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𝐀 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍’𝐒 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇

𝐔𝐏𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄

A Dragon’s Touch :

Chapter Ten | Desires I Have

~ 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘰 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 ~

𝐀 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍’𝐒 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇

𝐔𝐏𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄

A Dragon’s Touch :

Chapter Eleven | Weak-Blooded

~ 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘰 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 ~

𝐀 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧’𝐬 𝐓𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

word count: 4.2k~

warnings: mentions of war and death, strong vulgar language, Targaryen/Dornish mixed bastard, and overall mature setting for mature (18+) audience.

a/n: this is the 3rd chapter of my AU HOTD longfic featuring my Black!OC. Her first time visiting King’s Landing and meeting royalty (OC members of House Targaryen). If there’s a warning I forgot to add let me know.

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𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗧𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗲 | 𝗞𝗶𝗻𝗴'𝘀 𝗟𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴

              𝑺𝒀𝑳𝑽𝑰𝑨 𝑺𝑻𝑹𝑬𝑻𝑪𝑯𝑬𝑫 𝑯𝑬𝑹 𝑨𝑹𝑴𝑺 along the ship’s ledge as they approached King’s Landing. A city her mother longed to see with her two eyes, together as promised, now forced to experience this moment by herself surrounded by knights loyal to the crown and others who’ve known this city by heart. A thrilling but anxious feeling she struggled to bury. As well as vomit that refused to vanquish with constant swallowing, remembering how unkind the sea was during long nights.

        Outlooking the city of cluttered buildings hidden behind a red wall taller than any known height, as though the Gods embraced the land that it molded within its structure, a majestic castle came closer into view as they traveled through the city by carriage. It reached the skyline at this angle. The city was far livelier than Toland with more people than she could count on her fingers; more land, more green, more water, more color. And although it was hot, there wasn’t a lingering dryness that left her throat parched, but humid with a wet earthy taste that kept her saliva wet enough. 

        But while its differences were known, it wasn’t Dorne. Home.

        The people pointed and waved at the traveling carriages—at Sylvia as she gawked through the velvet curtains, taken aback by the people and their cultural differences, and a lingering stench. To process a world existed beyond the sea outside of deserts and sandstorms was exhilarating. She wondered if it snows here too having not seen it before.

        Mar’kel and Jorio split ways once landing ashore. He had no choice but to accompany the journey to King’s Landing given their boat was taken by the current, and assured Sylvia he would find good work to provide for his family.

        Haron Baratheon—Lord Hand, as stated to address him—was kind enough to allow Sylvia to join his carriage. His eyes would linger in her direction and she would catch him staring without break as if Sylvia was a mystical creature, but she didn’t mind his curiosities. Forgave him even since he took her in, informed her of the castle up ahead, and spared her life.

        The Red Keep.

        A line of knights dressed in white armor and golden cloaks awaited the return of Lord Hand with Sylvia following behind like some lost puppy still yet a stranger to this new region. Though he was kind to allow sanctuary, she knew better than to trust a helping hand with blind eyes because the price weighed heavier.

        Lord Hand advised Sylvia to wait outside the guarded bronze doors until she was announced, and anticipation grew with every passing second. Because she had never met her father before, only heard through countless stories her mother shared, Sylvia was unable to create an expression appropriate toward her arrival. The one created out of her naive imagination, hoped he’d smile gracefully and acknowledge her existence. Fathers back in Dorne did. Without shame too.

        “Father, how was your travels? We heard war broke loose again across the sea, but hope to hear good news with the Martells and the arrangements made the hundredth time.” Said a woman whose voice was carried by gracious echoes.

        Two passing servants carrying a basket full of sheets were caught sizing Sylvia down, their noses riled in disgust as they picked at her filth. It wasn’t until one pointed out her hair that regret followed by fear flashed. They offered a bow before hurrying off, eyes glued to the floor. Whatever that was about. But they weren’t the only avoiding attention; the knights paid Sylvia no mind but they were intimidating. Everything was.

        “Rather interesting, your grace.” Lord Hand responded to the woman, assumedly his daughter. The Queen. “Aside from matters that should be privately discussed, in my travels along the border of the Narrow Sea, I made a mild discovery sure to be the talk of the day. Perhaps weeks. Come on out, girl.”

        Sylvia’s head perked realizing that was her cue.

        The chatters of council members and lords and ladies of the Royal Court were silenced once the large doors opened and there Sylvia stood, gawking at the view. High ceilings bleeding in light from the sky, held with humongous pillars. Colors so vibrant it was blinding. Lord Hand cleared his throat and gestured his head to the spot next to him. She hurried down the red carpet stretching from the doors toward the throne made of an asymmetric monstrosity of spikes and jagged edges and twisted metal made of swords still sharp enough to cut.

        It was where an older man—King Aul Targaryen, First of His Name, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, as proudly announced—with silky white hair pinned from his old face where a crown of gold sat. His slouched position straightened upon the girl’s entrance. Just as a beautiful black-headed woman—Lady Queen Alice Baratheon, as announced—stood beside the throne, glaring at her husband.

        Sylvia kept her gaze to the floor, fidgeting with her dirty fingers when reaching Lord Hand’s side. The carpet tracked her wet muddy boot prints. She never stood before royalty, a king and queen of the realms, and possibly her father somewhere hidden. Their customs were foreign, but knew when greeting high-borns—or in this case, royalty—one should show respect as customary.

        So, Sylvia lifted her chin and lowered her body with a curtsy as her mother taught her. With grace and beauty…or so she believed it to be. And since she wore no dress, had to improvise with her loose-fitting shirt that was given by the cook on the ship. It smelt of sweat and sausages but it was better than her other shirt still covered in Yanis’ blood and dirt from home. 

        “Oh God,” said Lady Queen Alice, unimpressed by the gesture. Lord Hand included by his lips pressing together with a sigh deep from his chest. 

        Sylvia started feeling a bit silly especially when a snicker erupted the gossiping crowd on her left. There were too many faces scrutinizing her existence down to the soul, but only one who made their laughter known and didn’t care to hide it. Only his silver hair registered before the Queen spoke up.

        “Have you fathered another bastard, husband?” Lady Queen Alice rubbed between thinly arched brows, looking at the King with low eyes. Despite her disappointment, it seemed nothing new to her.

        “I would remember if I did.” The King motioned toward Sylvia’s awkward stance. “What is your name, child?”

        Lord Hand spoke before she could. “This is Sylvia, Sands of Dorne, and takes claim as daughter of the late Prince Daemon Targaryen.”

        The room erupted in a collective of gasps and gossip with people squeezing between one another to get a better look at the bastard. The Queen noticeably sighed with relief. Possibly for the fact she wouldn’t have to provide for another bastard the King presumably has.

        King Aul scooted further in his throne, careful not to knick his hand along the sharp blades. Violet eyes widen with shock they could bulge out of his sockets. “Impossible,” though said to himself, the echo carried his voice across the room. His eyes were on Sylvia but his words were directed toward the Hand. “Daemon would have told me if he seeded a bastard especially one of her grown age. How old are you?”

        “Nine-and-ten years,” Sylvia answered, her accent far different and distinctive than everyone here.

        “That is long before his marriage with Lady Vana, my king.” The Queen mentioned. “During the—”

        “Yes. I am well aware of my brother’s travel as it was I who sent him to tarnish our enemies for the crown and won the battle that gave him the title I bestowed. A war of many, and a war that has come bite me back in the ass.” King Aul interrupted his wife who bit her tongue, still never letting Sylvia out of his sight. “Nineteen years is quite some time. My brother, as sneaky as he was, confined me with his secrets and there has been not a word of the existence of a child born on Dornish soil.”

        Perhaps her father was ashamed of Sylvia. Or he didn’t give a rat’s ass to acknowledge a bastard across the sea when his life and legitimate children was right where he’s needed. She didn’t hold it against him, but she would be lying if she didn’t want a proper answer. All those letters sent and not one response? Coming all this way for a false dream her mother fed, and he dare not show his face? 

        “Prince Daemon was known to enjoy common acts of pleasure and relish in an arm’s length of lovers to keep him company. There is no doubt in me to believe he wouldn’t find company of his own during his long stay in Dorne, a world free of imagination. And in such actions, resulted in the birth of Sylvia Sand. Perhaps without his knowledge.” Lord Hand defended.

        After a beating moment, King Aul beckoned Sylvia closer where he may view her better. The red stones beneath her feet were so clear that she could see her reflection, her dirty clothes and matted hair. She’d even caught the reflection of nobles standing in wealth from head to toe, wrinkling their nose at the stench of the slums that clung to her. She was nothing but scum to them. Undeserving of this opportunity to be presented before their King, defended by the Hand, and bastard of a war prince.

        But Sylvia knew avoiding their vile opinions and cowardly within her skin would do no better but give them more to talk about. She straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin and kept it high, and allowed the King to look at her. The Queen didn’t bother to dignify Sylvia’s presence with so much as a quick size-down, as she was no child of the King, and therefore, no threat to her or her problem to deal with.

        “And you are sure your father is Daemon Targaryen and no other man?” He added quickly as Sylvia opened her mouth to answer him, “Don’t you lie. It is a sin to lie to your king.” He spoke in a tone only a father would on a child, but Sylvia was no child nor a child of his from the looks of it. The feminine growth of her body held proof of her womanhood, yet it was hidden behind shapeless clothing.

        “My mother is no liar nor did she raise me as one; Daemon Targaryen is my father. During the Blood War, my mother kept him company before he left to fulfill his duties to his king where I was then later conceived.”

        “Why wait until now to stake your claim?”

        “It’s not in my intention to stake any claims my father withholds. I was perfectly fine living in my little village with my mother without knowing my father or him knowing me, but because of certain circumstances, here I am.”

        “Here you are, yes. But for what reason? What compensation do you seek from the crown?” He asked.

        Lord Hand stepped forward. “The bastard—”

        “I want nothing from the crown,” Sylvia spoke over him with a confession that intrigued the King to hear more, but not so much the Hand. She ignored his burning glare. “From my father. From this house. From anyone. My only wish is to remain in King’s Landing so what was lost shall be found. But. . .the other half of me can’t ignore the opportunity I have to learn about my lineage and how my features came about. This world was just stories when I was young, but now that I’m here, I wish to explore it.”

        As the King observed the girl once more, Sylvia saw the look in his eyes had softened with contentment. Perhaps he saw the prince in her, a face he knew better than anyone else. Certainly better than Sylvia. She may be a bastard but enough of her father’s blood, this house’s blood was in her veins; evident from the scales along her skin, the color of her hair, and purple in her eyes. It’s not of Dornish traits nor did her mother share any—that was all them. And frankly, coming this far across the sea in a world unknown, brought by Lord Hand who decided to take bring her to court, some recognition would be nice.

        “Very well, then. It seems you’ve caught me in a good mood and on a lucky day.” King Aul sat back on this throne but not too far. “I hereby affirm Sylvia, Sands of Dorne, be known as Sylvia Targaryen, eldest daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen. I shall send word to Drangonstone and inform Lady Vana of my royal decree."

        Sylvia was just as stunned as the next, even more than Lord Hand. This was not what she asked of him. Nowhere near her desire to remain in the city, yet it was exactly what her mother wanted. No longer known as a bastard but legitimized in the eyes of the law and given more than what had been given in her entire life in just a few days, and all it took was an outbreak of a civil war.

        She dropped to her knees to thank King Aul. She had no words. No one else did either.

        Lady Queen Alice almost lost her posture at the degree and sought to question his decision. “My king, don’t you feel you are being too generous? You have always been fond of Prince Daemon, rigid with guilt after the following of his death—” Sylvia lifted her head. His death? “—but we don’t know the girl. She is all but a stranger. What if this decree inspires more bastards of Daemon’s or yours to come forth and ask more than we provide?”

        My father is dead?

