Princess Rhaena Targaryen And Her Dragon, Morning

Princess Rhaena Targaryen and her dragon, Morning

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐦-𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐝

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

word count: 4.5k~

warnings: strong language, eventual violence, classic Niklaus resorting to violence and drinking away his problems

a/n: this is the 3rd chapter of my au longfic based off the The Originals (what if the child was a teenager/YA throughout the show duration and not at season 5?). This chapter features Klaus’s pov, an insider to his struggles accepting his role as a father. Rebekah and Elijah makes their return. Davina as well. If there’s a warning I skipped let me know.

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𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗧𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗲 | 𝗡𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲’𝘀 𝗟𝗼𝗼𝗽𝗵𝗼𝗹𝗲

       𝐊𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐒 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓 𝐀𝐒 𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃. From her thick curly roots, to the smeared blood currently being wiped clean from her delicate features, to the soft beatings of her heart indicating she was calmly resting. In his hand, he held an old photo of him sitting next to Vanessa. Who was clearly the girl's mother given the identical features they shared, alongside a letter explaining the situation of his existence with clear instructions to NOT come to New Orleans.

        Yet the girl—Deena, as stated in the letter—came anyway. Hard-headed.

        Klaus remembered Vanessa almost as if it was yesterday. He met the young aspiring witch at a local art exhibit held in The French Quarter where she first struck his interest, besides being the only who wore silly socks with a tight-fitting dress. She was not only well-spoken in art, but she had a way with words in which Klaus wouldn't notice the smile he wore until she told him, and she was her own person with a peculiar taste in fashion. And he liked it. In fact, he loved it. They hit it off quickly and spent every chance they had with each other, until one day she disappeared without a word. Klaus assumed it was because of him and didn't blame her since she was too good for his world and she deserved more than what he could provide for her.

        "Impossible," Were the first words Klaus said. He tossed the photo to the floor and faced his back to Deena to slip her from his memory, to Elijah who spoke not one word until Klaus spoke first.

        Elijah picked the photo from the floor and placed it on the table beside the written letter before Klaus seized a chance to rip it. "Whether it's true or not, the child needed our help and we gave that to her. Nik—"

       "You expect me to believe this child is mine from a silly photo with a woman I dallied with years ago and some loveless letter of lies?" Growled Klaus. His mouth suddenly felt dry and though he did his best to put up a front, the fear in his eyes was evident and by the end of his words, panic had entered. "I am a vampire. I cannot procreate!"

        Rebekah rinsed the cloth of blood in the warm water of dark red ready to be refilled and continued to clean the child's face and arms the best she could. The scent of her blood was alluring, preying them to feed into their cravings with just a taste, a single drop of her blood until there was no restraint to stop. But they have lived long enough to control their thirst, and the blood lust wasn't as appealing when the victim's a child and presumed to be a Mikaelson.

        "Magic made you a vampire as us all, Nik." Rebekah pointed out. "But you were born a werewolf; it courses in your blood given by your father, so it is possible. Ludicrous but possible. And we can confirm it with your blood and hers. And a witch."

        That shut Klaus up.

        "The child has already been through enough, and we can't be sure of which witch we can trust until we figure out the origin of this madness. Let's not bother her anymore and hope she wakes soon." As Elijah spoke, he watched Deena intensively under his black lashes and compared her physical similarities to his little brother. Her lips. Her ears. Even her nose with a slight readjustment, accurately portrayed Klaus but there was no way to be sure without that spell Rebekah mentioned.

        Rebekah rolled her eyes. "She will be fine. With my blood in her system, she's healing a lot faster than before. And I know a witch we can use; she was just here not too long ago banging on our doors to hear her out. And by the looks of it, she cares enough to do anything for her," Rinsing the last of Deena's blood into the bowl, Rebekah placed the rag on the dresser and carried the bowl into her arms to be refilled. She caught sight of Klaus's quietness, his eyes never leaving the child and added, "And if we hold this off any longer, we might as well shave our heads bald and pay ourselves a visit to the loony bin, and I don't rock a bald look. I would rather stab myself with the white oak before I plug in a bloody razor."

        Rebekah left for the bathroom.

        They knew exactly who Rebekah spoke of—Davina Claire, the teenage witch who wanted but nothing to do with the Mikaelsons. More specifically Klaus. After Elijah thought about the decision, he began to view Rebekah's point and agreed. However, the decision wasn't up to him.

         Klaus could feel his brother's heated stare as he looked to him for answers he didn't have nor wished to answer. He stood quietly acquainted with fear more than anyone has witnessed since Mikael's invasion back in 1919. He does want the answer, but he's too prideful to ask for help and he was too afraid of the outcome.

        Elijah then understood he would have to make the decision for them both and found Rebekah's gaze as she exited the bathroom with a clean bowl of warm water. "Let's do the spell."

━━━━━━ ━━━━━━

        𝐃𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐀 𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐕𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐒. Her eyes never left Klaus as she made her way down the hallway and into the spacious room, waiting for a reason to use her magic against him, until she found Deena lying unconscious on the freshly made bed in the room she had once lived in back when Marcel was around and things were a bit hectic because of her. Or at least similar. She rushed to Deena's side with a gasp.

        "She will be alright," Elijah answered her panicked thoughts as she pulled back at the blood staining her hands when she reached out for her. She sent him a soft glare and carefully took Deena's hand into hers. "Will you be able to perform the spell?"

        Klaus, remain quiet. The quietest he's ever been.

        Davina noticed her friend appeared a lot brighter in her complexion despite her blood-stained clothes. Even noticing her cuts vividly healing before her eyes which meant she was given vampire blood, and she felt guilty. Like it was her fault for not protecting her or keeping her away from Klaus as she intended to do. And by keeping the supernatural world a secret to protect her, she felt she had done more harm than good.

