#⠀ ⠀ ☆ ⠀ ⠀interactions⠀ ⠀ ╱ ⠀ bigdaddydaemon.

[seasdragon]

@bigdaddydaemon asked: i have you.

Laena   tilted   her   head,   her   gaze   sharp   and   unyielding   as   she   regarded   Daemon.   The   words   lingered   in   the   air   between   them,   a   quiet   declaration   that   demanded   attention.   A   faint   smile   curved   her   lips,   though   it   did   little   to   soften   the   intensity   of   her   expression.   "Do   you   now?"   she   asked,   her   voice   laced   with   equal   parts   curiosity   and   challenge.

She   stepped   closer,   the   soft   rustle   of   her   skirts   filling   the   silence.   "And   what   does   that   mean   to   you?   So   far,   I   see   no   wedding   being   offered."   Ever   so   bold,   the   woman's   voice   is   laced   with   a   challenge   in   that   moment.   Laena   had   been   as   such   since   they   danced   at   Rhaenyra's   wedding   after   all.   Bold   and   forward.   One   had   to   be,   to   be   a   match   for   a   man   like   Daemon.

Her   eyes,   bright   as   the   sun   on   a   summer   sea,   searched   his   face   for   an   answer,   her   own   emotions   carefully   veiled.   "I   am   not   so   easily   held,   my   Prince.   I   am   as   free   as   the   sea   and   the   fire   in   my   veins.   Could   you   handle   that?"   The   smile   deepened,   playful   now,   but   her   tone   remained   firm.   "You   may   have   me,   for   now,   but   if   you   wish   to   keep   me,   you'll   have   to   do   far   more   than   claim   it."

[snowfyres]

The   Red   Keep   held   its   breath.   Whispers   slithered   through   the   halls   like   smoke,   clinging   to   stone   and   shadow.   Viserys   sat   upon   the   throne   not   of   swords,   but   of   weariness.   The   fire   in   his   belly   had   long   cooled,   but   now   it   sparked   again—not   with   passion,   but   with   fury.

He   had   dismissed   the   court,   sent   Alicent   away   with   a   flick   of   his   fingers,   and   ordered   the   doors   closed   behind   his   brother.   Daemon   entered   with   that   same   careless   gait,   head   tilted   slightly,   lips   curved   in   the   beginnings   of   a   smirk.   Viserys   watched   him,   that   rogue   prince,   blood   of   his   blood,   and   yet   a   stranger   more   often   than   not.

“You   disgrace   me,”   Viserys   said,   voice   low   and   trembling—not   with   weakness,   but   the   strain   of   betrayal.   “You   disgrace   her.   You   took   her   to   a   brothel,”   Viserys   continued,   rising   slowly   from   the   throne.   “My   daughter.   The   realm's   heir.   Did   you   think   I   would   not   hear?   Did   you   think   I   would   not   know?” @bigdaddydaemon ft. viserys i.

He   stepped   down   from   the   dais,   each   footfall   echoing.   “I   have   tolerated   much   from   you.   Your   jests.   Your   flights   of   fancy.   Your   wars.   But   this…”   He   stopped,   face   inches   from   Daemon’s.   “Tell   me,   brother.   Was   this   your   way   of   forcing   my   hand?   Of   making   me   give   her   to   you?”

Viserys   searched   Daemon’s   eyes,   looking   for   shame,   for   defiance—for   anything.   “I   always   wondered   if   that   was   your   aim,”   he   said   more   quietly.   “Even   when   she   was   a   girl   chasing   your   heels   through   the   court   like   a   shadow.   You   fed   her   fire.   She   shares   it   with   you.”   And   despite   what   he   thinks,   if   their   family   tradition   dictates   this   marriage   would   not   be   a   bad   thing,   it   is   a   father's   concern   for   a   daughter   that   stops   him.   "I   am   not   speaking   as   a   king   now,   Daemon.   I   am   speaking   as   your   brother,   and   as   a   father.   I   was   told   she   was   left   there.   .   .alone.   Why?"

