kestrelsansjesses

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I don't even know if my Dragon Age friends are still around but uhh do I write One Last Fanfic TM for my Lavellan and Solas

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I never thought I'd be in Solavellan hell again but here we are

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Thinking about if bby Visenya had lived- scarred with dragon scales on her face and back, putting up a defense against the world that is part Daemon, part Rhaenyra. A dragon rider from a young age, but also a little princess, doted on by all her numerous siblings, full and half. Baela and Rhaena's little shadow, doted on by Jace, constantly trying to spar Aegon and Viserys.

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no seriously give me Daemyra prompts I want to write and my ideas are empty

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Revised request: throw Daemyra prompts at me pls

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Okay, someone throw some prompts at me. I’m in the mood to write for Daena ‘the defiant’ Targaryen, Alyssa Targaryen, or Rhaenyra. Shippy stuff, battle stuff, whatever.

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There's nothing like logging onto the internet and discovering 'popular House of the Dragon fanartist also enjoys drawing South Park characters as Nazis.'

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“daena was targaryen to the bone; strong, beautiful, willful.”

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[[idk I'm still tweaking this and working on it but I guess I"ll stick it up here before I put it on A03 anyway enjoy. Thank you all for the encouragement. <3 ]]

His knee was bent, and with that Daemon answered to Rhaenyra again. “I am meant to serve you, until death or the end of our story.” They were flames that were meant to burn together, but somewhere in the long weeks that followed first Visenya’s death and then Lucerys’, their fires had run low, two torches torn from a collective pyre that had all but extinguished. Finally reunited, their bonfire would again roar, and it would be more than a barrow for their collective dead. But first there would need to be reconciliation. 

There was a gap between them now that had not existed before. In the morning, Rhaenyra would begin the flight back to Dragonstone and Daemon would stay at Harrenhal with Caraxes as he readied the army raised in her name. That left the rest of the afternoon and the evening for things that should have been said long ago. 

The room given to Daemon as king (consort) was dismal, damp and filled with half-rotted furniture and fabrics that had seen better days so long ago that they predated even the former king Jaehaerys. “It was worse before,” Daemon offered to her horrified silence. 

“Did you think of me at all, while we were apart?” It was not the question Daemon was expecting- not yet. Whatever strange visions he had seen at Harrenhal, the incoherent prophecies that spilled from his familiar lips, they had led him to a different path, while Rhaenyra was still back at their arguments, at their violence and the way the same flames that bound them together also burnt them. There was no one who knew how to hurt more than the one you loved most. 

There was also little sign of Daemon in the room. His belongings were spare; it was like he was in there only to sleep, and refused to take any further space. The bed sheets were unmade though, and Rhaenyra could see that he slept on the same side of the bed as he did in Dragonstone. She wanted to smile at the thought; she had not left her own designated side, after all. But this was not a situation for smiling. Daemon still hadn’t given her an answer, and the seconds grew long. 

“My time here was strange. There is a witch… She showed me things.” Visions of the future and of the past. Some of the details came out of Daemon, but he held a great deal back and Rhaenyra knew he might never tell her. She tried not to begrudge him for it. “I dreamt of you. Of home.” There was something else that lurked beneath his words, but for once she did not dig. 

The space between them was charged. Their last few encounters, that charge had been negative. Now there was something beneath. Forgiveness, maybe. Love. Lust. No real apology came from Daemon, but in his oath of fealty, he said all that and more. He bent the knee, Rhaenyra reminded herself. From Daemon, that was a pledge eternal and a sign of loyalty, a subtle asking for forgiveness and a reminder of vows said together with each other’s blood on their lips. It was not a surprise when Daemon stepped forward and Rhaenyra felt herself do the same, so that they were as close as they had been in Harrenhal’s ruined open space, where all those men had bowed to her. It had not been appropriate to touch Daemon then, with so many eyes on them. If he had done so, he would have undermined her. A woman who would be Queen could not be soft. She could not be a woman. She had to be a sword. Now though, no one else watched. Not even Daemon’s witch. 