        "I can try but since her blood is tainted, I'll have to—"

        "The blood on her clothes is pure. Can you use that instead?" Asked Rebekah.

        Davina narrowed her gaze from Deena's stained clothes. It was easy magic she's done before and responded, "I'm only doing this for Deena and no one else, so don't call me here again. I don't wanna be mixed up in your family drama." Her gaze found Deena's. "And she shouldn't have to either."

        "You have my word," Elijah promised.

        If Klaus was in his right mind, he would've had something to say about this but for the first time in a while, he had no energy to feed into petty drama.

        Because Davina knew she could trust Elijah out of all the original siblings, she began the spell. She emptied the bowl of marbles she found on the dresser and began to remove Deena's blood into the bowl leaving her shirt spotless as if it had been recently washed. She then faced Klaus. "I need your blood." She demanded.

        One by one, they looked to Klaus who was currently in his own world. He didn't hear Davina but he soon felt their stares and allowed Elijah's voice to be heard as he called his name softly. Of course, he was worried for his brother. He's never failed to hide his worrisome in times like this. Klaus followed his gesture towards Davina waiting for something he had. What was it she asked for? My blood? Without wasting another second, he bit into his wrist and held it over the bowl as his blood began to mix in with Deena's. He pulled back his arm as he began to heal and waited in the far corner.

        Rebekah practically hovered over Davina as she continued on with the spell and Elijah stood in the center of everyone, his eyes never leaving Klaus. About five minutes later, Davina stood from her seat indicating she was finished with the spell.

        Rebekah peeled herself from the wall. "Well, is it true? Has my brother officially knocked some poor woman up against her will?"

        Klaus saw the way Davina looked at Deena, the look was enough to give him the answers they longed for, but he needed to hear it from her lips. He was desperate as they all were for the answer. She sighed finally meeting Klaus's anxious gaze. "She's a hundred percent Klaus's child." Davina announced.

        Klaus was shocked into silence.

        Not one word has been spoken as they struggled to process nature's loophole. A child, a true Mikaelson, here in flesh by the blood and DNA of Klaus, the Original Hybrid unable to create any lifeform of the living. It was difficult to create a logical answer in their heads how any of this was possible. Klaus has slept with countless women throughout the centuries, so why is it now that it's possible for his seed to create a mortal being? What made Vanessa so special out of all?

        Rebekah felt bitterness towards the situation. Though she was happy her brother has a child he could watch grow old and she has become an aunty, she knew that kind of possibility wasn't possible for her. And she desired what Klaus had—a family. From her own DNA, conceived naturally from her body, children of her own. But she was a vampire. Unlike Klaus, she could not procreate. There was no loophole for her.

        However, Elijah failed to hide his glee. After years of cleaning up after his brother's retaliation, years of watching his demons mold his anger to fear that has built a wall between his misery and his own happiness; wanting nothing but the best for him and for him to let go of his grudges against the world and start letting people in, he believed this could be a chance for Klaus to start over fresh. For not only Klaus, but for himself and for Rebekah. Maybe with the child's presence, could diminish their negative ways and bring back empathy. Something they haven't felt in a while.

        Klaus shuffled into the desk behind him, his tear-filled eyes never left the unconscious girl. He didn't look at her with hate or displeasure; it was a softer look that couldn't be explained in words. There was too much roaming around in his head and in his heart and in his actions, it was too much for him to process.

        Davina suddenly lifted the blood-filled bowl from off the bed and placed it on the smaller dresser near the bed in case Deena moved in her slumber. She clapped her hands together, gathering their destruct attention. The awkward silence was too much for her to stand in. "If that's all, I'm leaving." She sent Deena an apologetic stare before she was already out the door.

        In a flash, Davina's backside was pressed against the opened door with a hard thud. Klaus held her by the neck, seizing to scare her by his threatening presence. "What kind of trick are you playing, Davina? Do you think I can be easily fooled? Do you not fear your worthless life?" He tightened his hand as she fought out his hold. She even sank her fingers between so that she could breathe.

       "I did the spell like you asked!" Davina cried out.

        Elijah sped towards the abrupt commotion while Rebekah took a hesitant step forward, in an attempt to pull Klaus from off Davina before he did anything he'd regret, but his grip loosened from her neck as an enormous amount of pain surged his brain. He fell to his knees while gripping his head like a maniac. His groans of pain and her lifted hand allowed them to put together the pieces.

        Davina stumbled back as she caught her breath, rubbing her now red neck, eyes frantic on the other siblings in case they were going to try her. They held their ground. "Look, Deena's my friend. And as much as I wish I had sabotaged the spell and made your lives miserable, it wouldn't be fair to her and I wouldn't be able to live with the guilt. She is your daughter whether you like it or not. And if you don't believe me, fine! Find another witch who's willing to do the spell. Not that you have many to call. I'm outta here."

        The pain stopped as soon as Davina left the room. Klaus fell to the floor relieved of his torment. He will have his chance to murder that witch with his own bare hands someday. For now, he was focused on regaining his consciousness.

         Elijah was already at his side to help him up. "Niklaus—"

        "I don't need your help!" He pushed away his brother's helping hand and stood on his own. Everyone stood in silence. Klaus took one last look at Deena and fled the room within seconds.

        Elijah sighed.

        "How is this possible, Elijah?" Rebekah asked, staring at the child trying to find the similarities. There were a few, the same Elijah pointed out earlier, but it was hard to believe the child was real. "Despite him being a hybrid...is—is this natural? Is she truly his offspring? And If so, can he produce more?"

        "This is all new to me as it is for you, but spells cannot lie. And I trust Davina. She is a hundred percent Klaus's offspring. Now for the lather, I will have to look into that."

