SERENDIPITY MASTERLIST House Of The Dragon

SERENDIPITY MASTERLIST — house of the dragon

Jacaerys Velaryon x Stark!Reader

Description: As Lord Cregan Stark’s most trusted adviser and sister, she had stayed by his side as the prince of the realm made his petitions for support of his mothers claim and to help aid their side in the war. Though, the prince had more of an effect on the younger stark sibling than the other.

series warnings: sexual descriptions, angst, adultery ??, death, violence, sexual tension, and more.

Authors note: this will not follow the exact storyline or timeline that Jace is in winterfell. For obvious reasons, time has been extended and the war doesn’t happen so quickly. I intend to make this more than a 10 part series so please bear with me as this will take me sometime to finish. Thank you!

[ Ch. 1 ], [ Ch. 2 ], [ Ch. 3 ], [ Ch. 4 ]

𝑜𝑛 𝑝𝑢𝑟𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑒 ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

𝑚𝑜𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑛!𝑗𝑎𝑐𝑎𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑠 𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑎𝑟𝑦𝑜𝑛 𝑥 𝑓𝑒𝑚!𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

✧.* 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: female reader/description, canon divergent, modern au, cocky!Jace, profanity, kissing, use of Y/n

𝑠𝑦𝑛𝑜𝑝𝑠𝑖𝑠: "What about a oneshot of Jace and reader being Academic Rivals. But secretly he been crushing on her since like the 4th Grade. So he failed a test on purpose, so she can be his tutor." - request

✧.* 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 2,350

blog masterlist | jacaerys velaryon masterlist

A/N: repost bc i was shadowbanned

"YOU FAILED WHAT?"

Y/n's voice rang throughout her history teacher's small, but cluttered office. Sitting beside her, Jace Velaryon. And she didn't believe either of them, not one bit.

Since the two of them turned nine, it was a constant battle, perhaps even comparable to a war. They were always trying to outdo one another in school, between their grades, or activities. She would excel in English, while he would sail easily through Math. But there was no true satisfaction at the end, no. It seemed they could never stop, always needing to have the other beaten and broken down.

Her Thursday afternoon was slowly being ruined. She was this close to being fluent in foreign languages, answered everything correctly in math, got one percent more than Jace in their final art essay grade. It was a great day, she could admit. A great day that was ruined. Any normal person would cheer for joy at the thought of their rival failing, but this was completely out of the ordinary.

"Mr Velaryon has been failing," their teacher corrected grimly. "For the past few months now. Which is surprising, since his scores are typically impeccable. I was willing to forgive it, but that test was worth twenty five percent of his grade for this term."

Her head snapped to glare at the boy. He didn't even seem phased at all, more so minutely disappointed. "You're lying. Both of you are lying. When has he ever failed? He's perfect golden boy Jacaerys. In what world- in what uni- no. In what multiverse would he ever fail a History test?"

"I've been busy," he shrugged. "I've got all my extra classes, sports, and-

"Oh please. That's never bothered you before."

"Y/n," her teacher interrupted sternly. "If you would listen."

She huffed and crossed her arms. Jace was smiling. She could spy it out of her peripheral vision, and it took all of her will and self-control not to smack it off his perfectly kissable- She was not going there.

The teacher continued. "I understand Mr Velaryon here has a lot on his plate. And that is why I've decided to assign you as a tutor to him."

Y/n could practically hear a record scratch. "Pardon?"

"I am quite sure you heard me there. You will tutor him. You are the best fitted student for this job. I am sure you will help him exceptionally."

The praise made her preen. She hated it. And she hated the way his smile was evolving into an oh so pretentious smirk. Was this some sort of ploy, on his part? Could she not have a moment of peace near him? Probably not. Probably not ever.

Her teacher noticed the grim expression that marred her face. He sighed, folding his arms together. "Look at this as extra credit."

She might've been the most predictable person because extra credit was such a sweet temptation. Jace wouldn't have extra credit. And there wasn't any rules for tutoring. She could make this a living hell for him.

With a stiff nod, she agreed to the terms. "Fine."

Y/n grabbed her bag from the floor and stood, leaving the office in a hurry. Following after her smugly was Jace.

"What do you want?" she snapped. The halls were empty now, the remainder of students already gone, or in the process of leaving. He sauntered behind like a prideful puppy dog, those brown eyes of his glinting with mirth.

"Oh nothing," he mused nonchalantly. "We should plan a time to meet. If you're in a hurry... you can give me your number and we can arrange it on text. Or a call if I get that lucky. What do you think?" he pulled out his cellphone from the pocket of his jeans and offered it to her.

She ignored his offer and continued walking straight ahead.

"Come on!" Jace insisted. He jogged so he could walk in front of her.

"No."

"Then how are we going to do this, hm?"

"I'm not giving you my number, that's for sure," she paused her walk and huffed. "We'll arrange it now."

"The lengths you'll go to just to not let me have your number," he shook his head in disbelief. "Where? A cafe? If I drink coffee I think I can stay awake if you're teaching me."

"A cafe would make it seem like a..." she shuddered. A date with Jace Velaryon sounded positively preposterous.

"You know the word 'date' isn't a slur," he quipped. "Besides. Who said it couldn't be? Might make it less boring."

"I would rather die. I would rather take acid and put it in my eye and-

"Calm down,” he frowned. He looked toward the floor, lips pressing together.

“The school library. After Monday works?”

“I’ve got football practice," he interjected. "I can do Tuesday."

"Okay," she confirmed. "Tuesday. After school, in the library-

"Come to think of it..." he interrupted again, with a similar smirk as before.

"What?"

His sigh was one of a false melodrama. "I might need to do twice a week. I really need to study. Things have been getting bad you know. I'm sure you don't mind. Don't you, Y/n?"

"Sure." her teeth were gritted and her smile was fake. She couldn't even argue. Her teacher was insistent, and she really didn't have anything else to do during the week. "When else would you like to study?"

"Thursdays," he replied.

She put her thumbs up. Two days a week. Spent with Jace. For hours. In a library. Alone. Together.

"I still think you're lying," she added with narrowed eyes.

"Teacher can't lie though! I'll see you Tuesday then," he grinned largely and produced a wave as he ran out of the school doors.

She kept on standing in that one spot in the hallway. Her chest burned with irritation. She was absolutely certain that Jace was doing something out of the ordinary with his grades. She looked back on the years before. They were evenly matched in History, though she might've had an advantage. At the end of every semester, they would stare each other down and recite as many facts they learnt in the span of a minute. She could tell anyone now that he, and they wouldn't believe her. Hell, they would probably laugh in her face if she did. It didn't make sense. And she wasn't backing down until she found out why.

TUESDAY CAME ALL TOO QUICKLY. She had came early, sitting down on a desk which was situated between two shelves. Her earphones were in, and she had already gone a head start to the history homework she had to do.

Jace slipped in quietly. He found her easily and took out one of earphones. "Hi." he put his bag down and took to the chair next to her, shifting it closer.

"What are you- Nevermind." Y/n grumbled. "So. Do you have a textbook to reference to?"

He did. But he wouldn't tell her that.

"Nope," he said with his smile. "Maybe you can pick me one."

"You never take my book recommendations," her eyes turned into slits.

"Well you're my tutor," he insisted. He gestured to the surrounding books, as if telling her to go ahead and pick one.

Y/n begrudgingly set off to find one. Jace was being even more insufferable than usual. He seemed twice as annoying when he was being stupid and not trying to overtake her. She hated it. Dare she say she wanted the old him back.

The options were vast. But she headed to the section where she remembered borrowing her own textbook, and found herself staring at the shelf for a long time. She was contemplating it all. There wasn't a chance this was real and happening right now.

