Daemon X Reader - Tumblr Posts

Jaes's hen jēdar

God's of the sky

five

Daemon x reader, Rhaenyra x reader (platonic), Qoren Martell x reader

Masterlist <-previous , next->

110 AC King's Landing

You noticed Rhaenyra sitting on her balcony a book in her lap. You smiled and took a seat next to the silver haired girl.

"Rhaenyra" You smiled and the heir snapped her head from the tome.

"Is there something you need?" She asked

"Can't I visit my favourite niece?" You laughed and Rhaenyra chuckled. "I actually came to propose expanding your own court."

The realm's delight raised her eyebrows a curious expression etched on her Valyrian features.

"In what way?"

"As the heir to the iron throne you should build your own court. Invite the daughters of powerful lords to serve as your ladies in waiting or companions. They will secure loyalties of the great houses." You explained

"And who do you propose? I know you already have a list of candidates, their flaws and strengths memorised." She jested and you laughed, it was true your spies have told you everything you need.

"Lord Maths Tyrell has a sister, Elinor Tyrell. Lynara Stark the cousin of Lord Rickon. Your mother's half sister Elys has two daughters perhaps we could invite the three of them I know that they have been quite close as children." Rhaenyra visibly saddened at the mention of her late mother "Borros Baratheon has five daughters I would invite the oldest Cassandra and the youngest Floris, I know you hold disdain towards the Lannisters but they are rich in gold the crown does not posses. Lord Tymond has only one daughter Jocasta she is only nine years of age nonetheless we have to have a ward for the south. The Tullys do not have daughter but we could invite their vassals like house Blackwood, Mallister and Mooton. Lord Veron Greyjoy has twin daughters Lanna and Margot, I think it would be unfair if we separate them" Rhaenyra nodded approvingly.

"And what of the minor houses?" She asked

"I have already sent word to the minor houses with the invite to kings landing, their daughters will serve you and their sons have been offered squire positions of famous knights." You said, the responses have not yet arrived but you knew all of them would be positive. They could not refuse the crown.

"That is good and you know all of these people?" She mused and you nodded.

"Not personally, but whatever my spiders hear I hear." You said and Rhaenyra chuckled. "I shall write to the houses in your steed you will have to seal the letters... Rhaenyra?"

"Yes?"

"I wish to take Aegon with me to Sunspear to be fostered."

"Do you think that Alicent and Otto will agree?" She asked.

"It does not matter if they agree or not. If Viserys agrees the matter is settled."

Rhaenyra nodded playing with the rings on the fingers.

"While on the subject of family I thought that we could pay a visit to the Velaryon's to mend the rift between our two Valyrian houses."

"Rhaenys hates me..." The realms delight whispered.

"She does not hate you, Rhaenys is... conflicted. The realm refused to crown her as heir but she watched as you accomplished what she could not." You liked the dark haired woman, she was strong yet kind. Despite the loss of her inheritance she remained proud and important at court. "Befriending Rhaenys could also provide support from the Baratheons. They posses Valyrian blood and have been our allies since Aegon the Conqueror." 

"Shall we send word to Driftmark to prepare for our arrival?" Rhaenyra asked, a small smile on her lips, you nodded approvingly.

...

The dragon keepers prepared the bronze fury and the golden lady for travel. The two dragons got on exceptionally well, unusual for their species.

"Dohaeragon Vermithor." One of the elder dragon keepers said, y/n noticing the scene interrupted with anger bubbling in her insides. (Serve)

"Zaldrīzoti gaomagon daor dohaeragon" y/n raised her voice, she ran up to her steed dismissing the dragon keepers. Rhaenyra chuckled and mounted her own dragon, Syrax roared happily. (Dragons do not serve.)

"Ivestragī's sōvegon ñuha raqiros" y/n said atop her steed. Vermithor roared and straightened his wings. The bronze fury took off along the golden lady. (Let's fly my friend.)

...

Driftmark is an island in black water bay, the seat of house Velaryon. Next to Drfitmark was Dragonstone, the ancestral seat of House Targaryen. The two Valyrian houses always were close.

Vermithor and Syrax flew alongside each other, the endless teal sea stretching under them. A comforting breeze caressed your cheeks, you could smell the salt in the air and see the mountains of Driftmark in the distance.

Banners of a silver seahorse on sea green background stood proudly at the entrance of castle Driftmark. You and Rhaenyra walked confidently towards the gates, your dragons circling the island flying towards Meleys, Seasmoke and Vhagar.

"Cousin!" You said happily walking towards the black haired woman, she smiled slightly hugging your form. "It is so good to see you."

"Princess Rhaenyra." Rhaenys spoke eyeing the girl. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your presence."

"Princess Rhaenys." Rhaenyra stared "We have come here to offer a truce."

"A truce?" Rhaenys questioned, hiding her curiosity. She invited the two princesses towards the main hall of castle Driftmark. A servant placed pies, cakes and other dishes along with wine.

"We have never been close..." The heir begun "And I'd like to change that. I know that you feel stripped of your inheritance, but you can't change history. I think that we could help each other."

"With what could you possibly help me?" The older woman asked, she glanced at the servants standing near the walls of the chambers. "Leave us." She ordered

"Cousin you see what happens at court." You said, staring into the violet eyes of the Queen who never was. "Our house grows weaker everyday, the Hightowers claim more and more power. We need to unite the blood of old Valyria." Rhaenys raised an eyebrow, sipping her wine.

"How do you propose we do that?"

"I suggest inviting Laena as Rhaenyra's lady in waiting." You proposed, Rhaenys nodded but pressed the matter further.

"And what of my son?" She questioned.

"Perhaps an alliance could be made." Rhaenyra said, you looked curiously at your niece. She has not mentioned any alliance before. "As you know my father intends for my to marry, thankfully he has given me the right to choose my royal consort."

Your eyes widened at Rhaenyra's words, it would make a great political move but her aversion towards marriage prevented that. Now she was proposing an engagement herself?

"Your son Laenor would become my royal consort our children would become Kings, uniting our two houses." The heir spoke.

"I would have to consult with my husband." Rhaenys said, but deep down you knew that they cannot refuse such a match.

"And where is lord Corlys I would like to pay my respects." You asked but Rhaenys sighed.

"He is deeply injured and the maester's said that he should not take any visitors. But I will pass the message." Rhaenys said and left the hall.

...

You watched as Rhaenyra and Laenor walked on the sandy shore of the sea, engaged in conversation. You glanced from the balcony of your chambers. A knock interrupted your observations, you walked towards the doors opening them to reveal Laena.

"Please come in." The silver haired woman walked inside. Her teal dress flowed elegantly behind her. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I came to visit you, cousin. We have not seen each other since I was considered as a possible Queen." Laena said and took a seat.

"In retrospect if you had been given the choice now, would you marry Viserys?" You ask Laena shrugged her shoulders.

"If I was given the choice I do not think so." She responded.

"You wouldn't want to be Queen?" You asked curiously.

"Too much responsibilities, I would not be able to ride Vhagar instead I would have to entertain dull ladies. And the realm would except me to constantly squeeze out heirs." You nodded at her reasoning, you knew that some courtiers proposed you as a possible wife to Viserys but he quickly shut down those ideas.

"Then I am happy to say that Rhaenyra would not strip you of your right to bond with your dragon, perhaps we could fly together some time." You proposed and the Velaryon smiled.

"I hope we become friends." She said and you nodded.

"I would like that."

...

Coming back to King's Landing with Laena and her mount Vhagar certainly surprised the small folk as well as the court. The Velaryon and Targaryen walked together engrossed in conversation, you however departed from the two girls. Viserys was easily impressionable, Otto didn't have to try hard to manipulate him. So you needed to be quicker.

"Princess y/n Targaryen, your grace." The kings guards announced opening the heavy doors to Viserys's chambers.

"Your grace." you said bowing slightly. Viserys laughed and ushered you inside. " I come bearing good news."

"I am eager to hear them then." Viserys smiled, continuing to work on his old Valyria sculpture.

"Rhaenyra has proposed to marry Laenor Velaryon." His grace whipped his head in your direction. Surprise etched on his features.

"Really?" He asked.

"Yes, I think it is a good match. The Velaryons are the richest house in the realm, they are the blood of old Valyria and they have three dragons." The king nodded "Rhaenys said she has to consult with Corlys, once the word arrives you should officially bethrode the two."

"I will do so, yes." Viserys muttered

"Were you looking for houses were Aegon and Aemond could be fostered?" You asked changing the topic, Viserys raised an eyebrow curiously.

"I have not no. Why?" He asked.

"I would like to take Aegon with me to be fostered in Dorne." You said

"Marvellous idea sister!" His grace said smiling from ear to ear. "I know how much Aegon loves you. It would do him good."

You wanted to laugh, was Viserys so blind as to not see the rift creating in his household? Alicent and Otto will stew in anger at the news.

Many letters and offering were sent to the great houses, y/n's idea to bring influence over the houses of Westeros. She would do anything in her power to help Rhaenyra. With limited time in the capital she worked tirelessly, writing to many lords and ladies in Rhaenyra's name.

Now over four dozen lord and ladies made their way towards king's landing as members of Rhaenyra's court. The houses were delighted for their daughter to become members at court and their spare sons receiving knighthood's as well as a place in the king's guard.

The Targaryen princess poured the hot bronze wax over the folded parchment and placing her houses sigil and waited for the wax to harden.

The small council meeting was to take place today, the matter of Rhaenyra's engagement and Aegon's fostering would be discussed. You knew that they could not refuse, despite only Viserys knowing that you proposed the idea yourself.

Your maids dressed you in a pink dress made from silk, small gems were embroidered on the shoulders of the gown. The sleeves ended at the elbows and a loose, puffy white fabric covered the rest of the arm.

Ser Lorent Marbrand escorted you to the small council meeting, Rhaenyra was already there as the heir. She sat on the right of her father while Otto sat on the left. You kissed Rhaenyra's cheek and sat next to her, taking your place as the mistress of whisperers. The rest of the council arrived shortly after, Viserys arrived last.

"Your Grace." The people present bowed and sat as the King allowed it.

"I came to the conclusion that my son Aegon is of age to be fostered." Otto and Alicent widened their eyes as this was news to them. "I want him to be fostered in Dorne, my sister will take care of his upbringing as the ruling Princess of Dorne."

"And what of Prince Aemond?" Lord Lyonel asked.

"He is too young to be fostered but once the council deems him suitable I propose to foster Prince Aemond in Rivererun. Lord Grover has sons close to my nephews age." You answered glancing at Otto as fire burned behind his eyes.

"A great idea Princess." Lyman Beesbury smiled. "The crown was always close with the river lords. ."

"Thank you, my Lord." The master of coin bowed his head.

"As you know my daughter, your future Queen has been searching for a possible prince consort." Viserys began glancing lovingly at his daughter. "Princess Rhaenyra has decided to marry ser Laenor Velaryon."

The small council stared in shock at Rhaenyra, she in turn smugly smiled.

"The bethrodal has not yet been officially announced as Lord Corlys is ill, but Princess Rhaenys has agreed." Rhaenyra added.

"A fine match, your highness." Maester Mellos responded, that grey rat you thought. He is the one responsible for killing Aemma.

"As per my aunts advice I have decided to expand my own court." Rhaenyra announced.

"In what way princess?" Alicent questioned.

"I shall invite the daughters of the realm to serve as my ladies in waiting and companions, I also intend to provide the son's with squire positions."

"Can the crown withstand such a strain?" Otto questioned glancing at the master of coin Lord Beesbury.

"It should be no problem, lord hand. The ladies shall receive a pensions of a five hundred golden dragons as is customary. The princess and I have gone over a list of possible candidates and it amounts to thirty ladies and twenty lords."

"The princess is right, with the increased demand for spices the crown has gained much gold." Lord Lyman advocated.

"Then it is settled." Viserys concluded. "y/n if you could write to the the lords and ladies."

"The letters are waiting to be send."

...

The red keep was a marvellous building it's construction lasted for ten years started by Aegon the first and finished by his second son Maegor. The heels of your shoes clicked against the stone floor, see Duncans armour rattled with every movement. You nodded at the two guards stationed outside the nursery, they opened the heavy doors and you walked in.

Two maids and a septa watched the green children. Aegon played with the wooden soldiers you have gifted him for his seventh name day, Haelaena watched her younger brother Aemond chortle in his crib. When the door opened and the children noticed your presence they smiled and ran towards you hugging your skirts.

"y/n!" Aegon said happily you smiled and kissed the crown of his head doing the same to his siblings.

"I thought that we could go to the dragon pit and visit your hatchling." You proposed and the boys eyes lit up he nodded vigorously, you laughed at his excitement.

"Septa Tesha I shall be taking the prince and princess to the dragon pit." The holy woman nodded "Perhaps you could join us?" You proposed, but you knew she would not agree.

"Thank you princess but I shall stay here and wait for your return." She answered, the woman was Alicent's servant and yet she talked without a care to your spiders.

...

"Elder Jaqos could you bring Sunfyre?" You asked the elder dragon keeper he nodded and ventured deeper into the caves of the dragon pit. You held Helaena in your arms as Aegon gripped your skirts. You smiled as you heard the familiar screeches of Sunfyre. The small he dragon possessed gold scales with pink membranes. It is believed that the dragon hatched from one of dreamfyre's eggs and was the sibling of Caraxes and Meleys.

You watched as Aegon took little steps towards his dragon, the creature also watched curiously. The boy petted his mount and Sunfyre purred happily. You walked over with Helaena, you hummed a Valyrian lullaby and kneeled next to the dragon. Its head turned towards your from, you gently grazed his horns. Sunfyre leaned into your touch.

"y/n how come every dragon likes you?" Aegon asked watching the golden dragon smile.

"I do not know sweet boy." You answered "Why do you think they like me?" The boy raised her faint eyebrows.

"I think it is because you like them. They can sense the respect and love you hold for them." He responded after pondering on the question.

"That is a very smart Egg." You mused and caressed the boy's silver locks.

"Aegon would you like to go with me to Dorne?" You asked to boy, his violet eyes shone brightly and he nodded quickly.

"And what of my sister and brother?" He asked letting Helaena grip his finger.

"They will stay here, Rhaenyra will take great care of them."

...

You watched from the balcony as carriages arrived at the courtyard, the sigils of house Stark, Reed, Bolton of the north the Tullys, Blackwoods, Mallisters and Mootons of the riverlands and Arryns, Royce, Waynwood of the vale waved lightly in the wind. The children of house Tyrell, Redwyne, Tarly and Oakheart of the reach have arrived a few days ago. The Lannisters along with their vassals Banefort, Clegane and Payne have arrived first along with the Baratheons, Dondarrions, Buckler, Errol and Selmy of the storm lands. Now the only house you were waiting for were the Martells.

You watched as Rhaenyra along with Laena exchanged pleasantries with the new arrivals, gifts and thanks were given to the realm's delight. You nodded at your servants to tend to the noble houses and show them their new chambers in Aegonfort. They were instructed to pay close attention to the lords and ladies what they say, how they act, the look in their eyes, everything.

Ser Steffon Darklyn stood behind you as he observed the royal courtyard. You turned towards the knight and whispered in his ear.

"I want your most trusted men to observe the new guests." The knight nodded. Ser Steffon became your sworn shield, a strong and seasoned knight second only to the lord commander of the Kingsguard ser Harrold Westerling. You did not worry for the commander as he held great love for you and Rhaenyra. He was your and your nieces guard for almost ten years. His loyalty was certain. Your sworn shield nodded and followed after you as you descended the stairs standing next to Rhaenyra and her sworn shield Ser Criston Cole.

"My servants are tending to the new guests." You said in high Valyrian bowing your head at every lord and lady that kneeled before the two of you.

"Good, I am rather bored greeting all these people. Did you have to invite so many?" Rhaenyra questioned and you let out a laugh.

"If not me then who?" Rhaenyra chuckled and you did the same, your arms entertained as you greeted the guests.

...

Your maid Annora quietly walked into your solar, you put down your book and raised an eyebrow at the red haired girl.

"What is it?" You asked curiously and pointed to the chair next to you she swiftly took her seat.

"A party with Martell banners has been spotted on the King's Road few leagues away from King's Landing." She whispered and you nodded.

"Thank you Annora, you may leave." The maid nodded and left your chambers.

You sighed, things very hectic with the arrival of the courtiers you had to arrange a wider net of spiders. Accommodating the new guests was also tiring, you wrote down every extra expense and consulted with lord Lyman Beesbury the master of coin. It gave you an idea to find new and more successful ways for the crown to make money. In your investigation you found that most of the lands that belonged to House Targaryen in the crowlands have been unused. The lands were scattered with abandoned mines containing materials like iron, copper, gold and even gems. You could not believe that Viserys has forgotten or ignored such viable land. The smallfolk have been offered work in these mines and soon the crown was making more money than ever before.

The hours passed by quickly and soon came the word that the Martells have arrived in King's Landing. The whole royal family came to greet the prince of Dorne. You were curious of Qoren, the last time you saw him was nine long years ago. Four great black stallions pulled the carriage of the Dornish prince. Their sigil a red sun pierced by a golden spear decorated their orange banners.

Qoren Martell grew to be tall, slender and golden skinned. His face is slender with thin eyebrows, deep brown eyes and a sharp nose. His hair is lustrous and black. A thick and short beard covered his chin. He was the epitome of Dornish beauty. He bowed before the Targaryen's and smiled showing off his white teeth. As soon as he left his carriage his brown eyes met yours. A blush spread on your cheeks, as a small fond smile formed on your lips. Your little interaction was interrupted by Alicent.

"Prince Qoren we thank you for coming such a long way." Alicent spoke breaking the silence.

"The pleasure is all mine your grace." He responded, a small smile appeared on your lips. Daemon and Rhaenyra looked with disdain at the Dornish man.

Pleasantries were exchanged and servants led him to his chambers. One of your maids have instructed him to come to your chambers for supper. Despite being betrothed you wanted to avoid scandal, two of your trusted maids would be present during the ordeal.

You waited for the prince to arrive, dressed in a black and purple dress you sat in the comfortable armchair. Soon a knock interrupted your inner monologue.

"Your royal highness." He approached and bowed his head, you stood up and nodded.

"My prince, please sit down." You offered the seat across from your own. "I hope you will not mind that we are joined by my chaperones." You said cutting the food on your plate.

"Not at all your highness." He answered "I am glad to see you again." Qoren said and a rosy blush decorated his slender features.

"As am I, Qoren... I am very sad for your loss." You added. "From what I've heard your mother was a great person and ruler."

"Thank you, princess. But it was years ago." Qoren added.

"I didn't have the chance to say my condolences in person, I can only imagine how hard it is to loose a mother."

"It was hard, but I suppose time heals all wounds." The prince hummed. "After all you have lost your mother too."

"Oh, I do not remember my mother." A sad smile ghosted over your lips. "Perhaps that made it easier, as I never got to know her. Losing her didn't hurt."

"I'm sorry... no child should grow up without parents." Your betrothed offered his condolences.

"You have changed." You tried to change the moody subject.

"As have you, I never thought you could be even more beautiful and yet you have." He coyly said and a blush reddened your cheeks.

"Such flattery my prince."

"I cannot help it, my betrothed."

"I remember how you used to stumble over your words, now it seems the gods have blessed you with a silver tongue."

"You remember that?" Qoren smiled sheepishly, even though he was a man grown you could still see the boy you once knew shine thorough him. "I had hoped you would have forgotten." He placed his large warm hand on yours, the large sigil ring caused goosebumps on your skin.

"How could I forget, my prince? I remember the time we spent together fondly, as children life was much easier was it not?"

"Yes." Qoren agreed. "I am glad you remember me fondly."

"I do, after all you were the first friend I ever made."

...

You saw Rhaenyra surrounded by her ladies, they chatted, laughed and ate cake. When the time comes you will help your niece find suitable matches for the young ladies.

"Sister" Daemon said sneaking up on you, you gasped surprised.

"Seven hells" You whispered "What is it Daemon?"

"I have come to ask if you were serious?" He accused and you raised an eyebrow.

"Serious about what?" You countered

"That Dornish cunt." You sighed deeply, the last thing on your mind was Daemon's jealousy.

"What about him?" You questioned, Daemons eyes narrowed.

"Why are you marrying him?" He asked anger evident in his tone.

"Why shouldn't I? He's handsome, kind and the prince of a kingdom." You shot back not understanding this sudden outburst.

"You can't marry him." He ordered, a laugh escaped your throat at his child like behaviour.

"Daemon my sweet brother what do you expect I do? I have agreed to the bethrodal in fact I proposed it. Why would should I listen to a desperate plea from a man who inherits nothing, has no real position at court and his only allies are his family." You answered anger boiling in you insides.

"Careful little girl." He said menacingly.

"Or what Daemon? You'll kill me? Be serious, you had opportunities laid at your feet and you snubbed or ruined them." You had enough of him on his high horse.

"We should have wed in the traditions of old Valyria." Daemon said angrily, his silver brows furrowed.

"Maybe in another life we could have... But we don't get what we want simply by wanting." You answered and left Daemon alone.

...

Your insides were boiling, thoughts swarming your mind. You rode to the dragon pit eager to visit your friend. You stomped through the hidden passageway moving with knowing expertise among the many caves and crevices. Vermithor rested comfortably in his den, the burned stone and animal carcasses decorated the stoney cage.

"Vermithor?" You asked walking to the creature's snout, he lazily opened his yellow eye. The dragon screeched and straightened his wing so you could climb upon his back. The bronze fury gilded gracefully through the dragon pit the roars and screeches of other dragons resting in their dens brought you a sense of comfort, the heat from their flames only increased this feeling.

Without saying a word your mount soared to the sky, his mighty wings lifted you leagues into the sky. You smiled the cumbersome thoughts fleeing from your mind as if they were petals blown by the wind.

...

It is said that over one hundred crows have been sent on the eve of the first day of spring. And soon enough over four dozens members of the nobility travelled to king's landing. Many believe that the whole ordeal was singlehandedly arranged by Princess y/n Targaryen. In doing so she gained many wards of the great and minor houses of the seven kingdoms. Some gave her a new alias the good Tyanna of the Tower.- From the dragon bringer by the feather and quill of Grand Maester Roland.

Jaes's hen jēdar

God's of the sky

Daemon x reader, Rhaenyra x reader (platonic), Qoren Martell x reader

Synopsis: y/n Targaryen daughter of Baelon the brave and Gael the winter child changes the brutal future of house Targaryen.

Masterlist:

one

two

three

four

five

six

seven

eight

nine

ten

eleven

twelve

thirteen

fourteen

fifteen

sixteen

Jaes's hen jēdar

God's of the sky

Six

Daemon x reader, Rhaenyra x reader (platonic), Qoren Martell x reader

Masterlist <-previous , next->

minors mdni

110 AC King's Landing

You stood before the mirror as maids adjusted your dress, a long violet gown with dark red threads of dragons, a low cut cleavage and long sleeves that widened at your elbows. The same dress your mother wore when she married your father, seven and ten years ago.

Rhaenyra watched from your bed as the maids frantically moved around you fixing your dress, hair and putting on jewelry. Rhaenyra had to admit that you looked beautiful, the violet material of the gown matched your complexion and the embroidery went well with your red eyes. She never understood how you received different eyes than the Valyrian purple, both of your parents had violet eyes and yet you defied the custom.

Once you deemed that the maids nagging was enough you dismissed them with a flick of your hand. They quickly left your chamber leaving you and the heir.

"You look beautiful..." Rhaenyra said tracing the hems of your gown.

"It would be rather odd if I didn't." You jested, the princess laughed lifting the rather sad mood.

"I will miss you." She said leaning into you.

"As will I. But remember you have Laena, Daemon and a plethora of other ladies who would jump into fire for you." You tried to remind your niece.

"And yet none of them will ever compare to you." She answered, tears were beginning to form at your waterline, you blinked them back to avoid reddening your eyes.

Ser Steffon escorted you to the carriage that would take the royal family to the Great Sept. The familiar sculptures and tapestries of Old Valyria brought a sense of comfort in this rather nervous day.

The Crownlander's armor rattled with every move.

"Ser Steffon?" You called the knight.

"Princess." His gruff voice answered.

"I would like you to become my sworn shield and travel with me to Dorne." You announced, he widened his grey eyes. "A familiar face always makes a person feel more at home, despite being leagues away."

"I would be honoured, princess." He kneeled on one knee in front of you, you chuckled and placed your palm against his shoulder.

"Rise, Ser Steffon."

...

The great sept was packed with onlookers, the small folk collecting outside the gates of the temple. Your brother despite has decided to give you away. The heavy cloak of your house rested upon your shoulders. Viserys took you by the arm and led you to the altar.

"Who gives this woman away?" The septon asks

"I Viserys of House Targaryen King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the seven kingdoms and protector of the realm give away Princess y/n of House Targaryen to Prince Qoren of House Martell." Your brother recited his verse, his hands took of your cloak as he retreated into the crowd.

"And who takes this woman to be his wife." The septon continued

"I Qoren Martell Prince of Dorne, the lord of Sunspear take this woman, Princess y/n of House Targaryen to be my wife." The Dornishman answered, from your multiple talks you shared over the few weeks you learnt that he was not overly religious. You preferred to marry in the tradition of old Valyria, but Qoren was not of Valyrian descend. According to the council any other ceremony than in the faith of the seven would be an insult to the high septon and the faith.

"In the eyes of the seven you are now bound in holy matrimony. As the father provides justice, the mother mercy, the warrior strength, the smith mends all things broken, the maiden courage, the crone wisdom and the stranger who offers only death, you shall provide for each other with all that the seven pointed star provides." The septon prayed, once he finished he glanced at Qoren.

"With this cloak I bring you under my protection. I will keep you safe, cared for and respected I pledge this in the eyes of the old gods and the new." He draped the orange cloak with a red sun pierced by a golden spear on your shoulders.

"With this kiss I pledge my love, and take you for my lady and wife." Qoren recited the verse as you did yours, once the words have left your throat, the prince leaned in and kissed your lips.

"You are now man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever." The septon ended the ceremony and the crowd erupted in applause and cheers. You smiled at your husband and he did the same.

You raised your joined hands in the air and the small folk erupted in cheers, and applause.

"Long live Princess y/n!"

"May your marriage be blessed!"

"The mother will bless you with many children, princess!"

Different shouts echoed through the great structure. You smiled at the small folk and waved and glanced at your husband to find him staring at you.

"You look radiant, wife." He mused caressing your palm with his thumb.

"You look very handsome yourself, husband."

The feast was grand, the guests danced, jested and ate their fill. You watched from your seat at the high table as Rhaenyra danced with Aegon, the young boy barely keeping up. You laughed at the sight happy that the two were getting along.

"Sister might I have this dance?" Daemon approached the high table, you sighed and nodded taking his hand.

"You look ethereal." Your brother said guiding you to the dance floor, where bards and musicians played.

"Thank you." You answered spinning.

"Will you be happy?" The rogue prince asked.

"Since when does it matter? But I will, If not I shall feed him to Vermithor." You jested.

"A true Targaryen."

"I will miss you..."

"As I you. You are my favourite sister after all."

"I'm your only sister."

"Exactly... According to the traditions of our house I would be the one to marry you."

"If that were true I wouldn't marry you, I would marry Viserys."

Daemon scoffed and picked you up to spin your body.

"I would sooner let Caraxes eat me that see you married to our brother."

The thing you dreaded most was the bedding ceremony, not because you were afraid of loosing your maidenhead but because you refused to have strange men undress you while making rude comments as was the Andal tradition.

After a talk with the council, you announced that the bedding ceremony won't take place. Some members, like Tyland Lannister and the Maester had voiced their disapproval but Daemon quickly silenced them.

Your maids carefully took off the heavy gown and detangled your hair, leaving you in your thin linen undergarments. Your husband has been instructed to visit you in your chambers to consummate the marriage. You knew what the act consists off, your ladies explained as did Ser Steffon. Aemma was just ten and one when she married Viserys you were thankful that you were six years older than the Queen.

Steffon's voice interrupted your thoughts, they were rather grim, something a bride should not concern herself with on her wedding day. Qoren walked in, a simple orange robe covered his body. You smiled a bit nervously at the man.

"It will be all right, I will take great care of your needs." His words slightly settled the nervousness that rattled your insides. You nodded thankfully, Qoren approached your form. You sat at the stool of your vanity, the Martell kneeled before you and took your hands into his.

"If you do not want to we can wait." He proposed but you shook your head.

"The court will talk if I have not been bedded by my husband." You responded looking at the man with slight fondness. He nodded and raised his head so he can meet your lips in a kiss.

"Have you done this before?" You asked as Qoren laid you on your bed.

"I have, my cousins took me to a brothel when I was four and ten." Your husband answered truthfully.

"Have you?"

"Of course not!" You protested, Qoren chuckled.

"I did not mean it as an insult, in Dorne we do not care for the brides maidenhead."

"It seems as if Dorne is a paradise for women." Qoren chuckled and pressed his lips against yours.

Qoren took off the long orange robe leaving him only in a thin linen shirt. You could see the outline of his manhood through the material. Your husband gently slid the undergarments from your body leaving you bare. The chilly air caused goosebumps to erupt on your skin, your nipples pebbled.

"You are beautiful." Your husband whispered as he placed kissed from your neck to your nether regions.

"Qoren-" You whimpered as he pressed a kiss on your mound.

"Shh, I will take care of you." He continued his ministrations, pleasure coiled in your abdomen. Breathy moans escaped your lips as you tangled your hand in Qoren's curly dark locks bringing his mouth closer to the place you needed him most.

"Moan louder I wish to hear how good I make you feel." His tongue pressed against your nub. A moan left your lips at the action.

"So good, please." You whispered as Qoren worked faster, the wetness between your legs grew with each passing second. The only thing on your husbands mind was to bring you ecstasy.

"Oh!" You moaned as pleasure rippled through your body, muscles spasming as Qoren licked your pussy clean.

He chuckled and propped himself up on his elbows, the peach fuzz on his chin glowed with your essence. You smiled hazily at him, blush covering your cheeks as you pressed a kiss against his lips.

"I want you to-" You begun but stopped feeling Qoren's cock press against your folds, coating himself in your wetness. "Put your cock inside."

"As you wish princess." The Martell price smiled, pumping his manhood a few times before gently pressing the tip against your entrance. You sucked in a breath at the unfamiliar intrusion. It was different than your fingers, warmer and bigger. Once his tip breeched your entrance a shaky moan left both of you.

"You're so warm." Your husband moaned and inched himself inside. You felt pleasure as his cock caressed your walls.

"Qoren harder." You moaned clawing at his back, the man nodded and pressed himself fully inside you. His pelvis touching yours, as his balls rested against your bottom.

Your body moved with his thrusts, his lips sucking kisses against your skin. Sex felt good, you were sure to do it more often.

"Close, y/n" He mumbled caressing your thigh. His other hand pressed against your nub amplifying your pleasure and brining you closer and closer. You felt him twitch, the kiss he pressed against your breast tipped you over the edge. Your walls spasming around his length triggering his own release. Ropes of hot seed filled your womb.

Ragged breath filled the chamber as Qoren pressed himself deep inside you.

"That felt good." You said caressing your husbands head that rested comfortably between your neck and shoulder.

"It did princess." The Martell smiled, wanting to roll over but you pressed your heel in his back preventing him from doing so.

"It feels good to have you inside me."

Tired from the activities the two of you fell asleep in each others embrace.

...

After a fortnight your husband has departed for sunspear, you stayed behind preferring to fly on dragon back to your new home than endure the endless bumpy ride of a carriage.

You dressed your red and black riding leather, Rhaenyra put your hair into three long braids. You leaned into her touch.

"I hate to see you go." Rhaenyra said kissing the top of your head. You sadly smiled.

"I will come back soon. Time will fly by quickly." You answered, holding Aegon in your arms. Sunfyre was strapped in a cage on Vermithors side.

You blinked away the tears that threatened to fall as you hugged Rhaenyra.

...

Princess y/n left King's Landing in 110 AC to join her husband Qoren Martell in Dorne. It is said that the red keep has lost it's warmth with the princesses departure. - From the dragon bringer by the feather and quill of Grand Maester Roland.

Jaes's hen jēdar

God's of the sky

Seven

Daemon x reader, Rhaenyra x reader (platonic), Qoren Martell x reader

Synopsis: Rhaenyra's wedding takes place, y/n and her husband return to the capital.

Masterlist <-previous , next->

113 AC Sunspear

"Mother can I see Vermithor?" Derran asked as you held him in your arms.

"Perhaps on the morrow, I feel quite tired now." You answered kissing the top of his curly black hair.

"Because of baby?" He asked delicately patting your swollen belly.

"Yes my sweet boy... Where did you loose Aegon?" You asked, knowing that whenever Darren was Aegon was around.

"Eggie in lessons. Didn't interrupt." Your son mumbled playing with your silver hair.

"You did good, my love."

"What a sight to see." Qoren said entering your shared chambers. "Hello my love." He said and kneeled in front of you, pressing a kiss to your lips and to your son's forehead.

"Good morrow, Qoren." You answered.

"A letter arrived from the capitol." Your husband said and passed you the parchment, he took Darren into his arms and pressed kisses on his chubby cheeks. You read the letter carefully.

"Shall we prepare for travel?" You asked.

Rhaenyra's and Laenor's wedding has arrived.

"I would assume so."

"I love you." You murmured and pressed a kiss to your husbands lips.

"As I you. How is our little one doing?" He answered, caressing your cheek.

"Good, I would assume. I am tired without a reason." You answered rubbing your pregnant belly.

"She will be strong then, since she's taking yours."

"I would like a girl, it seems you do as well." You mused noticing that your husband oft referred to the babe as she.

"Could we name her after my grandmother? I think the name Arianne would suit her."

"And if it's a boy?" You questioned tangling your fingers in his curly, thick black hair.

"What do you think we should name our son?"

"I like Nymor, after Nymeria the warrior Queen."

"A fine name, princess." He looked fondly at your growing belly. Caressing the swell through your pale orange dress.

You were excited to go back to King's Landing, you missed your family terribly. After all it has been three years, six moons after your wedding you conceived and then bore a son, Derran. He was born strong, with violet eyes and black hair. Two years later you fell pregnant again.

You along with your son and Aegon would depart on dragon back. Nothing compared to the feeling of flying with your steed. Vermithor was not overly fond of the hot temperature of Dorne so he was excited to come back to the Crowlands.

Sunfyre was able to lift Aegon, and per his request he flew on his own, next to your mount. Vermithor took off, his wings threw shade at the city below. Derran was strapped to the saddle with leather belts while Nymor was tied to your chest.

The flight took a few hours, the bronze fury flew on his own remembering the path. Sunfyre flew circles the elder dragon. Vermithor screeched in dismay at the energetic young dragon. The bronze fury landed on the hills near the dragon pit, the dragon walked towards the gates to the caves he once called home. 

...

The streets were clean and decorated with Targaryen sigils, the wedding of the crown heir was a huge ordeal and rightfully so. You smiled as you saw the familiar red bricks of the place you grew up in.

Rhaenyra along with the rest of your family awaited your arrival in the courtyard. You stepped out of the carriage, the stench of the city invaded your nostrils.

"y/n!" Rhaenyra smiled and ran up to you, she engulfed you in a bone crushing hug. You smiled and hugged her back, you heard the little footsteps of Haelaena and Aemond. They hugged your skirts smiling and laughing as you caressed their silver locks.

"Sister it has been far too long." Viserys smiled, you approached your brother and smiled sadly at his condition. You placed a kiss on his cheek and bowed your head at Alicent. Ever since you started taking an interest in her children she could not stand you. Even though you have done nothing wrong she knew how much her children loved you.

"There is someone I would like you to meet, brother." You mused and walked into the carriage picking Derran into your arms. "Brother this is my son Derran."

"Adorable babe." Viserys mused picking up Derran into his arms. "He looks like our father. The same brows, nose and eyes."

"I will take your word for it, then." You answered, servants approached taking your belongings to the chambers that once belonged to you.

"Mother!" Derran whined in his uncles grasp.

"This is your uncle Viserys, Derran." You answered, Rhaenyra fawned over her cousin and took him into her arms, he giggled in delight.

Soon enough your child was taken away from you, and you were left with Daemon.

"Brother" You said, the man smiled and kissed your cheek pressing his forehead against yours.

"Sister" He answered, his violet eyes stopped at your pregnant belly. His large hand rested upon the top he smiled gently as he felt the babe kick. "What will you name it?"

"Nymor if it's a boy and Arianne if it's a girl." You answered in common tongue.

"Dornish names." He responded taking you by your arm, the two of you walked to the gardens.

"They will be princelings of house Martell, it is only fitting." You mused and leaned on Daemon's shoulder.

"Do you love him?" Your brother suddenly asked. You took a deep breath and glanced at his violet eyes.

"I do." You whispered, you could see the evident anger in his orbs. The happy atmosphere soon soured, not wishing to spend another moment like that, you departed for your chambers.

...

You awoke feeling the babe press itself onto your spine, you sighed leaning towards your sleeping husband. A small smile graced your lips, you pressed a kiss to his dark curly hair.

"Is it the babe?" Qoren mumbled still half asleep, you smiled caressing his naked back.

"Don't worry it is nothing." You mused and left your shared bed to the chamber pot. "Your child however presses itself against my spine and bladder."

Qoren laughed.

"Our child are they not?"

"Of course but only one of us has to carry it for nine months and then push it out of my body."

"That is true and I am eternally thankful for your sacrifice." Your husband mused kneeling in front of you and pressed his ear against your belly. "Hello little dragon." He said and pressed a kiss.

"Could we stay here longer? As much as I and Aegon enjoy Sunspear I do miss my home" You asked your husband.

"As you wish dear wife." He answered "With having a flying beast there come some perks." You laughed at his jest a comfortable silence falling between the two of you. Your body leaned into his as you laid comfortably on the bed.

