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Chapter Text

The village square stood hushed, a heavy silence weighing on the air as Sansa's name echoed through the crowd. The announcement hit her like an icy gust, freezing her in place. She took hesitant steps forward, each one heavier than the last, as the truth settled over her like a suffocating blanket.

Petyr Baelish, the leader of their dwindling community, met her with a twisted smile, his eyes gleaming with a peculiar mixture of triumph and false sympathy. "Sansa Stark," he proclaimed, his voice cutting through the stillness. "You have been chosen for a great honor. The village thanks you for your sacrifice."

Sansa's heart pounded in her chest, the weight of the words sinking in. An honor? Sacrifice? The conflicting emotions swirled within her as she tried to make sense of it all. She felt nothing but the thud of her own heartbeat, a steady drumming that drowned out the whispers of the gathered villagers.

Petyr approached her with an unsettling grace, his hand extending to touch her shoulder in a mock display of comfort. "My dear Sansa," he murmured, his voice dripping with false tenderness. "This is your chance to protect the ones you love. A hero's duty, some might say."

She wanted to scream, to resist the cruel fate that had befallen her, but the words caught in her throat. Instead, she nodded numbly, her gaze fixed on a distant point beyond the village square. Her mind raced with a single thought: Jon. She had to find Jon and say her goodbyes.

Before she could utter a word, strong hands gripped her arms, pulling her away from Petyr's unsettling presence. The villagers, seemingly a chorus of shadows, guided her through the snow-covered paths towards a makeshift chamber where they would prepare her for the sacrificial ritual.

As she was forcefully ushered into the small room, Sansa's mind whirred with a singular purpose. She needed to find Jon, to say goodbye to the only family she had left. Another thought passed her mind unwillingly, not real family... but still they had grown together, he was the only one left. But the hands that worked on her were relentless, cleaning her up, fixing her hair, and adorning her in a wedding dress that felt more like a shroud than a celebration.

The scent of fear hung in the air as Sansa's transformation unfolded, the cold fingers of destiny tightening their grip around her. With each passing moment, the village's desperate act of appeasement became her inexorable reality, leaving Sansa with nothing but the echo of her own racing heart and the haunting image of the looming Terror.

Sansa's heart raced as the icy wind bit through the makeshift bride gown, chilling her to the bone. The village square was cloaked in a blanket of snow, each delicate flake serving as a cruel reminder of the impending sacrifice. Her breath escaped in uneven puffs, visible in the frigid air as she stood bound to the highest point of the mountain.

The crimson waves of her hair cascaded in wild curls, framed by the white landscape surrounding her. The cold had numbed her limbs, but it couldn't numb the terror coursing through her veins. Sansa's blue eyes darted anxiously, scanning the horizon for any sign of the colossal dragon known as the Terror.

The distant growls reverberated in her ears, sending shivers down her spine. It wasn't just the cold that made her tremble—it was the ominous presence of the creature that lurked beyond her line of sight. Her gaze flitted from one shadow to the next, searching for the beast that had haunted her village for so long.

The villagers' desperate whispers echoed in the air, mixing with the soft fall of snowflakes. Sansa's breath hitched as she tried to steady herself, the air tasting metallic with fear. Her eyes widened as a distant roar pierced the silence, the ground beneath her trembling in response.

At that moment, she felt a surge of panic, her chest tightening with every passing second. The uneven rhythm of her breath mirrored the drumming of her heart, a desperate cadence that underscored the impending doom. Yet, amidst the fear and uncertainty, Sansa's spirit remained unbroken.

Her gaze lifted to the heavens, meeting the stark contrast of the dark dragon against the snow-laden sky. In that freezing abyss, Sansa found a glimmer of defiance, a flame that refused to be extinguished. She would be strong, she promised to herself, she must be, for her people.

Chapter Text

The night draped the mountain in an inky blackness, and Sansa clung to the frigid peak like a forsaken wraith. The absence of the Terror left her bewildered—had the dragon deemed her unworthy of its fiery appetite? Or perhaps, had the offering failed to tempt the ancient beast?

The chilling wind bit through her, and she shivered, the biting cold seeping into her bones. Panic clawed at her chest as she contemplated the fate that awaited her. Would she succumb to the frozen embrace of frostbite, left to wither away atop this desolate mountain?

Suddenly, a figure emerged from the shadows, his presence slicing through the oppressive silence. In a swift motion, his sword cut through the bindings that held Sansa captive. Startled, she stumbled forward, her eyes wide with a mix of gratitude and trepidation.

"W-Who are you?" she stammered, her voice trembling with a blend of fear and curiosity. "You must leave, it's not safe. Don't you know what's happening here?" Her words spilled out in desperation, a plea for understanding in the face of the ominous unknown.