        She stopped at his side. "But—"

        "I said I will look into it," Rebekah recognized that tone and held off from asking any more questions that couldn't be easily answered. "Why don't you find the child something she can wear when she awakens? I will go find our brother and talk some sense into him."

        Without a word, Rebekah sped over to where Deena's luggage sat to look for come clean clothes.

        "And Rebekah?"

        She glanced up with a hum.

        He motioned his finger around the room. "Make sure the house is empty before she awakens. We don't need an incident to occur or a hungry vampire's blood on our hands."

        She rolled her eyes. "I'm always stuck with babysitting when I can do more than that," She whined. "The child I can do, but a house of pre-war vampires? They are already a pain in the ass."

        "Just get it done."

        She rolled her eyes and continued to search through Deena's clothes.

━━━━━━ ━━━━━━

       𝐊𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐒 𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐍’𝐓 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐎𝐋 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 entering the bar he sat at to drain his sorrows in. It was only a matter of time before Elijah tracked him down. He never ventured out of his usual locations and his secretive spots were a work in process. Bringing up his empire took up the majority of his time having to fight through an army of vampires loyal to his dear Marcel. Of course, he couldn't bring himself to kill the boy he raised to make an example out of him, so he let him flee.

        But none of that seemed to matter now that he found out he's a father.

        Father.

        A strange title he couldn't force himself to withhold. And instead of believing his forced reality, he decided to drink forth to a past he lived before the child was a thing. His glorious days he might call it.

        "You learn of the existence of your child and yet you sit here to drink it away?" Elijah swiftly made his way toward Klaus.

        Klaus placed down his 5th empty glass of whiskey and released a stressful sigh upon Elijah's disturbing question. "I do not wish to hear your nagging, brother unless you have come to join me?" With his head dangled over the glass-stained counters, he signal the waiter to pour him another glass.

        Elijah then unbuttoned his jacket and ordered the waiter to serve him another round of whiskey as he took his seat next to him. They sat in silence. But knowing Elijah, he couldn't hold off the conversation any longer.

        "What are you thinking, Niklaus?"

        "I think of nothing. But I do think I need a stronger drink, don't you agree?" Klaus was clearly bothered by the question and ordered stronger liquor he could drown in, which meant there was something on his mind. Elijah knew what it was, but understood his tough-hearted brother needed a little push.

        "Your expression tells me otherwise." He thanked the waiter who placed down his drink, and took a small sip before he continued. "Are you afraid you will become a bad father?"

        "And so she has gotten to you with her puny lies? Oh, the Noble Elijah." Klaus mocked his title with a scoff. "The Elijah I knew would not be easily swayed by an amenable spell performed by the very witch who has tried to kill me more than twice and more to come in the future. A spell so that she can forge a weakness to catch me off guard when I have no weaknesses to be used!"

        "And the brother I know would never be troubled with such matter if you truly believe her spell was purged." Klaus's heart thudded faster than its usual speedy pace, which Elijah heard or else he wouldn't have continued his boring speech. "No matter how you feel or what Davina's true intentions are, I do trust her and I trust she would not lie about something as great as this. Think about it, Niklaus, the girl's mother disappeared without a trace and when you asked of her to be located, the witch could not find her on any map which meant she was either cloaked or dead. A cloaking spell is only used when you want to hide from someone or you have something to hide."

        "Yes, thank you, Elijah, for explaining to me the usage of a cloaking spell. Care to explain how to have a quiet drink without your brother pestering him with bogus ideas next?"

        Elijah sighed. "I wish you would not joke for once."

        Elijah wasn't phased when Klaus slammed his glass against the counter and faced his brother with an irritated look on his face. "Well, how else should I process this kind of information, brother? Shall we light a candle in a dark room, stare each other in the eyes, drink from goats' blood, then share our darkest fears and insecurities with one another?" He offered, humor on his tongue.

        Elijah wore no smile on his face at his brother's silly offer. "I wish you would be honest with me for once and not hold up such a wall as if I am here to shame you of the very thing I want you to have—a family."

        He faced the counter with the glass already at his lips. It was beginning to taste like water. "I already have a family." He boasted.

        "And now you have a daughter, who is family."

        The glass pressed heavily on his bottom lip when he suddenly froze. His eyes grew big hearing the D-word and family placed into the same sentence, no longer able to hold up his glass or Elijah would see his hand was shaking. Turning his head to control himself or Elijah would catch the glossy glint filling his vision. Forcing his heartbeat to slow or Elijah would detect his anxiety. A new weakness. One he kept struggling to deny.

        Elijah made a good point about Vanessa because anyone who knew her knew she would never run from anything not even Klaus himself, but of course because of his nature, the thought never crossed his mind. He only assumed it was because of him, not the result of an action they both consented to.

        Klaus could still feel his brother's stare. He knew that if he didn't say something now—the absolute truth behind the wall he kept gluing up—Elijah would get it out of him one way or another. And frankly, he just needed an ear to hear him out. And since Cami was not in viewpoint, he had no choice but to open up to his brother.

        "Fine, you win. You want to know how I feel about becoming a father? I am petrified."

       He finally faced Elijah who had been waiting all day for this exact moment to unfold, only to feel guilty for pressing the matter. But it was what he wanted, and Klaus would give him just that.

        "Given the lack of fatherliness I received, I don't believe the subject is far-fetched. I mean, the girl is practically a young adult, what do I have in common with her? I have lived a self-ruled life of volition and a deep crave for violence as I rain hell upon my enemies, to suddenly become a father of a teenager in less than an hour?" He scoffed. His eyes suddenly black with anger while gulping down his drink in one sip and slammed the glass (almost breaking it) against the counter which caught a little attention. "Her mother knew of this knowledge yet she decided to keep it from me. Just wait until I track her down, she will never hear the last of me."

