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Hello! I was the one who put in the Edmund request :)

Your writing is so beautiful and descriptive omg <3

If you could make it a series, I'd be vv grateful! And !Jealous Edmund>>>

Once again, loved your writing <3

Shadows and Starlight: {~The Clash of Swords~}

A/N: First I would really like to apologize for taking so long to get this out! I was moving and had honestly lost motivation for writing and just could not get anything out. I am also a junior in highschool so I have been busy with school. But, I am now on my Christmas break so I will be posting one chapter every single day to make up for the lost time. Since I have missed yesterday, I will be posting the second chapter of this story later today! I love you guys so much and I really appreciate your patience!❤️

Summary: Amid the chaos of war, a bitter rivalry between Edmund Pevensie and a formidable enemy leader begins to unravel into something deeper. As a fragile truce forms, both are torn between duty to their people and the undeniable connection growing between them. With political tensions rising, jealousies flaring, and the threat of battle looming, Edmund and the reader must navigate a delicate balance of loyalty, love, and sacrifice to secure peace—and each other

Characters: Edmund Pevensie

Pairing: Edmund Pevensie x Gn!Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1674

Taglist: @snowtargaryen @hippiedippiekitty

Chapter 1 —

The battlefield stretched out before you like a storm on the horizon—chaotic, dangerous, and all-consuming. The metallic clash of swords, the dull thud of arrows striking shields, and the war cries of soldiers filled the air, creating a symphony of war that pulsed in your veins. But amidst the carnage, amidst the chaos and confusion, there was only one person you were focused on—Edmund Pevensie.

You saw him long before he saw you, cutting through the battlefield with swift precision, his sword moving as an extension of his arm. He was brutal and efficient, taking down every opponent who dared cross his path. The youngest king of Narnia had become your greatest rival, the one opponent you could never truly defeat, and today would be no different—or so you told yourself.

As you watched him, a bitter taste formed in your mouth. Edmund Pevensie—so full of confidence, so sure of himself—fought like he had nothing to lose. But you knew better. You had seen him falter before, had noticed the subtle cracks in his armor during your past encounters. Today, you would exploit them.

Your grip tightened on the hilt of your sword as you wove through the battlefield, dodging stray arrows and blocking attacks from nameless soldiers. Your eyes never left Edmund, and with each step, you felt the weight of your unresolved rivalry bearing down on you. It had been this way for years, an endless dance of blades and blood, but today, it felt different. There was something heavier in the air, something that made your heart pound with more than just adrenaline.

Finally, Edmund’s gaze locked with yours across the battlefield, and you saw the flash of recognition in his eyes. His jaw clenched, and his body tensed as he prepared himself for the inevitable clash. You could practically feel the electricity in the air between you, the tension coiling tighter with each passing second.

Without another thought, you charged toward him, your feet pounding against the muddy ground. Every other battle faded into the background as you closed the distance between you, your focus narrowing to the point where nothing else mattered but the fight that was about to take place.

Edmund met your charge head-on, his sword raised to intercept your strike. The clash of metal rang out like thunder as your blades collided, sending shockwaves through your arms. The force of the impact jarred your bones, but you gritted your teeth and pressed forward.

“Back again?” Edmund’s voice was cold, almost bored, as he parried your next strike with ease. “You never learn, do you?”

His words stung more than you cared to admit, but you refused to let him see the effect they had on you. Instead, you pushed harder, your sword meeting his with a furious intensity. “You’re one to talk, Pevensie,” you shot back, your breath coming in sharp bursts. “How many times do I have to beat you before you finally stay down?”

A grim smile tugged at the corners of Edmund’s lips, though there was no humor in it. “Beat me? That’s funny, considering the last time we met, you were the one on the ground.”

The reminder of your previous defeat ignited a fresh wave of anger within you. The memory of Edmund standing over you, his sword poised to end your life, was one you hadn’t been able to shake. But today, you vowed, things would be different.