"Y/nnnn..." his voice sang out. "How long are you gonna take?"

"Shut up, will you?" she snapped back. Y/n inhaled a deep breath and went forward to take a book she thought was suitable for him and the topics they were discussing in class.

"Imperialism," she dropped the book in front of him when she came out from behind. "Read."

"What does that mean?'

You're kidding me.

"You know what it means!" Y/n insisted. Her eyes were wide with disbelief and frustration. "Don't even come at me with this bullshit right now, Jacaerys Velaryon. We had a debate on this two years ago."

He blinked and tilted his head in thought. “Hm…. No, I don’t really remember. What does it mean?”

She bit her bottom lip, so hard she thought she would draw blood. "It's in the book. Read it."

"I don't know how to re-" he laughed seeing the absolute fed up expression on her face. "I'm kidding. I'll read." he had said the word 'read' in a lower octave, mocking her own tone.

"If you have any questions, just ask," she huffed. She took her place back on the chair and opened up her own textbook to study for her upcoming math test. She hated the subject, but forced herself to be good at it. It could be enjoyable, when she understood the given material. Her eyebrows were furrowed at the contents, though. Y/n had been tired for the past week, and the numbers were floating off the page.

Jace had actually managed to stay quiet and read through the book. Of course he knew all of that. His plan was all coming together. He was sure of it. He continued reading until his gaze trailed over to her. Jace leaned over, checking up on what she was reading. "Math?"

"Unfortunately," she flipped the page.

"I could help," he suggested. He was inching closer to her. He stared at her lips, the tip of his nose brushing against her neck. "Do you want me to help?"

She nearly jolted. He was so close to her. Until all of her senses came hurtling back and she shoved his face away. "Focus."

"Explain this concept to me," Jace said.

"Which one?" Y/n inquired. She had no choice but to teach him.

He pointed out to the third paragraph. "Come on. Please."

It wasn't as bad as she thought it was going to be. She liked talking, she liked explaining things, even if it was to Jace. Time passed by in an instant and soon they were both already getting up to leave.

"See you Friday?" he confirmed.

"Yeah."

It turns out, as the weeks flew by, that tutoring Jace wasn't such a bad thing after all. She still relentlessly thought that everything was a big fat cover up for who knows what, but he wasn't being such a prick anymore. He brought coffee for her, and she would explain whatever he pretended not to know. They had a reached a civility in their tumultuous relationship. Maybe she didn't hate him at all.

But that idea scared Y/n. She had hated him her entire life, why should she stop now? It wasn't like he had much redeeming qualities. And she couldn't let herself get distracted. It was her absolute dream to be valedictorian, and keep up with her extracurriculars. She wouldn't allow herself to keep this up. It didn't feel right anyway.

Naturally, she was earlier than him, though standing by a bookshelf at looking listlessly at the displayed novels. He came over with two cups of coffee in hand, his face happier than anyone had seen him before. "Hey." He set the cups down on the table in front.

Y/n barely acknowledged him with a side-glance. She wasn't sure how to behave now. But she needed to stop this buddy-buddy friends thing.

"Bad day?" he asked, concerned.

"I'm fine," she grumbled.

"You're not," Jace insisted.

"Please just stop," she breathed out. Her frustration was increasing. Why did he never listen? He couldn't leave things as they were.

"No," he exclaimed, tone suddenly harsh. "You know I've been trying to not seem like a total ass to you. And we've been more fine now compared to we were when we were what, eight? I don't get your problem. Why give that up now?"

"We aren't meant to like each other, Jace! That's how it's been, that's how it should be. I'm not sure why I'm even tutoring you! I know you don't need help, but you're lying about it for god knows what. You can't have failed because you're 'busy', there's some ulterior motive and you need to tell me now." at the end of her rant, she was breathing hard.

"No shit!" he hissed. "I failed on purpose. Of course I'd never fail. I did it so I could spend time with you because I've been in love with you since the fucking fourth grade!"

The aftermath of his confession left her in a state of confusion, and no words.

"I-"

"Oh fuck it." he came forward and grabbed her cheeks, pulling her into a deep and fast kiss. It took her a second to process what was going on, but not before long she was kissing back. His left hand dropped down to snake around her waist and pulled her closer. His lips were soft, and his arms felt so good around her. His tongue slid across her mouth, and he ended the kiss with a gentle nip.

"You are so stubborn," he muttered to her. "And so blind."

"You can't expect me to look at how you've been behaving and think 'wow, he's totally in love with me'!" she defended.

He rolled his eyes, which was accompanied with a chuckle. He pressed their foreheads together and pecked her lips once more. "I'm not even going to argue with you anymore." his next kiss lasted a moment longer. "So I'm assuming you like me too."

She scowled. "I'm not going to say it."

He smiled. "I don't expect you to, don't worry."

He initiated another long kiss, but pulled away. "And for the record, I'm still better at math."

Tags: @jacespookiebear @januarybella @kimm4710

Published originally: Wednesday 3rd September 2023

THE GIRL AND THE DRAGON, chapter one

aemond targaryen x fem!royce!reader word count: 6.5K warnings: mention to violence and injury, family conflict, themes of abandonment, political intrigue summary: when lady rhea dies, the life of miraena turns upside down. prologue | chapter one

o1. Heritage

Each passing year since Miraena Targaryen's birth had left its mark on the ancient stones of Runestone. Nestled in the heart of the Vale, the castle stood as a silent witness to the unfolding saga of a Targaryen's life among the First Men.

Within its formidable walls, the laughter and playful antics of a young girl echoed like a breath of life, casting moments of joy amidst the shadows that haunted the Royces and the noble inhabitants of Runestone Castle.

The small figure with brown hair streaked with wild silver could often be found darting through the echoing hallways, adorned with an array of colorful flowers in her hair and wielding a makeshift wooden sword. She delighted in testing the patience of the guards sworn to protect her, sometimes fleeing from their watchful eyes, other times engaging them and her mother's cousin in spirited chases.

Yet, beneath the facade of youthful exuberance, signs of an impending storm brewed on the horizon. Letters from King's Landing laid unread, their contents a source of increasing concern. Lady Rhea's husband had been absent since that fateful night, and with each passing day, Miraena's appearance increasingly mirrored that of her elusive father.

But amidst the hints of Targaryen heritage, glimpses of Lady Rhea's steadfast resilience shone through in Miraena's demeanor. Her strong-willed personality, forged not in fire but in stone, bore more resemblance to her mother and the ancient lineages that preceded her. From the way she smiled to how she wielded her sword and even her spirited protests against her lessons with the septa, every detail spoke of Royce blood—a testament to her identity as one of the Vale's own.

However, the calm was shattered one fateful day when Lady Rhea, seeking solace and clarity after another troubling missive from King's Landing, ventured alone into the wilderness. Despite years of dedicated motherhood, the weight of responsibility and impending decisions grew heavier with each passing moment.

Rhea cherished her daughter deeply; every day was a testament to that love. Yet, each passing day also heightened her fears. The King desired Miraena's presence in his court, hoping to mold her into a true Targaryen—evidenced by the dragon egg he had sent when Miraena was but an infant, a gesture Rhea had never forgotten.

Rhea knew the danger of allowing her daughter to grow up amidst the Targaryens' influence. She feared they would extinguish Miraena's spirit, erasing her identity as a Royce.

Determined to protect her from the allure of her father's legacy, Rhea had made a vow, at the same day her daughter was born: Miraena would remain Miraena Royce—future Lady of Runestone, a warrior of the First Men.

