary Master Assassin, Altair Ibn-La’Ahad.”

● 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒/𝐎𝐍𝐄-𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒/𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓𝐒 ●

➤ Trust & Betrayal  (Arno Dorian X Reader)

➤ A Risk Willing To Take (Shay Cormac X Reader)

● 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 ●

●𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑●

● 𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 ●

➤ “Imagine… Once being Gotham’s most loved Hero, to becoming the most ruthless Villain.”

➤ “Imagine… Being a Vigilante alongside Batman and finding out his true identity.”

● 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒/𝐎𝐍𝐄-𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒/𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓𝐒 ●

● 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 ●

●𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑●

● 𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 ●

➤ “Imagine… having a rare; intimate moment with your lover, Lady Josephine Montilyet.” 

● 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒/𝐎𝐍𝐄-𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒/𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓𝐒 ●

● 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 ●

●𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑●

● 𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 ●

➤ “Imagine… Singing to yours and Cersei’s daughter when she has a nightmare.”

➤ “Imagine… Having a secret relationship with Cersei Lannister.”

➤ “Imagine… Cersei drunkenly confessing her desire for you when she spots you with another woman.”

➤ “Imagine… Daenerys falling in love with you, a Dragon that could morph into a human.”

➤ “Imagine… Figuring out Ser Jorah was a spy against Daenerys — you’re lover—, and you confront him.”

➤ “Imagine… Being one of the youngest siblings of Eddar Stark (Ned), and you are a Knight Wolf―a shapeshifting direwolf―that lives far North where you have built a strong stronghold and raised an army of your own. One day you are sent a raven with the news that your brother is accused of treason and held captive at Kingslanding and Robb, his eldest son, has gathered 20,000 men and started a war against House Lannisters. Upon once, you gather your strongest warriors and head south where you help Robb, your nephew, fight against the new King to get Ned back. And the Lannisters are terrified because you are one of the most strongest Lords/Ladies of the Stark family and you are a Knight Wolf.”

➤ “Imagine… Being the oldest son of Eddard Stark, and defending your father against Jaime Lannister.”

➤ “Imagine… Being a powerful Lord in the North and being the husband of Sansa Stark.”

● 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒/𝐎𝐍𝐄-𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒/𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓𝐒 ●

➤ Nobel Maiden Fair (Cersei Lannister X Male, King Reader)

● 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 ●

➤ Wolves Bane (Daenerys Targaryen X Male, Stark Reader) UNCOMPLETE

→ Pilot (¼)

→ Dragon’s Bodyguard (2/4)

→ The Lone Wolves Howl (¾)

→ The Rouge Wolf of the North (4/4)

●𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑●

● 𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 ●

➤ “Imagine… If Tom Riddle had a son. Albus Dumbledore took him in and placed him in Hogwarts where he quickly becomes the top student and instant companions with Harry, Ron and Hermione. When Harry infiltrates the Chamber of Secrets, Tom discovers his long-lost son… Y/N Alastair Riddle.”

● 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒/𝐎𝐍𝐄-𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒/𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓𝐒 ●

● 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 ●

●𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑●

● 𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 ●

● 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒/𝐎𝐍𝐄-𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒/𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓𝐒 ●

➤ I Promise (Steve Rogers X Daughter, Solider Reader)

● 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 ●

●𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑●

● 𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 ●

➤ “Imagine… Being one of the Resistances best pilots; you’re shot down by Imperial TIE fighters, terrifying Poe because he never got to tell you how he felt about you.”

➤ “Imagine… Being a Jedi who protects Rey and saves her from the hands of Kylo Ren.”

● 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒/𝐎𝐍𝐄-𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒/𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓𝐒 ●

➤  My Brother (Anakin Skywalker X Sister, Jedi Reader)

● 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 ●

●𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑●

● 𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 ●

➤ “Imagine… Saving Dean’s ass with your companion, Yankee, a German Shepard.”

➤ “Imagine… Secretly being a werewolf and you hunt the Supernatural. On one hunt you save the Winchester brothers and catch the eye of the eldest brother, Dean.”

➤ “Imagine… Being the youngest brother of Sam & Dean, you come home after a year-long deployment in Iraq.”

➤ “Imagine… Being Sam’s & Dean’s pet dog. They like to take you out on hunts, and Dean secretly liking you.”

➤ “Imagine… The boys thinking you’re angry at them because you don’t talk to them as much or you distance yourself from them; but in fact, you have a hard time showing your emotions because you’ve been hurt so much in the past and Sam understands you and Dean comforts you.”

➤ “Imagine… Being seriously injured by a demon and your father, John Winchester, holds you in his arms as you take your last breath…”

● 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒/𝐎𝐍𝐄-𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒/𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓𝐒 ●

● 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 ●

●𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑●

-

Title: Wolves Bane 

Pairing: Daenerys Targaryen X Male Stark Reader 

Author:  TwilighCreed/DawnWrites 

Word Count: 4.9k+

Warning: Violence, explicit language, slight sexual content, mention of blood, slightly depressed reader, fluff, slight angst. Spoilers for season one and seven. Short chapter? 

Summary:  Y/N Stark was forced into exile after helping three fugitives escape beyond The Wall from King Robert. Four years after his exile, he receives news that Lord Arryn is dead and his family could be in immense danger. After accepting an offer to help get him home to his family, Y/N is to work for Magister Illyrio Mopatis and protect the princess, Daenerys Targaryen. What the lone wolf did not expect was to fall in love with a woman he could never have…   

Author Note: Hey guys! Once more I apologize for the long wait. I’ve finally got this part done and will start working on the next one tonight or very soon. I will finish this series. I really do enjoy writing it. I just do not like rushing my writing and spitting it out, I like to put quality in my work so you guys can enjoy it and I am not wasting your time. I did decide to put this into four parts instead of three so that I have more to work with and I can put the chapters out faster. Like that works... lol Next part will be solely around Dany and male reader. I did kind of find it difficult to write Dany since we do not get much of her personality before the start of GOT. So I am going to be going off how the book describes her. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy and have a wonderful rest of your day/night! 

Enjoy! 

Part One ► Pilot   [PREVIOUS] Part Two ► The Dragon’s Bodyguard   [HERE] Part Three ► The Lone Wolves Howl   [COMING SOON] Part Four ► The Rouge Wolf of the North

ONE WEEK LATER

298 AC, The Free Cities of Essos, Pentos

There was a strange and peculiar scrutiny Y/N felt the moment he dismounted from his horse and step foot through the northern gate of the Free City of Pentos. He was used to getting the odd looks and glances from time to time, but it was much more protruding this time. He wondered what was so bizarre that had them all gawking at him like he was some sort of hero out of the many stories his wet nurse use to read to him as a child. It was uncomfortable, but he did his best to shake it off and seem as if their stares did not concern nor distract him from his objective.

“Go to Pentos and ask for the man named Illyrio Mopatis. He’ll know what to do.” Lord Varys told him back at the docks in Braavos.

Their talk did not last much longer after Varys told him of the news of  Jon Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie and Hand of the King. It consisted of Y/N getting very heated when asking about his father and mother, but Varys seemed to have prepared for their encounter and spoke with soft words. He had even given Y/N a letter from his mother.

“Why are you giving this to me?” Y/N asked, his eyes holding a deep emotion of pain and his hands shaking as he held the neatly folded letter.

“Your mother wanted me to give this to you a long time ago. I couldn’t find you, but now that I have…”

“You just love playing your sick little games… Don’t you?”

Y/N could still feel the bitter angry he felt at the moment, but he did what he could to suppress it and think of something else that did not involve his precious family.

Holding the leather reins with a redundant tightness, Y/N walked cautiously among the people of Pentos, navigating himself with the prior knowledge he gathered from taverns, traveling merchants, and the locals, he was able to find himself in the center of the Market. Merchants called out to the bypassers with their lowest prices, farmers trading their livestock and tailors showing their latest work in patterns and designs. The overbearing smell of spices surrounded Y/N as he walked past stalls, he could even taste the heat of the spices on the tip of his tongue just by smell. There was not a moment he did not feel suffocated by the heat, different smells, and the people―he needed to leave.

Pulling on the reins to lead himself and his mount, Y/N started to make a break to the other side of the market when he felt someone place a heavy weight on his shoulder, forcing Y/N to turn around a face his intruder. What he was not expect was the broken nose and busted lip of the Captain.