        Elijah was finally able to understand a piece of Klaus's mind. There is potential and he was already showing it despite his crave for harming the child's mother. "You have missed her childhood; her first word, her first steps, her early years of growth and you feel guilty for that. But now you have a chance to miss no more of her development. This can be a new beginning for us all, for you, Niklaus. Maybe this isn't a bad thing."

        "What if..." He swallowed hard. "What if I'm not ready? What if I'm not...good at this? Good enough? I have no experience of this sort and I don't always have the best interest of whomever I come across."

        Elijah is taken back at his vulnerability and placed his hand on his shoulder as a form of comfort. "No one is ever ready for fatherhood, it just happens. But you are not alone in this, you have me and Rebekah at your side. Together we shall find a way. Always and forever." He smiled warmly.

         For a moment, both brothers shared the weight of Klaus's fears. Hope sparked in his eyes and with comfort he knew his brother would always be at his side no matter the gravity of the situation and it made him feel a little less lonely. Almost happy even, until he remembered Zoeè and the silly prophecy she spoke of conjured out of ignorance, and the witches who seek to fulfill it by sacrificing Deena.

        He stood to his feet with a mission written on his face. "Enough milking my sorrows, brother, I have Camille for that. Because we," While placing down his bill, "have a long list of witches to kill."

𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔

𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆

If you like what you read and wish to read more of this fic, you can read HERE

𝐀 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧’𝐬 𝐓𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡

𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

word count: 5.4k~

warnings: mentions of war & death, mentions of prostitution (living at a brothel), strong vulgar language, attempted sa, Targaryen/Dornish mixed bastard, mentions of sexual themes, and overall mature setting for mature (18+) audience.

a/n: this is the 4th chapter of my AU HOTD longfic featuring my Black!OC. We meet more of the King and my oc’s father who are heavily inspired by King Viserys and Prince Daemon, and will meet new oc Targaryen characters. If there’s a warning I forgot to add let me know.

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𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗙𝗼𝘂𝗿 | 𝗥𝗲𝗱 𝗜𝗻 𝗠𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝗙𝗼𝗿𝗺𝘀

                    𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑨𝑼𝑳 𝑾𝑨𝑺 𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑫𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑨𝑵 𝑰𝑴𝑷𝑶𝑹𝑻𝑨𝑵𝑻 𝑫𝑶𝑪𝑼𝑴𝑬𝑵𝑻 when informed of Sylvia's presence and passed it along his servant once she entered, beckoning her toward the table of roasted chicken, glistening honey crepes, assorted fruits and rich wine. Her mouth watered and her belly grew impatient to stuff herself full, but felt it was best to wait for the King to sit and eat first.

        Due to the King preferring privacy, Meya and everyone else were escorted from the room. It was just her and the King.

        Noticing the gesture, King Aul motioned her forward with a light chuckle. "Please, don't wait for this old man or you will be waiting till your grave." He sipped his wine, watching the girl devour her food as if it was her last meal, but first of many. "I trust you settled well in your quarters? Well rested I hear. You surely look better than when you first arrived; I can tell you're a woman."

        Neither could she. 

        Sylvia couldn’t believe the woman in the reflection was her and not the tall boy she’d portrayed since her flower bloomed and her breast swelled. The seamstress returned with a beautiful dress far nicer than anything she owned and more than which she thought she deserved. The grey dress clung tight to her skin, shaping her womanly figure, with red and golden embroidery patterning of the low collar and along the fitted sleeves. Her shaped curls hung just below her shoulders, healthy and wild with multiple strands in decorative tiny braids and pinned from her face with a golden hairpin.

        She looked as though she’d belonged. And now she did.

        Sylvia drunk her wine to help flush out chicken stuck between her teeth. Because she wasn't a drinker, a cup and a half was the limit. "I did, thank you." She remembered Meya's quick lesson along the journey and added. "Your grace."

        King Aul smiled warmly at her attempt. "I summoned you so that I may know you better and personally welcome you, but I regret to inform that the man you look for has not ridden his dragon for two years."

        Sylvia knew the King spoke of her father. She also knew by the glumness painting his old features that he held his brother with high gratitude and loved him dearly. Having not known her father personally, there were no tears to shed and share along his silent grief but Sylvia sympathized. It seemed fate wasn’t in her favor and it’s a shame he died before he could reunite with her mother, or she could succeed in her plans of delusion. . .which ended up working out after all but not within her imagination.

        Perhaps his death was the reason he didn’t answer any letters or come save them, but that was two years out of seventeen. What happened then?

        “He was a good man.” King Aul continued after a sip of his wine. “Arrogant and ambitious and too honest for his soul, God rest him. A king the people would have loved had been older and easily controlled.”

        "How did he. . ."

        "In battle. Stepstones."

        Sylvia stopped eating. "Oh, I'm sorry."

        After a short moment of silence, King Aul offered a warm grin to hide his long-term grief. "Don't be. At least it was quick and he suffered no pain during his final moments, so I am told." He chuckled at the sudden change of moods and wished to revert the attention to the reason this meeting was happening. "Enough about me, eat. I hope you can fill me in on some details. What of your mother? Any siblings?"

        Sylvia continued eating. She weighed the honey tart between her greasy fingers and inspected the foreign treat before tasting it along her tongue. It's sweet. A lot better than it appeared.

        "No. Just me and my mother but we were split during the attack." Sylvia told the King, her voice somehow stronger than it wished to be. "I'm unsure if she made it out alive, but if she did, she knows where to find me. I intend to wait for her arrival however long it takes."