        “Then we get to know the girl. My brother has only one child in his lifespan and the Gods have brought us another. Not only will I honor him and his services to the realm, but I shall hope his bloodline strives another hundred years to come.” King Aul addressed and stood from his throne. “Someone see the girl to a bath and proper clothing. I need a fucking nap.”

        The Queen chewed her bottom lip pink, glaring in the direction of her father as she and the entire court bowed as King Aul took his leave. Sylvia stood off to the side not to block his path, next to Lord Hand, and met his empty stare. There’s no telling if the outcome of this arrangement went in his favor or against his consciousness. Following behind the King, he ignored his daughter’s glower.

        A brown-haired woman with big round eyes rushed before Sylvia upon the Queen’s request. “My lady, if you’ll please, follow me this way.” She motioned after the King had cleared the room, trying to sneak a glimpse of her scales.

        Instead of replying, Sylvia peered around for the silver-haired individual who laughed at her earlier. She had hoped to catch a proper view of him before everyone cluttered together to exit, but he was nowhere to be found. Or he was hiding.

        “My lady?” The servant called again, closer than before, and Sylvia almost thought she’d mistaken her for someone else until it settled. “Shall we take our leave?”

        She would never get used to that. My lady. A proper title than bitch, boy, bastard, and aye.

        “Sure. Yes, we can go.”

————————-

                    𝑺𝒀𝑳𝑽𝑰𝑨 𝑾𝑨𝑺 𝑳𝑬𝑫 𝑰𝑵𝑻𝑶 𝑨 𝑾𝑬𝑳𝑳-𝑫𝑬𝑪𝑶𝑹𝑨𝑻𝑬𝑫 𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑴𝑩𝑬𝑹 consisted of many colors but blue and browns and reds were popular. Deep blue couches with three-headed dragon embroidery stuffed pillows. Brown bricked fireplace burning low, gleaming against the detailed oval rug. Red curtains pinned from the wide windows almost as big as the wall, framed with a series of paintings and banners of the same three-headed dragon. And many bronze decorations of items unknown to Sylvia as she never owned any of them before. Like this room that was about three to four rooms combined back home.

        “This is my room?” Sylvia asked, peering over her shoulder toward the woman following behind. She couldn’t keep her fingers or excitement to herself, touching everything in her path like the wet leaves of watered plants as tall as her and the quilted cloth slung over the couch.

        “Yes, my lady.”

        She went over toward the table where a basket of fresh-picked grapes and bright red apples sat. Plucked it but didn’t complete the next step. “And this?”

        “Yes, my lady.”

        She plopped the grape in her mouth, sloshing around its sweet with a tint of sour juice. Madam Marget reserved fruits—aside from apples—for her high-paying guest and whores and Zaal the cook, would notice if a stem was broken or someone blew their breath too close. Her mother was the house favorite and together would eat a hoard of grapes, raspberries, peeled oranges, and chugged rich wine until their heads grew heavy and their finger tingled.

        She ate another. Then discovered a bed big enough to fit five or more people, dressed with thick embroidered quilts and stuffed pillows shoved in designed cases. She never had her own room. Her own bed. Her own space. It was all too big that she missed her small room, where it was just her and her mother.

        “And this?”

        “Yes,” the servant repeated, barely hiding her annoyance well. “My lady. All of this, the room, is yours. In your name, as your birthright. If you would follow me this way, I may introduce you to Meya, your handmaiden.”

        From behind a bamboo panel where multiple women stood filling the tub with boiling water, a woman with deep auburn hair draped into a messy braid down her back revealed herself with a bow. “My lady, it is a great honor to serve you and this house. I intend to serve you well.” Her lips were so thin that when she smiled they were nonexistent, and beneath the red dress she wore—quite similar to the woman who escorted Sylvia and few who passed them—her breast filled every open space.

        Sylvia knitted her brows as she faced the servant beside her. “Are you not my handmaiden?” She asked, unsure how this went about and what exactly a handmaiden would do for her at her side already used to fending for herself.

        She laughed as though Sylvia said something funny, but it was a modest laughter. Very light and airy, hidden behind her hand not to offend her. “You flatter me, my lady, but I serve the Queen. I am here only to guide you to your chambers. Meya is well qualified and shall help you adjust and become a proper lady of the court. Should you need anything more, Meya is at your arm.”

        Another question touched her lips but the woman was already gone.

        When she took her leave, Meya guided Sylvia behind the thick panel to rid herself of clothes connected to an identical she once was. She kept the boots because the pouch of money and jewels remained, in close proximity should anyone get any ideas. Then, with offered help, eased herself in the water dusted with rose petals, hot enough to burn off her skin.

        The air smelled of spiced salts and perfume, foreign scents and fancy oils she wasn’t accustomed to. Sylvia soaked further in water steaming off her skin with a deep sigh, allowing her aching muscles to relax. But what followed next gave no prior warning to such torment. Under the care of servants, her skin was rubbed red and raw with a rag determined to change her tone or peel off her scales, her nails shaped and picked of dirt and dried blood. 

        Washing her hair required the help of many hands struggling to work through mats and knots with wide-tube combs, fingers, and horse-hair brushes. Sylvia’s cries were ignored until every stand was free of tangles and dirt. By the end of the process, the milky-like water had turned brownish-red with floating twigs and leaves. 

        Sylvia had never been pampered with such torment and washed with the help of multiple hands touching intimate parts. It wasn’t something she could get used to.

        She tugged her wet curls free from her nightgown shoved over her head and stood before the mirror—at the woman, a lady, a legitimate child of her father—as Meya recorded her measurements to send the seamstress for a whole new wardrobe.

        “Is this necessary? All the. . .extra hands?” Sylvia finally brought up. Everywhere she looked there were hands on her body, in her hair, reaching for her when she wasn’t looking.

        “It is, yes. You are no longer who you were before you stepped foot in King’s Landing. You are Sylvia Targaryen, eldest child of Prince Daemon Targaryen, royal blood of the leading house in Westeros. You must look your best even while you sleep. That is the way of a lady.” Meya replied, telling another a number to record. At a closer view, she was quite young but not as young as Sylvia, but graced with years before her first grey strand would grow in.

        “I’m not sure how to be one. A lady of the court. Or a lady at all. There aren't many examples where I'm from.” Sylvia admitted. A few giggled at her response but not in an antagonizing way but like a puppy barking for the first time. 

        With a firm look from Meya, they fell silent. She stretched the numbered strip from her shoulder toward her wrist, a warm smile on her young face. “You need not worry, my lady, that is my job to bear. I will guide you every step of the way. The world is slightly different from Dorne but I believe you’ll learn quick.” She hugged the strip around her slim waist, passing more numbers to record. “I suppose it will take some getting used to.”

        Sylvia took in the room as though it would be taken from her with a blink of an eye and she’d awake in the boat heading toward Yronwood. This was everything her mother ever wanted for her and it’s a shame she wasn’t here to witness it. But the plan remained the same; I will stay and wait for my mother’s quick return.

        Meya caught Sylvia yawning once again, her eyes fluttering and heavy head swaying back and forth. Her lips tugged upwards and with a wave of a hand, sent everyone away. “It’s been a long day for you, quite the journey across the Narrow Sea on top of your given status the King bestowed. Why don’t you rest for a while? Should you need anything else I will be here at your side.”

        She didn’t even have to ask twice. Sylvia climbed into the bed—the pouch hidden under her pillow, which she placed shortly after getting out the bath when no one was looking—and drew the sheets to her chin. Her head was thick with exhaustion as she drifted off into a deep slumber.

        But it wasn’t long until a voice of worry called from her sleep and Meya was hovered over her, inspecting Sylvia as she had gone somewhere. She rubbed her eyes while sitting up in bed that had molded her figure. Eyeing the room confirmed this wasn’t a dream but her reality. She was a lady of status.

        “What’s going on? Did something happen?” Sylvia inquired and her pulse spiked at an older man at her side, mashing herbs in a bowl to pour in a steaming cup.

        “You slept like the dead, unmoving the entire day through night and day again. Then you were burning in your rest so I called the physician to assess you.”

        The physician handed the cup to Sylvia to take. It smelt strongly of ginger and an unknown substance.

        “What is this?” She took the cup but didn’t dare sip it.

        “Mild supplements to get your blood pumping, my lady.” He gathered his tool and little-tied bags of herbs and shoved them into his brown bag. “Nothing to worry about, you are as young and healthy as a dragon. After your long journey, it is only natural you would sleep through days until it wears off. Should another fever arrive, do call for me.”

        Her nose scrunched in disgust at the bitter taste warm down her throat. She remembered how long it took the physician back in Toland to see her when she was bedridden with sickness and puking her guts red. There were so many cases of the sick going around that it took days for one to see Sylvia, to the point her mother had to pay differently to secure a visit and proper medicine. They were not at her beck and call as they were now, and for minor disturbances.

        Meya walked the physician out and lent her ear to another servant who entered the room while Sylvia struggled to swallow the rest. Her eyes grew wide with shock, bowing to the messenger, and rushed over. "My lady, the king has requested you join him for supper."

𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔

𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆

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

𝐀 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧’𝐬 𝐓𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡

𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

word count: 5.4k~

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

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

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𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗙𝗼𝘂𝗿 | 𝗥𝗲𝗱 𝗜𝗻 𝗠𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝗙𝗼𝗿𝗺𝘀

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

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

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

        Neither could she. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        "How did he. . ."

        "In battle. Stepstones."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        “Good. That’s good to hear.”

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

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

        "No."

        "And there is no one in your heart?"

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

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

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

        And now, her fantasy shall become her reality.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

————————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        "What were you imagining?"

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

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

        "Can I touch—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        Sylvia’s jaw clenched. “It is.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        "Aelor,”

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

        Prince Aelor stuttered, “B-brother.”

        Brother?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        At that, he smirked.

        He didn’t doubt that. At all.

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

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

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

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

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

        Sylvia blinked. "Excuse me?”

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

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

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

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

        “Are you serious?” Sylvia questioned his sanity.

        “I don’t jest.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

        “I will make it work.”

        "I like it better on me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        Prince Viseron’s brow lifted. “No?”

        “M-my lady—“

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

        “Disappointed?” He inquired with amusement.

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

        "Are we to find out now?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

        Sylvia stood straight when he stalked toward her.

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

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

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

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

𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔

𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆

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

𝐀 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧’𝐬 𝐓𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡

𝐅𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐡 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

word count: 5.3k~

warnings: mentions of war, name-calling, vulgar paintings, strong vulgar language, Targaryen/Dornish mixed bastard, mentions of sexual themes, and overall mature setting for mature (18+) audience.

a/n: this is the 5th chapter of my AU HOTD longfic featuring my Black!OC, and the last chapter of this fic that’s posted here. If these previews interested you enough, be sure to check out the masterlist on where to read the rest!!! Hope I’ve gotten your attention by now. If there’s a warning I forgot to add let me know.

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𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗙𝗶𝘃𝗲 | 𝗟𝗮𝗱𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝗢𝗳 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗖𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘁

                    𝑩𝑶𝑹𝑬𝑫𝑶𝑴 𝑺𝑻𝑹𝑰𝑲𝑬𝑫 𝑰𝑻𝑺 𝑭𝑶𝑼𝑹𝑻𝑯 𝑫𝑨𝒀 𝑨𝑻 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑹𝑬𝑫 𝑲𝑬𝑬𝑷, and Sylvia grew hatred toward her constant studies with Maester Ollins reading massive leather-bound books, thick with extensive history behind the legendary House Targaryen and their ties to Valyria—including hundreds of houses within Westeros and political relations with and against the crown or with each other.

        Reciting words never used in her vocabulary would lock Sylvia’s jaw and copying pages upon pages with shitty handwriting and barely any practice back home with her own mother, would tire her wrists out and left her fingers cramped. Her mother was far advanced in both reading and writing, taught later in life after Sylvia’s birth, but her teachings weren’t consistent. She could only practice reading after every written word her mother wrote for her father to one day read given her popular status in the house. Writing was rare and Sylvia hated it.