Before Y/N could reach down and pluck his sword from his hip to defend himself―he saw the inevitable form of the Captain’s large fist and the expected splittingㅡnose crunching pain before he blacked out.

291 AC, Westeroes, Winterfell 

It was cold. It was very cold, colder than Y/N could ever remember. A young boyㅡno older than eleven namedaysㅡlaid underneath the warmth of deerskin pelts and furs, his hair sticking to his forehead from sweating so profusely, his eyelids closed and his breath erratic. He was battling a terrible fever.

“There has to be something you can do, Maister?” Eddar asked, his voice cracking with desperation.

Luwin gave a deep sigh, glancing over at the sick young boy and his concerned mother by his bed.

“I’m afraid I’ve done all I can. It is up to the boy and the gods now.” Maester Luwin regretfully informed, “I will supply him with the milk of the poppy for the pain, but that is all I can do, Lord Stark.”

Eddar shook his head, looking over at his firstborn son and to his wife Catelyn, he felt a pain in his heart to see his son and wife. It broke him to see them this way knowing he could do nothing about it. But it did not mean he wasn’t going to try. 

Discussing more discreetly with the Maister, Eddar and Luwin talk about other resolution for the young Lord. Neither finding an answer.

Catelyn sat near the end of her sons’ bed, her back to the warm blazing fire in the pit and a cold wet cloth in her hand. Slowly she started to rub the cloth all along the boy’s forehead, her thoughts running wild, blaming herself for her son falling ill.

If she had just kept her mouth shut and Jon did not hear her spoke so foul about him, Y/N wouldn’t have gone about his and fell in the lake. Out of all the frozen rivers and lakes, why that one?

Catelyn let out a soft sob, a tear rolling down her face. She leaned over and gently kissed her sons’ temple.

“Is Y/N gonna be alright, mother?” Robb asked, looking over at his older brother in bed, Jon, Bran, Sansa and even little Arya next to him, looking up at their mother with hopeful eyes. Jon seemed to be the most concerned out of the others. 

Catelyn secretly hated that Y/N and Jon were so close…

Not wanting to frighten her children, Catelyn gave an uncertain nod. Noticing how short she was, Cat gave them a much more determined nod. “He’s going to be alright,” she said, giving them an encouraging smile, “Y/N is strong. He’s a Stark, he was born in the cold. Nothing can hurt him.”

Jon looked down at his folded hands; backing away slightly. He knew he was responsible for Y/N going after him. He would never leave Jon alone. A soft sniffle left his lips, his black curly locks bouncing with each movement he made, catching young Robbs attention. Going over to his brother’s side, Robb placed a small hand on his shoulder.

“This is all my fault… if I hadn't―”

“Of course it’s not your fault! Y/N shouldn’t have been the fool and walked across the lake!”

Jon shook his head.

“He pushed me out of the way… I was supposed to be the one. I should be in that bed―not him.”

Ned glanced over at the young boys when he overheard Jon’s guilty confession. Walking over to where his son and nephew were, he got down on his knee. Looking over at Robb, he gave his son a short nod dismissing him before looking back at Jon. 

Placing two hands on his shoulder, Eddar made Jon look up at him. When the boy refused...

“Jon, look at me.”

“It’s my fault, Lord StarkㅡIts my fault.”

“I know, I know…”

“I didn’t mean for this to happen, I swear!”

Eddar smoothed out Jon’s ruffled hair, looking into the boys’ eyes. Eddar was not ignorant of his son and his nephews growing brotherly bond, Y/N saw Jon as a brother as he should, even though the young boy was smarter then he looked. Y/N saw right through Ned, even for a boy of nine.

“Listen to me, Jon. You stop this nonsense right now. We both knew Y/N wasn’t going to leave you alone in those woods, you are his brother. Brothers look after one another, you are no exception. Do you understand?”

Jon gave Ned a soft nod.

“Good. Now clear your eyes. Y/N is going to be alright.”

THREE DAYS LATER

298 AC, The Free Cities of Essos, Pentos

Y/N had woke with a startle. His body covered in a thin layer sweat he did not realize he even created. His throat was parched and his body was sore and heavy. It was as if a large boulder was placed on top of him keeping him pressed against the soft material of what he presumed to be a bed. Everything seemed to hurt, his nose is what kept his attention. The consent throbbing seemed to follow the rhythm of his heart and the tightness he felt with every breath. For a moment Y/N could not remember what happened, his head was pounding too much for him correctly recall the events that lead him hereㅡwherever here is.

With the little strength he could muster up, Y/N pride open his eyes. At first, he was blinded by whatever source of light was coming through the room, but slowly his eyes adjusted. Formerly, everything was a soft haze, each time he blinked and rubbed his eyes lazily, the smeared objects began to take shapes around him. When his eyesight became normal again, he was able to look around himself more thoroughly.

Instead of being tossed in an alley or left on the streets of the market, he was in a large open room. It was bright, the large windows were covered by a soft velvet see-through sheet that moved with each breath of wind. The room consisted of several white pillars, a small stone makeshift fireplace in the corner as well as wooden bookshelves that held trinkets, rolled parchment. A desk was shoved at the bottom of the window giving whoever sat there a clear view of the outside world. Makeshift decorations littered the walls beautiful, gold lining the bottom and top of each pillar. Orange, red and bright colors of sort themed the room giving off a warmth, almost welcoming vibe. Feeling underneath him Y/N felt the silk sheets and soft blanket that he had been lying on. 

A bed?

Where am I, he thought.

Thoughts of paranoia quickly spread and Y/N was quick to get to his feet, regretfully, a sudden burst of agonizing pain almost crippled Y/N to his knees. Settling back onto the bed in a sitting position, Y/N looked down at his side where he noticed bandages wrapped around his ribcage. With a shaky hand, he quickly started to unwrap the makeshift bandages. When the bandages were gone he saw no blood or any wounds on the surface, but he did see a large patch of discolored skin on his left side. It was tender to the touch and it looked horrible. Dark purple shades covered a large portion of his left side following his ribcage, spots of red and a light pink even visible.

“What the hell?” 

“You were ambushed by a group of pirates down at the market if you were wondering.” a light grating voice filled the emptiness of his room. Startling Y/N into looking up at whoever the intruder was.

A man stood near an archwayㅡa doorway Y/N presumedㅡwith his hands by his side and a rather curious look in his eyes. He was a large man no doubt, and by the flamed silk grab he wore, Y/N judged the man was of great wealth. Was he one of the Magisters of Pentos? He had to be. He seemed to hold a delicacy within himself, even with a man of his size, the way he struts over near Y/N’s bed seemed to tell him that much. He wore loose clothing as well; it reminded Y/N of the gowns his mother used to wear.

“Lucky for you, before those thieves could make out with you and your small living, my guards stopped them. It’s rather a coincidence that my men stumbled upon you, don’t you think Lord Stark?”

Y/N went rigged, “How do you knowㅡ”

“Lord Varys told me of your arrival. With his description, it’s not hard to tell an exiled Lord away from the common man.”

Y/N cringed at the words ‘exiled Lord’. He didn’t have to add salt to the wound.

“And you’re supposed to be Magister Illyrio?” Y/N asked, strengthening his back to appear much more than he was. Although it was a poor attempt, Illyrio admired it. 

“I am, Illyrio Mopatis, Magister of Pentos.” he corrected, brushing away the attempt on insult. “And you are under my care and roof, I suggest you act more generous to your host.”

Y/N glanced over at Illyrio before looking back directly in front of him. He didn’t like the idea of being treated as a lower, he was born a Lord, but considering his statues, Y/N was nothing in Essos, just a common mercenary. 

Putting his pride aside, Y/N slightly lowered his head.

“Forgive me, Magister. The trip was long.” Y/N spoke.

Illyrio seemed pleased, it almost made Y/N gage. He never bowed down to anyone, he hated it.

“Good. Now that we have that out of the way… how are you feeling?” Illyrio asked, taking a seat in front of Y/N.

“Like shit.”

Illyrio didn’t seem surprised.“Mhm… expected. Before my guards could retrieve you, the men who attacked you beat you. Your ribs where badly bruised in the process and they left you with a bloody nose, other than that you should be fine. A few cuts and bruises are all.”

Y/N nodded, “And my pursuers?”

“I’ve sent word for their arrest.”