[gevierina]

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍   𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐃   𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇   𝐇𝐄𝐑   𝐑𝐈𝐁𝐒 like a black rose, petals curling inward with each breath Rhaenyra dared to take. A tremor unfurling low in her belly, soft at first, then tightening with teeth, as she staggered beneath its flourish, a flower bending against frost. Too soon. ( Far too soon. ) Her breath broke apart like glass tumbling through her throat, and she tasted salt, copper, a memory of blood yet to be shed; her skin went cold, then fevered, and behind her breast, the heart of a mother and a monarch wailed in silence. She could not tell whether she was standing or sinking; her vision tunneling as the chamber twisted: stone became smoke, torches bled in open wounds. The Maester’s words flitted past like birds lost in a storm. She was adrift, alone, beneath a red sun that never rose. It was too soon; the moon’s turn had not come. ( The babe should not yet be stirring. ) But her body had been commanded by grief, ripped open by sorrow and crownless rage. The throne had killed her father, and now it reached its claws into her womb. Her hand flew to her stomach, fingers trembling as if she could press time shut, as if its pressure could seal the gates of birth before the tide tore them open, though it had already turned. Her spine curled against the invisible talons gnawing at her from within, and still she would not scream. A queen did not scream. ( A dragon did not weep. ) 

A metallic taste coated her tongue. Iron. War. Sacrifice. She was a chalice tipped, already spilling. “ Not yet, “ she breathed, her voice a threadbare prayer unraveled from lips.  “ Please, gods. Not yet. “ But the gods were silent. Or perhaps they were watching. Perhaps they marveled at the spectacle of her ruin: the dragon queen torn asunder by death and life in the same breath; her skin luminous with sweat, her belly tight with suffering, crown invisible but heavy nonetheless. Another wave of pain dragged her under; her thighs slick with blood as shallow breath tore ragged from her lips. A whimper, almost — humiliating in its frailty. She was drowning in herself. In the salt of her sweat, in the swell of her grief, in the unbearable knowing that the child within her was too early, too small, too unready for the world of men and dragons. And in spite of it, her womb did not care; it wanted this birth. ( It demanded it. ) She wanted her mother; she wanted her father. She wanted time.

a prelude for a tale with @bigdaddydaemon

[dracodelight]

Rhaenyra’s   fingers   trembled   as   they   gripped   the   carved   arms   of   her   throne,   the   faint   hum   of   the   Black   Council   fading   into   the   distant   roar   of   her   own   thoughts.   He’s   dead,   he’s   dead,   the   words   had   haunted   her   since   the   bloody   battle   at   the   God’s   Eye,   where   dragons   fell   like   stars   from   the   heavens.   Daemon’s   absence   had   hollowed   her   in   a   way   she   didn’t   dare   voice.

But   now—now,   he   stood   at   the   threshold   of   the   hall.   She   had   clung   to   Aegon   the   Younger's   arm   as   if   her   grip   could   protect   the   last   precious   thing   in   her   life   but   there   he   is;   Daemon.   Even   the   Gods   do   not   want   him   like   she   does.

He   was   no   ghost,   though   he   looked   a   shadow   of   the   man   she   remembered.   His   silver   hair   was   disheveled,   his   black   armor   scorched   and   dented.   For   a   moment,   Rhaenyra   forgot   how   to   breathe.   The   fire   that   surged   through   her   veins   was   neither   anger   nor   relief   but   something   rawer,   fiercer.

Her   lips   parted,   yet   no   words   came—what   could   she   say   to   a   man   who   had   already   defied   death   itself?   “Daemon,”   she   finally   whispered,   her   voice   cracking   like   thin   ice.   The   hall   seemed   to   vanish,   the   whispers   of   her   council   drowned   by   the   rush   of   her   heartbeat.

