Would. Would It Be Alright If I Posted Memes For Throw Me To The Wolves? After You Answered My Last Ask

Would. Would it be alright if I posted memes for Throw Me to the Wolves? After you answered my last ask I may or may not have gone on a frenzied meme creation spree. And I definitely have not been working myself up to sending this ask in for the past week because I was afraid you would think I was wierd. Anyway. Say the word and I will unleash the Throw Me to the Wolves memes upon the world. Or just ignore this ask lmao. Thank you 😅

Yes omg!!! Sorry again for replying late! This isn't weird at all, in fact this would be like the best Christmas present ever, I am so beyond honored 🥺

i’ve been rereading throw me to the wolves and just got to aegons chapter where he mentions that in another life he and alysanne would have probably married and now i can’t stop thinking about it

Wouldn't that make for an interesting pair! Alysanne as she is now would work well with him, I think. Were it not for Robb, she could grow to love Aegon.

I've given this a great deal of thought, actually. In the instance Aegon talks about (and Varys mentions it, in his chapter), Alysanne would never have been betrothed to Robb and sent north. Ostensibly raised in the Red Keep, if not at Casterly Rock with Tywin. I think that makes for a very different Alysanne.

(There's also the equally tragic option of Robb dying during the war and Alysanne ending up with Aegon that way. I think that would really break her for a while and turn her vengeful, bordering on cruel. But after a time, I think she and Aegon would grow to love one another in some capacity.)

She would perhaps be meeker, especially if raised by Tywin. And if she was raised in the Red Keep and Cersei got her claws into her as she originally wanted, I think she'd be a great deal more bitter. Not to mention whatever horrors come with growing up alongside Joffrey.

I think, in this other timeline, if she did manage to break free of Cersei and Tywin's influence, she would rule well alongside Aegon. She would have a long journey of growth. Those two together could be fun to write, perhaps I'll explore that one day!

Thank you for the ask :)

Both parts were so beautiful and heartbreaking, I do hope you write a part three!!

Hello,can we please get a part two of "and winter came" maybe with some tragedy involved but somewhat a happy ending? I really liked it and I hope you will be able to come up with something. Love your work <3

This took TWO HOURS to write Anon haha which is a long time for me. AND I was listening to the Winterfell music the whole time!

🗣 Lady Stark! Come get your man!

Spoilers for the events of A Song of Ice and Fire.

Given enough demand I will write a part three

Aemond x Stark!reader | Alys Rivers is mentioned but does not make an appearance, what happens to her is ambiguous, up to the reader

Word count: 2,581

Find Part One here!

Part Two of

And Winter Came

Your eyes stared into the crimson fire, not quite seeing the dancing flames as they cast warm light onto your face.  All the men had long since left Winterfell to fight in the Targaryen civil war, leaving you feeling more alone than you had thought possible.  The winds of winter had begun to blow outside the stone walls of your home, bringing with them a promise of deep snow.  As you stared deeply into the fire, you thought you saw moving shapes amidst the crackling sparks, shapes that coalesced into something you recognized.  Leaning forward, your lips parted in wonder as you saw the face of Aemond Targaryen, something you had tried fruitlessly to erase from your mind.  He was at Harrenhal, and Vhagar with him, and a woman who you could only assume was…his Alys.  The vision sputtered as a log cracked, reforming to show you two dragons, locked at each other’s throats, falling from the sky.  One was Vhagar, the other of crimson scales that you did not recognize.  Its rider raised his weapon and suddenly leapt from the saddle, flying through the air as if he were a dragon himself, until his sword made final contact with-

You clutched the furs at your chest, stumbling back, tripping over the hem of your cloak and falling heavily onto the stone floor.  Your breathing came out in ragged pants as you tried to make sense of what you had just seen and how you had seen it.  You had read books containing tales of Priestesses from the Shadowlands being able to see the future within flames, but surely it was just the sleep deprivation gnawing at your brain…causing you to hallucinate.

You got ungainly to your feet, using the sofa next to you to help push yourself up. If there was a chance that what you had seen was actually coming to pass, and you could save him, you had to take it.  

Gods be good. You thought, quickly exiting your rooms and heading for the library, I still love him.

Of course you did, his face, made even more handsome in your wistful recollections, haunted your every thought whether waking or dreaming.  It had been torture, the past few months, trying to accept your new life without him.  