Yet, fate intervened on the day Rhea's absence grew prolonged. Guards dispatched to find her returned with a dire report: Lady Rhea, unconscious and grievously wounded, had been discovered, her horse abandoned, in a secluded part of the castle grounds.

From that day onward, Miraena abandoned her carefree escapades through the castle corridors. Instead, she devoted herself to her mother's side with unwavering determination. Sometimes, she brought fresh flowers to brighten Rhea's chambers, carefully arranging them with delicate hands. Other times, she spoke to her mother about anything and everything—the gossip of maids and knights, assurances about the safety of her mother's sword under Miraena's vigilant watch.

Each night thereafter, Miraena curled up beside Rhea's bed, surrounded by the comforting scent of herbs and the flickering light of a single candle. With tender care, she opened each book, reading aloud to her mother. From treatises on strategy and warfare to tales of legendary kings of Westeros, all bore names echoing that of her own.

"Mother," Miraena would say softly, her voice filling the silence of the chamber, "Until you wake up, you’ll have to continue to listen to me reading to you, I’m afraid."

In the flickering candlelight, Miraena found solace in the act of reading, as if each word spoken aloud bound her ever closer to her mother's sleeping form. She recounted the deeds of brave knights and cunning strategists, weaving a tapestry of words that painted a vibrant picture of the world beyond Runestone's walls.

With each passing night, Miraena's voice grew steadier, her resolve unyielding. More and more flowers began to adorn her hair, until one day she wore a French braid intertwined with daisies, resembling a delicate crown atop her head. Her wooden sword remained faithfully by her side, snug in its makeshift sheath, while her mother's sword lay dormant beside her, untouched in its place next to the bed where Rhea slumbered.

On one such day, as Miraena immersed herself in the tale of Princess Nymeria of Ny Sar, rumors swirled through Runestone Castle like autumn leaves in a gust of wind. Whispers spoke of Daemon Targaryen's return—the rogue prince, with his silver hair and violet eyes, had wandered through the Vale and beyond, leaving behind tales of his exploits and the shadow of his absence.

Miraena had grown up piecing together fragments of stories about her father—his charm, his daring escapades in battle, and the hearts he had left in turmoil. Yet, despite the tales woven by servants and distant kin in letters, she had never laid eyes upon him.

She remembered the day she had heard the rumor of her father's marriage annulment from her mother, and how it truly meant that he would never return to the Vale. Others whispered that the King had yielded to this annulment due to the interest shown by his niece, Laena Velaryon, in the rogue prince four or three years ago.

At first, she dismissed it as another maid's tale echoing through the corridors. But when her mother confirmed the story, reality sank in. Now, there was nothing binding him to return to the Vale—an event that had brought joy to her mother, who celebrated with a lavish second party to that, but left a cloud over Miraena's heart.

So, when rumors once again circulated about her father’s return, she couldn't help but doubt their truth.

The heavy oak door of Rhea's chamber creaked open, disrupting the tranquil stillness that had settled over the room. In the doorway stood Ser Gerold Royce, Rhea's cousin and a steadfast presence beside her and the maesters. Usually a bearer of updates and reassurances, today his demeanor bore news that Miraena sensed even before he spoke.

Interrupting her reading, Miraena looked up, her curiosity piqued by the solemn expression on Ser Gerold's face. Despite her tender years, she felt the weight of his presence and the gravity of his words before they were uttered.

"Ser Gerold," Miraena began tentatively, her voice betraying a hint of apprehension. "Is everything okay? Did the maesters tell you something?"

Ser Gerold's gaze softened as he met Miraena's eyes, gulping. "Child," he began gently, "your father is here."

The words hung in the air, laden with both anticipation and uncertainty. Miraena's heart raced as she processed the revelation—the father she had never met, whose presence had been a distant whisper throughout her upbringing, now stood at the threshold of their lives.

“My… Father?” Miraena murmured, her mind racing with questions. Why had Daemon Targaryen chosen this moment to return? For six long years, he had been absent from Runestone Castle. What has changed? What did his return signify?

Everyone knew the complicated history between her mother and Daemon. Their relationship had been marked by absence and misunderstanding, yet there was a lingering connection that defied easy explanation. Daemon had never shown interest in their family before—why now? Was it merely out of duty, or something more?

As she looked at Ser Gerold, seeking answers in his solemn gaze, she realized that the arrival of Daemon Targaryen heralded more than just his physical presence. He was her father, and despite her Royce heritage, she bore the blood of House Targaryen as well. If the worst happened—if her mother never woke up—what would become of her?

The thought weighed heavily on Miraena's young heart. She had always been proud of her Royce lineage, the ancient blood of the First Men coursing through her veins. Yet, her father's return introduced a new dimension to her she was, one she had grappled with through whispered tales and distant rumors.

Ser Gerold observed Miraena's contemplative expression, his own thoughts mirroring her uncertainty.

"We will face whatever comes together, Miraena," Ser Gerold finally said, his voice a steady reassurance amidst the tumult of her thoughts. "Your mother is strong, and we must hold onto hope. As for your father…" His words trailed off, leaving unspoken the myriad possibilities that Daemon Targaryen's return could bring.

In the quiet of her mother's chamber, Miraena nodded silently, her gaze returning to the slumbering figure on the bed. She clung to the hope that Lady Rhea would awaken, that their lives would resume their familiar course. Yet, beneath that hope lay the unspoken fear of the unknown, of what awaited her if her mother never stirred from her deep sleep.

"Some say he has come to claim Runestone," Ser Gerold continued gravely, "they heard him saying throughout the Vale that it is his rightful inheritance."

The words hung heavy in the air, adding another layer of uncertainty to Miraena's already tumultuous thoughts. What else could it be? Miraena felt a pang of naivety for even entertaining, for a fleeting moment, the thought that her father had returned for her.

Ser Gerold's expression softened with the view of the turmoil in his cousin’s daughter's expression.

"We will find out soon enough, Miraena," he replied gently. "For now, we must remain vigilant and prepared for whatever may come."

Despite sharing Lady Rhea's conviction that Miraena belonged in the Vale, Ser Gerold couldn't help but sympathize with the sadness of a daughter who had never known her father. Every child deserved the presence of a father figure in her life, yet he harbored uncertainty about whether Daemon Targaryen was the one to fulfill that role.

"And if he claims Runestone?" Miraena asked quietly, her voice tinged with worry. "What will happen to us?"

Ser Gerold's gaze softened with empathy as he considered her question. "Your mother's wishes will not be easily disregarded," he assured her, his tone steady and reassuring. "And the bonds of kinship that tie you to the Vale are strong. We will defend what is rightfully ours, Miraena, whatever the cost."

Miraena was young, but she understood the implications well enough. In the natural order of things, Runestone would pass to her father—at least, when they were married— or to Ser Gerold once her mother passed away. It was customary for daughters of lords and ladies to be betrothed at her age, waiting to fulfill their duty when the time came.

But her mother had charted a different course.

From the beginning, Lady Rhea made it clear that Miraena, Targaryen by blood but Royce in spirit, would inherit Runestone. She would be Miraena Royce, Lady of Runestone, when the time was right.

Contrary to expectations, Ser Gerold fully supported Lady Rhea's decision, ensuring Miraena received the best education possible, preparing her for the responsibilities that awaited her. Just that week, they had received a letter by raven, bearing Daemon’s name before it was unceremoniously consigned to the flames.

Lady Rhea had never cared for her husband's opinion on the matter, that would not change after she declared her decision.

And now they weren’t married any more, Miraena couldn’t stop herself from asking what made her father think he had some right from what would one day be hers.

