The Rogue Prince - Tumblr Posts

I would just like to take a moment to remind everyone that despite the HOTD writers best efforts, Daemon and Rhaenyra are still completely, catastrophically, in love with each other.

To Leave The Warmest Bed I’ve Ever Known

All those scenes of Daemon and Rhaenyra not being able to sleep without each other inspired me, so here’s a ficlet about our favorite pair of insomniacs. Title is from Tis the Damn Season by Taylor Swift.

Daemon’s bed was cold. Of course it was. Everything in this dammed castle was cold or damp, and most things were both. Even the hearths were near impossible to light, and on the rare occasions he managed to coax a fire from one, it did little to pierce the ever present chill that seemed to have surrounded him since he left Dragonstone. Since he left Rhaenyra. After their fight, he had stormed off on Caraxes without a word to anyone, eager to rally the riverlords to her cause, and sure that he would return in a few weeks, a moon at most, with an army flying her banners and serving as undeniable proof of his loyalty and love for her. The flight to Harrenhal had started to temper his rage, allowing regret to creep in. Perhaps he shouldn’t have left so suddenly. At the very least, should he not have first apologized for his words to his wife? But Daemon had never been one for apologies. Much better to return when he had something to give her, and let that do the talking for him. It had, admittedly, been a mistake not to send ravens, but he had not expected to stay for so long, and he was unsure of what exactly Rhaenyra would want him to say. He had considered sending a short, impersonal missive informing her that he had arrived in the Riverlands, and was preparing to raise an army, but worried about how such a letter might be received. Despite their recent argument, Daemon could not bear the thought of Rhaenyra believing he no longer cared for her. Not sending ravens had seemed practical at the time, but he had come to regret it, and now it was far too late. He could not have his first letter after such a long absence be an accounting of his failures. Any way he looked at it, Daemon knew he had failed. He had spent far longer than he intended in Harrenhal, and all he had managed to do was turn the riverlords against him. Daemon hated failing. He wished, more than anything, to leave this cold, miserable place, and fly home to Rhaenyra. Gods he missed her. Her absence was a wound that only grew deeper with each passing day. He craved her presence. The feel of her skin, the sound of her voice, the fire that burned in her deep violet eyes. She was the other half of his soul, his twin flame, they burned together. Not being by her side was a torture worse than anything Daemon had ever imagined. He could scarcely believe that he had survived ten years without her. The idea of just one was enough to make Daemon want to drive Dark Sister through his chest. During the days he could bury the pain of being without her under the physical exertion of rebuilding the castle, and his general annoyance towards everything around him. But at night there was nothing to save him from his thoughts. If anything, his cold, empty bed only served as a reminder of his missing piece. He glared at it, the physical manifestation of his mistakes, then proceeded to drop the expression with a sigh, crawling between the sheets.