"I love you." Qoren muttered into your silver hair, you looked up at him kissing the bridge of his nose.

"As I you."

...

Your maids tied the red and silver dress as the others combed through your long silver locks.

"How do you feel your highness?" One of your maids a young girl of only four and ten asked.

"It is bearable, Annora. Though I cannot wait once it's out of me." You mussed caressing the swell of your belly.

"It is good the pregnancy is at its end." Annora smiled and tied the knots of your sleeves. "I pray to the gods everyday for a safe delivery."

"Thank you my dear." You thanked the red haired girl. "Come now I intend to visit my niece."

...

You watched as the maids helped Rhaenyra put on her dress, when they moved towards her silver locks you interrupted.

"Please leave us." The maids bowed and left the two princesses alone. "I always did your hair, I will do so as long as we're together." You caressed Rhaenyra's cheek and begun to brush her hair. 

"Thank you, y/n" The princess of Dragonstone mused caressing your palm. "I missed you so much."

You answered back and braided her hair in comfortable silence, embedding rubies and obsidian into the hairstyle. A Valyrian song leaving your lips.

Ser Steffon and Ser Criston escorted the two of you to the great hall where the celebration for Rhaenyra's wedding took place. Ser Harrold announced the two princesses.  

You smiled as you noticed your husband already seated at the high table you took your place next to him as Rhaenyra sat next to her father. The guests begun arriving, ser Harrold announcing their presences. You chuckled quietly as lord Lannister embarassed himself in front of Rhaenyra and Viserys

"Lord Corlys of house Velaryon, lord of the tides and master of Driftmark and his lady wife Princess Rhaenys Targaryen and their son and heir Ser Laenor Velaryon the future king consort!" Ser Harrold announced the powerful house. All of them dressed in gold and teal, a true Valyrian house. You smiled as you saw them enter, the crowd applauded their arrival. They bowed before the high table. Rhaenyra abandoned her seat and met with Laenor half way.

"My bethroded." She smiled, Laenor kissed the palm of her hand and the court once again applauded. The Velaryon's took their place on Viserys's left side of the table. But the peaceful moment has been interrupted by Daemon making his appearance soon after the Velaryon's.

He strode proudly through the great hall, the crowd whispered at this sight. He smirked as he approached the high table, an extra chair placed on the tail end of the table.

"Be welcome, as we join together in celebration. Tonight is only it's beginning we honour the crown's oldest and fiercest ally, House Velaryon. Reaching back to the days of Old Valyria and the Age of Dragons with House Targaryen and House-" Viserys stopped his speech mid word, he intensely gazed at the entrance to the great hall. The crowds eyes soon followed.

Queen Alicent dressed in Hightower green has arrived. The courtiers stood up to honour her grace. You exchanged a look with your husband, the green beacon of Hightower you thought.

"Congratulations stepdaughter. What blessing this is for you." She spoke the new way that she addressed Rhaenyra did not go unnoticed.

"Please be seated." Viserys asked once Alicent took her seat. "With House Targaryen and House Velaryon united, I hope to herald in a second Age of Dragons in Westeros." Viserys finished his speech the court applauded and banged their hands on the table cheering for his grace. "And after tonights small affair... Seven days of tournament and feasting. And at the end of it all, a royal wedding between my daughter, my heir, your future Queen and Ser Laenor Velaryon the heir to Driftmark." You clapped and smiled as Viserys confirmed Rhaenyra as heir.

The first dance was started by Rhaenyra and Laenor the two of them moved gracefully to the sound of music. An old Valyrian dance, to display the two houses origins. You watched with your husbands the two smiled and talked. Soon the rest of the courtiers decided to dance as is the custom in such celebrations. Alicent moved from the table to where house Hightower was sitting.

"Shall we dance, my dear?" Qoren proposed and you agreed taking his hand. From the corner of your eye you saw ser Gerald talk with Daemon. The tragic incident that befallen Rhea Royce was no accident. Laena skipped towards the dance floor and Daemon followed after her. The two seemed engaged in conversation, as your feet ached you walked to the table.

"Cousin I am so glad to see you in King's Landing." You said to Rhaenys.

"As am I. I believe congratulations are in order." She said and her husband Lord Corlys agreed.

"Thank you, it is rather tedious to be with child." You muttered and Rhaenys chuckled.

"It is, isn't it? I remember when I was pregnant with Laenor. I could not sleep for the death of me." Rhaenys told her memories.

Your pleasant conversation has been interrupted by various screams. You stood from your seat searching for Rhaenyra. She was carried by Ser Harwin breakbones. The crowd stilled and Ser Criston rose from the floor, his hands and armour bloody.

...

"The love of the seven is holy and eternal. The source of life and love. We stand here tonight in thanks and praise to join two souls as one." The septon spoke "Father, Mother, Warrior, Smith, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. Hear now their vows."

"I am yours and you are mine." Laenor spoke through tears "Whatever may come."

"I am yours and you are mine. Whatever may come." Rhaenyra held back her tears. You watched with sadness in your own your husband caressing your back in comfort.

"Here in the presence of gods and men, I proclaim Laenor of House Velaryon, Rhaenyra of House Targaryen, to be man and wife. One flesh, on heart, one soul now and forever." The high septon said the vows. Viserys fell to the ground, the crown of King Jaehaerys rolling on the stone floor.

...

"AHH!" You screeched crushing the bedpost with your hand as another contraction paralysed your body. Sweat drenched your cotton tunic, you could feel the anger and pain of your dragon. His roars shook the Red Keep.

"Princess-" One of the midwives approached your curled form.

"Don't touch me!" You seethed, baring your teeth. The servants watched as you suffered on your own.

"My wife! Where is my wife!?" Qoren burst into the room to see you scream and cry with pain. He stared in disbelief at the midwives who did nothing. "Why are you not helping the princess?!"

"S-She refuses our help." One of the maids whispered.

"Leave then!" He screamed and rushed to your side kneeling next to you. "My love, I'm here."

"Qoren..?" You asked absentmindedly "I can't-" You breathed, your face contorting in pain.

"Yes you can! You already did this once, our boy. He cannot be without you! I cannot be without you." Qoren cried as he helped you stand.

"Get it- Get it out of me." You pleaded leaning on your husband.

"No child should grow up without parents, remember?" He pleaded "Please, my love."

You stared up at his worried face, placing your palm against his cheek. You squatted taking your husbands hand the other leaned on the bed.

"Urghh!" You groaned and pushed, pushed and groaned. Qoren kneeled between you, his hands under your tunic helping you.

"The head..!" He whispered hopefully.

You placed your hand in between your legs to feel the babe make its way into the world. With a final push, it slid out of your body into your husbands arms. A loud cry pierced the silence that befallen the chamber.

"A boy" Your husband breathed in relief handing you the newborn, tears streamed down your cheeks. This time from happiness.

"Nymor, my son. Oh my sweet boy." You cried cradling the crying infant. One of the midwives walked in, helping you with the newborn. Swaddling him in cloth and cutting the cord.

"He's beautiful." Qoren mused pressing a kiss to your sweaty brow. The midwife placed him in your arms and you latched him to your breast. Wisps of blonde hair and eyes a light brown bordering on red.

...

The Grimm beginning of the union between Princess Rhaenyra and Lord Laenor became a subject of superstition. A bad omen for the future Queen and her royal Consort. But a fortnight after Princess y/n delivered a healthy son, lifting the sour mood.- From the dragon bringer by the feather and quill of Grand Maester Roland.

Jaes's hen jēdar

God's of the sky

Eight

Daemon x reader, Rhaenyra x reader (platonic), Qoren Martell x reader

Synopsis: Rhaenyra and Laenor visit Sunspear. Jace is born!

Masterlist <-previous , next->

114 AC Sunspear, Dorne

The breeze caressed your features, your silver hair swayed gently. You flipped the page of the heavy book that rested atop your lap. Your moment of peace was interrupted by the doors swinging open. Your son and Aegon ran laughing and shouting words you could not understand.

"Mother!" Your firstborn Derran shouted and ran into your embrace.

"What is it my sweet?" You ask caressing his curly brown hair that possessed silver streaks.

"Is it true that cousin 'Nyra will be visiting?" He asked climbing into your lap.

"Where did you hear this?" You asked placing the book on the ground curiously

"Aegon told me!" He said happily, you raised an eyebrow curiously at your nephew. The boy just smiled and shrugged.

"It is true sweetling, we will host Princess Rhaenyra and Lord Laenor in Sunspear. A royal procession, the first one to ever happen in Dorne."

"Will my brother and sister come too?" Aegon asked sitting on the sofa.

"Im afraid they are too young for such a journey." You answered taking a brush in your hand and approached Aegon.

"I always like when you do my hair." Aegon mumbled as you begun to detangle the wild array of silver hair.

"Then you are no different than your sister." You mused braiding his locks.

"Helaena?"

"Rhaenyra, I always did her hair, no maid was allowed to do it when I was present." Aegon chuckled as did your son.

"Can you do my hair mother?" He asked climbing next to Aegon.

"Your hair is too short sweetling but one day if you wish." Derran pouted and leaned against the back of the couch sulking, his violet eyes welling with tears.

"Don't cry." Aegon muttered patting Derran's shoulder. You smiled at their brotherly bond as you finished Aegon's braids.

"y/n?" The doors to your chambers have been opened by your husband. He walked in frantically searching for you.

"Husband." You answered, he sighed in relief and approached you.

"Father!" Derran screamed with happened and threw himself in Qoren's arms. The prince smiled and picked up his son, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"What bothers you?" You ask pressing a kiss to Aegon's hair and letting him and your son scurry off to their nursery.

"Dragons have been spotted over Godsgrace." He muttered placing his large warm hand on your growing belly.

"Good, I'll send word to prepare their chambers." You mumbled placing your palm on his.

"Where is Nymor?" He asked

"in his nursery with Oberyn." You answered pressing your lips against Qoren.

Many things changed since Rhaenyra's wedding, Daemon married Laena and left with her for the free cities. You knew that Corlys and Rhaenys were displeased with this union but Laena was unwavering and they relented.

You have not seen Rhaenyra since her wedding, countless letters were exchanged but it wasn't the same. But now she was visiting and could stay as long as she wanted.

Your maids helped you dress in a loose fitting satin dress. The hot climate of Dorne allowed you to wear thin silks and linens as well as open shoes.

"Mother, ready!" Derran burst in to your chambers dressed in a orange tunic with black threads depicting scorpions. You smiled seeing your son and ushered him inside.

"You're excited." You said placing the prince in your lap. He bounced happily, the feelings too much for his little body.

The maids braided your hair quickly and hand in hand with your son you walked through the castle heading for the courtyard. Vassals of the banner men bowed their head at you and their future prince.

The Martells awaited your presence in the courtyard Aegon was already there talking with Darren's cousin Ivor. You smiled at your brother in law, Maron and his wife Qyria.

"y/n" Qoren whispered and pressed a kiss on your temple. He smiled as his son made grabby hands to be picked up.

"You look very well, Lady Qyria." You said clasping your hands atop your stomach.

"Thank you, this pregnancy is far easier than the first one." The Essosi woman answered caressing her swollen belly.

"Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen and her royal consort Lord Laenor Velaryon!" One of the guards announced as a carriage rolled onto the courtyard.

Soon you saw the familiar silver hair and violet eyes you missed so dearly. The two Valyrians stepped out of the carriage a flock of ladies left after Rhaenyra staring in amazement at the Old Palace.

"Princess Rhaenyra, Lord Laenor." Your husband said his greeting. "Welcome to Sunspear."

"Thank you, Prince Qoren." Rhaenyra answered. You walked down the steps Aegon following two steps behind.

"Rhaenyra" You said and engulfed the princess in a bone crushing hug.

"How I've missed you." She whispered in your hair, tears welled in your eyes.

"We have so much to talk about." You answered letting go of Rhaenyra, Aegon happy to see his family hugged his half-sister.

"Hello Aegon." She said a bit stiffly.

"Laenor." You smiled at the Velaryon "How was the travel?"

"Berable, but I'm afraid Seasmoke is not a big fan of the climate here."

You chuckled and the conversation continued as you guided them to their chambers. Finally alone you sat on the bed in Rhaenyra's chambers.

"How is married life treating you?" You asked once you were alone.

"My father has been mentioning grandchildren." Rhaenyra mused taking a fruit from the plate.

"And how is Laenor in that department?" You asked

"His tastes are different but he is kind, but we laid together twice."

"Not a great chance of conceiving a child then." You mused caressing her hair. "Does he only like men?"

"I think so... we agreed to take lovers if needed but he has taken only men."

"A shame... But if it a child you want I can help." You said standing up.

"In what can you help? You are not a man." Rhaenyra stated a bit confused.

"No, but there is a practise I have read of." You begun and Rhaenyra nodded for you to continue. "The next time Laenor lays with someone instruct him to pour his seed in a dish, take a goose quill and fill it with his... seed." Rhaenyra listened intently "Put the quill inside you and let the it take root."

"...Will it work?" She asked unsure

"In the books I have read the success rate is rather large, the important part is to do it quickly as the seed is hot."

"I will do so then, but if it doesn't work what then?"

"Then you choose a man that looks similar to Laenor and lay with him. The realm excepts an heir it doesn't matter from whom. Just make sure Laenor will father them."

...

Unfortunately after three moons Rhaenyra, Laenor and her court had to depart for the rest of the tour. Derran and Aegon cried as they saw Rhaenyra leave.

Moons passed and news of the birth of Princess Rhaenyra's first child, a son Jacaerys reached your ears. Half the realm was invited to celebrate for two weeks of jousts and feasts.

Your whole household has been invited north to King's Landing, your husband has decided to stay behind.

You put on your black riding leather, braiding your long locks in three braids. Your youngest Nymor sat in Aegon's lap making grabby hands at you.

"Soon, little scorpion." You mumbled, and stood behind Aegon braiding his hair in a style similar to yours. He was already dressed in yellow riding leather with pink seams. An homage to his dragon.

"Thank you y/n." The boy mumbled and handed you Nymor. Taking a large cotton cloth you swaddled Nymor to your chest making sure he doesn't fall off while on dragon back. Derran was strong enough to hold on to the reigns himself.

Sunfyre was large enough to saddle and Aegon flew on his own next to your dragon.

"Let's go." You smiled as you saw Aegon taking your eldest by his hand.

Vermithor bellowed with happiness as he saw you and your children, he stretched his wings preparing for flight. You help Derran to the saddle and then climbed yourself. Aegon smiled at his steed as he roared with happiness. Easily climbing onto Sunfyre the golden.

"Soves!" Your voice bubbled with happiness as you felt the anticipation of flying once again. Vermithor roared and flapped his bronze wings leaping into the air.

...

King's Landing

The flight was a little longer than Derran and Nymor would like but they didn't fuss much. Aegon's dragon was faster than the old Bronze Fury, he flew circles around him occasionally screeching happily. You noticed the similarities between Sunfyre and Syrax, both golden and spoiled. Their heads were of similar shape, different than your dragon's bull like skull.

Seeing the familiar towers of the red keep you lowered the reigns making your dragon leap down throwing a shadow over the town below with his huge scaly body. Vermithor landed on the courtyard of the dragon pit. 

The dragon keepers glanced at you and your children atop the bronze fury. Your steed straightened his large wing so that Darion could slide down easily. You smiled at the gleeful giggle of your firstborn. 

"Princess y/n, Prince Aegon!" Joqar the dragon elder exclaimed happily. You smiled at the dark skinned man.

"Joqar it is great to see you. These are my sons Darren and Nymor." You answered introducing your children, he smiled and ruffled their hair. 

"They look like true dragons." He smiled at the silver hair of your youngest and the violet eyes of your eldest. You smiled and thanked the elder man.

"There is a carriage waiting for you, your highness." He announced.

"Thank you Joqar, I hope you take great take of Vermithor. Do not chain him, he has grown used to flying free in Dorne." You smiled and helped your eldest climb into the carriage.

...

"Sister!" Rhaenyra exclaimed happily as she engulfed you in a hug. "Such handsome boys they are." She smiled at your two children.

"Thank you, they are quite tired from their journey." You mused caressing the silver locks of Nymor. Rhaenyra eyes her younger brother as he nodded his head at her. 

"Come we shall put them in the nursery and you shall meet my son Jacaerys." She smiled picking Darren up into her arms.

"I cannot wait, then. Come Aegon, meet your nephew."" You smiled walking down the halls of your home, the tapestries and statues depicting Valyria stood proudly in the corridors.

You smiled as you saw Laenor carrying his newborn son.

"Laenor." You approached and pulled Nymor out of the confines on your chest and letting him crawl. A small bundle of blankets laid in the Velaryons arms. "May I?"

"Laenor, y/n wishes to be introduced to Jacaerys." Rhaenyra smiled sitting in a chair.

The prince consort nodded and passed the babe into your arms. He was quite heavy, bigger than your sons when they were born. Jace cooed happily, his eyes a deep Valyrian purple almost indigo. His hair however was almost black and curly, simmilair to those of his grandmother Rhaenys.

"He's beautiful." You mused, caressing the wisps of hair. "Is he yours?" You asked Laenor and the man nearly choked, Aegon glanced curiously at the Velaryon not understanding your words.

"y/n knows everything, husband. She is the one to tell of the practise." Rhaenyra mused "And yes y/n Jace is Laenor's."

"I think Rhaenys will be happy to have a grandson with her hair." You jested. "Will you have more children?"

"If Rhaenyra wishes." Laenor answered, mindful of his wife's feelings.

"And you y/n? Will Nymor be your last." You tensed a bit at your friends question.

"My husband and I wish for more but lately he's been growing ill. The healers advise against strenous activities."

"That's terrible, what seems to bother him?" Laenor asked as you handed him his son.

"Uncle Qoren faints often." Aegon mumbled holding Darren's hand.

"Yes... he's constantly tired and barely eats anything. His body aches whenever he moves." You answered picking up Nymor as he tugged on your trousers. "I shall pay a visit to the rest of the family. Aegon would you like to stay or go with me?"

"With you." The boy answered.

...

"y/n!" Helaena and Aemond shouted as you entered their shared chambers. You kneeled and let them run into your arms.

"Good morrow, my sweets." You answered kissing the tops of their heads, your sons stayed behind you eyeing their cousins curiously. "Haelaena, Aemond meet your cousins Derran and Nymor." You slightly pushed them forward.

"Hello!" Derran said and approached Haelaena who was a year older than him, and Aemond who was a year younger. "I'm Derran."

Aegon hid behind his younger cousin as he wearily looked at his siblings.

"Hi." He shyly said to Helaena, she smiled up at her brother.

"Hello."

You smiled as they talked with their limited vocabulary, and soon abandoned words and begun playing with wooden horses, dragons and soldiers. Aemond and Nymor seemed to get along best as they were closest in age.

...

Viserys threw a feast at the news of your and your family's arrival, Nymor sat in your lap as Darren sat next to his cousins. You smiled seeing your family, despite the tension between the Queen and Rhaenyra. Your nephews and niece grew beautifully, Viserys on the other hand grew sicker, a different type of illness than your husband. His once thick golden hair thinning, changes on his skin appeared. Truly a horrid sight. 

"Let ur raise our cups to my beloved sister and her children!" Viserys toasted raising his goblet full of Arbor wine.

"Hear hear." Laenor smiled sipping the alcohol.

"Princess, we are very glad you could make such a tedious journey." Alicent said in your direction. "Especially so soon after giving birth."

"I simply couldn't wait to meet my nephew." You answered feeding Nymor some potato puree.

"If you wish there are maids, your highness." The Queen proposed noticing as you took care of your son.

"I prefer to tend to my children on my own, rather than leaving them with wet-nurses and maids."

"An embodiment of the mother is she not, my love?" Viserys asked his wife as he eyed your youngest.

"It seems that our house grows, brother." You answered "You should be very proud of Aegon, his teachers say he is very quick to learn. And his bond with Sunfyre is growing strong, they made it to King's Landing without problem"

"Really Aegon? I didn't knew you flied that th- your dragon." Alicent said a bit appalled.

"I have mother." Aegon replied a bit gloomy. "Aunt y/n helped me bond with Sunfyre and helped me learn to fly."

"It seems that Silverwing has taken to Dorne as well." You announced.

"Silverwing, really?" Rhaenyra asked curiously.

"She has flown with us to Sunspear when we were returning from the wedding. It seems she prefers to be with Vermithor, they coil together quite often."

"Perhaps Silverwing will lay a clutch of eggs then." Your brother smiled, meat on his fork.

Viserys smiled at the picturesque moment that his family shared. His sisters presence made everything better, his conflicted nephews wife and daughter watched with happiness Nymor and Darren. The only thing missing was Daemon. Laena was with child and soon new Targaryen princelings would be welcome into this world. But they would be brought up in an unfamiliar land away from their home.

...

Sunspear

You smiled as you saw your husband standing at the feet of the makeshift Dragon pit, a cane in his hand. Servants and knights standing behind him.

"Father!" Darren screamed as he jumped from Vermithor's wing. "Father!"

"My boy!" Qoren laughed, Darren ran towards him and crashed into his legs. You slid off Vermithor with Nymor wrapped to your chest. Aegon jumped off Sunfyre and ran after Darren. You slowly walked towards your husband, he smiled as he saw you and your youngest. 

"Husband." You whispered embracing him.

"Wife." He answered "My little boy." He kissed the forehead of your son. "I hope the flight was well" 

"It was." You answered as you walked next to your husband and son, the guards following behind.

"Aegon how was your flight?" Qoren conversed with Aegon.

"Sunfyre is very fast! He likes to fly high in the clouds." He answered excited to talk about his steed.

"Princess." Your guard Trystane Dayne bowed his head and smiled as your son ran towards the tall man.

Your husbands condition seemed to get better, before he couldn't walk on his own on the count of his weak body. 

"How are you feeling?" You asked caressing Qoren's arm.

"In pain... My brother has called for a healer from Qohor. It is said that the man cured death, but I'm not as hopeful." Qoren laughed sadly. "Some day soon our son will inherit my seat and he will become the greatest prince Dorne has ever seen."

"Someday but not anytime soon, my love. Our son is too young to become the prince." 

"That is why you will become his regent." He explained looking at your son assaulting ser Trystane with questions. "I know you are much more than capable, and don't try to fight me on this. Maester Yenner has already wrote down my will."

"Qoren..." You whispered.

"You're beautiful." He whispered caressing your cheek with his bony hand. You leaned into his touch, your eyes glossing.

...

The light fell onto your eyes awaking you from slumber, you smiled at the warm weather that was typical here. You pressed your head onto your husbands chest, he was...cold.

"Qoren?" You asked terrified, he wheezed in response misty eyes staring into your red ones.

"I love you." He whispered heavily breathing.

"No! No!" You cried "Don't leave me alone in this world." You clutched the linen shirt he wore. "I can't- our children Qoren, please."

"You're as beautiful as the day I met you." His bony palm placed a stray strand of silver hair behind your ear, and caressed your tear soaked cheeks.

"No... please." You wailed into his chest.

"Since I laid my eyes upon you, I have loved you. I will do so even after my death."

"I love you too..." Your lips pressed against his in a final act of desperation. But love stories weren't real, a kiss couldn't save anyone.

Your husband is dead

His golden brown eyes lifelessly started at the ceiling, the body you once hugged every night was now cold and unfamiliar.

"I will take care of our children, my love." You whispered and pressed a kiss against his forehead. In a haze you left your shared chambers and went to your sons nursery, waking them up much earlier than usual.

"Mum?" Darren asked absentmindedly rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. You clutched onto him like a lifeline, caressing his face and dark hair he inherited from his father.

Nymor isn't old enough to even remember his father, in that way he was the same as you. Except for the fact that you were here, his mother, and you will continue to live for them.

"I love you, know that there won't be a day when I won't worry for you. You are my son, my first son."

...

All of the houses sworn to house Martell came to Sunspear to attend Prince Qoren's funeral. A white veil covered your face as you held your youngest child in your arms, Darren's clutched your skirts tears staining his chubby cheeks. Aegon held Darren's hand as a few stray tears left his violet orbs. All of you dressed in white silks, your husbands body has been wrapped in the same white cloth. Salty tears rolled down your cheeks as you watched your husbands corpse be covered in sand.

The death of her first husband changed Princess y/n, she became more protective of her children and nephew. Vermithor and Sunfyre were often spotted above the deserts. It seems that spending time with her mount alleviated her pain, many believe that the bond between dragon and rider was the reason Targaryen's blood was magic. Some texts say that, the magic in their veins keeps them immune to sickness Andals and the First Men die from. - From the dragon bringer by the feather and quill of Grand Maester Roland.

Jaes's hen jēdar

God's of the sky

Nine

Daemon x reader, Rhaenyra x reader (platonic), Qoren Martell x reader

Synopsis: Driftmark happens, Aegon takes a stance and the divide only grows bigger.

Masterlist <-previous , next->

minors mdni

118 AC Pentos

"Aunt y/n!" Baela and Rhaena ran towards you, wide smiles on their faces. You grinned seeing the twin girls and their parents.

"It is so good to see you sweet girls. How much you've grown! You'll be taller than your father soon." You jested ruffling the locks of their silver hair.

Laena and Daemon approached you arm in arm, their benefactor some Pentoshi lord greeted you as well offering you sanctuary in his home. 

"Laena my sweet cousin." You whispered kissing the cheek of the curly haired woman. "Brother."

"Sister." Daemon replied pressing a kiss to your temple and hugging you against his chest. 

Laughs and jokes were shared during the dinner held by the prince of the city. You smiled as you joined your family after such a long time apart.

...

You and Aegon mounted your dragons and flew to Driftmark. Tears escaped your eyes, the wind blew them away. Your bonded dragon screeched sensing your pain.

"Dracarys Vermithor!" You shouted letting your emotions get the best of you. Your steed expelled a breath of gold fire flying right through it. The heat of his flames brought you necessary comfort. 

"Cousin." You whispered hugging Rhaenys, her black veil covered her tear stained cheeks. She has lost her only daughter after years of being apart. Her grandchildren Rhaena and Baela obediently stood behind her, you kneeled next to the two girls. 

"I'm so sorry." You whispered hugging the two of them, your fingers tangled in their silver hair. Rhaena sniffled as she hugged your body.

Laena's casket has been placed on the edge of a cliff overlooking the salty sea. The Velaryon soldiers tied the knots to ensure it's safe passing. 

"We join today at the Seat of the Sea to commit the Lady Laena of House Velaryon to the eternal waters, the dominion of the Merling King where He will guard her for all the days to come." Vaemond recited the funeral speech. You watched Laena's casket with tears in your eyes. Baela hugged your side, your arm protectively wrapped around the young girl.

"As she sets to sea for her final voyage, the Lady Laena leaves two true-born daughter on the shore." Your brows furrowed as Vaemond stared at Daemon who seemingly did not care that his wife has just passed. "Though their mother will not return from her voyage, they will remain bound together in blood. Salt courses through Velaryon blood." His gaze turned to Rhaenyra and her sons. "Our runs thick. Ours runs true. And ours must never thin." Daemon chuckled.

He chuckled

Anger coursed through your veins. The people present stared with disdain at him.

"My gentle niece. May the winds be as strong as your back, your seas as calm as your spirit, as your nets be as full as your heart. From the sea we came. To the sea we shall return." Laenor's eyes were empty as he started as his sister's casket was lowered onto the depths of the sea. Dragons circled drift mark as a royal funeral was held. 

You sat next to Helaena as she played with a spider, her wavy silver locks blew freely in the wind.

"Hands turns loom, spool of green, spool of black; dragons of flesh weaving dragons of thread." She said those words as if in a trance, you smiled in sympathy. No one noticed her gift, the gift that saved house Targaryen from the doom. 

"You have a gift sweet girl." You whispered caressing her hair, her brother watched as you comforted their "lunatic" sister.

"Aemond." You said greeting your nephew. "You have grown." 

"Hello aunt." Aemond answered ever the proper boy.

"Are you excited for your engagement?" You asked curiously, remembering the news that Aemond and Helaena will marry once they turn sixteen.

"I would rather have a dragon." He responded gruffly "Everyone else has one but I don't."

"Rhaena also doesn't have a dragon... Did you know that Gaemon the glorious didn't have a dragon until the age of two and twenty? So by my count you still have some time." You tried to console your nephew.

"You claimed a dragon at eight! One of the greatest beasts!" He raised his voice.

"Some things take time, Aemond. Dragons are not like horses, you cannot just jump onto it's back and ride. The bond we share with dragons is deep and magical, it's as if our souls are connected." You explained, trying to lit the teenagers sour mood.

"Does that mean I will be dragon less?" Aemond asked voice breaking slightly.

"You are a Targaryen, Aemond. It is your birthright to bond with a dragon, and you will do that. There are no dragons to be claimed but there are eggs."

"I don't want an egg! I want a dragon! A full grown dragon!." He shouted and stomped away.

Everything was tense and awkward, the little boy you one played with was gone. Viserys was under the influence of his wife and her father, he was restored as hand after Lords Lyonel tragic passing that you knew was no accident. 

"Sister" Daemon whispered approaching you as you stared at the endless salty sea stretching before you.

"Brother" You answered not looking at him, the stunt he pulled before still itched you. "Have you no shame?" You asked not bearing to look at the man.

"I have protected our niece's honour." He answered simply.

"You are impossible, your wife has just died." You accused.

"She has died along time ago, the moment I have taken her from Westeros." He whispered "I should have listened to her, returned to Drimftmark before it was too late." He said bitterly. You sighed deeply.

"It is painful, isn't it?." You whispered placing your palm on his his back. 

"I could never be in more pain then she was." Daemon muttered, taking your palm in his large hand. 

"The God's are cruel, even ours." Bitter truth left your lips "You should tend to your daughters." You said leaving Daemon alone. 

...

Your chambers were prepared by the maids of house Velaryon. Dried tears stained your cheeks. 

"Aunt y/n?" A small voice whispered from the other side of your chambers. 

"Yes?" You answered the door, Baela and Rhaena stood together. "What is it?" 

"We... Could we stay with you?" Baela the braver of the twins asked, you nodded silently and let them into your chambers. The girls climbed into your bed as you laid between them.

"Could you tell us stories of our mother?" Rhaena asked leaning on your lap. 

"Since the beginning your mother was a fiery young girl. She had inherited the beauty of your grandmother without the dark hair and the bold, adventurous spirit from your grandfather. She was brave and kind. I saw as she became one with her giant beast as if it were nothing, a true dragon rider. " You smiled at the memory of you two flying together over King's Landing. "One time, Lord Jason Lannister tried to 'impress' her by listing the amount of gold he could offer her as his wife. It was rather stupid since the Velaryon's were richer than the Lannisters, she said and I remember it clear as day. Are you willing to make the same bribe to Vhagar to reside on the giant rock you call home, Lord Jason? The man paled with fear and didn't bother your mother ever again."

The girls chuckled.

"Do you think that Vhagar will accept me?" Rhaena asked.

"Vhagar is old and tired, when Balerion was her age he laid in his cavern all day, eating what was given him. I do not think that Vhagar will be able to match your delicate nature." You mumbled a bit un-sure.

"Vhagar was my mother's dragon, I am excepted to claim her." Rhaena muttered leaning on your shoulder, Baela nodded.

"Who excepts that?" You questioned curious.

"Father." Baela answered for her sister, you chuckled at the irony.

"If your father followed this rule he would be the one to claim Vhagar or Meleys. They were his parent's dragons and yet he claimed Caraxes our uncles mount, your grandfathers."

"Really?" Baela and Rhaena exclaimed at the same time.

"I think that Silverwing would be better suited for you, Rhaena. If you wish I can take you back to Dorne with me so you can claim her."

The Velaryon girl visibly brightened up, she nodded furiously.

"Please, aunt y/n!" She exclaimed.

"If your father or grandmother agrees I see no reason not to."

"But what of Vhagar?" Baela murmured.

"She will spend the rest of her days, without bothersome humans." You jested and the twins lightly chuckled. "Now my little dragons go back to your chambers." 

The two girls scurried to their own chambers, you saw that their mood has been improved slightly. 

...

You were restless and could not sleep, you deciding that visiting Vermithor was the best course of action. Castle Driftmark was a dull thing, even more than Dragonstone.

The beach however was empty, only the sound of waves delicately crashing against the cliffs was heard. You wondered if Vermithor has ever been to Driftmark before. The sound of footsteps snapped you out of your thoughts. You glanced in the direction of the noise, the familiar straight silver hair made you sigh.

"Aemond!" You called startling the boy, he slowly turned around, you beconed him over and he obliged. "You were sneaking off to claim Vhagar." You stated and he paled slightly. "No need to lie to me."

"Yes, aunt." He admitted and lowered his head "But I only did it because I have no other choice!"

"No choice? Do you know how dangerous it is to approach Vhagar?" You sighed deeply, not wishing to startle your nephew.

"I-..." He started but the words died down in his throat "Without a dragon I'm worthless."

"Aemond, you are not worthless." You kneeled infant of the boy, taking his face into your hands. "Who makes you think that?" You demanded.

"Father... He never pays attention to me, I doubt he even knows my name." Tears threatened to spill from his violet orbs. "And he only paid attention to Helaena after she claimed Dreamfyre. What kind of a Targaryen am I without a dragon?!"

"Your father should be the last person the speak of claiming dragons." You stated and Aemond looked up at you.

"He rode Balerion."

"Once." You added "He rode Balerion once, and then he died. He never formed a bond with him, he couldn't have. Therefore he has no right to talk."

A small smile made it's way onto Aemond's thin lips.

"I think that there is a dragon waiting for you." You mumbled caressing his straight silver hair.

"What dragon?"

"Perhaps you should go with Rhaenyra to dragonstone, there is Grey Ghost and Sheepstealer. But I think Grey Ghost is most like you."

"Most like me?"

"Timid, hidden in the shadows, observing from afar. You know I was a lot like you when I was your age... Nobody cared for me after Grandfather died, I had no parents and Rhaenyra was the only thing on Viserys's mind. When my brother was in King's Landing which was not often he made an effort to be there for me, but it is not the same as a parents love is suppose." You got carried away slightly, burdening a child with your problems. "I'm sorry Aemond, I shouldn't have said that."

"I- It is all right... thank you, aunt."

"Talk to Rhaenyra of returning with her to Dragonstone."

"Could you... Could you come with me? I know you are well aquainted with dragons, and perhaps if you wished, you could help me."

You smiled fondly at his unsure rambling.

"I would be delighted, Aemond. We can even go tomorrow." You offered and he nodded his head. "Now go back to your chambers, it is late and you need all the strength you can muster."

The thin boy nodded and ran off to the castle, you felt as if a great heaviness was lifted from your chest allowing you to breathe.

...

You missed your children. You thought while eating breakfast alone. Aegon was probably in his temporary chambers sleeping or reminiscing with his siblings.

"y/n" You heard your name, you raised your gaze from the mutton pie, and fruit that were placed on your plate.

"Daemon." You mumbled continuing eating, he took a seat in front of you and ordered a servant to bring him breakfast. They placed a steaming bowl of porridge with fruit, different hams and cheeses and a slice of the same pie you ate.

"You do not seem sad... Did you love her, or married her to spite our brother?" You asked glancing at the hardened features of your brother.

"...I did love her." He whispered avoiding your gaze and digging into the food on his plate. "Is this what you felt when you lost Qoren?" His question surprised you, not once has he addressed your husband by name.

"I was miserable when he died." You admitted "But I had to stay strong, for my children for the kingdom." Daemon hummed drinking the honey mead. "...I was happy with him, he loved me and our children with ever fibre of his being. How can a man seem so strong only to wither slowly at the hands of a disease?" You questioned rhetorically.

Tears began to form in your eyes as you remembered the years you spent with Qoren. The wet tears dropped on your dress, but you quickly wiped them and took a swing of the watered down wine.

"I'm sorry your happiness was taken from you." Your brother said tenderly, which was unlikely for him. "If I could give you the happiness you long for I would." Daemon muttered, placing his palm over yours.

"My children are the source of my happiness now." You declared "As should your daughters be, they are mourning the death of their mother, Daemon. You should be there for them, the other day they came crying to me, asking me to tell stories of their mother. Then Rhaena said that you told her to claim Vhagar, she is but a child!" You raised your voice "I offered to take her with me to Dorne so she could claim Silverwing."

"Silverwing, yes..." He questioned, passively accepting your anger.

"Yes, Daemon. With your permission of course." You added, the anger simmering in your insides.

"You took great care of them."

"Someone has to." You snipped, narrowing eyes at Daemon "I don't think that the good father characteristic passed onto you or Viserys."

Daemon chuckled and nodded.

"Im afraid not, no. But you dear sister... if I worshiped the seven I would say you are the embodiment of the mother." His backhanded flattery made the anger slowly die out. "Baela and Rhaena spoke of your talk, I already agreed. You helped them greatly... They need a mother."

"Daemon..." You sighed knowing where he was heading. "Laena's body is barely cold and you talk of marrying again?!"

"Not immediately!" He countered "I just... you lost your husband, I lost my wife and-"

"And what? You'll take me to Dragonstone and wed me in the tradition of our house?"

"If you'll agree." He stated.

You held affection for Daemon, despite the horrid things he did throughout his life. He was still the only person who saw you, for you. Actively trying throughout your upbringing, whenever he was present.

"I promise you will be happy. We will fly on dragon back like we used to so many years ago..." Your brother pleaded.

"If Viserys gives his blessings I will become your wife.." You answered, Daemon stared at your features. Silent agreement and happiness etched on his sharp features.

...

"Aemond?" You questioned entering his chambers, he sat by the window consumed by a book that rested atop his lap. He tore his gaze away from the pages and glanced in your direction. "Are you ready?"