“I have never taken Magisters at the type to call for a bounty. You are just a merchant.”

Illyrio seemed to slightly smirk.

Another man with tricks, Y/N though grumpy.

Shaking his head, Y/N looked around to room before going back to Illyrio.

“How long was I asleep for?”

“Three days. You like to push your body beyond the ordinary. That sort of thing will get you killed.”

Y/N frowned but said nothing.

“I have a proposition to offer if you’d like to hear it.”

“And what if I don’t?” Y/N challenged.

Illyrio sighed, “Then I suppose going home back to your family is impossible. Help me and I will help you.”

Y/N knew that he had little to no chance of getting back to Westeros and to the north without allies or help, it was impossible. If he was right then the pirates must have taken his gold and with that his ticket to get home. He needed the coin to get on a ship and sail west. If it wasn’t for those damn pirates he would be so close…

With a sigh of regret, Y/N nodded his head, “Okay.”

After Y/N was cleaned, redressed of his bandages and thrown into a comfortable cotton tunic and a pair of trousers, he and Illyrio walked the neatly designed layout of the Magister’s home. They were tailed by two well-dressed slaves, their head down as they followed. Y/N was surprised to find slaves. Pentos was supposed to be a free city, but from the looks of it, it wasn’t.

Y/N had learned from in a course of a few hours the many boundaries Magister Illyrio had in place for him, the rules and layouts of what Illyrio expected of Y/N and what should not be tampered with. He was very detailed in each his rules, making sure Y/N knew everything that needed to be known, even the consequences if he ever stepped out of line. It was a lot, but nothing Y/N couldn’t handle. This was easy compared to the ruling as a Lord. Although he did have to listen to each and every word that came out of Illyrio’s mouth, he did take the time to study Magister Illyrio and his large manse.

“… it is best if you are discrete in these halls, you are a bodyguard, nothing else. Speak little and when in the presence of the Targaryen’s, keep your eyes low and your tongue lower, especially around the King. We don’t need him getting suspicious of who you are.” Illyrio spoke quickly, ushering the both of them into a large room.

It was well decorated, the room’s colors were similar to the rest of the manse Y/N had seen. Red and orange, a common theme he found. It had a large desk in the middle, parchment and open letters scattered all along the surface. 

This must be his office.

“I have informed my guest that you are a hired mercenary,ㅡseeing that you are well known for that line of workㅡyou are to be a guard for the Targaryens, more specifically the princess,” Illyrio said, walking over to his desk while his slaves shut the door behind both men, leaving them alone.

Y/N was taken back when Illyrio had informed him that the Targaryen’s where his guest. He was housing them, guarding them, feeding and providing clothing and every possible needed. It took him not long to suspect Illyrio of supporting the Targaryen rein, there was no other explanation other than he wanted to use them for some sick joke. 

There was no secret that some did still support the Targaryens even after their tragic downfall, but knowing that the Starks, his family, was one of the reasons why the Targaryens were defeated during Robert’s Rebellion, it unsettled the wolf greatly. He understood why there were so many rules to conceal his true identity.

Sitting in a chair opposite Illyrio, Y/N tried his best not to disturb his side. Breathing was painful, let alone moving and walking, he was already feeling fatigued.

“You want meㅡa Stark, the reason her family is here in the first placeㅡto protect a Targaryen? Is your Unsullied not enough?”

“I’m afraid not. Viserys is convinced King Robert has sent hired knives. I want the King to have a comfortable stay while in my house. You are to be that comfort.”

Y/N narrowed his eyes, doubting the man of his true intentions but said nothing. 

This is for your home, for your family, don’t screw it up Y/N, he reminded himself.

Nodding his head carefully, Y/N couldn’t help but think of all the things that could go wrong with this. If one thing fell out of place and who he was, was discovered, any chance of home was gone. He felt a sudden sickening feeling fall at the pit of his stomach, it was a lot of pressure, but Y/N knew how to cover up his emotions well.

“When do I start?”

THE NEXT DAY

Signs of the morning started to show as the day passed into tomorrow. The events of yesterday left behind where they belonged at the chase for the future once more began. The beautiful dark moon made its way down past the mountain range into the far distance, it’s following shadows close behind as the sun’s bright rays started to stretch across Essos, waking the land from its dreams.

Y/N laid across the sheets of his newfound bed, laying on his back to avoid any pain or any possible further damage to his bruised ribs. They had a different source of medicine here than Westeros; he had to deal with the throbbing sensation as best as he could. Y/N had a high pain tolerance, however, the continual ache was driving him mad. He would do anything to have the milk of a poppy right about now.  

Thankfully, it was quiet in the room; the only sound was the distant splashes of water from the courtyard’s fountain and the waking servants. The birds singing their morning tune could also be heard in the far distances. It was peaceful.

The light from outsides sun started to filter through the cream curtains, pushing the darkness back and lighting up the room with warmth. It took the wolf several moments to stir in his bed, a soft groan mixed with his movement gave the sign of him waking. He gave out a deep sigh, his muscles relaxed and his mind at ease, his eyes closed recalling the delightful dream he had. 

No not a dream: a memory.

He remembered running across the open grass fields that laid in front of Winterfell’s great walls, a wooden play sword in hand with one thing in mind: don’t let them catch you! He remembered his brother Robb’s battle cry as he tried to best his older brother in a spar. 

Jon watching on a fallen trunk with Theon Greyjoy leaning against a tree, and a young Bran watching from the tree’s canopy. He loved to climb. He could remember sidestepping and swinging his play sword at Robb’s knees, resulting in him watching the young wolf fall. Y/N would never forget the face his brother gave him when he once again, won. Robb always tried to beat his brother.

Deeply inhaling, Y/N opened his eyes lazily, letting them fall on the ceiling above him, silently thinking to himself. He wondered what his father would say when they saw each other. Would he even recognize the young man from a fourteen-year-old boy he saw sail away on a ship to Essos? He doubted, but he still had his hopes.

Getting up from his bed, Y/N allowed himself a second to stretch his sore musclesㅡcareful of his sideㅡbefore cleaning himself up and getting ready for the days work. Redressing his bandages himself, he took his time to dress before strapping on his black leather stained armor. It took more time than necessary, but he was able to manage to drown out the pain with more pleasant thoughts. 

Strapping on his sword, Frost, he gave the blade a few practice swings before sheathing it. Deeming himself ready, Y/N stepped out of his room and into the halls of Illyrio’s manse.

Remembering the way to Illyrio’s quarters, Y/N took his time to observe the manse in much more detail than before. He wasn’t able to see much while he walked with the Magister, so he took this as an opportunity to get a lay of the area, especially if he was to call this place home for a time.

Like most of his observations, the color theme was the same. The halls were open with archways and tall marble beams, the floors were tile and the halls decorated with a soft elegance. Y/N did notice a large number of Unsullied soldiers guarding post, doorways, as well as several of the main gates.

Viserys must be terrified if there are so many guards, Y/N quietly though.

Walking down a short flight of stairs and into a much more open and greener area, Y/N quickly took notice of the tall green Evergreen trees and neatly cut bushes and a large amount of vegetation growing within the courtyard. It was undoubtedly beautiful with the endless different breeds of trees and blooming flowers, Y/N was almost afraid that if he touches the velvet petals they would turn away from his cold fingers.

Walking further into the courtyard, Y/N spotted a large statue of the anatomy of a young boy, his body poised in a duel with what looked like a bravo’s blade in hand. Gold shoulder-length hair and white marble skin. He was at the center of a marble pool, six cherry trees surrounding the water making it almost look like a sacred altar. 

At the base of the pool, Y/N perceived a small patch of wildflowers, a small bush that survived inspection. He noticed the small green buds that started to spring from the stems of the bush. Kneeling down in front of the small bush, Y/N started to lightly pick at the dead leaves and pluck the small insects that infested the plant. When he was satisfied, he cups his hands, drew water from the pool and poured the cool liquid on top of the plant.

“Grow.” Y/N encouraged quietly, watching the ground soak up the moisture rather quickly.

Y/N reminisce about the times he used to walk by his mother’s side when he was young. It was too cold in the north to grow any summer flowers, and the frost killed a majority of any seedlings he and his mother nurtured. But the few plants he was fortunate enough to help raise, he learned much about the earth’s herbs and flowers that he started his own study as a herbalist. His father was surprised, yet, he was proud.