Daemon turned to face the side he always left empty, as though he expected Rhaenyra to appear in his bed in the middle of the night. He couldn’t help it, they had shared a bed for six years, during which they had spent barely ten nights apart. Who could blame him if he still left his wife’s side untouched? He stretched his arm out across the bed, reaching for someone he knew he would not find. He let his hand drop to the mattress with a scoff, irritated with himself. He hoped that Rhaenyra was sleeping better than he was. She would need rest after dealing with her Small Council all day, even more so now that Rhaenys was dead. Daemon worried for her. She was prone to nightmares when she became stressed, usually towards the end of her pregnancies, although it had happened again when they were in Kings Landing to defend Luke’s inheritance. She would wake in the night, shaking, often with tears streaming down her beautiful face. When it had first happened, just before Aegon’s birth, he had woken to find her sitting up, a hand over her mouth as she tried to muffle her sobs. He had taken her into his arms, and held her against his chest until her tears stopped flowing and she stilled. He had not asked what had woken her, the hour was late and Rhaenyra had seemed exhausted. All he had done was hold her as she slept, wondering what could possibly have incited such a reaction in his proud, fierce wife. She had given him his answer the next morning. It was normal, she had insisted, for her worries from the waking world to occasionally follow her into sleep, he needn’t be concerned about her. When he had inquired as to what worries had left her so shaken she had hesitated. Daemon, in an attempt to be comforting, had brought his forehead to hers. Rhaenyra’s hand had dropped to her swollen stomach, and she had admitted, voice shaking, that whenever she drew near to the end of her terms, her childhood fears of the birthing bed would return to haunt her. Daemon had drawn her close, promising that she and the child would be safe, and the next night when he found her tearstained and trembling, he had held her again, and the night after, and after that. By the time she was carrying Viserys, she had only to shift closer to him and whisper his name, and he would open his arms for her and stroke her hair until she drifted off. Although she had never said it, Daemon suspected that until then, she had endured the nightmares alone. He had made a vow to himself, on the second night, that as long he lived, she would never have to suffer through it alone. He prayed that he wasn’t breaking that vow. With a sigh, Daemon pulled himself back to the present. His mind had gone down quite the depressing path tonight, although that was becoming commonplace. Still, he needed sleep. He could not lie here and stew in his regret until then sun came up. He let his weariness crash over him, pulling him down into the depths of what would likely be a restless sleep. He hoped he would dream of her, but he knew he was unlikely to be that lucky. Daemon drifted off, one arm still outstretched, reaching for Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra woke with his name on her lips. “Daemon,” she whispered, hating the way her voice trembled with unshed tears. When he didn’t respond, she tried again, more forcefully.“Daemon,” still, he said nothing. He must be sleeping quite deeply, she thought. She hoped she wouldn’t wake him, he needed sleep just as much as she did. Quietly, she reached across the bed, intending to slip into his arms while he slept, as she had done countless times before. She was met with empty space and cold sheets. She remembered, suddenly. Daemon was at Harrenhal, and had been for some time now. He hadn’t even bothered to send a raven. Rhaenyra got out of bed and threw on a robe. She pulled it tight around herself, as though it would keep away the memories of the nightmare that had dragged her from sleep. It was the same one she’d been having for weeks now; Luke, flying before Vhagar only to be devoured, the scrap of his cloak she had found with Arrax’s wing. Her poor Visenya, scaled and horned and dead. Even her father had come back to haunt her, half his face missing, screaming that he had made a mistake, that she could never be Queen. Rhaenyra shuddered, and walked over to the window overlooking the beach. She felt a sudden surge of longing for Daemon. How many nights had she spent in his arms, head resting against his chest while his heart beat steadily next to her ear? How many hours had he held her, running his hands through her hair and pressing kisses to her head until she was lulled back to sleep? She missed him terribly. She had taken for granted what a comfort it was to have him next to her. When he came back she would appreciate every minute with him. If he came back. Although none of them would say it outright, she knew her Small Council was starting to doubt his loyalty. Logically, Rhaenyra knew she should at least consider the possibility that he had betrayed her. After all, he hadn’t sent a single raven, and they certainly had not parted on good terms. But, for all his faults, Daemon had always been fiercely loyal to her. He was a touch too eager for bloodshed, but he was still willing to defend her against anything. He had proved enough when he took Vaemond Velaryon’s head. Just the thought of him betraying her was more than she could bear. Her husband, the man that she loved, the other half of her soul, turning against her? Rhaenyra shook her head. It will not happen, she thought. Daemon is temperamental, but he will not turn against me and our children. I would rather he be dead. She regretted the thought as soon as it came. As unbearable as the idea of Daemon betraying her was, the idea of a world without him was comparatively worse. A world without Daemon, without his fire, his love for her and their family, a world in which she would never hear his voice again, or be held by him again, or feel his lips on hers. The thought brought fresh tears to her eyes. She blinked them away furiously. He is not dead, nor will he be dying any time soon. He is simply hiding from our disagreement like a petulant child. The last thought forced some of the grief from her mind, but still, the thought of a world in which Daemon no longer lived haunted her. Rhaenyra stalked back to their bed and cast off the robe, before slipping back beneath the heavy blankets. She lay there, until sleep found her, and with it more nightmares. This time, she saw her husband, laying dead on some battlefield, Dark Sister in his hand and Caraxes’s broken body under him. She screamed as she ran towards him, and shook him violently, like she could force life back into him. But he remained still, glassy lilac eyes staring sightlessly up at her. When she woke again, the sun was peaking through her windows, and one of her hands lay stretched out on the bed, reaching for Daemon.

Ok so this may be slightly insane, but I feel like Wildest Dreams could totally be a Daemyra song. Like in the aftermath of Daemon’s death and even just while he’s in the Riverlands and Rhaenyra thinks he betrayed her. Honestly it could probably work for their ten year seperation to.

He's so tall, and handsome as hell

He's so bad, but he does it so well

Need I explain this one?

Say you'll remember me

Standing in a nice dress

Staring at the sunset, babe

Red lips and rosy cheeks

Say you'll see me again

Even if it's just in your wildest dreams

This feels like it what I imagine the vibe was when Daemon was leaving for the Riverlands to go find Aemond, especially since it seems like Daemon knows he'll die at Harrenhal. I could imagine this being Rhaenyra's thoughts while he's leaving, but I honestly like it better as Daemon's, cause then it can be leaving, knowing he likely won't return, wanting to know that the love of his life will remember him when he's gone. It also kinda feels like Rhaenyra during their ten year seperation.