        And once freed of Maester Ollins, left hours in Meya’s care as she taught Sylvia the ways of a proper lady of the court. The study of etiquette involved far more than walking in pretty dresses and keeping one’s mouth clean of cake crumbs. Curtsy when in the company of new peers and those of higher political status. Never address them by name but by title unless given permission or were under Sylvia’s status, such as Meya and many others. Head up, back straight, chest out, arms locked in front, and walk with grace as though she levitated. Not with a boyish posture, as Meya described. She was determined to cleanse the boyish nature from molding her bones. Never say too much. Never say too little. Then would clutter the table with various utensils to use and label.

        You must act as though even the Gods are watching you, Meya would say, because being a lady isn’t just a privilege of improvement and betterment, but an example to the people—lower-classed women and the poor who’d do anything to be where you are, and has convinced themselves that if they do what you do, they will one day stare behind your eyes.

        Sylvia didn’t think being a lady would be challenging and she was wrong.

        She grew delirious and starved of her freedom. She missed home and drunk travellers, and ex-lovers—still friends—laughing over countless fools. She missed her splinter-prone bow and running off to the woods with Yanis to hunt. She missed her loose-fitting clothing and the effortless movement it provided. She missed being outside. Free instead of being cooped up within the same walls for hours.

        She thought more freedom came with holding her father’s name, but freedom never tasted sweeter than it did back home. And perhaps, she didn’t know the extent of her freedom in King’s Landing because she was afraid that if she stepped out of line, King Aul would take back his word and ban her from the city. 

        But enough was enough.

        She walked out in the middle of Maester Ollins’ dreadful monologues in need of a break. A walk to clear her mind and explore the majestic castle. And a strange shriek and heaviness in the air that interrupted her lessons many times.

        Sight of a massive erotic mural of the same and opposite sex engaging in sexual activities with each other and a dragon came into view. Sylvia cocked her head as she inspected the art. “This is interesting. . ." She said. "And new."

        Meya reached her lady’s side and viewed the mural, a light tint in her cheeks almost the same color as her hair. “Very, my lady. These murals of different acts are scattered along the castle walls. You will see them quite often.” She said.

        “I assumed they were traditional. Modest."

        “It prevails by day but is another story behind the curtains. House Targaryen are quite accustomed to queer customs and often aren’t shameful or demeaning toward expressing sexuality. Much like Dorne though quite different and forced behind closed doors.” Explained Meya, lowering her voice as a few castle staff passed by. “Your father once used to host parties of such acts.”

        “Without the dragons, yes?”

        Meya laughed at her highly concerned expression. “Of course. So I’ve heard, they were extravagant and would last for days that men would leave their wives to attend and gifted their most prized possession for an invite.”

        Sylvia's brow lifted with surprise. Beyond hearing of her father's ruthless personality, it was the first she heard of his life when he lived outside of her mother’s stories. And she wanted to know more. "What more have you heard about my father?" She asked.

        “I began my work here after his passing, my lady, so I fear my words aren’t recent or credible.”

        “I’d still like to know.”

        “I heard he cut the tongue of a man who slandered his house in public as an example for his filthy mouth. Then flaunted his tongue around his neck as a necklace, rotted with flies. Before his marriage to Lady Vana, while courting her, he asked her to give him a name. Any name. The name of any who caused her heart to squeeze with stress whenever they were within her presence, so she did. And on their wedding day, he delivered her uncle’s heart on a silver platter to wipe her heart clean and transfer that stress onto his.” Meya continued. “He always made such a presence that no one dared speak unless spoken to. One might even lose their eyes if they're met. He was quite intimidating and twisted."

        “He was a prince. I imagined he’d have to be. If one steps out of line, it's one's job to push them back or others will follow behind." Words taken out of Yanis' mouth filled hers with ease.

        They spun to the cheering formed within the training pit around two men fighting. At the center, Prince Viseron pointed his steel sword, taunting his sworn protector always a few steps behind his shadow with half of his wooden shield missing.

        Having the best view above, Sylvia leaned against the rail, watching impressively. He was quite skilled and his movements were fast, just as good as Yanis. Maybe even better. Her eyes overlooked his skills and traveled below to the sweat glistening his bare chest and highlighted muscles that were hidden beneath his clothing the first they’d met. Only trousers and boots were worn during the fight, leaving nothing to imagine, but oddly, left her curious to see more while it’s shown.

        “And what of him?” Sylvia’s lip tugged between her teeth without her knowledge, studying the prince who once tried to get her naked. He hadn’t tried since then not that she’s had time for him. “What stories you’ve heard?”

        “I dare not say anything, my lady. I’d like to keep my head another thirty years.”

        “Oh, come on. Your words are safe with me. Who would I tell? My piss pot?” Still quiet, Sylvia rolled her eyes as she reminded, “I wasn’t giving you a choice. I want to know about this prince.”

        Meya was hesitant for good reason, but given the vast differences between their status, she had no choice but to obey. “Some believe he was born from the wrong father.”

        “Why so?”

        “Because he takes after his uncle, Prince Daemon. Their fury burns strong. There are far too many stories to share and talking about him makes me shiver. But one thing is certain, he’s betrothed to Julie Lannister.”

        Standing off the side near her attendant was Julie Lannister. Long golden strands with multiple braids hung in loops and intertwined delicately down her back, emerald green eyes fearful of her betrothed’s safety. She was not only quite young—around six-and-ten (16) possibly—but beautiful too. Her black dress with a crimson outline shaped her womanly frame well, some could easily believe she was older than she appeared.

        “Such a fragile thing paired with a ruthless prince who doesn’t give a damn whether she lives or not. Tis probably why he's held off the marriage for so long. About—three months I believe. Although war and house relations has preoccupied the prince's time." Meya informed and Sylvia appreciated the information. It did come as a surprise to her. She hadn’t heard a thing about this girl and the Prince didn’t present himself as a man set to marry—if there was a certain way a man should act.

        It’s not uncommon for a prince or anyone of higher status to already be betrothed as it was to become her faith too. On the outside, they looked well-suited, but if their wedding had been halted then perhaps something was happening on the inside that no one knew. Answers Sylvia was curious about.

        The crowd displayed Prince Viseron’s victory by clapping their hands with glee. Lady Julie rushed to her betrothed with words of praise but he shared his win with his component and sworn protector, Sir John—Sylvia finally remembered when she was tested to name everyone within her house and their titles while walking backward and bumped into him. He apologized first though it was her fault, his voice gruffy and deep. Lady Julie was ignored completely and stood aside as she patiently waited to be included.

        As though Sylvia’s presence was felt above, his head lifted and met her stalking gaze. She pulled back from the ledge but it was too late to pretend otherwise and grabbed her dress to dip her knees in a cursty. Like a proper lady who hadn’t been spanked on the palm of her hand with a stick or straightened until her back ached and thighs burned, and all the boyish nature had washed out of her. Most of it.

        He’s impressed by her growth, his lips pulling into a half grin with approval. Then dipped his head to greet her. 

        Sylvia lifted and couldn’t hide the gushing feeling of pride forming in the pit. She’s worked hard perfecting herself that some acknowledgment would be nice. Expected even. She greeted Lady Julie as well when following the Prince’s attention, only she didn’t return the gesture. Her bottom lip turned pink from how hard she chewed, looking at him and then back to her before lending a stiff smile.

        Meya touched her lady's arm lightly. "We have spent much time walking these halls I'm afraid Maester Ollins might assume you've abandoned him and your studies. We should return."

        The Prince took his leave. Lady Julie followed after.

        "That's because I have abandoned my studies," Sylvia admitted. "Maester Ollins is an old fuck who never keeps his eyes on the books—“

        Meya gasped. “You must mind your words, my lady. Such foul language is unacceptable for a lady.”

        Sylvia ignored her and kept speaking. “He speaks in one note, for a very long time, and isn't patient with me when I'm doing my best. What more does he want from me?”

        "We can request another, but you mustn't put off your studies. You made the King a—"

        Sylvia walked away from her attendant. She headed in the direction of the Great Room so she could continue her studies and force herself awake whenever Maester Ollins spoke. She knew very well of the promise made with the King and hated when Meya reminded her at every given second.

        “There she is!”

        Sylvia’s steps halted toward four noble women—judging by their pretty dresses and well-kept hair—rushing in her direction like children at the Sand Festival held every year back in Toland. Silly betting games where men would run bare-footed and nearly naked across the hot sand for three days for life-changing coins and honor, suffering nasty blisters, dehydration, and even death. There were also cake-eating contests. But inside was filled with poisonous sand scorpions, eating until one ultimately died or was saved in enough time. There’d be endless music and hard syrup candies for the children. Joy all around, joy that Sylvia was forced to experience from afar.

        Sylvia glanced over her shoulder to pinpoint their attention but there was no one behind them. No one of importance unless they were signaling a passing servant or patrolling guards. But as they neared it was clear she was their pinpoint. A bunch of strangers. Rather close by how they clung to each other. 

        Meya greeted the noble women and Sylvia followed in pursuit. “My lady, this is—”

        “I shall introduce myself,” a blond-headed woman with loose curls down her back and wide sharp eyes dismissed Meya as she stepped forward from the group. She bent her knees into a proper curtsy and lifted herself, her eyes glazing upon Sylvia’s scales with mere interest. “I am Lady Clarice Hayford, Daughter of Lord Benjamin, House Hayford of Crownlands. This is Lady Mercia Rosby, House Rosby of Crownlands. Lady Anya Buckwell, House Buckwell of Crownlands. And Lady Emma Wode, House Wode of Riverlands.” The last house was said in a mumble but had caught on learning briefly of the Riverlands. Of all their houses that were loyal to the crown.

        Each lady kneeled into a cursty. And as Sylvia met each woman as they rose, her gaze fell upon Lady Mercia, if she remembered correctly. Golden brown skin, shades darker than sand on its brightest day, with thick brownish red curls too wild to tame but were a looser patterning than the mess on Sylvia’s head—pinned from her narrow face with dangling ornaments, dressed in the colors of the leading house.

        Pretty, Sylvia thought to herself, she’s very pretty. They each had their own charm, whatever it was, but Lady Mercia stuck out.

        Another, Lady Anya, stepped forward. “We are very pleased to make your acquaintance. We’ve already heard so much about you.” She was very soft-spoken, light and airy like a whistle in the wind. Wide-eyed with ghostly white skin and hair as black as night. It didn’t help that her eyebrows were nearly invisible, so she appeared sickly.

        “What have you heard?” Sylvia inquired, wanting to know what had been said about her.

        Lady Anya exchanged a look with the other ladies and Sylvia could’ve sworn one had shook their head, as if to refrain her from speaking the truth. Their smiles were wide and bright and clean of evidence when she tried to confirm the gesture. “Just silly chatting. You know how it is in court.” She didn’t. Not one bit of it. “When someone new comes around, everyone is so eager to know everything about them. Few are convinced they’ve known them their whole lives. But with you here, in our circle, I believe we’ll be great friends. The bestest.”

        “My God, Anya, we are not that desperate. Be calm.” Said Lady Clarice, tugging the girl back who sent a soft glare.

        “It was your idea. You wished to confirm if the King had lost his mind bestowing a b—.”

        The woman hissed in a manner that shut Lady Anya up. She lowered her head with a pout and stepped even futher back upon the lady’s gesture. 

        Then chuckled with nerves, ironing out the creases of her dress that shaped her figure. Her manipulated curls played the illusion that her hair was voluminous, but the knitted hair piece pushing everything back showcased otherwise. “You misheard me. I would never speak ill of anyone or question one’s decision, especially the King’s.” Said through clenched teeth, still smiling. 

        “Liar.” The girl mumbled loud enough to be heard.

        “Your scales,” Lady Mercia blurted and she had Sylvia’s attention almost immediately. “They are real, are they not? I have never seen anything like it before."

        Before she could speak up, Lady Emma interrupted her. “Of course, they’re real. Why wouldn’t it not be? She has dragon blood in her veins. Only with their blood is it possible."