He nodded and the two of you walked to where Vermithor was resting, you fixed the black leather gloves on your fingers. The bronze fury bellowed as he saw you approaching.

"This is my nephew, Aemond. We will help him claim a dragon." You said nuzzling your face in his warm scales. You helped Aemond climb onto the saddle, and then strapped him in. You patted Vermithor's scales and without a command he leaped into the air, his claws dipping into the salty water before climbing into the sky, high above the clouds.

"How does it feel?" You asked Aemond, that sat in front of you.

"It feels... like I belong." He answered.

Vermithor landed near the hills of dragonmont, startling the dragon keepers there. You slid off of his bronze wing and helped your nephew do the same.

"Can you smell any dragons, old boy?" You questioned placing your palm on his horns. He chirped and let out a screech, turning towards the misty mountains. You left your dragon and headed in the direction the bronze fury pointed in.

"It is very on brand for him to hide in the mist." You said to Aemond as he walked next to you. "Hiding from the small folk... or Cannibal."

He stayed silent as if deep in thought. You observed his reactions.

"Can you feel him Aemond?"

"Her." He stated and moved ahead, slowly disappearing into the mist. You stayed behind letting Aemond do what he thought was right, and by the looks of it he might claim a dragon today.

A chirp and then a screech, orange light spread among the mist. And yet you didn't feel worried. You could hear Aemond's faint voice, High Valyrian rolling off his tongue. At the speed of lightning, Grey Ghost flew right out of the mist, leaving a trail behind him. Aemond's green cloak flowing in the wind, as he soared in the sky.

...

Moons passed after Laena's death, Daemon stayed with his daughters at Driftmark. You on the other hand returned to Dorne with Aegon much earlier, you missed your children and longed to see them.

Daemon stood before the doors to his daughters room. Despite being dressed in leather armor, Dark Sister strapped at his side he felt nervous. Nervous to face his nine year old daughters. He knocked on the door and entered.

"Father." Baela noticed and bowed her head slightly, Rhaena ran and hug his legs.

"Father can I please go to aunt y/n?" She asked, her violet eyes brimming with tears.

"Soon Rhaena, I promise." He answered caressing her long silver hair. "I- I" He stuttered "What do you think of your aunt?"

"She is nice." Rhaena muttered.

"Aunt y/n gives the greatest gifts. The dresses she makes are beautiful." Baela added.

"She was great friends with your mother." The Targaryen Prince said. "Would you be opposed if you saw her more often?"

"No, I don't think so." Baela the braver of the twins answered for her sister.

"I know you are young, and there are thing you need to know. Despite being a princess your aunt has lost protection when her husband died. I offered that I would protect her from now on." He tried to explain.

"Protect how?" Rhaena meekly asked.

"...By marrying her." Baela answered for him, understanding the situation better.

"Yes." He confirmed. "You are young, you need a mother figure. And you would get to meet your cousins better."

"Whatever you wish father." The twins answered.

"I know this is difficult and I do not except you to understand, but just know I love you two deeply. And wish what is best for you."

They nodded and leaned into his touch when he wrapped his arms around them.

...

"Prince Daemon, Your Grace." Ser Harrold announced opening the doors to the king's chambers. Viserys laid in his bed covered in blankets.

"Brother." Daemon said bowing his head and approaching his grace.

"Daemon..." Viserys wheezed staring at his brother. "I am so glad too see you, it has been too long."

"We have seen each other a few moons back, is your memory so bad you do not remember?." Daemon jested. "Viserys I have a favour to ask of you."

"A favour?" Viserys asked curiously "Whatever do you need?"

"I wish to marry y/n." He admitted, a pregnant silence fell upon the room. Only the crackling of the fire was heard.

"And what does y/n say of this union?" The elder brother asked, thinking of the girl he though of as a daughter.

"She has agreed on the condition that you agree and bless our marriage." Daemon responded.

"She is too good for you, Daemon." Viserys wheezed staring at his brother. "But if it is her wish to marry you I shall give you my blessing."

"Thank you, your grace."

...

A raven arrived from King's Landing, the grand maester of Sunspear handed you the letter. You saw the royal seal of your brother and broke it curiously.

My dear sister,

Word has reached my ears that you wish to marry Daemon. I know how distraught you were when your first husband passed away, if you deem Daemon worthy of becoming your second husband I give you my blessing. I know you make no mistakes in your judgment so I trust your decision and hope that your marriage with our brother will be as happy as your first one.

In return for your endless support and upholding our traditions. I shall give Daemon and you land so your future children will have an inheritance. The Stepstones have been won by Daemon, and are now a part of the seven Kingdoms. But without a strong presence to command the island they have fallen into disarray. If you wish it the Stepstones will become your land you may do as you wish with them. Your children will inherit the seat after you pass and as a royal decree, they will be titled as princes and princesses of the realm. The sacrifices you have made helped the realm greatly, you have brought Dorne into the seven kingdoms, secured wards from the lords of Westeros and aided the royal coffers. I will be forever in debt to you my dear sister.

You read the letter, tears flowed from your green irises staining the parchment. It felt as if he was saying goodbye to you.

"Mother?" Nymor asked seeing the tears that flowed freely.

"Yes my sweet?" You asked

"Why are you sad?" He asked and you smiled, picking him up and placing him in your lap. He was now five and very bright.

"I am happy my dear child." Your sons silver hair shined in the sun.

"Then why are you crying?"

"Sometimes when we're happy we cry." You explained "Your uncle and I will marry."

"Uncle Daemon?" He asked curiously and you nodded.

"He will become my husband." You said caressing your sons silver locks.

"Like father was?"

"Just like father was..."

"Will I have more siblings? I do not want to be the youngest Darren, Ivor and Tyla treat me like a baby!" Nymor complained and you chuckled.

"You will always be my baby." You said kissing his chubby cheek, he giggled.

...

"Maron!" You stopped your brother in law as he strolled with his wife through the gardens your late husband built for you.

"y/n, what is it that you need?" He asked walking up to you with his wife the Lady Qyria.

"I will need your help governing Dorne in my son's steed." You announced.

"I am honoured y/n but what has happened?" He asked confused.

"Daemon and I will marry, His Grace the King gave us Stepstones to govern. I will not be able to be in two places at once, that is why I need your help." You explained

"Will you be leaving Dorne?" Qyria asked.

"I do not want to, but my attention will be divided between Dorne and the Stepstones. For the time being Daemon will stay on Driftmark." You answered strolling with the couple through the water gardens.

"Let us know if you ever need help taming the Stepstones, it is a disputed land. Keeping peace will be difficult." Maron offered, you thanked your brother in law.

"Bloodstone will become to heart of the islands. I believe it will be quite expensive to raise castles there but the payoff will be large. The islands are very strategically placed, any voyages will have to pass through the Stepstones." It was true, that is why your brother and the Velaryons fought in the Stepstones for so long. But now instead of war, the islands will be conquered through alliances.

"What of Darren and Nymor?" You brother in law asked.

"I will take them whenever it is possible, but Sunspear is their home. They will be raised here, as is befitting for Dornish Princes."

"As you wish princess." The slender man answered.

...

Dragonstone

Half of the court of KIng's Landing sailed for Dragonstone to witness the wedding of Prince Daemon and Princess y/n. You were happy to see your family during a happier occasion. Aegon was less thrilled to see his father and mother.

"Aegon." You approached your nephew as he sulked in his chambers.

"Oh, aunt." The boy muttered raising his thin eyebrows at you.

"Sunfyre has been snippy all week." You answered sitting next to Aegon on his bed. He shrugged his shoulders. "What is wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong."

"Oh sweet boy, you're not as good at hiding emotions as you think you are. What is bothering you?" The prince sighed and sit up on the bed leaning against your shoulder.

"Nothing escapes you does it?" He whispered, you caressed his long wavy hair.

"I have known you since you were born, Aegon. I have raised you for over eight years. I know when something is bothering you."

"Why is it so easy for you to act like my mother when Alicent can't be bothered?" You were surprised to hear Aegon call his mother by her name. Tears welled up in his violet eyes.

"I don't know sweet boy." You muttered.

"You are more of a mother to me than she could ever be." He cried clinging to you.

"Shh..." You comforted him.

"And father doesn't care for me! He only cares for Rhaenyra! She is his golden child while I am cast into the shadows!"

"My brother is not a good father, that is true." You muttered "It is not fair to you or your siblings."

"I only ever wished for him to be proud of me, but that will never happen will it?" He asked, his violet eyes reddened by tears.

"I will always be proud of you. I have seen you grow to a fine prince, a great dragon rider and cousin and I love you like I love my own children."

"I love you too, mom." Aegon whispered, you kissed the crown of his head.

...

"Blood of two, joined as one. Ghostly flame and song of shadows. Two hearts as embers forged in fourteen fires. A future promised in glass. The stars stand witness, the vow spoken through time of darkness and light." Viserys recited as he stood at the foot of Dragonmont.

You stood in front of Daemon dressed in Valyrian robes, holding a dragon glass knife as did your brother. You pressed the blade against your palm, causing blood to trickle. You pressed your finger in the blood and drew the symbol of fire on your brothers forehead. He drew the symbol of blood on your own.

"In the eyes of fourteen flames we are now joined, one soul, one body one heart." You and Daemon recited, two goblets of heated wine mixed with blood were handed to you. You took a swing of the drink and passed the cup to the servants.

Daemon pressed his palm against your cheek and pressed his lips against yours, you leaned into him and deepened the kiss. Vermithor and Caraxes roared circling the ceremony and breathed dragon fire.

...

The maids helped you take off the heavy headpiece that rested atop your brow. Annora unlaced the beige and red robes sliding it off your body. Soon you were left only in your linen nightgown, you hair free of any braids.

Once the maids left your brother entered our chambers, his body covered by a dark red robe.

"y/n" He approached you.

"Daemon." You answered, leaning into his embrace. "It seems you have finally gotten what you wanted after all those years."

"It appears that the god's have blessed me in some sort of way." He answered running his fingers through your hair. "Tell me you did not wish for this."

"At some point where I was young, after grandsire told me of his and grandmothers love story."

Silence befallen the chamber, shallow breaths occasionally broke the silence. Daemon kissed your neck and slowly made it's way to your lips. A breathy moan escaped you as his hands trailed down your body.

"My sweet wife." He murmured untying the nightgown and letting it drop to the floor leaving you naked.

You rolled your eyes and pressed your lips against his silencing him. He groaned and let you guide him to the bed, you laid on the comfortable mattress and Daemon crawled atop you. You could feel his cock press against your leg, you moved your hand down to wrap your fingers around him. Squeezing and pumping a few times.

"Enough teasing." Daemon groaned throwing his head back, he pressed his warm palm over yours and moved his dick so the head pressed against your entrance.

"Daemon..." You moaned at the unfamiliar intrusion. His dick felt different than your husband's, maybe a bit shorter but thicker.

"Soon, sweet girl." He whispered above your ear pressing a kiss against your temple, and slowly pushed in. Inch by inch until his pelvis pressed against your clit.

"Ah..!" You moaned breathily as he bottomed out, he slowly pulled out and pressed himself in one go.

"Will you give me a child?" Daemonn groaned above you "You looked so alluring pregnant."

"Daemon..." You moaned in response "Please!"

Your body moved with his hard thrusts, his chest pressed against your breasts squeezing them with his weight.

"Yes? I'll breed you well, then." Your husband moaned, as you squeezed around him.

You squeezed Daemon's shoulder, bringing his attention to your face.

"Hmm?" He murmured

"I wanna... on top." Daemon smirked and obeyed, pulling out laying comfortably on the bed awaiting your next move.

You straddled his hips, his cock pressed between your thighs. You sheathed his cock in your warm walls.

"Move, please." The rogue prince moaned under you, pressing his hips upwards for some friction.

"I didn't take my husband for a beggar." You teased refusing to move your hips. "I quite like it."

"Careful, sister." He groaned menacingly, putting his hands on your waist.

"It's fun to see you like this, moaning under me."

Daemon muttered something under his breath, and jutted his hips upwards. You chuckled and began to move your hips, bringing the coil in your belly closer to snapping.

"Close!" You squeaked, pressing your palms against Daemon's toned abdomen.

After a few hard thrusts your husband spilled inside, his warm seed brought your over the edge. Panting you clutched onto his shoulder, collapsing on his chest. Daemon chuckled, and wrapped his arms around your naked back.

"You did good, my love." He whispered pressing a kiss to your silver hair.

The funureal of Laena Velaryon and the conflict that arose on Driftmark only separated the Greens and Blacks. After a year Princess y/n and Daemon married and begun construction of castle Blackfyre. During the builidng of the castle many villages arose on the shore of Bloodstone and Grey Gallows. Now that the island was free of pirates trade erupted. The Ports build there rivalled Oldtown and Lannisport. Princess y/n used dragonfire to make the fort impenetrable and quick to build. After three years most of the castle Blackfyre was build. At the foot of the Volcano Dragonbone a dragonpit was built. - From the dragon bringer by the feather and quill of Grand Maester Roland.

Jaes's hen jēdar

God's of the sky

Ten

Daemon x reader

Synopsis: A time skip!

Masterlist <-previous , next->

122 AC Blackfyre, Stepstones

"You must push your highness!" The midwife exclaimed looking between your legs.

"I know I have to fucking push!" You screamed in anger as you crushed your husbands hand in pain.

"I can see the head!" Annora said patting down your forehead. You groaned as you felt another contraction, you screamed in pain as you pushed with all your might.

The screeches of Vermithor were heard through the island as he circled the castle sensing your pain.

"Fuck!" You screamed squeezing your muscles to deliver the child. The cries of a babe were heard, you sighed in relief thanking that the hardest part was over.

"A healthy boy your highness!" Annora said happily, the midwife cut the cord and handed you the kicking babe.

"Another boy?" You whispered pressing your son against your breast.

"You did great, my love." Daemon said kissing your sweaty forehead. "What shall we name him?"

The newborn babe opened his large eyes to reveal one violet eye one green. "Aerion" You said seeing the wisps of silver gold hair on his little head

"A fine name your highness." Maester Roland approved as he watched the newborn prince. The chambers were opened, Rhaenyra, Laenor and their children entered followed by your children Darren, Nymor, Baelon and Vhaenor, Aegon entered last.

"A boy?" Rhaenyra asked glancing at the babe you nodded handing her the infant.

"It seems that the gods do not want me to have daughters" You laughed as your sons curiously watched the babe. Baelon four sat at your side and Vhaenor two, crawled into Daemon's lap.

The realm rejoiced at the news of another prince named Aerion Targaryen, your third child with Daemon.

As soon as your legs allowed you, you took your sons to the Dragonbone where the dragons Vermithor, Silverwing, Caraxes, Moondancer and Sunfyre resided. Aerion in bundles slept comfortably in your arms as his brothers followed you. The dragon keepers welcomed you and your children with open arms.

"The news are great your highness." Joqar the elder dragon keeper said.

"What is it Joqar?" You asked

"Silverwing has laid a clutch of eggs! Five big eggs!" He said happily.

"Where is she?" You asked and searched for Silverwing and your bonded dragon that often coiled with the silver she-dragon.

You limped towards the bronze fury with Aerion in your arms, the dragon expelled a fume of smoke as he examined the babe. Silverwing laid beside him. You knew that Vermithor fathered the eggs that Silverwing laid, it was as if on instinct. Rhaena must be very proud.

"You have laid eggs for my sons..." You whispered pressing your forehead against his scaly snout. "Thank you" The dragon purred, Aerion grabbed one of Vermithor's horns and laughed gleefully.

"Where are the eggs?" You asked the elder dragonkeeper as you left the caves with your sons, they brought the eggs in a cauldron filled with hot rocks. Red with spare orange scales, green with purple swirls, white with gold shimmer, a pink one with black streaks, one of the colour of rust covered in black spots. "Call for Rhaena" You ordered knowing that the eggs belonged to Rhaena's dragon. Your sons observed the eggs curiously.

"Step-mother!" Rhaena said gleefully jumping from her horse. You kissed her dreaded hair and ushered her in the direction where the eggs resided.

"Silverwing has laid a clutch of eggs" You said showing her Silverwing's and Vermithor's clutch. She stared with sparkles in her eyes at the various eggs. "With your permission I would like to give them to your brothers."

"Of course, I assume the eggs are also Vermithor's. Therefore they also belong to you, step-mother." Rhaena said.

"That is very kind of you, Rhaena." You answered.

"Rhae!" Baelon pulled his half-sisters skirts, taking her attention.

"What is it?" She kneeled next to the four year old.

"Can I have egg?" He babbled pointing his little hand at the cauldron. The girl smiled and picked him up letting him see the eggs.

"Go on love, which one?" You caressed Baelon's silver hair. Your son stayed silent for a moment, observing the scaly objects. He pointed at the green egg, you kissed his chubby cheek.

"A fine egg Baelon." Rhaena said.

The dragon keepers transferred the green and purple egg to another bassinet.

"Place it in the princes room." You ordered the Dragonkeeper. "Come along now, we have to tell your father the good news."

"What of the other four?" Your step-daughter asked.

"They will Vhaenor's, Aerion's and any of the future children I might have." You responded glancing at the eggs before you. "Rhaena, which one should be Vhaenor's?"

She hummed and pointed at the red egg, you nodded. The infant in your arms begun to fuss, Aerion gurgled displeased.

"I think he is angry we forgot about him." You chuckled and swayed the babe in your arms. The white and gold egg called to you, you gently placed your palm on it and glanced at your son. A small smile made its way on his red face. "This one will be for Aerion."

...

"I have heard the news! Five eggs! Five!" Daemon exclaimed happily as he entered the nursery, your sons played on the floor, their eggs in their cradles.

"Silverwing and Vermithor laid them for our children." You spoke as your husband kissed your lips and placed a kiss upon little Aerion's blonde wisps of hair.

"My mother Alyssa had the same eyes as our son." Daemon said caressing Aerion's hair and looking at his round face and eyes. He moved to his second son and picked him up.

"Hm." Daemon hummed and placed Vhaenor in his cradle along with the red and orange egg. His large palm grazed the scaly surface. "It is hot."

"It shall hatch soon then." You answered walking towards the crib that belonged to Aerion, his own white egg with golden streaks laid comfortably against the pillows. As you placed your son he immediately clutched onto the egg. You watched him with happiness spread on your features.

"What of the other eggs?" Daemon asked.

"They are in Dragonbone, the keepers are taking care of them." You answered, your husband pressed his forehead against yours.

"Do you think they'll hatch?" He questioned.

"I think they will, sooner or later."

...

"Mother!" Baelon ran into your chambers a wide grin on his chubby cheeks, he jumped on the bed startling you and waking you up from slumber.

"Baelon it is night, whatever it is can wait until sunrise." You said turning in your bed hoping your son will let you sleep. Aerion taking much of your strength these days.

"No mama! Egg!" Vhaenor appeared and exclaimed jumping onto his father who slept soundly on your left.

"What of the eggs?" Daemon awoke and asked mindlessly his son.

"Dragon!" Baelon's words awoke you from your slumber for good, your husband took Vhaenor into his arms and rushed to his nursery.

Before opening the doors you could hear the familiar screeching of newly hatched dragons. Vhaenor bounced excitedly in his fathers arms as you enter the nursery.

Three baby dragons flied through the chambers knocking off the candles, books and toys of the shelves. Vhaenor freed himself of his father's grip and the red dragon landed in his arms. Your husband stared at you in amusement. Baelon stood next to you and observed his younger brothers.

Vhaenor sat on the carpet as he stared at the ceiling as his bonded dragon circled above. A small red dragon with membranes and horns of a lighter red colour. Aerion giggled as his own white dragon with a golden belly chirped and screeched above him. Another one, landed on Baelon's head chirping happily.

"God's be good." You whispered to yourself seeing the three new dragons wreak havoc in the nursery.

"Can I name?" Baelon asked with his green dragon that possessed purple eyes. The little green creature sat on his shoulder staring into your eyes.

"It is your dragon, it is only fitting." You whispered kneeling next to your son.

"Aegarax!" He said proudly, the red lizard jumped from Baelon to you. It purred and chafed himself on you, drowning you in his scent.

"Creator of the first dragon.. A great name dearest." You said, gently touching Aegarax. He screeched but let you pet his snout.

"What of the other two?" Daemon asked glancing at the remaining hatchlings.

"Aerion what do you think?" You asked your four month old son he chortled and clapped his hands. Too young to understand.

"Perhaps we should wait until he is old enough to name it himself" Daemon said pressing his hand against the white and gold hatchling.

You wondered if the rest of the eggs hatched, if three already did it is most likely.

"We shall take them to Dragonbone." You husband said, your brows furrowed.

"No." You denied Daemons plan. "Until they are small enough, they will stay here with their bonded riders."

Your son's cheered and occupied themselves with their new companions.

...

You laid in your bed cradling Aerion to your breast, his hatchling chirped happily as he sat on your shoulder. Darren entered your chambers a sword in hand.

"Good morrow mother." He approached and pressed a kiss to you cheek and gently ruffled Aerion's hair. Darren grew quickly, at two and ten he was almost your height.

"How was your training?" You asked patting the empty space next to you.

"Daemon is ruthless." He answered "But a good teacher."

You chuckled at your son's opinion on his step-father.

"And where is Aegon, you have lessons together." You inquired. Your nephew and son were attached at the hip, they shared lessons, meals and their free time.

"He went to the Dragonbone with Baelon." Darren mused sinking his teeth in a fig.

"You didn't want to accompany them? I remember how eager you were to visit Vermithor with me." Your youngest son unlatched from your breast and chortled.

"That was back home, mother. Now not a day goes by where I don't see a dragon." The violet eyed boy answered.

"That is true, I suppose... But now I wish to go the Dragonbone and you and your siblings will accompany me." You ordered fixing your dress and swaddling Aerion, the baby dragon refused to leave his tiny humans side.

Darren took his youngest sibling from your arms, cooing at the happy baby. Nymor was in the training grounds practicing with your husband, Vhaenor was playing with wooden soldiers and dragons as Annora watched over him.

"Husband, I must steal my son away from his training." You approached Daemon, he has barely broken a sweat. Dressed in black pants and a red shirt he looked quite handsome.

"Whatever for, dear wife? I cannot simply let our son end his training early because of your whim." He answered, his tone filled with jest. You chuckled and pressed your lips together.

"I am taking our children to the Dragonbone, it seems that Aegon has already kidnapped our eldest."

"I shall join you then."

...

The two unbonded hatchlings sreeched circling their scaly siblings. The tall ceiling of the volcano allowed them to fly freely.

You saw as Aegon held Baelon in his arms, introducing him to Sunfyre.

"Kidnapping a prince is a grave crime, Aegon." You jested approaching the ten and five year old boy.

"Mother!" Baelon wiggled in Aegon's grasp extending his arms towards you.

"I am also a prince, therefore not a crime." He countered and leaned into your touch as you pressed a kiss to his braided hair.

"How is Sunfyre doing?" You asked glancing at the dragon before you.

"Quite well, however the hatchings like to pick on him and he gets irritated." You laughed and Sunfyre screeched unhappily.

You left your children in the care of your husband, walking into the depths of the volcano. The familiar path that led you to your mount was engraved in your mind.

The bronze fury laid comfortably in his lair, spare bonzes scattered though the space. You approached the old dragon, he huffed as he turned to face you. He blew smoke from his nostrils, the smell of sulphur and coal filled your senses.

"Hello, old boy." You said and scratched the scales under his bull like jaw, he leaned into your touch and purred. "I am sorry we have not flown in a while, being a mother is tiresome." You said and sat leaning on his ribs. His tails wrapped itself around you, protecting your form. You begun the hum and old nursery rhyme, the heat of his scales brought comfort to your sore body.

So many things changed since your wedding with Daemon, you bore three children Baelon, Vhaenar and Aerion. The Stepstones became your new home, castle Bloodfyre was nearly finished thanks to dragon fire. Your sons Derran and Nymor travelled between Sunspear and Bloodstone as they wished. Baela and Rhaena lived with you, sometimes visiting Driftmark on Moondancer and Silverwing. Rhaenyra lived with her children and court on Dragonstone, sometimes visiting on Syrax.

Aegon was turning six and ten soon, which meant he could return to King's Landing, if he wished. You didn't know if you could let him go after so long. He was like your son and Derran wouldn't bear it if he left.

"What are you thinking about?" Aegon entered the cave. You stared at him with fondness in your eyes.

„I was thinking about you.” You answered patting the floor next to you for Aegon to sit.

„Me?” The Prince curiously shot back „Have I done something?”

„No,no Aegon. You didn’t do anything wrong, it’s just that you are turning into a man soon.”

„So?”

„It means that you will have to return to King’s Landing.” You barely said the words, your throat closing up.

„I- I don’t have to, right?”

„Your mother will except you to come ba-„

„She’s not my mother!” He raised his voice „You have raised me for the past decade, I don’t have any ties with that woman.”

„Aegon, as much as I and Derran want you here there are some things I cannot control. Your wardship is coming to an end and there is not much I can do. Especially since your grandsire is now hand.”

„So what? You’re the King’s sister.”

„And you’re his son.”

„I don’t want to go.”

„I know Aegon.” You wrapped your arms around his body. Bringing him some comfort. „If you wish I can go with you to King’s Landing. I can stay with you for some time. It has been a while since I saw my brother.”

„I would like that.”

…

„Your highness!” Maester Roland clutched his grey robes as he approached you.

„What is it?” You questioned turning around.

„A letter from princess Rhaenyra.” He handed you to scroll, the black wax of the Targaryen sigil bonded the parchment. You broke the seal and quickly read the letter.

Laenor Velaryon is dead.

You slapped your hand on your mouth as you read the news. Maester Roland stared with worry etched on his aged features.

„Your highness, are you all right?” He questioned.

„I am all right, Roland.” You answered „My niece’s husband is dead. There is to be a funereal on Driftmark.”

„I am very sorry to hear that.”

„I must find my husband, if you’ll excuse me.” You said and turned on your heel, searching for Daemon.

You entered the nursery, your children and husband playing with wooden soldier on the ground.

„Mommy!” Your sons abandoned their toys and ran into your skirts.

„Hello, my loves.” You kissed both of their heads „Go back to playing, I need to borrow your father.”

Baelon and Vhaenor nodded their little heads and resumed playing, their hatchlings squabbling with themselves.

„What has happened, my love?” Daemon questioned, standing up from the ground. He placed his palms on your hips and pressing a kiss to your lips.

„Laenor Velaryon is dead.”

He raised his thin silver brows.

„How?”

„Killed in Spicetown by his paramour.” You replied leaning into his touch „We shall fly to Driftmark at once.”

…

It is rather uncommon for a dragon to lay as much as five eggs at once. Not including the fact that all of the eggs hatched. The three princes bonded with the hatchling immediately, it is knows for dragons to be protective and aggressive for their riders. That rule did not apply to Princess y/n, every dragon she met has never dared to attack her. - From the dragon bringer by the feather and quill of Grand Maester Roland.

For anyone confused here are the ages:

Derran 14 Nymor 12

Baelon 4 Vhaenar 2 Aerion four months

Baela 14 Rhaena 14

Jace 13 Luke 11 Joffrey 6

Aegon 16 Helaena 15 Aemond 14

Jaes's hen jēdar

God's of the sky

Eleven

Daemon x reader

Synopsis: Laenor’s funereal, politics. Alicent being a bad mom, Viserys being a idiot. Talk of Rhaenyra having more power.

Note: If you wish to be added to the taglist, comment. Greatly appreciate it.

Masterlist <-previous , next->

122 AC Driftmark

Five dragons left Bloodstone for Driftmark. Another funureal of a Velaryon. Baelon sat in front of Daemon, strapped by leather belts. Vhaenor was in Aegon's saddle and Aerion was held by you.

Vermithor the largest of the beasts flew ahead. Your youngest slept soundly strapped to your chest with cotton wraps. Occasionally involuntary moving in the swaddle.

You felt sorry for Rhaenyra, not only did she loose Harwin not long ago now her husband has perished. And what of Jace, Luke and Joffrey.

You heard the familiar screeches of Caraxes and the warmth of dragon fire, you glanced upwards to see the blood wyrm, Sunfyre and Moondancer chasing each other.

Rhaenys and Corlys looked awful, they lost all of their children in the span of four years.

Your favourite cousin looks bad clad in black, but that colour seemed to follow her. You wrapped your arms around Rhaenys, offering her your comforts.

"I am so sorry, Rhaenys, Corlys." You said taking Rhaenys's hands in yours.

"Thank you, cousin." The Queen who never was answered.

"We are glad you could make it." She forced a facade of confidence.

"It is all right, you do not need to fake being nice. You just lost your son, I would except you to scream, cry and rage."

"I have done my fair share of mourning already, Laena and now Laenor." She whispered, tears prickling her waterline.

"Whatever you need we and the Stepstones are at your disposal." You offered.

"Thank you, y/n." Corlys answered placing his palm on your shoulder, squeezing thankfully.

You returned to your family at the side of the cliffs, on the other side closer to the casket stood Rhaenyra and her three boys.

"Mama." Vhaenor tugged at your black mourning skirt.

"What is it?" You questioned leaning to his level.

"I'm sad." He muttered shyly, you smiled sadly at him. "I don't like it."

"Oh sweet boy, it is normal to feel sad sometimes. Especially when a member of your family passed. But soon you will feel better, the feeling will pass." You tried to console the two year old

"It will?" He hopefully asked.

"I'm sure of it."

Laenor's sea stone casket was being wrapped with ropes, soldiers of house Velaryon prepared to lower it into the salty sea.

You saw tears escape Rhaenya's and Laenor's children, the three boys wore teal doublets adorned with silver seahorses and black trousers. Jacaerys looked the most like his grandmother, Rhaenys with dark hair and indigo eyes.

Lucerys was most like his mother, silver-gold hair and blue eyes, while Joffrey named by Laenor was most like his father, curly dark hair with silver streaks and violet eyes but his face was entirely Laenor.

Your children with Daemon on the other hand were of typical Valyrian beauty. Baelon had silver hair and bright violet eyes, his eye and nose shape were just like Daemon's. Vhaenor was your spitting image with your red eyes and face shape.

Aerion was most like his grandmother Alyssa, Daemon said so. You never met your father's first wife but from what your brothers said, Aerion was very much like Alyssa.

You wondered what will Rhaenyra do now, her husband has perished, she has three children but she is still young. The realm will expect her to marry again. 

You took your children by their hands and walked over to where the realm’s delight was standing. You stared solemnly at Rhaenyra, you placed a hand on her cheek and brought the princess into a warm embrace. No words exchanged but that was fine, none were needed. 

The three boys standing around Rhaenyra on the other hand, looked at you with muted curiosity. 

„Jace, Luke, Joff this is your aunt Princess y/n.” Rhaenyra introduced, you kneeled next to the boys. 

„I’m sure you do not remember me, but we have met a few times before.” You said placing your palm on Jace’s rosy cheek. 

„Good morrow, princess.” Jace shyly answered. 

„You can call me aunt, Jace.” The dark haired boy nodded his head sheepishly. 

„I would like to introduce your cousins to you.” You slightly pushed Baelon and Vhaenor in front of the three Velaryons. 

The eldest of your princelings slightly bowed his head at them. 

„I’m Baelon.” He introduced himself „This is my brother Vhaenor, and the babe is Aerion.” 

„I’m Jacaerys this is Lucerys and Joffrey.” You watched as the two boys interacted. 

„How are you faring?” You questioned Rhaenyra leaving your sons to themselves. 

„It is not as hard as I thought it will be. I did love him, but it was more of a brotherly love. I’m thankful for the children we have…” She told you her thoughts and you listened intently. „I’m glad we left for Dragonstone when we did, I do not think I could have endured more of that vipers den. And Laenor, gods save him. He was a good father but not much more than that.” 

You slightly chuckled as you talked in a secluded area. 

„Do you think you’ll remarry?” You suddenly questioned. 

„I have a lover I am very close to… But I do not want to marry so soon. I wish to experience more freedom.” She answered smoothing her black gown with teal accents. 

„A lover you say?” You curiously asked, you saw as a blush spread on Rhaenyra’s pale face. 

„He is a noble man from Lys.” 

„Lys?” 

„Darys Ormollen.” She said without beating around the bush. 

„You do not mean… Aunt Saera’s son.” You remembered the name you heard in passing conversation. The heir only nodded. „How did you come to meet our cousin?” 

„It is a long story.” 

„I would love to hear it some day, and meet him. Perhaps we could even invite aunt Saera to the Stepstones.” 

„I don’t think she will accept but you can always try.” 

„It is important for our family to be together. Besides I didn’t even know she was married for a long time, Jaehaerys told me of Saera a few times but nothing of her life outside of the Seven Kingdoms.” 

The funereal procession started. The heads of house Celtigar, Massey, Darklyn and Bar Emmom were present. Corlys’s brother Aethan, delivered the eulogy. You watched with Rhaenyra your children and Daemon as Laenor’s casket was lowered into the sea. The same way Laena’s was four years ago. Baelon and Vhaenor were standing next to their cousins. Aerion was in your arms and Joffrey was in Rhaenyra’s. 

„May the winds guide into the the afterlife, nephew.” Aethan recited „For our words are the old, the true, the brave. You may not have been old, but you were true and brave.” 

You saw tears stain Jacaerys’s and Lucerys’s cheeks, your palms rested on their shoulders. With the back of your palm you wiped their tears. 

…

You watched as Viserys stumbled down the cliffs with Alicent and Otto by his side. Helaena and Aemond following after them. You approached his grace with Daemon and your children. 

„Your grace.” You bowed before your sickly brother. 

„Oh, y/n.” He wheezed „You certainly are a sight for sore eyes.” He placed his boney palm on your cheek. 

„Brother, you do not look well. Are the maesters treating you well? If you wish I can call upon my healers from Essos.” You offered putting your hand over his. 

„The maesters are taking great care of his grace. They do best they can.” Alicent butted in. 

„Perhaps their best isn’t enough.” Your husband snipped staring with wide eyes at his brother’s worsening condition. 

„Hush now husband I am sure the maesters are… healing our brother to the best of their abilities. Even if they are not enough.” 

„And your children, your highness?” Otto muttered chanting the subject „Happy news reached King’s Ladning that new dragons hatched.” 

„Yes, lord hand. Five dragons indeed hatched.” 

„And since when are you interested in dragon, Otto? I remember you said they are an abomination to your gods.” Daemon carelessly said. You tried to surpress a chuckle. Viserys through his hazines glanced disappointed at Otto. 

„Speaking of children, your graces we must return to them.” 

„And where is Aegon? He has not come greet me or his lord father.” Alicent questioned accusatory.  

„Aegon is with his cousins.” Your brother answered for you. 

„So you saddle him with taking care of babes, now?” The green Queen made a snide comment. 

„Oh not at all, your grace. He is simply offering his comforts to Baela and Rhaena. After all they just lost and uncle.” You intertwined your arm with Daemon. 

„I see.” She only muttered and the two of you left, returning to your children’s side. 

„Have you seen him? He looks like the stranger is eating him alive.” You whispered to Daemon, he nodded and squeezed you hand reassuringly. 

„The greens are ordering the maesters to be worsening his condition.” 

„We need our healers to take a look at him.” 

„And what if they don’t do anything?” 

You stayed quiet, consumed by thoughts on how to turn this situation in your favor. 

„What are you thinking of?” 

„Do you remember when our grandsire named father his hand when he was too sick to rule?” 

„You do not think..?” 

You nodded at your brother. 

„Viserys is sick, the greens control the throne. Rhaenyra is his heir, she should become her fathers regent and wear his crown.” 

The two children of Baelon the brave stared at Rhaenyra from afar. She and her children stood alone amongs the cliffs and salty sea. 

„It could work, but Otto is still hand. He will go against this, the council will side with him.” Daemon noticed, caressing your hand affectionately. 

„Then we have to think of a way to find new members of the small council, those who will be unwaveringly loyal to ’Nyra. And us of course. Still we have to get rid of Otto somehow, name a new hand.” 

„Corlys…He hates the greens as much as we do. His house is the richest in the seven kingdoms. He is old and experienced.” 

Your eyes widened surprised. 

„You would not want to be hand? I know you pestered Viserys for that position.” 

„I used to, but we would have to move to King’s Landing. I do not want to leave the Stepstones, I do not want our children to be raised there. At least on Bloodstone we are the rulers of our own lives, Baela and Rhaena are happy there and so is Aegon.” 

„You have changed.” You stated, a warm feeling spread in your insides. 

„Does my wife, enjoy it?” He teasingly questioned placing his large palms on your waist. 

„Very much so.” You smiled leaning into his warm embrace. 

„Your highness.” Annora approached the two of you with Aerion in her arms. He was fussing, you could see tears stain his chubby cheeks. „I’m sorry but he could not stop crying.” 

„It is fine, thank you.” You answered taking Aerion, he will be turning one soon.

„You coddle him.” Daemon stated taking him from your arms and into his. You could see that he started to wiggle in discomfort.

„Maybe he’s hungry.” You said feeling your sore breasts. 

„No, he is spoilt. You always hold him, you didn’t do that with Baelon or Vhaenor.” 

„It’s just… he’s so small.” 

„He’s healthy, my love. He’ll be fine without your embrace for a while.” Your husband answered keeping Aerion in his arms. 

You walked with Daemon through castle Driftmark. A dreary seat, even more than Dragonstone. Your children were taken to a spare nursery, that left you and Daemon in your temporary chambers. 

You sighed and begun to unlace the black mourning dress with silver accents. 

„Do you need help?” Daemon approached you from behind, without and answer he began to unlace the bodice and dress. 

„I need to change into something more comfortable.” You announced „This dress squeezes my breasts and I cannot take it anymore.” 

„Perhaps you are due to a visit to the tailor?” Daemon muttered sliding the fabric off your body. You raised your silver eyebrow. 