You struck again, your sword whistling through the air with deadly intent. Edmund blocked the blow, his strength evenly matched against yours, and for a moment, the two of you were locked in a stalemate. The muscles in your arms strained as you pressed your blade against his, trying to force him back, but Edmund held his ground.

“You’re getting slower,” he remarked, his voice taunting. “Is this the best you’ve got?”

A growl of frustration escaped your lips as you pushed harder, finally managing to break the deadlock. You swung your sword in a wide arc, aiming for his side, but Edmund was too fast. He dodged the strike with practiced ease, and before you could react, he retaliated with a quick, calculated swipe that nearly knocked the sword from your hand.

Stumbling back, you cursed under your breath. Edmund’s fighting style had always been a mix of precision and brutality, and it was becoming clear that today would be no different. He was relentless, his strikes quick and unyielding, and though you were able to match him blow for blow, it was taking everything you had to keep up.

“You’re slipping,” Edmund said, his voice tinged with mockery as he lunged toward you again. “Getting tired?”

“Not yet,” you snarled, blocking his attack and countering with a sharp thrust of your own. Your sword grazed his arm, drawing a thin line of blood, and for the first time in the fight, you saw Edmund falter.

His eyes flickered with surprise as he looked down at the wound, and in that brief moment of distraction, you pressed your advantage. You swung your sword with renewed vigor, driving him back step by step. The tide of the fight had shifted, and for the first time in what felt like years, you could see a path to victory.

But then, just as quickly as it had appeared, your advantage was gone.

With a swift, almost casual motion, Edmund deflected your next strike and spun around, catching you off guard. His sword lashed out, sweeping your legs out from under you with a speed that left you breathless. Before you could even process what had happened, you were on the ground, the cold, wet mud soaking through your clothes.

You gasped for breath, your body aching from the fall. Pain radiated through your ribs, but before you could recover, Edmund was looming over you, his sword pointed directly at your throat.

For a moment, neither of you moved. You lay there, panting, staring up at him in disbelief. This was it. After all these years, after all the battles and near misses, it had finally come to an end. Edmund Pevensie had you at his mercy.

“Go on,” you spat, your voice rough and filled with defiance. “Finish it.”

Edmund’s face was expressionless as he stared down at you, his chest rising and falling with each labored breath. His sword didn’t waver, the cold steel pressing lightly against the delicate skin of your throat. But despite his position of power, despite the fact that he could end this with a single strike, something in his eyes told you he wouldn’t.

“I’m not going to kill you,” he said quietly, the words so unexpected that they seemed to hang in the air between you.

You blinked up at him, stunned into silence. This was a trick. It had to be. Edmund had never shown you mercy before, so why now? “What?” you breathed, your voice barely audible over the din of the battle.

“I said I’m not going to kill you,” Edmund repeated, his voice steady but lacking the usual coldness that colored his words. He sheathed his sword and extended a hand toward you. “Get up.”

You stared at his outstretched hand like it was a viper about to strike. Your mind raced, trying to make sense of what was happening. This was Edmund Pevensie—your sworn enemy. The one person you had spent years fighting against, the one you had sworn to defeat at any cost. And now he was offering you his hand?

“What are you playing at?” you demanded, still lying in the mud, too stunned to move. “Is this some kind of game to you?”

Edmund’s gaze didn’t waver. “No game,” he said firmly. “This doesn’t have to end with one of us dead.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. This wasn’t the Edmund you knew. The Edmund you had fought time and time again would never say something like that. But as you searched his eyes, you realized that this Edmund, the one standing before you now, wasn’t the same boy you had fought all those years ago.

You hesitated, the weight of his offer hanging heavily in the air between you. Everything in you screamed to refuse, to push his hand away and continue the fight. But something in his eyes, something raw and unguarded, stopped you. It wasn’t just the offer of peace that he was extending—it was something deeper. Something unspoken.

Slowly, tentatively, you reached up and took his hand. His grip was strong as he pulled you to your feet, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to still. The battle continued to rage around you, but in that moment, it was as if the two of you were the only ones left.