        It’s said the women from Riverlands were all too ugly to look at and lacked feminine hygiene and beauty, as the writings said. Swamplands and ruins from war. Emma Wode was the only beautiful daughter her mother bore; a head of brunette strands down her back, pepper green eyes, and a curvy figure to look past her flat face. A beautiful girl like her should be seen, an end to vile rumors of their house and Riverland women.

        Sylvia stood before Lady Mercia, leaning slightly forward. “Would you like to touch them?” She offered and her eyes brightened with excitement mixed with surprise.

        “Could I? Is it not rude?”

        “Not if I’m offering.”

        Lady Mercia reached out her hand and touched the scales along Sylvia’s cheek. Her touch was hesitant at first before she grew comfortable, gentle as her soft fingers outlined its trail. It was true that no one aside from Yanis and her mother had touched her scales, but there were rare occasions when Sylvia would allow a few selectives to explore her face. In exchange, she could explore them. 

        She wasn’t expecting the same deal with Lady Mercia. Not yet at least.

        “They’re beautiful,” Lady Mercia whispered, shying away from Sylvia’s intensive contact appreciating her beauty at a closer range. She liked the greenish mixture in her brown eyes. Realizing how close they were, she pulled back her hand with an apology.

        “Can I touch too? I’m curious.” Lady Anya raised her hand.

        “Me as well.” Said Lady Emma.

        It wasn’t until Lady Clarice cleared her throat that the rest stopped pestering Sylvia and followed back in line. Clearly, she held reign within the circle, leaving the question of just how powerful her house was. And much of it she didn’t wish to lose to a bastard. “You will have to excuse their excitement. Young new faces are rare to come by. While some lack discipline, they also lack personal space.”

        Many didn’t react lightly to being put down for something they couldn’t control. They were all around Sylvia’s age and younger. Full of energy and light. Trying to make the most of their life before they were no longer a girl but a married woman with duties to their husband and house. She didn’t mind their lack of discipline or personal space, or even their constant questioning. She was new to court, to their world. It’s to be expected. 

        But what she didn’t like was someone putting down others to make themselves look good. “And what do you lack?” Sylvia asked Lady Clarice. “No one is perfect, not even me. I’m curious if you lack discipline too. A mouth that just keeps talking.”

        Her mouth twitched and her eyes seemed touched with irritation as she narrowed in on the lady who dared to question her. But then the moment passed, all traces of anger left, and she offered her a stiffened smile. 

        Her lips parted with an answer prepared, but Sylvia realized she didn’t care and spoke over her with more questions to ask. “What brings you ladies to me? Whatever it is it’ll have to wait another time. My studies call to me and Master Ollins doesn’t seem like a patient man to be kept waiting.” . . .studies she would do anything to get out of with a teacher she was close to hating, but it was her promise to the King. While she prepared herself for marriage, he would provide whatever was necessary so she could learn of the house who’ve stolen her features.

        Lady Anya jumped off her feet toward Sylvia, taking her arm to lock tight. It was the kind of strength that felt the girl was scared she’d run off, and she would if given the chance. The action was sudden. “Then we shall walk you to your destination and chat. We know the way. Maester Ollins won’t say a thing with us by your side.”

        “Ah. . .okay.” Sylvia managed to say.

        Lady Emma occupied the other arm, the other ladies at their side, dragging Sylvia forward as if she were a rag-doll with weak stringy legs, vulnerable to even the mildest of control. Meya remained a few steps behind with no means to interject. She looked content with her lady with others than just her putting up with Sylvia, a break from bending and molding her bones and attitude into a proper lady. Lessons that still needed time to sink into her bones. And apparently, her brain.

        Multiple conversations were had and many questions were left unanswered due to lack of time to answer them before the next question was thrown out. It seemed Sylvia was learning more about them than they did about her. She preferred it that way. Her life was nothing of interest compared to highborn ladies who’ve seen more of the world than she had. Their hands were untouched by hash labor, smooth to the eye, their nails long and perfectly round. No scent of piss, puke, and sex lingered from their skin but the sweet aroma of lavender and. . .berries? There was not one strand out of place—thoroughly washed and brushed with limited knots and tangles, carefully curled with overnight remedies and styled to utter perfection. Not even the wind could displace their attendant's hard work.

        Even their stories were untouched by the cruelty of the world and filled with mindless pettiness, harmless pranks, and endless fun, surrounded by riches and an arm's length of friends. They were perfect. All of which Sylvia lacked and couldn’t help the jealousy pitting deep in her belly.

        A reminder that two worlds stood before them despite their feet walking the same land.

        “We remain at court while our fathers and many noble lords have been called to discuss trivial matters that have disarrayed our house and its people.” Said Lady Merica as they directed Sylvia down the wide-set stairs and through the long halls that were endless and beaming from the sun burning through. She had no idea what the subject was but went along with it.

        “I came to visit my brother. He’s recently joined the Knighthood. My father thinks it will strengthen his heart and bring forth honor.” Said Lady Anya.

        Lady Emma tugged on Sylvia’s arm, pulling her closer from Lady Anya’s previous tactic to have the girl to herself. A constant game that forced Sylvia to break free. It surely didn’t stop them coming back. 

        “But that isn’t all, is it?” Lady Merica sent a mischief look in her friend’s direction and it was the first her face had color, warming up as she refused to admit her true intentions. 

        Sylvia was very much lost. “What am I missing?”

        “She has eyes for Prince Aelor.” Lady Clarice unveiled and Sylvia scrunched her nose with disgust. She wished she hadn’t asked. 

        The girl gasped out with shock. “I do not!”

        “Do too.” Lady Emma teased. “The biggest crush. He is all you ever talk about. His kind eyes. His long legs. His calming nature. His beautiful hair.”

        Kind eyes? Calming nature? What version was she seeing?

        She unlocked their arms to cover her ears as she shouted. “I will not hear of this—this slander! And neither will either of you speak another word of my affections—should I have any—or else I’ll scream my lungs bloody and never stop until the sky roof caves in, crushing you whole.”

        “Why not save your screaming on your wedding night? You’ve practiced long enough.”

        A squeal of giggles bellowed from Lady Mercia as she took off running when Lady Anya chased after her. They laughed at the two using passing servants to block each other’s contact. Lady Mercia seemed like a shy woman at first but she was far from it, at least around her friends. There were occasions when she’d speak less that was practically invisible, and occasions when she’d make herself known and make use of it. A balance of both. 

        Sylvia certainly didn’t see what Lady Anya saw in the Prince and was convinced the girl got hit in the head by an apple or something heavy. They wouldn’t be House of The Dragon together but House of The Ghost. Uncanny and unsuited.

        Finally having Sylvia to herself, Lady Emma tugged her closer and Lady Clarice was quick to fill the empty spot. Their constant attention and closeness made her uncomfortable for reasons that she wasn’t used to. “My father claims it’s to spare our ships and men to prepare for the war up ahead. Only the best shall prevail.” She was back on the conversation of their reasoning for being at court. 

        “Except we need strong men and strong ships that won’t flood the first wave it's met.” Said Lady Clarice, in a tone that held a known story close to Lady Emma which she ignored.

        “But while at court, we accompany the future Queen to strengthen our relations that’ll benefit our future and make our house proud.” 

        “Future Queen,” muttered Lady Clarice with a sense of mock. “Whenever that will be. It's embarrassing enough having to listen to her delusions and pretend to care. There is only so much advise one can give before it’s time to return home.”

        Their shared laughter made known they knew of Lady Julie’s current predicament with Prince Viseron. Neither Sylvia nor Lady Mercia—when returning after the two grew tired and heavy with breath—found the situation humorous. She didn’t know the girl enough to find the joke and feared she’d contract her faith by downing her misfortune.

        But Sylvia couldn’t move on from their current topic deciding which games they should indulge in before supper when something Lady Emma had mentioned weighed on her mind. War.

        War was nothing new to her. Horrid stories roamed the fires back at Toland from men and former knights drinking away their trauma to any ears that would listen and even she had her first taste of it. But what concerned Sylvia was where this war was taking place and who was the intended enemy. She came to King’s Landing to create a future and safe home for her mother when she came, and couldn’t do any of that if her future was at risk. Based on many blurred lessons of war around the world with Maester Ollins, King’s Landing wasn’t all that invincible given the history of why the wall was built in the first place.

        “Will it be here? The war that's to come?” Sylvia asked.

        They grew quiet, having silent conversations with their eyes that Sylvia couldn’t understand. But when Lady Clarice was quick to fill the void when answers were sought, it was then she understood why they were hesitant to speak. “The Conquest of Dorne. The battle to last over centuries to come.” She held no filter as she played her fingers through her golden locks, eyeing Sylvia’s expression. She remained calm. “The Martells will never concede. Never to bend the knee to the crown nor compromise their terms to end this shitful fight, ultimately wasting our resources and men. Them vipers aren’t grateful no matter what we do. But enough is enough. Should they refuse us once more, we will come back harder.”

        One could not live in Dorne and not know of its conflicts not only within the country but outside of it. Even for someone like Sylvia, who didn’t care to know as it was never her concern nor was she sitting at the table with something to offer. It was strange living on the outside of the world, on the lands of the same enemies that were plotting against her home.

        Sylvia didn’t know where to stand. 

        While her roots were in Dorne, her lineage was far from it. One came with traumatic memories and a life that served no purpose while one was an opportunity in a lifetime, a purpose of many should she choose one. Or perhaps she didn’t have to choose. With her given title, she could pursue anything. There was no limit as far as she knew.

        Sylvia would always be proud of her home, grateful of her upbringing, and prideful of her Dornish roots—but wasn’t stupid to risk her life for the damn country or piss off others who were against them. The same one that took everything from her. Her mother included. And it’s people they claimed to care for. Her loyalty never extended beyond that.

        “I see,” said Sylvia, uncomfortable with their eyes on her every movement. Probably they were expecting her to curse this country and accuse Lady Clarice of spreading lies to fuel more propaganda. 

        They soon reached the door that led to the Great Room. Maester Ollins was currently inside because his distinctive voice carried through the cracks.

        Lady Anya waved her hand, dismissing the short awkwardness. “Enough of that depressing subject. Let’s leave it to the men. Why don’t you join us for a round of fox and hound after your studies before supper?”

        Sylvia never heard of this game before. “I don’t know how to play this game.”

        “You never heard of fox and hound?”

        “No. Should I? Is it popular here?”

        Lady Anya’s jaw dropped as if the girl was learning her first word, and one of the ladies had to remind her that Sylvia was not from around.

        “I can teach you. It’s quite easy once you get the hang of it if no one’s adding any last-minute rules.” Lady Mercia offered, and Sylvia would like that very much. “I’ll be the fox for the first round if you like. Just until you grow comfortable.”

        “That goes against the rules. Every newcomer must be the fox. Even I had to be for three rounds.” Lady Emma argued.

        “Surely we can bend one little rule for our new friend. That which you are—a friend in our circle. A position quite hard to obtain, even Lady Julie scrambles for our companionship that we offer you at no obligation.” Lady Clarice scooped Sylvia’s arm, walking closer toward the door and leaving the rest of them behind. Only Meya joined a few steps behind. “I hope you make up your mind soon and join us for a round or two, milady. It is a fun game to know more of each other and I can show you great hiding spots. As my father says, it’s good to have friends in every corner of the world each with something to offer.”

        Her sharp eyes and naturally arched brows made her appear as though she was constantly plotting. But while her aura was mean-spirited, she didn’t look like one with much motive other than hoarding friends under her belt within her control.

        Sylvia never had friends outside of the pleasure house or around her age, especially highborn ladies of such status—a status they shared. Making a variety of friends could serve her well in the future. She wasn’t sure what it could be or when, but knew it was in her best interest to join their inner circle. Be their friend. Accept their companionship and maintain good relations. And play a few rounds of fox and hound.

𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔

𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆

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

Faerie!Reader x Targareyn Family

• Reader and Heleana being born twins, reader being the younger

• Heleana being born a dragon dreamer and reader being born a fae dragon

• Being born more fae than dragon, meaning your fire burns bright but not as hot

• Heleana not liking to be touched but never not holding reader

"My sweet girl, let your sister eat. She will not go anywhere, I promise."

"She will die without love, mother."

Alicent sighed, Heleana always said the same thing when her twin sister was brought up. As a mother she loved how close her daughters were to one another. As her children's protector she wanted them to be able live without the other before they are force to leave each other.

• Aegon not understanding his sister's but being their secret protector

Aegon couldn't sleep. Those little girls were evil he was sure of it. Heleana had accidentally scared a young girl with her bugs. Though Heleana did not know what she had done, she apologized with reader's help. Instead the girl took to name calling and picking on his sisters. Even going as far as to desuede a young boy from approaching the younger twin. Aegon stopped his pacing. He knew just how to get back at the unruly girl. The next morrow Aegon stood proudly as the rude young girl was crying over her wine covered gown. He had even convinced her to drink a glass or two before her ruined her gown. Thus lead to her parents scolding her for indulging in her cups.

• Aemond being dutiful to his sisters, walking them to and from studies and activities, walking through doors first so as to combat an attack, pulling out their chairs so they can sit comfortably

• Otto finally separating the twins when they each start their monthly blood

• Alicent, Aegon, and Aemond having to endure the heartbreaking cries from the twins

• Fae reader having such a small dragon they are considered without a dragon

Viserys feeling bad for his daughter as she blissfully trained with her tiny dragon. He could hear Otto's disapproval in his daughter, mumbling to his wife causing her to breath heavy. Viserys shakes his head to dislodge the negative thought. He was here to watch his children and there dragons. Aegon and Aemond spoke Valaryen with ease and perfect accent. Each word that was spoken clearly was given praise by his youngest daughter. She would give praise along with the chirps and purrs of her little dragon. The twins ended up sitting age snuggling with their dragons as the boys trained. Viserys often called his youngest daughter 'Faerie Targareyn' he thought it suited her very well. Not to mention how well she fit into the deceptions of his dreams. Dreams that started when he first became king. Dreams about the most enchanting creature, one who can mend broken thread, a creature who calm raging beasts, but also devour its enemies whole. He saw that creature in reader.

• Aegon not knowing if he lusts for you or just in general loves you

• Heleana spending every moment she can with her sister

• Aemond protecting his sisters with all he has

• Viserys telling his children stories because reader asked him to

• Alicent trying to do her children's hair only to find out how picky they are

• Jace talking to reader in Valaryen, cause that how her and her sister learned

• Luce helping reader and Heleana pick flowers for there moms

• Nyra seeing the dragon blood in reader therfore thanking the gods that Hightower blood wasn't too strong in her half siblings

• Deamon enjoyed his time feeding the dragons with reader, he found it pleasing to know that a gentle creature like her didn't flinch nor cry knowing another being had to die for another

• Otto being the only person who did not like reader, and viscera

Alicent struggled to carry reader as she hung limply in her arms.

"I don't understand you, my fae. It's just your grandfather."

"The ugly evil wasp does not help the rose grow."

"My sweet girl that does not help mum."

"It will." Heleana skipped ahead of her mother to join Luce. Alicent knew she shouldn't have mentioned her father. She looked down at her limp daughter know the scolding she will get for raising such a spoiled girl.

"If I didn't know better I'd say my little fae has died in my arms." Without getting a reaction Alicent leans on the wall and adjusts her grip. With a huff she begins tickling her daughter. Two breaths pass before her light but loud laughter fills the hall.

"Look at this a miracle! My little fae is alive and well." Alicent laughs with her daughter to they both need breath.

My Name is Fernando.

I am Mexican.

I am 31 years old.

Gay boy 🏳️‍🌈

Fan of Marvel, DC Cómics and Harry Potter/Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them/Hogwarts Mystery World.

Fan of Game Of Thrones and House Of The Dragón. 🔥 🐉

toast to your health.🫣

Amazing! 🥰

Savage Within

Pairing: House of the Dragon x Male!Targaryen!Reader 

Genre: Angst

Warnings: Mentions of childbirth, murder, burning down an entire city, dragon death, threatening people, bloody duels, graphic descriptions, gore.

Being the first born of King Viserys was not easy, being the heir and prince of dragonstone, Y/n hated it. He was the first born son of King Viserys, older brother to princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. 

He was three years older than his younger sister, making him already ten and eight years old, a dragon rider since he was seven years old. Trained in the art of the sword ever since he could stand, the responsibilities weighed down on him. He wanted to be free, not free in the normal sense, free in the mental sense of things. Y/n felt like he was trapped in his mind prison, the key burned away in his blood that was set alight by the dragon flame. 

There was a side of him that could not be unleashed, if it did the end of days will arrive sooner then how Aegon the Conqueror dreamed of it.

The Red Keep was that he has known, he was born in these very halls, in the same birthing bed that his mother Queen Aemma has had multiple miscarriages and stillborns on. His father has always said when Y/n finally was brought into the world, his cries were all the Red Keep heard, when the midwife said it was a boy, Viserys cried happy tears as his wife held the babe in her arms. 

Y/n had the natural silver hair and violet eyes of his Valyrian forefathers, as he grew into a man his hair got longer and eyes got sharper. Growing into a handsome prince, most of the ladies at court would chase after him, greater and minor lords would offer their daughters, nieces, sisters and cousins as his future wife. 

He wanted nothing to do with them. Marriage. Children. A wife. His own family. None of it, he did not want any of it.

Walking to his mother’s room, he was in riding gear as he was going to the Dragon Pit after visiting. Pushing open the door, the room had incense burning, maesters, midwives all attending to the pregnant queen.

“Mother.” He called out as he walked over and sat down next to her on a smaller stool.

“Y/n. My beautiful boy. How are you? Are you going to go riding again?” She asked as she fanned herself.

“Yes, Seiphax has grown restless within the pit. I heard from the Dragonkeepers that they would cry out at night.” A smile adored his features, the carefree nature of his was on full display.

Y/n’s eyes fell to his mother’s belly, swollen with child. Aemma saw this and laughed. “Your new sibling will be here soon.”

“Mother, I worry for you. You keep on trying pushing out heirs, your body will be eventually destroyed, you cannot keep this up.” He said with worry. “Father already has me as heir, why does he need anymore children? Does he not know of your miscarriages?” 

Aemma gestured for her son to come forward, putting a piece of hair behind his ear when he got close enough. “Queen Alyssa had nine children..” Y/n rolled his eyes and pulled away from her. “I know, you have told me that since I have not wanted to marry.”

“As queens, we have to do our duty to the realm.” Y/n crossed his arms before his eyes. “But mother…”

He shut up as he saw Aemma give him the ‘look’. Letting out a sigh before putting up his hands in defense. “Alright. Alright. I’m just gonna go…I will think about my marriage I guess.” Y/n turned and left the room, going to the dragon pit and mounting Seiphax.

Taking to the skies, getting as far away as possible from King’s Landing at the moment. If he was not heir, he would have already fled across the Narrow Sea and escaped and lived freely.

His dragon was the same size as Caraxes, if not bigger, its wingspan was bigger than the Blood Wyrm but its neck was not snake-like. The scales were a shiny black color, when the dragon first hatched his father had thought it was Balerion reincarnated. 

Within the clouds, above all cities and the people, the wind that blew through his hair gave him the peace he wished he could have. Any other boy would love to be in his position as prince. He knew of what the smallfolk said about him.

The dragon sat in midair as it floated above the clouds. Y/n’s bond with his dragon was strong, sometimes even without High Valyrian, it was like his dragon could understand what he wanted to do.

Y/n was beginning to slip off the saddle, his dragon realized what he was going to. His body weight shifted all to one side and soon he was free falling to the ocean below. Seiphax flew after him, flying as fast as they could and eventually caught him on his back again.  

“Just let me fall Seiphax…..” Was all he said before he took control of the dragon again and flew back to King’s Landing.

Landing back down at the Dragon Pit’s entrance, he got off as he soothed the beast. “Good to see you back prince. Your sister arrived not long after you left.” He walked over to the horse they had brought for him.

“Right. Let’s get back to the Keep before my father freaks out again.” 

—-------------

Things have moved too fast for him, the tourney, the death of his mother and brother, his uncle getting exiled, his father getting remarried, Alicent getting pregnant, having a half-brother, Rhaenyra getting betrothed, the wedding leading to someone dying.

Time flew by and soon ten years had gone by, he was in the same if not worst state he was in before. His nephews and half-siblings have grown up now, all were now at least children that could understand the world that goes around them.

His uncle has married Lady Laena Velayron, giving him twin girls of pure Valyrian blood; Baela and Rhaena. 

His sister getting pregnant again with her third child.

Everyone around him is getting on with their lives, but him, Y/n was heir, and yet he was still alone. Every time they talked about him getting married he managed to sneak away to the dragon pit and fly off into the skies, he would fly for hours and would not come back unless they dropped the topic on his arrival back.

This day, when he arrived back to the Red Keep he saw his sister walking the halls with a newborn in her arms. He saw his brother-in-law Laenor helping her as she had a limp, he went over and got her other arm. 

“Sister, why are you walking? You should be resting after your labors.” His voice was laced with concern.

“The queen has asked for the baby.” Laenor replied, disgust written all over it.

“Again? Thought we were over this.” Y/n shook his head.

“That’s exactly what I said.” The other male said with a sigh.

Soon, they arrived at the queen’s chambers. Even Alicent looked shocked at Rhaenyra walking. 

Y/n could only stand awkwardly to the side as he eyed everyone and practically everything in the room. His father walked in shortly after, but he could care less. He knew more than everyone else in this room, he knew it was all the Hightowers doing, he knew Alicent was the one spreading the rumors, Otto Hightower was the vulture he wanted to hunt and shoot through the eye with an arrow. 

Alicent then came over to him. “Prince Y/n. Your sister has delivered another healthy babe, it is only a matter of time before you need heirs of your own. Me and your father can find you a suitable match..-”

Y/n groaned and rolled his eyes. “Stop. Your grace.” He began to turn away. Y/n gave a silent glare before leaning in and whispering into her ear. “I know you and what you are, a snake and a vulture on the throne. Once my father is gone and dead and cold in his grave, you will overlook me and my sister and install your own children on the throne. If your father did see me as the true heir, he would not have made you marry my father. He only wishes to see his own blood on the Iron Throne.” 

Pulling away, a frown was on his lips. Alicent had an unreadable expression, she was stunned at first but then spoke up anyway. “I’m sure that is not what my father intended for my prince. You are the first born to King Viserys, you are the heir with no doubt.” 

Y/n could only scoff as he decided to walk out of the room, going off to the dragon pit again as he wanted the comfort of his dragon.

His dragon has grown double in size, almost bigger than any dragon in the realm save for Vhagar. It was bigger than Caraxes, bigger than Vermithor, bigger than Dreamfyre. 

Perhaps it really was Balerion again. 

—-------------

Lady Laena has died to Vhagar, setting herself aflame by the dragon’s fire. Everyone was gathered on Driftmark to her funeral, the princes and princesses clearly seemed bored and did not want to be there. 

Y/n stood next to his half-sister Helaena, he was her elder by many years, but Helaena thought comfort in him. Y/n knew she was a shy girl, and did not want to converse with others often. He saw Rhaenyra in the distance, he excused himself to go see his sister.

“Nyra…I know you want to see him.” He said, taking a goblet and filling it with wine.

“I do not know what you speak of brother.” 

She was still trying to deny it, he knew this well. “I know how you look at uncle. You can’t fool me.” 

He did not say anything more, he wanted to drink and get rid of this unnecessary stress. Standing off to the side as he drank, soon his half-brother Aegon spotted him. The boy came over to him, also holding a cup in his hand. “Drinking so soon brother?” The younger asked.

“I should be asking you that, though it’s not a surprise considering it’s you. Guess you take after me.” Downing his wine in one gulp.

