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novaursa · 2 days ago

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A Flame All Her Own (dragons after dark)

- Summary: You and Daemon are accused of indecent exposure after your recent escapades in Flea Bottom.

- Paring: sister!reader/Daemon Targaryen (with hints of Viserys I Targaryen with both of them in the past)

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: 1

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The council chamber was quiet, an unusual peace resting over the small council—until Otto Hightower cleared his throat with a pointed cough. Viserys looked up from a map of the Crownlands, brow furrowed, as Otto shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable but also eager to get something off his chest.

“Your Grace,” Otto began, clasping his hands together with a rigidness that suggested this was no ordinary report. “There is… a matter of some delicacy that I feel must be brought to your attention.”

Viserys raised an eyebrow, already sensing that this was not likely to be a straightforward discussion. “Yes, Otto?”

Otto leaned forward, glancing briefly at Daemon, who sat with his feet propped up on the table, looking very much like a prince whose mind was miles away, perhaps dreaming of dragon flights and not the least bit concerned about his present company.

“It concerns your brother,” Otto continued, his tone clipped, “and your sister.”

Daemon’s eyes flicked up, a faint smirk on his lips as he lazily removed his boots from the council table, folding his arms in a way that suggested he was ready to enjoy whatever fuss Otto was about to create. “Is that so?” Daemon’s voice dripped with feigned surprise. “Do enlighten us, Otto.”

Otto’s lips thinned, but he forged on, determined. “It appears that last night, certain… rumors have circulated throughout Flea Bottom.”

Viserys sighed, looking weary already. “Rumors?”

“Yes, rumors,” Otto repeated, each syllable laden with his disapproval. “About the prince and princess being… sighted in public, in a rather compromising state.”

At this, Daemon’s smirk widened, and he leaned forward as if savoring every word that left Otto’s mouth. “Oh, do go on. I’m curious about these rumors myself.”

Otto’s jaw clenched, clearly reluctant to continue but, being the Hand of the King, he did not have the luxury of discretion. “It is said that Prince Daemon and Princess Y/N were spotted… in various states of indecent exposure, as it were, during an excursion into Flea Bottom.”

Viserys paled. “Indecent exposure?”

“Precisely,” Otto said, barely concealing the satisfaction in his voice as he relayed the details. “Some claim they were… engaged in, ah… revelries. Others describe certain articles of clothing as being notably absent.”

A cough choked out of Viserys’s mouth as he looked at Daemon, who sat there entirely unfazed, his expression one of mild interest at best.

“Daemon,” Viserys said, voice exasperated. “What is he talking about?”

Daemon shrugged, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. “Perhaps they mistook us for someone else.”

Otto’s glare could have melted stone. “There were reports of a silver-haired woman and a silver-haired man seen, quite publicly, by no fewer than twenty merchants, three blacksmiths, and one poor tavern keeper who claims he had to close shop early due to the commotion.”

“Commotion?” Daemon chuckled. “I do believe we’re innocent in that regard. We were simply… taking in the night air. Can we help it if Flea Bottom is easily scandalized?”

Viserys buried his face in his hands, letting out a long, tired sigh. “Daemon, please tell me you didn’t…”

Daemon leaned forward, grinning. “We were enjoying a harmless stroll through the city, brother. Perhaps my sister stumbled. I may have… caught her in my arms.” He shrugged. “The streets are narrow, after all.”

“And how do you explain the… lack of clothing, then?” Otto’s voice was practically a hiss.

Daemon raised an eyebrow, looking delightfully unbothered. “The night was warm. Flea Bottom is hardly known for its air quality; perhaps we were a bit overheated.”

Viserys looked torn between exasperation and amusement, glancing between Otto, who was nearly purple with indignation, and Daemon, who was enjoying himself far too much.

“I’ll speak with her later,” Viserys mumbled. “Though it seems she’s blissfully unaware of this entire meeting.”

“Indeed,” Otto added, clearly affronted. “Your sister, Prince Daemon, is currently asleep, untroubled by the scandal she has brought upon the crown.”

Daemon smirked, tilting his head as he glanced out the window, towards where he knew you were soundly sleeping in his chambers, blissfully unaware of the ruckus you had apparently caused.

“You see, Otto,” Daemon said, voice rich with mischief, “some of us have our priorities straight.”

Otto looked as if he might explode on the spot, his glare enough to scorch even dragon scales. “Your Grace,” he said to Viserys, voice shaking with frustration, “I would suggest that the Prince and Princess conduct their… excursions with more decorum in the future.”

Daemon merely chuckled, clearly unbothered, as he rose from his seat, giving Otto a mocking bow before leaning over the table to clap Viserys on the shoulder. “Come now, brother. Life’s too short to worry about such trifles.”