—“Who are you?”

A soft voice spoke out from the distance startling Y/N from his position crouched on the ground. He wasn’t aware of a feminine figure standing behind him, watching with careful eyes as his large northern hands gentle brushed through the petals of a Tropaeolum bush. 

She has never seen this type of man before. When the stranger quickly got to his feet and turned to face the voice, bother were astonished by each other.  

A woman stood a yard in front of Y/N, a soft silk slip covering her most intimate parts with a braided rope woven into the fabric; wrapped around her neck. It was the only thing keeping the summer gown from falling and leaving her vulnerable; Y/N took notice of her bare shoulders, but it was not as eyes catching as her features were. 

Her hair was long, almost past the mounds of her breast. The color almost looked blonde, but unlike the gold locks of Lannister, it was much lighter, paler, almost white although it did not cross that line, it was like a pale comparison to silver being melted down. It was beautiful.  It looked almost unkempt with how puffed out it appeared, like how’s his mother’s hair looked after a few strokes of her brush, yet, it looked almost purposeful. Though that was nothing compared to her eyes.

His breath hitched in the back of his throat when his dark stormy eyes met the stunning pigment of her gentle violet eyes. They were majestic, and with this angle with the sun shining in her eyes, they reflected back as slightly pale purple with hints of a deeper purple near her ires. They reminded Y/N of the rarest kind of gems he’d seen on Kings and Queens crowns of old—one of a kind. Her flesh looked well taken care of, soft to the touch; pale.

Daenerys watched with cautious eyes as the man stood star struck, his mouth slightly agape and his eyes taking in each of her delicately carved details. It would have been flattering to have such eyes like his on her, however, she was used to the animalistic eyes of a lusting man that she was unfazed, yet, she did not see such motivation in his eyes, this sparked her interest.

“Did you not hear me?” the women pressed, disturbing Y/N gawking. He snapped out of it, his eyes rapidly blinking before they landed on her eyes, his lips pressed into a line and a much harder emotion overthrew the soft curiosity he previously had. “Who are you?” the woman asked once more now that she had his full attention—not that she did not already.

“Forgive me,” Y/N hesitated, “—princess.” Unsure of himself, Y/N gave the woman a reluctant bow. 

This was foreign to him, he did not like the idea of bowing to no one, he was, at a time,  a Lord, and once more he had to remind himself: For your family, for your homeland, for your namesake. 

“I am Y/N; your assigned personal guard.”

It was not hard to pick out her royal blood. The silver hair and striking violet eyes—everything screamed Targaryen.

The Targaryen princess eyed the exiled Lord suspiciously. If it was not for the countless Unsullied soldiers guarded at every post and ever doorway, she would have thought the man to be a trespasser. There have been few of those in the past and they’ve always been caught. Even with her faith in the Magister’s security—she still narrowing her eyes; doubt flooded her mind.

Y/N stood there unassertive in his spot by the fountain. He was uncomfortable and unprepared to encounter the princess. He didn’t even know her name, just that she was an exiled royal and King Robert loathed the Targaryens and that his father supported Robert’s rebellion, his father supported the unthroning of her family. He could now see why Magister Illyrio was cautious.

He cursed himself quietly. He should have just went straight to Illyrio and avoid this until further instructions. He was too damn curious for his own good.

Trying to settle the tense look in the girl’s eye, he spoke softly and gently. The last thing he needed was for her to scream and then he’d be surrounded by guards, who may or may not be unaware that he was now a guest under Illyrio, whether they did or not, he was not taking a chance.

“You are unaware? If you’d like, your Highness, we can go—”

She stopped him.

“No.” she spoke in a stern voice.

This took Y/N by surprise; even the woman who spoke the word was astonished. But before the wolf could question her, Daenerys averted her eyes away from the man and began to walk away.

Disoriented and confused, Y/N stood in his spot, completely oblivious to what just happened. He would have stood there for a while if it wasn’t for the young princess to stop and look over her shoulder, speaking in an almost authoritative voice. “You are my guard yes?” not giving Y/N an opportunity to speak, “Well don’t just stand there.”

Quickly, before he could make a fool of himself again, Y/N took several strides and was by the princesses back in a matter of a second. Turning her head away, Daenerys begins to walk forward, deeper into the garden. Y/N was so caught up in his own anxiety and analysis of the situation that he missed the smile that passed her lips.

Photo Credit(s): –

Disclaimer: I do not own the Game of Thrones pilot, characters, events, or any reference to the TV show or George R.R. Martin’s books series, all credit goes to creators. I only own my own plot twist. (2018)  

Tag(s): @tybg400

                                                                                                            May 3, 2018

Title: Nobel Maiden Fair  Pairing: Cersei Lannister X Male, Nobel Reader, Father Reader X Daughter Author: TwilighCreed/DawnWrites Word Count: 1.5k Warning: None specifically. Total fluff, husband and wife content, father-daughter bond, slight sexual implications, explicit language.  Author Note: It’s been a hot minute since I’ve last posted any content, so I dug up something to fill in the gaps for the time being. :) I hope you like it. We honestly need more Cersi and male reader! This is also inspired by my Imagine and the beautifully written gaelic song from Disney movie Brave, Nobel Maiden Fair (A Mhaighean Bhan Uasal). And sorry if this is trash. I tried. lol Enjoy.

Inspired by this Imagine.

Cersei felt the cold breeze nip at her exposed flesh that was not covered by the silk sheets of her large bed. She groaned out loud in displeasure at the disturbance of her slumber. Irritated goosebumps rising along the curves of her skin where the wind had graciously touched her.

In that short moment, she was conscious, she remembered her husband had open the balcony doors at her order; allowing the night air to cool their heated skin. She could recall it because she could still feel the ache between her thighs from her husband’s impossible love-making. Even if she did not directly voice her approval of her husband’s skillful ability to pleasure her, he seemed to take her moans and encouraging commands as so.

Reaching for her husband’s side of the bed, seeking his northern-born warmth, she was disappointed to find his warm skin absent from her touch. Annoyed, she lazily opened her eyes to indeed find her husband’s side abandoned.

Curious and concerned about her husband’s whereabouts, the Queen slowly rose from her comfortable position on her stomach and onto her feet.

She hissed irritably at the cold tile underneath her feet. Simply ignoring the slight sting, she reached over to the bedpost and wrapped herself in her silk linen robes before beginning her search for her husband.  

At first, she thought to find him in his studies. If he wasn’t dealing with his kingly duties, inspecting the guard rotations, participating in politics, or spending time with his firstborn son’s and his infant daughter, or even taking the time to attend to his responsibilities as a husband―she’d find him bent over his desk reading the latest reports and letters coming from the bandit movements in the east and pleads for aid in the north.

However, when she found his candles unlit and his desk neat, her brows knitted together in confusion. Making herself a little more presentable, she strolled out of her shared chambers into the halls of the Red Keep.

Glancing over at the Kingsguard posted at her chambers door, she ignored his questioning gaze and continued to move down the open breezeway towards the rooms her children were settled in.

One thing she could say about the king, like her, he was fiercely protective of his children; instead of allowing the handmaidens and wet nurses raise his children like his parents before him, he took the initiative and raised his young himself. It was something she admired about the man she married, though she’d never tell him that.

As she grew closer to her children’s quarters, she acknowledged that instead of there being two Kingsguard like she arranged, there was only one. This angered her. Even if most of the staff and outsiders though guarding the king and queens children was a waste of two guards talent, she would take every measure to make sure her children were safe.

“Where is the other guard who is supposed to be station here?” Cersei growled, a ferocity in her voice that even made the elite soldier before her shiver in fear.

His voice faltering, “T-the King dismissed him, your majesty.”

Cersei narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

“He needed rest, my Queen―”

Without bothering with the man any further, Cersei quickly went past the doors and into her children’s chambers with a new motive behind her step.

She could see it now. That man has done enough to cause Cersei anger, displeasure and disapproval.  She could recall all the times she’s wanted to press a knife to his throat and drag it across his skin. Of course, she never could, but it did not stop her from dreaming it. But now that he has placed her children in an unacceptable position―the damn fool knows he and herself have enough enemies as it is!

She already knew what she was going to do to the men―to make him pay, but as she reached her daughter’s door, she noticed it was cracked and there was a light illuminating from inside.