You stood there, face to face, your hand still clasped in his. Your chest heaved with exertion, your body aching from the fight, but all you could focus on was the way Edmund’s gaze had softened, the way his eyes lingered on yours just a moment too long.

“What’s going on?” you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Why are you doing this?”

Edmund’s jaw tightened, and for a brief moment, you saw a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “Because I’m tired of this,” he admitted, his voice low but filled with a sincerity that caught you off guard. “This war, this fight... it doesn’t make sense anymore.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could say anything, a voice called out from behind you, cutting through the tension.

“Edmund!”

The sound of Peter’s voice brought you both crashing back to reality. You turned to see him striding toward you, his face set in a grim expression. Behind him, Susan stood with her bow drawn, her sharp eyes flicking between you and Edmund with suspicion.

Edmund quickly released your hand, his expression hardening as Peter approached. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had just shifted between you—something that couldn’t be undone.

Hi! Could I request this for Daemon? I've been really interested in the whole haunting for Damon

in the latest season and just wanted charmed and thought Daemon might come across the spirit of his late ex-lover at Harrenhal. She was Otto's eldest daughter who passed away before they could wed. There's a chance that Otto mistakenly poisoned her instead of Daemon, in an attempt to stop their marriage. She confides in Daemon about the specifics of her death, and he finds closure by being able to embrace her, kiss her, and be intimate with her. Alys Rivers was someone she adored and cared for, perhaps as a motherly figure. Alys might continue to trigger visions of his former lover in Daemon, but not with harmful intentions; it could be rooted in her affection for her maternal figure. This could serve as the first part of a two-part series, and the suspenseful conclusion could be Alys' revelation that she intends to bring her back to life, potentially leading to Damon's unexpected shift in allegiance in the series 😏💚❤️‍🔥

{~Shadows of Harrenhal~}

A/N: First of all I just want to say thank you for requesting this!!! I am sooo sorry that it took me to song for me to write this for you! I really hope you enjoy this and I'm really sorry if it's not entirely what you wanted but I tried! 😭

Summary: Daemon Targaryen encounters the spirit of his lost love, Otto Hightower’s eldest daughter, who died before they could wed. Alys Rivers offers Daemon a way to bring her back, binding their souls but at a high cost. As he’s consumed by their supernatural connection, Daemon faces a painful choice: keep her and lose himself, or release her and find peace.

Characters: Daemon & Alys

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Some Angst

Word Count: 1983

Tag List: @snowtargaryen @hippiedippiekitty

Part 1 ---

Daemon Targaryen never considered himself a man bound by ghosts. He took what he wanted, feared little, and answered to no one. But there was one shadow that followed him, one face that haunted his dreams in the depths of the night—a woman he loved fiercely, his intended bride, taken from him before they could wed. She was Otto Hightower’s eldest daughter, his love, his match, and a memory that clawed at his heart like iron scraping bone.

And now, they say, she wanders Harrenhal.

The torches cast jagged shadows across the cracked walls as Daemon strode through the desolate corridors of the ancient castle. Alys Rivers, dark-eyed and silent, led the way, her steps so light she seemed to glide. Daemon had come here on a whim, drawn by rumors of Alys’s talents. They spoke of her sight, her ability to reach beyond the veil, of a power that could evoke spirits, and conjure memories from the other side. Daemon had scoffed at such tales, but here he was, heart pounding with a hope he would not admit, even to himself.

They reached an old, nearly forgotten hall where the light seemed thinner, barely touching the cold stone. Alys turned to face him, her expression unreadable. “She is near,” she murmured.

Daemon’s throat tightened. “Bring her to me, then.”

Alys did not respond immediately; instead, she stepped back, her dark eyes meeting him with an expression that seemed both compassionate and haunting. With a few whispered words that faded into the stillness, she raised her hands, her fingers moving through the air as though drawing open a curtain unseen.