One by one, the members of the small council shuffled out of the room, each with varying degrees of disapproval and exasperation. Otto departed first, his nose lifted as if the very thought of Daemon and Flea Bottom scandal was beneath him. Tyland Lannister muttered something about “Targaryen passions,” while Mellos whispered a prayer for “royal restraint.” Corlys chuckled under his breath, likely remembering his own youthful exploits, and Beesbury, well, he mumbled something entirely incoherent as he tottered out.

Finally, Viserys and Daemon were alone in the chamber, and the air grew notably less stiff. Viserys let out a sigh, shaking his head as he turned to face his younger brother, who stood grinning like a cat with feathers in its mouth.

“Daemon,” Viserys began, tone weary but still tinged with brotherly affection. “You know I have to address this. Flea Bottom isn’t some playground for you and Y/N to make spectacles of yourselves. We’re not children anymore.”

Daemon cocked an eyebrow, folding his arms as he watched his brother with that perpetual glint of mischief in his eyes. “I’m not sure what you mean, brother. We were simply… enjoying the night air.”

“Oh, of course,” Viserys replied, dryly. “And shedding half your clothes in the process?”

“Clothes are but an inconvenience in certain settings,” Daemon countered, smirking. “It’s not my fault that Flea Bottom took notice of a little, ah, fresh air between siblings.”

Viserys pinched the bridge of his nose, suppressing a laugh that threatened to break through his serious expression. “Look, Daemon. I won’t tolerate this again. If you and Y/N want to explore the city, I don’t care. But could you please… refrain from causing a scene?”

Daemon tilted his head, lips curling as he feigned shock. “You make it sound as though we’re entirely to blame. Perhaps Flea Bottom’s citizens simply haven’t the sophistication to understand royal comportment.”

“Royal comportment?” Viserys nearly snorted, giving his brother a look. “Is that what you call it?”

“A very dignified stroll, as I said,” Daemon replied smoothly, though the grin on his face betrayed his amusement.

Viserys sighed, straightening himself as he tried to assume a more serious expression. “Well, I’ll speak to her as well. Once she wakes. Hopefully, one of us can impress upon her the importance of… discretion.”

Daemon chuckled, the sound a low, warm rumble that seemed to fill the room. “You’ll talk to her, will you?” His eyes sparkled with the memory of mischief. “And what will you tell her, I wonder? That the king disapproves of his siblings enjoying themselves? You’ve gotten awfully proper since you took that throne, brother.”

Viserys raised an eyebrow, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “I wouldn’t call it proper. Perhaps just�� restrained.”

“Restrained,” Daemon repeated, savoring the word as if it were a bitter taste. “And you think restraint suits you, do you?”

“Yes,” Viserys replied, though he didn’t sound quite convinced. He shook his head, a small chuckle escaping. “Not everyone can run about the city causing scandals, Daemon. Some of us have responsibilities.”

Daemon rolled his eyes, leaning back casually. “You used to enjoy our company,” he said, his tone almost wistful. “Remember? Back when you weren’t restrained or… boring.”

“Boring?” Viserys shot him a look, though his mouth twitched with a reluctant smile. “I am not boring.”

“Oh, but you are,” Daemon continued, grinning. “It’s been ages since we’ve all been together like that. The old Viserys would have been right there with us, laughing, celebrating, not sitting on his stuffy throne, worrying about what Otto Hightower thinks.”

Viserys opened his mouth to retort, but he hesitated, glancing away as if the memory of those carefree days was tugging at him. “Things… change, Daemon,” he said finally. “I am king now. I have to be responsible.”

Daemon snorted. “King. Yes, yes, I know. But the crown doesn’t mean you have to be miserable, chained to your duties like some prisoner.” He took a step closer, lowering his voice as he looked Viserys in the eye. “You’re Targaryen. We’re dragons, not gray little men sitting in musty chambers. What happened to the brother who would drink and laugh until dawn?”

“Daemon…” Viserys began, voice a touch softer. The memories seemed to hang between them, filling the silence in a way that was almost tangible.

“What’s the harm in a little fun, brother?” Daemon pressed, leaning back with a smirk. “Perhaps you’d remember that if you joined us again sometime.”

Viserys shook his head, his mouth quirking into a small, defeated smile. “I suppose I can’t change you, can I?”

Daemon chuckled, clapping Viserys on the shoulder. “Not a chance.”

Viserys sighed, smiling faintly as he looked at his brother, who stood there looking exactly like the reckless, loyal sibling he’d always known. “Fine. I’ll let this go. This time. After I talk with Y/N. But for the love of the Seven, Daemon, please, try to stay out of trouble.”