“Guess I do, I don’t really see that being a bad thing.”

Y/n gave him a warning glare before walking away. His family has not been the same ever since Alicent married his father, and at this rate there was more infighting going on then Aegon’s conquest to conquer the Seven Kingdoms.

He walked away from the ceremony and to sanded areas of Driftmark. His dragon slept along and behind one of the hills, spotting it was easy as the black scales shimmered in the sunlight.

Seiphax growled as he sensed Y/n’s presence, nuzzling into his rider’s warmth as Y/n patted its snout and soothed him. Seiphax growled more, suggesting to his rider that he wanted to fly and stretch its wings. “I know boy, I’ll take you tonight. How’s that?” The dragon growled in delight at the question.

“Alright. I will be back. Right now I need to go….” He cut himself off, he felt a strong urge to do something.

“I will come back. Just rest for now, yeah?” He patted the dragon’s snout before walking away. 

His hand on his sword, though there was no need to bring a sword to the funeral, Y/n does not part with his blade.

Y/n wandered for a while, he does not know where he went, he just knows he ended up in a forest. There was something pulling him here, and he answered the call. 

The further he got into the forest, the pull began to get stronger. He got to an area where some people were gathered, it was there he felt it. He felt something pushing towards them, his hand gripped his sword harder than before. 

“Kill..”

“Huh?” He heard a voice, he was sure of it.

“Kill them all..” 

“What?” The voice was there, he could not have been wrong. 

“Kill them and prove your worth..” 

He walked closer to the gathered folk, seeing them up close, he realized who they were. They bore the sigil of the Hightower, wearing the green colors with pride, the tower sigil representing their power. 

Seeing it made his blood boil.

“Do you remember the dress Alicent wore on your sister’s wedding day? It was green. What colors does the tower fire glow when Oldtown calls its banners to war?”

“Green..” His voice was laced with hatred. It was clear to him now what Alicent did when she wore such a dress. Queen Visenya should have burned the faith and the Hightowers down when she had the chance.

Unsheathing his sword, he walked, then it turned into a run then a full on sprint. 

He plunged his sword into the first man, after that everything was a blur. He fully blacked out.

—---------

Vhagar had been claimed, but nothing was without a price. Prince Aemond has lost an eye, cut out by his own nephew Luke.

Everyone was gathered back to the main hall, Aemond was getting his eye stitched up after getting it fully taken out. Luke had a broken nose, the others all had bruises. Aemond was trying so hard not to scream, in the moment he wanted to hold his half-brother's hand, Y/n was the only one who did not judge him for not having a dragon.

“Jace? Luke!” Rhaenyra bursts into the room, going to check on her children.

“Where is my son? Where is my heir?!” Viserys shouted at the guards, the kingsguard could only look at each other as they knew not of where Y/n was.

“We have not seen him at the fight Your Grace, perhaps he was still in bed.” One of them said, unsure of his answer. 

Viserys looked toward the kids, looking for some sort of answer to where his heir would be. Most of the children looked away, not knowing where Y/n was at all. All except for one, Helaena, but she stood still as she casted her gaze towards the ground instead. She was mumbling under her breath, but no one managed to catch what it was. 

Aegon stood off to the side as he was drunk and asleep but then woken up by everyone else, he didn’t know anything and yet here he was standing here as if he was on trial for a crime. Aemond sat in the chair with only one remaining good eye, he also did not see his half-brother during his fight, or even when he claimed Vhagar. 

Jace and Luke both looked away not knowing where their uncle was, Luke clutched onto his mother’s dress skirts and tried to hide behind her as much as possible. Jace just stood, his eyes anywhere but to look at his grandsire. Rhaenyra had a hand on Luke’s back as she tried to comfort him. 

Alicent could only look away as she also did not know, she stood over Aemond as she tried to offer some sort of comfort to her son who had just lost an eye. Squeezing his hand in hers as they both stayed silent. 

“Does anyone know where in the seven hells Y/n might be?!” Viserys shouted again, no doubt some of the kids flinched at his tone.

“Father..” Rhaenyra pleaded.

“The towers that glowed green, they would be engulfed in dragon flame..” 

Helaena mumbled under her breath, the only person close enough to her was Aegon, but he only brushed it off as nonsense.

“So does no one know where my son is?” He looked towards his guards again.

“He was not in bed.” Aemond finally said. “I have not seen him since the ceremony.”

“When did you last see him, Aemond?” 

“He was with Aegon.”

“Me?”

Viserys then turned to his second son. “And you boy? Where is your brother?” Aegon did not reply.

“AEGON! Your king demands an answer!”

“None of the children has seen him since the ceremony. Indulging his dragon I would believe, I saw him walk away.” Alicent finally spoke up.

“The towers that glowed green, they would be engulfed in dragon flame..” 

Helaena continued to mumble.

“Send people out to look for him, check where his dragon is.” Viserys said to the guards as they bowed.

“Husband, Aemond has lost an eye! We can look for him in the morning, but his eye cannot.” Alicent argued, she wanted justice for her son.

“I cannot restore his eye, Alicent.” Viserys said sadly. 

“Because it has been taken! He’s your son Viserys! Your blood!” She was on the verge of crying and shedding tears.

“My sons were the ones that were attacked and forced to defend themselves! If my brother were here he would say the same. Vile insults were levied against them.” Rhaenyra said, pushing the two boys behind them.

“What insults?” Viserys was now confused.

“The legitimacy of son’s birth were put loudly to question.” Rhaenyra chose her words carefully.  

“He called us bastards.” Jace added, looking back at Rhaenyra.

“Wh-” Viserys was cut off as a guard came into the room, catching his breath as if he just ran a couple of miles.

“The Heir’s dragon…” He said catching his breath.

“What? What has happened to Seiphax?” 

“The dragon was flying by itself! The prince was nowhere in sight!” The guard managed to say.

At that moment, before anyone could say anything about it, a loud roar could be heard from outside of the Castle. The roar was so loud it seemed like it shook the whole of Driftmark itself. 

The room went silent, the adults took the kids to bed as the guards went outside and assessed the situation. Rhaenyra took the kids to bed, she looked over to Daemon and silently told him to bring her brother home.

—---------

A dragon with shiny black scales can be seen flying overhead of Driftmark, taking to the skies and disappearing among the stars.  Its scales make it blend in perfectly.

Flying under the moonlight, flying over to the distant forest. It slowly lowered itself down in the middle of the forest. Folding its wings in and dipping its head down, a hand slowly patted him. 

“It’s alright boy, you found me.” Seiphax let out a low growl, turning its head to the dead bodies that lay upon the grass and dirt of the forest floor, the blood slowly sinking into the earth below.

The dragon eyes narrowed at the dead, through his eyes, he was asking if it was his rider that killed them. And Y/n already knew. “It was me. I first thought they were fake and I had thought I had gone mad, but since you can see them I don’t know anymore. Maybe you can see them because we are bonded.” 

He leaned his forehead onto the cold scales of Seiphax, as if telling the beast he was still alright. Y/n then pulled back and went to grab where his saddle was, getting on top and making himself comfortable before yelling out a single command.

“Dracarys.” 

The dragon readied itself before spitting out its flames, burning the corpses of the hightower. Y/n watched as the banner of Oldtown fell, the red and yellow flames engulfed the green. However, the flames begin to change, they begin to darken, turning to a pitch black color. 

Soon the flames came to an end, Y/n felt a sense of relief as he watched the corpses burn to nothing. The only thing left was a banner of a half-burnt Hightower banner, and the burnt grass below that has been scorched. “Soves.” Was the only word that left his lips, the dragon spread its wings out but not entirely, before taking off into the sky once again.

“I owe you this flight.” Seiphax let out a sound that sounded like he was laughing, which brought a smile to Y/n’s face. 

They flew to a different mountain cliff, Y/n sat cross-legged as his dragon climbed over the top of the rocks behind him. He managed to get some sleep, just barely as they soon saw the sun rise over the horizon. 

He has never seen a full sunrise before, not out in the wilderness where the nature of things go undisturbed. It was silent save for the sounds of birds and the wind blowing, nothing else was there to disturb him. There were no people, no family drama, no politics, no duties, no pressure of being the heir. He can just relax.

However, nothing ever lasts forever. It was not long until he heard the screech of the blood wyrm, telling him that his uncle was nearby and ready to take him home. Upon hearing the red dragon, his own dragon Seiphax climbed over the hill of rocks and also roared at it. 

Daemon was taken back at how big his nephew’s dragon has actually gotten over the ten years, now it was bigger than any other dragon in the realm, it was bigger than Caraxes he was sure. In a few years it could even rival Vhagar. 

“Nephew. Let’s go.” Daemon simply said. Y/n looked tired, but he only shook his head not wanting to move. “Everyone wants you back. Your father is worried.” Daemon said again.

“No.” Y/n said. “I hate going back. Everytime I go back, the snakes and vultures that rule within my father’s council only wish to see me fall! They do not care if I am the heir, they do not think I am ready to rule. They would rather have my brother because he has the conqueror’s name!” He yelled out, almost all of the pent anger from over the years. 

Daemon got off of Caraxes and went next to his nephew, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Then prove it.” Daemon said.

“What?” 

“I hate the Hightowers as much as you do. Only you and me and Rhaenyra see what they truly are. We are the blood of Old Valyria. Our ancestors were conquerors, we don’t wait until the moment. We take it, either if they are willing or unwilling.” 

That moment, something lit up inside of the heir. If it was only a spark before, it had turned into a flame, a flame that cannot be tamed no matter how much you throw it at the tides.

—---------

Moving to Dragonstone with his sister and uncle may not have been a smart move, however, Y/n refused to stay at the court of green any longer. After Rhaenyra and Daemon married, he had hopped onto Seiphax and flew to Dragonstone by daybreak. 

Little did he know how fast time moves, six years has passed, now returning to King’s Landing to defend his nephew Luke’s title as the future Lord of the Tides. 

The wheelhouse went from the dragonpit to the Red Keep, and when it stopped Y/n mentally prepared himself as he stepped out after Daemon.

“Y/n Targaryen, First of his name, Prince of Dragonstone and Heir to the Iron Throne.” They announced his arrival. 

Once they went inside, he no longer saw the Targaryen sigils of the three-headed dragon. Instead it was all replaced by the seven-pointed star of the Faith of the Seven; the Hightowers have taken over the Keep that was built by their ancestors. 

“I would say it is nice to come home, but I barely recognize it anymore.” He and Rhaenyra said at the same time, they looked at each before he nodded for them to proceed. 

They walked the halls they had grown up in, the familiar hallways and corridors became weird and no longer felt like it was home. Their steps stopped as they reached the doors of the King’s chambers. 

Y/n went over to his father, seeing him practically bedridden brought him a sense of sadness. He promises that he will burn House Hightower to the ground. 

“Father, it's me. Y/n.” He spoke quietly.

“Y/n? Oh Y/n…my heir…” Was all Viserys could say before Y/n pulled away to let his sister take over. 

“I’m going out.” He said to Daemon before he left, which Daemon gave him a nod to.

In truth, Y/n had no idea where he was going to go. He wandered around for a while trying to clear his head, but soon he found himself in the training yard.

He saw his nephews there as well, watching someone going against Ser Criston Cole. When the view changed, he saw the silver haired prince was none other than his half-brother Aemond.

Something was definitely going to go wrong. 

During the council to determine Luke’s claim to Driftmark, halfway through King Viserys came in after all. Viserys deemed his grandson Lucerys the rightful heir to Driftmark and yet Vaemond would not have it, Viserys decided to also have Y/n say who he would pledge to as the rightful future Lord of the Tides.

“I would pledge to my nephew Lucerys Velaryon as the future Lord of the Tides, as the heir I will have him rule driftmark while Jacecerys will have a place in my court.” Y/n said with his head held high for the Hightowers to see, he has not even spit fire yet and they looked scared in the mere presence of a dragon. Scratch that, they were in a room of dragons and yet they were only scared of one.