You quickly scrawled a message on a missive, tied it to the nearest available raven, and sent it flying forth, buffeted by the wind.  If the gods had an ounce of mercy, it would arrive safely into Aemond’s hands, announcing your arrival to Harrenhal.  Even if he still harboured hostile feelings for you, you hoped the promise of urgent information would be enough to grant you safety.  You were no fool, as the daughter of Lord Stark you were handing your house’s enemy a great asset by riding directly into the hands of the Greens.

You shuddered to wonder how your lord father would react upon learning of your treachery, but with shoulders set stubbornly you gathered provisions and commandeered Winterfell’s quickest steed, setting out for Harrenhal before the sun had broke the horizon.

A little over a week later, your dress near frozen to your saddle, lips turning a pale shade of blue, you at last made it to the inn at the crossroads. Another day and you would reach your destination.  The confidence and bravery you’d felt in your chest upon your departure had seeped away with the days, especially as you had to hide from every approaching stranger on the road lest trouble follow.  Your brothers had taught you the basics of the blade, but nowhere near enough to fend off lecherous men who hadn’t seen a woman in weeks.

Your pleasure, therefore, at seeing a woman behind the bar of the inn was self-explanatory.  She looked kindly enough and didn’t ask any questions when you gave her money from your leather pouch for a room and some food.  “You look quite a sight, my dear.” She said in a heavy accent, appraising you with hands on hips. “I’ll draw you up what passes for a bath in these parts, free of charge.”  

You thanked her profusely, and took your plate to an empty table, collapsing onto the wooden bench.  The inn was relatively quiet, most customers having either gone home or retired to their rooms for the night.  A couple of men in the corner near you had their heads together and were whispering, you just caught a few words over the clattering of dishes in the kitchen.

“Alys.” “Heard she put a spell on him.” “Aye, nasty business all of it.”

Your hand, which had been stirring the watery soup before you, stilled as you strained your ears.  But the men, noting your proximity, had lowered their voices still making it impossible to hear any more.

The food was not good, but it was warm and filled your stomach.  The bath was also just warm enough to not send you into a fit of shivers and you were grateful for it after seeing the dirt caked upon your face.  Perhaps it was a blessing, however, it was quite difficult to tell if you were a woman or man under all that filth and furs you wore.

That night you slept fitfully and rose with the clear cold sun to finish your journey to Harrenhal.  Your skin prickled as your horse clattered up the rocky mountain, the cursed fortress rising in front of you, spires reaching sharply for the bright blue sky.  The dark stone it was carved from did not look any more friendly with the sun shining on it.  Your mouth tightened into a thin line upon seeing the guards at Harrenhal’s gates, they said nothing as you approached but raised the gate and stood aside to let you through.

So.  He had received your raven.

You dismounted in the bleak looking courtyard, taking in the armored men posted at every entrance.  They wore the green colors of House Hightower, you had made a point of making the Direwolf pin proudly visible on your cloak front.  An older man, most likely one of the maesters in service to the Hightowers, greeted you at the arched entrance to the fortress.  “Lady Stark.  You are expected.  Follow me.” With a short bow, the man turned and led you into the cold hall.  A chill creeped up your spine as you surveyed the gothic architecture, dark marble decorated almost every surface, and the flickering torches did little to make it seem more hospitable.  

At the far end of the grand hall there was a dais, as you drew closer your steps faltered because after all the time you had on the road to gather your courage it had not prepared you to see him again.  Aemond rose from where he had been seated, the largest fireplace you had ever seen illuminated the room from behind him, casting an eerie shadow over his face.

He strode toward you as you, in your turn, walked to him.  Stopping just shy of a few feet away from each other, despite yourself your eyes burned with unbidden emotion upon seeing him clearly for the first time in too long.  His face, though taught, was lovely as ever for you to look at.  Something in your expression must have had some effect on Aemond, his brow furrowed. “Leave us.”  He raised a hand in dismissal and the maester bowed before hurrying away leaving the two of you alone.

Aemond began circling you slowly, his heeled boots tapping softly on the marble floor. “A wolf, so far from her pack, is a dangerous thing.  You do know I can’t let you leave, especially after you wandered so willingly into my family’s hands.”

“You received my raven?”  Your voice was shaky despite how hard you tried to sound unbothered by his menacing words.  Aemond made a noise of assent so you continued. “I saw a vision in the fires, Aemond.”  He had circled you fully now, but your words caused him to pause and turn to look at you head-on.  

“Go on.”  

You stumbled over your words in your haste to speak. “You mustn’t meet…him in battle.”

Aemond had grown very still, he didn’t seem to even draw breath. “Who?”