The air in the chamber grew tense as Ser Gerold's assurances hung in the air, the impending arrival of Daemon Targaryen weighing heavily on their minds. Miraena stood beside her mother’s bed, her gaze alternating between the door and Lady Rhea's peaceful yet fragile form.

Suddenly, the faint sound of footsteps echoed through the corridor outside, the rhythmic clink of armor signaling the approach of guards accompanying Daemon. Miraena's heart quickened, her pulse echoing the rapid rhythm of the approaching footsteps. She exchanged a fleeting glance with Ser Gerold, whose stoic expression betrayed the uncertainty he felt.

The heavy oak door swung open with a ponderous creak, and the guards announced in unison, their voices resonant and commanding, "Prince Daemon Targaryen seeks entry."

Ser Gerold nodded in acknowledgment, his gaze unwavering as he prepared to greet the returning prince. Miraena's breath caught in her throat as she watched her father step into the room, his presence commanding attention despite the understated elegance of his attire.

However, by the slight furrow of his brow, it was clear he hadn’t appreciated the simplicity with which they had announced him.

Daemon Targaryen paused in the doorway, his silver hair catching the flickering candlelight, casting subtle shadows across his features. His violet eyes, sharp and assessing, swept over the room before settling on Miraena. There was a flicker of something unreadable in his expression—a mix of curiosity, perhaps even a hint of regret.

"I see I am not welcomed with a grand reception," Daemon remarked coolly, his voice carrying an edge that hinted at both amusement and underlying tension.

Ser Gerold remained composed, his teeth gritted. "Your arrival was unexpected, my prince," he replied evenly. "Lady Rhea is not… In a condition to receive guests."

Daemon’s gaze shifted briefly to Lady Rhea, lying still and silent in her bed. Concern flickered across his features before he redirected his attention to Miraena, his daughter, who stood beside her mother with a mixture of emotions etched upon her face.

Their eyes met, and in that fleeting moment, unspoken words hung heavy in the air. For Miraena, it was a glimpse into a world that had always felt just out of reach—a world where she could finally come to know the man who stood before her as her father.

Ser Gerold, ever vigilant at Lady Rhea's side, watched the exchange with a gaze that betrayed both concern and a steadfast resolve to protect the interests of House Royce. He had stood by Miraena's side through years of tumult and uncertainty, a pillar of strength and guidance in the absence of her father.

"Daemon," Ser Gerold interjected respectfully, breaking the silence that threatened to stretch uncomfortably. "Your presence here raises questions about the future of Runestone and Miraena's role."

Daemon's expression hardened imperceptibly, a flicker of determination crossing his features. "Indeed," he acknowledged, his tone carrying a weight of authority. "Lady Rhea was my wife and I was her first and last husband," he continued, though the words tasted bitter on his tongue, "and while she is recovering, it is my duty to attend to Runestone."

"Your duty, you say, huh?", Ser Gerold raised a skeptical brow, his voice tinged with subtle disbelief. "A bit late to that, don't you think?" Daemon's jaw clenched slightly, a silent acknowledgment of the rebuke. He met Ser Gerold's gaze evenly.

"I have returned not only out of duty but also out of concern for my daughter," he asserted, his voice firm but tinged with a note of defensiveness.

For a moment, Miraena let herself believe in her father’s words. Until, Ser Gerold retorted Daemon’s response.

"Your concern is noted, Daemon," Ser Gerold regarded Daemon with a knowing look, "But let us not overlook the matter of inheritance, it’s pretty much clear what truly brought you here."

Miraena stood silently between them, feeling the weight of their unspoken conflict pressing upon her. She had always known her mother's wishes—to be raised as a Royce, to inherit Runestone in due time. Daemon's sudden return now posed a challenge to that tranquility.

Daemon's jaw tightened as he absorbed Ser Gerold's pointed accusation. The tension in the room thickened, each word carrying the weight of years of unresolved conflict and hidden agendas.

"Inheritance is indeed a matter of importance," Daemon finally responded, his voice steady but tinged with a hint of frustration. "But do not reduce my return to mere claims on lands and titles. My daughter's welfare is also paramount to me."

Ser Gerold's gaze remained unyielding, his skepticism palpable. "Your daughter has thrived under Lady Rhea's care," he countered, his voice cool and measured. "She has been raised as a Royce, prepared to inherit Runestone. Your sudden interest in her now, when her mother lies unconscious, raises questions."

Daemon's violet eyes flickered with a mixture of resolve and something deeper, a pang of regret perhaps. "I admit that my return may seem… Untimely," he conceded, choosing his words carefully. "But circumstances change, and my duty as her father cannot be ignored."

Miraena, caught between them, felt a surge of conflicting emotions. She wanted to believe in her father's words, to embrace the hope that he had returned for her sake. Yet, Ser Gerold's skepticism echoed her own lingering doubts.

"Daemon," Ser Gerold pressed on, his tone firm, "We cannot ignore the timing of your arrival. Lady Rhea made her wishes clear long ago. Miraena is to be a Royce, and Runestone is hers by right."

Daemon's gaze flickered to Miraena, "I understand Lady Rhea's wishes," he replied evenly, though his words carried a subtle undercurrent of frustration.

"But as her father, I cannot stand idly by." he concluded. Ser Gerold's expression softened slightly, though his skepticism remained. "You've been absent for six years, Daemon," he pointed out, his voice tinged with restrained emotion. "Why return now, when Lady Rhea cannot contest your intentions?"

Daemon's jaw clenched, his resolve hardening. "I am here now, and I intend to fulfill my responsibilities," he asserted, his voice carrying a note of finality. "Whatever the future holds, my daughter's welfare is my foremost concern."

Miraena listened in silence, torn between her loyalty to the Royces who had raised her and the curiosity she always had to her Targaryen blood. It was hard to ignore it all now, that call—that fire that burned underneath her soul.

Ser Gerold met Daemon's gaze evenly, the air thick with unspoken tension. "We will protect what is rightfully hers," he stated firmly, his voice echoing through the chamber. "Lady Rhea's wishes will be honored."

Daemon inclined his head in acknowledgment, though the faintest hint of resignation flickered across his features. "As you should be," he replied evenly, his gaze lingering on Miraena for a fleeting moment.

Miraena stood silently, caught between the weight of Ser Gerold's steadfast loyalty to Lady Rhea's wishes and the magnetic pull of her father's presence. As Ser Gerold's gaze shifted from Daemon back to Miraena, a knot of worry tightened in his gut.

"Daemon," Ser Gerold interjected, his tone measured yet firm, "Perhaps we should discuss this matter outside." His eyes flickered towards Miraena, a silent acknowledgment of the sensitive nature of their conversation.

Daemon nodded in acquiescence, his expression unreadable. "Very well," he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of resignation. He cast one last glance towards Miraena before turning towards the door, his movements deliberate and purposeful.

Miraena watched them leave, her heart heavy with uncertainty. She remained in her mother's chambers, her eyes drawn to the sword resting beside Lady Rhea's bed. Its hilt was worn, a testament to years of service and duty. Miraena recalled her mother's words, spoken with quiet determination amidst the backdrop of Runestone's ancient halls.

"Don't matter what they tell you," Lady Rhea had said, her voice a whisper of steel, "No one can control a dragon's temper. It's only a matter of time until one's fate is to burn alone."

The words echoed in Miraena's mind, resonating with a truth that cut through the turmoil of her thoughts. She traced the intricate patterns on the sword's hilt with trembling fingers, her mind grappling with the implications of her father's return.

As the night deepened outside the castle walls, casting the castle in shadows and wrapping Miraena's thoughts in uncertainty. She had ignored the orders to return to her own chamber for sleep, unable to shake off the unease that had settled in her heart.