Daemon laughed, turning towards the door, his hand resting on the handle as he threw one last cheeky grin over his shoulder. “Oh, come now, Viserys. You know I’d be a poor Targaryen if I promised that.”

And with that, he sauntered out, leaving Viserys alone in the chamber, still shaking his head with a rueful smile, knowing that whatever mischief his brother might conjure next, there was no stopping it.

Daemon slipped quietly into the low lit chamber he shared with you, a mischievous smile dancing on his lips. You were still sound asleep, sprawled across the bed in a tangle of silken sheets, one arm thrown over your head, hair splayed across the pillow like a midnight wave. It would have been easy for him to leave you in peace, but since when did Daemon Targaryen ever do the easy thing?

With a barely contained smirk, he approached the bed, slipping off his boots and cloak with the practiced stealth of a dragon sneaking into a nest. He slid into bed beside you, and without ceremony, he reached out and gently tugged a lock of your hair.

“Wake up, my scandalous princess,” he murmured, amusement thick in his voice.

You stirred, a soft murmur escaping your lips, but otherwise remained blissfully unaware of his presence. Daemon raised an eyebrow, feigning offense as he leaned over you, his face only inches from yours.

“Sleeping through your king’s summons, are you?” he whispered, lips twitching with a grin. “I’d thought even the Seven couldn’t wake you after last night’s ‘adventures.’”

You shifted, brow furrowing, before mumbling something incoherent and burying your face into the pillow. Daemon rolled his eyes, his grin widening as he reached out, fingers finding that ticklish spot just beneath your ribs.

With a startled gasp, you shot up, glaring at him with a mix of irritation and groggy confusion. “Daemon!”

He lay back, arms crossed behind his head, looking up at you with an entirely too-pleased grin. “Good morning to you too, darling.”

You blinked, still caught between sleep and waking, before the events of the previous night began to creep back into your memory. A flush crept to your cheeks as you recalled the, well… enthusiastic moments you’d shared in Flea Bottom.

“Daemon,” you muttered, pulling the sheets up to your chin. “You didn’t have to wake me like that.”

“Oh, but I did,” he replied smoothly, his voice dripping with humor. “You should have seen Otto’s face when he spoke of our little escapade. I swear he looked like he’d swallowed a lemon.”

You snorted despite yourself, a reluctant smile tugging at your lips. “I can only imagine.”

“Oh, but you don’t have to,” he replied, his grin widening. “Viserys has promised to speak to you personally about it.”

Your eyes widened. “Viserys? He knows?”

Daemon laughed, reaching out to tug the sheets away from your grip. “Of course, he knows. You’ve made quite an impression on Flea Bottom, love. They’re calling us the ‘Silver Specters.’” He paused, leaning closer with a wicked glint in his eye. “I think we’ve scandalized the city.”

You groaned, collapsing back onto the pillow. “Why did you have to drag me into your schemes?”

“My schemes?” Daemon looked wounded, a hand pressed to his chest in mock hurt. “Oh, dear sister, if I recall, you were the one suggesting we slip away from the Red Keep for a bit of fun.”

You opened one eye, giving him a skeptical look. “Fun, yes. Not… public indecency.”

Daemon chuckled, shifting closer to you, his hand resting casually on your hip. “Come now, admit it,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. “You enjoyed every moment. Don’t tell me you weren’t thrilled by the danger.”

You rolled your eyes but felt the flutter of his words settle warmly in your chest. “Maybe a little.”

He laughed again, his hand trailing along your back as he murmured, “That’s what I thought.”

You sighed, glancing toward the chamber door. “What do we do now? If Viserys is actually going to talk to me—”

“Let him talk,” Daemon interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. “He’s forgotten how to have fun. You, my dear sister, are the only thing keeping this court interesting.”

“Oh, really?” You quirked a brow, giving him a knowing look. “And I suppose you had nothing to do with our ‘adventure’ last night?”

He grinned, unabashed. “Not a thing. I’m simply an innocent bystander swept along by your rebellious spirit.”

You rolled over, pinning him with a look that was half-amused, half-exasperated. “You’re an utter rogue, Daemon Targaryen.”

He chuckled, reaching out to pull you close. “And you love me for it.”

With a laugh, you let him draw you into his arms, the warmth of his embrace and the humor of the situation filling the room like a fire on a cold morning. Whatever lectures Viserys might have planned for you, they could wait. In that moment, it was just you, Daemon, and the quiet mischief that bound you together.