Her mind raced with panicked thoughts. Thoughts of someone looming over her children with a knife, an evil glint in them just about to take their life―no!

Reaching, she quickly pulled the door open, however, she was not prepared to see what laid before her very eyes.

Y/N stood with his back towards his wife, his upper body bare and exposed for the world to see. She could see his square shoulders, his taunt and large muscles flex with each of his movements. He seemed to pick up on Cersei’s intrusive presence, his head cocking to the side slightly turned over his shoulder to get a glimpse of his wife.

Dismissing her alarmed and shocked expression, Y/N looked back down at the little bundle wrapped in his arms. It took Cersei a second to spot her daughter in her husbands embrace, her face red and her cheeks stained with tears. She had been crying.

“A nightmare,” Y/N informed, his voice low and soothing. “I just got her to settle.”

Confused but overall aggravated, Cersei spoke in a low hiss, not wanting to startle her daughter.

“Care to explain why there is only one guard at out children’s door?” she demanded, taking a threatening step forward.

Even though she knew she could do nothing to harm him, it would not stop her from trying.

A chuckle vibrated throughout the room, angering Cersei even more.

He was laughing?

“My dear wife, you worry too much. When I arrived, Erik was asleep while Will could barely stand. I am here. Our daughter is safe.”

This seemed to soothe Cersei but she still did not approve. Even if he was a remarkable swordsman, she could not help but fret over her children.

At this point, the king turned and faced his wife. Cersei was able to get a better view of her infant child in her father’s arms. A blanket wrapped around her while her cheek was pressed flush against her father’s chest. Little Myrcella always seemed to calm in her father’s presence, so much so that even Cersei grew jealous of her daughter’s affections toward Y/N. Her daughter should be calling for her mother, not her father. She hated the fact that she could not change that.

Ignoring her husband at this point, Cersei took a step towards the form of Y/N, her eyes cast down to inspect her daughters tear struck face. She wanted nothing more than for her child to be at ease.

Watching his wife, Y/N let out a sigh through his nose. Even though he was able to cease his daughters wailing, he was not able to take away the troubles that pledge her mind.

Thinking quietly to himself, Y/N secured his daughter in his arms before pulling an arm free and placing it around his wife.

“What are you―”

Y/N gave his wife a threatening glare and she quickly stopped her pestering. 

Leading himself and his wife towards a large comfortable chair he had made for his daughter’s room, he sat down gentle without disturbing his daughter and tugged his wife down with him.

Despite her protest, she hesitantly eased onto his lap.

Shifting uncomfortably, Cersei huffed and settled in his warmth. Placing a hand on her head, Y/N gentle lead his wife’s head to rest on his shoulder. He had no doubt she was exhausted, and all he wanted to do was comfort her, whether she wanted it or not, he loved his wife, and he was not gonna let her bitter and angry nature stop him.

Positioning his infant on his chest, he held her close and securely on top of him.

“A naoidhean bhig, cluinn mo ghuth. Mise ri d’ thaobh, Ó mhaighdean bhàn. Ar rìbhinn òg, fàs a’s faic. Do thìr, dìleas fhéin.” Y/N sang in a low, rhythmic voice that seemed to relax Cersei against the lose

Cersei glanced up at her husband, her eyes traveling over his handsome features, to the scruff of his sharp jaw and the scare that ran vertically across the left side of his lip. He was indeed a very handsome man. She was lucky to have been betrothed to him. He was unlike most men.

“You sing?” Cersei questioned quietly.

Y/N glanced down at his wife. His eyes telling her to keep silent. Rolling her eyes she obliged.

“A ghrian a’s a ghealach, stiùir sinn. Gu uair ar cliù ’s ar glòir. Naoidhean bhig, ar rìbhinn òg. Mhaighdean uasal bhàn.”

Little Myrcella seemed to enjoy the soothing voice of her father. Even if his words were not of the common man, but his mother’s tongue, it made it all that more enjoyable.

Cersei stayed quiet, listening to her husband sing their child into a slumber with a lullaby she had never heard of before.

Wrapping in her lover’s arms with her child sleeping soundly by her side, something inside the lionesses heart seemed to flutter in warmth, and for once, she allowed the warmth of her husbands embrace and the silk of his voice lull her to sleep.

“Nobel Maiden Fair” (English Translation)

Little baby, hear my voice I’m beside you, O maiden fair Our young Lady, grow and see Your land, your own faithful land

Sun and moon, guide us To the hour of our glory and honor Little baby, our young Lady Noble maiden fair

“Imagine... having a rare; intimate moment with your lover, Lady Josephine Montilyet.”

Title: Wolves Bane

Pairing: Daenerys Targaryen X Male Stark Reader

Author: TwilighCreed/DawnWrites

Word Count: 3.9k+ 

Warning: Violence, blood, use if curse words, mentioned alcohol, alcohol abuse, depression, slight subtle suicidal thoughts, spoilers for season one, graphic. 

Summary: Y/N Stark was forced into exile after helping three fugitives escape beyond The Wall from King Robert. Four years after his exile, he receives news that Lord Arryn is dead and his family could be in immense danger. After accepting an offer to help get him home to his family, Y/N is to work for Magister Illyrio Mopatis and protect the princess, Daenerys Targaryen. What the lone wolf did not expect was to fall in love with a women he could never have…  

Author Notes: I apologize for the delays and you having to wait so long! Life has just hit me and it’s honestly taking all my time, and since I just moved I won’t have internet for another month. :( I know, I know! And I though I’d give you what I had so far for the first part (you’ve waited long enough). The other two chapters are gonna be longer than this, so maybe about 5k for the next two! I promise this mini series is gonna be finished, it’s just gonna take time. Thank you for your patience and time! Enjoy the first chapter! :) p.s. sorry if their are any mistakes! I checked several times but their might some slip ups!

Part One ► Pilot   [HERE] Part Two ► The Dragon’s Bodyguard  [NEXT] Part Three ► The Lone Wolves Howl   Part Four ► The Rouge Wolf of the North

The night was cold and dark, full of terrors beyond one’s imagination. The forest slept wistfully, a quiet midnight melody luling the beast of the night into a deep slumber, rocking it’s leaves and settling a light fog among the fallen leaves and branches of the earth, stretching it’s long fingers and clawing at the  frozen ground. The only sound was the rush of a nearby river, and the distant rusle of running footsteps…

One… two….three…. four figures ran across the dead leaves, abruptly to sleeping willows and creatures to a startling sound, wakening the surrounding forest with their ragged breath and panicked steps. They seemed lost, unable to keeping their bearings, their only objective was to get away from the shadows following them with the bright glow of torches and the barks of dogs. They wore rags as clothes, the only thing keeping them warm was the heavy set furs, but even that was like parchment against the raging storm that was about the decend on the helpless. Only one of the four wore clothes unlike the other, instead it was armoor and a heavy fur draped his shoulders, providing him warmth against the plummeting temperatures; only he knew the way to safety, only he was the sole hope they had of escaping  of jaws of unjust law from the King of the Realm, King Robert Baratheon.

“Hurry!”  the young boy in armor called out to his companions. Looking over his shoulder to see the struggling frames of the fugitives; his eyes wandered beyond them to see the hill behind, a bright transfixed glow from the hunters torches, revealing their closing position—no doubt from his father—men that had gathered to hunt the three criminals.

It was a manhunt. One that would end in all four of their deaths if caught, but, the young boy was determined to get them to safety. Beyond The Wall, safely from the clutches of King Robert and even his Lord father, all he had to do was get them to Eastwatch, there he had a friend who would smuggle them across. All he had to do was get them there… but with the shouts of men and barks of bloodhounds, even Y/N Stark was afraid they would never make it.

298 AC, The Free Cities of Essos, Braavos

A harsh and pinching sting sent Y/N out of his seat, landing harshley on the wooden floors of the tavern, jaw aching and the copper taste of blood in his mouth sent the man into an angry spiral of aggression covered by a facade of calmness. With a grunt and some effort, Y/N picked himself up off the ground and stood on two feet. Looking up at the tall bruat; his face twisted in angry, no doubt directed at Y/N.

He was a large dark skinned man with a fat lower lip and a crooked nose. His eyes twitched in anger and his lip curled back in a snarl, showing his ugly yellow teeth underneath. He lacked any facial hair, he was completely clean of hair except the little above his eyes. He was shirtless, the only pair of clothing he had were his deep royal purple trousers—that almost acted as another layer of skin, only it was cloth,—and his leather sandals. On his hip was a curved steel blade, short almost like a dagger, but long enough to wield like a sword.