„Are you saying I’m too fat for my dresses?” 

„No, your tits are too big to fit in that dress. Although I do like to see them spill out of your cleavage. Perhaps I was wrong to mention a tailor.” Your husband teased caressing the side of your breast with his thumb. 

„I wasn’t so big after Vhaenor…” You stated staring at yourself in the mirror. 

„You aren’t big, y/n.” 

„Do you want more children?” You questioned turning to face Daemon, dressed in cotton underdress. 

„I want as many children as you will give me.” He leaned against your forehead. 

„A girl, then.” 

„A girl?” Daemon pressed a kiss to your neck, his hands roamed over your body. „As you wish, wife.” 

…

You slept comfortably tangled in Daemon’s arms, the bed was not as comfortable as the one you shared on Bloodstone. A knock stirred you out of sleep, you tried to ignore the sound but it was persistent. You groaned and wrapped your body in a silver robe and opened the door. 

„Aegon? What has happened so early?” You questioned leaning on the door frame. 

„His grace invited you and your family to break fast together.” He nervously said. 

„Now?” 

„In an hour or so.” 

„Why are you telling me this? You are not a servant.” 

„I’m… What if they order me to return with them?” You sighed at his broken heart expression, you wrapped him in your arms and caressed his messy silver gold hair. 

„I will fight to keep you with me.” You answers pressing a kiss to his temple. 

„Promise?” 

„I promise. Now go back to your chambers and dress, preferably in black it is a funeral after all.” 

He nodded and skipped off to your chambers, you sighed and pressed your hand against your forehead. It was too early for political warfare, you felt tired and a bit sore from the strenuous activities of the night before. 

You walked over to the bed where your husband laid, his naked back spread comfortably over the bed. 

„Daemon.” You nudged him, he groaned and turned away from you, you chuckled and sat on his abdomen keeping him in place. „Daemon.” You  whispered into his ear.

„hmm?” He murmured waking from sleep. 

„We are invited to break fast with our brother.” 

„How do you expect me to leave when I have you on top of me?” He cheekily said, your cheeks warmed and you felt him growing hard under you. 

„We do not have time…” You whispered. 

…

Your black dress with embroidered red dragon’s breath swayed with your movement. The long sleeves of the dress were in Baelon’s clutches as he walked next to you unsure. He did not like castle Driftmark nor did he like the sea. 

„Your highness.” Ser Erryk and Arryk Cargyll bowed as they guarded the King’s chambers. 

„Sers.” You answered and entered your brothers room with your family. 

Viserys barely lucid sat at a round table in the corner of the room, a weird smelling incense was burning in the chambers. 

You kissed his healthier cheek and took a place on his right, Daemon to his left. 

„Where is Alicent and the children?” You questioned. 

„It will be just us, my siblings.” He wheezed back, motioning for the servant to bring the food. 

„What is that smell?” Daemon asked sniffing the air. 

„Oh it is- it is an ailment the maesters prescribed.” Your brother answered breathlessly, you nodded at Daemon to put out the poison and open the windows. 

„I’m afraid it’s making the children a bit queasy, you do not mind if we open the windows?” You took Viserys’s hand in yours. He simply nodded and glanced at your eldest, Baelon. 

„And how are you, my nephew?” Viserys asked, the two boys looked at him unsure. Aerion stayed in the nursery. 

„I’m well, your grace.” The four year old answered playing with the hem of his doublet under the table. 

„There is…no need to call me your grace. I am your uncle you may adres me as such.” Your brother said, you smiled seeing the love he held for his family. „I heard you have a dragon.” 

„Yes! I call him Aegarax, he’s brave like Darren!” Baelon exclaimed happy to talk about his hatchling, simply forgetting the uneasiness he felt before. 

„You named him right, Baelon a strong name.” He turned to you. 

„Thank you, I do not remember our father but the stories grandsire told me of him makes me feel as if I did get to know him.” 

„And where is the babe?” He questioned. 

„In his nursery.” Daemon answered. 

„Viserys… do you think it well to name a regent?” You gently coaxed him into the new topic. 

„Regent? Otto is my hand, he does well in my absence.” His grace wheezed. 

„And how often does he rule in your absence. I’ve been hearing that he sits the throne every day.” Daemon a bit more harsh added. 

„My sickness keeps me abed most days, yes.” 

„Even the greatest Kings get sick or old and they need help. Their family’s help. Remember Jaehaerys? He named Baelon his hand and regent.” 

„Yes, father was an excellent hand despite his short time serving the role.” Viserys agreed. You noticed that once the incense cleared your brother seemed to get a bit better. More lucid. 

„Rhaenyra is your heir, you should let her take more responsibility. She is after all the future Queen.” 

Viserys pondered for a moment, he glanced at you then at Daemon. 

„Perhaps you are right…” He admitted. „I will have to talk with the council of this change.”

You sent a small smile in your husbands direction, he returned the gesture smugly. The Hightowers have controlled the throne far too long, as true dragons it was your duty to stop their rule.

The bigger problem however was Alicent Hightower, you couldn't dismiss a Queen as easily as a Hand. You knew Viserys never loved her, he may hold some affection for her but it couldn't compare to the feelings he held for Aemma.

"Have you thought of Aegon returning to King's Landing?" You suddenly asked, your brother raised his eyebrow. It is as if he just remembered he has a son.

"Oh yes... Aegon."

"He's turning into a man soon, brother." Daemon added.

"I suppose he is... what is the issue then?"

"Aegon doesn't want to return to the Red Keep." You stated matter of factly.

"Why wouldn't he? His siblings and mother are there." He said unaware.

"That castle is a viper's den, it is no surprise a boy of only five and ten wouldn't want to stay there. After he was raised for over a decade in a loving home."

"Alicent is his mother it is her choice in the end."

"You are the King, Viserys. I'm sure it wouldn't be out of the ordinary for you to have the last say. I'm sure Aegon would be thankful." You stated

"I..." He wheezed "Bring him." He ordered.

Aegon dressed in a black doublet and trousers, the cape on his shoulders was of a deep crimson.

"Your grace." He bowed his head slightly at his sitting father "Aunt, Uncle."

"Aegon, sit." He ordered, the boy took a seat next to his little cousins. You smiled symphatically at Aegon as he uncomfortably cowered under Viserys's gaze. "I have heard you wish to stay with your aunt and uncle, is this true?"

"...Yes, father." He nodded unsure.

"I see no reason to-" Viserys was cut off in the middle of the sentence, the doors opened and Alicent stepped in the chambers. Her dark green dress flowing after he movements.

"Husband, son. Princess y/n, Prince Daemon." She was out of breath as she acknowledged your presence.

"Alicent." Viserys wheezed "What are you doing here? I... I didn't call for you."

"I came to see my son." Aegon tensed at his mothers words.

"We have just been talking of extending his wardship." Viserys answered and in that moment you wanted to commit treason and strangle your brother for his idiocy.

"What?" She asked in disbelief.

"I wish to stay with my aunt and uncle, your grace." Aegon meekly said.

"That is out of the question. Your wardship has come to an end, there is no reason for you to stay on that rock any longer."

"Lady Mother-" He wanted to speak but Alicent silenced him with a flick of her wrist.

"And you would allow this?" She glared at Viserys "For them to take away my son from me? Again?"

"I am not taken away anywhere, I want to remain with my cousins and aunt." Aegon explained but Alicent ignored his pleas.

"Aegon..." You whispered to the boy who had tears in his eyes.

"Don't you see Viserys! She has raised my son! Poisoned him against me, and his family!"

"Alicent! Mind your tongue. My sister has done and admirable job at raising Aegon, you should be thanking her instead of spitting such vile accusations." Viserys said angrily glaring at his Hightower wife. "If it is Aegon's wish to remain in the stepsons he may do so until his eight and tenth birthday when he shall return to King's Landing."

"My King-" Alicent tried to speak.

"My decision is final, Alicent."

King Viserys's health has deteriorated over the years making him incapable of sitting the throne. He named his heir Princess Rhaenyra regent until he would be able to rule once more. Many believe that is is Princess y/n and Prince Daemon's doing for the realm delight to sit the throne. - From the dragon bringer by the feather and quill of Grand Maester Roland.

Taglist:

@nessjo

Jaes's hen jēdar

God's of the sky

Twelve

Summary: Only a few months passed since the previous chapter but the year changed. A plot is discovered!

Masterlist <-previous , next->

123 AC Bloodstone, Stepstones

"Your Highness a letter from the capitol." Maester Roland approached you, handing you the scroll.

"Thank you, Roland." You said your thanks and the grey dressed man retreated to his wing.

"What is it mother?" Nymor asked trying to peek at the parchment, you chuckled at his eagerness.

"If you'll let me read I will tell you." He obediently moved away but waited impatiently.

"It is from Princess Rhaenyra." You announced skimming over the letters

"What does it say?" Nymor questioned, his need for knowledge insatiable.

"She will arrive on Bloodstone in a moons time, an important matter is to be settled." You answered a bit unsure of what the important matter is.

"Will Jace, Luke and Joffrey come too?" He asked.

"Perhaps." You mumbled caressing your swollen belly as you strolled with your second son through castle Bloodfyre. "Do you not wish to join Derran in Dorne?" You questioned

"I prefer to stay close to you, mother." He answered, and you couldn't help the smile that crept on your lips. You pressed a kiss to his curly silver hair.

The celebration for Aegon's six and tenth name day will happen in a moons time, half the realm was invited to castle Bloodfyre to celebrate such a joyous occasion. You were getting a migraine organising the whole affair, your pregnancy and constant tiredness didn't help either. Thankfully Daemon was a big help.

You walked with Nymor to the gardens, you could hear the familiar screeching of Aegarax, Gaelithox and Aerion's unnamed hatchling. The three baby dragons chased after one another occasionally breathing small bubbles of fire.

If the hatchlings were there it meant your sons were nearby. You walked to see Baelon, Vhaenor and Aerion listen intently to Daemon as two maids followed after them.

"Husband?" You questioned interrupting whatever Daemon was saying.

"Wife." he answered and slowly walked over to you, your boys being the first ones to run to you. Except for Aerion who was held by Daemon, the boy was almost one already.

"What were you telling them?"

"A story of their grandfather." He responded pressing a kiss to your lips, Aerion making a dissatisfied noise.

"Did you enjoy your fathers story?" You asked Baelon and Vhaenor who nodded quickly busy with talking to Nymor. Your second son eagerly answering their questions.

"Rhaenyra will arrive soon." You stated, glancing at your husband.

"Hmm? Whatever for?"

“She didn’t say. Only that an important matter has to be discussed.” You murmured.

“You’re as thick as thieves I’m surprised she didn’t tell you.”

You hummed agreeing to Daemon’s words. Your sons scurried off elsewhere leaving the two of you alone.

“How much will her visit cost us?” Daemon suddenly asked.

“I’m not sure, she didn’t specify as to who will accompany her. I think it is a rather discreet matter, a big entourage would prove to be a hassle. Why?”

“I have been going over the books regarding our spending. The port is doing well, the trade is blossoming but the cost of building a castle is still quite large.”

“Has dragon fire not reduced the costs enough all ready?” You questioned.

“That’s not the issue, the issue is gathering materials. We live on a group of islands where stone is most common. Shipping wood is a rather costly and tedious.”

“Then we plant trees.” You answered

“Those will not grow in time, my love.”

“I know but it’s a start. We are poorly defended with a half done castle.”

“Bloodstone is the heart of trade now a days, perhaps we could indulge in fine exotic goods.”

“Such as?”

“Dragon scale or teeth. Merchants, Essosi princess would pay good money for such a rare item.”

“Perhaps… and how do you believe we collect these rare items.”

“We have five hatchlings as of now, they grow therefore loose scales and baby teeth.”

“Yes, baby teeth. But perhaps you’re right. I’ll see to it.”

“No, my wife. You should not strain yourself.” He said firmly a loving gaze in his violet orbs. He placed his large warm palm on your flat stomach. You rolled your eyes.

“I’m not pregnant, Daemon.”

“Not yet, but soon.”

“And how would you know that?” You quirked a brow at him.

“Call it father’s intuition.”

You chuckled at his words. He intertwined your arms together and you strolled through the castle gardens.

“Your Highness, a letter from Dorne.” One of your maids bowed and handed you to folded parchment. You nodded your head and dismissed her.

You carefully broke the orange seal and read. So many letters in one day you thought.

“What is it? Does Darren want to return home?” You stayed quiet reading the letter one more time. “My love?”

“Darren is sick, Maron writes that he suddenly fell ill and is has not woken.” You breathlessly said your fingers covering your lips. Fear overtook your body.” I should not have let him go to Dorne… I have to go.” You said and begun walking in the direction of your chambers. Daemon trailed after you.

“y/n Darren is strong. He will be fine.” He tried to reassure you

“You don’t know that!” You silently shouted stopping. “He is my son! He is just a boy, what if he doesn’t get better. I need to go to him.”

“He has the blood of the dragon a simple illness will not take him away. Our blood is immune to normal diseases.”

“He is half Rhoynish, and do you not remember the shivering sickness? The one that took little Daenerys and killed half the realm?”

“I- I will watch over the children.” He finally relented

“Thank you…” You quickly kissed his lips and resumed the walk to your chambers.

You changed into a bronze and black riding leathers, and quickly departed to find Vermithor.

…

Sunspear looked serene from above. Merchants, artisans, farmers and other small folk filled the streets. The old Palace stood grand in the middle of the bustling city.

The sun high in the air illuminated the stained glass windows. Adding colour to the castle made of beige sandstone.

The bronze fury landed on the outskirts of the city, where he once rested during your time in Sunspear. A horse and armed guards were already waiting near the city gates.

“Princess y/n.” They bowed their heads and handed you the reigns to a beautiful white sand steed.

“Thank you, we must go quickly.” You ordered and galloped through the streets. The courtyard was mostly empty, Moran was already awaiting your presence.

“Good brother.” You approached and took of your gloves, letting Moran kiss the back of your hand.

“Good sister.” He answered “Darren is in his chambers.”

“When did this happen?” You quietly questioned, worried that if you were any louder your voice would betray you.

“Two days ago. The maesters are not sure as to what happened to him. He was fine and suddenly he collapsed.”

“My poor boy.” You whispered to yourself. “Have the maesters checked for poison?”

“No princess… Who would want to poison a child?” Maron was distraught.

“He is not just a child, Maron. He is the prince of Dorne.” You didn’t trust the maesters not even the ones who served in your home. You much preferred the healers from Braavos and Volantis. They were skilled and unbiased. The Citadel was in Old Town, it is dominion of Hightowers.

“Have any of the Essosi healers looked at him?” You questioned.

“No… The Maesters have said that they would do more harm than good.”

“And do you trust them?”

“To trust a man is a feat I think not many have achieved.”

“Do you trust me then?”

Maron looked a bit unsure at your questioned but nodded nonetheless.

“You were my brothers wife, you have two Dornish children. We are family.”

“Then as your family I advise you not to trust those grey rats.”

Maron was stunned.

“I will send for the healers that serve me on Bloodstone. For now I would like to be alone with my son.” You said as you approached the door to Darren’s chambers. Your good brother nodded and retreated. You entered the room to find a maester and few servants. “Out. All of you.” You ordered voice ice cold.

“Your highness, if you would give me a moment. I have not finished the treatment.”

“I do not care, leave.” You ordered, the elderly man hesitated but left after offering a small bow.

Tears danced in the corners of your eyes as you looked at Darren. His sun kissed skin was now sickly pale, you could see his chest moving up and down very slowly. As if the act of breathing brought him pain. You kneeled at his bedside and took his frail hand in yours pressing it to your forehead.

“My son.” You whispered tears choking your throat “My boy… What have they done to you?”

You were not a religious person by any means. The only gods you paid respect to were the gods of Old Valyria but in that moment, you would pray to any god out there. Preform a dozen sacrifices if it meant that Darren would get better.

“Mother…” He wheezed, your eyes shot up to see Darren’s misty ones staring back at you.

“Darren!” Tears streamed down your cheeks as you embraced his laying body. “Oh my son, my sweet boy.”

“Mummy” He cried “It hurts..!”

“What hurts tell me.” You frantically moved around him. He didn’t answer only stared with tears in his eyes and a pained expression.

“Sleep..” he croaked “Night..”

“What..?” You questioned

“Rat..” he slipped off to unconsciousness.

“Darren?” You meekly asked mulling over his words. “Sleep? Night? Rat?”

Was he poisoned? But by who and with what? You spent hours next to his bedside, hoping, praying for an answer.

You slowly rose from your feet and left the chamber. A lonely guard was standing in front of the door.

“Guard this entry. No one may enter until I return.” You ordered.

“As you command princess.” He straightened his back.

You slowly made your way to the maesters wing, knocking gently.

“Maester?” You questioned “I’m sorry for intruding at such a late hour but there is a matter of grace importance I wish to discuss.”

You heard shuffling and footsteps, the door slightly opened revealing the Maester.

“Your highness, how can I be of service?” He let you in into his solar. Various books and concoctions were scattered throughout the room.

"It is about my son." you answered taking a seat, the elderly man doing the same. "If i may ask maester where are you from?"

"A peculiar question, your highness." You raised and eyebrow and ushered him "I was born and raised in Oldtown."

“A magnificent city isn’t it? Never had the pleasure to visit.” You murmured.

“Yes, magnificent indeed.”

“Hmm… tell me what happened to your prince.” You ordered, the man furrowed his eyebrows.

“A terrible thing, the prince seemed to be fine lively and brave as he usually is. Then the other day he suddenly collapsed and hasn’t woken since.” He concluded.

“Collapsed where?”

“I do not know, your highness. I have tended to him in his chambers.”

“And you didn’t think to ask where he suddenly fell?”

“At the moment no. I think it was in the gardens.”

“You think?”

“Pardon me, I was quite overwhelmed with stabilizing the princes life to ask.”

“Hmm” You nodded fixing your posture in the uncomfortable chair “What do you suspect his is?”

“Oh it is quite difficult to tell, his symptoms are fatigue, headaches.”

“You’re a maester, tell me your diagnosis as of now.” You hardened your stare at the grey rat.

“I would suspect it is perhaps a sun stroke.”

“Thank you maester, I apologize if I have been rude. I simply worry for my son.”

“It is natural for mothers to worry for their children.” He nodded, you left his chambers. Your blood boiling, he is an accomplice he has to be.

For now you had to take your son with you. You were a fool to believe he would be safe here in his home. Dorne only recently and begrudgingly joined the seven kingdoms. The other kingdoms influence was scarce, especially the crownlands. The Dornishmen valued their independence above anything, that was proven during the conquest. Perhaps they feel betrayed by your husband and son who agreed and upholded the tract made with your grandsire.

Thoughts swarmed your head as you approached your son’s door. A maid waited by the entrance tray in hand.

“Princess.” The guard acknowledged your presence slightly startling the poor girl.

“Who are you?” You questioned not recognizing the maid.

“Celia, your highness.” You noticed she did not posses the accent that most Dornish had.

“And what are you doing here?” You approached the younger girl.

“I bring tea and medicine to the prince.” She quietly answered, you could see her hands trembling.

“Calm down, child.” You said “I’ll take this off your hands.” You tried to grab the tray but the girl evaded. “No..!” She said a bit panicked.

“No?”

“I-I the kitchens instructed me to deliver this to the prince myself.”

“And whose order in the kitchen is more important than that of a princess?” You questioned.

“Yours, your highness.” She meekly answered. You took the tray from her and the guard stationed outside his door opened it for you. Before entering you leaned into the man’s ear.

“Keep an eye on her.” You whispered, the man solemnly nodded.

You placed the tray with the medicine on the table. You raised the steaming cup to your nose and took a whiff. A rather sharp and irritating smell hit your nose. This was not tea, that much you can tell. You have dabbled in herbs and medicine in your youth. Often making concoctions for your grandsire and then husband.

If this were a poison it was rare and difficult to detect. You stood in the middle of the room pondering over the events of the day. You sighed and walked over to the door.”

“Bring me the girl.” You ordered the guard, he obliged and a few moment later a knock interrupted your thoughts.

The maid from before was slightly shaking in the guards hold.

“Do not fret, Celia. Come, sit.” You invited the servant girl to the table. The cup of tea still steaming.

The girl was squirming under your gaze, her gaze was focused on her lap.

“Are you Dornish?” You questioned, she slightly shook her head.

“No.” She whispered timidly.

“Where?”

“I am from a small village east of the Honeywine river.”

“Oh? You must be scared being in an unfamiliar land.”

She simply nodded.

“Who sent you here?”

“My father is a merchant from Oldtown, we moved to Sunspear for better opportunities.”

“What a touching story, you must be parched my dear.” You smiled slightly “Drink.” You ordered moving the cup in her direction.

“That tea is for the prince, your highness.” She objected.

“The prince is unconscious. He will not mind.”

“I cannot it would be improper of me-“

“Improper? As much as refusing an order from the princess of the realm”

“N-No”

“Drink.” You now ordered the smile disappearing from your lips. The girls eyes widened, her breath became more rapid.

She tried to steady her breath as she stared at the teacup. After a moment she took it in her hand. “I am not t-thirsty, you highness. You sent her a cold stare. She obliged and pressed the cup to her rosy, slightly parted lips.

Once the liquid was to flow through her throat she slammed the cup on the table.

“I-I cannot, I’m sorry.” Tears flowed through her nervous eyes. She hiccuped pressing her head in her hands.

“What’s in the cup?” You questioned roughly grabbing the girl by her hair and making her look at your face.

“Poison.” She wailed.

“What kind?!”

“Nightshade..! I’m sorry!”

“Who gave you the order?!” You shouted at her tightening the grip on her locks.

“There w-was a man in the kitchens! He gave me the tea and told to deliver it to the prince!”

“More!” You ordered searching for answers in her eyes.

“I do not know!”

“Say or I will feed you to fire! You tried to kill my son! A boy of only three and ten! Your prince!”

“I did not mean to.” She cried and wailed stumbling over her words.

You let go of her hair.

“Guard!” You ordered, two men walked in “Bring everyone working in the kitchens out in the courtyard.”

“Princess it is night-“

“Now!”

The two scurried off and nodded.

“You will tell me who gave you the poison meant to kill my son.”

She quickly nodded, groveling on her knees.

You stared from the balcony as the guards gathered every worker from the kitchens. The girl, Celia was standing next to you.

“Show me.” You ordered. The girl nodded and scanned the crowd. Her finger pointed towards a man, tall and rather skinny. You nodded at the guards and they took the screaming and trashing man to the dungeons.

From the corner of your eye you beckoned a knight over.

“Make sure the Maester doesn’t leave his chambers.”

He bowed and left, his armor rattling with every step. You handed to girl to another knight. You will questioned the both of them in the morning. For now you needed rest.

…

You stared with disdain at the man before you, kneeling and chained.

“Name.”

“Harrold.” He answered, his confidence not wavering.

“Were you the one to poison my son? Your prince.” You calmly asked, the man shook his head and you nodded at the dungeon master. He took a step forward in his hand were heavy metal pincers. The burly man grabbed Harrold’s hand and with the pincers he grabbed his nail and pulled. The man wailed in pain.

“Will you tell the truth now?” He cried and cried.

“Y-yes!” You nodded at the dungeon master to remove another nail.

“That was for admitting that you were lying before. Now speak!”

“I received the money, order and poison from a man. I-I don’t know what he was called. He just said he serves in the red keep!”

“And the girl? Celia?”

“She’s just a servant!”

“And the man, tell me more!”

“I-I do not know!” Another nail another scream.

“Who was the man?!” You demanded.

"I don't know! He just gave me the poison!"

"No ordinary man can afford such a poison... or make one!" You nodded at the dungeon master to remove another nail.

"T-The maester!" He finally screamed out in pain.

"What of the maester!?"

"He m-made the poison! A man just gave it to me!"

“What was he wearing?”

“A-a cloak!”

“What color?!”

“G-green.” He croaked out, and it is as if time stopped.

Green

…

A fortnight passed and Darren begun waking up more and more. His strength was coming back, the color in his face and eyes as well.

You watched with fondness as he devoured a duck roasted in honey with potatoes on the side. A cup of honey milk in a cup next to him. A food taster was now present for every meal he ate.

“Mummy, are you well?” He asked.

“I should be the one to ask you that, my love.” You mused placing a spare strand of brown hair behind his ear.

“You’re pale, and you do not eat.”

“I simply am worried for you.”

“Really? You look like this every time you’re with a babe.”

His words stunned you, and then you thought. You were not missing your moon blood, not yet anyway. You felt fine, tired but you wrote of the tiredness as a result of your son’s poisoning.

“We will return home soon. Once you get strong enough.”

“I am strong enough! I want to see Aegon and Nymor and the rest of my siblings.”

“I shall think about it.”

But he was right, there was no point in keeping him in Sunspear. He would be much safer on Bloodstone.

“Your highness!” A guard burst through the doors to your son’s chamber. You frowned worried. “A dragon spotted a few leagues away from Sunspear.”

“What did the dragon look like?” You questioned.

“Golden.” The guard answered.

“Aegon...” Darren whispered hopefully. You sighed deeply palming your forehead.

“You stay here, I’ll retrieve him.” You sighed standing up and leaving his chambers. You could hear the flapping of wings and the familiar screeches of Sunfyre above the city. Vermithor bellowed glancing up at the sky.

To your surprise Aegon was not the only person riding Sunfyre.

“Nymor.” You stated a bit on edge “What are you doing here? Aegon Sunfyre is too small to saddle two people.”

The two boys jumped from the dragon and your son jumped into your arms, Aegon following.

“We heard that Darren is sick, mother. I had to see my brother.” Nymor answered a bit harshly, which was unusual for him.

“He is fine now, and you Aegon?”

“Darren is my friend.” He murmured avoiding your stern gaze.

You sighed deeply. “Very well. Come along now."

You stood in the doorway watching your sons reunite. Nymor flung himself on Darren's bed, round cheeks stained with tears. Aegon on the other hand stood next to the bed, his hands awkwardly put behind his back.

"Derran!" Nymor cried, his elder brother chuckled and caressed his curly silver locks.

"Im alright, brother." He mused "Aegon, I-... It's good so see you." He awkwardly stated.

You raised your eyebrow in surprise. They never acted like this, they were comfortable in each other's presences, often skipping lessons together or being up to no good. You had to question them about this later.

"Yes..." Aegon muttered back, slightly sheepish.

"Mummy how could you not take me with you!" Nymor complained, freeing himself from his brothers embrace.

"I did what I thought was best. What if you have fallen ill? What would I do with two sick sons." You slightly teased.

"But he wasn't sick, was he?" Aegon questioned, you sighed deeply approaching Darren's bed.

"No, he was not."

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Jaes's hen jēdar

God's of the sky

Thirteen

Daemon x reader

Summary: Aegon turns sixteen, Rhaenyra arrives at bloodstone.

Masterlist <-previous , next->

123 AC

You caressed your slightly firm tummy as you stared at your reflection. Your thin linen gown allowed you to see your body. You sighed and turned around arriving at your desk. Various papers, inks. scrolls laid scattered on the piece of wood. A single candle illuminated the side of your face as you went over the books. 

The island’s income is getting better with every month. Merchants now know that they will not be attacked by rouge pirates or scavengers. Trade boomed, the ports grew like mushrooms after rain. 

But for your husband it was not enough. Well with seven children and five grown dragons things were not steep. The castle was still being built, chambers, dungeons, cellars all the works were added. Daemon demanded a castle as grand as the Red Keep but more fortified. You then questioned your brother.

“Why do we need such a large castle? There is only a handful of us. We do not hold court even.” 

“We are Targaryens we deserve nothing but the best.” He simply answered. You chuckled at his words, but he was honest in his determination. The castle grew each month, builders, masons, artists were employed. 

“What are you reminiscing about?” Daemon asked entering your private chambers. “You were not abed in our chambers.” 

“I had to go over the spending and income.” You answered pointing to the heavy tome in front of you. 

“You can do that all later, or at all.” He mused walking behind you. He placed a kiss at the nape of your neck, leaning over the chair. You leaned into his touch sighing quietly. “You should be resting.” 

“I am fine, Daemon. ‘Tis not the first time I am doing this.” You swatted away his worries. 

“Many women in my life fell to childbirth. My aunts, my mother and Laena. I simply do not wish to see you in pain.” 

“While I thank you for your worries, husband. I am perfectly capable of caring for myself. I have before, I shall do it now.” You answered beginning to scribble with a quill. “You should have faith in me, Daemon.” 

“I have nothing but faith, but childbirth is not something you or anyone else can control.” 

“Hmm.” You agreed and rolled your shoulders. 

“How is she?” He questioned after a moment of silence. His large, warm palm pressed against your flat but slightly firm tummy. That indicated life. 

“She’s fine. Makes me feel tired and nauseous but she’s fine.” 

“How will we name her?” 

“I haven’t thought about it, have you?” 

“…I have.” 

“And? What did you come up with?” 

“Perhaps Alyssa after my mother, or Gael after your mother.” 

“I do not like naming my children after other people, Baelon of course being the exception.”

“Why is that?” He questioned curiously. 

“I think that… names posses a certain power. Our names affect us, they add to our personality. What happened when you name a child after a man who was brutally murdered or a woman who turned insane. It just it seems weird to me. Especially the name Aegon.”

“Aegon? What’s wrong with that.” 

“I believe the conqueror’s names are cursed, but more so the name Aegon.” 

“Why?”

“Aegon the first is the patriarch of our house. He launched us into greatness, without him we still would be on dragon stone. No future Aegon will ever amount to his greatness, they cannot. No matter how hard they try. And each Aegon gets a worse faith than the last."

"How is that?"

"Aegon, Aenys's son was slain by Balerion. He was hated by the realm. Jaehaerys's and Alysanne's Aegon died in the cradle, your brother Aegon also died in the cradle."

"And what about this Aegon?" Daemon questioned.

"He is the son that Viserys so desired, only to throw him away after his birth, focusing only on Rhaenyra. Hated by his mother for being a reminder of the youth that was stripped from her. I want him to be happy, but I know his life will be filled with hardships."

Daemon nodded and silence fell between the two of you. You continued to scribe in the books as your husband watched you work.

"You never told me what happen in Dorne." The rogue prince said breaking the silence. You sighed and put the quill away.

"Because it would be treason." You simply answered.

"Treason? Now you piqued my interest, do pray tell."

"The man that poisoned Darren was hired by a man that served in the red keep. He said he was wearing green, the Queen's colours. The servant girl that delivered the poison is from some village near Old Town. I went to the maester's chambers, herbs used for making essence of Nightshade laid scattered through the shelves."

"You do not suggest it is that green's snake doing?" Daemon muttered. "But why? She's as pious as one can be. I think it is against her religion to kill a child."

"Isn't it obvious?" You questioned raising and eyebrow at him "She attacked my eldest son, as I have taken her eldest away from her. It is revenge."

"Otto would never allow it. I hate the cunt be he is clever."

"But you forget that Alicent is Queen, higher than the hand. Perhaps a fe years ago she wouldn't even take a breath if her father told her so. But now, she's a woman, a Queen and an anchor for the faith. She has loyal supporters."

"Then what do you suggest we do?"

"...I don't know, attacking her would be stupid. Demanding justice, stupid. She would just deny and accuse us of treason, we have to bide our time and gather more evidence."

"I'll see to it."

You nodded and watched your husband leave. You released the breath you were holding. What if Alicent truly meant to kill your son, will she stop after the first attempt or continue. Are any of your children safe?

You heard the door open once more.

"I will join you soon, Daemon." You muttered focusing on the heavy tome in front of you.

"Is it true?" You immediately raised your gaze to find Aegon standing before you. Fists balled up in anger. "Is my mother responsible for what happened to Darren."

"Aegon-" You stood up and took a careful step towards him.

"Tell me!" He raised his voice, you sighed and crossed your arms over your chest.

"I believe so..." A beat of silence passed.

"I have to go back." He stated suddenly.

"What?" You stalked towards him, you took his cheeks into your palms.

"She won't stop trying to hurt your family as long as I'm with here, and not with her."

"You are my family Aegon." You reasoned

"It's my fault Darren is hurt."

"That's nonsense, sweet boy. You are not responsible for your parent's actions. No child is."

"But I'm not a child am I? I'm a man now, I cannot hide behind your skirts hoping you'll fix my messes." Aegon lamented.

"Aegon, this is not your fault." You mused caressing his wavy hair.

"I have to go, I'll send a letter to my mother saying that I'll return to King's Landing." He stated "When they come for my name day celebration I'll return with them."

"You'll always have a place in my home, Aegon."

"I- thank you." He stiffly said and left your chambers.

...

Aegon stalked the halls searching for the familiar path that led him to Darren's room. He stopped at the foot of the door, his hand raised to knock. But he decided to enter unannounced.

The dark haired teen laid motionlessly in his bed. A duvet covered half his body. Aegon sat at the food of the bed, he sighed deeply and placed his head in his hands.

Darren stirred startling the Targaryen prince.

"Aegon?" Darren groggily asked seeing the familiar silhouette. "What are you doing here?"

"I- " He tried to form the words but nothing left his lips. Instead tears begun to pool in the corner of his violet eyes.

"Aegon what's wrong." Darren threw the covers off his body and sat next to Aegon, shoulders touching.

"I'm going back." The older boy finally said.

"Back where?" Oblivious, the Martell Prince asked.

"To King's Landing."

"What?" He breathlessly said. "No... No you promised you'll stay with me."

"You think I don't want to?" Aegon raised his voice and stared at the Dornish Prince before him, tears cascaded down his pale cheeks. "But it's my fault you're like this."

"How is my poisoning your fault?"

"It's my mothers doing."

"So it's not your fault then." Aegon widened his eyes.

"You're not mad at me?"

"Why would I be mad at you? Sure I'm mad I almost died but it's not because of you."

"Alicent won't stop trying to hurt you, or your siblings until I come back."

"And who said that?"

"It's obvious, Darren. She's mad that I was "taken" from her, so she's trying to get revenge on your mother by hurting you."

Darren chuckled, falling backwards onto the bed. Aegon joined him, his silver curls forming a halo. Darren found Aegon's hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

"I don't want to go, Darren." Aegon cried staring at the ceiling, tapestries of myths displayed in front of him.

"I know." The boy mused caressing, the olders palm with his thumb.

"But I have to, for your safety."

"Hmm." Darren sighed turning to stare at Aegon's profile.

"Why are you staring at me?"

"I don't know when will be the next time I'll get to see you like this. I want to memorise your face." Aegon blushed slightly. "Will you be okay?"

Aegon turned to stare at Darren's dark eyes.

"I'll have Sunfyre, I'll be fine."

"If you wish you'll always have a place at my court." Darren proposed.

"Your mother said the same thing."

"I am like my mother aren't I?"

"It's a good thing, you're courageous, caring and clever. y/n raised you well."

"She raised you as well, that means you're also good. A bit quiet but smart, brave like a dragon and handsome too." Darren teased, Aegon pushed him slightly as the younger laughed.

…

“Raise the chandelier higher.” You ordered standing in the middle of the ball room. The preparations for Aegon’s name day were hard to organize. The whole court along with other nobles will arrive any day now.

“Your highness which cloth should be placed over the tables.” You stared at the three different types of cloth the servant was holding. You pointed to the one of your choosing.

“I see you’re hard at work.” Daemon entered the hall. He placed a kiss to your lips and caressed your growing belly.

“Hmm.” You hummed and turned to coordinate to preparations. “I cannot wait to entertain all those nobles I hated as a child.”

“If you need me to cut out their tongues, just call me.”

“No matter how pleasing that sound I’m afraid I’ll have to decline.” You chuckled.

“The offer still stands if you wish.”

You heard dragon roars outside the castle. The familiar high pitched clicking of Syrax put a smile on your face. At least Rhaenyra will be here to accompany you.

“It seems we have guests.” Daemon said hearing the same.

“Yes, let’s go to the pit. Talya!” You shouted searching for the maid in charge of your children.

“Yes, your highness?”

“Please gather the children.” The maid dressed in a white hair covering bowed and scurried off. “I’ll go find Darren.”

Daemon nodded and went his way, you departed to climb the many stairs leading to the part of the castle that contained chambers.

You entered Darren’s chambers quickly and quietly. To your surprise you found Aegon in bed with him, the two sleeping. You sighed deeply and sat at the corner of the bed. Is this why they were so awkward with each other? But they seem at peace now.

You placed a hand on Darren’s shoulder and shook him gently. He awoke and yawned.

“Hello mother.” He simply said and continued to doze off. Aegon on the other hand shot up from the bed.

“Uh, a-aunt.” Aegon muttered covering his eyes with his hands.

“Good morrow Aegon.” You smiled and stood up walking over to the heavy wardrobe and pulling out garments for your eldest son. “Get up you two, freshen up and dress. Rhaenyra will be arriving soon.”

“I- Y-You’re not mad?” Aegon whispered. Darren stirred and sat up.

“Mad? Why would I be mad?” You questioned throwing Darren’s clothes at him, he mumbled a thank you mother and went to dress. Aegon stared in surprise at Darren.

“Well I-… Um I and Darren?” He stumbled over his words.

“Oh that? I suspected for quite some time." You admitted, Aegon paled. "Now get up and get dressed, guests will be arriving soon."

The two scurried away preparing for the welcome feast and a week of celebration.

You walked through the halls, various sculptures, tapestries and paintings hung from the walls. Torches illuminated and heated the cold stoney walls. Handmaidens, servants, cooks, butchers and others stalked through the castle, preparing chambers, food and cleaning the whole premises. You sighed and rubbed your belly.

Baela and Rhaena along with Nymor and the nursemaids that held your younglings were already awaiting your presence. The only left was Daemon, Darren and Aegon.

You brushed a loose strand of short hair from Baela’s cheek. She huffed at the pestering.

“Do I have to wear this?” She pointed to the teal dress with myrish lace and ruffles.