And his voice is a familiar sound

Again, need I explain this?

And when we've had our very last kiss

My last request is

This can also apply to Daemon leaving for the Riverlands and Rhaenyra during the ten years. I think if they had been given a chance to say proper goodbyes after her wedding, it could have looked something like this.

You'll see me in hindsight

Tangled up with you all night

Burning it down

Someday when you leave me

I bet these memories

Follow you around

This is 100% Rhaenyra when she thinks Daemon is cheating on her with Nettles.

Ok thats all I have for now. Let me know if there's any lines you think I missed, or if there are other songs you'd like me to do this for.

This love is good This love is bad This love a life back from the dead

This Love//Taylor Swift

When a satirical text post understands Daemon better than most of the fandom, the showrunnerd, and the writers. (Credit to @noctis-tempestus)

I hope in season 3, we get a scene of Daemyra braiding each others’ hair before the sacking of King’s Landing

YES!!!!!!

Rhaenyra will be horrified by how much Daemon has neglected his hair in Harrenhal. Daemon is just happy he finally gets to touch her hair. They probably won’t do anything too complicated since hair is usually handled by maids, but I think they’re both capable of doing some simple hairstyles. I would love to see the return of Daemon’s war braids from the Stepstones, and Rhaenyra will definitely want something Visenya-like. Bonus points if they match each other.

I have a feeling they’re saving the return of Rhaenyra’s necklace from Daemon to after he dies. I know I’ll be heartbroken whenever she finds/wears the necklace again 💔

oh…

Rhaenyra getting a raven with news of Daemon’s death and opening a long forgotten drawer with the necklace inside. Rhaenyra holding on to the last piece of her husband while she cries. Rhaenyra wearing it when she faces Sunfyre for the last time, and it being the only thing that survives since Valyrian Steel doesn’t melt. Aegon finding it after and holding on to that last piece of his parents.

oh…

Guys I miss Daemyra

Am I hallucinating or is that the same dress? And if it is the same dress, what do we think it means?

The Rogue Prince ⚔️

Rhaenyra • Alicent • Daemon • Aemond • Complete

Matt Smith: Two Face

Imagine filming a fairly violent scene with Matt Smith for House of the Dragon, what happens when you have trouble distinguishing kind-hearted Matt from cruel Daemon:

The scene wasn't supposed to be taking this long, it was meant to be quick, but the director has us repeating it a multitude of times. Something about it not being as good as it could be. I, honestly, couldn't care less how good it was as long as it was over.

My character, though not the most important, plays a role in how Daemon manages to steal the dragon egg and escape to Dragonstone. I was cast as Rhaenyra's younger sister, Seraena, who had quite the different relationship with her uncle. Where Rhaenyra saw freedom and future my character saw terror.

Daemon systematically terrorized Seraena as he viewed her to be unworthy of the Targaryen legacy, unworthy to be the rider of the vicious Cannibal.

Daemon would inflict pain upon her when the option was available, mentally terrorizing her even more-so. These abusive interactions were kept a secret from the rest of the family though, as she was not in the favor of her father or sister; she was alone.

I've been an actress for many years, and oftentimes get stuck in the mindset of my characters, but nothing as severe as with Seraena. I would only notice minor changes, usually just in my vocabulary and way of speaking, but I've become so engrained in this character that it's becoming harder for me to distinguish other actors from their characters. 

The effects are minimal with most others, but with Matt... His character is so cruel and violent that I just can't help it. If Matt raises his hand or makes any quick movements, I can't stop myself from flinching away, and I know he's noticed it as well. The concerned looks, the way his eyes linger when I step away from him, how I suddenly have nothing to say when he joins my conversation.

I try to work through this, write about it, acknowledge how what I'm doing isn't healthy, that I know Matt is a really sweet person in reality; but whenever I see him, I can't help this urge of wanting to turn and run away. How could he have such a sweet expression on his face one second, and then an empty glare the next?

_______

Fingers roughly grasp the wig upon my head, I can tell he's trying to be gentle, but he still has to make the interaction seem realistic.

He had asked me beforehand if I was alright with the physical contact the scene required, I had nodded a 'yes' even though the nausea reminded me constantly how I had wanted to say no.