And then, Daemon felt it—a stirring, a ripple in the atmosphere. The air grew colder, tingling with a sensation he couldn’t quite place as if something forgotten was being called to life once more.

Then he saw her.

She stood in the shadows, her form translucent yet unmistakable. She looked exactly as he remembered—elegant and poised, with a softness that made his heart twist with longing. Her eyes, deep and expressive, locked onto his, and he took a step closer, not daring to blink, terrified she might vanish like all the memories he’d clung to for so long.

“Daemon,” she said softly, her voice carrying a warmth that cut through the chill around them.

His breath left him in a shudder. “Gods… I thought I’d lost you forever.” His voice was a hoarse whisper, filled with a rawness he’d never shown to another soul.

She smiled, though it was a sad, broken thing. “You did lose me, Daemon. And not by fate or sickness, but by the hand of my blood.” Her voice trembled, anger mingling with sorrow. “I did not die by chance. My father took me from you.”

Daemon’s expression hardened. He had suspected Otto’s hand in her untimely death, but hearing it from her lips was a dagger to his heart. “Tell me what happened,” he demanded, his voice rough, desperate.

She paused, looking down at her hands, then back at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “He planned to poison you, Daemon. To ensure I would never stand beside you as your wife, to keep our marriage from bringing you closer to the throne. But he miscalculated…” Her voice broke, and she looked away, pain flickering across her face. “The cup he brought me that night was meant for you. I drank it, thinking it a gesture of his blessing, of forgiveness. And as I lay there, gasping, as I felt the life draining from my body… he looked at me with horror.”

Daemon’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles turning white as rage surged within him. “He killed you to stop me. That insufferable snake took you from me.”

She nodded, her form flickering faintly in the cold light. “In his eyes, I was a casualty… a necessary one to prevent what he feared most.” Her voice softened, eyes searching his face. “I only wish I could have said goodbye.”

They were silent for a moment, the weight of her words heavy in the air. Daemon’s gaze softened as he took a step closer to her, his hand reaching out, though he stopped just short of touching her. “I would have burned the realm to keep you safe,” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. “I would have done anything.”

She stepped closer, her presence faint but solid enough that he could feel a sliver of warmth, a remnant of the life they had once hoped to share. “And I would have walked through fire for you,” she replied, a fierce glimmer in her eyes. “I would have given up anything to be by your side, Daemon.”

He reached out again, his fingers trembling, unsure if he would feel her touch or if his hand would pass through. To his surprise, he felt her—a chill against his skin, yet grounding, familiar. Her hands found his, delicate and weightless.

They stood in silence, foreheads touching, a thousand unspoken words exchanged in that moment. The years melted away, and for a fleeting heartbeat, it felt as if they were the same two souls they had once been—wild, passionate, and bound by a love that defied the very gods.

Daemon’s hand moved up, cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over her skin as if memorizing her once more. “I swore you’d be mine,” he whispered, voice trembling with both rage and longing. “And now… I don’t know how to let you go again.”

She placed a ghostly hand over his heart, her touch soft but resonant. “You don’t have to,” she whispered, leaning in until her lips met his.

The kiss was electric, a union of fire and ice. His heart thundered as he held her, feeling her presence consume him, grounding him as if she were still alive, warm, and vibrant. Time slowed

each kiss, each caress an echo of the life they’d never had the chance to share. His arms tightened around her as if holding her would anchor her to him, to the world of the living.

When their kiss finally broke, she looked at him, full of sorrow and love. “Daemon,” she whispered, “you must let me rest. But promise me… promise me you will never let him win. Do not let my death be in vain.”

He nodded, his jaw set with grim determination. “I’ll avenge you and make him pay for what he took from us.”

Daemon’s hand slipped from hers as her form began to wane, her eyes glistening with the silent plea she had left him with: Do not let my death be in vain. He watched helplessly as her spirit faded, leaving behind an unbearable emptiness that seemed to deepen the shadows of Harrenhal.