The day had passed in a blur after Daemon's arrival, leaving her to wonder endlessly about the conversation between him and Ser Gerold. Inheritance had been the topic she knew well—her mother's fervent wish was for Daemon to never have Runestone in his grasp.

Now, with the rumors spreading through the castle, fear gnawed at her that those wishes might be in jeopardy.

Lost in her thoughts, Miraena was startled when Daemon's voice broke the silence. "The flowers in your hair," he remarked quietly, his tone holding a hint of intrigue.

Miraena turned abruptly to find her father standing just inside the doorway, his silhouette framed against the dimly lit corridor beyond. His silver hair caught the moonlight streaming through a nearby window, giving him an otherworldly aura that both fascinated and unnerved her.

Weirdly, he didn’t continue his line of thought, instead he just looked at her, intrigued by something she couldn’t tell.

"These are daisies," Miraena replied, her voice tinged with caution. She instinctively touched the delicate flowers woven into her braid, a habit she had picked up to bring some semblance of brightness to the uncertain days.

Daemon stepped further into the chamber, his gaze lingering on his daughter with a mixture of curiosity and something deeper—an unspoken yearning to bridge the gap that had kept them apart for so long.

"You have your mother's eyes," he remarked softly, his voice carrying a note of regret. "At least, one of them. In the other, there is something undeniably mine."

Miraena tensed at his words, the conflicting emotions within her swirling like a tempest. She had grown up hearing tales of her father's lineage—of dragons and prophecy—but they had always felt distant, like stories from another world. Now, with Daemon standing before her, those stories took on a new weight, a tangible reality that unsettled her.

"Why have you returned, Daemon?" Miraena asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "After all these years?"

Daemon's expression softened, a flicker of emotion crossing his features. "Your mother's condition…" he started, choosing his words with care, "I’ll be honest to you, it’s what had drawn me back at first, the wish to inherit the lands that are mine by marriage."

Ex-marriage, Miraena wished to correct him.

Instead, Miraena studied him intently, searching his face for traces of sincerity amidst the turmoil of her thoughts. "At first? What changed?" she pressed, unable to suppress the lingering doubts that gnawed at her.

Daemon hesitated, his gaze shifting momentarily to the sword beside Rhea's bed—a silent testament to the legacy and responsibility that awaited Miraena.

"You," he admitted quietly, meeting her gaze once more.

The admission hung in the air between them, laden with unspoken implications and the weight of their intertwined destinies. Miraena struggled to reconcile the man before her with the distant figure woven into the tapestry of whispered tales and unanswered questions.

"What do you want, Daemon?" Miraena asked finally, her voice betraying a hint of vulnerability.

Daemon's expression softened further, a pang of regret shadowing his features. "To know you," he replied earnestly. "To understand the daughter I've missed all these years."

Miraena’s brow furrowed, disbelief tingling in her voice.

"How could you miss me?" Her brows knit together, her eyes searching his face for answers. "You could have returned anytime, you weren't banished. Why didn't you?"

Daemon’s expression faltered, a flicker of discomfort crossing his features before he composed himself once more. He met Miraena's searching gaze, his voice steady but tinged with remorse. "I understand how it must seem. I made choices I cannot justify now. But I want to make amends, Miraena, all I did was for duty.”

Miraena’s expression hardened slightly, a mixture of hurt and frustration flickering across her features.

She remembered her mother’s words, the stories she used to tell about her father—his many ambitions and desires. They were often followed by whispers from the maids when they thought she wasn’t listening, tales of battles fought and lands conquered.

"So, you abandoned us," Miraena said, her voice tinged with accusation. "For power and ambition."

Daemon’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. “I won’t lie here and tell you that I cared for your mother—”

“Fine,” Miraena retorted, her voice betraying the hurt in her heart, “So you abandoned me.”

Daemon’s gaze flickered with a mix of regret and defensiveness. "It was not abandonment," he countered, his voice firm yet laced with a hint of unease. "I was bound by duties that demanded my presence elsewhere. The politics, the alliances—"

Miraena’s eyes narrowed, her voice sharp with bitterness. "And where did that leave me? Alone, with only stories of my absent father to comfort me?"

Daemon’s shoulders tensed, a shadow of guilt passing over his features. "I cannot change the past," he admitted, his tone tinged with regret. "But I want to forge a future with you, Miraena. To offer you the family you deserve."

Miraena’s hands clenched at her sides, her voice wavering with suppressed emotion. "Why should I believe you now? After all these years of silence and neglect?"

Daemon took a step closer, his voice pleading. "Because I see now what I've missed," he confessed, his gaze earnest. "You are my blood, my daughter. I want to know you, to make up for the lost time."

Miraena’s expression softened momentarily, torn between skepticism and a longing for connection. "You expect me to just forgive you?" she asked quietly, her voice filled with uncertainty.

Daemon’s features softened, a trace of vulnerability breaking through his composure. "No," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I hope you can give me a chance to prove myself to you."

“You want me to simply forgive and forget, just because you decided it's time?" Her voice quivered with a mix of anger and longing. "You can't just walk back into my life and expect everything to be fine."

Daemon took another step closer, his expression pained. "I know it's not that simple, Miraena. I don't expect you to forgive me right away. But give me a chance to prove myself, to be the father you deserve."

Miraena turned away, her thoughts a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. She had spent years wondering about him, the father who had been a distant figure in her life, surrounded by stories and rumors. Now he was here, offering an opportunity she wasn't sure she wanted to accept.

"Your return has complicated everything," she said finally, her voice subdued. "I don't know if I can trust you, or if you truly care about me, or if this is just another scheme to claim Runestone."

Daemon’s heart clenched at her words. It was difficult to say what had hurt him more, she saying that she didn’t trust him or seeing his daughter—so young—already knowing that in her world a scheme against her was a possibility. Perhaps, what hurt him more was she accusing him of such a scheme, even if at first, that truly was his plan.

“Perhaps I don’t deserve your trust yet,” Daemon admitted, his voice heavy with the weight of his own failings. “But I want to earn it, Miraena. Not for Runestone, but for you.”

Miraena’s eyes burned with unshed tears, her heart aching with the conflict raging within her.

Before she could respond, a chill ran down her spine and the cold wind from outside grazed her cheeks. Miraena glanced at the window that had been left open, something didn’t feel right.

It took some seconds for the girl to realize but, there was a sudden change in the air, as if a shadow had passed over the sun. Instinctively, Miraena turned to her mother.

“Mother?” she called softly, noticing the unnatural pallor of Rhea’s skin. The color had drained from her face, leaving her ghostly white.

“Mother?” she repeated, louder this time, panic creeping into her voice. She reached out, her fingers trembling as they brushed against Rhea’s hand. It was cold. Deathly cold.

Daemon rushed to her side, his own shock evident on his face.

“Miraena…” he began, reaching out to her, but she recoiled from his touch, her eyes wild with fury.

“Don’t touch me!” she spat, her voice a mixture of rage and despair.

Daemon’s heart broke at her words, but he knew there was no way to comfort her at the moment. She needed to see it herself, some of the people in the castle had told him that his daughter was certain that her mother would wake up.

Despite the truth, of what everyone knew from the second their lady had returned from her hunt, carried by the guards.

“No, no, no,” Miraena whispered, her breath hitching as she shook her mother’s shoulder. “Mother, wake up!”

Rhea’s head lolled to the side, unmoved. The realization crashed over Miraena like a tidal wave, stealing the breath from her lungs.

Her mother was gone.

Dead.