Acts of love and intimacy differed from person to person. When Rhaenyra leaned her forehead against Daemon’s, it felt like home. It had ever been the way he showed his love; a small thing, but one that made him vulnerable. How many times had she seen him do the same to Caraxes, hiding slightly back so that he would not know she witnessed it? It always made her smile, as it did now. 

Their fingers intertwined and found each other without the need to look. There were ways they simply made sense, even as they burned each other. No one but another Targaryen could understand this, the greed to devour the other person, even if it hurt to do so. 

“I have been left to mourn too many without you. Luke, Visenya, and now Rhaenys.” And all those men Rhaenyra didn’t know, the ones who threw their lives away for the dragon queen. 

“No longer. I’ll take this army and march it to King’s Landing, and everyone will know the price they’ve paid for their deaths.” They mourned in very different ways. Daemon liked to be alone, but Rhaenyra needed him here with her. She would not belabor the point any longer though; he could not come back to Dragonstone with her just yet, and they both knew it. 

Finally they broke apart, Daemon’s words no longer whispered in her ear but said out loud. Rhaenyra sat at the edge of the bed while he stood, still restless. He was invigorated with his new purpose, but Rhaenyra simply felt exhausted. Sorrow could only propel a person for so long, and she had yet to bring up the new dragonseeds or anything else… No. She would enjoy being with him again, whatever form it took. 

Eventually, Daemon sat next to her. He was not a man accustomed to such tenderness, but when he cupped her chin and turned it to her, she finally softened. Those same hands were capable of so much violence, as she knew well. “I had a dream. I saw we had a daughter.” Another one. The loss of Visenya still felt too raw. 

“And?” 

He leaned forward again, to whisper in her ear. “We shall have to make her, when the war is won.” 

[kestrelsansjesses]

Should I finish this do I even know how to write fanfic anymore please send help

"His knee was bent, and with that Daemon answered to Rhaenyra again. “I am meant to serve you, until death or the end of our story.” They were flames that were meant to burn together, but somewhere in the long weeks that followed first Visenya’s death and then Lucerys’, their fires had run low, two torches torn from a collective pyre that had all but extinguished. Finally reunited, their bonfire would again roar, and it would be more than a barrow for their collective dead. But first there would need to be reconciliation. 

There was a gap between them now that had not existed before. In the morning, Rhaenyra would begin the flight back to Dragonstone and Daemon would stay at Harrenhal with Caraxes as he readied the army raised in her name. That left the rest of the afternoon and the evening for things that should have been said long ago. 

The room given to Daemon as king (consort) was dismal, damp and filled with half-rotted furniture and fabrics that had seen better days so long ago that they predated even the former king Jaehaerys. “It was worse before,” Daemon offered to her horrified silence. 

“Did you think of me at all, while we were apart?” It was not the question Daemon was expecting- not yet. Whatever strange visions he had seen at Harrenhal, the incoherent prophecies that spilled from his familiar lips, they had led him to a different path, while Rhaenyra was still back at their arguments, at their violence and the way the same flames that bound them together also burnt them. There was no one who knew how to hurt more than the one you loved most. "

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Daenys and her baby Balerion

You can't convince me he wasn't spoiled.

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thinking of claiming Daena Targaryen as my own and giving her a better story sorry George, this is mine now

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god loves you but not enough to save you or whatever ethel cain said

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Condal really was cooking when he said we'd love the Harrenhal shit huh

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“But Alyssa Targaryen was as bawdy a wench as any barmaid in King’s Landing, as she herself was fond of boasting. “I mounted him and took him for a ride,” she declared the morning after the bedding, “and I mean to do the same tonight. I love to ride.””

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The great thing about existing within my own little corner of the fandom is that everything I've seen about the new season of House of the Dragon has been optimistic and excited.