“Only for a short time, Baela. Then you can change into whatever you like.” You mused and walked over to Rhaena. She wore a soft pink gown with gold trimmings. Her long hair was half up and half down, a slight blush covered her cheeks.

“You look spledning, Rhaena.” You nodded at her, her twin snickered.

“It’s all for Luke no doubt.” She chuckled, Rhaena opened her mouth and then closed it, spewing a weak shut up.

“Do not pick on your sister.” Daemon approached and scolded the elder girl. Baela sunk in her position and nodded begrudgingly.

The gates opened to reveal three sets of carriages. The horses neigh and stomped their hooves. The knights riding ahead halted.

“Princess Rhaenyra of House Targaryen, the heir to the iron throne!” One of her banner men shouted. The small family begun to pour out of the stuffy carriage.

Rhaenyra sighed in relief as she glanced at the castle, her three sons followed suit and stood next to her.

The whole courtyard bowed before the princess of the realm, the heir quickly walked towards the gates.

“Princess, what an honor it is for you to grace us with your presence.” You bowed, a smirk played on your lips. Rhaenyra scoffed and motioned with her hand for you to stand. “It is good to see you.” You engulfed Rhaenyra in your arms, the younger woman returned the gesture.

“Rhaenyra.” Daemon approached taking her ringed hand and placing a kiss on her palm.

“Uncle.” She responded, her eyes fell towards your children. “And how have you all grown.”

You chuckled and took the heir by her arm “Come I am sure you are tired from your journey.”

…

“I have heard of what happened to Darren.” Rhaenyra said once you were comfortable in the sanctity of her chambers. “Terrible.”

“Yes… but he’s fine now.” You agreed.

“Are you not going to seek justice?”

“What do you propose I do? Fly to King’s Landing and demand the execution of the Queen?” You rubbed your temple “Time will come.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Rhaenyra sighed and reached for an empty goblet. She poured herself the sweet Dornish wine and took a sip.

“Now, what is this urgent business you had to tell me of?” You questioned.

“My father has proposed me a seat on the council.” She said.

“As hand?”

“As regent…I suppose it is your doing.” The Violet eyed woman mused. She took a seat next to you.

“Partially.” You admitted “Your father is sick, he does not sit the throne. Why would his hand rule in his steed when he has an appointed heir.”

“I am grateful for what you’ve done, but I’m not going to.” Her words shocked you, your eyes widened as you took in her features.

“Why?” Your voice came out a bit harsh, startling Rhaenyra.

“I do not wish to spend another moment in that vipers den, along with her. And my sons do not want to either.”

“You cannot be such a fool Rhae.” You demanded. “An opportunity of power is laid on a silver platter and you cast it aside over a squabble?”

“It is not a squabble-“ Rhaenyra protested but you silenced her.

“Whatever happened between you and Alicent was years ago. You are the heir but that does not do much. Viserys has a son and there are lords who will petition for him to be King instead of you. You must prevent this in the earliest stage of development .”

“And becoming regent will do that?” She questioned her brows furrowed.

“Of course! You’ll hold more power than the hand, you will show the realm you’re its rightful Queen. And when Viserys dies you will be there to inherit the crown.”

The realms delight sighed and sunk into her seat.

“After all these years of hoping for a son and failing he noticed me and named me heir. Defying custom and tradition. But now when he do gets a son he casts him aside. Fate is a funny thing isn’t it?”

You hummed agreeing.

“I wanted to visit you and introduce you to a person I hold dear to my heart.” Rhaenyra said after a moment of silence.

“Is he here?” You questioned knowing who she was speaking of. She nodded. “And what is your plan? Will you marry him? Name him Prince consort?”

“I do not know. Not now anyway.” She admitted “He makes me feel loved and appreciated. He likes the boys and is a good father figure to them.”

“But he’s Essosi.” You finished for her. “He has Valyrian blood, maybe it could be a pretext.”

“Maybe.”

…

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@deltamoon666

@whoisviolett

The girl with the pearl necklace (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: You marry Daemon to secure an alliance. But surprisingly, you find a haven in him.

Warnings: Fluff. Smut. Oral (F receiving) Talks of race, colorism, racism, and self-esteem issues.

A/N: This has to be my most personal fic. It might not be as universal because it is part of my personal experience with race as a mixed person living in what is essentially a mixed region. I hope I do not get a bad response, but I will remind you what the title of my blog says.

“YOUR HAIR IS ugly.” The girl says, displeased. She is trying to comb through your hair with some coconut oil, but instead of curling prettily, your hair just falls flat. She has been at it for at least half an hour, her tugs to your hair getting increasingly more painful.

This time, you cannot hide the flinch. Pain, you had excused with being her first day. Making a mess, with her being unused to your hair. But calling you ugly? She was but a serving girl, she had no right.

The girl looks horrified at what she has just said. She is barely fourteen. But yet again, you are too. You have never called anyone ugly to their faces. You keep those kinds of thoughts to yourself.

“She is young, milady.” The older maid, the one that is supposed to supervise her, says. She smooths your hair back, trying to fix it. Her touch gets more and more desperate the more she tries. Your hair will simply not obey. The younger one has put so much product on your hair, it looks greasy and unwashed.

You stare at your features in the mirror. The lighter skin, the shock of unruly hair, not quite a wave, not quite a coil, but rather something in the middle. Bad hair, your previous maids called it. You wonder why you bothered trying with maids again.

It is your cousin’s wedding. A lovely young woman, with beautiful dark hair that you bet never reacts this way.

“I am sorry, milady.” The younger maid offers.

Your eyes are still fixated on your mirror. You wonder if your mother ever has these troubles too. With her sleek hair, and foreign features, you doubt anyone dares call her ugly. She may not have a title, as you do, but she was once regarded as the most beautiful woman in Lys.

But you. Oh, you. With your too wide nose, but too upturned to be a dornish one. With your high cheekbones in a short face. With dark eyelashes, purple eyes, and hair that is not quite right.

It screams outsider. It screams, not here, not there. Not a famed beauty in Lys, not quite the Sword of the Morning.

“Get out.” You say, to the serving girl. “Get out, both of you.”

You need to wash your hair three times for all the product to come out. You are late to the wedding.

The serving girl is relocated to the kitchens, where no one needs to talk to her. The older one is sent to tend to your father. You pass her sometimes, in the hallways of Starfall, and wonder if she is thinking your hair is ugly too.

You wonder the same thing on the day your fate changes. You are getting dressed when you see her, an ill omen in the middle of Starfall. Prince Qoren has summoned all the unwed noble ladies of Dorne to Sunspear, wishing to announce something. You think it can’t be anything good, considering he has refused to use a royal proclamation to do so.

The travel to Sunspear is taxing. You travel to the capital accompanied by your mother, a day before the actual meeting is set to take place. It allows the two of you to spend the night in a manse before having to meet the royal family.

She doesn’t know how to fix your hair. Your mother’s hair is pale silver, easy to manage and twist in the ways women up north prefer. She had tried hard to tame yours as a child, spraying it with water and stretching the curls with a brush so it laid flat. It never seemed to work as it did in hers.

You pin your hair up, a clip made of pearls and amethysts keeping it up. You do not have the same texture most women here have, that ensures gorgeous volume, so you play to your strengths, showcasing the deep color you have and using it as a backdrop for gorgeous accessories.

Your dress is chosen with great care. A deep lavender, with a tasteful cleavage, held at your shoulders by twin brooches of falling stars. Not even hearing your mother say you look beautiful eases your anxiety. You had seen her, the servant. She only appeared in your life when something was about to happen.

You are not the superstitious kind, but when you stand in a line in front of Prince Qoren’s throne with all the noble maidens of Dorne, you know you were right. That woman was a bad omen.

Prince Qoren smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I am glad all of you chose to accept my invitation.” He stands. All the women in the room drop into a curtsy. “When I look at you, I see the best this Kingdom has to offer. It makes me proud. And it makes me confident enough to know I can ask this of you.”

You tense. Whatever he is going to ask is something bad, you can already tell. Some of the more clueless girls in the room look flattered by the delicate compliment, but it is a tactic you know well. You have been mocked enough to know that when someone compliments you so elaborately, a but usually follows. And it tends to be devastating.

His kind demeanor isn’t fooling you. Not in the least.

“We have never coddled our women, as the other Kingdoms do. War is coming for us, and we need strong allies. The Iron Throne offers us their support, but as always, it comes with a price.”

War. Of course it comes down to it. You have heard your parents whispering about it when they think you cannot hear. How Prince Qoren is thinking of sending his troops, instead of his money. How he expects your brother or father to lead them, sometimes against the Triarchy, sometimes against the Iron Throne.

It seems he has made his choice. Against the Triarchy. Your heart is seized by the sudden terror of the thought of your father going to war and not coming home. His sword, Prince Qoren called him.

Your house has been Dorne’s sword for decades. Ever since the first Dayne picked up their sword from the heart of a flaming star, you have defended the Kingdom against their enemies. Your very home once burned because of it.

Amongst the tales of flaming swords and fallen stars, you had never thought war would touch your home. Your brother was the current wielder of Dawn. Your father the head of your house. They would have to fight.

“A marriage pact. From a daughter of Dorne, to a Targaryen Prince. To bind our kingdoms, to ensure peace in this new alliance we embark. Dorne must remain unbowed, unbent, unbroken. House Martell has no daughters of their own to offer, so we ask one of you to go on our stead. It’s us who will pay your dowry, and you shall always have a home here.”

His words barely register as you brood about the upcoming war. You have heard of the Crabfeeder, and his brutality. You think of your kind, kind brother, and his sweet smile. He is a few years younger than you, untested in battle yet.

Some girls cheer. You look at your mother and notice she has the same stricken look you must be sporting. Some of the other parents talk animatedly between themselves, calculating the potential such a match offers their daughters. None seem to realize what it means.

War. War will come for Dorne, and the situation might turn out so bad, proud Prince Qoren will need the dragons’ help. The once unbowed man is being made to bow so low his forehead is touching the floor.

Prince Qoren raises a hand, quieting the hall.

“I am not asking for volunteers. I simply wished to gaze upon you myself, and decide who will marry Daemon Targaryen.”

Mumbles start again, some girls sounding disgruntled. Others preen and titter, trying to attract the Prince’s gaze. You keep your eyes firmly trained on the wall in front of you.

You would rather not marry this Daemon Targaryen. The politics in the other kingdoms are not your forte, but you have a vague notion of him being the brother to the current King. He must have a dragon, of course. And you think he is the one who has been in the conflict at the Stepstones, so he must be some sort of warrior.

No matter how much of a catch he might be, you wish to stay. If war is truly coming, you cannot bear to think of being separated from your family. Your mother will need you, when your father and brother are called away. And you don’t imagine yourself in a foreign land, waiting for news about them on your own.

Prince Qoren makes his way down the line of maidens. You barely spare him a glance, your mind thousands of miles away. But he pauses in front of you, looking at the shooting stars in your shoulders, the deep lavender of your dress.

“I hear Daemon Targaryen likes his women fair.” He comments. “And you are the fairest of us all.”

You swallow, throat suddenly dry. It takes all of your willpower not to fidget under his gaze. You give him an awkward smile.

Prince Qoren reaches to touch the brooch. His hands are elegant, fingers long and lean. He is about your mother’s age, and wears it just as well.

“Lady Dayne, is it?”

“Yes, my Prince.” You say, meeting his eyes. You may not be a classic dornish beauty, but you were still raised by the most charming woman in Lys. There are hardly any other women with manners as refined as yours, and you know all about the games men in power enjoy playing.

You cannot fawn over him. You cannot show him weakness. Because if you do, you will be common in his eyes, unespecial. It is not about beauty. It never is. That thought has given you great comfort during the years.

“How fitting. My dearest sword will be the one to defend her kingdom.”

Your hands begin to sweat. His choice is predictable. It is the same thing you had been thinking about your father and brother, House Dayne is the sword of Dorne. And swords, even more feminine ones, are only useful when war comes.

It doesn’t make it easier, that you should have expected it. It only makes your chest hurt. You do not dare look at your mother.

Instead, you drop into a curtsy and look at Qoren Martell as if he has made you the happiest woman in the world.

“I will be honored, my Prince.”

He smiles.

“Please, call me Qoren. We are to be family now.”

You look at your mother, insides turning to ice. You wonder how long until he takes you away from her.

In the end, it only takes a month. Qoren had been eager to depart and fix the realm’s issues. You now know plenty about the war in the Stepstones. Apparently, your future husband had secured the victory, giving the killing blow to the leader of the opposing army. But while won, the threat to your Kingdom remains. The Triarchy shall always reform, and not even the death of the Crabfeeder can stop them. Like one of those awful serpents from myth, you cut off its head and two more appear.

Pulling your support as the Triarchy was losing had been a bad move. They blamed Dorne for their defeat, and the Iron Throne thought the dornish were cowardly, only making their choice when it was clear who would lose. To avoid petty revenges and more bloodshed, Dorne needed new allies. And you needed them fast.

“We negotiated a new title for you.” Qoren tells you, as the carriage takes you from the docks and towards the Red Keep. “When you marry, you will become a Princess too, instead of remaining a Lady.”

“That sounds exciting.” You give him a bright smile. It's a very genuine one. Hearing yourself announced in such a manner would please you. “It will be strange, of course, changing it.”

“Nonsense.” Qoren laughs. “Only the best for my daughter.”

You falter, and decide to peer out of the window to hide your expression from him. You do not want him to think you are ungrateful.

The night is awfully cold, but you barely feel it. You are dressed in a purple velvet dress, still amazed by the material. You had never worn something so expensive, or made of such a warm fabric. It has the traditional dornish cut, with a plunging cleavage, but you find the added long sleeves fascinating.

The royal family had spared no expense in preparing your trousseau. As a daughter of House Martell, only the best would do. Obviously, all in their colors. This purple velvet gown was one of the few purple items you had been allowed to bring. It saddened you, having to forsake the color. You had always felt pretty in purple, since it matched your eyes.

You weren’t too sure how you felt about everything. Being sent to protect your kingdom and, by extension, your family from war was a great thing. But you were also being asked to leave your identity behind.

Never having left Dorne before, the journey had excited you, but also made you feel acutely lonely. And the thought of having to let behind your family, your colors, and even your name, only served to make you feel worse.

Your father would not be the one giving you away during your wedding, nor would your maiden cloak be the one of House Dayne. Instead, you would wear the sun and spear of House Martell.

But at this moment, as Qoren gets out of the carriage and extends you a hand, you are a Dayne. The purple dress acts a beacon, attracting the gaze of every servant in the vicinity. You stand tall, a star pendant hanging between your breasts.

You will enter decked on your colors. You will greet your future husband as you are, dressed in royal purple. Be a Dayne one last time, before war takes even that from you.

You breathe in and out, the polluted night sky so different from the beautiful stars in Dorne. This is it, you think, a chance to start over. To be whoever you wish to be. These people do not know what a dornishwoman should look like, or how she should behave. They do not know your hair is odd, and so are your eyes. They will only know what you want them to know.

“Go change, my sword. Your maids have selected a dress.” Qoren places his hand between your shoulder blades, pushing you towards the Red Keep. Your smile falls. For a second, you had thought you could attend the feast as you were, draped in your familiar purple and silver. “Make us all proud.”

You should have known better. But it is no matter now. A new life awaits you. Not even Qoren can sour your mood. You square your shoulders and smile.

So focused you are on your inner motivational speech, you do not notice the man watching you, his features covered by a black hood.

The day of your marriage, Daemon presents you with a beautiful pearl necklace. It is made of the purest pearls, with the biggest one you have ever seen right in the middle. It is bigger than the fingertip of your thumb, a perfect circle, roughly the size of a gold dragon.

“My cousin helped me commission this.” He says, during the wedding feast. He presents it to you in a small box, insides lined with velvet. As you reach for it, Daemon closes it, nearly catching your fingers with it. You laugh, startled. He grins at you. “Ah, I want to help you put it on.”

Your fingers fiddle with the simple silver chain you wear, star pendant hanging between your breasts. The hesitation must show on your face because Qoren, at your side, answers for you.

“She is honored, I am sure. Such a gorgeous jewel, to sit in the neck of the greatest beauty Dorne has to offer.”

You smile, trying not to let the sudden flare up of bad memories the words bring you. You remember a young girl, calling your hair ugly. Your grandmother’s face, sneering as you passed her in the hallways. Half-breed, she says, after having too much wine. Not quite right.

The subtle, more hidden, cruelties of girlhood that made your heart ache. When you did not make the list of the most beautiful girls some page was making. How much of a late bloomer you were, by dornish standards. How you had to wait so long for your first kiss, when it seemed like all the other girls were having them already.

Will this be all your life will ever be? Looking for the poison dripping from each word? Doubting every compliment?

You give Daemon what you hope is a seductive look, from beneath dark lashes. You are not good at seduction, having been an observer most of your life. But you are good at pretending.

It has worked, so far. Your arrival, on Qoren’s arm and with an honor guard fit for a Queen, had made people look at you differently. Men, specially, look at you as something exotic. They whisper about your Lyseni mother, and the tricks you must know how to perform. It fills you with dread because once again your looks set you apart, and you don’t quite feel like a person. You had hoped things would be different here.

And they are. Their attention is different, but it’s still wrong and you don’t quite believe them. They only want you because of the novelty, because of rumors about dornishwomen, about how your mother trapped your father. Not because you are beautiful or desirable. It’s sickening.

“Come, husband. Take my necklace off.” And Daemon obeys you, coming to stand behind you. Before he can begin to fumble with your hair, you reach for your hair on your own and lift it to expose your nape. You twist it into a pretend up do, holding it up with your hand.

The gesture is as languid as you can make it, highlighting the curve of your arm, and the elegance of your movements. The cold air hits your neck, making the hairs there stand up.

You both feel and hear Daemon’s sigh. He blows a soft puff of air against your hair, the noise very loud in the small table that seats only Qoren, Daemon, and you. The Queen has already retired, her sickly husband in tow. The Princess and her husband are dancing merrily between the tables.

When you had met Daemon, your first impression of him had been that he was very Valyrian looking and surprisingly whole for someone fresh out of war. And then, he had looked at Princess Rhaenyra and you had understood what Qoren meant when he said he liked his women fair.

Your stomach had turned, back then. Valyrian indeed. Rhaenyra was all milk white skin, light lashes and soft features. You couldn’t compete, you had thought. But then, you had noticed how his eyes followed little Laena Velaryon and you had known there was a chance for you to succeed too. It wasn’t skin color, but Valyrian heritage.

You have been trying to seduce him, with various degrees of success. The attention men pay you is helping you, and so are your purple eyes. You hope tonight goes well. You think you have just about enough Lyseni blood in you to keep him hooked.

His hands gently unclasp your pendant. He pockets it, you think. A memento or because he intends to give it back to you? You feel as his fingers whisper against your collarbones, and this time it’s you who sighs.

You are dramatic about it. Your lips part, as if about to be kissed. Your head tilts back.

“Beautiful.” Daemon whispers, in your ear. He kisses the shell of it.

“It is a gorgeous necklace.” You reply, feeling your face heating up. You feel drunk already, and you have not drank a single goblet of wine yet.

“No. You.” And the kiss against your ear becomes open-mouthed, his heavy breath filling your hearing. His hips brush against the backrest of the chair, searching for closeness. This is something that cannot be faked, you think. Not this kind of desire.

He wants you. He wants you, and you only wish to close your eyes and let him take you right here at this table. You are no blushing maiden, for sure, but you still are new to intimacy. Too many hang-ups about your body and not quite pleasing attempts have not contributed to building a vast knowledge of it. The fact that he wants you so badly makes you wild.

“I think that is my cue.” Qoren says, breaking you out of your stupor. He drains his cup, clearly in preparation for leaving. You had never felt such a connection with someone, not even in Dorne, where pleasure was loud and open. You press your hands to your face, ashamed of having forgotten he was there. Daemon simply chuckles.

“You don’t have…”

“Dearest sword.” He says, as he plants a kiss to your forehead. “You are as tempting as your husband is selfish. He doesn’t seem in the mood to share you.”

“I am not.” Daemon agrees, squeezing your shoulder. He exchanges a look with Qoren over your head. You can only see Qoren’s answering smirk.

“I think I should call for the mummers early.”

You and Daemon slip away as a company of puppet masters from Dorne make their grand entrance, throwing colorful powders in the air.

Later that night, as he sleeps in your shared rooms, you slip on a robe and stand in front of the mirror. Daemon has a massive one, right at the foot of the bed. Mirrors have always scared you, and sleeping so comfortably as he does with one reflecting him is unfathomable. You only intend to cover it.

Mirrors are supposed to be portals to other worlds, your mother used to say. The thought is stuck in your head, so you have grabbed a linen and are ready to place it over it when something catches your attention.

Your reflection. She is glowing, barefoot and in a simple robe, but still wearing the necklace your husband has given you. It should look gauche. It should look too much. But somehow, the necklace looks just right in your neck. You remember Daemon’s eyes, filled with desire when you had bared your neck to him. The sensual way he had touched you tonight, cradling you in his arms, rolling around in his bed. The necklace on the nightstand.

You look at the way the pearls light up your face. For the first time, you feel beautiful.

You make your first mistake a few days after.

It’s the first day of the week, and the Queen has asked you to have tea with her. You go, happily. After Qoren’s and the guards left, you began to feel lonely. There is not much to do here, either. Most of your usual entertainments are considered too sinful or crass. You can not even go for a walk around the city because they deem it too dangerous.

The meeting with the Queen is sour. She is trying, you can tell, but you still hear the disdain in her voice when she talks about your customs, or your people. She eyes the necklace you wear with distaste.

You get the feeling she buys the tales about you. That you are some dornish beauty, exotic and trained in the arts of seducing men. She comments on your mother, on her luck for marrying up, and you have to remember yourself to bite your tongue.

From what Daemon tells you, she is very lucky herself. Going from Lady to Queen is almost as impressive as going from merchant’s daughter to Lady, and you know which one of them did not need to spread her legs for it, and it’s not her. Not if you judge by her plain face.

You look at her, scandalized and pious as she is, ranting about acceptance of bastards of all things, and you surprise yourself at your own cruelty. You should not have thought that. But you are just so angry…

You take a deep breath and look away, trying to calm down. It is then you notice. In the door of the solar, standing to attention, is a man who looks like you.

He has inky dark hair, and olive skin. His eyes are dark, and he has a light stubble, probably because when you have hair as dark as he does, it is difficult to hide body hair. He wears armor and a white cloak. Kingsguard, you think. Why hasn’t anyone told you there was someone else from Dorne here, too? How could you not know?

Queen Alicent follows your eyes, suddenly noticing you are not paying attention. Your eyes are glued to the knight. She frowns in disapproval.

“That’s Ser Criston Cole. My sworn shield.” She stresses the word my. You grab your teacup and take a sip, to hide your smile. Is the pious Queen in love with her knight? “And a member of the Kingsguard.”

She is reminding you of his vow of celibacy. You almost laugh. If she wasn’t so repressed, she would realize she is the one who wants to jump his bones. The only interest you have in him is the fact that he might become a friend.

“Do your guards always stand inside your rooms?” You ask her, doing your best to sound puzzled. “The King’s guards stand outside his, and so does the sworn shield of the Princess.”

“…” Queen Alicent blushes, and averts her gaze. There are no further invitations to have tea with her.

You spend a lot of time staring at Ser Criston. He never returns your gaze. You seek him at mealtimes, you greet him in the corridors, but he always manages to evade you before you can properly start a conversation.

Daemon notices. He always does. He is finely attuned to you, his perfect wife. His prize after the war, his star. A study in contradictions, brazen and bold one moment, shy the next. He seems to like you even more for it. What he doesn’t seem to like is your sudden fixation on Criston Cole.

“You should stay away from him, star.” Daemon whispers, when he catches you staring at him once more. His voice sounds irritated. Accusing. As if you have done something wrong. It makes you bristle immediately.

“I am doing nothing wrong.”

“No one said you are. But Cole is….” Daemon shakes his head. “It is unwise. That’s all I mean to say.”

“What is unwise?” You scowl. You are glad that the table is long enough that no one else overhears you. Knowing Daemon, things are about to get nasty. He will throw in so many insults, Ser Criston would beat him into a pulp if he heard. No matter how competent your husband is, you still worry. “Trying to talk to him?”

“He is a cunt.” He says, cutting your meat for you as if you were a child. From your place in the dais, you seek him once more. Ser Criston is standing on the entrance of the hall, watching carefully as his Queen dines with the King and the two of you.

As if sensing your gaze, he looks towards you. Then, he quickly averts his eyes.

“I merely wish to speak with him.” You say. “He is like me. Dornish.”

“Ser Crispin will only disappoint you. Both in personality and in prowess.” Daemon warns. He pushes his goblet closer to you. “Here, try this. Arbor gold. How does it compare to the swill you like to drink?”

You take a sip of his goblet. You scrunch up your nose, The wine is cloyingly sweet, lacking the strong notes Dornish Reds always have.

“Ugh.” Your lips pucker up in disgust. Daemon laughs, and steals a kiss from you, licking into your mouth for good measure. But before you can begin to properly enjoy it, Queen Alicent coughs. You push Daemon away, even though you are doing nothing scandalous. “You taste like it too.”

“And you taste of that swill you dornish call wine. Yet, I am not complaining.” He takes a sip of his goblet.

“Are you jealous of him?” You ask, suddenly. You have heard about the rivalry between the two of them. Everyone knew of how Cole had obtained his position. He had been a simple knight, until Daemon had lost to him during a tourney. The act had caught Princess Rhaenyra’s attention, and secured him a white cloak. “Ser Criston?”

The thought of Daemon thinking you want to invite Cole to your bed is enough to amuse you. While in Dorne, paramours are more common than here, you are finding monogamy pleasant. You had never been much for sex without love, after all. Only one taste had been enough to satiate your curiosity.

“You shouldn’t toy with fire.” He growls, perhaps confusing your amusement with a deliberate attempt to tease him. It only makes your smile widen.

“Did you know…?” You begin, with an airy tone. Daemon sets down his cutlery. He turns to look at you, licking his lips. “My ancestor, Ser Joffrey Dayne, crossed paths with Queen Visenya. She burned Starfall, after he attacked Oldtown.”

“House Targaryen has always defended the Highcunts, it seems.” Daemon’s brows furrow together. It is no surprise he knows about it. One of the things that have bonded the two of you together is the fact that both of you are obsessed with family history. What he doesn’t know is why you are referencing it now.

You smile. One of your hands goes to toy with the necklace he has given you and that has become your constant accessory, bringing attention to your neck. It is a deliberate move. You intend to be ravished tonight

“I do not fear fire. We Daynes got Dawn from the heart of a falling star. “

Daemon kisses your temple.

“Oh? And I cannot wait to see you burn.” And he is pulling you to your feet, and you are slipping outside with a hurried curtsy.

Despite Daemon’s warnings, you still decide to approach Criston Cole. It takes you almost a week to build up the courage to do it, and another more to mention it to Daemon.

You do not want him to feel blindsided, so you include him in your planning. It is only when he shows up at the Sept that you realize Daemon intends to go with you.

Even the Septon pauses when he sees the two of you enter the Sept. Considering the court thinks you a temptress, and him a rogue, you are not surprised.

You are not particularly pious. While you had been educated on the Faith of the Seven, Dorne practiced a much diluted version. You had not attended a service in quite some time, but you try to focus on it to keep your nervousness at bay.

The plan is to intercept Ser Criston when the service ends. Daemon is under strict instruction to remain sitting, as to not unnerve the other man. But of course, things do not go according to plan.

As soon as the Septon gives his last blessing, you sprung up and step closer to the knight.

“Ser Criston, a word?” You ask him, your voice soft and nonthreatening. It is not as if you want to impose your presence on him, but you are unsure of why he flees rooms when he sees you. Perhaps he is shy, or perhaps you have offended him, but you will never know if he doesn’t speak to you.

“Do not talk to me!” He snarls, getting up from the bench. You try to reach for his arm, but Cole is quicker than you, grabbing your wrist tightly. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Daemon getting up from the bench where he was waiting for you.

“Ser… I only wished you to invite you to have tea with me.”

“I will not get into your bed, Lady Targaryen.” The man snarls at you. “Perhaps it is allowed in Dorne, but I assure you, here we do things differently than your people. Propositioning a man is…”

“I am not propositioning you!” You say, hotly. The words he is spewing at you leave you bewildered. You have never heard another dornishman speak so. “What do you even mean by that? Your people! You are dornish too.”

“I am not.” But before he can give you an explanation, Daemon is stepping in, and unsheathing his sword. He places his body between Ser Criston and you.

“I would suggest you unhand my wife.” His voice is cold. “Or you will lose the hand.”

“And you! You support her… Her… She should be sent back to Dorne, but she doesn’t even belong there, does she?” And Ser Criston stomps off, clearly unwilling to engage Daemon in what would probably end up as a fight to death.

Daemon looks willing to go after him, but you make a pitiful noise that is a cross between a sob and a whine. The rejection hurt more than usual, having grown unused to cruelness during your stay on King’s Landing. And the remark about you not belonging in Dorne?

It stung. You had not heard that insult in ages. It made you think of the serving girl, and your grandmother muttering you had bad hair, of your odd little features and strange coloring. Not quite Andal, not quite Rhoynar, not quite Lyseni.

Ser Criston looked like you. Of everyone, you would have expected him to understand. To see you.

You had only wanted a reminder of home. Careful with what you wish for, indeed. Your eyes feel suspiciously wet.

“Oh, that cunt. I’ll cut off his dick and feed him to Caraxes…” Daemon mutters, a thunderous look in his purple eyes. He then presses his forehead to yours, giving you an impish grin. “Not that it would be much food, would it? Like a worm, I bet.”

It makes you laugh, despite yourself.

“There you are.” Daemon smiles, brushing your tears away. “Come. I need you to see something.”

He takes your hand and leads you towards your shared rooms. You frown, slightly. Does he have some sort of present to give you? It’s unusual to be going there so early in the morning.

When Daemon opens the door, a maid is still sweeping the room. He barely spares her a glance, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. The girl looks disgruntled. You offer her a silver dragon for her troubles as she leaves, noticeably cheering her up.

The bed is freshly made, and the room smells of lavender. Outside the windows, the birds chirp. You see nothing unusual.

“What was I supposed to see? You interrupting the maid? Poor girl.” You mutter, kicking off your shoes. “Do try to make her life easier.”

But he doesn’t answer, choosing instead to pull out the chair in your vanity. It is a rarity, the whole set a gift from Qoren to furnish your new rooms. It has a beautiful mirror attached that reflects you from the waist up when you sit in front of it.

“Come.” Daemon says, simply. So you do. You know better by now than to disagree with him when he is in one of his moods.

You sit in the chair, dutifully. Your reflection looks a fright, so you try to avoid looking at yourself too much. He stands behind you, hands caressing your shoulders lighty, prompting you to look up.

“I have noticed.” Daemon starts, meeting your eyes in the mirror. “That you are always self-conscious when I look at you for too long. Or when I take your clothes off.”

You avert your eyes. It is true. You feel strange when Daemon looks at your body. The awe he holds in his gaze is both exciting and humbling. You never feel worthy of such worship.

“I would say we are past the maiden’s modesty.” He chuckles. “We made sure of that, didn’t we?”

“I…”

Daemon begins to unlace your gown. The presence of the mirror is making you self-conscious, so you reach for your bodice, and hold it up with one hand.

He pauses. He studies your expression, before dropping a kiss to your curls.

“Don’t cover yourself, wife. I love looking at you.”

You take a deep breath. You want to tell him the truth, for once. Daemon has started to suspect that despite how much you enjoy intercourse with him, something is wrong with your self-esteem. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have staged this intervention.

“I just don’t like how I look much.” You keep your voice low. Shame begins to freeze you up, making you tense and unable to speak. Your heart beats loudly in your ears.

“Madness.” Daemon laughs. He kisses you, slow and sweet. His lips move tenderly against yours, coaxing you out of your shell. You wonder how such an impatient man can have such infinite patience when it comes to you.

The thought makes you melt. Daemon smiles against your mouth and pulls back. He comes back to standing behind you.

“Look.” He orders. And you, helpless under his spell, cannot disobey.

You look at your reflection. Your hair is in even more disarray than before. Your lips are red and kiss swollen. And your eyes… You look dazed.

“We are just getting started.” Daemon promises, his hand coming to caress your collarbones. This time, when he pulls down the bodice, you do not fight it.

He kisses your head.

“You asked me once, if I was jealous.” You turn towards him, confused at the sudden change of topic. Daemon shushes you, squeezing the back of your neck as if you were a misbehaving pup. You look at yourself again, knowing there is no point in disobeying. Daemon always gets his way.

“I am jealous.” His voice is firm. He leans in, and kisses the top of your hair. His talented, skilled hands, take the pins off from it, so it frames your face once more. You fight the urge to fix it, to give more volume to your roots. You don’t like how limp it falls sometimes. Daemon presses a kiss to your earlobe, and whispers. “Of the very breeze against your hair.

Your eyes widen. You do not dare take them away from the mirror. On it, you watch as he presses a kiss behind your ear, as he mouths at your neck, just barely reaching the necklace that sits there.

“Of the pearls you wear, for holding on to your neck. “ You feel his words against your skin, making you shiver. He wraps it around one of his fingers, the pearls tensing just so to feel more restrictive against your neck.

Your lips part in a sigh. The tension of the pearls makes you think of a collar, and his deft handling of them a leash. Ownership.

“Sometimes, when I see you around court, I imagine this.” He tugs the pearls upwards, placing them between your lips. You watch, in a daze, as your reflection parts her lips more, welcoming him in.

He places the biggest pearl between your teeth. You find yourself mesmerized by this stranger you are watching, being turned into an artwork in front of your very eyes.

“You are exquisite.” Daemon gives the pearls a tug, pulling them slightly up. They catch on your hair, contrasting beautifully with the dark curls. There is something haunting about the image, something that tugs at you and makes you see yourself from his eyes.

Like this, with him calling you exquisite, pearls adorning your face and hair, you can almost believe it.

“Do you know what I think of more, when I see these pearls?” Daemon chuckles. It’s a dark, masculine sound. You are unable to form a word. “Hm. Perhaps I should show you.”

He finishes pulling the necklace from you. Over your head and out they go. Suddenly able to speak, you find yourself at a loss for words.

Daemon kneels behind you. He meets your eyes in the mirror, again.

“I am jealous of the moon, and the sky, and this damn mirror even.” It sounds like nonsense. It should sound like nonsense, but somehow, it is disarming, this newfound honesty of his. The one where he stumbles over words in his eagerness, in his need to call you beautiful, to call you his. “Because you want to gaze at them. Your eyes should be only for me.”

He cradles your face in his palm, forcing you to keep eye contact with your reflection. His thumb brushes over your lips. You just stare.

“And even of the wine you drink, when you wet your lips.”

You kiss his thumb. Your eyes sting. This is quickly turning unbearable.

“Daemon… Please…”

“Oh, but your eyes.” He praises, sounding almost drunk. He begins to kiss a path down your collarbones and towards your breasts. “I love your eyes. They are maddening to me.”

He continues to kiss your skin, inhaling deeply. The closer he gets to your breasts, the hungrier he becomes. Daemon is gorging himself on you, biting and nipping at your bosom, sucking at your nipples until you cannot help the moans coming out from your mouth.

Liquid, molten pleasure, begins accumulating at the base of your spine. Warming up your body, making you sweat with the exertion of keeping still.

“You are so beautiful, I fear anyone will want to steal you away.” Daemon whispers, grabbing your hips in an almost bruising grip. “And I fear if I don’t hold tight, it will be my fault.”

You look at yourself. At the half lidded eyes, the softness of your chest. At the attitude of surrender, as your thighs part, and you feel him bury his nose on the roses of your mound. As he inhales, trying to memorize your touch, your smell, your sounds. As he decides to drink from you, making your face go slack, brows pinched together, eyes glassy and absent.

Beautiful, you think, as you reach your peak with a scream so loud you fear the rest of the Red Keep might have heard.

Daemon laughs, doing his best attempt to suck a bruise on your thigh.

“And you haven’t even seen what I plan on doing with the pearls.”

Bestiary (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Your husband and you do not speak the same language. During your wedding night, you find out that High Valyrian and the Common Tongue pale when compared to the way your bodies allow you to communicate.

Warnings: Heavy smut, not much dialogue. P in V sex. First time.

A/N: Who would have thought the most enthusiastic consent I have ever written with Daemon would be in a fic with nearly no dialogue?

Being coached through your wedding vows is not a good omen for your marriage. At least, that is what your husband must think, by the thunderous look on his face. You fight the urge to scream at him that you have practiced for this moment and that you do not need to be coached through the vows. It would be no use. The two of you do not understand each other.

Everything is strange to you in Westeros, from the language to the wedding ceremony. They make you cut your lips and hand, in a procedure you do not enjoy. Your husband does the same. Your blood flows into a goblet, from which you will have to drink later on.

It's barbaric. You suppose it must symbolize the joining of bloodlines in the crudest way.

At least Daemon kisses you at the end, a cold brush of his lips against yours that tells you he is still mad. He had probably felt betrayed, being forced into this arrangement you entered willingly.

If you had known he was that petty, you would have not shown your hand so fast. Your father had wanted dragons, which meant becoming part of House Targaryen. Daemon was the only one available for you to ensnare in your web.

As any good hunter, you had watched your prey first, taking notes of his behavior. Only an afternoon was needed to understand you started the race with a disadvantage. His eyes followed Princess Rhaenyra, Princess Rhaenys and her little daughter, but never lingered on other women.

While you might have lacked the silver hair, you did not lack the wits and charms necessary to be taken in consideration.