“MOTHER!” Miraena’s scream echoed through the halls, a wail of pure anguish. She collapsed beside her mother’s lifeless body, her sobs wracking her small frame. The pain was unbearable, a raw, tearing agony that consumed her.

Time seemed to stand still in that room, the air heavy with grief. Miraena didn’t know how long she stayed there, her mind unable to process the reality of her mother’s death. She felt numb, her heart shattered into pieces.

She saw guards entering the chambers, Daemon seemed to have told them something before they had rushed back to the corridors and soon returned with her mother’s cousin making them company. From then, everything became a blur, people went in and out, but eyes continued to linger at her mother’s, waiting for the moment life would spark at them again.

As—what felt like hours—dragged on, the silence between them grew heavier, laden with unspoken words and unresolved pain. Miraena’s mind was a storm of memories, each one a dagger to her heart. She remembered her mother’s laughter, the way she would braid her hair, the stories she would tell of their ancestors. All of it was gone now, ripped away in an instant.

Eventually, she became aware of Daemon’s presence again. He was kneeling beside her, his expression one of profound sorrow and regret. Despite everything, he hadn’t left her side.

“Miraena,” he said softly, his voice breaking. “You need to leave, they can’t take care of her with you here.”

She didn’t respond, her eyes fixed on her mother’s still form. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, to acknowledge his words.

Daemon remained there, a silent witness to her grief, his own heart heavy with the weight of his mistakes. He knew that he had a long road ahead of him if he ever hoped to earn her forgiveness. But in that moment, all he could do was share in her sorrow, and hope that one day, she might find it in her heart to let him in.

“I’m sorry,” Daemon sighed, his voice barely above a whisper, laden with regret.

The guards started to approach, but Daemon dismissed them with a gesture. Miraena barely noticed, her world a blur of pain and loss, until she felt his arms around her, gently but firmly pulling her away from her mother’s chambers.

“No!” she cried out, struggling against him. “Let me go! I need to stay with her!”

“Miraena, please,” Daemon murmured, “You have to let them do their duty.”

She fought against him, her grief giving her strength, but Daemon held her close, his grip unyielding yet tender.

“I’m here,” he whispered. “I’m not leaving you.”

Miraena’s resistance wavered, her strength draining away as the reality of her mother’s death crashed down on her. She sagged against Daemon, her sobs wracking her body, each one a knife to his heart.

“I need her,” she whispered brokenly, her voice a raw wound. “She’s all I had.”

“I know,” Daemon replied, his own voice trembling. “I’m so sorry, I truly am.”

Slowly, her struggles ceased, her grief too overwhelming to sustain her fight. She let herself be led away, her mind numb, her heart shattered. Daemon guided her out of the chamber, his arms still around her, offering what comfort he could.

As they walked through the dimly lit corridors of Runestone, the silence between them was heavy with unspoken words and unresolved pain. Miraena’s thoughts were a tumultuous storm, her emotions a whirlwind of anger, sorrow, and a flicker of something she couldn’t yet name. She glanced up at Daemon, his face etched with sorrow and regret, and for a fleeting moment, she saw the man he was trying to be.

They reached her chambers, and Daemon gently released her, his eyes searching hers for any sign of forgiveness, any hint of acceptance. But all he saw was the raw, unfiltered pain of a daughter who had lost her mother.

“Rest, Miraena,” he said softly. “I’ll be nearby if you need anything.” She nodded numbly, too exhausted to respond. As he turned to leave, she found herself speaking, her voice a mere whisper. “Thank you, Daemon.”

He nodded, his voice tender. “Always.”

Miraena wished to believe in it, but she couldn’t fully bring herself to do so. The pain in her heart was overwhelming, suffusing her thoughts with confusion and doubt.

Left alone in her room, Miraena collapsed onto her bed, the weight of her grief pulling her into a restless sleep. Her dreams were haunted by memories of her mother, each one a vivid reminder of the love and warmth that had been so abruptly taken from her. In the dreams, her mother’s laughter echoed through sunlit halls, her comforting touch soothing every fear.

But the dreams soon twisted into nightmares. She saw her mother being ripped away from her grasp, her cries for help swallowed by an unforgiving void. The sky above darkened with storm clouds, and dragons fought amidst the thunder and lightning, their roars shaking the heavens. One dragon, larger and fiercer than the other, tore the smaller one in half, its blood raining down like crimson tears. Miraena's heart pounded in terror, each beat echoing the dragon's violent attack, as if the creature had torn into her very soul.

She awoke with a start, sweat drenching her body, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The vivid imagery lingered, the pain in her chest as real as the nightmares themselves. The line between her grief and her dreams blurred, leaving her disoriented and raw.

For the next few days, Miraena immersed herself in the preparations for her mother’s funeral. Every task became a shield against the relentless ache in her heart. She chose the finest silks for the burial shroud, selected the most beautiful flowers to adorn the grave, and ensured every detail was perfect. It was all she could do to maintain a semblance of control.

Daemon tried to offer his support, but Miraena kept him at a distance. His presence was a reminder of the past, of the father who had been absent when she needed him most. She couldn’t afford to let him in, not when her wounds were still so fresh.

The day of the funeral arrived, and the castle was filled with mourners. Nobles from across the realm came to pay their respects, their faces solemn as they offered condolences. Miraena stood by her mother’s side, her expression stoic, her eyes betraying the depth of her pain.

Everyone gave their words about her mother—her cousin, her nephews, her friends. Miraena listened to their eulogies, each word a tribute to her mother’s strength and kindness. For a moment, she almost forgot where she was and what was happening. She imagined her mother entering the room, her presence so vivid in the memories being shared, ready to say a few words herself.

But reality intruded as they closed the coffin and carried it away, preparing to preserve her body until her tomb could be completed. They had never thought she would die so young, and there hadn’t been time to prepare the tomb. All they could do now was ensure her remains were preserved for the future.

As she watched her mother being carried away, Miraena felt Daemon’s eyes on her. Their gazes met, and for a fleeting moment, she saw the pain and regret in his eyes, along with a glimmer of hope. It was a hope she wasn’t ready to embrace, but it was there nonetheless.

The funeral ended, and the mourners slowly dispersed, leaving Miraena alone in the room. She knelt, placing a hand on her chest, and whispered a final goodbye. The weight of her loss was still heavy, but she felt a spark of determination igniting within her.

She would honor her mother’s memory by being the woman Rhea had raised her to be—strong, resilient, and unyielding.

As she stood to leave, she saw Daemon waiting at a respectful distance. Their eyes met again, and this time, Miraena saw a flicker of understanding in his gaze. He nodded, a silent promise that he would be there for her, no matter what.

Miraena took a deep breath, her heart still aching, but with a new sense of purpose beginning to take root. She wasn’t ready to forgive him—not yet—but she would give him a chance to prove himself.

“Nyke jāhor jikagon rūsīr ao, kepa,” I will go with you, father. Miraena whispered, barely glancing the man who she was speaking to, “ēlī, nyke jorrāelagon naejot ȳzaldrīzes naejot ser gerold, syt zirȳla naejot sagon issa regent ēva nyke māzigon se age naejot inherit issa paktot—” First, I need to talk to Ser Gerold, for him to be my Regent until I reach the age to inherit my right—

“Ao gīmigon valyrio eglie,” You know High Valyrian. Daemon’s statement sounded more like a question than a statement itself, his voice showing his surprise better than his expression, “Qilōni..?” Who..?

“I asked Ser Gerold when I was four, for a Septa who could teach me, even a little, about my Targaryen lineage,” Miraena replied quickly, brushing away her tears. “Despite his reluctance, he did as I asked, and luckily, my Septa also knew High Valyrian.”