        Nodding, King Aul's keen to uncover more. "How did you get by? . . .Before the attack?"

        "My mother made a living as a whore. I took in daily chores."

        His expression didn't change upon learning this new information about her, but his mind did wander and contrived stories along her words instead of asking her, but one question didn't cave. "Are you still. . ." He trailed, hoping she would fill in the blank.

        It took Sylvia a moment to understand what he was asking until she realized and jolted upwards from her plate. "Yes. I-I gave myself to no man. My mother forbade my partaking in such acts because she wanted more for me. She’s very strict about that.”

        Although true, she had found pleasure with women within the house that left no evidence or proof of defilement. A man, she hadn’t. She was saving herself for Yanis.

        “Good. That’s good to hear.”

        King Aul cleared his throat with an uncomfortable shift. This was a conversation a woman should be having instead and saw he’d rather talk about anything else than her virtue, but he needed to be sure. Now that he's legitimized a bastard, it would be a shame to have tarnished both their reputation while making a fool out of him within a day especially given her Dornish background.

        "You said you are now nine-and-ten years? Nearing the age of when a woman should be already married. Do you house a husband back home? Or engaged with plans of marriage?”

        "No."

        "And there is no one in your heart?"

        There was, but he was long dead now. "No."

        "As you are well aware, my brother meant a great deal to me and I intend to thrive our house and his bloodline which now includes you. Something I would have never done and is the first and last of my doing." Said King Aul, another sip of his wine that's been refilled quenches his thirst. Sylvia barely finished with her first cup. "That means you will have to marry soon and bear a family as big as life gives you. I shall find you an exceptional suitor for my brother's sake, but I know with Lady Vana's arrival, she shall know what is best for you. Do you oppose?"

        Sylvia relished the idea of marrying a man worthy of her and birthing a few children in a house of love and compassion. It's what her mother wanted for her too. Though a secure-functional relationship wasn't what she had experienced before and grew scared of belonging to an abusive man for the rest of her life and children who would grow up to hate her someday; she enjoyed the silly fantasy because it was the opposite of her environment. Another picture of a life she painted had things turned out differently and her mother’s body wasn’t a means of income.

        And now, her fantasy shall become her reality.

        A man with a generosity of wealth. A man who shall love her as she is and will see her as a true equal. A man to learn from. A man who knows she deserves better and shall give her not only the world, but his entire undevoted heart. And anything more which her mother had listed repetitively, and the list was long.

        "No, your grace, I don't oppose." Sylvia accepted the assignment. King Aul was far too kind than her expectation of how a king would normally present themselves. It wasn't a king when looking at him, but an old man living out his days in peace and wine and a proper future he’d leave behind when the time came. "But I’m curious why you gave me my father’s name, more than what I asked. More than I deserve. You don’t know me. I’m a stranger who came into your life, so why trust anything I tell you? Why do what you did?”

        “I told you. My brother was everything in ways I wished I were and I’d be damned to let his bloodline die out with his only son one sickeness away from death, or a sword like his father. Bastard or not, his blood is yours. The scales along your face makes you closer to dragons than one could ever be. How could I not claim you?” Said King Aul, wiping his greasy lips with a napkin. He sat back in his chair and allowed his servants to remove what he finished. Sylvia was done before him but had more to finish since he didn’t eat as much. “You remind me of Daemon. Your spiteful nature and honest character. You are a stranger, yes, and I shouldn’t trust your word too easily, but I’m choosing to go against all advice. I’m giving you an opportunity in a lifetime no bastard, even mine, has reached. It is a great risk I’m taking with honor. Our house is the future, our future. Now yours to ensure it remains that way.”

        Sylvia couldn’t eat anymore or her stomach would explode. The King had given her a great responsibility she was now questioning it if was a quest she could fulfill. This life was not one she was raised into and she needed all the help she could get to become a proper lady of court. And while this new life had its lavish perks that needed time to get used to, Sylvia wasn’t sure how big of a burden he was asking of her. To think and put this house of strangers before anyone and to keep them in her best interest when the future was on the table.

        But as he said, this was an opportunity a bastard could dream of, exactly what her mother wanted. Kindness he won't extend ever again. And at least she’d remain in King’s Landing depending on her suitors. She must carry herself differently to survive this world alone with lessons her mother taught.

        “You have good a heart.” Sylvia could only say.

        But in his eyes, he was only a father, a grandsire, a man, hoping to see each of his kids and Daemon's happily and married. So the King chuckled lightly. "I hope so. Only a good heart can derive from sins of cruelty and motivate others to follow its lead, which I, came a long way from. I wish to remain a fair king till my deathbed."

        Sylvia said nothing and continued eating her meal when the king gestured for her to keep eating though there was no space left. To have all that she wished should she ask for more.

————————

        𝑨 𝑾𝑯𝑰𝑻𝑬-𝑯𝑨𝑰𝑹𝑬𝑫 𝑩𝑶𝒀 helped himself to drinks while he awaited Sylvia's arrival. Sat comfortably at the center table with his chair facing the entrance, he perked with interest as she furthered into the room and halted her steps upon his unfamiliarity. She sent her handmaiden a look of confusion.

        Meya softly gasped and greeted the boy with a bow, neither expecting his presence too. “My prince,” she motioned for Sylvia to greet him properly as briefly taught on her way to meet with the King. It was less poise and messy, still more work to be done. “May I present you her lady, Sylvia Targaryen, daughter of former Prince Daemon Targaryen. And he, Prince Aelor Targaryen, second son of King Aul.”