You had needed a few days to ready your song, but you had approached him not even a week later. He had been sitting in the library, so you had knocked on the table twice to draw his attention.

Daemon had lifted his eyes from the scroll he was reading, annoyed. He had a handsome face, decorated with age lines that only served to make him look more regal. He looked more the part of the King than his brother, a decaying corpse that you had heard had also acquired his own nubile bride.

Such was the fate of the daughters of powerful men. Sold to other powerful men, old enough to be their fathers, birthing them their own litter of sons and daughters. Sons that would grow up to become powerful men in their own right, daughters that would become pawns to establish dynasties. On and on it went.

Daemon had spoken then. His words were much harsher than those of the language you were used to, lacking the airy song of the languages similar to the one from the Rhoynar. You had not understood. You did not speak a lick of the Common Tongue.

No silver hair, no words, but plenty of resources. You had placed the book you had brought with you on the table, and looked at him.

His eyes had lit up with curiosity. He recognized the title. He spoke again, intrigued.

Despite his tone sounding much more auspicious, you had no other option than to shake your head and speak, with a tremulous voice.

“Bodmagho.” It's the only word you know, one that you have prepared especially for this. But just in case your pronunciation is not perfect, you open the book and mimic the gesture of passing the pages.

Daemon looks stunned. He says something else, still in the Common Tongue. You were able to tell from the intonation he was asking a question, but you didn't know what it was about.

“Bodmagho.” You repeated, stubbornly. You placed your book down and pointed to it.

Daemon sighed. He pointed to the chair. You sat, happy as a clam.

“Prince Daemon.” He pointed at himself. Then, to you. “Lady…?”

You told him your name. He nodded.

“Daor.” He shook his head. “No.”

You stared. He shook his head again. You understood that no, daor and shaking head meant the same.

“Daor. No.” You shook your head. Daemon squeezed your shoulder, a proud smile on his face.

Your father told you that afternoon that you were to be married to him. Just as you had made efforts to catch Daemon, your father had been setting his trap.

Daemon did not oppose, nor encourage the match, but he was angry at you. Angry that you knew before him and tried to charm him into doing your bidding.

Men like him, you learn, like to be the ones pulling the strings. They hate being treated like hounds, even if that is what they are.

You get no further lessons.

This is how you manage to get to your wedding feast only knowing two words. Teach and no. It makes you the most riveting company, and so, it's no wonder you are soon ushered into a chamber with your new husband.

You had not noticed before, but it is the first time you are alone with him since the morning at the library. To you, it had been a matter of no consequence. You had to marry a powerful man, one day. Your father decided it should be him because he wanted dragons. It was as simple as that.

As a rich man, your father had known rich men only get richer at times of unrest. And unrest was coming for the Seven Kingdoms. He could smell it in the air, hear it in the whispers of the common folk. Princess Rhaenyra wasn’t going to inherit without issue.

Your family moved here for that reason. An opportunity to get richer could not be dismissed. Your father had taken one look at the dragons and decided that they were the key to turning his legacy into an empire.

Giant war machines that could level castles in one afternoon. Raze a city to the ground in mere hours. Fire so hot it could melt stone. They could not be bought, you had to be a Targaryen to have them. It was only natural to turn into one, then.

Your children would get dragons. You would provide funds and as many children as you could, and House Targaryen the magic in their veins. Simple business transaction. But apparently, Daemon disagreed.

His face is thunderous. You can tell he is about to berate you. He starts talking, brows pinched together and an accusing finger pointed towards you.

Has he forgotten you do not speak his language? You step closer and poke his arm, hard.

It was the wrong choice. Daemon's face turns even more murderous. His lips twist into a snarl, teeth bared. His posture turns aggressive. He puffs up his chest, he advances on you. The Prince tries to intimidate you through his body language alone.

You are not a small woman. But you are young, and you do not train as much as he does. His looming over you feels menacing, and it reminds you once again of the fate his late wife was rumored to have suffered.

This was a bad idea. A terrible idea. Daemon is forcing you to walk backwards, pushing your forehead and nose with his. You either move, or get a broken nose and a concussion.

Daemon is terrifying. You will not cross him again, you think to yourself. Only a fool goes around poking dragons with a stick. You feel your palms starting to sweat, a knot forming in your throat. You fight the urge to cry.

The back of your knees hits the mattress, and you fall into the furs with a small noise of surprise. Your husband does not lose any time. He gets right into your face, trying to intimidate you even more.

But if you hope to survive this marriage, to make it work as your father has requested, you can't bend. Daemon will never respect you if you do. He will see you as no more than a frightened girl, who will not disagree with him and serve for little beyond warming his bed. You are not that. You will build an empire, a dynasty out of his dragons and your wealth. The only thing you can do is persevere or break trying.

Daemon scowls at you. He notices the change in your eyes, the fight coming back to you.

“Daor.” You say, staring him down with all your might. It doesn't matter if you are lying down, and he is hovering over you, pinning you under him. You will triumph.

Daemon doesn't heed the warning. He starts tugging at the buttons of your bodice, tiny pearls sent flying all over the room. The gesture is as brutal as it is calculated. It is meant to remind you of your place, always under him from now on. Daemon has a right to your body, and he intends to exercise it as he sees fit. You are no more than an object, and if you cry or scream, it is not relevant.

Despite knowing why he is doing it, you can't avoid grimacing. He looks more beast than a man, snarling over you, ripping your clothes. It's a sight that would scare any woman, no matter how cold.

You look up at him. You give him your own little snarl. Daemon pauses. It's not the reaction he was expecting. He wanted you to cry. You would never give him the satisfaction.

It's a balancing act. You will have to bring him to heel, but soothe his pride in the next act, less he turns on you. Push away a man too much, and he will think you are disrespecting him. He will call you names, thinking you are the problem. Daemon feels entitled to you. You need to show him he is not, but that you are giving yourself to him. He needs to value you. The treasure to his dragon.

“Daor!” You say, firmly. You push him away. Whatever he anticipated, you giving him a fight wasn't something he was prepared for. It shows in the way he folds, stunned by your behavior. You give him hard little slaps to the chest, until you manage to get him off you.

Daemon's scowl turns more confused than angry. He looks at you as if you are a particularly challenging riddle to crack. He rightens his clothes and starts to retreat.

“Daor.” You repeat, grabbing at his shirt to keep him in place. You do not want him to leave.

Daemon wretches free from your grip on his arm. He mutters something, angered.

“Daor.” You use his trick against him, stepping right into his path and forcing him to back off. You use your body to make him advance backwards, toward the bed.

He sits on the edge of it, still scowling. You giggle, making Daemon madder still. You look at him with what you hope is a seductive expression and pull your bodice down.

“Bodmagho?” You ask him, as your dress pools around your feet, leaving you in a sheer shift. Daemon's eyes darken. His expression changes into an amused smile, and he gestures for you to come to him.

You do. You step closer and get on his lap. His hands envelop your waist, warm and calloused.

Then, the unexpected. Daemon grabs your hair and pulls, forcing your head back. You moan, pain and arousal mixing into an unknown emotion that makes the place between your legs slick.

You can feel his breath against your neck, making you shiver. His face comes closer, and closer. Daemon stares into your eyes, lips slightly parted. You mirror his expression, feeling as if you are being consumed by your lust.

He arches an eyebrow. Never been one to shy away from a challenge, you brush his lower lip with his thumb. Daemon parts his lips and sucks it in his mouth.

The shock must have shown on your face because he laughs, giving your thumb a playful bite. You squirm, instinct overpowering modesty, and roll your hips against his.

The two of you stare at each other. Closer, and closer, until his features blur, until two purple eyes turn into one. A dragon turned cyclops by the mere force of lust. There is hunger and want, and confusion. Both of you are so close that you are sharing the same air, the same breath. And Daemon pulls, and you are kissing, and you shake in his arms, feeling like how you think the gods must have felt when the cyclopes formed the lighting.

His hands go to greedily knead at your thighs, slipping under your shift. His palms feel rough against your skin, impatient. The shift rides up, up, up. You mewl against his mouth, desperately reaching for something unknown to you but that you know Daemon will help you reach.

You are restless as he pets you, biting at your mouth, hands sinking in his hair. You tug him towards your neck, knowing his kisses, scorching hot, would burn even sweeter along your nape and ears.

Daemon, though, has other plans. He pulls away and pecks you on the lips. “Vūjigon ” He says. He touches his mouth. “Vūjigon”

You kiss him, softly. “Vūjigon”

He pets your hair.

“Vūjigon.” And he points to his collarbones. You frown in confusion, thinking perhaps the word doesn't mean what you think it does. He sighs and leans in, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the space between your collarbones.

“Vūjigon.” You perk up, and start kissing his shoulders. Your hands pull his shirt more open, letting you bite and lick more of his flesh. The urge to consume and be consumed is overpowering, making you desperate to touch him.

Daemon laughs. He pulls you upwards. Can't he see you are starving?

“Daor.” He says, when you try to go back to it. You give him your fiercest pout. Daemon tuts at you.

He squeezes one of your breasts, making you moan, before cruelly twisting the bud. You gasp, your nails digging on his naked shoulders.

“Shhh.” Daemon soothes you, his hand going to squeeze your breast tenderly once more. “Daor?”

You don't know how to tell him what you want, so you grab his hand and make him pinch the tender bud again. Daemon smiles. He kisses you, muttering something fervently on your lips.

He lays you down on the bed, despite your attempts to sit up. Daemon pins you down with a growl, hand on your chest.

You can't help it. No matter the warning, you squirm as if you were in pain. It certainly feels like it. There is some sort of hunger in your belly, making you want to rub your core against him. You can feel your shift starting to become wet right above your tailbone. Daemon has you so bothered you are dripping into the shift and the bed.

Daemon gives you another growl and leans down to bite your breast over the fabric of your shift. It's meant to be punishment, but you arch into it, gasping.

He laughs. He takes as much of it as it can fit in his mouth, sucking greedily. The noises are obscene. The sight must be, too. Your mouth, open, moaning yourself into a frenzy. Daemon, nipping, biting, sucking, like a man starved. Your shift with two giant wet spots, one at the chest and the other by your arse.

You moan, surprised at the feeling. You had never thought bodies could be used in such a way before. Nor had you hoped for him to please you so eagerly.

His lips close around your bud. His tongue twirls around it, lavishing it with attention. You grab at his hair, his nape, desperately trying to hold onto something. Daemon just sucks harder on your breast. You moan, and moan, and moan some more. Desperate little sounds, gathering in the air around a desperate girl.

He switches to your other breast. Your shift feels sticky on your skin, so you start trying to take it off. The task distracts you enough for his hand to find its way to your core, and you squeak at the first sensation of his fingers against it.

Daemon smiles against your skin. He presses a finger inside you, and you squeal some more. He lets go of your breast to better gaze into your overwhelmed face, seemingly getting an enjoyment out of it.

Another finger joins the first. You cry out. It stings a bit. Daemon shushes you, kissing your cheek. He rubs at something above your opening that makes you squirm in delight.

His other hand comes into your sight. Daemon makes a gesture, two fingers together, separating. You stare. He nuzzles you, his cheek against yours, before repeating it.

You nod with a pout.

He starts prying you open slowly, this time. Despite enjoying causing pain, it appears your cooperation has granted you privileges with Daemon. He understood the distress on your face, and read you correctly enough to know it was not going to go well if he kept going as he was.

Daemon rubs at your shoulders, soothingly. You understand you need to relax, and force your body to do so. He kisses you in reward, slow and sweet, coaxing you to him.

You nod again. Daemon moves back, settling himself by your side. He takes your shift away, pressing soft little kisses to each new inch of skin revealed.

The sudden removal of your last layer makes you shiver a little. Your skin is wet from his previous ministrations and rapidly cooling. You plaster yourself to him, seeking warmth.

He chuckles, grabbing your arse to move you slightly out of the way. You scowl, not sure why Daemon is doing so, until you realize he is taking off his breeches.

“Daemon.” You whisper, softly. There is a part of you that is already cringing at the promise of pain the loss of your maidenhead will bring.

“Daor?” He asks you, one of his hands petting your cunt. It makes you shiver.

“Bodmagho.” You grasp at his shoulders, steadying yourself. Daemon lines the two of you. You feel his member at your entrance, holding you open and threatening to spear you apart. It feels scorching against your skin.

He helps you impale yourself on his member. It's not pleasant at first. Property dictates that you should not let him see your discomfort. You should just bear it like a good wife and allow him to chase his pleasure unbothered.

But you know Daemon enjoys causing pain. He thrives on it. So you let your eyes fill with tears, and your face goes slack and overwhelmed.

He smiles. He licks your tears away, and mumbles something. You squeal, and it only excites him more.

“Bodamagho.” Daemon pinches the flesh on your hip, clearly calling you to focus. His hands move your pelvis back and forth, back and forth, until you are hissing in pleasure, your hands on his chest, doing the movement yourself.

“Vūjigon.” You demand, moving your hips just like he taught you. Daemon is too focused on aiding you bounce by thrusting upwards to pay attention to you. When he doesn't obey, you give a tug to his hair.

He snarls at you. You snarl back. So he grabs your wrists and pushes sideways, and suddenly, you are under him and Daemon is still thrusting into you.

You are desperate for closeness. You scrunch up your face and wrap your legs around his back. Daemon looks down at you, and bites your shoulder. He is not pleased with your perceived attempt to take control.

Realizing your mistake, you shake your head.

“Daor.” You rub at his back with your foot, gently. You hold him close, and nuzzle his neck, delighting in his scent. Never you had thought before you would enjoy the smell of sweat and some sort of aromatic oil, yet here you are. “Vūjigon.”

Daemon's expressions softens. He leans in and gives you a kiss. You make pleased, chirping noises, trying to show him that was precisely what you wanted.

He complies, releasing your hands. You enthusiastically hug him. It helps you anchor yourself against the unrelenting waves of pleasure.

His hands, now freed from yours, are everywhere. Twisting your buds, rubbing at your pearl, squeezing your waist. Daemon whispers nonsense in your ears, takes the lobe between his teeth. He aids you, tilting your hips with his hands, reaching deeper.

You heard a story once, about Westeros. A white hart was said to come to the greatest Kings alive. A magnificent beast, tall as a man, with skin made of the purest snow and antlers as long and imposing as the branches of an ancient tree. If a King encountered it, it was a good omen for his rule. It would be just and prosperous, blessed by the Gods.

What did they do with the hart? Keep it in Kingswood, perhaps? You had made the mistake of asking, once. You had been told that they used the best spear they had. That men held the hart down, and they gutted it from head to belly.

The perfect, regal beast, fur as pale as snow. The pristine white sheets under you. Blood tainting the white. What a way to go.

You understood then why they called it a small death. You were sweating, squealing like a beast being gutted, thighs trembling under Daemon's hands. It was too much and too little, and you felt yourself reaching it, yearning for it.

You did not care if you burned, moth to a flame, maiden to a dragon. Daemon seemed to realize it because his hand went to rub at your pearl, and he leaned in.

“….” He was talking, but it was in that strange language of his, and your ears were ringing, you felt about to explode. Your body responded to his tone, though. Gentle, loving, coaxing you over the edge with a scream so fierce you might as well have been one of those weeping women that appeared far north.

Daemon grinned at you. A fierce, proud expression, eyes crinkling in the corners. You pulled him into a kiss, and raked your nails down his back, feeling the skin yield like butter under your fingers. It spurred him on, and with a gasp and a bite to your shoulder, Daemon was shattering inside you.

He collapsed on top of you with a laugh. You smiled. Daemon pulled you to rest, back flush against his chest, and you understood each other better than those who spoke the same, common tongue, did.

Capital (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: You think you married the plainest woman on earth, and you look away for one second and suddenly she is not. Typical. At least, for Daemon.

Warnings: Mature language, sexual thoughts, canon typical violence.

Requested: Yes! But since I am particular about my aesthetic, I didn't answer there. Jealousy + arranged marriage. Brought to you by the seven deadly sins.

Gluttony /ˈɡlʌtəni/

​the habit of eating and drinking too much.

Claw Island is as good as getting vanished from the court. You know it. Your Lord husband knows it. Even the tenants know it. Why else would the King order your marriage to Daemon Targaryen?

It was not as much of a punishment as the King had hoped. The Celtigars are a prestigious family, one of the few left with Valyrian blood. While not ones to flaunt their riches or seek for great power, you led a luxurious lifestyle.

The finest wines. Myrish rugs. The newest books. And of course, the riches from the surrounding sea. Beautiful pearls, a fleet that, while small, sailed with speed. The best foods.

The small island was your perfect little world, sequestered away from the troubles of the mainland. What else could a person long for, when they lived in a paradise? Claw Island had it all. Miles and miles of tempestuous sea, soft sands and gorgeous wildlife not seen anywhere else. Humble, but good people. Natural riches enough to last a lifetime.

But as of late, your breathtaking lands did nothing to bring you peace. Sometimes, in truth, as you walked along the shoreline, you wished for a tremendous sea wave to swallow you whole.

It would be better than this. Among the crabs, the sea life and wreckage of old ships, you would feel at ease. At home, even. And finally, finally untroubled. But things were not as you wanted them to be. With your Lord Father at court, someone had to mind the island. And no one knew the lands as you did.

You shuddered to think of something happening to you. In that case, the island, and its people, would go to your husband. Considering how much he hated it here, Prince Daemon would make a poor ruler.

You glare. He glares right back. Remembering your manners, you serve him a cut of spider crab seared in butter. The meal is rich and decadent, a show of the best Claw Island has to offer.

“Crab, Lady Wife?” Daemon raises both eyebrows. “Again?”

“What else does the Prince wish to eat?” You do your best effort at keeping your tone even. You try hard to not raise your voice at him, remembering the rumors about what happened to his last wife. So far, it seems to be working. Despite being older than you, the man behaves as a child. You have found he benefits from being managed as one, too.

Ever since you got married, he has been desperately trying to rile you up. The Prince always seemed to deflate when you refused to engage. He was clearly itching for a fight, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction.

“You seem too willing to indulge in cannibalism for my tastes.” Daemon, in what he surely believed to be the absolute demonstration of cutting wit, smirks. You smile at him, sedate. You have heard enough remarks about crabs to last a lifetime. “It’s worrying.”

You could answer him. Perhaps make a mockery of his inability to perform in bed and the behavior of the female praying mantis. You do not. Instead, you force yourself to give him a tight smile.

“Don’t worry. I will ask the servants to bring you fish.” You took your napkin out of your lap and placed it on the table. Dutifully, you rang the bell to call for a servant.

“Again?” Daemon complained, sounding much like a petulant child. You smiled and went back to your seat. Your crab was getting cold, and it would most likely be by the time your husband’s fish was served. But good manners dictated you could not start eating without him. You resigned yourself to another night of eating a cold dinner.

“You should write to the King, my Prince. I would serve you venison, were it not for the fact that your dragon has nearly extincted the population here.” While you were by no means poor, feeding a dragon was an expense you didn’t care for, especially one so picky as Daemon’s was showing to be.

While a dragon was a marvelous creature, and having one guarding your lands was a great perk, it was also hard. Caraxes ate the same as five grown men in a day, if not more. He didn’t eat just anything you served him, either. Much like his owner, he was picky. He had come with dragon keepers, and needed to be built a shelter.

You had hoped that his serpentine appearance would mean that he would eat a lot in one sitting, then hibernate, but no such luck. Your island couldn’t keep up, no matter how hard you tried. Animals didn’t reproduce at the pace required.

“Of course, my Lady. Of course.” Daemon says, in a dismissive tone. It’s then, when a servant comes in with his fish.

Your crab is cold. Again. Daemon is not pleased with the fish, but seems wary of extending dinner even more. For once, he doesn’t complain.

Dinner is eaten silently. In your head, you make plans for tomorrow's meals. Perhaps oysters, served cold, will withstand the wait better. You finish dinner and settle down to read some before bed.

When the time comes for it, you close your book. Daemon departs with a cold kiss to your cheek. You go to your bed, just as cold and empty as the kiss was, and fall asleep.

It’s around the witch's hour when he comes back to you, getting into the bed next to you. He stinks of cheap perfumes and oils. As he pulls you closer, to be able to hide his face on your neck, you can feel the smell of sex and alcohol induced sweat. It comes from the clothes Daemon hasn’t even bothered to shed before getting in bed with you.

You don’t like him drunk. He gets sloppy. You do better when he hides his indiscretions, the proofs of your failure as a woman. As a wife. He seeks his pleasure from other bodies, never yours. With you, he is unable to perform to completion.

Perhaps the same happens to him with others, on nights like these. That thought soothes you, and it’s the only reason why you allow Daemon to seek comfort in your arms. Sometimes, he has nightmares. It’s expected then, too, that you are the one to soothe him back to sleep.

Shifting in his grip, you rub his back, gently. You card your other hand through the matted strands of blonde hair, as a mother would do to his child. In many ways, you guess he is one. You pity him, your husband. A man with a void so deep, not even all the vices in the world could fill it.

You are unable to fall back asleep. You lay there for hours, staring at the ceiling. When you hear the rooster’s first crow, you roll out of bed. Sleep is not coming for you. Daemon, unperturbed in his slumber, only sprawls more. You tuck him in.

When you get to your vanity, you catch the servants leaving the correspondence for the day on it. She giggles when you point at the bed and the mess of clothes, gesturing for silence. It makes you feel better, that they think your husband comes from the pleasure houses straight into your arms for more than just cuddles.

One of the letters catches your eye. It’s written in the strange alphabet used for High Valyrian, bearing both the royal seal and the King’s name. You don’t mean to pry. In fact, you open it because you are worried your husband has upset his brother even more.

Marriage is like being tied to a ship. When the tides are good and the ship strong, you soar above the sea. But no one wants to be tied to a sinking ship. It’s that fear what leads you to heating a knife on your candle’s flame and lifting the seal.

You read as you brush your hair, unrushed. You know Daemon won’t be awake for at least six more hours. But the more you advance, skipping polite greeting, the more your stomach sinks, and you jump from sentence to sentence.

“And while I understand your dislike of Claw Island, it is a less harsh punishment than you deserve. Much you complained of wanting a Valyrian bride, and now the opportunity presents itself, ripe for the taking. Yet, you do not seem keen on it. Is it, again, the lack of a throne you find off-putting? Perhaps, the lack of a child bride you can manipulate? Your Lady Wife might not have purple eyes or silver hair, as you mention, but she is a maiden in the bloom of youth. Tales of her beauty have graced the court, shared among the eager mouths of her family and previous suitors. Both Lord Velaryon and Lord Mooton agree that the woman is a delight, well-mannered and easy on the eyes. She has impeccable breeding and education. I will not grant you the annulment. I will not allow you to go back to your whore.”

There is a coppery taste in your mouth. Blood, you realize. From biting your tongue so hard to avoid letting out a scream of rage. It feels like being stabbed, countless times. In your back, and in your heart. Betrayal and deep, hurtful sorrow.

What have you done to deserve this? To be blindsided so? You have stood firm through all the humiliations your husband puts you through. Never once reproaching the way he goes out after dinner and does not come back until sunrise. Never complaining of his audacity to search comfort in your arms when he is drunk and stinking of whores. Never once raising your voice at the insults to your people, your home, your family.

But for Daemon Targaryen, it wasn’t enough. You would never be enough. Childishly, when you had first heard of your betrothal to him, you had hoped for companionship, if not love. At least, you thought, you would have a friend. But you hadn’t been enough of a woman to keep him in your bed, you had not been enough of the blood of Old Valyria for him to give you children, and you had not been enough for him to stay married to you.

He took from you, and took from your island and from your family, and not once was he satisfied. Not once, he was sated. And now, Daemon has done the unspeakable. Not satisfied with making a mockery out of you, with his constant unfaithfulness, he seeks to ruin you further. It’s only King Viserys who protects you and your family from further embarrassment.

You have underestimated him, pitying him while he planned your demise. The ruin of your house. You have been sharing your bed with the enemy. The thought frightens you and fills you with anger at equal parts. What will happen, when the King dies and the awful Princess with whom your husband was so taken ascends? Will you be put to the sword, accused of an imaginary crime to get you out of the way? Treason, perhaps? Hands shaking in anger, you fold the letter and reseal it as carefully as you can.

That is the day you decide you will retreat into your shell, like any good crab. You will close yourself over, put up walls and keep him as far away as you can. And you will wait for the day to stab at his heels until his physique reflects exactly the useless kind of man he is inside.

One day, this man might kill you. You will have to make sure he does not get away with it.

Envy /ˈenvi/

​the feeling of wanting to be in the same situation as somebody else; the feeling of wanting something that somebody else has.

It’s not often you are summoned to the court. But your father is about to be named Keeper of the Keys, a prestigious position often held by members of your house before being promoted to Master of Coin. The implication is clear. Soon, another Celtigar will be handling the finances of the Kingdom. It’s a ploy, to intertwine you further with the Royal Family. As soon as King Viserys dies, it will be your father who serves on Princess Rhaenyra’s council.

Hence, the need for a celebration. Traveling from Claw Island to King’s Landing is exhausting, especially considering that you do the journey by ship while your husband does so in his dragon. He seems overjoyed about it, but you can only think of how much the separate travel is costing your purses.

Daemon arrives early, because of course he does. Meanwhile, you spend your time preparing to put on the play of your life. You must be the most dutiful wife in the Seven Kingdoms, or else he might find a reason to get rid of you. Setting apart your most fashionable dresses, preparing gifts for the King and Queen and otherwise looking radiant.

Knowing Daemon, he is already whispering poison in his brother’s ear. You need to dazzle the King and the whole court, convince them you are not only an adequate wife but a perfect one. No stain must be perceived in your reputation.

You arrive punctually, just in time to prepare for the feast. It’s inside the Hall where you meet Daemon, and greet him with a kiss on the cheek. Chaste, but affectionate, performed under the King’s approving look. You are radiant in your house’s colors, with subtle references to Targaryen’s ones.

The feast is torture. Viserys, Daemon and Rhaenyra are all seated at the same table. They get along wondrously, while you, Queen Alicent and Ser Laenor are ignored despite being next to them.

The only thing that calms your heart is watching your father, sitting at the table of the Master of Coin.

“My Queen.” You say to her, hoping to curry favor. The Gods knew you needed as many allies as you could. “I brought you this.”

You take out a beautifully engraved rendition of the Prayers Book. It’s a gorgeous edition, with a gold finish. You hope that at least, if she doesn’t like it, she would think it is a gift to the babe she carries. It’s a thoughtful gift, the kind of thing you excel at.

“Oh, Lady Targaryen!” The Queen says, and takes it, admiring it in the light. Fortunately, she seems truly charmed by it. “It is the most wonderful thing!”

“I have one myself.” You tell her, as if you had not purchased it for exactly this moment. “When I heard you were from Oldtown, I couldn’t think of a better thing to bring.”

“It’s lovely.” Alicent says, as your husbands ignore both of you. Viserys and Daemon are too busy having their fun to care about what women are doing. “Will you join me in prayer tomorrow?”

“I would be delighted to.” It’s the first genuine smile you wear since your arrival. And it’s the first time that someone from the royal family smiles back.

You do attempts towards Rhaenyra and Laenor. They both ignore you, and so, you decide to keep strictly to conversing with Alicent. You decide to leave Viserys out of it, despite your gratitude to him because you would rather not look like much of a sycophant.

Your happiness at finally making a friend between your in-laws makes you oblivious to Daemon’s silence. During the whole dinner, he barely taunts you. None of the crab-based insults he so favors are present, either. That should have warned you. If you have learned something about your husband is that there is never a time when he is quiet.

He bides his time. The desserts are already served when Daemon delivers his greatest insult up to date. Some couples are even swaying to the rhythm of the music already, no matter if the tables have yet to be cleared.

“I wish to dance, I think.” Daemon says, getting up from his seat. You start to get up too, knowing you cannot refuse him, but he turns towards Rhaenyra. “A dance, niece?”

Rhaenyra preens under the attention and takes his hand. For a second, you stay frozen, hand falling uselessly by your side just when you were about to reach for him. You feel like you are being stabbed. Again.

The humiliation is so great you wish for some great disaster, perhaps one of the couples bumping against a table and overturning it, just to get the attention away from you. Half the hall has now seen you get rejected by your husband. In a celebration meant to honor your father, nonetheless.

You struggle to keep your face emotionless, curved into a polite little smile. You have made a fool of yourself. Hot tears gather in your eyes, threatening to spill.

Noticing your despair, Alicent places a hand on your arm, softly.

“Thank you, Lady Targaryen.” She exclaims, loudly. “With the babe getting bigger and bigger every day, I find it harder to stand. You are very thoughtful.”

Her rescue, as she stands and walks down the dais, helps you save face. Your smile turns more genuine.

“It’s but good breeding, my Queen.” You answer, just as loud. “What kind of noble could see a Lady of your station and not aid her?”

Alicent smiles, and she cradles her stomach.

“Indeed. Only a savage, I would think.” Her glance at her own husband is unmistakable. But Viserys is too busy watching Rhaenyra and Daemon dance to help his pregnant wife. His eyes never leave his brother and daughter, his expression twisted into one of annoyance.

Alicent makes her way towards a table where a few knights sit. Most of them are from Oldtown, and you cannot help but smile at her doing the rounds her husband so neglects. But her rescue, and quick exit, leave you in an uncomfortable position. King Viserys and Ser Laenor are engaged in conversation, including you only when they remember your presence, which means once every half an hour.

Without Queen Alicent, you have no conversation partner. The only thing you can do is watch. Daemon twirls around the room as if he were not a married man, taking every eligible bachelorette in the room for at least one dance. He is enchanting, pulling blushes left and right. He dances twice with Rhaenyra and Laena Velaryon.

You play your part to perfection. Each time he glances your way, you give him an indulgent smile or a sweet tilt of your head. Even when he dances again with Rhaenyra, your expressions don't shift. Instead, you lift your cup to them and even find it in yourself to give a small clap.

It’s torture. It’s exhausting, having to play the devoted but never jealous wife, when he is doing his best to embarrass you. Finally, the King retires, but orders that the celebrations do not stop. You consider making your way towards your father, uncaring if leaving Laenor sitting on his own is rude.

Just as you are getting up, a knight, dressed in a fine green gambeson, steps in front of you. You look up at him, wondering what he could possibly want.

His voice is soft and eloquent, with the barest hint of an accent. His voice reminds you of someone, but you cannot quite place who.

“Lady Targaryen. You look beautiful tonight.”

“Thank you.” You answer him, politely. Is he about to ask you for a dance? Is this a ploy for your husband to embarrass you further?

The knight smiles. He is tall and slender, very different from your husband, yet handsome just the same.

“If I had a wife as pretty as you, she wouldn’t be sitting here.” He compliments, and startles a laugh out of you. It has been months since the last time a man complimented you so. Before marrying, you had quite the suitors, but no one dared practice courtly love with the Rogue Prince’s wife. And your husband never once spoke to you kindly.

It’s a thrill, to feel wanted and appreciated again. You love having his eyes on you. It fills you with a forgotten kind of confidence. As the daughter of the man whose star in court is rising, as a beautiful woman and as the wife of a Prince, you deserve to be admired. It’s not your fault your husband can’t see it, you are desirable. People should be currying for your favor. You shouldn’t be begging for the scraps of a man whose only interest is his niece.

“Would she be on the dance floor?” You tease the knight, falling back into the practiced flirtations that had made you so popular before. You feel like you are glowing again.

The knight shakes his head, a hint of mischief appearing in his brown eyes.

“I would forbid her from leaving my chambers.”

At that, you laugh again, blushing. Despite how charming he is, you are still a married woman. You cannot give anyone reason to suspect or judge you, else Daemon might have basis to rid himself of you.

“I am not your wife.” You say, politely. The knight gasps, as if wounded, making you laugh again. You do not realize someone is glaring daggers at you, entranced as you are by him. “But perhaps a dance might suffice?”

The knight gives you a cheeky grin. He takes your hand and pulls you to your feet, gently.

As he leads you towards the dance floor, you barely notice Daemon looking disgruntled on the edge of it. You look over and see Rhenyra dancing with some tall and broad knight. He is probably jealous of him.

“You must give me your favor, for tomorrow's tournament. We are, after all, celebrating your family.” The knight says, making you focus back on him. His eyes are brown and kind, so soft. They remind you of someone, but once again, you can’t tell who.

“Ah, I see you are a tough negotiator.” You tease, your tone turning slightly more girlish. This time, it is the knight who laughs.

“What can I say? It’s in my blood.” The man winks, as he starts to twirl you around.

“I think, my lord, you have yourself a deal.” You grin.

It’s only when a Hightower knight approaches the stands the next day and offers you his lanze, you realize the mistake you have made.

Wrath /ræθ/

​extreme anger.

Daemon can’t believe his ears. Out of nowhere, a sweet sound reaches him. It’s the sound of a Lady’s laughter, but something about it makes him turn his head.

Perhaps, the fact that the sound has managed to catch his attention at all, despite the loud music, chatter and other laughs. Perhaps it is that the sound is familiar to him. He doesn’t know what it is, but as the piece finishes, he steps aside and tries searching for the source.

It’s then he sees you. His wife. Glowing and laughing on that Hightower cunt’s arm. And no, it’s not Alicent he is referring to. Otto’s spawn seems to have a proclivity for you because this is the other one. The elder.

Gwayne. His hands all over you, a gentle touch to your lower back to guide you forward. And are your eyes brightening? For him? As you pass by Daemon, you barely spare him a glance. He manages to hear a piece of the conversation.

“Your favor, for tomorrow's tournament…” The man has the gall to ask, as if he could win you the flower crown! The nerve of that Hightower pup, to think himself able to win. It’s clear he doesn’t remember the last time he faced Daemon, and while he was already planning on entering, now he knows with absolute certainty he is competing. Gwayne Hightower seems to have forgotten his lesson. He needs to remember his place.

“… Tough negotiator…” Your cheerful voice answers. Probably telling him he has to win if you do so because you are Valyrian and proud like him. Surely, the idea of getting crowned Queen of Love and Beauty appeals to you. You want a flower crown? Daemon will get you the damn thing.

When he was no more than a boy, his father used to have a particularly overzealous hound. Daemon had taken great delight in setting him free just when ladies were visiting. The dog loved sniffing beneath the ladies' skirts and humping their legs. The whole scene often ended up with Daemon getting yelled at, either by the ladies or their husbands. Now, as he looked at the proverbial dog humping his wife, Daemon understood why the ladies' husbands were so enraged.

He should cut his hands. Hightowers. No sense of shame at all, with their whorish ways. They were all the same. There went Alicent, throwing herself at Viserys when poor Aemma was not even in her pyre. There went Gwayne Hightower, placing his paws all over you and trying to charm you when Daemon was still in the room.

Couldn’t he tell you are his? It’s not that Daemon likes you, but it’s an affront to his honor. You are the wife of a Prince. The mere fact that a measly knight thought he could compare it’s outrageous. And the fact that he dared touch you! The nerve!

It’s Daemon who shares your bed, back in Claw Island. It’s Daemon you hold during the night, who pays for your silly little dresses. It’s for him you have clearly gotten all pretty today. How dare he, that Hightower fool.

He can’t have you. Gwayne Hightower is not allowed to just swoop in and try to steal his woman. You are meant to sleep by his side, be his solace. You are not the kind of woman for whom a simple knight would be enough. Just like him, you love the lush life. Could Gwayne Hightower buy you a dress like that? Could he use a dragon to protect your little island?

Daemon clutches at his cup so hard, he thinks he might bend the metal. You are his bride. He is the only one allowed to have you. If he doesn’t want to, he doesn’t want to, but it doesn’t mean someone else can.

Rhaenyra approaches him again, no doubt wanting another dance. But not even her allure, which is usually so hypnotizing to him, manages to get him out of his bad mood. He hates when other people touch what is his.

Daemon decides to retire for the night, before she can reach him. He needs to think. How he longs for your shared rooms back at Claw Island. At least that way, he wouldn’t spend the night tossing and turning, wondering if the Hightower cunt escorted you back to your rooms, and if so, at which hour.

Strange, isn’t it? Such a small act can cause such a big shift in perspective. So many months, he had spent thinking of Claw Island a prison, longing to be able to come back to court. Now, he sees it as it was. A shell made to protect the most valuable pearl the sea had produced.

Had Daemon known men at court would try to steal his bride, he would have never authorized this trip. Your father could have been named Hand, but you would have never stepped foot outside your castle if Daemon had known. You would not be taken with Gwayne Hightower if he had a say in it.

He had a plan. The knight would make a fool out of himself. Daemon just had to encourage him in the right direction.

Daemon is up and about as soon as the sun is. He strolls towards the space prepared for the tournament, armor in hand. He changes slowly, giving plenty of time for Gwayne Hightower to arrive.

The foolish knight does. So do you, sitting next to your father in the stands, all pretty and glowy under the sun. You wear a red gown that compliments not only your skin tone, but pays homage to both of your houses. After all, both House Targaryen and Celtigar have red on their coats of arms. A clear show that you were meant to be his, and his alone. What would you even look like, if you were married to a Hightower fool? Red and green would look hideous in a dress.

As the highest-ranking competitor, Daemon gets to make the first challenge. To no one’s surprise, he picks Gwayne Hightower.

Daemon waits with bated breath, already seated on his horse. Does the man dare? Oh, he dares! The Hightower cunt gallops towards the stands. You don’t rise, looking towards the Hightower whore. It’s then he realizes you must be truly innocent. You are either doubting the boldness of the man or are not aware of his house, and do not recognize him under the armor.

But as Gwayne Hightower reaches the stand, Daemon close on his heels, he takes off his helmet. You gasp.

The Hightower whore makes a move as if to get up. Her brother’s voice cuts her off.