And   she   was   now   next   to   him,   forgotten   the   thoughts   of   a   council   and   propierty   as   she   leans   into   the   touch   of   his   forehead   and   found   him   breathing,   and   real.   "They   thought   you   dead." @bigdaddydaemon

[zokladraconis]

@bigdaddydaemon 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋

𝕿𝖍𝖊   𝕭𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉   𝖂𝖞𝖗𝖒,   𝖕𝖆𝖈𝖊𝖉   𝖍𝖎𝖘   𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖘𝖎𝖛𝖊   𝖙𝖆𝖑𝖔𝖓𝖘   𝖈𝖆𝖗𝖛𝖎𝖓𝖌   𝖉𝖊𝖊𝖕   𝖋𝖚𝖗𝖗𝖔𝖜𝖘   𝖎𝖓   𝖙𝖍𝖊   𝖌𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉.   His   crimson   scales   shimmered   under   the   dim   light,   the   length   of   his   serpentine   neck   coiled   and   uncoiled   in   frustration.   His   golden   eyes,   slitted   and   narrow,   found   his   rider,   standing   near.   The   man   who   commanded   him   with   ease,   who   soared   with   him   through   the   skies,   had   kept   him   grounded   for   far   too   long.   A   low   rumble   built   in   the   dragon’s   chest,   the   sound   vibrating   through   the   air   like   distant   thunder.

━━His   head   dipping   low   to   nuzzle   Daemon   as   he   often   did.   But   this   time,   the   gesture   held   a   different   weight,   the   force   behind   it   unmistakably   harder,   almost   a   warning.   His   snout   pressed   firmly   against   Daemon’s   chest,   a   hot   puff   of   air   escaping   his   flared   nostrils   as   he   exhaled   in   frustration.   The   dragon’s   eyes   bore   into   his,   communicating   a   clear   message:   Never   again.   He   does   not   enjoy   being   in   the   ground   for   far   too   long.

With   a   sharp   shake   of   his   neck,   the   Blood   Wyrm   pulled   back,   lifting   his   head   high.   His   wings   twitched   restlessly,   eager   to   spread   wide   and   take   to   the   skies   once   more.   The   dragon   let   out   a   snort,   steam   rising   from   his   nostrils,   his   gaze   never   leaving   his   rider’s.   

[moriperzys]

𝐟𝐨𝐫   𝐫𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐚   𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬   𝐰𝐚𝐬   𝐚𝐧   𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭.   𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬   𝐢𝐧   𝐭𝐡𝐞   𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬   𝐨𝐟   𝐭𝐡𝐞   𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞   𝐭𝐨   𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰   𝐭𝐡𝐞   𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐥   𝐨𝐟   𝐭𝐡𝐞   𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧.   he   looks   poorly   treated,   likely   due   to   the   folk   around   and   the   years   on   his   own,   but   yet,   when   rhaena   had   taken   him   as   her   own,   claiming   him,   the   dragon   allowed   her   to   ride   once   around   the   vale,   and   the   next   time,   toward   dragonstone,   when   she   told   the   dragon   to   go   where   the   others   are   and   he   seem   to   read   her   mind.   she   is   surprised   at   the   lack   of   dragonkeepers   around,   other   than   the   presence   of   her   father   on   the   caves.   @bigdaddydaemon

"father."   and   rhaena   knows   she   looks   wild   and   full   of   dirt   and   leaves   but   she   has   never   been   prouder.   even   if   she   still   holds   an   egg   on   her   bag,   she   had   claimed   a   dragon,   although   one   that   needed   care   to   regain   strength.   "before   you   scold   me.   .   .aegon   and   viserys   are   both   leaving   for   pentos   safely.   lady   arryn   had   lied   to   us,   hid   the   presence   of   a   dragon   in   the   vale."   she   looks   back   and   forth   toward   the   dragon   and   then   her   father   as   she   regained   her   breath.

  "sheepstealer   they   call   him."   she   does   not   like   the   name   though.   so   perhaps   she   will   name   him   something   else.   but   there   is   a   frown   upon   her   as   she   considers   her   actions.   "are   you   upset?"

[vadarys]

@bigdaddydaemon asked: A good swordsman is more important than a good sword.

"But   a   good   sword   also   compliments   a   swordsman."   Eyes   look   down   upon   Dark   Sister's   by   his   stepdad's   hip   and   then   look   back   upward.   It   is   one   of   the   best   weapons   one   can   see   and   consider   of   their   legacy   as   Valyrians   and   the   prince   holds   it   as   his   own   for   years   now.   "How   does   it   feel  ?"  