        The prince had to be at least a year or two younger than Sylvia. He had the face of a baby with naturally flushed cheeks, a look of innocent trouble. His eyes were a lighter shade of purple and wore his dark silver hair—as opposed to Sylvia’s and the King’s whose hair were much lighter—short and fluffy at his ears like the morning clouds. Skinny legs and frail arms with a long skinny neck, and ridiculously tall once he stood from the chair.

        “There are tales within our bloodline who are born with dragon-like features, blessed by the Gods who deem them worthy. I call it bullshit. A pity-case. I don’t believe in such a thing as it is rare, but rumors spread quickly and I had to come see for myself. See why a God would bless a bastard over true-borns.”

        “Your Highness, my lady is no longer a bastard as the King—”

        Prince Aelor shushed Meya with a wave of his hand, forcing her to chew her words. “Once a bastard is always a bastard. Acknowledgment doesn’t change it. A royal decree doesn’t change it. Even my father’s support doesn’t change what you are and who you’ll always be.” He was obviously trying to get a reaction out of Sylvia, one he wouldn’t find because she didn’t give a damn. 

        It would be different had she grown up a lady alongside this house, acknowledged since birth and fed into her head that she was more than a greasy bastard. Above them and all. . .But she’d always known her place and accepted it. Bastards in Dorne weren’t a curse or often a threat but acceptable as they were and most times treated the same as true-borns. His discreditment did nothing but confirm what she already knew. I am a bastard and I’m a proud one. Bestowed her father’s name didn’t change how she viewed herself except on the outside which gave proof of her new status.

        And frankly, Sylvia wished him gone. Exhaustion wore heavy over her head and she needed to take a piss. Plus Meya had other plans that could take the entire day.

        Sylvia stood, unmoving. “So what of it?”

        Prince Aelor gave a careless shrug.“Just wanted to be sure you know your place.” He inspected her features at a close distance that Sylvia had to lift her head to meet his curious gaze. His lips were red and his breath reeked of alcohol. Then his shoulders dropped with disappointment. "You aren't ugly. Just a girl."

        "What were you imagining?"

        "A dragon's head on a woman's body." He admitted.

        Sylvia could laugh at his crazy imagination but decided to withhold it to avoid offending him.

        "Can I touch—"

        Sylvia leaned away from the prince's reaching hand desperate to touch the scales along her face. Denying so, frustrated Prince Aelor as though he had never been denied anything before and his cheeks grew redder than an apple.

        "I wish to touch your scales." He explained frustratingly. "I am your prince and your king one day should my brother fall ill. If you are quick to refuse my request, I shall remember this day when you ask me of something in the near future."

        Meya was quick to interject. "My apologies your highness, the lady is still yet new to court. She isn't familiar with our customs but she would be pleased to be touched. Please forgive her ignorance."

        Ignorance? Sylvia shot her handmaiden a glare who dared kept her eyes elsewhere.

        Nodding, the prince stepped forward. "Ignorance is a woman's trait. I shall forgive you today."

        No one but her mother, Yanis, and past lovers had touched her face and Sylvia didn’t like it one bit. But because he was a prince with power beyond reach, and appeared as though he would throw a tantrum if she refused, Sylvia allowed him to proceed.

        As Meya said, Sylvia was a foreigner to their world. Refusing a prince could result in a harsher punishment than just getting it over with.

        His cool slender fingers touched Sylvia’s face, padding his printed tips along her scales, smoother to the touch from the thick cream Meya lathered. The thrill in his eyes grew like a child discovering fun for the first time, and it took Sylvia every last ounce of strength not to push him away. She felt like an animal, worse than anyone had treated her which wasn’t all that bad by covering up. The invasion, the live comments—it was insulting. 

        His thumb slightly parted Sylvia’s bottom lip, his index finger hooked under her chin and forced their gaze to meet. “There are no scales on my lips.” She reminded the prince, a warning to remove it immediately. 

        Prince Aelor ignored her and continued brushing, a lustful look filling his light purple eyes intrigued with the soft texture. And apparently more. “I hear your mother’s a Dornish whore. Is that true?” His brows rose with his voice but it wasn’t genuine curiosity behind it. 

        Sylvia’s jaw clenched. “It is.”

        She briefly looked to Meya, waiting for her to intervene—since she had much to say earlier—but was interrupted by his raising hand before she could defuse anything.

        “As I thought. My little ears are never wrong. And so I’m curious,” a tighter grip on Sylvia’s chin forced her closer, the smell of wine thick on his breath and tickling her lips. “If the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree? Don't worry, what happens in this room, stays. Your virtue along with it."

        Sylvia shifted as far back as she could before their lips collided, ripping from his grip that his long thumb nail scratched her chin. Once free, she pushed the Prince. The strength behind her push was strong enough to lose his balance, his feet shuffling back as he failed to catch the table and fell on his ass. Meya rushed from behind to help him to his feet.

        “Get your filthy hands off me!” Prince Aelor shouted as he whacked away Meya’s help.

        He was livid. Too embarrassed by his situation especially when there were witnesses to his fall at the hands of a woman beneath him, his eyes bewildered. Meya and the cupbearer kept their heads to the ground not to add to it.

        “You dare lash at your prince?” Prince Aelor gripped the table and fumbled to his feet. “I will have you beaten to death and hung in a pit of fire then your head placed on a spike at my window!" He seethed while jabbing his finger at the air.

        Meya rushed to Sylvia's side and whispered, "Apologize, my lady. You were in the wrong. This is not Dorne."

        Sylvia failed to see her mistake and what Dorne had to do with this situation. Someone whom she wasn’t, not even the slightest, attracted to insulted her so she rightfully defended herself.

        “I will not.” Stated Sylvia as though to challenge the prince which angered him further. Meya attempted to apologize in her place but was stopped before she could begin. “I don’t owe you an apology, you owe me one. You made me uncomfortable by using your authority against me to sexually please you after you insulted me. Prince or not, you have no respect for women or for me. After all, it is a man’s trait. I shouldn’t expect much.”