The man, bathed in the moonlight, revealed an otherworldly presence. His long silvery hair cascaded like a waterfall, Sansa noticed first his missing eye, in its place was a blue sapphire.

"I know very well," he replied with a knowing smirk, his fingers grazing the fabric of her dress. "But I don't think you do." His sudden touch sent a shiver down her spine, and she recoiled instinctively.

"Tch, cheap," he muttered, dissatisfied with the garment. In an instant, he seized her chin, forcing her gaze to meet his piercing eyes. "What are you doi—"

"Stop talking," he interjected with an authoritative tone. His lone eye swept over her features, lingering on her blue eyes as if searching for something hidden within their depths. A subtle nod followed, and he released her face, leaving Sansa breathless in the aftermath of his enigmatic intrusion.

"Follow me," he commanded, his voice cutting through the biting wind. Sansa hesitated, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"What? Have you lost your mind?" she retorted, her tone a mix of defiance and fear. The mountain's secrets and the mysterious stranger's motives left her on the precipice of uncertainty.

A smirk played on the man's lips as he turned to face her fully. "Do you want me to carry you?" he teased, his gaze meeting hers with an unsettling confidence.

"That won't be necessary," Sansa declared, mustering a fragile sense of determination as she stepped forward. Her eyes narrowed with a mix of curiosity and caution.

"But, sir," she continued, her voice wavering slightly, "you do realize I was a..." She hesitated, grappling with the reality of her own predicament. What was she exactly? "A bribe," she winced at the word, the bitter taste lingering on her tongue, "for a beast known as the Terror in this land. You must be new here. But I don't think anyone will appreciate you stealing the..." Sansa struggled to find the right term, the weight of her own vulnerability pressing upon her. "Well, me," she finally confessed, her voice tinged with a note of uncertainty.

The man laughed, a sound more akin to a roar that sent shivers down Sansa's spine. "Don't worry about that, sweetheart," he said, the words dripping with confidence.

The man led Sansa through the snow-laden paths, and as they approached the castle, its grandeur unfolded before her in a haunting display of opulence. The towering spires glistened under the moonlight, adorned with intricate carvings that seemed to tell tales of a bygone era.

They entered through the grand doors, and Sansa found herself in a vast hall adorned with banners that bore the sigil of a black dragon against a field of silver. The air was thick with the scent of burning candles, casting a warm glow that danced upon the polished marble floors. Elegant tapestries lined the walls, depicting scenes of conquest and triumph, each thread woven with a meticulous hand. Sansa understood now that he was no ordinary man.

He guided her through corridors adorned with ornate chandeliers, the flickering flames casting shadows that seemed to whisper secrets of the castle's history. As they ascended a sweeping staircase, Sansa couldn't help but marvel at the beauty that veiled the darkness within.

Finally, they reached a lavishly decorated chamber with a massive bed draped in rich fabrics. Candles illuminated the room, their golden light reflecting off the intricate patterns adorning the walls. His castle was a contradictory masterpiece—its elegance belying the ominous undertones that lingered in the air.

He turned to Sansa with a smirk, his sapphire eye gleaming in the candlelight. His voice deep echoing in the ornate chamber. "No need to cower in front of me. You are now under my protection." But how could she not, the man standing in front of her was The Terror of her land.

His words sent a chill down her spine. "You are mine by right now," he declared with a possessive air that stripped away any illusion of safety.

“Aemond!” A girlish voice called and the man turned around as a Blonde woman came to stand at his side. “This must be the girl, promise me not to frighten her too,” she said with a smile and turned to look at Sansa.

“Look at her sister, she is already frightened.” he laughed.
How dare they laugh at her? “Y- you monsters!” she didn’t want to say it out loud she really didn’t and the instant she heard her voice she regretted it, she covered her mouth with her hand but it was already too late. They did not react, but the girl came closer “Let me take you to your chambers” she whispered quietly.

"I'm Helaena," the girl said, her voice a soft echo in the opulent halls. Sansa remained silent, her gaze shifting between the enigmatic siblings who now held the threads of her fate.

The blonde woman, Helaena, seemed on the verge of saying something, but a heavy silence fell upon them as they continued through the labyrinthine halls. Sansa followed in silence, the grandeur of the castle serving as a stark contrast to the ominous revelations that had unfolded before her.

As they reached a set of intricately carved doors, Helaena opened them, revealing a chamber adorned with plush furnishings and draped in luxurious fabrics. "These are your chambers," she said, her voice gentle as if attempting to quell the unease that lingered in the air.

Sansa hesitated for a moment before stepping into the room, her eyes scanning the unfamiliar surroundings. The walls bore intricate tapestries, depicting scenes of dragons in flight and battles waged on distant lands. The flickering candles cast a warm glow, creating an illusion of serenity that contradicted the turmoil within Sansa's heart.