Later that day, you found yourself summoned to Viserys’s solar, a request you knew could only mean one thing: the dreaded talk. You walked in with feigned innocence, a small, polite smile playing on your lips, though you could already spot Daemon lounging near the hearth with an air of smug satisfaction.

Viserys stood by his desk, hands clasped behind his back as he gave you a look that was equal parts exasperated brother and disappointed king. It might have been intimidating, had Daemon not been sitting just a few paces behind him, barely suppressing a smirk.

“Y/N,” Viserys began, his tone solemn. “We need to talk about… last night.”

“Oh?” You blinked, wide-eyed, adopting a tone as innocent as you could muster. “Did something happen last night, Your Grace?”

Daemon let out a soft snicker, and Viserys shot him a look before turning back to you, fighting to maintain his composure. “Don’t play coy with me. You know very well what I mean. The Flea Bottom… incident.”

“Ah,” you murmured, trying to look suitably contrite but struggling to keep a straight face. “The, um, ‘Silver Specters,’ was it?”

Viserys sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yes. That. Do you understand the kind of scandal this has brought upon the crown?”

“Oh, come now, Viserys,” Daemon drawled from his spot by the fire, voice dripping with amusement. “It’s hardly the first scandal we’ve been part of.”

Viserys turned to shoot Daemon another glare, before turning back to you, struggling to resume his kingly seriousness. “Y/N, this sort of behavior… it’s unbecoming. You are royalty, and your actions reflect upon the Targaryen name.”

You tilted your head, an innocent glimmer in your eyes as you answered, “Oh, I seem to remember a time when all three of us did this sort of thing regularly. On Dragonstone, remember?”

Daemon’s smirk widened, clearly entertained, while Viserys looked as if you’d just struck him speechless. A faint blush crept up his neck, and he coughed, suddenly at a loss for words.

“I… well, that was…” he stammered, momentarily thrown off balance. “That was… a long time ago.”

“Oh, it wasn’t that long ago,” Daemon chimed in, the gleam in his eye betraying his enjoyment. “I remember it well. Especially that one summer—”

“Daemon!” Viserys cut him off, clearly trying to maintain some sense of decorum but failing miserably as memories of youthful indiscretions seemed to flash behind his eyes. “That’s… not the point.”

You couldn’t resist pressing further, stepping closer to him with an innocent smile. “Why, brother, you didn’t seem to mind then. In fact,” you paused, voice dropping to a more mischievous tone, “if memory serves, you were rather… enthusiastic about our nightly adventures.”

Viserys’s face flushed a deeper shade of red, and he glanced away, clearly flustered as he grappled with his authority and memories he’d rather keep buried. “Yes, well… I… that was different.”

“Oh?” Daemon smirked, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall, looking between the two of you with open amusement. “I’d love to hear how it was different, brother.”

Viserys opened his mouth to respond, but words failed him. His gaze shifted from you to Daemon, caught somewhere between indignation and something else entirely, something softer and unspoken. His shoulders slumped a little as he let out a resigned sigh, his kingly facade crumbling.

“Perhaps… I’ve become a bit too serious,” he admitted quietly, almost to himself.

Daemon chuckled, stepping forward to clasp a hand on his shoulder. “You see, Viserys? That crown’s made you dreadfully dull.”

“Maybe it has,” Viserys said, glancing between the two of you, a small, reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “But one of us has to be the responsible one.”

“Oh, but I don’t think you’ve forgotten everything,” you said softly, your gaze meeting his, a flicker of shared memory passing between you. “You were always our leader back then. Wherever you went, we’d follow.”

Viserys swallowed, his cheeks still faintly pink as he looked at you, then at Daemon, as though some long-buried part of himself was surfacing. “I suppose,” he murmured, his voice tinged with nostalgia. “There were good times.”

Daemon grinned, moving to stand beside you as he gave Viserys a sly look. “Then perhaps it’s time we brought a little of that back.”

Viserys shook his head, though his smile had fully broken through. “I don’t know if I should be encouraging the two of you…”

“Oh, you should,” you replied, a spark of mischief lighting in your eyes as you leaned closer to him. “We’ve missed you, you know. It’s been too long since all three of us… indulged.”

For a moment, Viserys’s gaze softened, the weight of the crown forgotten as he looked at you and Daemon, the memories of simpler times gleaming in his eyes. He glanced away, chuckling softly.

“Well,” he said, trying to sound stern but failing, “as long as you two promise not to cause a scandal quite so… public next time.”

“Who, us?” Daemon feigned innocence, draping an arm around your shoulders. “We would never dream of it.”

Viserys’s laughter filled the room, and for a brief, perfect moment, it was as if the three of you were back on Dragonstone, young, free, and utterly unburdened by the crown’s weight.

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