You had not recognized who you saw battling with him in the fires but chanced your best guess. “Daemon.”

Aemond moved so quickly you hardly had time to react.  He marched with long strides toward you, causing you to retreat, until your back hit a pillar.  He was upon you, eye wild, a hand resting atop his dagger while the other rested next to your face, caging you in.  “How,” he hissed, “do you know that?  Who sent you?”

Despite your fear, you raised your head, defiantly glaring back at him. “I sent myself.” You were proud at the strength in your voice now. “I saw you die, Aemond.  Locked in combat over the God’s Eye with Daemon on his dragon.” You continued on, despite the snort of derision he made at your words. “I had a choice, remain in Winterfell and await the tidings of your death or journey here myself to warn you…”

Aemond pushed away from you, turning his back and moving toward the fire.  His hair, still long, smacked you in the face as he did so, causing you to splutter.  In any other circumstance you would’ve laughed, instead gathering your heavy skirts and following after him. “I didn’t want to leave King’s Landing you know!” You were becoming angry now, the old fire returning to your heart. “I wanted to stay and become your wife.  You know I had no choice but to flee!”

Aemond rounded on you again, but this time you did not back away. “In the middle of the night, with no thought of saying ‘goodbye’?”  The evident hurt in his angry voice constricted your throat.  

You fought a moment to speak. “I knew you would convince me to stay, Aemond.” You said softly, “I could not for the sake of my house.”

“And yet here you are.” He motioned to you with a broad sweep of his arm. “Walking directly into the fortress of your house’s sworn enemy.” Aemond smiled mockingly with a tilt of his head. “I thought you cleverer than that, Y/N.”

“Have you not been listening to me, you stubborn fool?”  Despite the sudden anger on Aemond’s face, you walked up to him and jabbed a finger at his chest. “I am here to save your life!”

Aemond’s hand closed in a vice-like grip around your wrist, pushing your hand away.  He held you, studying your face with his violet eye.  “My Alys tells me all I need to know of what the future holds.” He released you, turning again to sit back down upon the throne-like chair atop the dais.

“Your Alys has placed a spell on you, even the villagers whisper of it.  Where is she now?  Mixing up more of her poison to taint your heart with false love?”

“You are a devil sent from the hells to torment me!”  Aemond stood once more, so abruptly his chair flew backwards with a clatter against the ground.  “Leave, right now, and I will forgive your blundering insolence.  Tuck your tail between your legs and flee back to Winterfell.”

A sadness, a vulnerability, the look of a lost young boy, flitted across Aemond’s enraged features.  So quickly, you wondered if your soft heart had imagined it.  You stood firm. “I’m not leaving you again, Aemond.”  Hearing your voice speak his name caused his shoulders to drop slightly, his prominent brow furrowed once more as his eye took you in.

You dared move closer to him, muddied skirts dragging on the pristine floor, until you could feel his breath on your face.  You withdrew a hand from your glove and raised it slowly, as if approaching a wild animal.  Aemond jerked his head away slightly, his eye imperiously set on you, but you followed his movement and cupped his cheek lightly in your palm.  “I am sorry, Aemond.” You said his name again, trying to convey the months of grieving you had suffered after leaving him.

He did not move away from your touch, instead leaning slightly into it, causing your heart to hammer against your ribs.  “It is you who has enchanted me, Y/N.”

“I am sorry.” You said again, tracing your thumb along the corner of his curved mouth.

Aemond let out a sharp breath, catching your hand with his and turning his head into it, placing a warm kiss to your palm.  Tears pricked your eyes at the familiar feeling.  “There is nothing to forgive, my lady.  You did what any dutiful daughter would have done in a time of war.”  His eye crinkled slightly as it looked down at you. “Though you acted the part of a dutiful wife in bringing me this…urgent message yourself.”

Reminded of the vivid image of Aemond perishing at his uncle’s hand you shuddered and gave him a severe look. “Promise me-”  

“I promise my lady I shall not engage with Daemon above the God’s Eye.”  Aemond interrupted you, his voice softening. “I have other immediate plans anyway.”

He wrapped an arm around you, cradling your jaw with the other hand and brought his lips to yours in a fierce kiss.  You gasped at the intensity and Aemond seized full advantage, exploring your mouth with his tongue and sucking against your bottom lip.  An unbidden moan escaped you and Aemond’s fingers tightened on your waist.  He broke the kiss, tilting his head back to inhale the crisp air, his eye closing in bliss. “I would have you right here, my little wolf, before the hearth.”  He kissed you again, sloppily and hurried. “But I have business to attend to first.  This hall has a new lady, after all, and I must further investigate these allegations of witchcraft.”