“Is there anything you need?” she asked.

“Why am I here Lady Helaena?” she needed to know why she was there, why they wanted her.

“Better you ask my brother.” the woman said and went to step out of the room. Helaena lingered at the doorway, her gaze fixed on Sansa as if searching for something beneath the surface. "Rest well, Sansa Stark," she whispered before withdrawing, leaving Sansa alone in the lavish chamber.

The night stretched on, an endless expanse of worry and uncertainty that gripped Sansa's thoughts with relentless intensity. The castle around her seemed to come alive with eerie whispers, each creak and murmur echoing through the grand halls. The flickering candles cast dancing shadows on the walls, their play a silent reminder of the dragon who ruled this domain.

As the snowstorm raged outside, Sansa lay in the vast bed, her eyes fixed on the ornate ceiling above. The wedding gown clung to her like a ghostly memory, a constant reminder of the ritualistic sacrifice that had brought her to this opulent prison.

The sounds of the castle enveloped her, the distant echoes of footsteps, the howling wind, the creaking of timbers. Yet, the loudest sound was the relentless drumming of her own heart, a steady rhythm that mirrored the tumultuous emotions within.

She wanted to hide beneath the covers, to shut out the world and the impending doom that seemed to hang in the air. But fear rooted her to the spot, leaving her standing still for what felt like an eternity.

After hours of silent contemplation, she moved towards the wardrobe in the corner of the room, the doors revealing an array of garments that whispered tales of the castle's history.

Sansa chose a nightgown, a simple garment that offered a stark contrast to the elaborate gown she had worn as a sacrificial bride. She changed, the cool fabric providing a fleeting sense of comfort in the midst of her turmoil.

She lay back on the bed, the sheets cool against her skin, but sleep remained elusive. Her mind raced with thoughts of The Terror, no Terror but Aemond , she thought the man who claimed her as his own.

As the night wore on, Sansa's eyes lingered on the door, the shadows playing tricks on her tired mind. Every creak and rustle heightened her anxiety, leaving her in a state of perpetual anticipation. The weight of the castle's secrets pressed upon her, and in the hushed darkness, Sansa wondered if the monster who claimed her as his own would soon emerge from the shadows.

Sansa's eyes drifted closed, succumbing to the beckoning embrace of sleep.

She was dreaming, she knew she was for a moment at least, she found herself in utter darkness, surrounded by beasts that feasted upon her flesh. Her screams echoed in the void, begging, praying for someone to help her.

Amidst the chaos, the beasts morphed into something else, someone familiar. Grey eyes and black curls emerged from the shadows—Jon. He stood before her “I’m sorry,” Why was he apologising? Why did he have blood around his mouth?

Suddenly, with a jolt, Sansa awoke to reality. The transition from the nightmare to the dimly lit chamber of the Dragon's castle felt like a violent collision. Her heart pounded in her chest, the echoes of the dream still haunting her waking moments. She was tangled in the sheets, her breath uneven as she grappled with the lingering fear that the dream had left in its wake.

The silence of the castle pressed upon her, broken only by the distant howling of the snowstorm outside. Sansa lay in the unfamiliar bed, the grandeur of the room stark against the remnants of her night terror.

Sansa remained confined to her room for the entirety of the day, the grandeur of the castle serving as a gilded cage that held her in a state of isolated uncertainty. Her stomach growled with hunger, and thirst gnawed at her throat, yet no one ventured to bring sustenance to her chambers. A silent question echoed in the air—was she expected to starve, or was she meant to venture out into the unknown castle by herself?

The castle remained shrouded in a hushed stillness, a tapestry of silence that clung to the air like a spectral veil. No one came to instruct her, no voice to guide her through the enigmatic labyrinth beyond her door. Sansa was left to grapple with the echoes of her own thoughts and the oppressive weight of uncertainty.

As the hours stretched into a relentless stream, hunger and thirst became constant companions. Sansa felt the pressing need for sustenance, yet her fear kept her confined to the safety of her chambers. She knew if they wanted to harm her they could do it in there too, but she wasn’t willing to aggravate them by disobeying some rule she didn’t know. The castle, with its ornate tapestries and flickering candles, seemed both opulent and malevolent, a realm where beauty veiled the hidden perils that lurked in the shadows.

Sansa stood by the window, her gaze fixed on the swirling snowstorm outside. The day drifted by, marked only by the passage of time that seemed to stretch and warp in the confines of her solitude. She would be brave tomorrow, she promised herself, she could be brave.

As nightfall descended, Sansa found herself succumbing to the pull of exhaustion. The grand bed, adorned with plush fabrics, beckoned her to escape the haunting reality that clung to the castle. She drifted back into a restless slumber, she dreamed of wedding nights and pomegranates on the snow, she dreamed she ate the seeds and transformed into a beast, she dreamed of love and she dreamed of blood.