        Prince Aelor was visually shaking. He didn’t expect Sylvia to talk back and neither did she. She knew better than to smart-mouth someone of higher status and got too bold. He was a prince. At any sign of his discomfort and irritation would anyone of sane mind would be on their knees begging for their lives—all which Sylvia refused to do.

        . . .She did wonder if she said too much. Did too much. If it was better to follow through and ask for forgiveness despite who was in the wrong—which he was—and as her mother often advised. She was still yet new to court and that mouth of hers could get her killed.

        "Aelor,”

        They followed the stern voice to a man leaning against the open door with a rather amusing expression as he watched the scene unfold, possibly from the beginning. And possibly another family member by his silver hair, lighter than Prince Aelor’s, pushed from his face and brushing voluminously with light waves down his back. Important by how quickly Meya and others greeted him with a bow. 

        Prince Aelor stuttered, “B-brother.”

        Brother?

        Sylvia didn’t shy from his violet eyes staring back with such intensity, that she was convinced he could see into her soul. He wasn’t ghostly white like his brother but had a light tan that proved his love for nature. Certainly older than them both, two or three years at most. He wore a black tunic with intricate designs of red and gold along the collar enclosed around his neck, along the sleeves of his shirt reaching the cuffs, fitting his build perfectly. A steel sword laced at his belt. Attire fitting for a prince. Or a soon-to-be King. . .?

        His gaze snapped to Prince Aelor as he furthered into the room. “How would father react if he heard you’ve offended our beloved uncle’s legitimized firstborn? Could you not have waited to stick your dick elsewhere? Preferably a common whore or one of your maids.”

        Prince Aelor’s anger festered toward the smug grin Sylvia failed to bite back. “She assaulted me!” He seethed. 

        “And she did so with ease,” he gestured his head behind him. “Go on. Leave us be before you cause another mess I will have to clean up.”

        There was something about this man’s presence that cautioned his brother from crossing a line Sylvia couldn’t see. Prince Aelor was prepared to strike back and defend his honor—now stood in fear of his brother than the woman who bested him. He sent a deadly glare, bumping her shoulder before he took his leave. The cupbearer following behind.

        Sylvia picked up the cup that slipped out of the Prince’s hand and placed it on the table. “Thank you.” She released a half-filled breath of relief, the rest still held prisoner as a feeling of fear slowly seeped in. It could be Meya’s still presence that she fed from or simply the man as he just stood there.

        “Your prince,” the crease between Sylvia’s brows allowed him to answer her confusion. “I am Prince Viseron Targaryen, first of my name, eldest son of King Aul Targaryen, crowned prince and heir to the Iron Throne. Therefore, you shall address me and my brother as such. It may even save your life and your attendant.”

        Meya kept her gaze on the floor. Her lips were purple by how hard she chewed.

        Sylvia straightened herself quickly with a curtsy, only because it felt right. "My apologies for offending you, my prince." She corrected herself. It felt strange on her tongue from addressing the people in her home by their given names to addressing the people in their homes by their given titles.

        It’s unknown whether Prince Viseron was insulted for not being addressed properly or if he genuinely wished to educate her by the tone of his voice. His watchful eyes held no emotion and the projection of words didn’t help either. But his beauty was known, as her mother and the rumors that traveled quick had whispered of their untold beauty that even the Gods could make no mistake in their creation.

        His eyes were on Sylvia he rounded the table just opposite from her and poured himself a drink like he'd been here before. And had been. She had never felt small in one’s gaze as he made her feel, and lie uncertain toward how he might proceed with this offense. After all, she did assault a prince no matter how it’s viewed.

        “I’m not offended. Though, you have wounded my brother’s pride.” Prince Viseron gulped his cup in one sip. “Shall he retaliate, which I’m certain of, I won’t save you then.”

        "There's no need. I can look after myself."

        At that, he smirked.

        He didn’t doubt that. At all.

        Placing down the cup, Prince Viseron stood before her. “This is the proper way to bow in the presence of your King, not whatever you were doing before as you still do now.” He then showed her the proper way which wasn’t what she was doing before, but it certainly felt as though it was.

        But it also confirmed another mystery. So it was he who laughed at her?

        “You should wear my dress then,” Sylvia quickly added before she forgot. “My prince.”

        Prince Viseron lifted himself from the bow and regarded the woman. His silence started to grow the feeling Sylvia attempted to wash away earlier. What she said had caught him by surprise and apparently wasn’t appropriate given Meya’s unsettling expression. She forced her eyes shut as if the day would pass over. She must regret agreeing to assist the new lady.

        The breath Sylvia held began to ease when a smile tugged the Prince’s lips. It’s bigger than the one he offered, and his eyes glistened with mischief and evil intent. “Why don't you undress yourself so I may?" Tilting his head, his violet eyes raved her feminine frame.

        Sylvia blinked. "Excuse me?”

        "You wish for me to try on your dress, and I happen to like the color red in many forms. Don't you think it's my color? Or are you jealous I might look better than you?"

        It's unsure whether Prince Viseron jests or if he was serious about Sylvia undressing herself before his watchful gaze. Mere teasing she doubted he’d take to the heart.

        He motioned toward the quiet handmaiden still refusing to meet his gaze. “Help her.” He demanded.

        Meya was hesitant to move. She didn’t wish to humiliate her lady to later retaliate against her for following the prince’s order.

        “Are you serious?” Sylvia questioned his sanity.

        “I don’t jest.”

        “If I refused your brother a kiss and more, what makes you think I’d stand naked before you?”