‘Luckily’ was a way of saying it; Miraena knew the man had done it so he could be less curious about her Targaryen ancestors.

Daemon's brow furrowed slightly as he absorbed Miraena's explanation. She felt the weight of his gaze but remained steadfast. Her determination to uphold her mother’s legacy fueled her, giving her strength to face the uncertain future ahead.

Deep within, Miraena knew that to truly embody the Lady of Runestone, she couldn’t ignore the other half of her heritage—the Targaryen blood that flowed through her veins. Despite her mother’s wishes and the legacy of House Royce, she understood that knowing her father’s blood was essential to understanding herself fully.

Once to accept it or deny it.

As they stood in the quiet aftermath of the funeral, a servant approached with a message for Daemon. He glanced at the parchment and then back at Miraena, a flicker of concern crossing his features.

“There are matters that require my immediate attention,” Daemon explained, his gaze meeting hers with earnestness. “But I will return soon. We have much to discuss.”

Miraena nodded again, her resolve firm. She watched as Daemon turned and left, disappearing down the corridor of the castle. Alone now, Miraena took a moment to gather herself. She felt a strange mix of relief and apprehension. The day had been filled with sorrow and the weight of responsibility, yet she found herself looking ahead with newfound determination.

༊*·˚ CRAVING YOUR WARMTH | aegon ii targaryen x targaryen bastard sister!reader

summary: two dragons who seek to move closer for warmth during their grief must remain apart, as they can only hurt one another with their sharp teeth and barely contained flames. though they both share the intentions of a close relationship, they're unable, for reasons they cannot avoid.

content: targaryen incest, angst, allusion of self-mutilation/harm, bastardphobia in westeros, night after intimacy suggested, self-hatred, blood, wonky metaphors and personification, no beta we die like vizzy t, badly written angst, that damn necklace

word count: 1.5k

a/n: let me tell you that i struggle writing angst, but god do i love reading it. i'm like my own self entertaining paradoxical concept and it astounds me

A gentle hand smoothing over his back is what stirs him from the throes of sleep, nails skating along his marked skin softly enough to tickle. He shifts as the hand moves from the expanse of his back up to his hair, rubbing circles into the crown of his head. Twirling bits of hair between deft fingers as she presses a kiss to the slope of his shoulder.

He hums, limbs stretching out clumsily as he rolls onto his side, fingers weak as his hand dances along the goose-down duvet until it reaches her. Her, and her softness, and her warmth.

“Wife.” He’s barely awake, even with the exasperated sigh that comes from his older sister.

“We are not wed, Aegon.” A gentle reminder from soft lips, her eyes taking in his tired demeanour, the curve of his brow.

She brushes the strand of choppy hair from his face, thumb dragging along the apple of his cheek.

He doesn’t speak for a moment, lids finally fluttering open as he stares up at her with those watery eyes. The ones he knew made her weak to suggestion. He lets his hand creep up her calf –where he can still feel the divets of scars from their childhood running through the gardens– until it finds home on the hand she has in her lap, he threads his fingers with hers. The number of rings adorning her fingers was thanks to him: he and his obsession with keeping his older sister glamoured. 

Imported Dornish rings that gleamed with the heat of the sun, Essosi ornate cloth and dresses that were far from the modesty of Court, hair pins adorned with pearls from the Summer Isles, and an intricate necklace crafted from the smelted metal of a Valyrian sword, inlaid with gemstones he had pulled from the Red Keeps vaults.

She was wearing it now, the stones gleaming under the sun that spotted through the lace curtains of her room. The engraved details scatter the few beams of light they catch like dew drops upon spider silk. The stones dangle between the valley her breasts create, the smallest of them twirls some intricate dance as she shifts. Like molten silver, it fits her without any of the stiffness metal should have. 

“We should be.” He glances down at his hand intertwined with hers and watches her thumb rub over his —in the way she always has ever since childhood— it makes him all the more rueful.

He’s hopeful, far beyond it. His bones ache and his head throbs from a swelling hangover, and he feels his throat ache something terrible at its use. His eyes trail from their hands to her face, he wants anything aside from sorrow to be there.

It’s worse. 

Her brows are furrowed as she stares down at him with pity, oh how he wishes it wasn’t pity.

“Oh, sweet boy.” She pulls her hand from his grasp and holds his face in her gentle hands with all the care he needs. “Some things, they just can’t be.”

His lip curls, a pathetic smile covering his visage as he cups the backs of her hands in his own. “But they could. Helaena would not care, she loathes our marriage. As do I. We could take Valyrian vows on Dragonstone. Just as our sister and uncle have. We could leave.”

“Aegon.” A wistful breath of his name, pained and twisted with grief of things that never were and never will.

“We don’t need to stay. Just you and I, riding atop Sunfyre. Across the Narrow Sea.” He moves onto his knees, staring into her wet doe-like eyes as he speaks. He doesn’t leave her an opportunity to doubt him. Doesn’t allow her to pull away as he keeps her hands on his jaw.

Her lips twitch and so do her fingers against his. “Aegon, don’t be foolish.”

“You mustn’t know what you mean to m-”

“Aegon, please.” She tries to pull away now, but he winds his hand into the hair at the nape of her neck and presses forward. Wine-stained lips crushing against the curve of her nose, fluttering across her brow like the gentle wings of a cotton moth as it devours silks and linen allied— devourer of all things beautiful and plain. 

He drags his lips to hers finally, soaking her up in a way only someone as depraved as he could. It’s like stretching out upon a rock after not feeling the son for years, like stripping yourself of shackles you’ve worn since birth. Her lips are chapped, a split in her lips from all the worrying she does to the poor thing scratches along his upper. He surges forward, pulling her so fully against him that it fills some empty part of him, like a puzzle piece that’s never been slotted into place. But oh —how it has— and how it always disappears just as quickly as it comes to him. He licks at her bottom lip, sucks it into his mouth and shudders out a breath as she reciprocates. Her lashes fluttering against his cheeks as they finally shut, as she cups his neck and presses her butterfly kisses onto him, licks into his mouth as she breathes hotly across his face in a way only Aegon can enjoy.

He nips at her tongue accidentally, overexcited and eager as he is. And that seems to bring her back from whatever hole he had dragged her into. But he persists, hand drifting down to the smooth metal of her necklace as he thumbs at a jewel. He tries to savour her presence even as her face scrunches and her fingers fist the hairs behind his ears. It nearly pains Aegon, with the way his head tilts away from her just slightly, Adams apple jumping against pale skin as he stares oh-so adoringly, heady breaths stinking of wine fanning her bruised lips.

“We could start a family in Essos. As many children as you want.” He desperately reaches for her again.

“Aegon.” 

“A home in Braavos, on the beach. Where we could lo-”

A hiccuped sob that withers in her throat is what stops him, punches the wind from his lungs.

Her lips are pursed and her hands have loosed upon his hair and move to cup his ruddy cheeks. Nails pressing into the flesh of his face hazardously. His eyes are dark and his lips part as he stares up at her, he sees the tears edging along her waterline. That deep frown she has when she’s trying not to cry, whether it's about something he had done or when she’s ordered by their Grandsire to stop her hysterics.

“Aegon,” It’s a sullen whisper as she lets his face go entirely, fingers slipping down his chest before they land in her lap again. “I am not a trueborn daughter. I will never be. I am not right in the mind. I will birth lunatics and monsters and wailing death. You can’t love me.”