The morning light filtered through the window, casting a soft glow on the chamber where Sansa had spent two nights in restless solitude. The persistent pangs of hunger and thirst had grown into a relentless ache, pushing her to confront the unknown beyond the confines of her room.

She wore a simple gown and with a hesitant resolve, Sansa approached the door, her hand trembling as she turned the handle. The castle's corridors unfolded before her, a tapestry of opulence and mystery that seemed to whisper tales of the dragons who ruled within.

As she ventured further into the castle, Sansa's senses tingled with a mixture of trepidation and anticipation. The air was thick with the scent of burning candles, and the distant echoes of the castle's activity reached her ears. She moved cautiously, her eyes scanning the ornate surroundings as she sought the source of sustenance that had eluded her.

In the dimly lit halls, she noticed a figure standing in the shadows—a man with silvery hair. The morning light caressed his features, revealing a face that seemed more human than the haunting visage she had encountered before. His eye, once filled with an otherworldly gleam, now held a deeper warmth.

"Care for something to eat?" he asked, his voice carrying a note of casual hospitality. Sansa paused, her initial fear giving way to a cautious curiosity.

"Thank you, uhm, my lord?" Her words emerged tentatively, uncertainty lacing her voice. The question lingered in the air—how should she address the man who ruled this castle? The moniker of Terror echoed in her mind, but she recalled his sister addressing him as Aemond. The enigmatic man seemed more approachable in the morning light, his features softened by the glow of the castle.

Aemond offered a small, knowing smile. "Just Aemond will do," he replied, his tone surprisingly congenial.

As they walked together through the castle's halls, Sansa couldn't help but wonder about the complexities of the man before her. The silver-haired lord, once a harbinger of fear, now presented a more human facade—one that both intrigued and perplexed her.

The hall where Aemond led Sansa was adorned with grand tapestries. A modest breakfast spread awaited them—a mix of fruits, bread, and warm porridge. Sansa hesitated for a moment before taking a seat, the ornate chair feeling almost too extravagant for her current predicament.

Aemond settled across from her, studying her with a curious intensity. His missing eye was covered with a black patch. "I hope the castle's offerings meet your expectations," he remarked, a faint smirk playing on his lips. Was he mocking her?

Sansa managed a small nod, her gaze flitting between the food and Aemond. The silence lingered for a moment, broken only by the crackling of the nearby fireplace.

"Sansa Stark," Aemond began, his voice holding a measure of solemnity, "I understand that the circumstances of your arrival are less than ideal. But you must know that I did not bring you here with ill intent." his voice sounded sure and strong, but he looked like he didn't want to be there or have this conversation with her. 

Sansa's eyes met his, a mixture of wariness and curiosity reflected in her gaze. "Why am I here, then?" she asked, her voice a delicate balance of trepidation and defiance.

Aemond sighed, his eye momentarily drifting away. "The ceremony binds us together now so I guess you should know, My sister and I, we bear the burden of this land. The sacrifices we make are not made lightly "

Sansa's brows furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Aemond's gaze met hers again, his eyes filled with a strange mixture of regret and determination. "The village believes in the legend of the Terror, and their faith gives them some sort of solace. But it also demands a price—a price I've grown weary of paying"

Sansa studied him, uncertainty etched on her features. "Why should I believe you? How do I know you won't harm me?"

Aemond sighed, a weariness settling over him. "I understand your mistrust, Sansa. But if you can find it in yourself to see beyond the legend and the fear, you might discover that the true enemy is not the dragon they call Terror."

“You say it’s a legend, but we saw bodies torn apart, missing children and women. My own brothers have gone missing, and you say it’s not true?” Sansa's voice wavered with a mix of anguish and frustration. Her brothers Bran and Rickon had vanished two years ago, and the prevailing belief in the village was that the Terror had taken them. Only she and Jon had tirelessly searched for them, refusing to accept the grim fate others attributed to the missing siblings.

“All I’m saying is that not everything is as it seems,” Aemond replied, his eye carrying a weight of understanding.

Sansa felt a sickening twist in her stomach, the meager food she had managed to consume now an unwelcome presence. She rose abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor as she left the table. Aemond made no move to stop her, allowing her to retreat to the solitude of her room.

As Sansa paced within the chamber, her heart raced, and only then an unsettling question lingered in her mind. How did they know her name? The revelation gnawed at the edges of her consciousness, leaving her to grapple with the unnerving reality that the dragons possessed knowledge beyond what should have been possible.

In the solitude of her room, Sansa couldn't shake the feeling that the layers of deception ran deep. The castle held secrets, and she found herself entangled in a web of uncertainty, her fate now intricately woven with the enigmatic man and the mysteries that lingered within the Dragon's castle.