With both hands at your hips, Aemond guided you to the fallen chair, where he righted it and had you sit. “Wait for me here, I will return to you shortly. I will make you mine before the night is old.”  He promised before placing a kiss to your head and striding from the hall.  You heard him shout orders to unseen men outside and within the hour you were brought warm food, drink, books, a change of clothes as well as a modesty screen to change behind.  A serving girl helped lace you into your new gown, the green velvet fabric soothing your chilly flesh.  Feeling a slight sting of guilt, you removed the Direwolf pin from your cloak and instead fastened it to the fabric above your heart.  You would not forget who you were, a daughter of winter.

You were left alone with the books you had been brought, among them was your favorite and your cheeks blushed with the knowledge Aemond had requested it be brought to you.  You heard his footsteps approaching before feeling his large hand rest upon your upper arm.  His silver hair spilled over your shoulder as he placed lingering kisses along your neck.  You shivered and turned toward him, meeting his lips with your own.  He pulled away slightly, his nose brushing yours.  His eye moved from your own eyes to your mouth, the firelight illuminating his lilac iris with an unearthly glow. “Now…” Aemond breathed, his hand tracing your collarbone with a featherlight touch. “Where were we?”

Mischaracterization in fics is annoying and can sometimes make me be like “he would not say that” EXCEPT when I do it. he would say that because I am holding him at gunpoint to do so

Abandon All Hope - Prologue

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Summary:

A dream has King Viserys making an olive branch of his granddaughter and son in a bid to bind together the two halves of his family, torn asunder by love, whispered lies, and daggers in the night. But dreams are fickle things. One missed step in a dance, and a new path to madness enters the game.

Her mother once said she named her for the dreamer, out of a hope that she'd bring a new dawn upon their house just as their ancestor did so many years ago. Daenys the Dreamer, who dreamt the Doom of Valyria and led House Targaryen across the narrow sea to spare them.

Daenys does not dream of things yet to pass, and she rather thinks herself destined for her own doom. Her Uncle Aemond will make certain of that.

Rating: M, minors I will throw rocks at you if I find out you read this

Word Count: 3.6k

If one were to ask Daenys who amongst the men in her life she loved the most, she might have answered her eldest brother Jacaerys. For he was a man by all the laws of the realm, and had always chased away her tears and kissed her scraped knees. She might even answer that her grandfather, Lord Corlys Velaryon, was the man she loved most. He was always gentle with her and delighted in showing her the treasures he’d collected from his many voyages, and he always had time for her when others didn’t. 

Above all Daenys might have answered that her father, Laenor Velaryon, was the man she loved the best. Her father and his laughing eyes, his gentle hands and bone-crushing hugs; he always told her he loved her best out of all of his daughters, and though Daenys was his only daughter, she clung to his words all the same. Her father always stuck up for her in the face of her brother’s teasing, and he always drove away her nightmares with soft songs or old legends of the sea, passed down from Velaryon to Velaryon.

Even now, she fiddled with the necklace her father gave her on her tenth name-day. She wore it more oft than not, even when it didn’t match the dress she wore. It was, at the time, the finest of all the jewelry she owned, and it was the first necklace that made her feel like a proper lady. A necklace for a woman, not a child. It was a delicate thing of silver, with five, sparkling, aquamarine gemstones that reminded Daenys of the sea. 

“Silver and aquamarine,” her father had said when he gave it to her. “So you might never forget our house. Or me.” She’d thought her father silly to say such a thing, to think she could ever forget that she was a Velaryon or that he was her father. Daenys was proud to be a Velaryon, and she was proud to call Laenor Velaryon her father. 

But Daenys could not answer that her father, Laenor Velaryon, was the one she loved best out of all the men in her life. For her father was dead and had been for almost a year now. And she couldn’t answer her brother Jacaerys, as he was barely two years older than her, and if Jacaerys was a man then she must certainly be a woman, and Daenys did not feel like a woman grown. Nor could she answer that her grandfather Corlys was the one she loved best, because he’d left them all to go fight in the Stepstones once more. 

She most certainly could not answer that her other grandfather, King Viserys, was the man she loved most. He had decided to be the king instead of her grandfather, and Daenys did not love the king.

Continue on AO3

I haven’t disappeared again! I meant to update and post a new Aemond one shot this week/weekend but I’ve got the flu :(