“You may run your house as you see fit, but you will not decide the future of mine! My house survived the doom! And a hundred tribulations besides! And I will not see it ended on the account of this-”

“Say it.” Daemon whispered as he nudged Y/n on the elbow.

“Her children are BASTARDS! And she is a whore.” Vaemond spat. Many gasped around the throne room.

“I will have your tongue for that.” Viserys managed to say as he got out the conqueror’s blade.

Y/n in one swift movement cut off the top of Vaemond’s head, just above where his tongue was. “He can keep his tongue.” He said, looking down at the corpse, before tearing his gaze to the Hightowers; especially Otto. 

“Disarm him!” Otto yelled, but no guard dared to move. 

“I am the heir, you have no say over me. No. Fucking. Need.” He wiped off his blade and sheathed it.

That was the first taste of fire the Hightowers got directly coming from Y/n Targaryen, it will surely not be the last that they see such flames.

—---------

The family dinner was a disaster, Y/n managed to break up the fight between his half-brothers and his nephews before it got even worse. 

They left that night on dragon-back, getting away and hoping the drama between everyone would die down for a while.

Little did they know that Viserys passed away just as quickly, and soon the greens have taken advantage and have usurped the throne from the rightful heir and placed Aegon on the throne.

While Y/n was on Dragonstone, he had no idea of what had happened. Until Daemon came and told him. 

Which led to this very moment.

Standing around the painted table, plotting the war to get Y/n back on the throne. While the men were all standing around the table, pointing out possible allies and places for resources if possible. Y/n stood next to his sister, unsure of what he needed to do, this is the worst he had feared of what was going to happen and now it has become reality.

“The greens also have dragons uncle, there has not been a dragon fighting another dragon since Maegor’s reign.” Y/n argued. 

“We also have dragons. They have three adult ones by my count, we have Seiphax, Syrax, Caraxes, Vermax, Arrax, Tyraxes, Meleys. Baela has Moondancer. There is also Seasmoke who is riderless, there are also wild dragons here on Dragonstone. We have over ten to their three, we easily outnumber them.” Daemon said, wanting to already have this war started.

“No.” All eyes turned to Y/n now. 

“What do you mean Your Grace?” One of the Maesters asked.

“If we go after them with force, we will only come back with broken bones, injuries, burn marks and most likely dead dragons. I would not underestimate Aegon so easily.” Y/n spoke, focused on the map in front of him. 

His eyes drifted to the end of the table, there was always one place that the greens would have control so easily, that place also had one more dragon. 

“No one takes action unless I say so. Get as many allies as we possibly can, prepare the ravens Maester.” He said walking around the table, getting to the other end of it. The bottom of the map where the name Oldtown sat. 

“We should bear those messages uncle.” Jace offered.

“Did you not hear what I said? I will be the only one taking action unless I give you permission. You need to stay here in case something goes wrong with me. Do you understand?” Y/n’s gaze hardened on his nephew.

Jace nodded at his uncle’s words. Rhaenyra on the other hand followed her brother out of the room. 

“Brother, what are you doing? We can’t sit by and do nothing while Aegon sits on your throne.” Rhaenyra spoke quickly. 

“Who said I’m doing nothing? The best way to handle such things is not to go after it with force, but rather use what we can to force it out. The greens will be on their knees begging for mercy after what I do.” Y/n turned away with a wicked smile.

Going to Seiphax, climbing onto its saddle that was just barely able to be put onto the dragon’s back, it seemed that the black-scaled dragon had once again doubled in size. It was almost as big as, if not bigger than Vhagar.

“Soves!” Seiphax took to the skies once more, this time it was not for anything nice. 

They flew south for three days, before they finally got a glimpse of Oldtown from above. The city has not yet seen the dragon, but Y/n did not care as he began to fly lower and lower, until the entire city had the dragon’s shadow over it.

And that is when he heard it, the battle horn being blown. Oldtown has called its banners to war.

The fire of the tower had turned green, the banners of House Hightower rose as the armies formed quickly to defend its city. But what could they do against a dragon? Nothing. 

Y/n’s target was not the city first, it was the Starry Sept. The place where the high Septon had once called his family 'abominations’. Queen Visenya was right, they should have burnt it down while they had the chance. Visenya had once said to King Aenys to burn it down and turn it to a second Harrenhal, well it was going to be just that. 

Circling above the Starry Sept before he flew down quickly and yelled out a single command. 

“Dracarys!” Seiphax complied with his rider’s command and began to set aflame to the sept, roasting whoever was still inside. 

Y/n had Seiphax breathe his flames over the sept at least five times before he decided to burn the city; the dragon’s flames were no longer red or yellow, but rather the flames had turned black. 

The burning of Oldtown as a whole had turned into a second Harrenhal, the city was engulfed in Seiphax’s black flames. Y/n had single handedly destroyed the entire line of House Hightower, as no one had managed to get out of the city under his eyes. The Hightowers all hid inside of their home, the dragon’s black flames engulfed them entirely and soon were nothing more than ash and bone. 

What Y/n did not expect was another dragon meeting him in the sky, it was Tessarion and its rider Daeron Targaryen; the youngest son of Viserys and Alicent Hightower. However, Tessarion was no match for the powerful Seiphax. 

Tessarion circled around the bigger dragon making it harder for Seiphax to catch him, but what Daeron did not know was that Y/n had no intention of backing down, Y/n’s goal was to kill the dragon.

Tessarion continued to circle the bigger dragon until Seiphax had enough and began to charge, turning its head to follow the smaller and its circling. The bigger dragon followed its movements before speeding up, its wings catching the wind as it went after Tessarion. Seiphax blew its fire towards Tessarion hoping to slow him down, the smaller dragon slowed down but Seiphax managed to catch up completely. Daeron managed to get his dragon to duck out of the way, but this only caused the dragon’s downfall.

When Tessarion moved away, Seiphax flapped its wings harder to speed up. Seiphax comes up on the right side of Daeron’s dragon before digging its teeth into Tessarion’s right side, the bite was not deep as Seiphax retreated its bite. 

Only for Seiphax to rip out Tessarion’s right wing. The blue queen roared out in pain before it began to fall towards the earth. Daeron tried to hold onto the ropes of his saddle, but his grip slipped and began to free fall. Y/n had Seiphax fly downwards, the heir had managed to grab ahold of Daeron’s arm and pulled him up.

Daeron tried to kill Y/n as he pulled out a dagger and attempted to slice the other’s throat open. The older dodged out of the way and slapped the dagger out of his hands. “You do anything else, I will drop you. No one, not even your own mother will find your remains.” Y/n spat with a glare, looking over his shoulder. 

Daeron could do nothing, his dragon had just died, he had no other weapon, Oldtown was burning, all of the Hightowers had died. There was no one to help him anymore, he could only do as his half-brother says and hope for the best that he does not die. 

Seiphax flew back to Dragonstone in only two days' time, the dragon picked up speed and managed to get back early. The morning they arrived back, everyone had been awoken by the sound of wings flapping outside and a roar that shook the earth. Landing beside the castle of Dragonstone, Seiphax let his rider down along with his hostage. 

Dragonkeepers and guards gathered around to see what had happened, many were shocked to see Prince Daeron covered in ash and soot, but was also surprised to see Tessarion was nowhere in sight. 

“Your grace, what has happened.” 

Y/n pushed Daeron to move forward as he got off of Seiphax. “I’ll explain inside. Put his hands in chains, he has already tried to kill me on my dragon.” The guards nodded and took Daeron away. Y/n gestured for the maesters to follow him inside. 

Walking through the gates of the castle, he was greeted by different guards, servants and a very worried Rhaenyra. “Brother, what did you do? I just saw Daeron being taken away by the guards, did you go to Oldtown?” She asked, tugging on his sleeve.

They walked to the room with the painted table, where a bunch of lords and Daemon were present as well as his nephews. He waited for everyone to quiet down before speaking.

“Oldtown is in flames. The Starry Sept is burnt down, every member of house Hightower is dead within Oldtown. I have captured prince Daeron, for now he is our hostage. He is defenseless, he has no one to help him.” Y/n simply said. Daemon had a smile on his lips as he heard the words of his nephew.

Everyone around the table began to whisper, but no one dared to actually speak up against the heir, that is until Princess Rhaenys spoke up. 

“Your grace, when I fled from the dragon pit I could have burnt them but I chose not to. Because that would have been the starting of a war, I would not have it start because of me. But now, Oldtown and the Starry Sept have been burnt, Alicent would not hesitate to come after us and burn us as well.” Rhaenys reasoned. 

Y/n’s lips pulled into a wicked smile. “Why do you think I have Daeron?” The room was silent, all one could hear was the fire cracking.

“Alicent would be too scared to come after us, the only thing she can do is order Aegon around. But, if we have enough allies secured, and we have Daeron as a bargaining chip. She would not dare have Aegon hurt him. Once word reached to her Oldtown has been burnt to ash, she will know who she is dealing with.” The last part felt like spitting fire, the flame within has been caged for too long now he was letting it out.

“If the greens do decide to fight back? What then?” Someone asked. 

“If they do decide to fight back, we still have enough dragons to outnumber them. Along with armies and allies, we can have every green’s head on a spike before the fucking moon turns.” Daemon said, his words made Y/n smile.

“We are Targaryens. If it is me who started this war, I will see it to the end. Descended from conquerors, we do not run from our fight.” 

Rhaenyra looked to her brother and smiled, same with Rhaenys through her eyes said ‘you know the consequences’. Daemon smiled, Jace, Luke, Rhaena and Baela all looked at each other knowing they would win.

Everyone else in the room begins to plot their battle strategies, seeing which allies they have and who has been secured. 

Soon enough, word had reached Alicent Hightower and her father that Oldtown had been burnt down. They say it was a black dragon that was as big as Vhagar that had done it, no one had made it out of the city. 

Alicent already knew it was Y/n, years ago Y/n told her that he knew of her family’s intention, and now she was paying the price for not taking the words seriously. Days later, a raven arrived at the Red Keep telling Alicent that her youngest son Daeron was on Dragonstone being held hostage. 

‘If you want your son back, dethrone Aegon and I will take my place as the rightful heir. I will spare your family, your children will have places in my court and no harm shall come to them. Make your decision quickly. Not much of my patience remains.’ 

That was what the letter wrote, Alicent did not know what to do. Y/n would not put her children to the sword if she surrendered, but Aegon was still on the throne and now he would not back down so easily. So, she merely told Aegon to go and speak with Y/n, bring Aemond if he wished. 

A week later, Aegon showed up with Aemond on both Sunfyre and Vhagar. Y/n had been expecting them, and so Seiphax was behind him. The dragon was now seen as bigger than Vhagar. 

“Brothers. Come to take back my hostage?” Y/n said in an unusual tone of voice.

“Give us back Daeron, and no one would get hurt.” Aegon spoke sternly. 

Y/n let out a heartful laugh before replying. “Hurt me? Have you seen Seiphax? He could destroy you both! But enough about me, you would at least want to see Daeron right?” He gestured with his hand to bring him forward.

They made Daeron kneel as he was brought forward, Aegon and Aemond were stunned to see their brother in chains. “Let him go.”

“And you promise to dethrone yourself, Aegon?” The said male stayed silent. “No, I didn't think so.” 

Meleys and Caraxes landed behind them. “So what will it be?” Aegon and Aemond both unsheathed their swords.

This battle went down in history as the one the bloodiest duels that ever happened during the Targaryen civil war. 

Y/n Targaryen had managed to disarm both Aemond and Aegon before he injured them badly that they could not even move, one of Aemond’s hands had suffered so much damage that it would not stop shaking. When given the opportunity to pick up his sword again, the sword would slip through and his hand could not even lift it. Aegon on the other hand had both of his legs broken so he could not stand, but as Y/n claimed it so that ‘you may never go back on Sunfyre and fly again.’ 