He doesn’t know what to say, for once he has no sharp-tongued quip or comment. He pushed her from a height, just when she had finally reached the top of her spire. He retracts, fingers loosening from the grip he had on her pale hair, and lets her fall back onto the plush of her bed as she stares up at him like he’s burnt her. Like he’s dragged a dagger across the soft of her flesh and told her he never loved her. She pushes herself away, curling in on herself as tears cut through the flush of her cheeks. A wobbly exhale, and another as he drags a hand through her hair.

Her fingers dance down her neck and across the skin of her arms where they find home on the pale scars marring the upper parts of her arms. He can see her fingertips quivering with the urge to dig. To pull at chords of muscle beneath her skin and scratch at her bones. She had told him about things she saw. Things that hunted at the edge of her vision and scattered when she went looking. Dreams that came to the waking world with her. A pale man with the stench of darkness seeping from his pores.

“I love yo-” He leans forward to comfort her. 

“You don’t.”

“I know that I love you.”

“You know nothing, Aegon.” She pulls herself to the edge of the bed and drags herself to stand, the silk bedsheets slip away and her goosebumps raise upon her bruise-marred skin, she’s as bare as the day she was born. Her throat is too tight and her necklace feels heavy as she stumbles to the secret passage, she slips from the room unbidden and leaves a smudge of blood on the wooden grain of the bookcase as Aegon sits in her bed. Salty tears of his own roll down his face as he clenches and unclenches his fists.

business in the front party in the back

SERENDIPITY CH. 2 — house of the dragon

Jacaerys Velaryon x Stark!Reader

[ Sexual tension, awkwardness ]

Description: As Lord Cregan Stark’s most trusted adviser and sister, she had stayed by his side as the prince of the realm made his petitions for support of his mothers claim and to help aid their side in the war. Though, the prince had more of an effect on the younger stark sibling than the other.

series warnings: sexual descriptions, angst, adultery ??, death, violence, sexual tension, and more.

Series masterlist

War was coming. After years of peace and prosperity in the realm, the house of the dragon was divided and all would feel its wrath.

Cregan had assigned his sister to help the prince to his chambers, the empty one across from her own. Nervously, she did, leading his through the halls of their estate, touring his around as they passed rooms.

“And this will be your chambers.” She said as she opened the wooden door and stood to the side awaiting for him to follow her inside.

“I understand it may not meet your standards of living but it’s one of the best we have.” She stared at the ground as she spoke. Winterfell was beautiful, any northerner would agree but it wouldn’t meet the expectations of someone from the south, especially a prince.

“It’s perfect.” He said. Her gaze lifted and found the prince already looking at her. She felt small under his stare. Her mouth felt dry and her cheeks felt hot, how could a man be so beautiful? She could never know.

“I- Well…I should get out of your way so you may get comfortable. I’m right across the hall, if you need anything, my prince, I’d be happy to help.” She bowed before stepping towards the door to leave.

“Thank you, my lady. You are very kind.” He smiled at her as she left. She practically tripped over her own feet as she stared at his smile.

Her pace quickened to make it to her room as soon as possible. She let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding for when she shut her door. No man has ever made her feel or act like a fool in their presence.

“Gods, what’s wrong with me?” She spoke to herself as she pressed her palm to her forehead. She began pacing through her chambers, hands on her hips as she thought of what was wrong with herself.

A knock came at her door and in came her lady-in-waiting, Arina (Ah-ree-nah), quickly walking in and shut the door.

“I heard the prince of dragonstone was here. Did you get to meet him?” She asked excitedly, almost jumping with joy.

“Yes..” Lady Stark said slowly as she sat herself down on a bench in front of her bed. “What has happened?” Arina’s once joyful expression fell, immediately sitting down with her lady and taking her hands into her own.

“War is approaching. But…that’s not all.” Arina’s jaw dropping, “War? What do you mean? And what else has happened?”

The lady gulped, “The prince…I act like a fool in front of him, and I’ve only just met the man!” She laid her head against the post of her bed, embarrassed with herself.

“Well, he is a prince. Is he handsome?” She asked, curious to know. “Devilishly so.” She replied.

“Perhaps, you are falling for him. Someone has finally struck the lady of winterfell’s heart!” She smiled and placed a mocking hand over her chest. The lady scoffed, standing up immediately to get away from the annoying girl.

“I am not falling for him, I merely just met him.” She sighed.

“Many people have falling in love at first sight. I did with my Charlie. I was falling as soon as I saw those beautiful bright green eyes.” She gleamed at the thought of her husband.

Arina’s husband was the best blacksmith in town, they had met a few years ago while her and lady stark had went in town to aquire the new sword that Cregan had commissioned for her.

And now they are married with two children, one of the loveliest couples in winterfell.

“Well, I better get on going. I’ve got some chores to do before we have that feast tonight.” Arina began before heading for the door.

“Feast?” Lady stark questioned.

“Didn’t your brother tell you? For the prince.” She replied.

“I was just about to, but thank you, Arina.” Cregan’s deep voice sounded from the doorway. Arina turned herself to face the tall man.

“You are very welcome, My Lord. I will be back later to help dress you, My lady!” She called as she walked out.

Cregan let out a breathy laugh before stepping into his sister’s room, Grim following behind him. “I arranged this feast to welcome the prince to winterfell, as he is to stay for the next days.” Cregan explained, earning him a nod from his sister.

“I need you to inform him, I have lots to do before this quickly planned event.” He said, “alright.” She sucked in a deep breath. Lord stark took his leave down the hall, his large fur coat swaying as he walked.

“Come, Grim.” Lady Stark said as she stepped towards the Prince’s apartment, taking yet another deep breath before knocking. His door swings open, and reveals the handsome prince to her sights.

“Didn’t think I’d see you so soon, My lady.” Jacaerys smiled, “my apologies for disturbing you, my prince.” She began.

“No need to apologize, My lady. You’re not a disruption at all.” He said. Grim finds himself strutting inside the prince’s chambers, curiously looking around the room.

“Grim! No-“ she instinctively runs after him, forgetting herself in that very moment. She trips over the wood floor and before she hits the hard ground, a strong arm catches her.

“My lady, are you alright?” He asked as he placed both hands on her waist to steady her.

Her heart is pounding outside of her chest, she finds it hard to breathe in such a stuffy room. Her eyes shoot all across his face, taking in this moment to see him up close without even realizing it.

“I am very sorry, I didn’t mean to fall onto you. How rude of me-“ she rambled. Jacaerys chuckled, “You didn’t, My lady. I am perfectly fine. Now, are you alright?” His eyes meet hers, a concerned look is upon his face.

“I am alright, I am incredibly sorry for my dog, he is usually well behaved.” She said.

His touch felt hot thought the fabric on her body, her chest rose and fell quickly, the corset feeling rather constricting. A warmth in her lower stomach began to bloom, his gaze was intense and making her feel things she felt she shouldn’t have.

She felt his hands leave her waist. He coughed awkwardly, “I apologize for my forwardness. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t-“ she began, “so, what did you need me for, my lady?” He smiled kindly as they spoke at the same time.

Of course, the feast. She was so entranced by him that she almost forgot the main reason she was there.

“My brother has planned a feast tonight, in honor of your arrival. As a welcome to winterfell.” She said.

“I appreciate your hospitality. From you and your brother.” She grinned, nodding her way before seeing her way out, her dog following her as she pats her thigh as a commands

She reached the door as a hand caught hers, stopping her in her tracks.

Her head whipped towards the prince, his hand enclosed in hers.

“Shall I see you there, my lady?” He asked hesitantly, not wanting the interaction to end so soon.

“Of course, my prince.” She said with a soft laugh.

“Jace. Please, call me Jace.”

“I shall see you tonight, Jace..”

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