“I was hoping to get a sign of your favor, my Lady.” The man says to you, and your eyes widen. You stand, shakily. You look at Daemon, then at the cunt, then at him, then back at the cunt. Daemon arches an eyebrow, visor lifted. “For you have already struck me with your beauty, and the fact that you cannot be mine. Allow me the consolation of placing a crown of flowers upon you, and soothe my wounded heart.”

You gasp at the bold declaration. Daemon has to admit it, the cunt has some nerve. Not only has he praised you in ways that are too bold even for a couple courting, but he has slighted Daemon in front of the whole court. He has made explicit mention of your marriage to him.

Viserys eyes him warily. Daemon scoffs. The distrust is unnecessary. Why would he slaughter the Hightower now, when he has the chance to plummet him into the ground without consequences in just a few minutes? Besides, it would be in bad taste, slaughtering the brother of his sister-in-law.

Your father urges you forward, with a forced laugh. You grasp one of the favors from your box, which has only two, and place it upon the Hightower’s lanze. The pretty ribbons sway in the wind. White and red from House Celtigar proudly displayed.

Daemon clears his throat, and presents his own lanze.

“How touching.”

You ignore him, as Rhaenyra approaches. Surely thinking how he will want to wear her favor, after his rejection of last night. Curse him, Daemon thinks. He should have danced with you. If he had known that up jumped son of a rat was going to try his luck, you would have not left Daemon’s arms the whole night.

“Thank you, niece. But today I fancy wearing my wife’s favor. For it would be a shame for her to be lacking her crown once her champion undoubtedly disappoints.” He loudly declares, uncaring if his niece’s face falls. Rhaenyra will get over it. But this has turned into a manhood competition. He can’t let Gwayne Hightower, of all people, win.

“Can I do that?” Daemon hears you whisper towards Viserys and his whore. “Can I have two champions fighting each other?”

Viserys, as if this is the most fun he has had in a while, answers cheerfully.

“Of course, my dear girl.” It probably is the most fun he has had in a while. Really. It must be very amusing to him, after hearing Daemon complain about you for months. Who would have known he would have to fight some Hightower for your attention? Laughable, really. A Prince groveling. “Double the chances for you to get the flower crown, is it not?”

“Of course.” Your father jumps in, clearly trying to prevent a scandal. “Go on, love. Give the other one to your husband. If more are needed, we will get more ribbons.”

You approach Daemon, pretty little favor on your delicate hands. You smile at him, pleasantly. But this close, he can tell you are shaken by the power play happening right in front of your eyes.

Daemon lowers his lanze as you stretch to place your ribbons. You give him a confused and hurt look. He stretches closer.

“Save that one.” Daemon says, as he places a hand on your hair and pulls out the red ribbon that holds it back. “I’m your husband, I get some privileges.”

His gesture makes you laugh. Daemon feels on top of the world. He gives a superior glance to the Hightower cunt, as if saying: Look at me, I do not need half your effort and get double the results.

Daemon is not so deluded as to think the laugh is more than half nervousness and half playing the part of the dutiful wife you are, but to Daemon is still a win. He can see why the other lords want you. With your hair loose, smiling and with your skin glowing from the sun, you are actually quite pretty.

He ties the ribbon around the pommel of the lanze.

“A kiss, for good luck?” Daemon knows he is pushing, but cannot help but be smug. His pretty wife gave him her hair ribbon to tie around his chosen weapon, for all the court to see. Smugness radiates out of his pores.

Without any expectation, the sweet peck you give him is even more of a delight. Even more sweet is the disgruntled look on Gwayne Hightower's face.

Safe to say, the man gets unseated so fast, it has to be the quickest defeat ever registered. The crunch he makes as he falls from his horse it’s the most satisfying sound Daemon has ever heard. The crowd gasps and cheers. The man does not get up.

That will teach him, he decides. Gwayne Higtwoer will never again even look your way. Daemon turns his horse back around, ready to face his next opponent, but it’s stopped by the pages.

“Ser Gwayne Hightower has requested to continue with the sword.” At that, his blood boils. He nearly jumps off his horse, discarding the lanze and unsheathing Dark Sister.

“What will it be, boy? First blood?” He saunters towards the man, and the sight of him this close only serves to anger him more. He shares Otto’s slender build, tall and slight. In Hightower armor, he even looks like him. Daemon is going to enjoy this.

“Why stop there?” The knight asks, hatefully. “Until one of us yields.”

“As you wish.” Daemon charges, forgoing his shield. He is just too angered for politeness. This is not jousting anymore, it’s his hate for Higtowers, and the fact that this man has tried to take something that’s his. He should have never looked your way. Never. And if it’s up to Daemon, perhaps he will leave the arena without the ability to repeat the feat.

The fight is quick and dirty, but even when he has disarmed and cornered him, Gwayne Higtower refuses to yield.

“What are you..?” Daemon asks, utterly confused because the little savage is grabbing Dark Sister with gauntled hands and pulling.

“Just as marriage is not an excuse for not loving…” He grins, teeth bared in a feral little grin, and Daemon lets go of his sword in surprise at the boldness of the fool. “No weapon is no excuse for yielding.”

He loses it, then. Later, he will only remember red. Daemon throws himself at him and starts punching him, until the asshole goes limp on his arms and has to be pulled away from him.

Only the fact that the Hightower fought back is what allows him to keep participating in the tournament, instead of being exiled again. The split lip and bleeding eyebrow do serve to build a case in his favor.

He wins the tournament without any opposition. With bloody hands, he places the flower crown on your head. Your horrified look is not as satisfactory as he would have thought.

Pride /praɪd/

the feeling that you are better or more important than other people.

Daemon manages to get a hold of you before you vacate the stands. You are trying to avoid the crowds, waiting patiently in your seat. He doesn’t allow it, urging you towards his chambers with a firm grip on your wrist.

Some other ladies titter and giggle, pointing towards the two of you. No doubt, they think he is about to ravish you. They are not wrong.

It’s not often Daemon feels desire for you. In truth, while you have a pretty mouth and a soft body, you do little for him. But today, you are enchanting. The flower crown still sits atop of your windswept hair, making you look like a forest nymph. There are a few red stains along your temple, left there by Daemon’s hands when he placed the crown on top of your hair.

Never has there been a woman more deserving of the title of Queen of Love and Beauty. As you walk with him down the halls, he feels a smug sort of satisfaction. Here is the woman half the court wants, Daemon wants to scream. Here is my wife.

The feeling is not unfamiliar to him, but it is in relation to you. His possessive nature so far has only extended towards members of his house. The lust is new, too. Daemon has experimented it many times, but never towards whom he should.

As soon the door closes after you, he kisses you forcefully, only for you to shove him away.

“What are you doing?” You ask, as you spit out some of his blood. You are remarkably strong, having been able to push him while still in armor. But what shocks him the most is the fact that you did it at all. Months of marriage and you have done nothing but smile, regardless of what Daemon does.

“Shh, Lady Wife. Nothing unusual, I assure you.” He pulls you back in, kissing along your neck. This time, you push him even harder.

Daemon stumbles and blinks, hard. Are you rejecting him? He sits down on the bed and takes off his helmet. He has beaten the Hightower fool half to death and won you the silly flower crown. Why would you reject him?

“You prefer him, don't you?” That has to be the answer, surely. You must be having an affair with the cunt. Why else would you reject him? It’s not allowed. While Daemon is not particularly keen on forcing you, you are his wife. He has a right to your body, and you shouldn’t deny him. You know it. Never before have you refused him, due to the same reason. So this must be something else.

“What nonsense are you on, now?” You barely lift your eyes from your work, busy with pouring some water in a bowl and taking out clean linens. Efficiently, as if a seasoned healer, and not a soft lady from Claw Island, you rip them apart.

“Don’t play daft, wife.” Daemon reproaches, scowling. Your innocent act is starting to tire him. You can’t possibly believe him so dumb. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“If this is about Ser Gwayne…” You start and he feels the urge to scream. He can’t help but cut you off.

“Of course it is! Of course it is about that fucking Hightower.” Daemon’s voice goes high-pitched, imitating yours. “Ser, Ser.” He rolls his eyes. “How easily they hand titles now. Is every scum in this realm a knight?”

Your face doesn’t even twitch. That is one of the things about you that drive him to insanity. No matter what Daemon says, he never seems to get a reaction. It’s infuriating. You are all manners and dimples, even in the face of the most vile insults he throws your way. You either have no honor, letting him stomp all over you, or you think him right. Pathetic. Even the Bronze Bitch bit back.

His nostrils flare. Softly, you step between his parted legs and dab at the cut on his brow with a soaked linen. Ever dutiful.

“You do know adultery is a crime.” Daemon says, in a low, threatening tone. You give him a pleasant smile, squeezing water out of the cloth. It runs red and fast down your wrist.

“So is incest.” Your voice is far too cheerful for someone who just got accused of a crime that’s punishable by death if he so chooses. And not only that, but you have the nerve to threaten him.

“I am a Targaryen.” Daemon practically growls. You glare at him. He should be angry, but instead, his loins seem to heat up. Who can fault him? Any man would feel the urge to take you over and over, when faced with those eyes and those lashes.

Surely, after it, you would understand you were his and not Gwayne Hightower’s. It was not such an ambitious plan. Perhaps a lesser man would have trouble with it, but not Daemon. Give him ten minutes between your legs and you would be singing his praises.

“And I am a Celtigar.” His pause has allowed you enough time to form a retort. You press down on the cut on his brow with a viciousness that startles him. Daemon winces in pain. No getting distracted, he notes. Less you murder him when he is not paying attention. “To stifle the blood flow.” You explain, but Daemon can see the bloodlust in your eyes. You want him to hurt. The past few months have not gone in vain, it appears.

“Mine, you are mine.” He replies, gruffly.

You let go of the cloth, hands on your hips. Your mouth opens and closes, astonished.

“You don’t have any right to speak those words to me.” How he longs to grab you and show you exactly who is in charge. There you are, screaming! You! The woman who Daemon doubted knew how to make sounds louder than polite conversation. “Am I not the bride you never wanted? Your chain? Well then, sail free. Go!” You scream, and Daemon needs to pick his jaw off the floor because never has he seen you this angry.

Are you screaming at him? He feels the urge to pinch himself, to see if he is dreaming. But the way you are pointing your finger towards the door seems very real. Still a bit confused by the sudden personality change, Daemon does not obey.

It feels like a dream. Like stepping into a parallel world. The words that come out of his mouth are spoken by a stranger, and he can only watch as you turn more and more furious.

“No. Come here.” Daemon grabs at your gown, trying to pull you into him. He doesn’t really know what he is going to do if you budge. Place you in his lap and placate you with a kiss? He doesn’t get to find out. Grabbing you has clearly been the wrong move.

You slip out of his grip with a harsh jerk. Daemon is not as young as he used to be, but the sight makes his lust bubble up. You are alluring when angry, all passionate lines, and bloody temples. Valyrian, in a way you had never been before, with your darker coloring and soft manners. Yet, when mad? You are a conqueror goddess made flesh.

“No! I will not. I am not yours. We might be married but I will…” You stomp your foot at him, all angry little crab. For the first time, he sees fire in you.

Such a shame this is the moment you chose to grow a spine. He couldn’t understand where you had been all this time. So many months wasted with the meek little wife, when he could have had you instead.

Why had you decided to show you had a personality now, of all times? It was not fair, if it was for that Hightower cunt.

“Why Gwayne Hightower? Out of all the men on earth?” Daemon mutters, clearly not low enough because you answer him.

“This is not about Gwayne Hightower.” You glare, crown of flowers balancing precariously on top of your head. As you move, a few petals fall down. Angry little dryad that you are, you bat them away.

“If not, what is it about?”

“You!” You scream at him. It’s hateful, it's rage filled, it’s everything you are usually not. A true Valyrian goddess, letting mere mortals feel her might. Daemon would have enjoyed the display more if he wasn’t the mortal in question. “I forgot what it felt like to be wanted. To be looked at as someone who was desirable. Do you know how I have felt? Begging for scraps of attention, trying to make this work?”

“Wife…” He pleads because now there are tears in your eyes, and while Daemon doesn’t do begging, he doesn’t do comforting either.

“Do not call me that! Didn’t you petition for an annulment?” And how had you found out about that? While he had not been exactly secretive with his correspondence, he didn’t believe you to be proficient in High Valyrian. He has no time to ponder on it because you intend to go further. “Well, you are in luck! I will make my own request!”

“Viserys will not allow it.” Even if Daemon has to go beg him on his knees to not grant it, you are not annulling this marriage. Not when he is just starting to see the real you.

“Fine! Then I am going back to Claw Island. Stay here.” You scream, and you look so determined it scares him. For a second, he actually thinks you have the power to ban him from the island and force him to stay, giving you plenty of time to receive visitors. Male visitors, all surrounding you, courting you, as if he were already dead and not just exiled.

“Look. I’m sorry. Can we start over?” Daemon offers, in his most pleading tone. He has not apologized since… Gods. He barely remembers how to do it.

“You made me forget I deserved more than scraps.” You laugh at him, as his first apology to someone in more than ten years is the funniest joke existing. Then, enraged. “It will be a cold day in the Seven Hells, when I give you another chance.”

Hurt. He realizes, as you throw the flower crown at his feet and slam the door. Hurt. You are hurt, not angry. He has done the worst thing a man can do to a woman. Damage her pride.

Lust lʌst/

very strong sexual desire, especially when love is not involved.

Much to your dismay, every time you try to speak alone to the King, you are swiftly intercepted. If it’s not Corlys Velaryon asking you to help him pick a book in the library, it’s your Lord Father summoning you to his chambers. It seems like the whole palace is in it because even Princess Rhaenys asks you to stroll with her through the gardens when you lurk too close to Viserys’s chambers.

Daemon was smarter than you thought. He had taken to using your own weapons against you. The need to be polite kept you from rejecting all these new invitations, and so, you often ended up stuck an entire afternoon with nonsensical plans.

As time passes, your rage starts to subside. Much to your disgust, it morphs into shame. You cannot believe how you lost control in front of Daemon. Everything you have worked so hard on could vanish for a single afternoon pf foolishness.

You would rather not be his enemy. When the time comes for the two of you to go back to Claw Island, Gwayne Hightower is still bedridden, despite it already being days. Daemon is a dangerous man to cross.

Strangely enough, he doesn’t seem angry, or even resentful. In fact, your husband has never been more attentive. With the talent of existing just at the right moment, Daemon appears at your side each time there is a door to be opened or a chair to be pulled.

“No one has ever seen him like this.” Queen Alicent marvels, as he watches him go fetch you a blanket in case the room is too cold for your liking. “Whatever you did to him…”

“Nothing, I assure you.” You answer, sternly. You don’t want her getting funny ideas, like that you are dabbling in witchery or the Seven knows what. It’s not something you can afford. Already balancing on a tightrope after the fight, any accusation could be your ruin. You do not trust Daemon’s change of heart. He is probably just biding his time.

Noticing something is amiss, Daemon comes back with the blanket, wrapping it around you. Alicent falls quiet.

Daemon stares at you, his hands lingering on your back more than necessary. He seems to be taking you in. His eyes fixate on your bosom a tad too long before you realize what he is doing, and you cover yourself more with the blanket.

Your cheeks heat up. You cough. Alicent’s brows raise.

“You are so beautiful, wife.” Daemon says, a bit dumbly.

“And you are a fool.” Your response is heated, and stupid, too. But you feel too embarrassed to care. Alicent is still sitting there, with a scandalized look on her face. Anyone would be ashamed to be the object of such obvious ogling, much less when they have never been exposed to it.

You are unused to this side of your husband. At most, when trying to consummate, Daemon would glance at you with disdain and proclaim it was all your fault. His eyes would never watch the heaving of your chest as you breathed, or the sway of your skirts when you walked. Were you superstitious, you would have thought him a man possessed.

Daemon laughs, either at your comment or your expression. It’s good, you suppose. At least he has not taken offense. You would have thought he would be angered, never one to suffer affronts to his pride without reacting.

“Your fool.” He leans down and places a kiss on your forehead, before walking away.

You stare at him. Alicent stares at you. Neither says anything. You are not sure what to make of it. It’s strange. It’s him now, who serves you dinner. The choicest cuts of meat, the sweetest of wines and meads, never asking for anything in exchange.

He has gotten unusually affectionate. Or possessive. Whatever it’s going through his mind, you don’t know. Daemon has never been open about his thoughts and feelings with you, unless they stem from displeasure.

Perhaps it’s a burst of boastfulness. He flaunts you, a hand on your waist, lower arm, whatever he can get away with. He is suddenly interested in the dresses you wear, commenting on them and gifting you new ones just because he thinks they would suit you. You do not miss the fact that the dresses are always in his house’s colors or styles he personally favors, with intricate needlework and embroidery.

It’s interesting. Once again, his testing of boundaries seems to come back. His hands are always playing with the curls at the nape of your neck, or the folds of your skirt. You have even caught him toying with the buttons of your bodice. It borders on the inappropriate.

“You are pushing it.” You say to him when his hands curls around yours as you dance. He is supposed to keep his hand extended for this step. He doesn’t seem to care. The other guests give him amused looks. No one is about to chide a Prince for his lovesick behavior towards his wife. Especially in a goodbye feast for the couple.

In truth, you are starting to think most of the fathers at court are relieved. If the Rogue Prince is chasing after his wife, then he is not chasing their daughters.

“Holding your hand is pushing it?” Daemon holds your hand more securely, as he makes you spin. This is another new and unexpected development. Now, he only dances with you. No heated looks at Rhaenyra, no longing glances towards Laena. You are not sure how you feel about it.

“It is. You are inconveniencing everyone.” You say, as he spins you again with a flourish. Despite wanting so badly to keep being cross with him, you cannot help but laugh with childish delight. What girl doesn’t want to be twirled around and made to feel special? “You are supposed to exchange partners.”

The balance of the dance has been thrown off by his refusal to let go of you. Any time there needs to be a switch, the couples flounder around the two of you. It’s childish on his part, but he seems unwilling to let you dance with another man.

“Oh, you haven’t seen me pushing it yet.” Daemon laughs, and pulls you in until your body is flush against his. It’s improper and probably not allowed. Scandalous, even. Yet again, no one is about to say anything.

Much less you, suddenly realizing that being pressed so close to Daemon is quite enjoyable. He smells surprisingly clean this evening. No trace of alcohol on his skin, or other women’s perfumes. Instead, he smells of the soap he usually favors and some sort of aromatic oil.

“Will you push further, then?” You raise your brows. It’s sort of amusing that Daemon is trying so hard. You would have not taken him for the seducing type, not when he had been so keen on dissolving your marriage.

“I will.” Daemon leans in, to whisper in your ear. His voice is low, thick with desire. It makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. “I want you. I burn for you. I need you in my bed, on top of me, under me, any way you will let me have you.”

You give a scandalized little gasp, softly hitting his shoulder. Daemon grins, pulling you in even more. The two of you are so close, you imagine you can feel his heart beating against yours.

“I’m not done.” He chuckles, leaning in to kiss your jaw. Daemon’s lips trail kisses towards your ear, teasingly blowing some air against it. “I want to spend the nights feasting between your thighs, on the valley of your breasts…”

“Stop it! We are in public.” You squeak, yet you look up at him like a flower searching for the sun. The attention he bestows on you is flattering, and you can't help but want to hear more.

“Do you want to hear a secret, wife? Every time you walk, I find myself lost in the sway of your hips. I want to drown on it. Drown on you. Until no trace of another remains, until the taste of your lips is the only thing I know.”

By this point, your skin feels so hot you worry you are about to combust. You gape at him. Not only has he dared to make a bold declaration, but he has done so in a room full of people.

You take a moment to gather yourself. Daemon could be bluffing for all you know, and so, you decide to match him. You brush your thumb against his cheekbone, feather-light.

“Then do it. No one is stopping you. Come to bed. Drown on me. Drink me, take me, ravish me.” You are trembling, and you only realize it when Daemon holds you tighter against him. You feel feverish, voice lowered to an urgent whisper. “Give me Valyrian sons, to hold my island when we are both gone.”

“No. No.” He says, against the curve of your neck, embraced much closer than the dance requires, making a spectacle. “I want them to have your smile and your eyes, and that infuriating curve of your shoulder. Give me daughters with your smart mouth, and your even temper. I want them to be proof of the love I had for you.”

You tremble more. Love. He really said… Oh, by the Seven.

“You are shaking.” Daemon kisses your brow. “Don’t. Unless it is from pleasure.”

Laughter rings in your ears. It's yours, but it feels foreign. You are too stunned to think clearly. Daemon tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear.

“Are you still there, Lady Wife?” He taps at your lower lip with his thumb. There is a teasing tilt to his smile, but his eyes are nervous. Vulnerable. Daemon was clearly not planning on confessing tonight. “Or have I broken you?”

“Prove it.” You say, still caught up on the love part. His declaration has sent your mind reeling, and shown you all of your latest interactions in a new light. You don’t know if Daemon knows what he is doing. He is a deeply passionate creature, much like his house’s sigil. Daemon doesn’t do infatuations, nor does he do dislikes. He loves or hates, and there is no in between.

“I will.” He promises, playing with a stray piece of hair that has fallen out of your up do. “Our whole lives. But perhaps I can start tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” You frown, puzzled. You even pull back from his embrace to be able to look at his face. What an odd thing to say. Despite it, you admire the utter shamelessness he has about it. Were it you the one accidentally confessing, you would be a bundle of nerves.

Daemon doesn’t even blush. Of course, there is the small fact that he believes himself to be the Seven’s gift to humankind. You suppose if you believed yourself to be irresistible, you wouldn’t be nervous either. Cockiness wasn’t something you thought did it for you, but it seemed like you were learning new things every day.

“You will see.” Daemon smiles. You let him keep his secret, figuring it can’t be anything that bad.

You discover what he means when you arrive at Claw Island. A dragon egg waits for you, the fireplace clearly modified in a hurry, judging by the new stones and bricks that were added to the hearth.

“Even if it never hatches, I want you to have it. For you are as Valyrian as we are, and I was a fool not to see it sooner. You are worthy. It should have been on your cradle as a child.”

Greed /ɡriːd/

​a strong desire for more wealth, possessions, power, etc. than a person needs.

The way his eyes trail after you now, it’s quite unfamiliar. Not lust, nor disdain. Something entirely new. Heavier.

Your afternoons have been filled with new entertainment. You coo at the egg, holding it over the fire. Sometimes, Daemon kneels beside you and helps you hold it, making a game of it. How long before either of you gets burned? How long can you endure, hands so close to the fire, before you are yelping and giving it to him?

When you think he is not looking, you speak to it in High Valyrian, whispering soft promises of how loved him or her will be once it hatches. There is no doubt in your mind it will. Perhaps not in weeks, or even months. Yet, your heart tells you there will be a dragon before your life ends.

Every night, you place the egg in the bed next to you. On your side, you curl around it, trying to share your warmth. Daemon reaches forward, sometimes. When he thinks you are asleep, his hand will curl over your waist and touch the egg, pressing it more against your stomach. You wonder what he means by it.

Does he know what he is doing? The low lullabies he half sings, half mutters under his breath indicate a yes. The way his lips curl into a soft smile against your nape show a longing that’s very much not subconscious.

Just as a pot of boiling water, the egg hatches a night no one it’s looking at it. Both Daemon and you are curled in a love seat, engrossed in a book. He is reading something about the doom of Valyria, your legs over his lap. You are submerged in a text about a man’s travels around the Free Cities.

One of his hands is wrapped around your ankle, in the sweetest of chains. Each time he flips a page, he will brush it with his thumb, softly. While not unwelcome, it’s strange. You are not used to being comforted in the same way you did for him during the first months of marriage. While Daemon doesn’t expect any kind of retribution, you find yourself granting it anyway.

The domesticity is quickly broken, however, when a strange noise fills the halls of your home. At first, you are unable to hear it through the background noise, but if you strain your ears, you can just make it out. It’s a shrill cross between a bird’s chirps and someone crying.

“Daemon?” You close your book and stare at him. Unable to help it, you get a little sidetracked, watching his face. His mouth is pursed in concentration, the candlelight giving his features a golden glow. Despite him being several years older than you, you cannot help but find him terribly handsome. Age has only turned him more distinguished. You betted he was dashing when younger, but unlike his brother, he has aged like a fine wine.

Sensing your eyes on him, he gives you a lazy smile.

“Little wife.” His voice comes out in a pleased rumble at having caught you looking. Your face heats up. Daemon's eyes shift from yours, to your mouth, then back to your eyes. You squirm under his gaze, trying to focus.

“Do you hear that?” You force yourself to utter.

“Hear what?” Daemon leans more towards you, his hand squeezing your knee. You give a small, delighted shiver. Good gods, what is it about him that gets you to turn into a puddle of want with the simplest touch?

“Some sort of animal crying.”

Daemon frowns. He tilts his head to the side, as if to listen better. You keep quiet, hoping to aid him. Then, his face breaks out in the biggest grin.

“It hatched! You amazing, wonderful woman.” He praises, pulling you into him. The hug is awkward, but it doesn’t last because you are too eager to see the baby dragon. Your dragon. You squirm out of his hold and rush out of the room, not even bothering to put on shoes, Daemon hot on your heels.

When you open the door to your chambers, you find the cutest thing ever. A baby dragon, slimy and confused, sits in the middle of his egg in the fireplace. It’s all big, dark eyes and long limbs, much like a baby horse. Unable to resist the temptation, you reach towards them.

“I do not…” Daemon tries to stop you, but the baby dragon climbs right up into your arms, curling close to your chest. Eager to touch it, you let it climb over your shoulder and nuzzle you, even if the sudden weight makes you stagger a little.

“That was really dangerous.” Your husband reprimands, trying to lift it away from you. The baby dragon snorts towards his direction, as if attempting to breathe fire. It only manages to give a cute little sneeze. Daemon glares.

“Aw, you are just like a baby.” You coo at the dragon, petting its head. Daemon looks even more disgruntled.

“Your dragon tried to burn me.” He complains.

“It’s a baby, husband. They don’t know any better.” You rub the scales on its back, soothingly. Unwilling to let go, you find yourself looking around your bedroom. “Let it stay here? Just for tonight.”

Daemon glares. You give him your biggest, most pleading eyes. He relents.

“Fine. But it’s not sleeping on the bed with us. And only for tonight.”

“Only for tonight.”

A month after, and the baby dragon is still sleeping in your bed. He has taken to laying between Daemon and you, leeching off your warmth. Daemon complains of having to sleep on the edge of the bed and his back being sore, but despite it, never once asks you to send the dragon outside with Caraxes.

The trouble starts, how not, with a trip to King’s Landing. This time, you ride with him, as a passenger to Caraxes, while the baby dragon follows. When Daemon lands, the dragon keepers fret around your baby, unsure of what to do with the unexpected visitor.

You command him to stay by your side, despite the protests of the dragon keepers. You are arguing and complaining and shielding your baby while Daemon only watches, amused.

Perhaps the commotion attracts more people, or someone calls for them, but you end up cornered as King Viserys makes his way to the dragon pit.

“What do we have here?” He asks, smiling at you. You give him a nervous look. Your dragon has gotten bigger, and so, you can not pick him up gracefully, but you usher him behind you regardless.

“Nothing, your grace.” You say, lacking your usual charm. You feel nervous about leaving the baby dragon on his own in the dragon pit. What if the other dragons don’t like him? What if he gets lonely?

With one hand, you reach for Daemon. His fingers meet yours halfway, squeezing reassuringly. More often than not, being a woman, your orders were not taken seriously. But if your husband gave an order, people would rush to obey. You hope he intercedes in your favor.

“Daemon, please.” You say, under your breath. “Don’t let them send him away. He will behave.”

“What do I gain, little wife?” He asks, interlocking your fingers together. Daemon gives his most charming grin to his brother, before pulling you into him. You go willingly, body lax and pliant for him. “A kiss, perhaps?”

“Please.” You turn to look at him, hoping to move him. This close, once again, you feel slightly distracted. Your husband smells so nice, and his hands feel so good around your waist, it’s no hardship at all. You press a kiss to his cheek.

“Must you always arrive with such a ruckus?” Viserys frowns. Daemon gives him a small smile.

“You know me.” Slowly, he starts to lead you towards the Red Keep, a hand placed protectively on your lower back. The message is clear. Daemon wants you to make your dragon follow you. You don’t even need to order it because your baby, smart as it is, is already following. The dragon keepers step back, muttering unhappily.

“Is it going inside?” Viserys point at your dragon. Foolishly, you had been hoping he didn’t notice, and so, your stomach drops. But Daemon doesn’t falter, strolling confidently inside as if he owned the place.

“He will behave. As long as no one touches her.” Normally, you despise when people talk about you as if you are not there. Currently, though, you can only feel relief that your dragon is not getting sent to sleep outside in the cold. He is just too little for it.

Viserys walks you towards his private dining room. A blonde child runs around, playing. The Princess and Ser Laenor are already there. And Alicent is even more heavily pregnant than before.

“How have you been?” You ask Alicent, sitting next to her. You half expect to be left out of the conversation as you were a few months before, and so, choose to sit next to someone who has been kind to you. The baby dragon hops on your lap when you take your seat.

Alicent looks absolutely horrified.

“Good enough.” She speaks, blinking slowly. It’s clear she cannot believe her eyes. She stares at the dragon in a mix of awe and fear.

“He is harmless.” You explain, petting it as if it were a small dog and not a baby dragon. “Do you want to pet him?”

Alicent reaches forward with a trembling hand. The dragon sniffs her, and curls to sleep again.

“… And I was thinking of changing the layout of the hall, to make sure he fits…” You hear Daemon complain, and your ears immediately perk up. Is he talking about your baby?

“So you keep it inside?” Viserys asks, sounding disbelieving.

“I have never seen such a close bond.” Daemon boasts. He sounds as if he is proud of you, you realize. It makes something warm flutter in your stomach. No longer are you the wife he never wanted and tried to get rid of. “Damn thing sleeps on the bed with us. It’s better trained than a dog, seriously. We should have given Celtigars dragons a long time away.”

“Why not leave it outside?” From where you are seated, you can’t see his face, but you imagine by his tone, Viserys is smiling.

“She will riot. She loves him as her own son.” Daemon explains. You keep your eyes trained on the nervous Alicent, who has managed to lay her hand on top of your dragon’s head. She looks about to bolt.

“Isn’t he the nicest thing?” You say to Alicent, excited. “He thinks I am his mom, or something. Isn’t it great?”

Alicent does not look as impressed as you hoped for, but she gives you a kind smile. She seems willing to tolerate your eccentricities if for the sake of not having to make conversation with Rhaenyra.

“Very nice.” She compliments. “Pretty colors. Prince Daemon was very kind, giving it to you.”

“He is.” You smile, softly. “Although he complains all the time.”

Alicent shrugs. This time, both of you tune in the conversation between Daemon and Viserys.

“Perhaps, as you build him something outside, you can distract her with an actual baby.” Viserys says. Alicent looks torn at the comment, and you can’t help but feel slightly embarrassed by the topic.

It’s not something you had thought about before. Well, you had. Never with him, though. As a girl, you dreamed of being a mother, and as a woman, Daemon and you had discussed the issue of heirs already. You had spoken about it during your last goodbye feast, in this same castle. But those words had been spoken in the height of passion, and neither of you had done anything about it.

“Trust me. Next time she holds a babe, it will be a proper human one.” Daemon says, and his hand finds yours over the table. You look up at him, meeting his purple eyes. He looks hungry. Starved, even.

You lower your eyes demurely. Viserys laughs. And Daemon, greedy as he is, lifts your hand to his mouth and presses a soft kiss to your knuckles.

Sloth /sləʊθ/

the bad habit of being lazy and unwilling to work.

The light filters in through the open curtains, giving the room a soft glow. Daemon’s face scrunches up, bothered by the sunlight in his eyes. He has tried to convince you to sleep with them drawn, but you are unwilling. To you, the best way to wake up is slowly, with the sun. Or so you say. He is not very convinced.

Daemon stretches. You reach for him in your sleep. He gives himself a moment to savor it, the fact that he can finally pull you closer. The dragon is finally gone from his bed, although he is no way near distracting you with a babe.

Dragons are not pets. Daemon had been taught that since the cradle, even before he had a dragon of his own. Their control over them was only an illusion, and so, they should be trusted but feared. He had lived by that rule, never once questioning it. Until you.

Watching you raise yours as if it were your own child had proven interesting. You lacked his education about them, but you made up for it by sheer enthusiasm. The fact that your dragon had not bitten your hand off yet or burned you to a crisp could only mean two things: You were some sort of forest nymph, or they were mistaken about their approach to dragons. He knew which one he thought was true.

How much was nature, and how much was nurture in their relationship with dragons? Trying to answer that question would occupy his entire lifetime. Daemon hoped that watching you gave him some insight. Even if he ended up discovering you were a nymph in disguise or some sort of goddess of the hunt. He wouldn’t regret it, fascinating as you were.

No matter how much food for thought you gave him, Daemon had been enjoying the joys of marriage. Perhaps, a little too much. Seeing you with the baby dragon had awoken some unexpected feelings. Targaryens were dragons, after all. When the time came, you would make a good mother. Not only were your instincts well-developed, but you seemed to thrive on having something to nurture.

Ah, the joys of domesticity. Daemon loves that you trust him enough now to allow him to witness you at your most fragile. Asleep and wearing a soft white night shift, you are deliciously innocent. Giving, too. You do not complain when his hands find your hips or when he pulls you flush against him. Nor do you move away when his face hides in your lovely locks, mussed with sleep.

Your expression is open and vulnerable in ways you are never when truly awake. Your eyes open just the tiniest sliver, before you hide your face on your pillow, rubbing against it like the sweetest kitten.

He adores you like this. Worships you, even. Obsessed with the curve of your hip, or the soft flesh above your womb. Daemon can’t help but rub it, hoping to manifest a child into existence without actually fucking you.

If he believed in such a thing, as so many fools in this realm did, Daemon would say this was the Seven Heavens. But he knew the truth. Just like you, who worshiped the Old Gods of Valyria, Daemon did too. How could he not when he had a tiny goddess sharing his bed?

Your nose scrunches up. You twitch. Worshiping a little nymph, now that was hard work. Especially when the nymph in question does her best to escape his personal worshiping time.

If Daemon could spend all day in bed, just like this, he would. He would trace your features with his mouth, peppering your face with soft kisses. He would feast on the soft curve of your neck, drink up all your sweet little noises. Trace a path down your soft limbs, draw nonsensical patterns on your stomach. But you are an energetic little thing, always jumping out of bed, no matter the pleasure he tempts you with.

Convincing you to stay is hard, but Daemon likes to think it’s an art he has perfected. It’s not a ritual, by any means. Each morning goes differently. Sometimes, you need to be kissed silly. Sometimes, you need to be gently worshiped and coaxed back to sleep. But his favorite mornings are the ones that go like this.

“I have to go check on the tenants, down by the shore. The rain season just started.” You complain, as he noses along your hairline. Suddenly, Daemon’s arms are empty. He opens his eyes to find you sitting up and pulling your robe over your night shift.

You look delectable in red. He should buy you more robes like that one. Especially because he is about to ruin it.

“Did you say at what hour you are going?” Daemon sits up as well, toying with the edge of your robe. You bat his hands away, playfully.

“No.” You are hurriedly standing up, perhaps knowing what comes next. Daemon grabs your robe, and pulls you back in, using all his strength.

No matter how much you try to keep your feet planted on the floor, you end up tumbling back into bed. You give a girlish shriek, a smile already forming on your face. You struggle, kicking the blankets off the bed.

“Come back here, you little minx.” He tugs you by the ankle, making you laugh. Your hair is sticking up in all directions and your chest heaves up and down with the exertion of putting up a fight.

Daemon secretly loves it. He would never tell you because you would be outraged, but he enjoys the idea of overpowering you. Perhaps, once you fully trust him, he could ask you to play like that. But for now, he takes what he can get.

“Or else what Lord husband?” You tease, still trying to escape him. More blankets and furs are sent flying off the bed. You give a mean little tug to his hair.

“That was it!” Daemon complains, and starts tickling you. The night shift rides tantalizingly up your hips, giving him an unintentional show. He feels his blood warming, arousal turning into a dull throb in his loins. Your legs kick wildly, you squirm on the bed, and your eyes fill with tears from laughing so much.

It’s only when your poor body can’t take it anymore, and you are crying from laughter that he stops. He thinks of how it would feel, to overwhelm you in a different context, make your body take and take until tears ran freely down your temples. A different sort of crown for his forest nymph, one made from her own silver tears. The visual is too much for him to take without giving himself away.

Daemon lies on top of you, smothering you with his weight. He licks a few stray drops of sweat from your neck, making you flay once again. There will be a day when play wrestling will turn into something much less sweet. That day, though, it’s not today.

“Get off!” You complain. “That’s disgusting.”

“I could eat you up.” He teases, nuzzling into your neck. It's the truth. Daemon loves the taste of your skin and your smell. If he thought he could get away with it, he would crawl between your thighs and feast on you. “You are delicious, wife.”

“Daemon.” You push lightly at him, trying to get up. Again. But your words lack their previous conviction. Daemon can tell he is getting to you. “It’s getting late.”

“The tenants can wait. Let us hide from the world a little longer.” He pleads, clinging to you. Under him, exhausted after the play wrestling, you go limp. He knows he has won then.

You spend the whole day in bed. The tenants end up being visited closer to sundown. Daemon does not regret it one bit.

Winter’s Heart

overview: A quest for a ruling partner in Winterfell brings an emotional turning point

warning: Emotional confrontation, self-doubt, no use of y/n

a/n: one out of many discarded stories on my notes.

· · ────── · · ·𖥸· · · ───────── ·

Cregan Stark paced the halls of Winterfell, his temper simmering beneath his calm exterior. For days now, Alysarria had evaded him, turning away whenever the subject of their future arose. The lords of the North were insistent—Cregan needed a wife, someone strong to rule at his side.