He   had   never   dared   to   touch   the   sword   out   of   respect   but   he   is   curious,   made   for   Visenya   herself,   he   is   certain   it   does   not   weight   as   much   as   a   man's   sword   and   perhaps   it   feels   lighter   and   easier   to   manage   during   battle. Jacaerys   looks   at   his   own   hand,   a   gift   from   Corlys   but   yet,   the   sword   does   not   feel   right   on   his   hilt.   "I   am   prince   and   heir.   I   deserves   to   have   Valyrian   steel   in   my   hand   as   I   reclaim   mother's   strong,   and   my   birthright."   

[northsborn]

The   sea   wind   on   Dragonstone   tasted   of   salt   and   fire.   Sara   Snow   could   feel   it   cling   to   her   hair,   coiling   it   about   her   cheeks   as   though   the   island   itself   was   trying   to   keep   her   unkempt,   uncertain,   out   of   place.   She   stood   still   in   the   corridor   outside   the   war   room,   where   Prince   Daemon   had   dismissed   the   guards   with   a   glance   as   sharp   as   any   blade.

Jace   had   barely   let   the   words   settle—“The   North   stands   with   us,   and   I’ve   taken   a   wife”—before   the   hall   had   erupted   in   a   storm   of   council   murmurs   and   Daemon’s   piercing   silence.   Now,   that   silence   loomed   between   them   like   a   drawn   sword. @bigdaddydaemon

Sara   straightened,   refusing   to   be   cowed.   “I’m   here   for   Jace,”   she   answered.   “And   for   the   North.”   Grey   eyes,   those   so   alike   of   those   of   her   house   pierce   through   violet   ones,   with   her   direwolf   by   her   side.   He   too   hated   the   fire   and   the   odd   place   but   this   would   be   their   new   home,   would   it   not.   "My   brother   made   a   promise   to   the   Prince   and   The   Winter   Wolves   will   respond   kinder   to.   .   .Dragonstone   to   a   familiar   face."   And   they   are   old   men   who   are   wary   of   war   and   seeing   a   Stark,   bastard   or   not   ,   might   stir   them   in   the   right   way.

Sara   met   his   gaze.   Her   heart   thundered,   but   her   voice   stayed   calm.   “And   before   ill   thoughts   or   words   reach   his   Grace.   .   .I   did   not   seduced   the   Prince.   Nor   bedded   him."   Not   at   first.   Not   without   the   whispers   before   the   Weirwood   tree   and   her   Gods,   accepting   them   as   one.   But   she   been   told   the   King   Consort   is   not   a   man   who   believes   in   Gods.   "I   know   what   was   broken   with   Jace   marrying   me."

[withguilt]

she was quite literally a fish out of water for a brief moment there. he had saved her – trapped in a net set out by sailors, hoisted onto their ship. nearly a prisoner to mankind. she ways lucky, whether by chance or by will of the gods, a winged creature in the sky with a rider had been circling overhead. the man with silver hair saved her from monsters. and in her moments of fear where a tail fin had been replaced by a pair of legs she was unused to, she could only stare with wide eyes as one man after another had fallen an ill fate. with nothing to call her own but a stolen tunic from the dead, she chose to join the one now to be known as her hero.

she's been holed up in his room for days now. a woman has not yet spoken, who stumbles every time she walks. but one thing remains: the genuine joy that spreads across the mermaid's face whenever he reenters the room. (usually it means he's brought her food, or perhaps something new to wear, or – she rather likes it when he talks just to talk, even if she lacks the words to respond.)

silent footfalls pad across the marble floor, she's excited and she scurries over to him, stopping but a foot from him. (and yet still managing to bump into him clumsily during the stop.) when he's gone for hours, she grows bored. but he's here now and that's all that matters as she grins up to him. waiting silently – she hopes there is food involved.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ@bigdaddydaemon

[d0wager]