The scene we were filming has Daemon battering me as a way to gain information pertaining to the dragon egg for Viserys' unborn child. It wasn't the most violent scene to have occurred between our characters, but I would say it was the most emotionally charged. 

Threats of violence slithering from Matt's lips far too smoothly for my mind to distinguish. His hand gripping my neck as his fingers laced through my hair and pulled my head back. He was right behind me, body scarily close as I was sandwiched between him the the stone wall of the castle. I can't remember what I was doing, body running on autopilot; I spoke, but I can't remember if they were my lines or not.

There was a tremor spiraling through my body, settling in my hands as they shakily grasped the hand that strangled my neck. Was I supposed to do that? Would they make me reshoot this scene? 

"Cut!" That resounding word echoes through my mind, lights being turned back on to illuminate the area. The many faces of the other cast members as well as the film crew entered my vision. It was a scene, it was a scene. 

The hands were removed as I turned to look at Matt, that cruel emptiness was gone, replaced by his calm face, eyes looking at me with worry.

"Hey, are you alright?" I couldn't respond, as I had already turned away and began to walk hurriedly towards the bathrooms. My heart felt uneasy, as though the blood being pumped wasn't enough, I felt like I was dying.

I slammed the door shut, leaning forward against the sink as I glared into the mirror.

'You're not her, you're not Seraena, you're Y/N L/N. He's not Daemon, he's Matt! He has never hurt you, this is all for a show.' 

I raise my hand up, touching my neck gently, as though the skin would tear at the slightest contact. The shaking of my hand bringing up an anger I was unsure how to handle. I couldn't contain it, my hands curling around my neck as I glare at my reflection.

My fingers dig into my skin as I drag them down, relishing in the discomfort I experience, but my hands still shake. I hit my wrists against the sink, ignoring the shooting pain as they still shake. Resorting to biting my hand, not letting go until I taste blood.

When I release, I let out an angered yell as the shaking continues. I place one hand against the sink and hit it repeatedly with the other, eliciting a crushing sensation. 

I had no intentions of stopping, but soon realize that my actions are being hindered. Two hands holding my own with a firm grip, halting their violent actions. I look in the mirror and see none other than Matt stood behind me, concern emanating heavily from him. He is speaking to me, I know this because his lips are moving, but what is he saying? What words does he think will help me?

I can't help the torture I'm experiencing, the tears building within my eyes as the feeling in my legs disappears; I would've collapsed had Matt not been there. My sobs were awful, the pain and confusion filling my mind as I was being held and comforted by a man that I could not distinguish.

His arms were strong as they wrapped around my torso, though they were soft, steady. He had lowered us down to the ground gently, cradling me to his chest as we sat on the bathroom floor. His whispers were calming, though I could not tell what was said. 

Was this man the devil? Was he who I feared yet longed for, the man that could free me from deception? Or am I all that I should fear? Do I make my prison with the words I learn, she who lives within porcelain walls that sees enemies in her own reflection?

I’m back, and I finally was able to finish this for a dtiyas challenge on Instagram for fkadaenerys! This was pretty fun to draw, and I haven’t participated in a dtiyas in about a hot minute, so kudos to that! It came out pretty good, still not happy with the hair and skin tones all that much, but I’m pretty satisfied for the most part! I’m not really sure what I’m going to do next, but it’s either between finishing up a piece of of star wars fanart or maybe even working on some fanart for some of the fanfics that I have read in the past year! (I’m really excited for that)

Queen Alicent Hightower

«Do keep trying, sir Laenor, soon or late, you may get one who looks like you.»

“-The dragon doesn’t become sick, Baela. Your mother’s illness has far happier a cause. Both you and your sister will know it after you are wed.

Baela looked at her uncle as if he was telling her a second pair of arms would sprout from her torso. Even Rhaena seemed to mislike his words and Aegon and Viserys were as confused as their sisters.”

————— The Blacks & the greens by Sweetestpopcorn

Daemon will soon know not to mess with his children or they will steal away their mama XD

Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen (16)

THE PRINCESS OF DRAGONSTONE

Princess Alyssa Targaryen

Prince Baelon Targaryen

The Prince of Dragonstone, at the age of 44, just before his death.

Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen (16)

THE PRINCESS OF DRAGONSTONE

TEAM BLACK ICONS - 2.01

Like or reblog if you save any icons<3

screencaps by @neverscreens 🤍

🗡🗡🗡𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔅𝔞𝔱𝔱𝔩𝔢 𝔄𝔟𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔊𝔬𝔡𝔰𝔢𝔶𝔢🗡🗡🗡

CD: ISAACS.VOID @tiktok