He knew who that should be. He had known for years.

Alysarria, a healer of House Mormont, beloved by the people, had been by his side through thick and thin. She had mended broken bones and soothed the wounded, but when it came to his heart, she seemed blind to what lay between them.

Tonight, that would end.

He found her in the Great Hall, attending to a villager with a minor wound. As soon as her work was done, he strode over, his presence commanding. "Alysarria," he said, voice firm. "A word."

She looked up, hesitation flickering in her eyes. "Cregan—"

"Now," he cut her off, leaving no room for argument. Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked toward the courtyard. Reluctantly, she followed.

The air outside was biting, the chill of winter wrapping around them like a shroud. The stars above were cold and distant, much like the silence between them. Finally, Cregan turned to face her, his eyes burning with intensity.

“I am done with this game,” he began, his voice low and full of frustration. “Every time I speak of us, you flee. Why?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off again, his gaze hard. “I need to know why, Alysarria. Do you take me as a fool? That I do not see what is plain as day?”

Her heart pounded in her chest, fingers curling tightly around the edges of her cloak. “You know what is expected of you, Cregan,” she replied, her voice trembling. “Winterfell requires a strong Lady—someone who can rule with you, someone who can lead in times of war. I am but a healer.”

His eyes narrowed. “You think that makes you less worthy?”

“I know it does,” she countered, stepping back. “You need someone who can bear the weight of Winterfell. Someone who can fight beside you in the cold, in the dark. I am not strong enough for that, Cregan. You deserve more.”

Cregan’s expression darkened, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “And what of your strength, woman? Do you not see it? The people of Winterfell trust you. They look to you for healing, for care, for guidance. Do you think that counts for nothing?”

She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. “That is not the same, Cregan. I mend bones, I tend to the sick—I do not lead armies. I do not sit in council chambers deciding the fates of men. You need a woman who can stand tall beside you, who can face down enemies and wield the Stark name with authority. I am not that person.”

“You speak as though you know my mind better than I do,” he growled, frustration clear in his tone. “Do you truly think I care for lords and councils? That I need a warrior at my side?”

“I think you need more than I can give!” she cried, her voice breaking. “You are a Stark. You were born to lead, to rule, and I—” Her breath hitched, the weight of her own words crushing her. “I am not enough.”

Cregan’s jaw clenched, his eyes fierce with emotion. “You know nothing,” he hissed, stepping forward, his towering presence making her feel small. “You speak of strength and worth as though they are measured in battle or in council chambers. But it is you who keeps this place alive, Alysarria. You, who the people turn to in their darkest moments. The heart of Winterfell beats because of you.”

Her tears flowed freely now, the weight of his words too much to bear. “Cregan, I… I cannot be what you need.”

He stepped closer, his breath warm against the icy night air. “Do you truly believe I would ask this of you if I thought you lacking?”

She shook her head, unable to speak, her vision blurred with tears. “I fear I will fail you. I fear Winterfell will fall, and it will be my fault.”

Cregan’s hand grasped her chin, gently lifting her face to meet his gaze. His expression softened, the fierceness in his eyes replaced by something deeper, something more tender. “You will not fail. You have more strength than you know, Alysarria. And you will not face any of it alone. Not while I live.”

His words broke something inside her, the walls she had built around her heart crumbling. A sob escaped her lips, and she turned away, covering her face with her hands.

“I love you, Alysarria,” Cregan whispered, his voice raw. “And I need you by my side, not as a symbol of power, not as some shield to bear the Stark name, but as the woman who has stood by me my whole life. The woman who I trust above all others. You are enough. You always have been.”

She shook her head, still overcome with doubt. “But what if I am not? What if—”

“I will hear no more of this,” he interrupted, his hand moving to cup her face, his thumb wiping away her tears. “You are enough. You are everything.”

The silence between them was thick with emotion, the cold air swirling around them both as if waiting for her response. Slowly, she looked up at him, her tears subsiding. “Cregan…” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I am afraid.”

“So am I,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “But I would rather face that fear with you than without you.”

His words hung in the air, and for the first time in days, she allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, he was right.

With a trembling breath, she nodded. “I… I will marry you.”

Relief washed over his face, and before she could say another word, his lips were on hers, a kiss filled with all the love, the hope, the fear that had been building for so long.

When he pulled away, his forehead rested against hers, his breath warm against her skin. “Together, we will face whatever comes,” he whispered. “Winterfell will stand, because we will stand together.”

And in that moment, beneath the cold Northern sky, Alysarria knew that Cregan Stark was her future.

And she was his.

Whispers Through Time: {~A New Arrival~}

Summary: After being mysteriously transported into the world of House of the Dragon, a modern-day woman poses as a seer to gain entry into the Targaryen court. Armed with knowledge of the future, she secretly warns Rhaenyra and Daemon of looming dangers while hiding her true identity. As she grows closer to both, romantic tension builds, but so do the risks of her deception. With Daemon's suspicions rising and Rhaenyra’s trust deepening, the reader must navigate her lies while trying to alter their tragic fate—before everything unravels.

Characters: Rhaenyra & Daemon

Pairing: Rhaenyra x Fem!Reader x Daemon

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1293

Chapter 1 --- Chapter 2

The biting chill of the wind gnawed at your skin as you stumbled through an unfamiliar landscape, its vastness stretching out before you. It was hard to pinpoint exactly when the world around you had shifted, but the change was undeniable. Your memory still clung to the familiar buzz of the modern world—the sound of car engines, the hum of streetlights, and the constant tap of your shoes on concrete. But now, all that was gone, replaced by a stark silence that only heightened your disorientation. The horizon before you seemed endless, filled with tall hills covered in thick mist, and in the distance, a looming structure—a castle—stood proudly, its towers piercing the dreary sky.

This couldn’t be real. It felt too surreal, like a dream pulled from the pages of some historical fantasy novel. You had always been fascinated by the medieval period and Westeros in particular, but that fascination never prepared you for this. And yet, everything felt too vivid to be a dream—the sharpness of the cold, the heavy scent of damp earth, the distant call of gulls swooping down from the cliffs nearby.

Your breath caught in your throat, and a familiar panic began to rise. You could almost feel your heart pounding, each beat growing louder in your ears. Logic screamed that this couldn’t be happening. You were walking home after a long day, when—there! That light. The blinding flash that enveloped you and carried you here. You clenched your hands into fists, grounding yourself, and let the question form properly: Where am I?

Slowly, as you took in your surroundings, the faintest flicker of recognition sparked. That castle, those towers—it looked eerily familiar. The realization hit you hard, and your knees weakened. This was not just any castle, but one you had seen countless times in books, on screens. Westeros. You had somehow, impossibly, been transported to the world of the Targaryens, Velaryons, and the Seven Kingdoms.

"Gods…" you whispered, though you weren’t sure if you were calling to them or cursing them. How could this be possible?

Panic began to bubble up in your chest, but you bit it down. Now wasn’t the time to lose your head. Whatever force had brought you here, it clearly didn’t care about your confusion. You were stranded in a world you had no right to be in, with no clear path home. But you were nothing if not resourceful, and survival instinct kicked in fast. First things first: you needed a cover story.

You looked down at your clothing—your jacket, jeans, and shoes entirely inappropriate for this world. You’d stick out like a sore thumb if you didn’t do something, and quickly. And then, as if fate wanted to test you immediately, you noticed a figure making their way toward you—a villager, maybe, wrapped in furs, their weathered face twisted in confusion at the sight of you.

Without hesitation, you pulled the hood of your jacket up, hiding as much of your appearance as possible, and let an idea form. You needed to be someone important, someone with a skill that would grant you entry into the castle ahead. You thought of the people in this world—superstitious, often lacking in medical knowledge, and prone to reverence for those who claimed to possess sight beyond the ordinary.

A midwife. A seer.

That was the way in. You straightened up, quickly rehearsing a story in your head. You could remember enough of the history of this time—enough about the impending conflicts and players involved—to convince someone of your abilities. And if you could do that, you might just survive.

The villager had reached you by now, his eyes flicking over your strange attire, suspicion evident in his gaze.

"You… you lost, stranger?" His accent was thick, the words harsh against the wind. He looked you up and down, frowning deeper as he noticed your modern shoes.

Clearing your throat, you adopted the air of someone who belonged here, someone important. "I’ve come from far away," you began, your voice steady, "I am a midwife, and a gifted seer. I’ve been summoned—by fate itself—to serve the realm."

His eyes narrowed. "A seer, eh? And who exactly called ye?"

You squared your shoulders. "Not who. What." You let the pause linger, allowing the weight of your words to sink in. "There are things at play in this world that go beyond your understanding. I see them—glimpses of what’s to come. And I’ve come to ensure the safety of those in power, to warn them of the dangers that await if they do not heed my counsel."

The villager hesitated, doubt still clouding his expression, but he seemed unsure now, weighing your words. Superstition held great power in this world, and the idea of turning away someone who claimed to have foresight was a dangerous gamble. Finally, with a curt nod, he motioned to the road leading toward the castle. "You’ll want to speak to the men at the gates, then. They'll decide if yer needed."

You gave a small nod in return, keeping your expression controlled, though relief washed over you. You began to walk, your thoughts racing. You had taken the first step, but getting into the castle was just the beginning. Once there, you would need to convince people far more powerful and skeptical than a simple villager. Rhaenyra, Daemon, the Velaryons… the very people who would shape the future of Westeros.

As you approached the castle’s towering gates, the sheer size of the fortress became overwhelming. The walls stretched upward, casting long shadows over the ground. Your breath quickened as the guards came into view—men clad in armor, their hands resting on swords as they watched you approach. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself.

One of the guards stepped forward, his face stern beneath his helmet. "State your business," he demanded, his voice rough and authoritative.

"I am a midwife," you repeated, keeping your voice steady. "A seer. I have been sent here to serve the realm, to offer counsel to those in power." You met his gaze directly, hoping to convey confidence. "I see things—glimpses of what’s to come. And I know that there are dangers on the horizon. I must speak with those who rule, for their own safety."

The guard raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "A seer, eh? You’ll forgive me if I don’t take your word at face value. We get all kinds at these gates."

You expected resistance, and you had your response ready. "I understand your doubt, but let me offer you this—" You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice. "There will be an attempt on the life of someone in power here soon. It will come from within, not without. If I am wrong, you may throw me to the wolves. But if I am right, you will have failed in your duty to protect this castle."

The guard’s expression faltered for just a moment, a flicker of uncertainty passing across his features. He glanced at his fellow guards, then back at you. Finally, with a curt nod, he stepped aside. "I’ll let the master-at-arms know. If you’re lucky, you’ll get your audience."

You stepped through the gates, your pulse quickening. Inside, the castle was a maze of stone corridors, each more imposing than the last. Servants moved quickly through the halls, and you kept your head down, trying to appear as if you belonged.

Your mind raced with the enormity of what lay ahead. You needed to get close to the right people—people who would believe your story. And the first name that came to mind was Rhaenyra Targaryen. The heir to the Iron Throne, a woman of strength and ambition. If you could win her trust, you’d have a chance.

{~House of the Dragon Masterlist~}

[Series]

{~Rhaenyra x Fem!Reader x Daemon~}

Whispers Through Time

A New Arrival

Secrets in the Shadows

Meeting Daemon

Whispers of Warning

Unexpected Encounters

Shadows of Suspicion

Revealing the Truth

Trials of the Heart

Whispers Through Time: {~Secrets in the Shadows~}

A/N: Omg, I am sooo happy that you guys are enjoying the series so far! I honestly was not expecting it but I am so happy! Here is Chapter 2 and I will be constantly putting out these chapters so you guys don't have to wait! Enjoy!!!!

Summary: After being mysteriously transported into the world of House of the Dragon, a modern-day woman poses as a seer to gain entry into the Targaryen court. Armed with knowledge of the future, she secretly warns Rhaenyra and Daemon of looming dangers while hiding her true identity. As she grows closer to both, romantic tension builds, but so do the risks of her deception. With Daemon's suspicions rising and Rhaenyra’s trust deepening, the reader must navigate her lies while trying to alter their tragic fate—before everything unravels.

Characters: Rhaenyra & Daemon

Pairing: Rhaenyra x Fem!Reader x Daemon

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1107

Chapter 2 --- Chapter 3

The days since your arrival in the Red Keep passed in a blur of whispered conversations and cautious glances. Though you had gained entry to the castle by claiming to be a skilled midwife, you knew it wouldn’t be enough. You needed to do more if you were to truly alter the course of events as you remembered them. As you moved quietly through the halls of the Keep, your mind raced with thoughts of how to intervene without revealing too much of what you knew—or worse, revealing who you truly were.

You had managed to secure a small, modest room in the servants' quarters, far removed from the nobility. There, you spent your nights pondering the timeline, thinking about the key events that led to the Targaryens' fall, trying to remember details from history and lore that would be valuable in the days to come. Your knowledge of Westeros was fragmented at best—flashes of future events mixed with the uncertainties of living in this medieval world—but you were determined to find a way to help Rhaenyra, and perhaps, by extension, yourself.

As the wind howled outside your window one night, a sense of urgency crept over you. It was time to act. You needed to warn Rhaenyra about the threats that loomed within her own walls. But approaching her directly was far too dangerous—there were too many eyes, too much risk of exposure. You would have to find another way to communicate.

Sitting by the dim light of your candle, you pulled a scrap of parchment from the small desk and began to write:

"Princess Rhaenyra,""There are those close to you who hide their true intentions. Be wary of whom you trust, for some who smile to your face will one day seek to destroy you."

"A Friend."

You stared at the note for a long moment, rereading the words. It wasn’t enough—too vague, too cryptic—but it was all you could offer without putting yourself at risk. Folding the parchment carefully, you tucked it into your pocket. Now came the hardest part: delivering it without being caught.

The castle was quiet that night, the torches flickering dimly in the halls as the staff retired to their quarters. You moved through the shadows, your heart pounding as you neared Rhaenyra’s chambers. You had scouted the area earlier and noticed that servants would occasionally leave messages or small gifts in a niche near the entrance—just out of sight from the guards stationed at her door.

That would be your opportunity.

Keeping to the edges of the corridor, you made your way toward the alcove. The guards were still at their posts, but they seemed to be deep in conversation, their attention focused elsewhere. Silently, you slipped the note into the niche, ensuring it was partially visible so that whoever was meant to find it would do so.

As you turned to leave, you froze. A shadow moved at the far end of the hall. You ducked quickly behind a column, your breath catching in your throat as you watched the figure draw nearer. It was Daemon Targaryen.

Even in the dim light, there was no mistaking him. His presence was unmistakable—commanding, dangerous. You had heard the whispers about him, the rogue prince, the man who walked a fine line between loyalty and rebellion. The last person you wanted to cross paths with.

Daemon’s steps were slow, deliberate. He wasn’t headed for Rhaenyra’s chambers, but he was close enough that you couldn’t risk moving until he was out of sight. You stayed hidden, heart racing, as he passed by, his face unreadable in the flickering torchlight. He didn’t look your way, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was always watching, always aware.

When he finally disappeared around the corner, you let out a slow breath. You had come dangerously close to being caught. Without wasting another second, you slipped back into the shadows, retreating toward the servants’ quarters.

The next morning, the castle was buzzing with its usual activity. Servants bustled through the corridors, nobles conversed in hushed tones, and the guards maintained their ever-watchful presence. But there was an undercurrent of tension—a subtle shift in the atmosphere that hadn’t been there before.

As you went about your duties, you overheard snippets of conversation, mentions of a note that had been discovered outside Rhaenyra’s chambers. No one knew who had left it, and the guards were tight-lipped about the situation, but the news had spread quickly among the servants. There was speculation, of course, but no solid leads. Whoever had left the message had done so without being seen.

You kept your head down, focusing on your work, but your mind was racing. The note had reached Rhaenyra, but what would she do with the information? Would she take it seriously? Or would she dismiss it as a prank or a ploy?

Later in the day, as you moved through one of the upper corridors, you saw her. Rhaenyra Targaryen was standing by a window, her back to you, deep in conversation with one of her ladies-in-waiting. Even from a distance, you could see the tension in her posture, the way her hands clenched into fists at her sides. She was angry—no, more than that. She was disturbed.

The note had hit its mark.

You dared not linger, moving quickly past her chambers and back into the lower halls. The note had worked, but it also meant that you were now part of something far more dangerous. If anyone suspected that you were the one feeding Rhaenyra this information, your life could be at risk. And with Daemon’s ever-watchful eyes lurking in the shadows, you couldn’t afford to make a mistake.

That evening, as you returned to your room, you found yourself pacing, your mind turning over the events of the day. Daemon’s presence haunted you. Though he hadn’t seen you, you felt as though his gaze had lingered on you long after he passed. You knew you had to be careful, more careful than ever before. But as the days went on, Rhaenyra would come to rely on the warnings, and sooner or later, someone would begin asking questions.

You sat at your desk, quill in hand, staring at the blank parchment before you. Another note would need to be sent—this time, with more detail. But the risks were growing with each passing day. How long could you continue before someone discovered the truth?

As you dipped the quill into the ink, you pushed the fear aside. There was no turning back now. The game had begun, and you were determined to see it through.

Whispers Through Time: {~Meeting Daemon~}

A/N: I am so sorry I have not posted chapter 3, I have been really busy with school and had to catch up with all my work since I was really sick last week and missed a bunch of work!

Summary: After being mysteriously transported into the world of House of the Dragon, a modern-day woman poses as a seer to gain entry into the Targaryen court. Armed with knowledge of the future, she secretly warns Rhaenyra and Daemon of looming dangers while hiding her true identity. As she grows closer to both, romantic tension builds, but so do the risks of her deception. With Daemon's suspicions rising and Rhaenyra’s trust deepening, the reader must navigate her lies while trying to alter their tragic fate—before everything unravels.

Characters: Rhaenyra & Daemon

Pairing: Rhaenyra x Fem!Reader x Daemon

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1243

Tag List: @snowtargaryen

Chapter 3 --- Chapter 4

Days had passed since you left the first note for Rhaenyra, and the subtle shift in her demeanor was unmistakable. While she had yet to confront anyone publicly, you could sense her wariness in the way she interacted with those around her. The seeds of doubt had been planted, and though you were relieved that your warning had reached her, the constant danger of being discovered hung over you like a storm cloud.

But it wasn’t just Rhaenyra’s growing caution that concerned you. Daemon Targaryen’s presence had become more frequent, and wherever he went, he seemed to move with a purpose that unnerved you. You had caught glimpses of him here and there—always watching, always listening. It was only a matter of time before your paths crossed again.

And then, one day, it happened.

You had been sent on an errand to deliver herbs to the maester’s chambers, a mundane task that took you through the winding corridors of the Red Keep. Your mind was preoccupied with the next note you intended to leave for Rhaenyra—one that would warn her of a more immediate threat from within her inner circle. As you turned a corner, lost in thought, you nearly collided with someone coming in the opposite direction.

Startled, you looked up—and your breath caught in your throat.

It was Daemon.

The Rogue Prince stood before you, his silver hair catching the light of the nearby torches. His violet eyes regarded you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence between you thick with unspoken questions. His gaze swept over you, as though he were trying to read your every thought, your every secret.

“Apologies, my lord,” you stammered, quickly stepping back and bowing your head to avoid his piercing stare. Your heart hammered in your chest as you prayed he would simply move on and forget the encounter.

But Daemon was not one to let things go so easily.

“You’re the midwife, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice smooth yet laced with something sharp, something dangerous.

“Yes, my lord,” you replied, keeping your tone as neutral as possible. “I was sent to deliver these herbs to the maester.”

He nodded, though his eyes never left you. “I’ve heard you’ve been quite useful since your arrival.” His words were casual, but you sensed the underlying suspicion. “Unusual for someone to earn such favor so quickly.”

“I only do what I can to be of service,” you said, trying to maintain your composure.

Daemon smirked, his lips curling into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Modest, too. How very noble of you.” He took a step closer, and you instinctively tensed. “And yet, you’ve managed to find yourself in quite a few interesting places around the Keep, haven’t you?”

Your pulse quickened. Did he know? Had someone seen you near Rhaenyra’s chambers? You forced yourself to remain calm, to hold his gaze without faltering. “I go where I am needed, my lord. Nothing more.”

His smirk widened, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Of course. You’re just a humble midwife, after all.”

The way he said it made it sound like a lie, like he knew there was more to your story than you were letting on. But you couldn’t afford to let him push you. Not here. Not now.

“I should be going,” you said, shifting the basket of herbs in your arms as an excuse to leave. “The maester is waiting.”

Daemon stepped aside, though his gaze followed you as you passed. “Take care,” he called after you, his tone laced with amusement. “The Red Keep can be… unpredictable.”

You didn’t respond, quickening your pace as you made your way down the hall. Only when you were far enough away did you let out the breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

That night, as you sat alone in your room, the weight of the encounter with Daemon settled heavily on your shoulders. He knew something—maybe not everything, but enough to make him suspicious. And if there was one thing you knew about Daemon Targaryen, it was that he didn’t let things go easily. His curiosity was as dangerous as his sword, and now, it was fixed on you.

You had to be more careful.

But even as the thought crossed your mind, you knew that avoiding Daemon’s scrutiny wasn’t your only problem. You still had to deliver the next note to Rhaenyra. And this time, it would be even riskier.

The following day, the Keep was buzzing with activity as preparations for an upcoming feast were underway. Servants rushed through the halls, carrying linens, food, and other supplies, while the nobles discussed matters of the court. It was the perfect distraction.

You had written the second note the night before, the words carefully chosen to warn Rhaenyra of an impending plot by one of her closest allies. Slipping the note into the same alcove near her chambers would be tricky, especially with Daemon’s increased presence around the Keep. But you didn’t have a choice.

As you moved through the crowded halls, your mind raced with thoughts of how to avoid detection. The feast provided some cover, but there were more guards than usual stationed near Rhaenyra’s quarters. You would have to be quick.

When you finally reached the corridor leading to her chambers, you were relieved to see that the guards were distracted by a group of visiting nobles. Seizing the opportunity, you hurried toward the alcove and slipped the note into place, your hands shaking slightly from the adrenaline.

Just as you turned to leave, you heard footsteps approaching. Panic surged through you as you ducked into the shadows of a nearby column, your heart pounding in your chest.

Daemon.

He appeared at the far end of the hall, his expression unreadable as he spoke to one of the guards. You held your breath, praying that he wouldn’t notice the note—or worse, see you hiding. For what felt like an eternity, you stayed perfectly still, watching as Daemon scanned the corridor.

But then, as if by some stroke of luck, he turned and walked away.

You didn’t wait to see where he went. As soon as the coast was clear, you slipped out of the shadows and made your way back to the servants' quarters, your heart still racing. You had managed to leave the note without being caught—but just barely.

Later that evening, you found yourself on edge as you worked, your thoughts consumed by the possibility that Daemon was still watching. You had been careful, but how long could you keep this up before he—or someone else—figured out what you were doing?

As you went about your duties, you noticed Rhaenyra in the distance, speaking with one of her advisors. From where you stood, you couldn’t hear their conversation, but you could see the way her hand clenched tightly around the hilt of her sword, the tension in her posture unmistakable.

She had found the second note.

For a brief moment, her gaze flickered in your direction, but there was no recognition in her eyes. You were still a stranger to her, just another face among the many who served in the Red Keep. And yet, you couldn’t shake the feeling that, in time, she would come to depend on your warnings more than she realized.

But for now, your secret was safe.

At least, you hoped it was.

Whispers Through Time: {~Whispers of Warning~}

Summary: After being mysteriously transported into the world of House of the Dragon, a modern-day woman poses as a seer to gain entry into the Targaryen court. Armed with knowledge of the future, she secretly warns Rhaenyra and Daemon of looming dangers while hiding her true identity. As she grows closer to both, romantic tension builds, but so do the risks of her deception. With Daemon's suspicions rising and Rhaenyra’s trust deepening, the reader must navigate her lies while trying to alter their tragic fate—before everything unravels.

Characters: Rhaenyra & Daemon

Pairing: Rhaenyra x Fem!Reader x Daemon

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1376

Tag List: @snowtargaryen

Chapter 4 --- Chapter 5

The stillness of the Red Keep in the early morning was almost deceptive, as if the palace itself was holding its breath in anticipation. After narrowly avoiding Daemon's gaze the night before, you had returned to your chambers, trying to calm your racing mind. But no matter how hard you tried, the thought of how close you had come to being caught lingered in your thoughts.

You had been careful—perhaps not careful enough. It seemed inevitable that the danger would only grow the longer you continued this charade. But you had no other choice; Rhaenyra needed to know. The storm brewing within the kingdom wasn’t something you could stand by and watch unfold.

The second note had been delivered without issue, and although you had not yet seen Rhaenyra's reaction, the tension you had observed in her movements the day before told you everything. She had read it. She believed it. A slight relief washed over you, but it didn’t last long.

The warnings you had provided in your notes—minor events that, when pieced together, painted a dark and treacherous path—would soon start to play out. But the biggest danger, the real storm that would tear the kingdom apart, was still ahead. You could only hope Rhaenyra would heed your words before it was too late.

As you prepared for another day, you glanced at the parchment before you. The third note lay waiting, its message even more urgent than the last. This one, you knew, could not fall into the wrong hands. It was too specific. Too dangerous. If Daemon—or anyone else—got hold of it, your ruse would be exposed.

You spent most of the day carefully watching, waiting for the right moment. The castle was always buzzing with activity, and today was no different. Rhaenyra had been meeting with her councilors for hours, and Daemon had been conspicuously absent for much of the day, something that both relieved and unsettled you.

As you walked through the halls, your mind wandered to the contents of the note. It was a warning of a conversation you knew would soon take place—one that would push the already fragile relationships within the court to the breaking point. The details were vague enough not to raise too much suspicion but precise enough to send a clear message: a storm was coming, and only those who were prepared would survive it.

Late in the afternoon, you finally spotted Rhaenyra, standing alone on a balcony overlooking the Blackwater Bay. Her figure was tense, her expression hard as she gazed out at the horizon. You could see the weight of the world pressing down on her, her mind no doubt filled with thoughts of her uncertain future.

It was the perfect moment.

Quietly, you approached the alcove near her chambers, the same place you had left the previous notes. Your hand trembled slightly as you placed the folded parchment in the hollow behind the wall, making sure it was well hidden but easy enough for Rhaenyra to find if she looked carefully.

Just as you were about to leave, footsteps echoed behind you. You froze, your heart leaping into your throat. Slowly, you turned, half-expecting to see Daemon’s shadowy figure emerging from the darkness.

But it wasn’t Daemon.

It was Ser Harwin Strong.

The tall, broad-shouldered knight was making his way down the corridor, his eyes scanning the surroundings as if on guard. You quickly lowered your gaze and moved aside, pretending to busy yourself with some imaginary task. Your mind raced, wondering if he had seen anything.

“Good day,” he greeted as he passed, his voice polite but his tone indifferent.

You nodded and mumbled a quick response, keeping your head down until he was out of sight. As soon as you were sure he was gone, you let out a breath of relief. But the danger hadn’t passed. Harwin Strong was a loyal protector of Rhaenyra, and though his demeanor was kind, you knew he wasn’t to be underestimated. If anyone was capable of figuring out your intentions, it would be him.

You had to be more careful.

Later that night, as you moved through the Keep on yet another task, you saw a familiar figure at the end of the hall. Rhaenyra was walking, her face pensive and her steps slow. Your heart raced as you realized she must have found the latest note. From the way her brows were furrowed, you could tell she was deep in thought, grappling with the weight of your warnings.

She turned a corner, disappearing from sight, but not before you saw her glance back once—just once—as if expecting someone to be watching her. But there was no suspicion in her eyes, only a growing sense of realization.

Your messages were reaching her.

The following days were tense. Daemon had returned to the Keep, his presence as sharp and unsettling as ever. You could feel his eyes on you more than once, though he never approached or questioned you directly. It was as if he were waiting for you to slip up, to make one wrong move that would confirm his suspicions. You went about your tasks as normal, avoiding his gaze whenever possible.

But it wasn’t Daemon’s scrutiny that kept you awake at night.

It was Rhaenyra.

You could sense her growing trust in you, even though she didn’t know who you were. The notes had been a lifeline for her—an anonymous ally in a world filled with enemies. Each day, she seemed more confident, more assured in her actions, and you knew your warnings were playing a role in that. But with trust came danger.

The closer she came to believing your words, the more precarious your position became. You had gained her trust, but trust was fragile, and you were walking a tightrope between helping her and exposing yourself.

One evening, as you prepared to write yet another note, there was a knock at your door. Your heart skipped a beat as you opened it to find one of Rhaenyra’s attendants standing there.

“The princess requests your presence,” she said simply, her expression unreadable.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. Had something gone wrong? Had Rhaenyra discovered something that pointed to you? With the notes fresh in your mind, every possibility raced through your head as you followed the attendant through the corridors of the Keep.

When you reached Rhaenyra’s chambers, she was seated at a large oak table, her back to the door, her long, silver hair cascading over her shoulders. The room was dimly lit, the flickering candlelight casting shadows across the stone walls.

“Leave us,” she said softly, and the attendant quickly departed, leaving you alone with the princess.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You stood near the door, waiting for her to address you. Finally, Rhaenyra turned in her chair, her eyes locking onto yours. There was something different about her gaze—a sharpness, a clarity that hadn’t been there before.

“You’ve been a great help since your arrival,” she said, her voice steady but laced with something you couldn’t quite place. “The maesters speak highly of you.”

“I only wish to be of service, princess,” you replied carefully.

She studied you for a long moment, her eyes narrowing slightly. Then, she stood and walked toward you, her steps slow and deliberate.

“There are whispers in the court,” she said, stopping just a few feet away. “Whispers of danger, of betrayal. But I have found myself… well-prepared for certain things.”

Your heart pounded in your chest. Was she testing you? Did she suspect that you were the source of those warnings?

“I’m grateful that you have been kept safe, my princess,” you said, bowing your head slightly to hide the fear in your eyes.

Rhaenyra’s lips curled into a faint smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Safe. Yes.” She paused, her gaze lingering on you for just a moment longer before turning away. “That will be all.”

You quickly bowed and left the room, your heart still racing. Rhaenyra hadn’t confronted you, but her words had left you shaken. She knew something—perhaps not everything, but enough to suspect that someone was helping her from the shadows.

The storm was closer than ever.

Whispers Through Time: {~Unexpected Encounters~}

Summary: After being mysteriously transported into the world of House of the Dragon, a modern-day woman poses as a seer to gain entry into the Targaryen court. Armed with knowledge of the future, she secretly warns Rhaenyra and Daemon of looming dangers while hiding her true identity. As she grows closer to both, romantic tension builds, but so do the risks of her deception. With Daemon's suspicions rising and Rhaenyra’s trust deepening, the reader must navigate her lies while trying to alter their tragic fate—before everything unravels.

Characters: Rhaenyra & Daemon

Pairing: Rhaenyra x Fem!Reader x Daemon

Word Count: 1521

Tag List: @snowtargaryen

Chapter 5 --- Chapter 6

The days following your tense encounter with Rhaenyra passed with agonizing slowness. You worked diligently, keeping to your tasks, always mindful of the eyes that followed you through the halls. Daemon’s scrutiny had intensified, though he still hadn’t confronted you directly. His gaze was like a shadow—constant, unnerving.

Rhaenyra, on the other hand, had become more aloof. You had noticed her lingering looks, her growing hesitance in conversation. It was clear she was piecing things together, but how much did she truly know? The tension between you and the princess was palpable, hanging in the air like a storm waiting to break.

But it wasn’t just Rhaenyra who weighed on your mind.

Daemon was always watching, always lurking. You could feel it—his presence, his curiosity—and it unnerved you more than anything else. Though your interactions had been brief and polite, his growing suspicion was impossible to ignore.

Still, the warnings had to continue. You couldn’t stop now. You had already set events into motion, and there was no turning back. The next warning would be the most dangerous yet, and you knew it had to be delivered soon.

It was late afternoon when you found yourself in one of the less frequented wings of the Keep. The hallways were quiet, the only sound your soft footsteps on the cold stone floors. You were on your way to check on supplies, something you had become well-versed in since assuming your fabricated role as a midwife. It was a simple task, one that allowed you the time to plan your next move.

As you turned a corner, you came face to face with Rhaenyra.

You froze, startled by the sudden encounter. Rhaenyra looked equally surprised but quickly composed herself, her expression unreadable.

“Y/N,” she greeted, her voice calm, though there was an edge to it that you couldn’t quite place.

You bowed your head slightly in response, trying to steady your racing heart. “Princess.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words. You could see the questions in her eyes, the subtle curiosity, the cautious distance she had begun to keep.

“How do you find your work here in the Keep?” she asked, her tone conversational, but you sensed there was more behind her words.

“It has been fulfilling, my princess,” you replied carefully. “I am grateful for the opportunity to serve.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze lingered on you, as if weighing your words. She took a small step closer, her presence commanding despite the calmness of the exchange.

“There are many in this court who believe they know what’s best for the realm,” she said softly, her eyes never leaving yours. “But few are as prepared as they think.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Was she testing you again? Did she suspect that you were the one leaving the notes?

“I hope that those in power will continue to act with wisdom,” you replied, keeping your voice steady despite the anxiety creeping up your spine.

Rhaenyra’s lips twitched into a faint smile, but it was fleeting. Her gaze sharpened, and for a brief moment, you wondered if she was about to confront you then and there. But instead, she merely nodded.

“Wisdom is a rare gift,” she said, her voice softer now, almost contemplative. “I hope you are as wise as you seem.”

With that, she turned and continued down the corridor, leaving you standing there with your heart hammering in your chest. The encounter had been brief, but the weight of it lingered long after Rhaenyra had disappeared from view.

She knew something. But how much?

That night, you couldn’t shake the memory of your conversation with Rhaenyra. You had been careful, but it was clear that she was starting to grow suspicious. The danger was becoming more tangible with each passing day.

And then there was Daemon.

The man was an enigma, his unpredictability making him all the more dangerous. You had avoided him as best you could, but you knew it was only a matter of time before your paths crossed again. And when they did, you had to be prepared.

The encounter came sooner than expected.

You had just finished tending to a patient—a young woman recovering from childbirth—and were making your way back to your chambers when you spotted Daemon standing at the end of the hallway. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his expression unreadable as he watched you approach.

Your heart skipped a beat. There was no avoiding him now.

“Lord Daemon,” you greeted, trying to keep your voice steady as you bowed your head in respect.

Daemon didn’t move from his position, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. He tilted his head slightly, his lips curling into that familiar smirk that always seemed to carry an air of danger.

“You’ve been busy,” he remarked, his tone casual, but there was an edge to it that set you on high alert.

“I do what is asked of me,” you replied, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.

Daemon pushed off the wall, taking a step closer. His presence was overwhelming, filling the narrow hallway with a sense of menace that made your pulse quicken.

“And what exactly is it that you’ve been asked to do?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Your heart raced, but you kept your expression neutral. “I am here to tend to the needs of the people, as always.”

Daemon chuckled softly, though there was no warmth in the sound. “Tending to the needs of the people,” he repeated, his eyes narrowing slightly. “An admirable role.”

He took another step closer, his gaze never leaving yours. “But you’ve always struck me as someone who… knows more than they let on.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Was this it? Had Daemon figured out your role in the warnings?

“I am but a humble servant, my lord,” you replied, keeping your tone calm despite the panic rising in your chest.

Daemon studied you for a long moment, his smirk never faltering. Then, without warning, he leaned in close, his voice a low whisper.

“Secrets don’t stay hidden forever, Y/N.”

Before you could respond, Daemon straightened and walked past you, his smirk still in place as he disappeared down the hallway, leaving you standing there with a sinking feeling in your stomach.

The encounters with both Rhaenyra and Daemon had left you on edge. You had managed to avoid suspicion for the most part, but it was clear that both of them were beginning to question your role. The tension was becoming unbearable, and you knew it was only a matter of time before something—or someone—gave.

But the most dangerous part of your mission was still ahead. The next note, the one you were planning to deliver in secret, held information that could change everything. You had to be more careful than ever, especially with Daemon’s growing curiosity and Rhaenyra’s watchful eyes.

And then, just as you were beginning to plan your next move, the unexpected happened.It was late one evening when you found yourself in the corridors of the Keep once more, a new warning written and ready to be delivered. You had chosen a time when the halls were quiet, hoping to slip unnoticed into the shadows.

But as you approached the alcove where you usually left the notes, you froze.

Rhaenyra and Daemon were there—together.

They stood in the dim light of the corridor, their voices low, but the tension between them was palpable. You could hear the tail end of their conversation, something about strategy and alliances, but the words barely registered as your heart raced.

This was not part of the plan.

You quickly turned to leave, hoping to retreat before they noticed you, but it was too late.

“Y/N!” Rhaenyra’s voice called out, stopping you in your tracks.

You slowly turned, your heart pounding in your chest as both Rhaenyra and Daemon fixed their gazes on you. There was no escaping this.

“Out for a walk at this hour?” Rhaenyra asked, her tone curious but sharp. She stepped closer, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied your face.

Daemon, on the other hand, remained silent, his expression unreadable as he watched you with that same unnerving intensity.

You forced a smile, though it felt hollow. “I was merely… clearing my head, princess.”

Rhaenyra exchanged a glance with Daemon, and for a moment, you could feel the weight of their suspicion pressing down on you. They didn’t trust you. Not fully. Not yet.

But you had to play your part.

“I did not mean to intrude,” you said quickly, taking a step back. “I will leave you to your discussion.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes lingered on you for a moment longer before she finally nodded, though there was something unreadable in her gaze. “Of course.”

You bowed your head and quickly retreated, your heart still racing as you disappeared into the shadows of the Keep. You had avoided confrontation this time, but the tension was growing. And soon, something would have to give.