@bigdaddydaemon asked: “ you’re doing so good for me. “

Even   with   encouraging   words,   Alicent   often   feeels   sinful   when   she   feels   like   this.   Her   body   rises   with   heavy   breath   as   his   hands   had   been   replaced   by   that   oddly   satisfying   feeling   of   having   him   inside   her.   How   strange   it   feels,   and   how   he   fits,   sliding   with   such   ease   that   it   should   be   shameful.   Septas   said   plenty   of   things   to   young   girls   and   so   far,   none   of   them   were   true.   Even   more   things   were   said   of   Daemon   Targaryen   but   so   far,   he   had   always   been   so   attentive   to   her   pleasure   before   his   own   that   that   first   night   in   bed   had   been   mostly   a   lesson   in   her   pleasure,   and   until   she   had   not   come   against   his   mouth,   his   fingers,   he   had   not   consumated   the   marriage.  

Eyes   struggle   to   remain   open,   eyes   drifting   toward   where   their   bodies   meet   and   then   back   to   him.   It   was   the   first   time   she   straddle   him,   a   joke   about   being   a   dragonrider   dying   at   her   throat   through   her   moans,   which   she   tries   to   stifle   as   she   bites   her   lip.   Hands   leave   prints   on   his   chest,   exploring   the   scarring   she   finds   as   she   seeks   support   and   leans   forward,   a   gentle   new   angle   as   her   hips   shift   forward   to   take   him,   over   and   over   and   her   hair   falling,   sticky   against   the   sweat   over   her   breast.

  "I'm   tired."   She   mumbles   back   in   turn,   slowing   down   despite   her   need   to   keep   going.   "How   do   women   do   this?"   She   jest   in   turn   but   keeps   going   nonetheless,   simply   moving   one   of   his   hands   toward   her   waist,   so   he   could   help   her,   exasperated   at   best   that   she   was   so   close   and   yet,   her   body   was   giving   up   on   her.

[seasdragon]

@bigdaddydaemon asked: don't throw my words back at me.

Laena’s   lips   curved   into   a   faint   smile,   one   that   didn’t   quite   reach   her   eyes.   She   stood   across   from   Daemon,   her   arms   crossed   loosely,   her   silk   gown   whispering   against   the   floor   as   she   shifted   her   weight.   Laena   tilted   her   head,   studying   him,   her   amusement   barely   concealed.   “And   why   not?”   she   asked,   her   tone   light,   teasing   even,   though   her   eyes   burned   with   defiance.   “They’re   the   only   weapon   you   left   me   with.”

She   uncrossed   her   arms   and   raised   her   chin,   her   expression   softening,   though   her   words   did   not.   “You   spoke   them   as   if   they   were   unshakable   truths,   Daemon,”   she   said,   her   voice   quieter   now   but   no   less   firm.   “Was   I   not   meant   to   remember   them?   Or   does   it   sting   because   I   understood   them   better   than   you   did?”   “You’re   a   dragon,”   she   said   finally,   stepping   closer   to   him   now,   her   voice   dropping   to   a   murmur   that   was   almost   tender.   “But   so   am   I.   And   you   don’t   get   to   decide   when   my   fire   burns.”   Her   words   are   not   as   sharp   as   they   are   intended   to,   she   cannot   bring   herself   to   make   them   hurt   because   of   how   much   she   loves   him.

She   chose   him   after   all,   she   knew   what   he   brought   with   him,   all   the   good   and   the   bad   and   the   unspoken.   "I   always   knew   your   true   affections   did   not   rest   with   me.   All   I   ask   is   that   you   do   not   take   me   for   blind."   She   said,   finally   reaching   for   his   hand   and   sighing.   "I   ask   for   the   truth.   Whatever   that   might   be."