Unquestionably Y/N recognized the man from a deal struck not so long ago on the shores of Tyrosh. It was a bargain between Y/N and the pirate: get him to Braavos undetected from authorities and he’d pay them handsomely with gold. That was the deal, but since Y/N notice how light his pockets were, he needed time to collect the desired amount, and since Essos regulated their currency mostly by slave trade and not coins, it was much harder.

“Was that really appropriate?” Y/N sneered, nursing his bruised jaw with a light rub of his hand, taking a moment to look around his surroundings and at the two other men behind his aggressor.

“Where is the gold?” the Captain spoke in broken words, his thick accent heavy.

Y/N glanced over at his side, near the foot of the stool sat a leather bag. Inside had the northerners belongings, including the gold, however it was just enough, and if Y/N gave him what he has, it would leave him with nothing.

Y/N looked back at the man. Reaching down, he plucked the satchel from the floor and reached inside, pulling out a small pouch of the gold promised.

The Captain seemed pleased, his posture slightly relaxing, his eyes kept on the bag instead of the devious plan unfolding before his very eyes. Even the other two behind seemed entranced by the sound of coins in his hand.

“Here is what was promised.” Y/N said, about to place the pouch in his open palm. “On second thought…” placing the pouch in his coat, Y/N reached over grabbing his full tankard, and slammed the heavy beverage into the side of the man’s head.

“I’ve changed my mind.”

With an easy distraction, Y/N clutched his bag close to his side and darted for the door. 

He would be a fool to believe it would be that easy.

“You’re gonna pay for that, you slimy son of a bitch!”

One of the  pirates—taller of the two—unsheathe his sword; swinging at Y/N’s head. With precision, Y/N ducked away just as the blade passed over him, giving time for the shorter (and smaller one of the three) to pull out his daggers, and toss them in the direction of Y/N. Narrowly missing the two daggers, Y/N made a dash to the door when a figure step in front of him.

With a vertical swing to cut Y/N in half, Y/N back stepped just at the right moment, the steel blade embedding itself into the wood with a loud clang—the Captain glaring.

“Too soon?”

The Captain gave a shout, and Y/N knew if he did not get away, certainly this man would have his head.

Taking several steps back, Y/N looked about, much of the bottom half of the tavern had cleared of any life, a few dearing souls stayed to watch his possible doom, most of them leaned over the rails of the second floor, watching with wide eyes.

Backing himself into an escapable corner, Y/N watched as the three started to close in on him, weapons of choice in hand and a lust for blood in their eyes—his blood. With quick eyes he looked all around, his eyes landing on a wooden fixture that hung from the ceiling, acting almost like a chandelier that spread out into different directions, almost like several crosses molded together, each end holding a lit candle.

Pulling out his steel sword, Y/N got into a defensive stance. 

No matter how much training he had received as a young boy, he would never be able to take on three men simultaneously. Maybe three guards, but not experienced pirates such as the ones he faced now.

“Your times is up pretty boy. I’m gonna gut’cha like a fish!” the Captain mocked, his lips pushed up in a smirk.

With a quivering hand; glancing between the three figures, Y/N watching as their features turned into a crooked pleasure, a pending victory about to come.

“I wouldn’t be so sure!”

With a toss of luck, Y/N threw the satchel in the direction of the wooden chandelier; the leather strap getting caught by an oddly needed hook in the decorative wood. The newly added weight making the chandelier rock back and forth.

With their eyes now on the bag, Y/N took the opportunity to swing at his nearest opponent—the tallest. 

Lunging forward, Y/N tipped the man off guard, sending him off his balance just enough for  Y/N to gain the upper hand and swipe his feet from underneath him, the pirate toppling onto the floor.

Hearing the heavy footsteps behind him, Y/N side-step just as a sword of the Captain came down where his head was. Elbowing the Captain hard in the ribs, he heard a gasp and then a grunt before getting out of the way of another swing. Repositioning himself, Y/N parried an oncoming lung, pushing against the blade, Y/N was able to throw the man backwards giving Y/N a slight edge. With a hacking attack, the Captain was forced to go on the defense allowing Y/N a small opening, with a true twist of his blade, Y/N was able to nick the Captains neck, a small stream of blood leaving the open wound.

Placing a large hand on the cut, the Captain looked down at his bloody hand, a vengeful glint in his eyes, “You bastard! Now I’m really gonna kill ya’!”

The Captain swung his curved blade horizontally, forcing Y/N to duck away, he got behind the Captain. Quickly standing up, Y/N slashed a thin line across the Captains back making him howl in pain, and with a swift strong kick, the Captain went barreling into the tallest of his henchmen.

Suddenly, two daggers landed right in front of him, the tips of them dug into the wooden beam beside him. Turning his head in the direction they came from, he narrowly missed another dagger throw at him.

“Where do ya’ think ya’ going?” a much higher pitch voice spoke with a slight lisp.

Sliding down to his nearest cover, Y/N pushed over a table onto its side, using it as a shield just he heard two more daggers hit the wood.

How many more does this man have?, Y/N though.

Peeking over just a tad, the pirate had gotten closer, throwing another small dagger his way, Y/N ducked, the unmistakable sound of steel impaling wood behind him. Pushing the table forward in a rush, he rammed the pirate into the wall just behind him. 

Hearing a grunt from the man, Y/N quickly got up; reached over and slammed a wooden chair over the man’s head, sending him into a state like comma. 

Turning around, Y/N dodged an attack by the taller pirate. A wild look in his eyes, he lazily swung his sword, hoping for a hit to injure Y/N, but with his sloppy footwork, Y/N was able to lock their blades together and with slight hesitation, head butting the man. An expected sharp and brutal pain burst inside his skull, his vision going slightly hazy and his balance wobbly.

Maybe that wasn’t a good idea…

“Arghh!”

Reeling around, Y/N caught sights of the Captain rushing after him, but before he could counter or step away, a hard and bitter pain spread like wildfire in his face causing him to stumble backwards, but before he could fall, a pair of hands clamped around his throat and he could feel his body being lifted up off the ground and then slammed into a hard surface—he could hear cracking of wood—and his back exploding in pain; his chest tight and any air he had left was gone.

“You northerners are too much trouble—I should have killed you when given the chance!”

And with that said, Y/N could feel his vice-like-grip tighten around the soft flesh of his throat, cutting off any hope of air supply. Slightly wide eyed and panicking, Y/N gasp for a breath, hoping to suck in any air. He could already feel the blood rushing in his head. 

In a weak attempt, Y/N tried to pry his fat fingers away but to no avail. Without breaking eye contact, Y/N reached out his right hand, feeling the area he was on, searching for anything to use as a weapon.

The Captain leaned over Y/N, pressing more of his weight against his hold—Y/N was sure he would break his neck if he added any more, and with a toothy yellow grin, he spoke in a low, almost taunting whisper, “Nighty-night, pretty boy.”

With the last of his strengths, Y/N gave a deep grunt in reply and with his fingers curled around the tip of a glass bottle, swung as hard as he could at the man’s head, breaking the glass instantaneously on impact. With the man now disorientated, Y/N was able to break free and out of his grasp. Kicking the man down, Y/N allowed himself a moments of rest to catch his breath, gasping really, while he rubbed his sore and bruised throat, coughing.

Once some of his strength returned, he reaching down and picked up his sword, turning, he placed the tip of his blade against the man’s throat, shaking.

“I should kill you…” Y/N rasp out, his eyes hard and his face even harder.

Adding more pressure, he watched as the Captains eyes widen when he broke the skin, painting the tip of his blade with fresh blood. Leaning down like the Captain did a few moments ago, Y/N mocked the man.

“If I ever see you again, no matter where or when, I will stain the streets with your blood… I will not give you mercy that I have so generously given you today…” Y/N threaten, “Do you understand?”

The Captain gave a nod.

Straightening his posture, Y/N placed his sword back into his leather sheath on his hip, and with hard feet, he walked over to the closest table underneath the wooden chandelier. He climbed up, grabbed his satchel and jumped down. Reaching into his bag, he pulled out several gold coins and tossed them onto the bar-table.

“Sorry for your troubles…”

And with that, Y/N disappeared into the evening sun in the beautiful streets of Braavos.