Both of Aemond’s legs had also been slashed and stabbed as well, this was done because Y/n said it was ‘your consequence of following your brother.’ 

Their dragons did not have any easier fate. 

Meleys had managed to injure Sunfyre and rip off one of its wings. 

Caraxes had almost killed Vhagar if it wasn’t for Y/n telling Daemon to stop. 

“It is Queen Visenya’s dragon, let it be. If it dies, it should die on Dragonstone, the place it was hatched.” 

Both Aegon and Aemond had stayed on Dragonstone for a few days before they left for King’s Landing. 

The smallfolk looked up and saw large shadows of multiple dragons; Seiphax, Syrax and Caraxes. Y/n, Rhaenyra and Daemon were back, Y/n had come for his throne. 

The queen stood in front of the gates with Helaena, shielding her from the three that had just landed. Rhaenyra and Daemon had dragged Aegon and Aemond beside them, the queen was horrified to see her sons broken and hurt.

“Dethrone your son Alicent.” Bringing Aegon beside him and pulling him up as he could not stand, Y/n unsheathed a dagger from his belt and put it to the underside of Aegon’s neck. “Or I will do it myself.” 

“Mother…please…” Aegon practically begged and pleaded to his mother that she do as his brother wanted. Alicent could only nod as she blinked back tears.

“Wait…where is Daeron?” She dared to ask. Y/n tilted his head as he sheathed his dagger. 

“I am true to my word unlike you. He is safe on Dragonstone, after I am crowned he will be brought here. He will be properly taken care of.” He handed Aegon over to Rhaenyra as he began to walk inside. 

Pushing open the doors of the throne room, the guards almost attacked him but then stopped as they saw their king in the hands of Rhaenyra not being able to walk, while Aemond was being held by Daemon who had Dark Sister strapped to his belt. 

Walking up the steps to the Iron Throne before he finally sat down, he had got the throne but there was something missing. And he knew what it was.

Going down to Aegon as on top of his brother’s head was still the conqueror’s crown, taking it for himself but his uncle Daemon offered to crown him. Y/n nodded as he knelt down as Daemon put the crown up on top of his nephew’s head.

This was a temporary crowning as the ceremony will be the official one that deems Y/n king of the realm. But, Y/n had a reason he wanted the crown now.

“Bring Otto Hightower to me.” He said to the guards, Daemon glared at them which made them comply, but also because of their scared queen.

Otto was soon brought into the room, looking confused before his expression turned that into a scared one. “Your grace…” Was all he could say.

“Otto, you really are a snake. My father could not see it, but I surely can. Even from a young age I could tell all you wanted was your own blood on the throne. But look here we are, your grandsons barely able to move or even just stand.” Y/n said all with a wide smile.

“You got what you wanted, but why did you burn down Oldtown?! My family had no part in this!” Otto shouted back.

“Right, it wasn’t the Starry Sept that called my family abominations. It was not Oldtown that supported Alicent to do what she did. But, that was all in the past. The real reason?” Everyone waited for his answer.

“History remembers names, not blood. If this war was fought and we still won, it would be Aegon’s name that is remembered, not mine. I needed to do something I could be remembered for when I sit on this throne. I turned Oldtown into a second Harrenhal.” The wicked smile is not leaving his face.

 Before Otto could even reply, Y/n had gestured for Daemon to put on his sword to the Hand’s neck. And with one hand gesture, Daemon slit Otto’s throat. 

“Tell servants to clean up the mess. Take Aegon and Aemond to the maester to get treated, I have other things I must see to.” Was all Y/n said as he left the room.

Daemon and Rhaenyra looked at each other before nodding, they would go back to Dragonstone to prepare for everything else. 

Seven days passed before Y/n Targaryen was officially crowned as the ruler of Westeros and of the Seven Kingdoms as a whole, they found a septon that had remained in King’s Landing to host it. Daemon may or may not have threatened him a bunch of times.

During the coronation, Y/n’s family all stood to the side. His half-siblings on one, while Rhaenyra and Daemon and his nephews stood to the other. 

“Y/n Targaryen, First of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.” 

With that, the conqueror’s crown was placed on his head. Looking to the crowd as he unsheathed Blackfyre. The crowd cheered for him as they saw the rise of their new king. Daemon was now his hand and so was Rhaenyra, it was the only time in Targaryen history that a single king had two hand of the king. 

Aegon and Aemond were given places in court as Masters of Whispers, Helaena became Rhaenyra’s lady-in-waiting, Daeron was with his brothers but he became a personal guard to court. To Y/n, they were still family and in their youth they had been friends at one point. 

Alicent. She was basically on house arrest as she was not allowed to leave the Keep. Her children took care of her as she grew older. 

Y/n never did marry. He refused to have children, and as he was crowned he made it so that his sister would succeed him if he died, and Daemon would be king consort alongside her. Then, Jacereys would take after her. 

Aegon and Aemond never again flew on their dragons nor did they ever pick up a sword, but they knew they were already spared from their brother’s executioner. Same with Daeron as well. All three men knew they were already far from the flames of Seiphax.

The Targaryen civil war that would be known as the dance of the dragons would go down in history, however, the final act to end the war for everyone to remember is that Prince Y/n Targaryen burnt down Oldtown and the Starry Sept beyond repair. But also, he would be remembered for ending the entire Hightower bloodline single-handedly, turning that city into a second Harrenhal. 

His dragon will also be remembered as they lived beyond the king’s years. 

Seiphax; the second Balerion.

Y/n Targaryen would go down in history being remembered as a king. 

His title?

King Y/n ‘two-faced’ Targaryen. First of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.

The unpredictable king. The virgin king. The second conqueror. 

But one thing was for sure.

He mended House Targaryen so they forever stood strong. 

Y/n Targaryen was the true blood of Old Valyria. Just like his ancestors, he was a true Targaryen. 

𝘿𝙖𝙚𝙢𝙤𝙣 𝙏𝙖𝙧𝙜𝙖𝙧𝙮𝙚𝙣 & 𝙣𝙞𝙚𝙘𝙚! 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧/𝙤𝙘

𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘶𝘭𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘯𝘪𝘦𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘢 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘦𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥'𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘴𝘩 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘦, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯?

Warning: targcest, (niece and uncle) 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

one: ✶ two: ✶

It was in the wee mornings on a warm day that Prince Daemon Targaryen, Prince of the City, had been forced to partake in breaking fast with his family.

Consisting of his father Prince Baelon the Brave, his mother Alyssa Targaryen, his elder brother Prince Viserys, and his lady-wife, Aemma Arryn.

For a young prince of merely 16 name days old, Daemons world was small, and only consisted of his family, sword fighting, and Caraxes. His thoughts of marriage and husbandly duties were of no importance to him, and held no precedence in his mind.

Daemon walked the bustling halls of the Red Keep, his head held high as the servants, guards, and common men alike showed respect by bowing slightly to the young boy.

Reaching the dining room, he was welcomed with the smell of warm food, his mother calling out to him and patting the seat next to her.

Daemon quickly situated himself, readying his stomach for the food and quickly pounced on the meat pies across the table, slightly splashing Viserys’ beige tunic.

—

The day seemed to drag on for far to long. It was late into the afternoon that Daemon was made aware that he was now an uncle to two Targaryen babes.

The news had him running to the birthing chambers, where his brother and his wife sat, cooing at the whining twin girls.

Feeling awkward, Daemon stood rigid near the entrance of the large room.

“Brother, come. Would you like to see them” Viserys had hollered. If Daemon didn’t know any better he would have guessed that Viserys himself birthed the babes, he looked even more elated than Aemma did, which was hard to achieve.

Daemon shuffled quietly near the couple, and peered down at the babes. He couldn’t help but poke the cheek of the one in Viserys’ arms.

“Be gentle Daemon” Viserys somewhat scolded him.

Before Daemon could retreat his finger, the babe had grasped it with both her tiny hands, babbling quietly.

When Daemon broke free from her grasp, she started to wail, and wail she did. So he quickly extended his finger to satiate the crying newborn.

Viserys and Aemma let out a shared chuckle, before offering the babe for Daemon to hold.

“What if I drop it” He whispered.

“It is not an ‘it’ brother, her name will be Rhaella” Viserys stated while softly stroking the girls head, “and the youngest will be Rhaenyra”

Daemon reluctantly held the babe awkwardly in his arms, adjusting to fit to the curve of the squirming girl.

Once settled Rhaella quickly found comfort in her uncles arms, and fell asleep, chest slowly falling up and down. Daemon kept his eyes on her, and his gaze never faltered. He wasn’t much for babies and children, but he knew he’d adore his new niece.

Aemma giggled from her position of the bed, “Rhaella seems to be quite fond of her uncle already” she rocked the sleeping Rhaenyra calmly. “Let’s hope young Rhaenyra will feel the same way”

—

“Rhaella, come out!” A man’s voice had echoed in the gardens of the Red Keep, situated behind the throne room.

Daemon was now 1 and 20, while his darling niece was only a mere 5 name days old. She was currently playing with him by hiding in the palace bushes, that littered the gardens of the Red Keep.

“I’m coming to get you…” Daemon said tauntingly, knowing that Rhaella can hear him well thanks to her frenzied giggles, that bounced off the stone walls.

Daemon slowly stalked deeper into the garden, while his eyes followed a girl shaped shadow that darted from bush to bush.

He sighed and stopped in the middle of the grassy area, hands on his hips. “Where is that little girl? When I find her I'm going to gobble her up” he dramatically stated to himself, making sure he’s heard.

Rhaella had wanted to move to the bush to his far right but before she could leave her spot she was caught and lifted into the air.

“I got you now!” Daemon declared, lifting her by her arms and bringing her closer to his chest while he pretend to eat her dramatically like a dragon.

Rhaella’s giggles and laughter could be heard all throughout the halls of the Keep, as she flailed her arms and legs out, trying to escape the dragons grasp. “Not fair uncle” she whined, when Daemon finally settled her on his arms.

He grinned and laughed slightly, brushing parts of Rhaella’s hair away from her face. “Don’t you think your uncle is mighty and clever enough to find you wherever you are?”

Rhaella huffed and flopped into Daemons chest admitting defeat.

Daemon laughed louder as he held onto her tightly, bundling her up in his arms even as she giggled and squirmed.

Guys what are your thoughts on this. I wrote the comment the very first one ,on a tiktok where it was talked about how deanerys was 13-14 when she got pregnant. My second comment was how devastating I find it that she expected to marry her brother who is a lot older than her actually ( I know it's an age gap about 8 years but I'm not so sure). And someone asked why it is devastating since it is tradition. I think I made my point clear in my response and would like to know how you see this? My opinion stands that I think it is really sad that she expected to marry her brother who is also her abuser.

So what are your thoughts , is it wrong to finde it devastating that a childe expected to marry her brother who abuses her just because it is tradition?

"𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝'𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭" -- "𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠, 𝐧𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐞."

{𝗘𝗪𝗔𝗡 𝗠𝗜𝗧𝗖𝗛𝗘𝗟𝗟 as 𝗣𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗖𝗘 𝗔𝗘𝗠𝗢𝗡𝗗 𝗧𝗔𝗥𝗚𝗔𝗥𝗬𝗘𝗡}

😍😍

New update to Dance of Ice and Fire out

I cannot believe a mother would watch her son falling apart because of his child's death and just walk away... Especially when it was her and Cole's fault.

«You are never there»

Alicent failed them as a mother, as a queen and just as a person who must be capable to understand the agony of a human being.

Do not stand

By my grave, and cry -

I'm not there,

I did not die...!

The most tragic thing in the Dance of the dragons is not the death of Lucerys, or the baby, or the bloody end of thousands of people.

It's the doomed fate of the most majestic creatures, whose end is coming due to the stupidity of lower humans who had the audacity to call themselves gods.

"He's not good for yo-"

YES! but have you seen his eyes???

Emilia Clarke as Louisa Clark icons

like or reblog if u save

Emilia Clarke as Louisa Clark icons

like or reblog if u save

emilia clarke as verena icons