[snowfyres]

@bigdaddydaemon asked: ❝ a man is never so vulnerable in battle as when he flees. a running man is like a wounded animal to a soldier. it gets his bloodlust up. ❞ (viserys)

"If   you   want   me   to   say   a   man   is   coward   for   running   away   and   trying   to   preserve   their   life,   I   will   not   say   so,   brother."   They   can   agree   in   many   things   as   they   disagree   on   others.   His   brother   has   a   thrist   for   war   that   he   does   not   share   or   enjoys   but   it's   one   of   the   driving   forces   that   make   Daemon,   well,   Daemon.   Viserys   is   more   a   man   of   peace,   perhaps   to   a   fault.   "Not   even   Aegon   The   Conqueror   killed   those   who   tried   to   flee   or   desert.   He   gave   them   places   in   his   court   and   build   trust.   Trust   that   is   now   part   of   our   realm,   Daemon.   You   should   best   remember   that."  

Viserys   speaks,   goblet   of   wine   raised   toward   his   lips   in   turn   and   looking   at   the   rogue   prince   with   amusement.   He   always   brings   the   oddest   tales   when   he   returns   from   battle.   Each   time   he   returns,   he   feels   even   more   distance,   somehow,   like   walls   are   being   built   up.   "You   have   talked   all   day   of   war   but   never   once   spoke   about   wanting   to   meet   my   children.   You   missed   the   birth   of   Aemond   and   Helaena."  

At   times   he   speaks   toward   his   brother   like   he   recalls   his   father   talking   to   him.   He   had   been   so   young   then,   he   is   sure   Daemon   remembers   little,   but   Viserys   had   stepped   as   a   parental   figure   long   before   he   had   children   of   his   own.   "Or   perhaps   you   are   only   the   dotting   uncle   to   Rhaenyra?"

[dracodelight]

Rhaenyra   moved   swiftly   through   the   dimly   lit   tunnels   of   the   Red   Keep,   her   steps   echoing   softly   against   the   stone   walls.   These   secret   passages,   once   shown   to   her   by   Daemon,   were   now   her   covert   paths   to   freedom   and   adventure.   Tonight,   they   led   her   to   a   clandestine   meeting,   far   from   the   prying   eyes   of   the   court   and   her   ever-watchful   septas.   She   emerged   into   a   small   courtyard,   the   moon   casting   silver   light   across   the   cobblestones.   Daemon   stood   there,   a   figure   cut   from   shadows   and   starlight.   His   dragon,   Caraxes,   slumbered   in   the   distance,   a   silent   guardian   of   their   meeting,   surely   going   to   meet   Syrax.  

Rhaenyra   smirked,   approaching   him   with   a   confidence   that   belied   her   youth.   "I   had   to   ensure   I   wasn’t   followed,   I   hope   I   did   not   kept   you   waiting."   Rhaenyra's   heart   quickened,   not   with   fear,   but   with   excitement.   This   was   a   world   apart   from   the   delicate   embroideries   and   fine   tapestries   she   was   accustomed   to.   Here,   she   could   be   more   than   a   princess;   she   could   be   a   warrior.   "You   promised   me   a   sword." @bigdaddydaemon

[shedreamfyre]

@bigdaddydaemon 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖈𝖆𝖑𝖑💜

"It   has   eyes…though   I   don't   believe   it   can   see."   No   one   does,   but   her   uncle   is   not   a   man   for   prophecies   isn't   he?   Her   father   was,   always   speaking   of   them   and   mysteries   beyond   the   wall   and   Valyria   but   all   she   knows   of   her   uncle   is   that   he   is   a   man   of   swords   and   actions.   So   perhaps   he   will   understand   her   predicament   as   she   arrives   at   Dragonstone   atop   of   Dreamfyre,   holding   a   sleeping   Jaehaera   in   her   arms,   fleeing   deep   into   the   night   and   hoping   no   one   will   notice.   Her   heart   pounded   with   a   mix   of   relief   and   anxiety.  

She   had   finally   reached   the   stronghold.   "I   am   not   here   for   my   own   safety   but   Jaehaera,   Uncle."   Would   he   soften   to   her   if   she   calls   him   such   a   thing?   Does   it   really   matter   when   the   two   sides   of   the   family   had   such   bad   blood?   "I   already   lost   my   boy,   and   I   feel   she   will   be   taken   too   if   she   remains   there.   Give   her   leave,   a   sanctuary.   I   will   return   to   the   Keep   if   I   must   but   she   will   be   safer   here."   Now   that   Aemond   is   regent   she   is   not   sure   what   he   would   do.   Would   he   be   able   to   hurt   her   daughter?  