Y/N let out a deep groan as he pushed the ice cold bottle of wine against his forehead, switching between his head and jaw on occasion. I had been several hours since the fight and he can feel the aches and bruises of the fight he had not felt at the time, he was so lost in the rush he didn’t notice the gash just above his eyebrow and the busted lip and bloody nose, he was honestly just a mess, and all he wanted at that moment was a nice warm bed and the tending care of his mother’s soft hands… He felt an ache in his chest.

Y/N sighed.

He sat lazily on the docks of Purple Harbor, his feet dangling off the side just above the waters surface, inhaling the salty sea air and the calming dance of the water. He watched as the sun started to set just above the horizon, bright warm colors mixing together to create a breathtaking view. Bright reds, oranges, purples and yellows coming together in a beautiful mixture, it’s colors getting richer and deeper the more the sun started to creep past the sea’s horizon. 

It reminded him of Westeros, in the south they had beautiful sunsets. It stretch for miles to one mountain and to the other. He could recall those as a little boy at his father sides, riding along on The Kingsroad. You never really got to see such colors in the north where his home was, but if you traveled far enough south you might be able to catch one.

It was a habit he enjoyed along with his brother younger Jon. 

When the two boys would be caught doing something mischievous, they would run to the broken tower just northeast of the great hall, and for hours they would sit up on top, bonding, waiting for enough time to pass before they would go down and brace themselves for whatever was to come. And if they were lucky, Robb would join them on their trickery, and all three of them would get it. Brotherhood, it was what kept them all close, even his little sister Arya.

The though of home made the lone wolf even more lonesome. 

He missed the fresh snow he’d wake up to every morning, the smell of the bakeries fresh rise of bread at day break, the hammer on steel in the blacksmith’s anvil, even his mothers scoldings. He missed his fathers teaching, “The ways of becoming a Lord.”, he called them. Jon’s and Robbs lessons with Ser Rodrik, his sisters Sansa warm smile whenever he’d make her laugh after a rough day, as she got older she didn’t smile as much, boys started to distract her, and boy was Y/N in for it. He especially missed his younger sister Arya’s warm bear hugs she’d give him whenever they were alone, and the sweet, sweet sound of Rickon’s laugh as he held the youngest of his siblings.

Every memory he had of Winterfell was pleasant and brought him warmth, but whenever he thought of his land, and the deed he had done: a cold bitter grip would wrap around his heart and tear it in two, breaking the poor man’s souls into even smaller fragments, and all through the night he would pick each one up with each tear, and peace them all back together, one-by-one, and when he was done, all that is left is the hurting shell of a young broken boy.

But no matter how much he missed home, he never regretted helping the innocent people from the injustice of King Robert Baratheon’s  authority. The only thing he could regret was the look that haunts his dreams: his mother’s heartbroken face, the sudden depression and unbearable pain of loss of her firstborn and his fathers stone cold disappointed, grief stricken eyes. He’d never forgot that…

With another deep, lonesome sigh, Y/N took a large swing from the cold wine. Maybe if he drank enough tonight, he might be able to drink himself into a stupor and maybe, just maybe… he would never wake up from it…

“My, my… it seems even the strongest of northernmen wolves have their… weaknesses.”

Before Y/N’s own mind could comprehend his own actions, he found himself garbing his swords hilt and jumping to his feet, stance at the ready, sword pointed at the intruder. All of this of course with an intoxicated mind.

In front of him stood a figure, dressed in a cloak that obscured the person’s identity. They were short, and rather harmless looking, his posture was straight and from the looks of it, he was a man of wealth by his plump and pudgy physique. From the outwards appearance, he seemed to have a calm and relaxed demeanor. He also seemed unarmed, from the looks of it. Somewhere beneath his robes he could have a dagger for all he knows, and with a quick whiff of the nose, Y/N smelt something rather odd: perfume.

With watchful eyes, Y/N looked the man up and down before glancing around the docks. If there was one thing he learned at Ser Rodricks lectures: always know your surroundings. The last thing he needed at his moment was to be set up in a trap.

Sword still drawn, “Who are you?” Y/N commanded.

The man seemed to smile in his words. 

“Ah, forgive me young Lord Stark—it is alright if I call you that?”

Y/N tensed, his grip on hilt of his sword tighten and he fixed his posture almost instantaneously, his jaw locked and his mind racing with thought, all of it going back to his past life.

“How do you know who I am? Who are you? Answer me!” he almost shouted, his voice getting higher and higher by each word.

Y/N was so sure he had covered his tracks when he left Westeros. He changed his name, allowed his facial hair to grow, dressed much differently, talked in a manner his mother would frown upon, he changed everything about himself to never be found. 

How after all these years?

The man let out a deep lighthearted chuckle. Lifting his hands in a slow fashion he pushed back the cowl he wore revealing his face to Y/N.

Varys.

“Surprised? I was hoping you would be. You are a hard man to find, but, with the right eyes, you can easily part the wolf from the sheep, especially a Stark.” Lord Varys smiled. Taking in the young mans appearance, Vary’s was rather taken back at how much the Stark boy changed. No longer was he the respectable, honorable boy his father raised him to be, instead stood a man lost in the world, savage and untamed.

“What do you want?”

“I simply want to help you.”

Y/N narrowed his eyes, suspicious of the spymasters motive. Y/N did have every reason to mistrust the man. He never liked him, though he did find him somewhat of an interesting person, but never enough to trust.

“Why?”

Vary’s turned towards the water, taking steps towards its edge, he ignored the swords close presence, instead his eyes focusing on the Titan that stood guarding Braavos harbor entrance from the Shivering Sea.

“A marvelous structure, isn’t it? When I was but a slave boy, I used to hear talk among the other boys and girls, how the Titan stood for much more than just the city, but freedom from masters and chains. Braavos is the only city without slaves, so they say.”

Y/N watched the man, slightly lowering his sore arm.

“Why are you telling me this? You still haven’t answer my qe—”

“You want to go home, do you not?”

No words could describe the sudden feeling that pledged Y/N heart. Was it joy? Happiness? Relife? Perhaps pain? The thought alone of returning to his homeland brought him comfort, for so long he had been denied any sort of happiness after his exile, any warmth and safety was striped away and he was tossed into a wicked world that he had to learn or else the inevitable would happen. He was vulnerable. He wonder how his family would react if they received word of his death. He gulped, unable to speak a word.

Vary’s watched the boys eyes, the obvious desperation and thought of home evidence of his depression and longing for home. It was what he expected, but he could see something in his eyes holding the boy back from falling on his knees and begging to go to his family.

“You hesitate.”

As if struck by his words, Y/N quickly looked away in shame; his sword limp by his side. If truth be told Y/N was lost but most of all he was afraid.

“I can not go home. The King would have me killed before I step one foot off the boat. Even you can’t save me.” Y/N said, sheathing his sword into its leather confinements. He started to pick up his belongings, stuffing the wine into his bag he tossed it over his shoulder, reaching for his cloak when he was stopped by Vary’s words.

“Not even to save your family?”

Turning around, a sudden anger morphed his features into a cold stoic. Y/N’s jaw tensed and he took dangerous steps towards the spymaster, his hand grasping the fabric of his clothing, pulling Varys so close even the Lord could smell the wine on Y/N breath. Varys felt weary of the wolf’s anger, he’s never seen such furry in the boys eyes.

In a low, suppressed enmity voice, Y/N spoke,  “Do not use my families lives so you can have me as a pawn in your foolish games. I will not have it! Threaten them again, and I will finish what that sorcerer in Myr didn’t.”

Varys went pale.

“I thought so…”

Letting Varys go in an aggressive manner, Y/N turned around and walked down the docks, heavy in steps, his shoulders square and his eye’s fuming. He wasn’t prepared for what was to come.

“Lord Arryn is dead!”

Y/N stopped.

“Robert is travelling to Winterfell to ask your father to become Hand of The King. I fear if your father accepts, the realm will be at war! Stark and Lannister blood with be shed! Your family needs you Y/N!”

Photo Credit(s): [X] [X]

Disclaimer: I do not own the Game of Thrones pilot, characters, events, or any reference to the TV show or George R.R. Martin’s books series, all credit goes to creators. I only own my own plot twist. (2018)  

Tag(s): @tybg400

                                                                                                January 15, 2018

Trust & Betrayal | Arno Dorian X Reader

Title: Trust & Betrayal

Pairing: Arno Dorian X Female Assassin Reader

Author: TwilighCreed/DawnWrites

Word Count: 1,695

Warning: Blood, Angst, Gore, Violence, and betrayal?