Before the silence could swallow him whole, Alys Rivers stepped closer, her gaze steady and enigmatic. She observed him with the measured patience of one who’d seen such grief many times before, her expression a strange blend of compassion and steel. She placed a hand on his arm, drawing his attention to her, breaking the spell of despair that had settled over him.

“You truly loved her,” Alys said softly, a question and a statement all at once.

Daemon’s eyes blazed as he turned to her. “She was everything.” His voice was a hoarse whisper, stripped bare of his usual pride. “But that is why I will never forgive that serpent, her father. I would see the world burn to have her back.”

Alys gave a slow, deliberate nod, seeming to weigh his words. She stepped around him, the hem of her dark gown whispering over the cold stone. “I can bring her back,” she murmured, each word a tantalizing promise that hung in the air. Her gaze held his, unflinching. “But such magic is costly, Daemon Targaryen. Some forces bind the dead to the afterlife, threads that, once severed, cannot be mended without consequence.”

Daemon’s fists clenched as he took in her words, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “Name the price.”

She studied him for a long moment, and Daemon could feel her searching, reaching into the parts of him that he kept hidden. “You would risk your very soul, your bloodline… even your crown, to bring her back. Once life is restored, it can’t be undone again. She will come back to the world of the living, but such magic leaves scars.” Her voice softened. “And the price would not only be yours to bear. Those who defy death are never left unmarked.”

Daemon let her words sink in, the fire in him dimming with a slow, mounting horror. He could bring her back, but at what cost? Would she return whole, or would she bear some shadow, a remnant of the darkness she’d been drawn from? And yet, could he walk away, knowing this chance existed?

He turned away, his gaze dark as he looked over the desolate hall. “What must I sacrifice, exactly?”

Alys tilted her head, her dark eyes shadowed and knowing. “Your life as you know it, Daemon. Your heart will belong to her… entirely, without room for another. And if you defy the magic or the price of it, her soul will suffer the consequences. The magic demands loyalty, and as such, it would demand yours.”

Daemon’s mind raced, visions of their past together flooding his thoughts. She had been his match in every way—her laughter, her fire, her unyielding spirit, and the fierce, defiant way she’d loved him. He couldn’t count the times he’d dreamt of her, only to wake and remember that she was gone, lost to him by the hand of the one man he’d trusted least.

Alys’s voice was soft as she continued. “You know she saw me as a mother, as a friend. I would never harm her. But bringing her back… it will bind us all together in ways that none of us can predict. The magic is as old as these stones. It cannot be controlled once it begins.”

He met her gaze, his eyes intense, a silent question in them. “You would do this for her?” His voice was softer, guarded. “Even knowing the risk?”

Alys stepped closer, her expression softening with a trace of vulnerability. “For her, yes. She was dear to me, and her loss… it felt as though I’d lost a part of myself.” She hesitated, her gaze drifting as if looking into another world. “But Daemon, you must understand—this will change you. The Daemon Targaryen you know now will not survive unscathed. You might find yourself in conflict with those you once held dear, bound by forces that even you cannot defy.”

Daemon’s gaze darkened. His mind flickered to those he might be forced to forsake: his family, the throne… perhaps even the very kingdom he had once sought to rule. The sacrifices twisted at his mind, a hollow ache forming in his chest. Could he do this, knowing he might become unrecognizable to himself, bound to a fate he couldn’t undo?

And yet, her face lingered in his mind, a flickering light in the shadows.

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply as he let his heart answer before his mind could. When he looked back at Alys, his resolve was clear. “I accept. She was my life—whatever is left of me now is hers.”

Alys regarded him, a small, knowing smile curving her lips. “Very well,” she murmured, a flicker of satisfaction in her gaze. “But remember Daemon, once this path is set in motion, it cannot be reversed. And if the cost becomes too great, the only way to save her will be to destroy yourself.”

Daemon’s eyes flashed with fierce determination. “If that is what’s required, then so be it.”

Alys gave a slight nod, her expression unreadable as she extended her hand toward him. “Then come, Prince Daemon. The ritual begins tonight.”