Surely   not,   for   she   is   a   daughter   and   to   them,   daughters   don't   count   as   heirs.   But   Aegon   is   king   and   he   might   change   his   mind   and   she   feels   too   much   noise   in   her   head,   lilac   eyes   stare   into   similar   ones   as   she   approaches,   her   voice   desperate   but   quiet.   "Please.   Take   her   away.   Anywhere.   I   cannot   bare   lose   her   too."

[shemisery]

@bigdaddydaemon ♥️ 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖈𝖆𝖑𝖑.

"I   didn't   come   into   your   service   wanting   gold.   Or   power.   Or   station.   I   came   to   you   to   be   liberated."   As   she   always   did.   Times   changed   and   so   did   they   but   the   one   true   constant   in   her   life   had   always   been   Daemon,   memories   of   her   paramour   and   the   reminder   of   a   life   lost,   what   could've   been   when   Dragonstone   had   been   her   home   and   she   held   a   dragon   egg   in   her   hands.   "I   do   not   trust   many   with   ease,   Daemon,   less   alone   men.   I   trust   you.   And   I   trust   that   you   have   the   Queen's   best   interest   at   heart."

  It   was   just   difficult   to   see   that   heart   through   grief   perhaps.   Mysaria   always   thought   that   desire   for   approval   for   his   brother   was   manifesting   in   his   newfound   grief,   and   the   lost   of   a   son,   biological   or   otherwise.   "The   people   of   King's   Landing   always   called   you   Prince   of   the   City   not   because   of   your   title   but   because   you   showed   us   that   you   cared.   The   people   will   seek   Rhaenyra   and   yourself   soon."

[vadarys]

He   had   decided   to   go   to   Daemon   first.   Maybe   because   he   hopes   the   other   would   understand,   more   than   his   mother   would   in   those   moments   where   grief   and   rage   are   so   close   together.   Perhaps   he   simply   thinks   that   Daemon   can   understand   that   grief   and   companionship   are   deadly   and   he   is   a   young   man   with   honor,   he   broke   a   girl's   honor,   bastard   or   not   and   Cregan   Stark   would've   his   head,   prince   or   not   for   what   he   did.   "I   married   Sara   Snow.   Lord   Stark's   sister."   Jace   blurts   out   after   trying   to   explain   himself   in   a   more   princely   and   proper   manner,   but   it   felt   the   weight   out   of   his   chest,   as   eyes   remain   on   @bigdaddydaemon   .  

"I   know   that   breaks   the   engagement   with   Baela   and   I   also   know   that   it's   not   rare   for   a   man   to   take   a   mistress."   His   stepfather   had   one   still   he   thinks,   a   paramour   that   now   roams   the   castle   of   Dragonstone.   But   it   would   not   be   fair   for   either   woman   if   Jace   took   one   for   a   mistress   and   the   other   for   a   bride.   "I   believe   Lord   Cregan   would've   had   my   head   on   a   spike   or   eaten   by   his   wolf   after   what   I   did."   Saved   only   by   the   grace   of   the   woman   herself.   He   is   nervous   and   blushes   because   it's   not   like   he   has   this   type   of   talk   with   anyone   really.  

He   shifts   uncomfortably,   his   hand   resting   on   the   hilt   of   his   sword.   "He   saw   it   as   an   insult.   .   .it   was   in   the   Godswood."   Perhaps   the   most   sacred   place   for   the   Northern   Folk   and   those   who   believe   in   the   Old   Gods.   His   throat   feels   dry   and   he   just   wants   to   blurt   all   of   it   and   be   gone   but   he   knows   he   is   going   to   get   a   talk.   Scolded   down   or   perhaps   understanding,   or   knowing   Daemon,   perhaps   a   mixture   of   both.   "I   took   her   to   wife   because   she   could've   fallen   with   child."