Summary: You find Arno Dorian—your apprentice—with a woman, but not just any woman, a Templar.

Author Notes: I wrote this a long time ago on my DA account back in 2016; so it’s probably shit, but I wanted to put it up and add another part whenever I can. Let me know your thoughts! 

You had every reason to leave him there to fend for himself, but you couldn’t live with yourself with getting up and walking away. It was obvious that Arno was having a hard time keeping his own while seven guards surrounded him; three being bruits. He was still new to the Creed, an apprentice, one driven by his own personal motive.

You watched from the rooftops as he ran out form the maze with a woman right behind him; her long red hair pinned back and a sword strapped to her side. And at that very moment you know who she was, she was a Templar. An enemy of yours. And what was Arno doing with her?

“Go on, I’ll distract them.” Arno put his hand in front of Élise, looking back at her. “Trust me. Meet me tomorrow at Cafe Theatre, I’ll explain everything.” Arno said, taking a step forward he watched as the guards drew closer to his position.

“Your mad. I’ll be there.” Élise spoke, and without hesitation, she quickly dashed off in the opposite direction, her form no longer visible to your line of sight at the roofs. You felt a bitter anger grow inside you.

“Maybe a little late.” Arno smirked, pulling out his sword from it’ sheath, he readied himself at the upcoming battle.

You watched agitation as Arno was able to take down the first two, but your heart leap when the axe of one of the bruits got to close to his neck. You forced your body to spring into action, the shock and hurt subsisting and anger surfacing. Pushing your hoodie over your features, you took two steps back and predicted your landing.

Running of the roofs, you landed onto one of the bruits, sliding your hidden blade into the unexpected mans shoulder and throat, assassinating him from above. Making your presence know; Arno quickly looked over and felt relief when he noticed the dark robes of another allie. But he sucked in a breath, did this assassin see Élise? His stomach dropped when he noticed that his wasn’t any assassin, it was you, one of the head assassins of the French Creed.

Arno was rudely awakened when the flash of another sword caught his attention. He went to bring up his sword, but he was unable to support his black and the bash made Arno stagger back, losing his balance he fell onto his back. His eyes widen in fear as the wielder of the blade was about to make a finishing attack.

The sound of metal against meal made Arno breath, not realizing he had stopped. Your sword had blocked the incoming attack, and you quickly disarmed the man, driving your sword into his stomach. He yelp out, his hands grabbing at the hilt of your blade as you drove him back several feet before he slide off your sword.

“Pay attention, novice!” You shouted, moving your weapon just in time to block another advance. But you were more skilled and you twisted your body to the side, plunging your hidden blade into his neck. He choked on his own blood, his body falling to the ground with a thud next to the other three bodies.

Arno noticed one of the bruits was coming on your blind side, and he scrambled to his feet, grabbing his sword he reached and blocked the axe from landing on you. Arno’s back pressed against yours as he defended you. “You were saying?” Arno smirked, and you only rolled your eyes.

You both fought in sync, your bodies seemed to know each other as your next move only matched up with his. It was a deadly dance you both played, but it was a dance you both know so well. And if it wasn’t for the image of that Templar, you would have enjoyed fighting by his side, but you wanted to kill him yourself.

When the last brute fell, Arno let out a few ragged breaths, his arms sore from the battle. Rolling his shoulders, he placed his sword back by his side and turned around, a smile on his face. He was about to greet you and thank you for your assistance, but that smile faltered when he noticed your fleeting figure.

“Petit oiseau! (Little Bird) Where are you going?” Arno called after you, the nickname rolling of his tongue.

You stopped in your tracks, your back still facing him. You gritted your teeth, that same anger that you felt only moments ago returning, only stronger. When you felt Arno’s presence behind you, you spun around, your blade following you as you pointed the long knife at his throat. Your eyes blazed in a fire that only grew the more you thought about her…

“Ne m'appelle pas comme ça! (Do not call me that!)” your voice rose, taking a step forward your blade’s tip pressed against the middle of his neck. Arno’s hands quickly flung up in surrender, taking a step back he looked down at you with shock, worry and fear, but also question. “Vous ne méritez pas de me rappeler que! (You do not deserve to call me that!)”

Silence weighed heavily on the atmosphere, and you showed no signs on putting your sword away. In an attempt to calm you down, he slowly lowered his hands, and you did not make a move to protest. “Y/N, what is wrong–”

“When were you going to tell me!?” Your voice stood strong, and you only pressed the blade harder against his skin and in order to keep himself from bleeding out, he stepped back.

Arno felt guilty, not for not just telling you, but keeping it a secret for so long. Since Arno had arrived, you both had an instant click, a bond that grew stronger each day. Arno was your apprentice, and you showed him most of what he knows, and soon he was becoming a man in front of your very eyes. And it would be a lie if you told yourself that you did not have feeling for this man. But you keep it to yourself like you always did.

“You wouldn’t understand…” Arno spoke in a soft tone, his gaze falling to the ground, no longer paying attention to the sword pointing at him.

You felt your heart ache, and your hand that held your blade fell to your side, your voice faltered. “Then help me understand, Arno…” you said, your voice braking. Arno was surprised; to reassure himself that he was not just hearing things, he looked up at you. Your eyes had a dull look to them, one of hurt, your anger fading to be replaced with pain. “Why would you keep something like this from me?”

Was that a tear? Arno was in disbelief. He has never seen you cry, he has never seen you so.. vulnerable. You were always a strong person, and you hardly let any emotion flicker across your face unless it was the saddening eyes of news of another assassins death, happiness when Arno finally got the steps correct, or anger when Arno was late, again…

“Petit, (Little one,) please, don’t cry.” Arno pleaded, his gloved hands moving to cup your face, his thumb running over your cheek to get rid of the salty tear. “Everything will be alright–”

That same anger from before returned, once more, and with all your might you pushed Arno back. You know he was stronger than you, and that push could have been nothing to him, but it took him by surprise and he stumbled back and was able to retain his balance.

“Who is she to you, Arno!?” You yelled out, angry tears now slowly marking your beautiful face. Your hood was no longer up, but it was down showing your pained features to the assassin before you. Your messed up braid, your hurting [eye color] orbs, your pink lips trembled the slightest.

Arno stayed in his spot. It took all his will power to stay where he was and not take a step forward and comfort you, to tell you that it was alright. But things were not alright. Arno’s fist tightened and his jaw clenched. “Her name is Élise. She’s…” Arno felt his throat swollen, his mouth dry and his voice numb.

For some reason, he couldn’t say that to you, no, he felt like it was wrong… Why did he feel a sudden pain? Why did he feel his heart break when another tear fell, and your voice trembled? Why did he want to reach out so badly to hold you, and to whisper sweet words in his mother’s tongue? Why did he feel like this for you?

When your eyes motioned for him to continue, Arno’s gaze fell away from you and onto the pavement. “… she’s my lover…”

Why? Why did he have to look up and watch as your world tumbled down before you? Why did he stand there and watch as more tears fell? Why did he feel that he just committed the ultimate sin? Why did your eyes look at him like he just shoot you with his words? Why…?

“Y/N–” Arno reached out for you, but once more you pushed him back. Tears running down your face at this point. You were hurting, and you were hurting so bad.

“Don’ ever speak to me again!” You yelled out, your lips trembling and your body shook as each sob came out. You were trying so desperately hard to stop the tears, but it felt like it was impossible. “You betrayed me! You betrayed the Creed! I…” your words stumbled, “I hate you!”

Arno felt like his heart was just pulled from his chest and was thrown to the ground and stomped on repeatedly. Did he even have a heart? Because he could no longer breath, he could no longer feel his heartbeat. He felt so… defeated…

“Y/N…” he whispered your name. But it was no use, you had already turned around and ran. You ran and ran, even when he called out your name, begging for you to come back, you ran…

And you didn’t look back.

“Imagine… Cersei drunkenly confessing her desire for you when she spots you with another woman.”

“Imagine… Having a secret relationship with Cersei Lannister.”

"Imagine... Being a Vigilante alongside Batman and finding out his true identity."