        “Because I’m not my brother, and you are in no position to refuse me even while you hold our house name.” Prince Viseron said.

        Sylvia was quick to repeat his words, “Even if the King hears of this?”

        No fear in his eyes at the mention of his father possibly hearing of this, and instead, found the situation amusing by his careless gesture. “You have much to learn if you wish to survive at court, my lady.” Aside from humor laced on his tongue, it almost felt like he was advising her. Or a warning perhaps, should she alert the King.

        Sylvia looked to Meya hoping there was a solution to get her out of this predicament and the prince on his merry way. She was still tired and the pressure against her bladder had yet lifted, only growing worse by the second. As if aware of the answers she sought, Meya shook her head. There’s no way out of this.

        Her options were limited, but Sylvia refused to give in just yet. “My dress is too small for you.” She fought back, and at which, he came back harder.

        “I will make it work.”

        "I like it better on me."

        The corners of his mouth lifted. "So do I."

        Fuck. Nothing worked! Nothing was working on him or changing his outlook. Prince Viseron refused her excuses and Sylvia fought relentlessly to keep her clothes on and not satisfy the bored prince, and yet, nothing worked.

        His gaze shifted behind Sylvia. “Did I stutter?” His tone was harsh and cold.

        The power in his harsh voice forced Meya off her feet. “N-no, my prince. At once.” With a curtsy, she sent her lady an apologetic look—who was certainly not happy with her compliance—before obeying his orders.

        Her small, shaky cold hands were felt at her legs, grasping the intricate hem to lift over Sylvia’s head. The prince stepped back for a better view with his head slightly tilted as he watched with delight as her dress rose higher and higher. 

        She bit the inside of her cheek until it bled and looked away, hating the look in his eyes. It felt like forever until her slim calves caught light due to Meya’s constant hesitation, praying he’d find reason at some point. He didn’t.

        She bit harder. All this change and fancy bullshit and still, Sylvia held no real authority. Still she must act the same as back home; the lonely invisible girl with her head down and face covered to avoid further situations like this from happening.

        But Sylvia was tired and she didn’t want to be that girl anymore. She came all this way to King’s Landing, a city who didn’t know the girl she left to burn with Toland, and she’d be damned if she was forced back to where she started. 

        I am Sylvia Targaryen now, daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen, Blood of Dragons and the leading house in Westeros. I’ve shed my skin for new and now I must not be here for only my mother but for myself. 

        She might not have any real authority against a soon-to-be-king and may even cost her life, but she must mean something if King Aul himself saw it too and she would use it to the ground. This was a new world and in this world, she must adapt.

        Sylvia snatched her dress from Meya before her upper thighs were exposed and the fabric fell to her ankles like how it should. “No.” She stated with firm.

        Prince Viseron’s brow lifted. “No?”

        “M-my lady—“

        “Did I stutter?” Sylvia spoke over Meya’s attempt to control the conversation and save both their lives, at which the prince stood there baffled. Almost fooled he liked it. “If this is your way of humiliating me then you are wrong. I’m not ashamed of my body or to show skin, and had you asked nicely, I would have given you a tease. But I’m disappointed.”

        “Disappointed?” He inquired with amusement.

        "You're so worried about me being jealous of you in my dress, but you should fear how good I would look in your clothes.”

        "Are we to find out now?"

        “Sorry, but I wish to retire. It’s been a long few days and I don’t have time to entertain anyone.” Yawning, Sylvia brushed her shoulder against the prince as she passed him toward her bed. “Meya, please escort the prince out of my chambers so I can piss and rest another day.”

        Meya looked at her lady as if she had lost her mind. To command a prince, the promised heir ranked at a higher status, to leave of her accord. She must have gone mad.

        The light in his eyes were easily interpreted as amusement, which Prince Viseron very much was. Like his brother, he probably wasn’t used to a challenge, to someone defending themselves and treated him like any other. But there was something else. . .like he’d finally met someone to play with. Sylvia was unsure if that was a good thing or bad.

        The prince’s lifted hand stopped Meya from escorting him. “There is no need, I can walk myself out.”

        “Perfect,” but Sylvia was curious about another matter she couldn’t let go. “How did you learn to do that so. . .proper and elegant?” 

        He knew she referred toward the curtsy he displayed. “I enjoy watching women."

        Sylvia stood straight when he stalked toward her.

        "And you," now standing in front of the girl, Prince Viseron leaned forward, his lips brushing the rim of her heated ear. He then whispered for only her ears to hear. "I shall be watching you too." 

        A chill sent down Sylvia's spine when Prince Viseron pulled back with a smug grin. They held each other's contact as he spun around and then headed for the door. A knight as big as two men followed behind once revealed.

        When he left, Sylvia rushed for the silver pot under her bed. She lifted her dress with the help of Meya rushing over to aid her and knelt to relieve herself of all that wine and tea. “Do I look funny to you when I curtsy?” She asked out of all things.

        “You have much more to worry about than that, my lady.” Said Meya, so close they were breathing each other in. “I’ve been challenged with quite a task but fear not, fear not, we shall fix it together to assure we both live long—very long—healthy lives.”

𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔

𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆

If you like what you read and wish to read more of this fic, you can read HERE

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌-𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐃

— Kol Mikaelson will seize any opportunity to tease his big brother, Klaus Mikaelson, especially when it involves his somewhat mortal niece (Klaus’s daughter)…link below

Warm-Blooded Link

Chapter 20 | A King Does Not Run, He Disappears (1st pic, book two of Warm-Blooded, season 3 of the Originals)

Chapter 3 | Your Sword And Shield (2nd pic, book three of Warm-Blooded, season 5 of the Originals)

This is me. Kinda jealous of all the writers who can write quickly because I can't.